Touched, he cleared his throat and put the spoon aside. “Yes. Well. Bloodlines alone don’t make up a family, do they? So you’re okay, then, financially?”
“I am.” Her reply sounded slightly odd, slightly defensive. “Are you?”
He gave her his warm, expansive grin. “I am. We Yancey boys decided t’ sell our plantation outside of Charleston, before the War, and we divvied up the profit. So—yes, I reckon I got no money worries for some time.”
“Then we’ll take good care of ’em, Parson, sir.”
Things in the nether region had been quiet for far too long, and Nathaniel knew that there would be little time left for this revealing but necessary conversation. Already, he could hear Jezebel growling, like the dog she thought she was, at some girlish prank. He could also hear, on the far fringes of his consciousness, the distant call of thrasher and mockingbird, the monotonous tat-tat-tat of a determined Downy woodpecker at work, the gentle coo of turtle doves that meant, according to his mother’s wisdom, rain a-comin’. Despite the day’s fine weather of cloudless skies and benevolent sun.
“I think we can,” Nathaniel agreed. “Although I sorta wonder about your past—uh—experience in that field. Before your time here, I mean.” Keen dark eyes aware, he was watching her closely.
Sighing, she drooped like a wilted lily and leaned forward, chin resting on one uptilted hand. “I reckon it’s only right y’ be told my background,” she murmured pensively. “Me workin’ for you and all, here at a godly place like the parsonage, and bein’ with the girls. It had t’ come.”
“If you’d rather not get int’—”
“No, no. It’s just sometimes hard tellin’.” Fumbling in a pocket of the brief apron, which always reminded him more of one used by a French maid than a prosaic housekeeper, she pulled out the little box of slim black cigarillos. “D’you mind?” At the slight shake of his head, she lit up, blew out a satisfying smoke ring, and dug in.
Delilah had been born to a hardscrabble, dirt-poor farming family on land that would eventually be admitted to the Union as the State of Kansas. Flat and straight as the eye could see; no curve of hill, no lift of tree. Prairie, studded with thick tough-rooted buffalo grass.
“Too many kids,” she remembered now. “Not enough food. Never enough money. The eight of us grew up like rabbits, not knowin’ much of anything. The ones that survived, anyway.”
“Not many good memories there?” questioned Nathaniel with sympathy.
“None. When my folks weren’t workin’, they were fightin’. And when they weren’t fightin’, they were—well. Y’know. Makin’ more kids.”
She had escaped at the age of fourteen, when a sweet-talking peddler came drifting through the area and stole her away. If anyone noticed their oldest girl was gone, it was with the relief of having one fewer body to take up space and soak up victuals in the sod shanty.
“I thought that drummer was the finest thing in shoe leather.” A poignant, slightly twisted smile, and another exhalation of smoke. “He sure told me often enough that I was. Well, it lasted till we hit Denver City. Then he got caught up in the gold minin’ craze, and traded me to a merchant for supplies.”
“Traded you!” Nathaniel nearly choked on the words. “Traded you!”
That same poignant smile, aimed in his direction, a little more woebegone and quizzical this time, for his naiveté. “You musta known where this was headed, Parson, sir. Ain’t many places a girl like me coulda gone.”
The merchant had dispassionately sold her to the local bawdy house, where she remained for several years, plying her trade as demanded and learning her way in the world. Then another miner, besotted with her charms and ready to move on to greener pastures, had bought out her contract from the madam. From there, they had proceeded further west, across rivers so wide that you worried about being drowned, through valleys, up and down mountain ranges so high you couldn’t breathe. Next stop was Salt Lake City.
“Nothin’ there for anybody in my profession,” said Delilah frankly, tapping ash into her usual china dish. “Too saintly, by far. Nothin’ for the man I was travelin’ with, neither. So off we went again.”
She was staring at the opposite wall, hung with pictures and art work by the girls, as if re-living those years gone by. Painful, empty, unproductive years, best put away and forgotten, like outgrown garments wrapped in tissue and tucked safely into a trunk.
More travel, more wasteland to cross, more hills to climb, more scrub and desert and unfriendly weather to endure.
“By the time we’d got t’ Virginia City, I was ready t’ quit. For good. I’d had enough. Told him t’ head on further without me, clear t’ the ocean if he wanted to. But I was stoppin’ right here.”
And so he had, with neither regret nor remorse from either party for the breaking-up of their partnership. Almost immediately, Delilah had found work at the thriving brothel.
“There I kept on. Doin’ well enough, like all the girls in that place. Till I took sick.”
“The—uh—the—well, what happens mosta the time?” Nathaniel, keeping up with the story, asked carefully.
For a moment she stared at him, then laughed in high good humor. “Oh, laws, no. Nothin’ like that. Caught me a bad cold one December—you can imagine the flimsy stuff we had t’ wear, and bein’ around gents who didn’t give two hoots if they themselves was sick. Only wanted t’—well, you know. Anyways, the cold settled in and I couldn’t get better. Just feelin’ worse and worse. Couldn’t even keep up with my reg’lars.”
After a while, the madam, losing patience and recompense, had tossed her out.
“In the streets? In the middle of winter?” Nathaniel couldn’t imagine the heartless chill calculation that would even consider such a prospect.
Delilah shrugged. “It was business, Parson, sir. I couldn’t really blame her. Except—well, there I was, with my few belongin’s, and no place t’ go, coughin’ and carryin’ on.”
The Reverend Isaac Winthrop, good Christian man that he was, had saved her life. And, eventually, her soul. Returning home from a pastoral call late that wintry night, he had discovered the bordello’s star sinner collapsed in a corner near the red-light district.
“He brought me here,” she continued, with a rasp in her voice due either to the cigarette smoke or to emotion. “He hired a nurse t’ take care of me. Imagine, takin’ care of me, who’d had nothin’ like that ever b’fore in my life! When I finally got recovered, he hired me on t’ run his house for him. And here I’ve stayed, doin’ what I can for his girls t’ repay him somehow.”
Deeply moved, Nathaniel reached out a friendly hand to clasp over hers. He was a toucher, this one, believing intrinsically in the value of physical contact between fellow travelers on their Earth.
“Thank you, Delilah, for sharin’ all that with me,” he said warmly. “You’ve had a rough go at life, for sure, and I’m glad you found a safe haven. I begin t’ see why everybody thought so much of Reverend Winthrop, and how much he’s missed. Reckon we’ll do our best, you and me, t’ carry on his good works.”
It was almost noon. Voracious little plague of locusts that they were, the littlers came charging in just then, demanding food. They’d stayed outside long enough, Emmie claimed, and they were starving. Couldn’t they please pleeeez just have something to eat?
“Land sake, the time fairly slipped away from me!” Delilah, scurrying up and about, realized blankly. “Here, you girls, have some milk for now till I get things a-goin’.”
“And one cookie each?” pleaded Hollie, flirting her big blue eyes with a practiced air.
Much as his work in the study was calling Nathaniel, the glorious outdoors was calling him more. Muscles stiffened from prolonged sitting, he rose, stretched both arms wide, then surprisingly tousled Linnie’s hair. Only because she was closest.
“Tell you what, kids. Let’s let Delilah work in peace for a little while, and all of us can take a walk. Whaddya say?”
&nbs
p; Hoots and hollers, came the reaction. Jumping up and down, or swirling around in a dance, or hopping on one foot, accompanied by delighted cries. So much for the hope of peace and quiet. Well, he had presented the offer. Now he had to make good on it.
With Friday came The Incident of Parris Porter.
Of the some 15,000 souls currently living in and around Virginia City, Nathaniel would wonder how a mischievous—or malicious?—God had settled this particular one right next door to the parsonage.
Well, not exactly right next door. Very few outlying buildings in this town had been placed closely together, without elbow room or space to breathe.
Still, Miss Porter was near enough to watch all the comings and goings on what was supposed to be almost holy ground, being affiliated with The Little Chapel, as it was.
Nathaniel, unlucky man, chanced to be walking past the front door when a brisk knock sounded.
“Hsssst! It’s La Bastille!”
“Merde!”
“Huh?” Puzzled, he turned at the subdued giggles and scamper of feet behind him. Whoever had hissed the warning had disappeared, along with everyone else. The hall stood empty, peopled only by ghostly images. Shaking his head at the vagaries of this all-female household, and the occasional futility of his own male presence in it, he opened the door.
“Good afternoon, Reverend,” a simpering voice greeted him. “I’m Parris Porter, your neighbor, and I’m dropping by to welcome you to the neighborhood. And to bring you this.” Into his startled hands she shoved a covered plate that apparently held some sort of baked goods, given the aroma.
“Why, Mrs. Porter—”
“Oh, tut tut, not at all,” she corrected him sweetly. “I’m Miss Porter.”
“Uh. T’ be sure. Well, Miss Porter, I’m Reverend Nathaniel Yancey, and I’m right pleased t’ make your acquaintance. Won’tcha come on inside, so’s we can get t’ know one another?”
“I’d be delighted, Reverend.” No apologies in case she might be interrupting something more important, no questions as to whether there might be a more convenient time to visit. Sashaying her lilac flounces and a monster hat whose artificial parrot looked real enough to take wing, she preceded him into the study to sink down into the chair he indicated.
“Just let me ask our housekeeper for some coffee, and I’ll—”
“Oh, that dreadful Trubody person?” A smirk that turned into a scowl. “Not likely I’d take anything from her kitchen! That’s why I brought you one of my famous lemon tea cakes, Reverend. You must be about perishing for something edible by now.”
Seating himself behind his imposing desk, as a barricade, Nathaniel frowned slightly. “Actually, Miss Porter, my housekeeper is a wonderful cook, and I’m been quite happy with the fare. In fact…” A smile now, gracious and encompassing, as always, as he patted his middle, “Somewhat too happy. I do believe I’ll need t’ cut back on all the home-baked goodies she keeps around for the girls.”
Another simper. “Not at all, Reverend. You’re quite the fine figure of a man, if I may be allowed to say so. And does your housekeeper still wear such—” The tenor of her voice lowered a bit, in confidential mode, “—um—revealing—costumes?”
A pair of pince nez, attached to her lapel by a violet ribbon, rested upon Miss Porter’s long nose, in front of her pale gooseberry-colored eyes. Not a prepossessing woman, to be sure. Her stick-thin figure certainly offered no evidence as to the quality of her cooking, and her tightly pursed lips seemed to indicate a paucity of spirit.
“Delilah wears what she wants to wear,” said the Reverend coolly. “I have no complaints, I assure you.”
“Oh, well, of course you wouldn’t, now, would you?” A sly smile, meant to be flirtatious, that managed only to offend.
“Are you a member of my congregation, Miss Porter?”
“I certainly am. My father and I attended services here for many years. After dear Papa passed on, I’ve stayed faithful. You’ll find my name chairing a number of committees, Reverend Yancey—Ladies’ Aid, Widows and Orphans Fund, Fellowship, Chapel Quilters, and so on.”
Nodding, Nathaniel leaned back in his chair. “Most commendable, I’m sure.” For the life of him, he couldn’t pull his gaze away from that idiotic fake parrot perched atop her hat, and his lips kept twitching with the insane desire to break out into laughter like a loon. And wouldn’t that make a nice impression!
They chatted together for a few minutes, while Nathaniel learned more about his neighbor and her background. And her leanings, narrow though these were for someone supposedly of a spiritual nature and the Christian faith. Regarding the older girls, for instance.
“I have wondered,” she commented in the querulous tone that tried to be flirtatious, “how soon Reverend Winthrop’s daughters would be getting married. His real daughters, I mean. Not those obnoxious little heathens that he took into his household, out of the goodness of his heart.”
“Especially since the heathens ain’t old enough t’ be wed, anyway,” murmured Nathaniel. Curious to see just how far she might go, he decided to lead her down the garden path. “Think there might be a problem with his real daughters, as far as landin’ husbands?”
With every movement, the bogus parrot shimmied its multicolored wings and fluttered its multicolored tail. Fascinated, Nathaniel hastily returned his attention to her sharp, pinched features.
“Oh, well. Caroline has gotten herself far too much education, for one thing.”
“Ahuh. You don’t say.”
“I do say. Any woman with schooling beyond the eighth grade just gets above herself, Reverend. And then no man will meet her standards. Don’t you agree?”
“Anything wrong with Portia?”
“Oh, Reverend, her choice of betrothed, look at her choice!” Parris bridled, taking great pride in the fact that this learned man was actually asking for and listening to her opinion. “A livery stable man? Surely she could do better than that!”
“Ahuh. But things must be okay for Tina.”
“Christina?” Parris sniffed. “Hmmph. Flighty girl. No steadiness to her. Mind my words, Reverend, you’ll need to take these girls in hand, and soon, if you want to get them out of this house as soon as possible. And as for those—those—orphans—!” She gave a delicate shudder. “Pack them back to the orphanage, would be my advice. A fine man like you doesn’t need to be tied down with screaming children underfoot.”
No more. He simply couldn’t take any more. Besides, his quick ears had caught the very faint sound of scuffling at his study door, and an occasional whisper. Time to get rid of this harridan and find out what was going on in the rest of the world.
“But you yourself are not married, Miss Porter?” he asked politely.
“No, not yet, Reverend. The right partner hasn’t come along yet.”
And likely never would! Came the flash of a disrespectful thought. Fighting down an urge to laugh or pace or utter a string of unsuitable profanity, he pushed back his chair and rose, to signify that the conversation was finished.
“Well, Miss Porter, I appreciate your comin’ over t’ introduce yourself, and welcome me to the church. Reckon I’d better get back t’ my Sunday sermon now, so I’ll walk you to the door.”
His words were spoken loudly enough to warn away anyone who might be lurking in the hall. Sure enough, as he reached for the handle, a scurry like barefooted little mice danced away.
“And thank you kindly for the cake, Miss Porter,” he added another layer of soft soap as they got to the front porch. “I look forward t’ having a slice later on t’day. We’ll get the plate back to you, never fear.”
The smug smile beginning to cross her sallow features suddenly froze as Hollie appeared.
The little girl did, in fact, pad forward bereft of shoes or even socks. The left strap of her pinafore had slipped down off the shoulder, one pocket was torn awry, and her whitish-blonde hair spiraled around her head like a flossy cloud. As usual, one thumb had been inserted i
nto her mouth, and the remaining fingers were coated with some sticky purplish substance.
Without even a sigh, Nathaniel surrendered to the inevitable and bent down to pick her up.
“Why, Reverend, you don’t know what that child has gotten into,” Parris pointed out, annoyed by having her final few minutes with this attractive man interrupted.
Hollie, safely anchored against a strong, sturdy shoulder, grinned charmingly. “Just jam. Delilah’s chokecherry jam. It’s yummy.”
“Outrageous!” scolded the lady with the bobbing parrot. “Doesn’t she have better manners than to interrupt adult conversation? Get down with you, girl, and go off to your chores.”
Taking far more upon herself than she should have had the nerve to do, Miss Porter reached over and tried to wrestle Hollie free and to the ground. Quick as a striking snake, the toddler leaned forward and sank her sharp little teeth into the busybody’s bare wrist.
“Eeuah!” cried a horrified Parris, jerking one quick step backward and out of range.
“Miss Porter, I’m terrible sorry!” exclaimed Nathaniel, equally horrified. “Are you bleedin’?”
“I’m not, praises be! But it’s no thanks to that little monster! Discipline, Reverend Yancey! These youngsters need discipline!”
“No, ma’am,” he replied then, quietly but firmly. “These youngsters need love. Good day, Miss Porter. We’ll see you Sunday, at the ten o’clock service.”
And the door swung closed upon her startled face.
IV
Something soft drifted across his cheekbone. Still deep in exhausted slumber and nowhere near ready to stir, Nathaniel made a half-hearted swipe with the back of one hand. After a minute or so, the soft whatever swirled beneath his nose, curling and tickling. With a splutter, he turned his face into his pillow. Another minute of peace. He sighed a deep, heartfelt sigh, from the tips of his toes up through the depths of his innards.
Along the side of his throat and behind his ear crept the soft whatever, rousing him finally and completely.
A Western Romance: Nathaniel Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 6) (Taking the High Road series) Page 5