Читать книгу A Family Arrangement - Gabrielle Meyer - Страница 13
ОглавлениеOn Sunday morning Abram rolled out of the bottom bunk while it was still dark. He shivered in the cold and glanced out the window at the end of the long room.
Snow fell gracefully from the black sky, brushing against the windowpane and gathering in the corners.
Winter always frustrated Abram. Once the river stopped flowing, his saw would stop, too, and so would his income. Of course the snow and cold would come eventually, but he had hoped and prayed it would hold off a bit longer. At least until he had come back from St. Anthony. The trail would be difficult to travel now and the drop in temperature would make it more uncomfortable. But it wouldn’t stop him from going. He’d leave before the sun was up the following morning.
He pulled his cold denim pants over his long johns. They felt grimy against his skin, but he had nothing else to wear. They would have to do for now.
The other men continued to snore, so he tried to be quiet as he pulled on his shirt and buttoned up the front. He didn’t want to disturb them on their one morning off. All four of them had gone to Crow Wing village, about twenty-five miles north on the river, the night before, and they had crawled into bed in the wee hours of the morning. He wished they would come to church with him at the Belle Prairie Mission, but none of them had any interest—especially after a night of carousing.
Abram grabbed his boots from the end of his bed and tiptoed toward the door. He would see to the Sunday morning chores, like he did every week, and leave the rest of the afternoon and evening chores to his men so he could spend the day with his sons.
The hallway was dark and no light seeped from beneath Charlotte’s door. She had worked hard yesterday and had gone to bed as soon as the dishes had been wiped after supper.
He slid past her room and down the stairs, hoping not to wake her, either.
He’d never seen someone clean the way she had. No wonder she’d gone to bed early. There was not a nook or cranny of the main floor that had not been touched. She had even taken Susanne’s books off the shelves and hand-dusted each one. The place practically glowed. While he had sat next to the fireplace the evening before, after Charlotte had gone to bed and the men had left for Crow Wing, he had admired the way the firelight danced on the shiny windows again. She had outdone herself—and he sensed it was to prove him wrong.
But that didn’t bother him one bit.
The kitchen door was outlined with light and Abram could smell the first hint of coffee on the cold morning air.
Charlotte?
He pushed open the door and found her standing in front of the cookstove in a fresh yellow dress, snug against her slender waist and belled out around the bottom. She wore a large apron and had her hair done up in a fancy knot. She stood with one hand on her hip and the other flipping a flapjack in a frying pan. Her right foot was tapping and he heard the soft sound of her humming “Oh! Susanna.”
A smile teased his lips as he paused over the threshold, surprised at how nice it felt to have a lady in the house again. The breakfast table was already set with a butter dish, a pitcher of cream and a little bowl of white sugar. Six plates were set with a fork and a mug beside each.
Everything looked homey and snug. Warmth curled inside his chest—but then a pang of guilt rocked him back on his heels, stealing the smile from his face. What was he thinking? This was Susanne’s kitchen. How could he feel good about another woman in her place?
Charlotte grabbed the plate of flapjacks and turned to put them on the table. She glanced up and her brown eyes registered surprise at his appearance. “Good morning.”
He cleared his throat and mumbled, “Morning.”
She turned back to the stove and flipped another flapjack, glancing over her shoulder. “Eat up while they’re hot.”
He took his place at the head of the table, his mouth watering at the smell of fresh coffee and the sight of steam rising off the flapjacks.
“Will the others be down shortly?” she asked.
“They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours. I don’t think we’ll see them anytime soon.”
She brought the coffeepot from the stove and set it on the table. “They’re not going to the mission with us today?”
He shook his head and reached for the flapjacks. “No.”
She put her hand on his arm to stop him. “Where were they all night?”
It felt strange to have her hand on his arm, so he pulled out of her grasp. “They went to Crow Wing. It’s a trading center north of here.”
“What do they do there?”
“I don’t ask and they don’t tell.” Crow Wing had a reputation for being lawless. It was a mecca for transient fur traders, trappers and Indians. At any time, there were usually about two hundred people living there and very few things were off-limits. He was sure his men had enjoyed themselves.
Charlotte crossed her arms and looked at him with disappointment. “You let them do this?”
“They’re grown men. What am I supposed to do?”
“Tell them to stop.”
He took a flapjack off the top of the stack and put it on his plate, his stomach growling. He almost closed his eyes to inhale the warm scent but refrained—only because she was watching. “I can’t tell them what to do.”
Her foot began to tap again but this time she wasn’t humming. “Well, I can.” She marched around the table and out of the kitchen, her skirts swaying.
Abram scrambled up from the table. “Charlotte!” He raced out of the kitchen and through the dark room just as she opened the front door. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m reforming your employees.” She reached for the triangle dinner bell.
His eyes grew wide. “They’ll skin you alive! They’ve only been asleep for a couple hours and this is their one morning to sleep in.”
She closed the door and marched across the room to the stairs. “This is the Lord’s Day and I won’t live in a house with four men who don’t honor Him.”
He reached for the dinner bell but she pulled away. Instead of grab the bell he grabbed her wrist. “I’m warning you, Charlotte. I don’t know what they’re capable of if woken up right now. They won’t be happy.”
She pulled her arm away and raced up the steps. He chased after her, but before he could stop her, she charged into the room and began to clang the bell.
“Everyone up! Wake up!” The bell drowned out her words and echoed in Abram’s ears. “Breakfast is on the table. Get dressed and ready for church.”
Caleb jumped out of his bed as if there was a fire, his eyes enormous. He stood in his red long johns and stocking cap. “What’s wrong?”
Josiah groaned and threw his pillow across the room. It hit Charlotte right in the head. Her eyes registered surprise—and then anger. The bell stopped clanging for a moment and Abram thought for a split second that Charlotte would throw the heavy dinner bell at Josiah’s head in return.
“Wake up!” Charlotte said instead, this time with more force. “I’m surprised at you men. Is this how you spend your hard-earned money?”
Harry sat up, a scowl on his weathered face, while Milt looked at Charlotte through the hair hanging in his eyes.
Caleb sank back to his bed, holding his head between his hands and moaning.
Charlotte crossed her arms and glared at the men. “I made breakfast and it’s still hot. If any of you ever expect to eat a warm meal at my table again, I’d advise you to get dressed and come down immediately.”
Harry stood and fisted his hands. “Last I heard, you were an employee of Abram’s, same as us. Seems to me that he should be the one making the rules around here.”
Charlotte turned and faced Abram. “You said it’s my kitchen for now. Therefore, I make the rules. I say they eat now or I don’t serve them again.”
Panic swelled in Abram’s gut. If he wanted Harry to stay, he couldn’t take Charlotte’s side—yet, if he wanted Charlotte to stay, he had to give her power over her domain.
“I say we show the lady some respect,” Caleb said, grimacing as he reached for his shirt and pants off the floor. “If she went to the trouble of making us breakfast, the least we can do is come to the table on time.”
Abram sighed in relief.
Caleb nudged Josiah. “Get out of bed and come eat Miss Charlotte’s breakfast.”
Josiah’s black curls were in a mess on his head. He sat up and ran his hands through his hair. The look he cast Charlotte suggested she had lost all appeal in his eyes.
Milt didn’t say anything but he also started to fumble for his clothing.
It was Harry who narrowed his eyes and glared at Charlotte. “I won’t let no woman tell me what to do.” He flopped back into his bed and pulled the covers over his red hair.
Caleb, Josiah and Milt all looked at him—and then at Charlotte—but none of them went back to bed.
Charlotte turned from the room, the dinner bell firmly in hand.
Abram was thankful a disaster had been averted—though for how long, he wasn’t sure.
He followed Charlotte down the stairs, admiring and disliking her backbone all at the same time.
When the men were assembled around the table, and Abram had said grace, Charlotte poured each of them a cup of coffee. Their eyes were bloodshot and they didn’t bother to hide their yawns. No one said a thing as Charlotte picked up Harry’s plate, cup and fork and put them back in the cupboard.
“I’ll expect each of you to join us at church today, too,” Charlotte said, taking her place at the table.
Josiah’s black eyes filled with horror. “Now, look here, Miss Charlotte—”
“What would your mothers think if they knew you weren’t attending church?” Charlotte took a flapjack off the platter and put it on her plate. “I want you to make your parents proud.”
Caleb, Josiah and Milt ate the rest of the meal in silence.
Abram did, too.
Charlotte was the only one who seemed to have something to say.
* * *
The wagon rumbled over the uneven road toward the north and the long-awaited meeting with her nephews. Charlotte huddled inside her coat, a cloud of air escaping her mouth.
The prairie was draped in a thin blanket of snow with patches of brown grass showing through. A large bluff rose up in the east, covered with leafless trees, now stark against the white landscape.
Caleb, Josiah and Milt sat in the back of the wagon, their heads bobbing up and down as if they had fallen asleep, and perhaps they had. None of them looked happy about going to the mission this morning.
Abram gripped the opening of his coat with one chapped hand while the other held the reins.
“Don’t you have mittens?” she asked.
He glanced at her and she was reminded again of how blue his eyes were, especially now in the bright sunshine glinting off the fresh snow.
“The pair I have are worn through. I was planning to buy a new pair in St. Anthony.”
“You don’t need to do that. Buy me some yarn and I’ll knit new ones for everyone in the house.” She loved to keep her hands busy with sewing and knitting. “If you buy some wool, I’ll also sew you a new coat to match.”
He glanced down at his threadbare coat and sighed. “I wish there was enough time to make it before I meet with investors. I’d probably make a better impression if I didn’t look so destitute.”
She couldn’t make him a new coat by tomorrow, but she could at least wash a pair of his pants and a nice shirt this afternoon so they were dry in the morning. She would have to break her Sabbath rest to do the work, but maybe this one time would be okay—though it might help her cause if he went to St. Anthony looking like a pauper. If others saw how poor he was, they would realize it was foolish to invest in his town.
As tempting as the thought might be, no self-respecting housekeeper would let him go the way he looked.
The moment the mission came within sight, Charlotte sat straighter. She didn’t realize she was clutching her hands together until her cold knuckles hurt.
A commodious house sat off to the left, with a New England–style barn just behind it. The building across the road served as a church and a schoolhouse.
“This is a manual labor school,” Abram said as he turned the horses into the mission yard. “All the children are given chores to help pay for their education and teach them about farm life. The Ayers built the mission in the late 1840s for the fur traders and Indian children in the area.”
He stopped the wagon just outside the house and then jumped down to secure the reins to the porch. He walked around the wagon and offered up his hand to Charlotte just as the front door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped outside.
“Mr. Cooper.” She looked over the group and her gentle smile turned into a look of surprise. “You’ve brought guests. How nice.”
Charlotte put her hand inside Abram’s strong grasp and their gazes met for a split second. She stepped out of the wagon holding her voluminous skirts with her free hand, but the moment her foot hit the earth, she removed her hand from his hold and began to rearrange her skirts.
“Mrs. Ayers, may I present my sister-in-law, Miss Charlotte Lee?”
Mrs. Ayers stepped off the porch and extended her hand to Charlotte. Her kind eyes crinkled at the edges. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Lee. Welcome to Belle Prairie.”
Charlotte shook her hand, her insides quivering. Within moments she would meet her nephews. “Thank you, Mrs. Ayers.”
“And these are three of the men who work for me.” Abram nodded toward the men climbing out of the back of the wagon. “Milt, Caleb and Josiah.”
“It’s nice to meet all of you,” Mrs. Ayers said.
The men nodded with polite resignation.
“Miss Lee insisted we come,” Caleb said.
“Milt, will you and Caleb and Josiah take care of the horses?” Abram said quickly as he nodded toward the barn. “Meet us in the church across the road when you’re done.”
The men mumbled in response while Mrs. Ayers turned to Charlotte. “Have you met the children before?”
“Not yet, but I’m very eager.”
“Come, come, then.” Mrs. Ayers put her hand behind Charlotte’s back and led her to the front door. “Let’s not make you wait another moment. The children should be just finishing up with their breakfast.”
Mrs. Ayers guided them into the front hall and through to a parlor. The room was well decorated and held an upright piano, large woven rugs and windows looking out onto the prairie.
The sound of children’s laughter entered in from a room across the hall.
“Mr. Cooper, would you retrieve your children from the dining room?” Mrs. Ayers asked. “We’ll allow them to meet their aunt here in the parlor privately.”
Abram left the parlor and Mrs. Ayers indicated one of the sofas. “Why don’t we have a seat?”
Charlotte twisted her hands and glanced at the open door. “Thank you.” She sat on the sofa, but poised herself to rise the moment Abram returned.
Mrs. Ayers smiled and patted Charlotte’s hands. “I understand completely.”
Charlotte inhaled a deep breath and waited.
* * *
Abram left the ladies and crossed the hall to the dining room. A dozen children sat around the table while two young teachers cleared the dirty dishes.
Abram immediately located his blond-haired boys in the mix of Indian children and fur trader’s children.
While the others conversed, Robert sat quietly, his eyes focused on his plate. He didn’t look right or left, but kept to himself. And why wouldn’t he? He could not communicate with the other children.
“Papa!” Martin jumped off his chair and raced around the table.
Abram squatted and took his three-year-old son in his arms. “Hello, Martin.”
Martin pulled back and blinked at Abram with his large blue eyes. “I know how to say my ABCs, Papa. Do you want to hear?”
“I’d love to hear—but right now I would like for you to meet your aunt Charlotte.” Abram stood and walked around the table to touch Robert on the shoulder.
Robert glanced up. His blue eyes, so like Martin’s, grew large with surprise—but quickly filled with excitement at seeing his father. He stood and wrapped his arms around Abram’s waist. He spoke the word Papa, but it didn’t have the right intonation.
The teachers stopped working and glanced in Abram’s direction. The one with blond hair offered a sad smile. “Robert has been struggling this week. He’s very frustrated and he’s had several fits.”
Abram looked down at his son, pain and guilt weighing heavy on his conscience. Before Robert had lost his hearing, he had been a content, cheerful little boy, eager to please. Afterward he had become unruly and disobedient, often throwing tantrums the others couldn’t control. Abram had wanted to keep him home, but it had been impractical. Now, with Charlotte’s arrival, his son could have the individual attention he needed.
The thought brought a smile to Abram’s face as he indicated the door. “Come meet your aunt.”
Robert showed no sign of comprehension and Abram tried hard not to show his disappointment.
“Is Aunt Charlotte nice?” Martin asked, his eyes growing rounder. The small boy had found it difficult to adjust to life at the mission after Susanne’s death, and now Abram would ask him to adjust to another new person.
“She is nice.” At least, Abram hoped she would be. Most of the experiences he’d had with the woman suggested otherwise. “Your mama often talked about how much she loved Aunt Charlotte.”
The baby, George, sat in a high chair next to the table. Susanne had never fully recovered after his birth, and the military doctor had suggested that her illness was somehow connected to birthing their youngest son. They would probably never know.
George also had blond hair, though his was darker than the other two boys, and his eyes were brown—like Susanne’s and Charlotte’s. He reached for the child and lifted him out of his chair, but George looked a bit uncertain. He remained stiff in Abram’s arms and looked at his teachers for reassurance.
“I’ll take the boys to meet their aunt and then we’ll go to the church,” Abram said to the teachers. “After the service, I’m taking the boys home with me for good.”
The teachers nodded. “That will be nice for all of you.” The one with blond hair glanced at Robert, a sense of relief on her face.
Abram took Robert’s hand on instinct and motioned for Martin to follow them into the parlor.
George reached toward Abram’s thick beard and tugged on it, as if he wanted it gone.
Grief gnawed at Abram’s gut as he thought of Susanne and how much he missed her. She would never see her sons grow, and wouldn’t be there to help him navigate through the difficult years ahead. The thought was almost too much for him to bear.
His little family walked over the threshold and into the parlor. Charlotte sat with Mrs. Ayers, but the moment they entered, she stood and clasped her hands together, bringing them to her mouth. For the first time since her arrival, a smile spread across her face and her entire countenance was transformed.
The gesture made Abram stop short.
She looked...beautiful, and not just on the surface. Something deep and lovely radiated from within her at the sight of the boys.
Charlotte knelt in front of them, looking over Robert and Martin as if trying to memorize every detail of their faces. “Hello. I’m your aunt Charlotte.”
Martin buried his face into Abram’s pant leg and Robert took a step closer to his side.
“Where are your manners, Martin?” Abram asked. “Say hello to your aunt.”
“Hello,” Martin said quietly.
“Hello,” Charlotte said. “Your mother told me all about you in her letters.”
“This is Robert.” Abram indicated his oldest son. He touched Robert’s shoulder, and when the boy looked up at him, Abram raised his hand and took Charlotte’s in a handshake.
Charlotte paused for a moment and Abram caught her look of surprise.
He swallowed. “I want him to learn his manners whether he can hear or not.”
Charlotte slowly removed her hand from Abram’s and extended it to Robert.
Robert looked at her offered hand and then shook his head and stepped behind Abram.
Charlotte lowered her hand. “I wish I could tell him who I am.” She paused. “Maybe I can.” She opened her reticule and took out a thin metal case.
Robert peeked from behind Abram and watched her closely.
Charlotte unlocked a clasp on the metal square and opened the object. It was a daguerreotype.
She turned it for Robert to see.
Abram glimpsed a picture of two young women sitting side by side, their arms linked. He looked up at Charlotte. “Is that you and Susanne?”
Charlotte nodded. “It was taken about six months before—” She paused and finally looked at Abram. “Before she left Iowa City.”
Charlotte knelt before Robert and pointed to Susanne’s picture.
Robert took a tentative step away from Abram and put his hand on the picture. “Mama,” he said in his nasally voice.
Charlotte nodded vigorously and then looked at Mrs. Ayers helplessly. “Is there some sign for ‘mother’? Something that we can teach him?”
Mrs. Ayers held up her hands. “I’m sorry, but I don’t know any sign language. We’ve taught him some basic signs that we created, such as touching his mouth when he’s hungry, but we are at a loss to communicate further.”
“There has to be some way we can learn and teach him sign language,” Charlotte said. She looked back at Robert. “Mama.” She spoke slowly, pointing to Susanne’s image. Next she pointed to her likeness and then to her chest. “Charlotte,” she said, again slowly, as if she wanted him to somehow read her lips.
Robert looked from the picture to his aunt and back to the picture.
“Does he understand?” Charlotte asked Abram.
Abram shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Charlotte allowed Robert to take the picture out of her hands and her face filled with a longing that made Abram’s heart ache.
He quickly put his hand on the baby’s chest. “This is George.”
She looked up at George and stood straight. “The other two look like you. George looks more like Susanne.”
“I think he looks like you,” Mrs. Ayers said. “He has your eyes.”
“Do you think?” Charlotte asked, a sense of hope in her gaze.
George looked at Charlotte with his deep brown eyes and a smile dimpled his chubby cheeks. He reached for Charlotte.
“Oh, my!” She took him in her arms and offered a surprised giggle.
The sound made Abram lift his brows. A giggle? It suited her.
Charlotte snuggled George close, closing her eyes as she placed her cheek against his soft hair.
Realization dawned on Abram. These were Charlotte’s only living relatives. She had no one else.
“Mrs. Ayers,” Abram said, clearing his throat. “Miss Lee has agreed to stay on as my housekeeper for the time being. I plan to take the children home with me this afternoon.”
Mrs. Ayers smiled. “I think it’s a wonderful idea.”
“We’re going home, Papa?” Martin asked.
Abram nodded.
“Is Mama there?”
The question felt like a kick in his gut and he had to speak around the wedge of emotion clogging his throat. “Mama’s in Heaven, remember?”
Martin dropped his chin to his chest and Abram made the mistake of looking up at Charlotte. She still cuddled George but pain glinted in her eyes.
It was hard enough shouldering his grief and that of his children—could he also shoulder the grief of Susanne’s sister?
It was a task he was willing to take if it meant having his boys at home.
