Читать книгу Redemption - Carolyn Davidson - Страница 11

JASON MCPHERSON WAS A capable child, Alicia admitted silently. Obviously aware of the purpose of a broom and dustpan, he swept up the broken glass without a murmur, then dumped the shards into her wastebasket. If he still wore the chip on his shoulder, at least it didn’t appear to be quite so large a chunk of wood, she thought.

“I’m finished, ma’am,” he told her as he returned the tools to the cloakroom.

“No, Jason, you’re not,” she said, contradicting his statement. From the quick look he shot in her direction, he’d expected the reprimand, and she noted the taut line of his jaw.

His sigh was exaggerated. “Now what do I hafta do?”

“You know very well what comes next, young man. You had your ear plastered against that kitchen door when I told your father what I expected of you.”

He shifted uncomfortably, standing first on one leg, then the other, as if he readied himself for flight. “I suppose you think I’m gonna carry in all that wood you got layin’ out in the yard.”

“No,” she said, disputing his idea. “You’re going to go out there with me and hand me one board at a time while I nail them in place. If it rains tonight, I don’t want the schoolhouse open to the elements.”

“Elements?” he asked, his look skeptical. “You mean the weather?”

“You know what I mean,” she told him. “You can’t play dumb with me, Jason. I know exactly how intelligent you are.”

His shoulders slumped and she decided it was a ploy, a means to get her sympathy. It would never work. He was slick, but she was ahead of the game.

“Come along,” she said, walking briskly toward the door, hammer in hand, a small brown bag of nails in her pocket. Outdoors, the sun was hanging low in the sky, and she looked upward, thankful that the clouds were not heavy as yet. The idea of working in a downpour didn’t appeal to her, and sending Jason home all wet and soggy might only irritate his father more.

Although that seemed to be an unlikely thought. The man could not be more irritable if he truly put forth an effort.

Jake McPherson had a reputation around town. A widower for well over two years, he had become a recluse, mourning his wife, folks said. And well he might, Alicia thought. The woman had no doubt been a saint to put up with him. A more miserable man would be hard to find.

Yet there had been something about him that appealed to her. Some spark within the man had spanned the gap and touched off an answering response in her soul. Pity? Doubtful, although she respected his need to mourn his wife. Respect? No, not that, for he’d allowed himself to become a hermit and had kept his son apart. Not only from those in the community who might have helped the boy, but from himself.

He’d built a wall of grief and stubborn pride. Even his own child could not surmount the obstacle of Jake McPherson’s hibernation. And yet she’d been drawn to him…perhaps as one weary soul to another.

The hammer was a tool she was familiar with, but the boards she nailed in place were heavy and, as a result, her fingers bore the brunt of several blows that she knew would leave bruises behind.

“You’re not very good at this,” the boy observed as she held the last board in place and took a handful of nails from the bag. “I guess women have a hard time doing man stuff, don’t they?”

She turned her head, caught by the scorn in his remark. “‘Man stuff’? Hammering a nail is something only the male gender is proficient at? I think not,” she said stiffly, holding the nail firmly and raising the hammer. The head caught the nail off-center and the hammer careened onto the board, bouncing off her thumb in the process.

Alicia’s murmur of pain was not lost on Jason, and he leaned forward, as if to offer sympathy. Instead, his words only served to insult. “If I couldn’t do any better than that, I’d find someone else to do the job.”

She inhaled with a shuddering gasp, the pain in her thumb holding all her attention. Extending the hammer in his direction, she turned the tables on the boy. “Here you go, sonny. Have at it.” She placed the bag of nails in his palm, the hammer handle in his other hand, and she stepped back from the partially covered window.

It took all of her pride to keep the throbbing digit from her mouth, and she almost smiled at the thought. As if warming that thumb between her lips would make the ache disappear. Instead, she shoved her hand into the pocket of her dress and watched as Jason fiddled with the bag of nails, extracting a handful from its depths and then placing them between his lips.

The bag hit the ground with a muffled clatter, and as she watched, the boy held the board in place with his elbow, then somehow balanced it as he pounded the first nail into it. That it took almost a dozen thuds with the hammer to accomplish the task was immaterial, she decided. That the nail sat at an angle mattered little. The fact remained that Jason had accomplished what he set out to do.

“Bravo,” she said softly, and as his features assumed a quick look of surprise, she clapped her hands together in a semblance of applause. “I didn’t think you could do it,” she told him.

His shoulders straightened a bit as he took another nail from his mouth and held it immobile. The hammer rose and fell, the muscles in his upper arms flexing like two halves of an orange.

“You’re stronger than I gave you credit for,” Alicia said. “Why didn’t you tell me you could have done this job better than I?”

His grin was cocky, the sullen look in abeyance as he shot her a look of satisfaction. “You were doin’ all right, Miss Merriweather. For a woman.”

For a woman. Tempted to scold him for his attitude, she instead chose to change the subject, thinking it the better option. There was no point in alienating the boy unduly.

“Do you handle the repair work around your father’s house?” she asked him, and wished immediately that she’d not chosen to mention his home. For his mouth drooped and he turned back to the hammering, making enough noise to prohibit him from a reply.

She bent to pick up the bag of nails, collecting three that had dropped beside her and adding them to the assortment. Knowing she was out on a limb, she backtracked. “I’m sure you’re a big help to your father.”

“He don’t need any help,” Jason said beneath his breath.

“He says we can get along just fine by ourselves.”

“Nevertheless, I’d say it’s a good thing he has you.” She watched as he finished pounding the last nail, and then moved to stand behind him, admiring his work over his shoulder. The board was just a bit skewed, the nails perhaps not lined up perfectly, and two of them were at a slant and couldn’t be straightened, but he’d done the job, and for that he’d gained her respect.

“Here’s your hammer,” Jason said, handing her the tool and then stepping away from her. “If you’re done with me, I’m goin’ home.”

She needed to take a stand, Alicia thought, as he turned his back and walked away. “Jason?” He halted and stood stock-still.

“I hope there won’t be a repeat of this sort of behavior. The next time I’ll probably have to involve the law. And I don’t think it would be any help to your father if you were called before a judge.”

“You won’t need to worry about that,” he said glumly. “My pa will likely find enough for me to do at home to keep me busy.”

That seemed to be exactly what the boy needed, Alicia thought. And what he asked for every time he misbehaved. Getting in trouble was an obvious ploy to gain his father’s attention. For a man of Jake McPherson’s intelligence, he seemed to be lacking common sense where his son was concerned.

She watched as Jason plodded away, wincing as she imagined his pain. Abandoned by his mother, although the circumstances had not been deliberate, he’d become a boy who was starving for that which the woman had provided in his life.

“JAKE?” The man who poked his head through the back doorway called out in a familiar voice, and Jake frowned as he turned his chair in that direction. “Are you home?” he asked loudly.

“You know damn well I’m home. Where else would I be?” Jake answered, shoving the kitchen door aside as he rolled across the threshold. “What do you want, Cord?”

“Just came to town to run some errands and I thought I’d drop in and see if there’s anything I can do for you while I’m here.” Jake’s brother was tall, muscular and walked about on two legs, a fact Jake had been able to set aside for a number of years. Now the difference that he’d once accepted seemed insurmountable.

“I’m doing just fine,” Jake answered gruffly. “Take a look around, brother. See anything that needs attention?”

Cord winced as he gave the kitchen a cursory once over. “Several somethings, actually,” he said mildly. “You need a good housekeeper.”

“Tell me about it,” Jake answered with scorn. “There aren’t any women in this town ready and willing to put in a solid day’s work and follow orders. Must be they don’t need a few dollars a week to keep them going. Probably finding other work to do.”

Cord raised a brow at that. “You’re kinda sarcastic, don’t you think? I’ve heard that you’ve already gone through the available widows and older ladies who might take such a job. You’re difficult to work for.”

“How do you figure that?” Jake’s jaw jutted forward as he faced off with his brother, almost relishing the foray. It broke the boredom to have a good argument—such as the one he’d indulged in with the schoolteacher.

“You’re a hard man to please,” Cord said. “You’re determined to sit in this house and keep the world away. You haven’t got any draperies open, and this place smells stale. You need to open those windows and let the breeze blow through. That would help, for starters.”

“Well, you find me a woman who’ll open my windows and keep my house clean and I’ll hire her.” That should shut the pompous fool up, Jake decided.

“And how long will that last? Until you decide it’s too much effort to be pleasant to another human being?”

“Some days that’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Jake muttered.

Cord leaned against the sink board. “I heard you had a visitor the other day. It seems a couple of the ladies saw the schoolteacher force her way into your house. It was all the talk at the general store. She caused quite a flurry, it seems, coming to visit you.” Cord grinned. “That bit of information has brought the gossips a new bone to chew on, and they’re settling down for a real meal, at her expense.”

Jake bristled at the thought of the meddling female who’d invaded his home, thus causing the old hens to peddle their stories about her behavior, and in turn about him.

Cord grinned. “Then your boy spread it around that he’d managed to show the woman how to pound nails in the boards that are currently covering the schoolhouse windows.”

“Jason said that?” The boy certainly hadn’t shared that bit of information, Jake thought. He’d only come home and sullenly done the chores assigned to him over the past days, earning the money to pay for panes of glass.

“Yeah, your boy said that,” Cord repeated. “But the rest of it came from a couple of passersby, I understand.” He straightened from his relaxed stance and faced Jake head-on. “Jason needs a haircut, Jake. He needs some new clothes that fit. His pants are too short and his shirts are either ripped or missing buttons. He doesn’t wear stockings half the time, and I doubt he’s washed his neck in a week.”

“He’s a boy.” The words hung between them, and Jake felt a moment of shame as his brother listed Jason’s shortcomings. And yet, they weren’t of Jason’s doing. They were items that Rena would have tended to, had she not been lying in the churchyard under six feet of dirt.

“You know, Jake, what you really need is a mother for your son.” With those words, Cord walked away, out through the back door and down the steps.

Behind him, Jake sat in his chair with a grimace of bitterness painting his features. A mother for Jason. That was about as likely as snow in August, to his way of thinking. He couldn’t even find a decent housekeeper. How the hell would he go about finding a mother for his child?

“Pa?” From the front hallway, Jason’s thin whisper reached Jake’s ears and he spun his chair around to face the boy. “What was Uncle Cord talkin’ about just now? Was he tellin’ you to find a new woman to get married to?”

“That’s not about to happen,” Jake said, dodging the query. “Who do you think would marry a man in a wheelchair? A man without any legs?”

“Mama did,” Jason answered quietly.

“Your mama was one in a million,” Jake said gruffly. “There aren’t any more women in the world like your mama.” And wasn’t that the truth. He lost himself for a moment in the memories that were stored in a part of his mind he no longer visited. Rena had been the sweetheart of his youth; and when they’d brought him back from the war without his lower limbs, she’d made it her business to crawl beneath his skin.

So well had she accomplished the task she’d set for herself, that he’d capitulated to her demands, believed her promises of forever, and married her. Now look where he was. Alone again, left to mourn.

Rena had taken ill and then succumbed to pneumonia during a week that would remain forever in his memory as the most horrendous time of his life. Pneumonia was a winter disease, and Rena had contracted it in midsummer, her stamina reduced after a cold had dragged on for three weeks.

He’d entered this house the day of her funeral determined never to leave it again. And except for a few memorable occasions, he’d kept that vow. Jason had been stuck with the most disgusting tasks imaginable, performing menial work that would have been more appropriate for a housekeeper or nurse.

Now he’d been told by two different people during a span of a few days that his son was lacking in the basic essentials of life. The love and attention of a parent and the chance to live as a child.

He rolled to the door and shut it, tempted to slam it, but leery of breaking the glass. Jason had already been responsible for repairing two windows this week; he would not add to that count. Behind him, he heard the boy’s dragging footsteps as he left the kitchen, and Jake turned the chair and followed the boy into the hallway.

“Come into the parlor, son,” he said quietly, and noted the startled look the boy shot in his direction. Had he not spoken to his boy in a decent tone of voice for so long that it would take him by surprise?

“Sit down.” Jake waved at the couch, where books lay in disarray and two dirty plates sat on the middle cushion.

Jason moved the plates and settled onto the seat, and Jake wondered that it was such an automatic gesture on the boy’s part. Used to the clutter, he didn’t seem to notice that the house was in havoc.

“I’ll try again to get us a housekeeper,” he told his son. “I’ll send you with a note to the newspaper office and have an ad put in this week. Maybe we can find someone who’ll suit us both.”

“I don’t want some strange lady tellin’ me what to do,” Jason said stoutly. “It’d be better with just you and me here, Pa.”

“It isn’t better, though,” Jake admitted. “You need someone to take you in hand, son. Someone who can take you out and buy you clothes that fit and see to it you visit the barbershop.”

Jason leaned forward on the couch and spoke eagerly. “I can do that, Pa. I can go to the barber by myself, and I’ll go to the general store and pick out some stuff. Can we afford all that?” he asked, almost as an afterthought.

Jake nodded. He’d been living without dipping into his savings, Cord depositing a quarterly amount from the family ranch into Jake’s account at the bank. The house was paid for, thanks to Rena’s thrifty nature, and food for the two males in the household was the largest expense he had.

“We can afford whatever you need, son,” he said, wishing that he’d noticed for himself the boy’s general appearance. “But I’d feel better if someone went with you.”

“Can you go?” The look in his blue eyes was hopeful as Jason focused on his father, but Jake retreated quickly.

“No. You know I don’t go out.”

“You need a haircut, too, Pa.” Jason looked at his father with eyes too old for a lad of nine. “You’re not in much better shape than me.”

“Well, the difference is that you have to be out in public and I don’t,” Jake told him firmly. Then he heard the distinct rap of knuckles on the front door.

“Somebody’s here,” Jason said, rising quickly from his seat to head for the hallway.

“Wait,” Jake told him, calling him back with a single word. “Let me see who it is first.”

“You can’t see any better than me,” Jason told him, standing to one side to peer through one of the long panes of glass that trimmed the door on either side. Glass that was dirty, with cobwebs hanging from the upper corners, Jake noted.

“It’s Miss Merriweather,” Jason said, his eyes seeming to darken even as his face paled in the light from the narrow windows.

“What have you done now?” his father asked, and knew an unexpected moment of pleasure at the thought of once more fencing with the woman.

“Nuthin’,” Jason answered sullenly. “Why do you always think I’ve been bad?”

“Bad?” Jake repeated. That his son should use that word in connection with his own behavior was telling. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning the apology from the depths of his heart. “Open the door, Jason. Let’s see what Miss Merriweather wants with us.”

A NARROW FACE PEERED at her from behind the dirty windowpane, and Alicia caught her breath at the apprehension displayed on the boy’s features. Fixing a smile on her face, she waited for the door to open.

“Ma’am?” Jason watched her warily as he stepped back, allowing her entrance if she wished.

“Is your father—” At the sight of Jake McPherson behind the boy, almost lost in the shadows of the wide hallway, she halted her query and nodded a greeting.

“I’m here, Miss Merriweather.”

“I noticed the sign is still there, but I wanted to talk to both of you about something, and this seemed like the best way and time to approach the subject.”

Jake’s hand sliced the air, effectively halting her explanation, and he glared in her direction. “Get to the point, ma’am. Is there a problem?”

She spoke with haste, lest he be angry for nothing. “No, of course not.”

“I’ve found there’s no ‘of course not’ with you, Miss Merriweather. There is still something on your mind.”

“Well, in this case you’re wrong, sir,” she said, standing outside the front door, feeling the air of dislike that emanated from the man. “I simply wanted to talk to you about something.”

Jake waved a hand at her. “Well, unless it’s a topic you think the whole neighborhood needs to be privy to, you’d better come on in.” He regarded her as she hesitated. “My brother tells me you’ve already done damage to your pristine reputation with your interference in our lives. Might as well do it up brown.”

And wasn’t that the truth? She’d heard the murmurs behind her in the store yesterday, and noted the sidelong glances of ladies as she passed them on the sidewalk. It could not be helped, she decided. The welfare of a child was more important than any gossiping females.

Jake turned his chair and rolled it toward the parlor, Jason scampering ahead of him, and Alicia followed in their wake. The boy was industriously picking up an assortment of objects from the couch when she stepped into the room, and he dropped them with a total lack of ceremony onto the floor in one corner.

Jake looked her way and for a moment they seemed to be in tune, both aware of Jason’s meager attempts at straightening up the room.

“Have a seat, ma’am,” Jason told her, waving at the couch, where an unoccupied cushion awaited her. Even as she watched, his eyes filled with hesitant light, as if he feared her mission might prove to be not to his liking. “I haven’t done anything bad this week, have I?” he asked.

She shook her head and smiled, sensing that he’d feared that very thing. “No, you’ve been an exemplary student for the past couple of days, Jason. I appreciated the papers you turned in to me. They’ll help your grades enormously.”

“What’s exemplary?” he asked with a frown.

“It’s a word we’re going to use in our spelling lesson on Monday,” she told him. “If you know the meaning by then, you’ll receive extra credit.”

She looked at Jake McPherson then, wondering if he saw the boy as she did. If he noticed the ragtag appearance of the child, or if he just didn’t care. If he took note of the extraordinary intelligence that gleamed from his blue eyes when they weren’t dulled with unhappiness. Then she steeled herself, putting her plan in motion.

“I received a visit from your brother,” she announced tentatively. “He told me you were looking for someone to help out with Jason. A woman who would see to him choosing new clothing at the general store, maybe arrange for a haircut, or whatever else he needs.”

And for the life of me, I don’t know why I volunteered for the job.

“Cord told you that?” The subdued tone of Jake’s voice was a cover for anger. She could see it in the flush that touched his cheekbones, the flaring of his nostrils and the glare of fury that shone from his eyes. He wouldn’t be smiling today.

“Well,” she began, hedging a bit. “He didn’t say it in so many words. Just suggested that you might be amenable to accepting my help.”

The man looked her over then as if he saw her as a slab of meat in the butcher shop on Main Street. Disdain marked his face, disapproval glittered from his eyes. She felt the brunt of both as if a sharp knife had stabbed her, slicing her good intentions to ribbons. She was no raving beauty—her own mother had told her that more than once—but she was presentable.

“And you think you qualify as an expert when it comes to young boys?” Jake asked with a cynical smirk. “How many children do you have, Miss Merriweather?”

She dropped her gaze to her lap, noting that her fingers were twisting together in an agony of embarrassment. She lifted her chin and met his eyes head-on. “None, of course. As you very well know. But I’ve worked with children for almost ten years, Mr. McPherson. I’d say I have a fair amount of experience.”

“Enough to take on the raising of my son?” he asked.

“I’m not asking for that position,” she told him forcefully. “I have no intention of interfering with the job you’re doing. I only thought to lend a hand.”

“You don’t have enough to keep you busy at that schoolhouse?” he asked sharply. “You need to spend your leisure time offering to tend to your pupils in lieu of finding a husband and having your own crop of children to raise?”

“The chances are very slight of my finding a husband and having a family of my own, sir,” she managed to say with a reasonable amount of clarity. “I’m sure you don’t mean to be insulting, but your remarks are venturing in that direction.”

Jake tilted his head and looked at her as if she were a specimen under a microscope and he was trying to distinguish her species. “Do you always talk that way, Miss Merriweather, or is it just with me that you use such highfalutin language?”

She bit at her lip. “I speak the way I was taught to speak,” she told him. “My parents were educators and raised me to be a schoolteacher. I had a good education in preparation for my life’s work.”

“Didn’t your mother ever consider the idea of you getting married and having that family we spoke of?” He leaned back in his chair and watched her closely, deciding that the flush she wore made her look almost…pretty. He cleared his throat and looked down. Damn, sharp tongue and all, she was more appealing than he’d thought.

Alicia felt heat climb her cheeks, knew she was blushing furiously and yet refused to look away from the man. “I think it’s an insult for you to even suggest such a thing,” she announced.

His gaze found her again. “You’re a woman, aren’t you?” His eyebrow twitched, and his mouth followed suit, as if he mocked her. Not quite a smile, but almost.

“A woman, yes. But perhaps not the sort of female who appeals to men who are looking for a girl to marry.”

“What sort of female are you?”

As if he cared, she thought. The man was being downright rude, perhaps wishing he could push her from this room, out the front door and away from his house merely by his behavior. She would not allow it. Not until she’d had her say. If he refused her help, so much the better, as far as she was concerned at this very moment.

“What sort of female am I? I’m a schoolteacher-sort, Mr. McPherson. I’ve never planned on marriage. At my age, it’s out of the question, anyway.”

“How old are you?”

Rude. The man was rude beyond belief! “How old are you?” she countered smugly.

“Thirty-nine,” he said. “Not that that has any bearing on the subject.”

He looked at her expectantly. “Your age, Miss Merriweather?”

None of your business. The words were alive in her mind, but refused to make their way to her lips. Instead, she found herself obediently blurting out the truth. “Thirty. I’m thirty years old,” she said firmly. “On the shelf, I suppose it’s called.”

“Surely there’s been some farmer in need of a woman, or a parson looking for a helpmate,” he said, emphasizing the words that he obviously thought described her best.

“Apparently not,” she said, refusing to rise to his bait. “Had such a man offered for me, I doubt I’d have accepted. My future does not lie in raising a brood of children whose mother had the good sense to desert them, and leaving myself open to being used as a slave by their father.”

“Not all children left alone have been deserted by their mothers,” Jake said harshly. “On occasion, such women are stricken by illness, and they’ve been known to die, leaving their households without a woman’s touch.”

Alicia felt pain strike her, the aching knowledge that she’d hurt another person with no reasonable excuse. She’d spoken out of turn because of her anger with this man.

“I apologize, Mr. McPherson,” she said quietly, unable to look into his face but unwilling to remain silent when an apology was in order.

“I’m not sure why you think I merit such a thing,” he answered. “It seems we strike sparks from one another, Miss Merriweather. I was equally at fault.”

She looked up at him then, shocked by his words, stunned by the reasonable tone of voice he used. His face had lost just a bit of its stony demeanor; his eyes were narrowed as he looked her over. The change was quite disarming.