Читать книгу Her Patchwork Family - Lyn Cote - Страница 9

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

May 1867

Keeping to the line of fir trees rippling in the wind, Felicity Gabriel tiptoed to the rear of the dark clump of mourners at the memorial service. There she attempted to hide behind a bulky man. A strong gust tried to snatch away Felicity’s Quaker bonnet and lift her gray skirt. She held on to the ribbons tied at her throat and pushed her skirt down. Ahead, she glimpsed the pastor holding on to his hat while reading from the Bible.

Her emotions hopped like crickets within her, distracting her from the familiar scriptures of victory over death. Then the man shielding her moved. She caught sight of the brand-new limestone marker. All that was left to show that Augustus Josiah Mueller had lived. Seeing Gus’s cold stone marker with the dates 1846–1865 took her breath. She drew in damp air. Gus.

The war had lured Gus away and then cruelly abandoned him in an unmarked grave somewhere in Virginia. The cannons were all silent now, but when would the consequences of this war end—one generation? Two? More?

“Why are you here?” The voice Felicity had dreaded hearing snapped like the sharp tongue of a whip.

She looked at the mourners and murmured, “I’m here to show my respect to Gus, Agnes Mueller.” Felicity lowered her eyes, not wanting to linger on the woman’s red-rimmed, hate-filled eyes.

“I’m surprised that you had the gall to show your face here today.” Each word was delivered like a blow.

“Agnes, please,” Josiah Mueller pleaded, tugging at his wife’s elbow.

“Our Gus is gone forever and we are left without consolation. And here you stand!” the woman shrilled, her voice rising.

There was a rustling in the crowd. Felicity knew there was nothing she could say or do that would comfort this woman who’d lost her only child. Or end her groundless grudge against Felicity. So she kept her eyes lowered, staring at the soggy ground wetting her shoes.

The tirade continued until the woman became incoherent and was led away, sobbing. As the mourners followed, many nodded to Felicity or touched her arm. They all knew the truth.

When everyone else had gone, Felicity approached the stone marker. Tears collected in her eyes. She knew it was human foolishness to speak words to a soul at a grave site, but she still whispered, “I’m leaving Pennsylvania, Gus, but I won’t forget thee ever.” And then removing her glove, she spit on her palm and pressed it—flat and firm against the cold stone.

Altoona, Illinois

September 1867

Amid the bustling Mississippi wharf, Ty Hawkins eased down onto the venerable raised chair. The chair was now his daily refuge where he got his shoes shined. Afterwards, he would catch a bite to eat at a nearby café. He rarely felt hungry these days even though he was several pounds lighter than he’d ever been as an adult. He would have liked to go home for lunch, sit on his shaded back porch and cool off. But he couldn’t face home so soon again.

I’m home but I’m not home.

This dreadful fact brought a sharp pang around his rib; he rubbed it, trying to relieve the pain. What am I going to do about Camie?

Jack Toomey had shined shoes here as long as Ty had worn them. Ty smiled and returned Jack’s friendly good day. The shoeshine man’s dark face creased into a grin. “It’s going to be another scorcher.”

“’Fraid so, Jack.”

“When is it going to realize it’s fall?” As Jack blackened Ty’s shoe, he gave him a long, penetrating look. He lowered his eyes. “Coming home’s not easy. Takes time. Patience.”

Jack seemed to be one of the few who understood Ty’s suffering. The shoeshine man’s sympathetic insight wrapped itself around Ty’s vocal cords. Jack glanced up. Ty could only nod.

Jack’s gaze dropped to Ty’s shoes. “It’ll get better. It wasn’t easy going off to learn how to shoot people and it isn’t easy to put down the rifle and come back.”

Ty managed to grunt. No one said things like this to him. Everyone seemed to overlook how hard it was not to jump at any loud noise, or to walk out in the open without scanning his surroundings for people who wanted to kill him. Ty wondered for a moment what Jack would advise if Ty told him about Camie’s dilemma.

The thought of discussing this private trouble with someone other than family only showed how desperate he was becoming.

Two urchins had come up to a woman on the street begging. She turned from the wagon and stooped down so her face was level with the children’s. Through the moving stream of people on the street, Ty watched the unusual woman. The ragged, grimy children—a little girl who held a younger boy by the hand—nodded. “What’s she up to?” Ty muttered to Jack.

“She don’t look like the kind who would hurt a child,” Jack said, looking over his shoulder again as he continued polishing Ty’s shoe.

The woman started to help the little girl up onto the wagon.

Then it happened.

A towheaded boy of about ten or eleven ran by the woman. He snatched her purse, throwing her off balance. With a shocked outcry, she let go of the girl’s hand and fell to the dirt street. Ty leaped up to go to the lady’s aid. He shoved his way through the crowd. As he reached her and offered her his hand, Hal Hogan, a town policeman, appeared from the other direction. Red-faced, Hogan had his beefy hand clamped on the thief’s shoulder. The boy cursed and struggled to free himself in vain.

Ty helped the lady up. “Are you all right, miss?”

She ignored his question, turning toward the caught thief. She very obviously studied the child’s smudged and angry red face.

Hogan handed her back her purse and said in his gravelly voice, “I usually would have to keep the purse as evidence but since I witnessed the theft that won’t be necessary. Would you tell me how much money you are carrying, miss?”

The young woman hesitated, then said, “I think only around five dollars.” She looked into the thief’s face and asked, “If thee needed money, why didn’t thee just ask me? I would have given thee what I could.”

The boy sneered at her and made a derisive noise.

Hogan shook the boy, growling, “Show respect, you.” His expression and tone became polite as he said to her, “I saw the robbery and can handle this. No need for a lady like you to get involved in such sordid business.” Hogan pulled the brim of his hat and dragged the boy away.

“Please wait!” the woman called after him and moved to pursue Hogan.

“Hey, lady!” the wagon driver demanded. “Are we going now or not? I’ve got other people who are waiting for me to get you delivered and come back to the station.”

Ty had watched all this, his jaw tight from witnessing the theft and her fall. He touched the woman’s sleeve.

She looked into his face, her large blue eyes worried. How could this woman say so much with only her eyes? This near-theft troubled her. Again, Ty nearly offered his protection, but why? The thief had been caught. He tightened his reserve and asked in a cool, polite tone, “May I help you up into the wagon?”

With one last glance in the direction where Hogan and the miscreant had disappeared, she nodded. “If thee would, please.”

Then she gave him a smile that dazzled him. She was a pretty woman—until she smiled. Then she was an extraordinary beauty. Was it merely the high caliber of the smile that made the difference?

After he helped her up onto the buckboard seat, she murmured, “I thank thee.” She was barely seated when the drayman slapped the reins over his team and with a jerk, the horses took off.

The lady waved her thanks once more and over her shoulder sent him another sparkling smile. He found himself smiling in return, his heart lighter.

Dalton watched from the shadowy doorway across the busy road. One problem taken care of. That kid wouldn’t be making trouble for him anymore. But he didn’t like that woman in the gray bonnet. What was she talking to those two little beggars for? He’d been watching them for days, waiting till they were ready. He frowned. No use looking for trouble. As soon as Hogan had appeared and nabbed the kid, the two had disappeared. But they wouldn’t go far and soon they’d be ready for the picking. He smiled. The dishonest life was good.

Felicity turned forward, distinctly unsettled. The two hungry children had been frightened away and the boy arrested. This was not how she had envisioned starting out here. Would she be able to find the little pair again? She sighed. Her eyes threatened to shut of their own accord. Traveling by train for miles and days had whittled her down to nothing. She forced her eyes wide open, stiffened her weary back and folded her hands in her lap.

What she needed was a long hot bath, a good night’s sleep. But those would be hours away. “Just a few more miles to tote the weary load”—her mind sang the old slave lament. But that was deceiving. In spite of her fatigue, uncertainty and hope tugged at her like impatient children. Here in Illinois, her work, the work God had given her to help the children, would begin, not end. She had planned on arriving a month earlier, but her sister Verity had needed help after the delivery of her first son in Virginia. Felicity smiled, thinking of how proud Verity’s husband, Matt, had been of his son.

Then the recent touch of the man’s strong hand on her arm intruded on her thoughts, the sensation lingering. She inhaled deeply. The man who’d leapt to her aid was not one to be taken lightly. And the red welt on his cheek could be nothing but the mark of a saber. A veteran like so many others. And with such sad eyes.

The wagon turned the corner. And there were the little girl and boy. The little girl was waving frantically, jumping up and down. “Lady! Lady!”

Felicity grabbed the reins. “Whoa!” The team halted, stomping, snorting and throwing back their heads. The drayman shouted at her for interfering with his driving. Thrilled to find the two so easily, she ignored him. She reached down with both hands and helped the children up. They crowded around her feet. The children were ragged, very thin, tanned by the sun and had tangled dark hair and solemn eyes.

She turned to the burly, whiskered driver and beamed. “I apologize and promise to make thee no more trouble.”

The driver looked bemused. He shook his head and slapped the reins, starting off again for Number 14 Madison Boulevard. Madison Boulevard proved to be a long avenue with wide lawns and massive houses, which struck Felicity as mansions. Very soon, the wagon pulled up to a very large, three-story white house on a wide piece of land with oak and fir trees and bushes. Looking through the porte cochere on the side of the house, she glimpsed a carriage house at the back of the estate. The grounds were well tended but the house looked uninhabited with its shades and lace curtains drawn.

“Is this your house?” the little girl asked, sounding impressed and scared at the same time.

Felicity was experiencing the same reaction. She had known that Mildred Barney was a well-to-do woman, but Mildred had always come east for the abolition meetings and work. “Yes, my new house.” Felicity tried not to feel intimidated by the home’s quiet grandeur. This did not strike her as a neighborhood which would welcome an orphanage. Indeed I have my work cut out for me. “I’ve just come for the first time. Thee may get down now, children.”

Within minutes, the silent driver had unloaded her trunk and valise and had carried both up to the front door. She paid him and tipped him generously for his trouble.

He looked down at his palm. “Unlock the door,” he ordered gruffly, “and I’ll carry that trunk upstairs for you.”

As Felicity turned the large key in the keyhole, she hid her smile. She stepped inside, drawing the children after her. “Please just leave it here in the entryway. I don’t know which room I will take as yet.”

The drayman did as asked, pulled the brim of his hat politely and left.

Felicity stood a moment, turning on the spot, drinking in the graceful staircase, the gleaming dark oak woodwork, the obviously expensive wallpaper with its lavish design of pink cabbage roses and greenery. Her parents’ parlor could have fit into this foyer. In this grand setting, she felt smaller, somehow overwhelmed and humbled. When God blessed one, He didn’t stint.

“Miss?” The little girl tugged her skirt. “You said you’d give us food and a place to sleep tonight.”

“I did indeed. Come let us find the kitchen.” Felicity picked up the covered oak basket that she’d carried on her arm since leaving Gettysburg. In it were the last remnants of her provisions for the trip. She hoped it would be enough for the children.

“Hello,” a woman hailed them from the shadowy end of the hall that must lead to the kitchen in the rear. “Who are you, please?”

When the woman came into the light, her appearance reduced Felicity to gawking. She was a tall, slender woman in a blue calico dress with a full white apron and red kerchief tied over her hair. Neat as a brand-new pin. She looked to be in her late twenties and had skin the color of coffee with much cream. Her smooth oval face reminded Felicity of drawings she’d seen of Egyptian queens. And her thick, black eyelashes were perfection. Felicity had been told that a housekeeper would stay until she came. But was this the housekeeper? She’d never seen a beautiful housekeeper before.

Felicity held out her hand, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her momentary preoccupation. “I am Felicity Gabriel. I’ve inherited this house.”

The woman shook Felicity’s hand, firm and quick. “I been expecting you, miss. Mrs. Barney’s lawyer told me you would be coming any time now. I been keeping things ready for you. I’m the housekeeper, Vista.”

Felicity listened to the woman’s low musical voice with pleasure. Beautiful to both the eye and ear.

“Miss?” the little girl prompted, tugging on Felicity’s skirt again.

“Vista, we have company for lunch.” How would this very neatly starched and pressed woman deal with unkempt, ragged children in this elegant house? This was something she must be able to handle or there would have to be a change. Would she understand how to handle this situation?

The woman considered the children, tapping one finger to her cheek. “Why don’t I bring lunch out onto the back porch? There be a shaded table there. Mrs. Barney liked to eat outside in the summer. And it’s such a lovely September day.” Then Vista nodded toward the door behind Felicity.

Felicity got the message. She was to take the children outside and around to the back porch. And so she did.

Vista met them in the back and greeted them beside the pump. “I don’t allow anyone with dirty hands or a dirty face to eat at my table.” Vista pointed to a white bar of soap and a white flour-sack towel, sitting on an overturned wooden box nearby. Then she began to pump water.

As the water splashed, Felicity slipped off her bonnet and gloves and tossed them onto the nearby back-porch steps. Setting an example, she lathered her hands with the soap, then handed the bar to the little girl. “Be sure to keep your eyes shut so the soap doesn’t sting them,” Felicity cautioned. After scrubbing her face and hands, she rinsed off in the cold water Vista was still pumping. And then, since she’d taken her own advice and shut her eyes, Vista put the towel into her hands.

When Felicity opened her eyes, she looked over to find that the girl was teaching the boy how to lather his hands and face. When they were done, she passed the towel to the children, who left dirty prints on it. The girl said, “I ’member washing up. He doesn’t.”

“Does thee?” Felicity resonated with the impact of that simple but telling sentence.

The girl nodded. “Can we eat now?”

Felicity wondered how she could persuade these waifs to stay. She sensed a deep caution in the girl, wise for her years. Father, guide me.

“Right now, chil’run.” Vista led them to the small round table on the trellised porch, shaded by lavish, bright purple clematis. She went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee, a plate piled high with slices of buttered bread and cheese and two glasses of milk on a tray. The minute she set the plate on the table, the little boy grabbed two slices of bread and shoved one into his mouth as deep as he could.

“Donnie, that’s not good manners,” the girl scolded. “Sorry, miss, but he don’t ’member eating at a table.”

Felicity choked down her reaction. Was eating at a table another privilege she took for granted? “That’s all right. I’m sure he will get used to it. What are thy names?”

“I’m Katy and he’s Donnie.”

Felicity gave them a smile. “Happy to meet thee, Katy. Now I will thank God for this food.” She bowed her head. “Thank Thee, God, for food and friends.”

After that, Vista was kept busy bringing out more bread and cheese. Finally, she murmured to Felicity that she didn’t want the children to eat themselves sick.

After her last swallow of milk, Katy stood up. “Thanks for the eats, miss. We’ll be back later to sleep.”

“Where is thee going?” Felicity asked, rising to stop them.

“We got to go beg. Donnie’s going to need shoes before the snow.” The child glanced down at the little boy’s bare, dirty feet.

“Does that mean thee doesn’t have a home?” Felicity asked.

“No, miss, but I take care of Donnie.” Katy took the boy’s hand and began edging away.

“Would thee like a home?” Felicity blurted out.

Katy stopped and eyed her with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Felicity echoed.

Vista spoke up. “The catch is that you got to be scrubbed clean to come inside. I know you chil’run can’t help it, but you have to be scrubbed head to toe before you come in. No vermin allowed in any house I’m living in or cleaning up.”

Vista’s calm but firm pronouncement slightly embarrassed Felicity. But better to start as one plans to go. Katy glanced at Felicity, who nodded her agreement with Vista.

Katy glanced around and then pointed to the door mat. “What about out here? Could we sleep here on the porch?”

Felicity turned to Vista. After all, she was the one who would be cleaning and she was the one who’d brought up the issue of cleanliness.

“You can,” Vista replied, “as long as the weather is warm like this, but if you stay till Donnie needs shoes, you will have to be clean to stay inside.”

“You mean we could really stay here?” Katy asked with an appraising expression.

“That’s why I’ve come—”

Vista cut Felicity off. “We got no chil’run and I need help with chores and such. The gardener has been away so the weeds have started getting thick. If I show you how to weed today, would you pull weeds, not my flowers?”

“And we might need errands run,” Felicity added, catching on. These children had probably rarely known generosity which asked nothing in return. Better to draw them in slowly, gaining their trust. Vista was already proving to be an asset.

Katy nodded. “We got a deal. Where are them weeds?”

Felicity glanced at Vista and lifted one eyebrow, asking her to proceed.

“Over here. I have a garden patch that is choked with them. And I do not like pulling weeds.”

Katy followed Vista down the steps and around the house with Donnie in tow. Relief whispered through Felicity. Vista had displayed a practical kindness and sensitivity that impressed Felicity. And the children were staying—at least for now.

Vista returned and Felicity helped her carry in the dishes. After waving Felicity to a chair at the kitchen table, Vista began to wash them. “I see you are planning to start the orphans’ home right quick.”

Sitting down after eating caused exhaustion to sweep through Felicity and she closed her eyes. “I want to give children who have no home a place, a safe place to grow up strong and good.”

“That’s why Mrs. Barney left you this house and all the money?” Vista glanced over her shoulder.

“Yes, she came to Pennsylvania and we worked together coordinating movement on the Underground Railroad. She was a wonderful woman. And she was certain that many children would be left orphaned by this dreadful war.”

“And just generally, too?”

Felicity nodded, blinking her eyes to keep them open. “Will thee stay with me and help?”

Vista gave her a sidelong glance. “I got no plans to leave…yet.”

So Vista was sizing her up, too. Felicity stretched her tight neck and sighed.

“I got a room ready for you upstairs, miss. Why don’t you go on up and rest?”

Felicity sighed again—a habit she must overcome. “No, first I must walk back into town and speak to Mrs. Barney’s lawyer.”

Her hands in the wash basin, Vista frowned. “Well, first of all, if you going into town, you’re not walking. The groom will hitch up the gig for you. But what do you need to talk to the lawyer about?”

“Why mustn’t I walk into town?” Felicity asked, not answering the housekeeper’s question.

“Mrs. Barney had a certain standing here. I know she wouldn’t want you to walk to town,” Vista replied firmly.

Felicity tried to think of a polite answer to this. Yes, Mrs. Barney had been a lady of generous means. But Felicity didn’t ride where she could eaily walk. But here and now, she was just too tired to argue.

“And the lawyer, Miss Felicity?” Vista asked again.

Clearly there was no putting anything past this woman. “There’s a child who needs my help,” Felicity answered. “And I’m going to need a lawyer in order to give it to him.”

That evening Ty paced his library, wishing he were deaf. After four years of listening to cannon fire and bombs bursting in air, he should be. Unfortunately, he could still hear well enough to suffer each evening’s ordeal. The rocking chair on the floor above him creaked in a steady but rapid rhythm. Every once in a while, Camie cried out as if someone had jabbed her with a needle.

No one should have to rock a five-year-old girl to sleep. But if no one rocked her, Camie would stand by the door in her room and sob till she fell down with exhaustion. Then upon waking in the night as she always did, she would scream as if someone were scalding her.

Ty rubbed his face in time with the rocking chair. The sounds of the rapid rocking and Camie’s sudden cries of terror shredded his nerves into quivering strings. He halted by the cold hearth and rested his head on the smooth, cool mantel. When would this nightly torture end? Dear God, help my little daughter, help us.

Finally, the rocking above slowed and quieted, then ceased, along with the outcries. Ty’s tension eased. He slumped into the wing chair by the fireplace. His mother’s light footsteps padded down the stairs. As always, she paused at the doorway to wish him good-night.

Tonight, however, she came in and sat down across from him. His mother, Louise Pierce Hawkins, perched on the tapestry seat, a small canary of a woman with silver strands liberally mixed into her faded blond hair. Her kind face showed her distress.

His heart beat faster. “Did something happen?” Something worse than usual?

She gazed at him. “Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately.” She locked her hands together. “I’m becoming more and more concerned about our Camie.”

Ty chewed his upper lip and frowned. He wanted to ask if she thought Camie needed…no, he didn’t want to know.

“I don’t think she’s mentally unbalanced, son,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “But nothing I do appears to help her get past her panic. In fact, I don’t know why she has such fear or what exactly she is afraid of.” She shook her head. “She fights sleep as if it were death itself.”

Her face twisted with concern. “Whenever she feels herself slipping into sleep, she cries out to wake herself and hold…something at bay. I wish I knew what it was.”

Ty could think of nothing to say, nothing that could end this nightly struggle. Guilt weighed on him. He hadn’t been able to tell his mother the part he may have unwittingly played in making his daughter’s night terrors worse.

Louise rested her head in her hand. “I confess I’m at my wits’ end. God must send us help, an answer, someone who knows what to do.”

His mother’s strained, defeated tone alarmed him. “I could hire someone to care for her. This is too much for you—”

“No.” His mother’s tone was firm, implacable. “Camie is a sweet, biddable child all day.” She looked to the cold hearth as if seeking warmth, encouragement there. “It’s just the falling asleep. She can’t face the night.”

His mother left out the other worrisome problem, which was that Camie would not look at him. Or suffer him to come near her. He clenched his jaw and then exhaled. “Mother, I appreciate all you do for Camie. Maybe we should do what Mrs. Crandall—”

Louise hissed with disapproval. “Ty, you know my opinion of that woman.” She jerked her head as if warning someone away. “I try to be charitable, but I think much of the cause of this worrying behavior lies at her doorstep.” She pressed her lips together.

Ty looked out into the night. The question of what to do hung unspoken and unanswered between them.

That evening, Felicity stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the two children huddled together on her back porch like stray puppies. She had been tempted to overrule Vista and let the children come inside without cleaning up first. But Felicity hoped Vista would become a part of her work here, and she didn’t want to do anything that might upset the housekeeper.

By staying here and keeping the house safe and cared for after Mrs. Barney’s death, Vista had proven herself to be honest and hardworking. It would be hard for a stranger to town like Felicity to replace Vista. Trust took time to forge.

And Vista was right. Basic cleanliness must be established for the benefit of all the children who would come here to live. Cleanliness was healthy. A home with children—Felicity hoped to have many children here in the future—must be a house with firm, sensible rules.

Felicity wiped the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a warm, humid night. Sleeping outside was probably more comfortable than sleeping inside. Still, homeless children sleeping on her porch grieved Felicity, causing a gnawing ache deep within.

Donnie snorted in his sleep and opened one eye. She realized he could see her through the window because he wiggled one of his little fingers as if waving to her. The boy, barely more than a toddler, hadn’t spoken a word to anyone all day. Though nearly moved to tears, she grinned and wiggled her little finger back at him. The child closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

Felicity sighed. And then reminded herself that she must stop this new habit. Sighing sounded lonely and a bit sad, pensive even. She caught herself just before she did it again.

Dear Father, please bring me children, the lost ones, the ones that the evil lion Satan wishes to devour. Give me strength and wisdom to carry out the work Thee has given me. I will depend on Thy promise from Psalm 37. I will trust in Thee and do good.

Felicity turned from the window to go upstairs before she remembered one more request.

And Father, please give me the courage I will need in court tomorrow so that I may right the wrong committed against a child—a wrong that has been committed in my name.