Читать книгу Her Patchwork Family - Lyn Cote, Lyn Cote - Страница 9

The next morning after breakfast with Katy and Donnie on the back porch, Felicity stood in the kitchen. The heat and the humidity were already growing uncomfortable. How could the calendar say September when it felt like July?

While the children pulled weeds, Felicity and Vista discussed the grocery list. Underneath these routine concerns lurked apprehension over what she would be facing in town today. Felicity glanced at the kitchen wall clock. She needed to get busy and set off for town. The lawyer had told her to be in court at 9:00 a.m. The coming test tightened her midsection. She was pitting herself against the powers of this world.

“What are you children doing here?” A strident female voice flew through the open window, followed by squeals of pain.

Felicity burst through the back door and sailed over the grass toward the woman, her heart outracing her feet. “Stop! Let them go!”

A tall, slender, very well-dressed woman had Katy and Donnie each by an ear. The sight sent anger rushing through Felicity like a hot spring.

The woman was brought up short and glared at Felicity. “These children can’t possibly belong here. This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Pulling them from the woman’s grasp, Felicity drew the children to her. “Katy and Donnie are my guests.” She gasped for air, trying to catch her breath after running in the sultry air.

“Guests?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as they took in every detail of Felicity’s attire and face. “Who are you?”

“I am Felicity Gabriel. Who is thee, please?” Standing very straight, Felicity offered her hand, which was ignored—a sting that tried Felicity’s temper.

“Thee?” the woman snapped, her face crimping up. “Are you some kind of Quaker?”

“There is only one kind of Quaker that I know of.” Taking another sip of the humid air, Felicity tried to keep her irritation out of her tone. “And yes, I am a member of the Society of Friends.”

“Well, I am a God-fearing Christian and this is a respectable neighborhood. We don’t want riffraff from the riverfront here.”

Felicity could think of nothing Christian to say to this so she merely looked at the woman. She knew she wasn’t to judge others, but…

“Why are these children here on Madison Boulevard?” The woman pointed at the ground as though it were sacred ground that Katy and Donnie were not worthy to walk upon.

Felicity gripped her spiraling temper with both hands. “They are here because they had no one to feed them and nowhere to sleep,” she replied in an even tone. “They are doing a few jobs for me in return for food and shelter.”

“You are not from around here,” the woman said, her attractive face reddening like a bull about to charge. “So you don’t know that we keep the river rats and their spawn down at the wharf. We don’t let them roam through town—”

Felicity gritted her teeth. “I met Katy and Donnie at the wharf and invited them home because they are hungry and homeless orphans. I hope to invite many more to come here.” Felicity quoted, “‘Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.’ So since thee is a God-fearing Christian, I would think thee would be pleased.”

The woman leaned forward as if trying to either read Felicity’s mind or intimidate her. “Are you telling me that you’re starting an orphanage here?”

Felicity’s forced smile thinned. Her hold on her temper was slipping, slipping. “I think ‘orphans’ home’ and ‘orphanage’ are unpleasant titles. They sound so institutional and unkind. This will be the Barney Home for Children. I am going to welcome homeless children into this house and make sure they are kept warm and well fed. So yes, thee can expect to see many more children here in the future.”

The woman began making a sound that reminded Felicity of a dog growling at trespassers. “The law won’t let you disrupt our quiet neighborhood with an orphanage.”

Churning with righteous indignation, Felicity patted the children’s backs, trying to reassure them, and felt their spines sticking out, no padding of fat over the knobby vertebrae. This woman saw only their bare feet and ragged clothing, not their need. Father, help me make her see these children with Thine eyes.

“Mrs. Barney’s lawyer has already checked all the legalities of this charitable work which that good woman requested in her will. She asked me to carry it out in her stead.” Felicity took another breath of the sultry air. “I am breaking no laws. I don’t know why thee assumes that a small number of orphans will disrupt—”

The woman raised her chin another notch. “We don’t want beggars and sneak thieves living among us.”

“Neither do I.” Felicity gazed at the woman, trying to reach the soul behind all the vainglory. “Thee hasn’t introduced thyself. I’d love to talk to thee about my plans—”

“I am Mrs. Thornton Crandall,” she interrupted, “and I am uninterested in your plans to despoil our good neighborhood.”

Mrs. Crandall turned, lifted her skirts as if the ground had been defiled by Katy and Donnie and marched off. The kitchen door behind Felicity opened. She glanced over her shoulder toward the sound.

Vista gave her a wry smile. “I see you met Mrs. Crandall, one of the leading ladies in Altoona society.”

Stirred as if she’d just fought hand-to-hand in the opening battle of war, Felicity shook her head. She tried to return Vista’s smile and failed. How could this woman look at these children and not be moved to pity?

Katy tugged Felicity’s skirt. “Miss, was you telling the truth? Are you going to take in children that don’t have homes?”

“Yes,” Felicity gentled her voice and stooped down. “Katy, would thee and Donnie like to come live here?” With the back of one hand, she touched the little girl’s soft cheek.

Katy looked back and forth between Felicity and Vista. “I’ll think on it, miss.”

“Yes, please do, Katy. We would be so happy to have thee and Donnie with us.” Rising, Felicity squeezed her shoulder. “Now I must get into town. Please do whatever Vista tells thee and I’ll be back by lunch.”

I hope.

Ty walked into the stark, whitewashed courtroom with its polished oak floors as the bailiff declared, “All rise. Judge Tyrone Hawkins presiding.” Ty settled himself on the high platform in the judge’s seat and looked out over the sparsely filled courtroom. And there she was.

The woman with blue eyes he’d seen arrive in town the day before whose purse had been stolen was sitting on one of the spectator’s benches. A tingle of recognition coursed through him. Hadn’t anyone told her that she need not suffer coming to court? He never liked to see ladies in court. It was such a rough setting and often the defendants used coarse language.

No doubt she’d come out of a sense of duty. He tried not to stare in her direction, but she kept drawing his tired, gritty eyes. In this stark setting, she glowed, the only appealing face present.

The first dreary case began and then another, and another. Finally, the boy who’d snatched the newcomer’s purse was ready to be heard, making his plea. The boy was marched into the room by Hogan, the arresting officer. Ty wondered if there was any hope for this lawless child. He hated this part of adjudicating the law. He could not believe that children should be treated as adults by the courts. But what was he to do? The law was the law.

One of the prominent lawyers in town, John Remington, with his silver hair and imposing presence, rose and approached the bench. “I am defending young Tucker Stout.”

The young, already portly prosecuting attorney looked back and forth between the defendant and Remington, his mouth open in disbelief. Ty felt himself goggling at Remington. Surprise crashed through him, making him even more aware of his bone-deep fatigue. Months of little sleep was wearing him down, making him vulnerable. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes, I am defending Tucker Stout.” The elder lawyer continued in his distinctive, deep voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Miss Felicity Gabriel has hired me to act as his counsel.”

Still unsettled, Ty looked to the woman. She responded with a half smile. Even her subdued smile had the power to dazzle him.

The prosecuting attorney blurted out what Ty was thinking, “But she’s the plaintiff. Hers was the purse stolen.”

Remington nodded. “She is aware of that. But she is anxious, in light of the defendant’s tender age, that his rights be protected.” Remington paused and then added as if in explanation of such odd behavior, “She’s a Quaker.”

Ty sat back and studied the woman, who sat so deceptively prim in his courtroom. A Quaker. Well, that explained the situation somewhat. He’d met a few Quakers. They spoke strangely and didn’t fight in war. Peculiar people.

Loose jowled, Hogan snorted where he sat on the prosecution side of the courtroom. Ty drew himself up. He’d lost control at home—he wouldn’t also lose control of his courtroom. “Very well. Bailiff, please read the charges against the defendant.”

The bailiff did and Ty asked, “How does your client plead, Mr. Remington?”

“We plead not guilty.”

“And you realize that I witnessed the purse-snatching myself?” Ty responded dryly. Was this woman trying to play him and the other men in this room for fools?

“Yes, but Miss Gabriel believes that the boy is too young to be held to adult legal standards of behavior.”

“What Miss Gabriel believes may be true, but not in the sight of the laws of Illinois,” Ty retorted, antagonized at having to defend what he did not believe.

The lady suddenly rose. “God does not hold children accountable for their sins until they reach the age of reason. Are the laws of Illinois higher than God’s?”

The question silenced the courtroom. Every eye turned to the woman who looked completely at ease under the intense scrutiny. Ty chewed the inside of his cheek. Does she expect special treatment because she is a woman?

“Females,” Hogan grunted, breaking the silence.

“Miss,” Ty said curtly, “you are not allowed to speak in court without permission. You must let your counsel do the talking.”

She nodded and sat down without dispute, giving him an apologetic little smile. He found he had no defenses against her smiles. They beckoned him to sit beside her and be at ease.

“Your Honor,” Remington spoke up, “Miss Gabriel has asked me if I might have a word with you in your chamber during a short recess.”

“What is this?” the prosecutor asked, rearing up.

“You’ll be included, of course.” Remington bowed to the man whose face had reddened.

Ty passed a hand over his forehead. After falling asleep last night, Camie had cried out with nightmares twice more, keeping the whole house up. He closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened them. He couldn’t let the situation at home interfere with his work. Though the headache was making his right eyelid jump, he forced himself to act with magisterial calm. “Very well. The court stands adjourned while I meet with counsel in my chambers.”

He rose and so did everyone else. His black judge’s robe swirling out behind him, he strode into his paneled chambers just behind the courtroom and sat behind his oak desk, waiting for the attorneys to knock. The bailiff let them in and the two men sat down facing him. “Remington, what’s this all about?” Ty asked without preamble, able at last to release some of his spleen.

“Miss Gabriel is Mildred Barney’s heir. She has inherited the Barney house and all the Barneys’ considerable estate.”

The prosecutor let out a low whistle.

Remington nodded. “Miss Gabriel is also following Mrs. Barney’s instructions and turning her house into a private orphanage which the Barney money will support.”

Ty lifted his eyebrows. His mother-in-law would love that. He studied Remington, thinking of Miss Gabriel’s pretty face. He shook his head, resisting. Pretty or not, he had to judge this case fairly. “The boy is guilty. What can I do but sentence him to jail time?”

“This isn’t his first arrest,” the prosecutor was quick to add.

“We know that.” Remington folded his hands in front of himself. “Miss Gabriel would like you to dismiss charges so that she can take the boy with her to the orphanage.”

The prosecutor made a sound of derision. “And how long would he stay there? Till her back’s turned and then he’d just go back across the river to St. Louis, picking pockets and snatching more purses. Women are idealistic but we men must be realistic. The kid is from bad blood. He’ll never be anything but what he is.”

Ty didn’t like the sentiment the prosecutor expressed but he suspected that the man was right. If he released the boy, he wouldn’t stay at the orphanage. Like a wild horse, Tucker Stout had never been broken to bridle. And at eleven or twelve, it might already be too late to salvage the boy. Weighed down by this unhappy thought, Ty rose. This signaled the end of the conference.

The attorneys left to meet him on the other side of the wall back in the courtroom. By his desk, Ty waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, giving them time to reach their places. Then he strode back into court and took the judgment seat.

Remington waived the boy’s right to a jury and the trial was brief, proceeding just as Ty had expected. When they reached the time for sentencing, he looked out at the few people sitting in the benches of the courtroom.

Miss Gabriel’s head was bowed as if she were in prayer. Her smile still glowed within him, a tiny ember of warmth. He hated to disappoint her. He opened his mouth to sentence the boy to a month in the county jail.

“I am sentencing Tucker Stout to six months’ probation,” he said, surprising himself. “The conditions of probation are that he live and work at the new orphans’ home under Miss Felicity Gabriel’s supervision. If Tucker leaves Miss Gabriel’s house and refuses to follow her orders, he will be sent to jail for a year.”

The prosecutor gawked at him. Hogan balked with a loud “What?”

Miss Gabriel rose, beaming at him. Her unparalleled smile brightened the whole of the sad room where no one ever found cheer, least of all Ty. The ember she’d sparked flared inside him. “Will you accept this responsibility, Miss Gabriel?”

“Of course!” she beamed.

Ty caught himself just before he returned her brilliant smile.

He struck his gavel once, unusually hard. “Case closed. Bailiff, please announce the next case.”

Outside, under the sweltering noonday sun, Felicity gripped the lawyer’s hand. “I cannot thank thee enough, John Remington.”

The lawyer shook her hand. “Good luck,” he said, eyeing Tucker. “The judge was kind to you, young man.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

The intriguing face of the judge popped into her mind. So the man she’d seen in town that first day was a judge. A judge who could show mercy as well as justice. And a man who looked worn down by some secret pain.

Felicity shook off her thoughts and turned to Tucker. “We need to get home in time for lunch.”

Tucker looked like he wanted to say something rude. But he shrugged and got in step with her. They walked in silence down the busy, noisy street. “Does thee have parents?” she asked.

“Everybody’s got parents. Somewhere.” The boy didn’t even bother to look her way.

“A good point.” People kept turning to look at them. Felicity resisted the urge to lift her chin. She hoped in the coming weeks that people would become accustomed to the sight of her walking beside uncared-for children. “Are thy parents living?”

He shrugged again. “Might be. Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Felicity had spoken to souls scarred like this before. At this tender age, Tucker had given up on people. “How old is thee?”

“Old enough.”

Felicity gave up questioning him. If this one ever opened up, he would do it in his time and in his way. “I am from Pennsylvania. I am the middle daughter of seven sisters. I grew up on a farm near Gettysburg.”

Tucker kicked a stone and ignored her.

Felicity was glad to see home ahead—until she noted that Mrs. Crandall was coming toward them. Oh, dear. Could they get into the house before she reached them? “Two children have already come to my home, Katy and Donnie. They are deciding whether or not they want to stay with me.”

“Oh, goody.”

“But thee will be staying.” Felicity walked faster. “Or thee will be in jail.”

Tucker snorted. “Been there before. Be there again.”

“The question is, does thee want to go there again?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t have much use for do-gooders.”

Felicity knew what he meant. She’d met many do-gooders who lorded their superiority over those they “ministered” to. Many of these, she would gladly have kicked. She knew that wasn’t a Christian thought but it was the truth.

As she and Tucker turned up her front walk, Mrs. Crandall bustled up to her. “I see you have brought another undesirable into our neighborhood. If you go forward with this orphanage, no decent person in town will have a thing to do with you.”

Felicity’s first inclination was to give this woman a talking to about Christian charity. She settled on, “I’m afraid I’m very busy right now, Mrs. Crandall. Could we discuss this later?” Or when thee has had a change of heart?

The woman turned and huffed away.

The back of Felicity’s neck was unusually tense. She began to lead the boy toward the back door. He surprised her by saying, “That lady’s right, you know.”

Struggling to quench the aggravation burning inside, Felicity paused and then fixed her gaze on Tucker’s face. “I doubt what she said is true. If it is, then I don’t think much of the decent people in this town. Now let’s get our hands washed and sit down to lunch. I think thee will find that Vista’s food is worth the effort to stay and do what is expected of thee.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Felicity hid her smile at his unexpected savoir faire. And then the moment of lightness was gone. What a world this was where boys became cynics before they even began to shave. She led Tucker to the pump and handed him the soap. He made a face of sincere distaste, but began lathering his hands.

For a moment, she lingered on the memory of the judge’s sad drooping mouth, troubled dark eyes. It was a strong face with eyes that didn’t flinch from meeting hers.

He also had that lean look many veterans had. Too many hardtack meals and days of travel, and then the ordeal of battle after battle. How did a good man put aside his rifle and sword and go back to life, put the war behind him? Her mourning for Gus, a dark chilling wave of loss, welled up and swelled, tightening her stays.

Felicity almost sighed, but stopped herself. Father, bless Judge Hawkins and keep Tucker here while Thee works Thy will upon him. Felicity decided to keep mum on the topic of Mrs. Thornton Crandall. She was certain that the Lord had heard quite enough already about Mrs. Crandall from others.

The next afternoon Felicity tried to slip away and walk to town, but was caught by Vista and the groom. The groom drove the half mile into town and helped her down at the clothing store on Merchants Street. How could she persuade them that she should walk?

Inside the door of the large well-appointed store, a man in a crisp dark suit greeted her. “Hello, miss, I am Robert Baker, the proprietor. May I help you?”

She smiled. “Thank thee, friend. I need clothing for children and I’m afraid I have never bought much before.”

The man smothered his obvious surprise and asked, “What are the ages and gender of the children, please, miss?”

She pulled a list out of her reticule. “I will need an assortment of clothing for boys and girls of all ages.”

The salesman looked confused.

“I should tell thee—”

“Are you here buying clothing for those orphans of yours?” A lady with a jarring voice bustled up to them.

Felicity didn’t appreciate the sound of the question. Worse, there was only one way this woman could have heard of Felicity’s plans for the Barney house—by listening to gossip. Disapproval ground inside her. However, Felicity gagged it down. She smiled hopefully. “Yes, I am. Would thee advise me on clothing for children?”

“No, I would not. I live on Madison Boulevard. I, along with many of your neighbors, don’t want an orphanage in our neighborhood.”

“Thee doesn’t like children?” Felicity asked, her spirit suddenly simmering, bubbling with displeasure.

“We don’t need riffraff from the wharf infesting our lovely avenue.”

“I am truly sorry thee has that opinion. How does thee know of my work here?”

“Mrs. Thornton Crandall is one of my best friends. She told me all about your despoiling the Barney mansion.” The woman brushed past her. “And she is going to do something to stop you!” The woman departed with a slam of the door.

If God be for me, who can be against me? Still prickling with outrage over the gossip being spread, Felicity looked at the proprietor. She calmed herself. “Would thee show me some clothing now?”

The man stood looking back and forth between the woman’s retreating form and Felicity with her long list in hand.

Well, Robert Baker, does thee want my business?

Finally, he bowed. “Don’t orphanages usually order a large quantity of uniforms—one for boys and one for girls?” The man led her down the aisle.

“I considered that and rejected it. It’s like marking the children as odd, different from other children. Being orphaned is bad enough without being branded. Doesn’t thee think?”

He nodded. “But it is less expensive—”

“Funds from Mrs. Barney’s estate are more than adequate.”

“Follow me, miss. We’ll look at my selection for girls first, if you please.”

She followed him down the neat aisle of folded shirts for men over to the girls’ section. Felicity was relieved to discover that the man was not about to lose her as a customer, just because her children’s home had evidently ruffled a few fancy ostrich feathers in town. With any luck, Felicity would be rewarding the man’s decision by becoming one of his best customers, ordering more children’s clothes than he could possibly keep in stock for the many children she planned to care for.

Felicity’s eyes opened wide. By the scant moonlight, she distinguished the gray outlines of the furniture in her room. What had wakened her? She listened. The house was quiet. Still, something had roused her. She rose and donned her blue-sprigged wrapper and slippers. She slipped down the hall and peeked into the room where a very clean Katy and Donnie should have been sleeping in the high four-poster bed. Except that they were sleeping on the rag rug beside the bed. The forlorn sight wrenched her heart.

She nearly stepped into the room to lift them onto the bed. Then she halted. They would adjust eventually. She would never forget the image of the two of them with tightly shut eyes and agonized expressions sitting in the heaping soap-suds, neck-high tub of water on the back porch. Vista, singing under her breath, had ruthlessly scrubbed them with a soft brush. Such beautiful children.

Felicity turned away to the room across the hall and found the bed where Tucker should have been sleeping—it was empty. Her heart tumbled down. If the boy had run away—a year in jail. She hurried down the stairs and out the front door, looking up and down the dark street. Just turning the corner ahead was Tucker. No! She kicked off her slippers and picked up her skirts and ran.

Within seconds, she was at the corner and around it. The boy didn’t hear her. He was walking, head down and hands in his pockets. She put on speed. Just before she reached him, he turned. She clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Tucker,” she said, her heart beating wildly, her breath coming fast. “Why are thee out here?”

His expression showed his shock. Before he could say a word, a man came around the corner ahead of them. Felicity’s heart began doing strange antics. It sank to her knees and then leaped into her throat. The fact that she was outside barefoot and in her night clothing hit her like a wet mop in the face. This could spawn gossip for years to come.

The man walked toward them, head down and hands in his pockets just like Tucker. She saw it was the judge. She wished she could become invisible.

“Turn around and start walking normal,” Tucker whispered and did what he’d just told her to do.

Felicity hurried to follow his example. The two of them walked, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Every moment she expected to hear the judge call for her to stop. And since she couldn’t lie, what possible explanation could she give to explain why they were out in the night?

Tucker and she came to their house at last. When they came to her abandoned slippers, they paused as she slipped her feet into them. Then they walked up the flagstone path and through the front door. Felicity had never been so grateful to hear her door close behind her. Either the judge had not seen them or he had chosen to be merciful again and behave as if he had not seen them. And she must make certain that Tucker’s night wandering ended now.

Tucker tried to go on, but she squeezed his shoulder and led him down the hall to the moonlit kitchen. “Sit down at the table.” When he made no move to obey, she added, “Please.”

The boy sank into the chair. She sat down across from him. He would not meet her gaze. “Tucker…” What could she say? He knew he should be upstairs in bed. So she just sat, letting her tight, serrated worry flow out. She prayed, waiting for the Inner Light to lead her.

“Are we going to sit here all night?” the boy finally snapped.

She stared into his eyes. “That’s up to thee.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The boy’s tone showed plainly that he didn’t hold her in any respect, probably held no adult in respect. The defiant eyes that returned her gaze told her much more than she wanted to deal with tonight.

It grieved her. “Tucker Stout, I don’t understand what took thee out of thy comfortable bed in a comfortable home—”

“I like being on my own. I don’t like people interfering with me, see?” His brows drew together.

“I must on the whole agree with thee.” Peace began trickling through her, soothing her rasped nerves. “I also like being on my own. And I don’t like interference of any kind either. So we have that in common. What interference are thee expecting from me?”

The boy snorted. “You’ll be telling me to wash my hands and do this and do that and say grace at the table and don’t pick my nose—”

The last forced a chuckle from her. Her good humor surged back. “Does thee do that often?”

Rebellious, Tucker made as if to rise. She pressed a hand over his and said, “Sit, please.”

He stared and then capitulated, scowling.

“May I ask thee a question?” She waited for his permission.

Finally, he realized that she wasn’t going to speak until he granted her the opportunity. “Okay, ask me.”

“If thee runs away and is caught and sent to jail, won’t they tell thee to wash thy hands, and do this and don’t do that?”

He stared at her.

“I would think that Vista and I would be preferable to jail guards.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table and waited. Would he accept this simple truth?

He lifted one shoulder and demanded, “So what do you want me to say, lady?”

“Nothing, really. I will ask for no promise from thee. And I am not going to tie thee to thy bed. Or bolt thy door and window shut. And this is the last time I will come after thee. Thee must decide for thyself which to choose—this home or jail.”

Tucker looked at her as if she were speaking in ancient Greek.

Felicity rose. “I will bid thee good-night. Will thee turn the lock on the back door, please? Thank thee.” She walked up the stairs without a backward glance. Oh, Father above, heal this wounded heart. Only Thee can. I cannot.

In her room again, she took off her robe and slippers and sank onto the side of her bed, still praying. Forcing herself to have faith, she lay down again, trying not to listen for Tucker’s footsteps on the stair. Her final thought was not about Tucker but about Judge Hawkins. What was he doing out well after midnight? And had he seen her with Tucker? And if he had, what would he do?