A Western Romance: Nathaniel Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 6) (Taking the High Road series)

by Morris Fenris

  Their parishioners rejoiced when Sophronia soon gave birth to baby Caroline, then to Portia the following year, and to tiny Christina the year after that; they mourned deeply and devoutly when, as little Christina turned six, Sophronia was laid to rest in the Virginia City Cemetery after suffering a fatal heart attack.

  Some time later, the Reverend hired Delilah to run his empty household and handle his motherless daughters, while he committed himself more and more to good works. Between his pastoral duties at the Chapel, and his work with the town council, and his ever busier involvement in affairs of the local orphanage, he had little time left for his family, and was relieved to turn over those duties to his new housekeeper.

  “Myself, I think he just couldn’t stand t’ be around this house, with his wife gone,” mused Delilah. During this recital, she had lit up one of her cigarillos, and was smoking pleasurably away.

  “And ev’ry one of them girls is the spittin’ image of her maw. Musta been real painful even t’ look at ’em. Easier just t’ stay elsewheres, busy with what all, doncha think?”

  A quick clearing of the throat to respond. “I think that seems quite logical, Miss Trubody.”

  “Oh, please! I wouldn’t know howta answer, you call me Miss like that. The Reverend did me a good turn, offerin’ a job like he did. Got me out of a nasty jam. So you just bet I’d do the best I could for him and his girls.”

  “Speakin’ of the girls…”

  “You’re wonderin’ where the li’l ones came from.” Chuckling, Delilah tapped ash into a small china dish once used to hold rings and gewgaws.

  “Well, yes, I was kinda—”

  “The orphanage, Parson, sir.”

  Another tragic story, of which there seemed to be so many in a country still trying to make something of itself, and sometimes failing.

  Penniless Shanty Irish, the O’Reilly clan, living in a tiny stark wooden shack without a pot to piss in. Terrence O’Reilly slaved at the Everlasting Silver Mine, while his wife Moira cooked and served at Murphy’s Café, leaving the three little girls to fend for themselves like wild fox kits.

  They had no money, no resources, no present, and no future. Because both parents spent their free time and their piddly extra cash at a rip-roaring string of saloons scattered throughout downtown Virginia City. Local matrons, outraged by the condition of the O’Reilly children, tried charity as their initial tactic. Then cajolery. Then threats. Nothing worked.

  Until both O’Reilly parents, returning home late one night via a different route and soused as usual, had mistaken the rickety floorboards of a footbridge for the more substantial beam bridge, used by most traffic in and around the town. A floorboard had given way, plunging them into the creek below.

  “They drowned their stupid selves in twelve inches of water,” said Delilah scornfully. “Can you imagine? Best thing that coulda happened t’ them kids, though.”

  “Losin’ their folks? How could that be a good thing?”

  She eyed him through the thin spirals of grey smoke being wafted into the air. “Y’ ever hear tell of some man bein’ an unnatural father, Parson, sir?” came the quiet question, after a pause.

  Nathaniel paled, even as the muscle in his jaw set quick and hard. “I have.”

  “Nobody knows for sure how far it went,” the housekeeper went on. “Prob’ly just startin’, and Emmie—she was only three at the time, too young t’ understand—couldn’t never explain. The whole town praised God for that loose board.”

  On a collective sigh of relief from staid Virginia City society, the girls were whisked away from their drab, dirt-poor existence to the orphanage. And, shortly after that, whisked away once more to The Chapel’s parsonage, where they were adopted and given the family name of Winthrop.

  “Emmie don’t hardly remember her maw and paw, and the two littler ones not at all. The Reverend took over bein’ their father. When he was around, that is. And now he’s gone, too.”

  “That’s a lotta upheaval in their young lives,” observed Nathaniel soberly. “So you, and the older girls, are the only stable influence they know right now.”

  “Yep. You saw that straightaway, Parson, sir. They need a lotta motherin’, and I been tryin’ to give it to ’em. And, if I may say so, they need a lotta fatherin’, too.” She looked up at him from under her tousled hair and waited expectantly.

  “I can see that you—wait a minute.” The horrible thought struck him, in a flash of lightning, and he straightened in his chair with an almost audible snap. “You mean to keep all of ’em here? No, no, no; that isn’t the arrangement. I’m t’ live alone in the parsonage, all by myself, with just a housekeeper and my sermons. They can’t stay here!”

  A slow shake of the head for someone who was obviously too dim to understand the ramifications of such folly. “Where else are they t’ go, Parson, sir?” she countered reasonably. “You wanna send these three little girls back t’ the orphanage? Helpless little girls?”

  A bloodcurdling scream from outside, and then a series of wails, served to belie the term “helpless.” Nathaniel blinked.

  “Well, you know what I mean. They’ve had a rotten start to life, Parson, sir. Surely you won’t force ’em away from the only real safe place they’ve ever known?”

  Oh, dear Lord in Heaven.

  Feeling like the very worst Simon Legree of all Simon Legrees, the Reverend sighed. “No.”

  “And the older girls, why, this is truly their home. They was born and raised here. Where are they s’posed t’ go till they get married or figure out some livelihood? Surely you don’t want them t’ leave, too, do you?”

  Another sigh. “No.”

  “And me? You plannin’ t’ ship me out like last week’s dirty laundry, as well?”

  His dream of finding a sanctuary just oozing full of peace and quiet was rapidly slipping away. “No, Miss—Delilah. No, I wouldn’t think of doin’ that. Not t’ any one of you.” A final sigh, the heaviest and most dragging. “Reckon we can all blunder along here t’gether, somehow, and try t’ make a go of things.”

  “Oh, Parson, sir!” Surprisingly, tears had actually gathered in the housekeeper’s keen gypsy-black eyes. “Thank you, thank you! You won’t regret makin’ this decision, I promise you. We’ll do just fine, all of us, wait and see if we—”

  “Delilah, Delilah! Linnie called me ugly!” shrieked tiny Hollie from the outer regions. Weeping bitterly, she came pelting like a Percheron from the front of the house back into the kitchen with the energy and force of a runaway train. “And she told me we was movin’ out, and it’s all my fault, and then she hitted me!”

  “Shush, honeybee, shush,” urged Delilah, gathering the child close to her scantily covered bosom. “We’re not movin’ out. We’re not movin’ anywhere. We’re stayin’ right here! Isn’t that wonderful news?”

  Nathaniel dragged in a deep breath and, pulling together every shred of strength, entered the fray. Since he would be the highest authority in dealing with this houseful of women, he might as well take a stand right now. “And nobody should be hittin’ anybody else, or callin’ names, Hollie. And I happen t’ think you’re very pretty.”

  The two older girls had trailed back inside, following in the wake of their youngest sibling, to overhear all this with startled expressions and rounded eyes. “’Zat true, Delilah?” demanded the hitter.

  “Every word is absolutely true,” said Nathaniel firmly. “You will find out, Miss Winthrop, that I always speak the truth. And you need to apologize to your sister. Sooner rather than later, please.”

  “Awww…” Chagrined, Linnie uttered a mumbled few words about being sorry, and offered a hug as recompense.

  “There. Friends again,” Delilah said with pride for her chicks. Which now included the good Reverend. He had stepped forward to take control of the situation, just as she had counted on. God bless you, Parson, sir!

  Tears miraculously dried, sunny temperament restored, Hollie approached her rescuer. The contra
st between them might have been humorous, had it not been so poignant: the tall dark man wearing a skittish expression of “What the hell—heck have I gotten myself into?” and the tiny child with her floss of platinum hair and huge blue eyes.

  “If I ain’t got nobody else here for me, then will you be my papa?” she wondered. And reached up her spindly arms.

  Nathaniel winced. It was to be devoutly hoped that the black sticky substance adorning those sweet little fingers might be licorice only. Sighing—and he suspected that he would be sighing a lot from here on—he surrendered and picked her up to sprawl trustingly across his thighs. She was a featherweight, after all, thirty-five pounds or so, and took up little space.

  His audience, which had grown to include all the apprehensive adult Winthrop girls, and their beaux, happily applauded.

  “I like you,” approved Hollie, patting his face with those same sticky fingers. “I like you a lot.” She settled in, snuggling against his chest and worming her way into his heart.

  Unfortunately, the snuggle meant a shift of position and a small scabby knee shoved directly into vulnerable male parts. The Reverend groaned; the housekeeper gasped; the three swains flinched dramatically and feelingly.

  Whitening beneath his tan, but game, Nathaniel gently moved the child to a less damaging locale. “And I like you, too, Miss Hollie. And your sisters. Every one of you.”

  “Even Delilah?”

  His grin across their table encompassed the room. “Especially Delilah. I think the two of us have got our job cut out for the near future.”

  “Meanwhile,” interposed Caroline, “it’s close to noon, Delilah. We should probably see about fixing dinner for this crew.”

  “Oh, my stars, you’re right, girl. Let’s see what we can put t’gether.”

  “Maybe the Reverend would like to see his room?”

  “Well, now, honey, you’re just chock full of good suggestions. I’ll bet you’re right. Whyncha take him in right now, on a short tour of the place?”

  Releasing his little charge, who skipped away with her sisters for the backyard play area, Nathaniel rose to full stature with a murmured, “Yes, ma’am,” and obediently followed the swish of his guide’s dark blue cotton skirts. Out of the kitchen, down a short hall papered in yellow, into an equally large parlor suitable for entertaining. He caught a glimpse of heavy black walnut furniture, hand-carved and imposing, a number of large windows festooned with burgundy rep, and a spacious wool floral-patterned rug, before Caroline opened the door onto a separate room.

  “My study?” inquired Nathaniel, pleased.

  “Your study,” assented she, smiling. And stood back so he could enter.

  Much more than he had ever expected; the parishioners of The Little Chapel had done well by their ecclesiastical leader. Heavy blue and gold curtains at the windows, paneled walls and painted tray ceiling, a huge desk and library table for work, plenty of open area to pace for thought, several upholstered side chairs for visitors, and a tufted Chesterfield, lengthy enough to accommodate even his height, for naps.

  Perfect.

  “It’s perfect.” He turned shining eyes toward her, and the expression on his handsome face reflected every range of emotion ever felt.

  Talk about someone wearing his heart on his sleeve! Thought Caroline, touched.

  “I’m glad. We cleared out all of Papa’s papers, the other girls and I, and stored them in boxes. But, of course, you’re welcome to sort through anything you might need for reference.”

  Adjoining, through a separate door, lay the ministerial bedroom. Against one papered wall stood a brass bed, covered by quilts lovingly hand-sewn and gifted by the church missionary ladies. Accessories included a marble-topped shaving stand, a folding screen, a dresser with mirrors, rugs and chairs and other incidentals.

  “All the other bedrooms are upstairs? I like the fact that this one is separate, all on its own.”

  “So did our father. Actually, he planned things that way, when the house was being built, so that he could have privacy if he needed it.” She paused, glancing around the room as memories of the Reverend Winthrop cast long shadows on everything he had used and across her eloquent face.

  “I suspect,” said Nathaniel quietly, watching her, “that your father’s shoes will be hard to fill.”

  Her slight smile shone with tears. “He was larger than life. Always so busy, so involved, so—I don’t know, so doing. And yet, Papa was quite modest. Reserved. At times, you didn’t even know he was in the room. “

  “My mother passed when I was a small boy,” mentioned Nathaniel, apropos of the current subject. “And I still miss her today. Our parents leave a giant hole in our lives when they’re gone.”

  “Especially if they’ve been good ones.”

  A true meeting of the minds, and of the senses.

  “You looked a trifle overwhelmed, earlier,” Caroline observed, twinkling slightly. “This family is a lot to take in, when you’re not used to us.”

  “That easy t’ see, huh? Guess I’m pretty transparent.”

  She tilted her head, with its weight of curly black hair that shone like ebony in the sunlight. “Well, yes, a little. But I was watching, thinking how often I feel the same way. The noise, the little ones, the upsets—sometimes I just want to run away and hide somewhere.”

  Nathaniel’s grin showed a glimpse of the boy that he once was, full of mischief yet seeking solitude. “It was the same way for me, growin’ up. Nine brothers, Miss Winthrop, and it seemed like I could never escape all that was goin’ on. I even considered joinin’ a monastery, just for a speck of serenity. Imagine that—me, a monk!”

  They laughed together, sharing as veterans of similar experiences.

  “Well, on that note, you might prefer to have lunch here, on a tray in the study, rather than being forced to deal with the crowd of us at our dinner table.”

  Another sigh lifted the breast of his white cotton shirt. “Thank you, Miss Winthrop. I appreciate your suggestion, and I do believe I’ll take you up on it. It’s been a—well, it’s been a hectic few hours.”

  “And you’d probably appreciate some time to yourself, to settle in and wash up and so on.” She nodded briskly. “Very well, then. I’ll speak with Delilah to make arrangements. Andy and Josh can carry in all your luggage, and I’ll ask Luke to return your carriage to the station. Go ahead and relax, Reverend. We’ll leave you alone for a while. After all,” and she gave him a grin full of sweetness and the Old Nick, “what is family for?”

  III

  That was Monday. As Nathaniel had forecast, somehow the mixed and melded family began to blunder along together. He did often wonder, as each small crisis hit, how on earth he would have survived without Delilah’s earthy wisdom and maternal solicitude.

  First came The Incident of The Tea Pot, early on.

  On Tuesday, while the housekeeper was away with Caroline at the general store to replenish supplies, Emmie decided it would be great fun if she and the two littlers could play tea party. For some time she had aimed her lascivious blue sights upon the beautiful china set, embellished with fat pink cabbage roses, that was stored on the very top shelf of the dining room display cabinet.

  She was a past master at striking while the iron was hot.

  Both her older sisters were out and about, and Nathaniel was preoccupied with settling into his new abode—unpacking and arranging books, putting in place all his personal treasures, storing his garments. Now was the perfect time.

  With Linnie and Hollie watching in wide-eyed wonder, Emmie pushed a chair across the floor, climbed up, and managed to take down the treasured items, piece by piece. Using the foresight granted to felons and innocents, she had already laid out a white damask cloth, so that the party could be held in style.

  Nathaniel would soon learn that when children are too quiet, there’s mischief afoot.

  At first, the celebration went well enough. Pretend tea was poured, pretend sugar added, and pretend cookies
offered. Then the argument began. One wanted more of this, one wanted more of that. All too soon, as often happens, the argument turned physical.

  During the ensuing scuffle, the precious tea pot was knocked over, and the lid broken into several pieces.

  Horrified, the girls stared at their handiwork, and then at each other.

  How would they get out of this pickle?

  As luck would have it, just at that minute, Nathaniel decided he’d better check on the littlers and moseyed on out of his study, through the kitchen, and into the dining room.

  “Thought I’d see what you kids were up to,” he greeted them.

  At the first sound of his footsteps, they had scrambled together like groundhogs over the evidence.

  But the good Reverend hadn’t grown up in a houseful of rambunctious boys for nothing. He’d had vast experience with the look of guilt on another’s face.

  “And just what has happened here?”

  Hollie, as the youngest, was first to cave. Teary-eyed, she pointed a trembling finger. “She did it! Emmie made us! Honest! We couldn’t help it got breaked!”

  Kneeling down, Nathaniel discovered the cause of her alarm. His silent, reproachful gaze sought out each of theirs, until all three girls were weeping.

  It was upon this scene that Delilah, returned from her shopping, appeared.

  Frantic, she rushed in to gather them together like a broody hen pulling in her chicks. “What’s goin’ on?” she demanded of the only adult. “Whadjoo do to them?”

  Nathaniel blinked. “I haven’t done anything,” he replied defensively. “Yet.”

  Over sobs and fearful cries and hiccups, their story came out. The older girls joined in to hear the faltering explanation, since it was to their mother, Sophronia, that the tea set had belonged.