by Delia Parr
Lydia chuckled as she prepared a platter for Martha. “Save room for dessert. Ivy stopped earlier and left a whole tray of cookies for our oh-so-important military men. Not that they’ll bother with anything sweet.”
James laughed. “They prefer rum, which reminds me, I was headed for the storeroom,” he said, and left the women to their work.
They chatted back and forth while Martha ate and they finished the day’s work. It was nearly midnight before Martha got back to her own room. Disappointed that Thomas had not appeared with Bird, she was too exhausted to unpack, yet too anxious to begin using her daybook to take to her bed quite yet.
By candlelight, with the embers burning low in the hearth, she opened the daybook and penned a brief inscription, one she had composed and recomposed during her long ride home:
Dearest Victoria,
A child brings so many gifts—love, laughter, tears, and sorrow—to every mother’s heart. One day when you have found your way and return home, I want you to know the many gifts you have given to me.
Mother
While she waited for the ink to dry, she leaned forward, rested her forehead on her fingertips, and briefly closed her eyes. A host of long-buried memories vied for the opportunity to be the first in her daybook. Revisiting her own moments of weakness or embarrassment was painful. Juxtaposing them with memories of raising Victoria and watching her grow to the brink of full womanhood gave Martha a more objective glimpse of her daughter’s character so that her gifts were becoming clearer and more precious.
“The best place to begin is at the beginning, with my earliest memory,” she murmured. The events surrounding her fall from grace years ago in the one-room schoolhouse that had later burned to the ground were still vivid in her mind, and she realized her troubles with Rosalind had really begun when Martha retaliated for some forgotten injustice by tying a dead mouse to the end of Rosalind’s braid during recess.
Punishment had been sure and swift. James had shared in the punishment, too, since he had been the one to snatch the carcass away from the stable cat before it had a chance to devour it, but Martha had been the primary conspirator.
She wrote down the events as they had unfolded as honestly as she could. When she finished writing the tale, she had covered both sides of the page, with just enough room at the bottom to write her message to Victoria:
Your gift, dearest child, is your kindness, untainted by a singular moment when you failed to think of others before yourself or when you have returned a slight, however mean-spirited, with anything but a forgiving smile. Thank you for always reminding me to be kind.
Martha stared at the words until they blurred, and swiped at her tears. She closed the daybook and snuffed out the candle.
In the dark, with her heart grieving for her daughter and for all the lost opportunities of the past, she dropped to her knees and prayed she might one day be able to hold Victoria in her arms and tell her how her life had been blessed because Victoria had been her daughter.
When her prayer was done, she did not bother to light another candle, and moved about her familiar room with ease. She changed into a nightdress, brushed her hair, and crawled into bed. Even though it was dark and she could not see Victoria’s bed or her pillow, she knew Bird was not there, and the room felt all the more empty with his absence, too.
She had no sooner put her head to her pillow and closed her eyes when a series of insistent knocks on her door roused her from her bed and sent her scrambling to light a candle and grab for her robe.
“I know you’re in there, Martha,” Thomas shouted. “Now open up this door, or I won’t be held responsible for finishing off one of your . . . your patients with my bare hands!”
With a vision of Thomas standing outside with Bird safely in his cage, she chuckled to herself, slipped into her robe, belted it, and knelt down to search under the bed for her cotton slippers. “Patience, Thomas. The floorboards are cold. I need my slippers.”
He pounded on the door again. “Open the door, Martha. Now!”
Her cotton slippers were nowhere in sight. She gave up her search, but took the time to light several candles and stop in front of the mirror to tie back her hair before she opened the door.
Thomas glared at her and tightened his hold on her patient—and it wasn’t Bird.
Eyes wide and mouth agape, she only managed to stumble aside before he charged past her into the room with her patient in tow.
20
Martha shoved the door closed and whirled about, just in time to see Will break free and charge straight for the door. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and braced her feet, curious that Thomas did not give chase. Wincing with pain, he held one of his arms at the wrist and elevated his hand. His trousers were wet and caked with mud, and his frock coat was still so damp there were a number of leaves clinging to the front like wilted war decorations.
Will skidded to a halt and looked her square in the eye. His hair lay matted against his scalp. His clothes were dripping wet and clung to his skinny frame. Though he glared at her with murderous outrage, his eyes were shimmering beneath thick spiked lashes.
Two monstrous tears spilled down his mottled cheeks, red with anger and frustration. He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. His bare feet were blue with cold.
During their standoff, several thoughts flashed through Martha’s mind. Since the day had been dry and clear, she could only assume Thomas had fished the boy out of Dillon’s Stream or the pond. Her curiosity about precisely what had happened was as great as her concern for the two of them, although Will surely needed attention first.
“I w-was doin’ just f-fine. Till that f-friend of yours ruined everything,” he spat.
“You blamed little scamp! You nearly drowned,” Thomas bellowed. He flexed the fingers on his elevated hand and scowled. “Blazes, this hurts. He bit me! I tried to save his sorry little hide, and he bit me! I should have let him drown.” He waved at the boy. “Next time, I will. It would serve you right for trying to ride a raft over the falls. It’s a wonder you haven’t died from stupidity long before now.”
Will turned about to face Thomas. “I’m not as stupid as you are. I didn’t lose my horse ’cause I forgot to tether him, now, did I?”
Thomas snorted. “You don’t have a horse. You won’t have a tongue, either, if you don’t speak to me with more respect.”
In spite of the gravity of the moment, Martha caught a chuckle before it escaped. “That’s enough. Both of you. Keep bickering while you’re soaking wet and you’ll both end up in bed for a week with lung fever. How and why you both ended up on my doorstep looking like drowned rats is something we can all discuss. Civilly. After you’re both dry and warm. Thomas, please build up the fire. You, young man, follow me.”
After securing a heavy blanket from a trunk, she led Will into the storeroom. “Strip, young man, and wrap yourself in this blanket. Then you can come out and sit in front of the fire to get warm. Don’t forget to bring your clothes with you so they can dry, too.”
He eyed the opposite door that led to the tavern.
She walked through the storeroom and opened the other door. “If you want to leave, then go ahead. You can go through the kitchen and slip out the front door to be on your way. I won’t stop you.”
He nodded back toward her room. “What about him?”
“Mayor Dillon won’t stop you, either. Right now I have to see how much damage you did to his hand and heat some water for tea.” She returned to her room and shut the connecting door behind her.
In her absence, Thomas had added more wood to the fire, which was blazing back to life. At the moment, he was struggling to get out of his frock coat.
She helped him to ease out of his coat and laid it near the fire. She lit a lamp and put out her hand. “Let’s see this wound of yours.”
When he extended his left hand, he had a sheepish look on his face. “I can’t say I remember being bitten before.”
T
he extent of his wound surprised her. The bite was nasty, and the teeth marks were unmistakable on the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. The skin was bruised and badly swollen around a gash that nearly went clear through. “He really had a good grip, didn’t he? The boy must have been scared to death, just like you were the day you battled with those jays. Take a seat. I’ll get something for your hand.”
He yanked his hand away and plopped down on the bench in front of the worktable. “It’s awfully kind of you to remind me about the jays,” he snapped.
“Eleanor found the story amusing,” she countered while she gathered up some cloth to use for a bandage and found some jewelweed in her bag to use as a poultice. When she saw the bottle of Carolina allspice she had purchased for Samuel Meeks in Clarion, she realized she had forgotten all about it and made a mental note to take it to him tomorrow after meeting.
“You told Eleanor? How . . . how is she?”
She cocked a brow. “I left a letter for you from Eleanor at your house earlier today.”
He frowned. “I haven’t been home since dawn.”
While she tried to think of a way to share all her news about Eleanor without unduly alarming Thomas, she set the cloth and jewelweed on the table, took several bowls from the corner cupboard, and filled one with water. On second thought, she added some wood to the cookstove and set a kettle of water to boil. “She’s weak. And frightened. But looking forward to coming home in about a week,” she murmured.
She sat down on the bench next to him, plunged his hand into the bowl of water, and held it there.
“A week? Are you sure? Eleanor’s last letter said Dr. Park wouldn’t permit her to travel.”
“He wouldn’t, but since she’s my patient now, that’s not the issue.” While she cleansed his wound, she carefully recounted the details of her visit and Eleanor’s decision to return home to Trinity.
“Are you sure she’ll be able to make the trip? What if something happens to her or the babe?” His gaze grew troubled. “I . . . I wouldn’t want her to come home . . . because of me.”
Martha smiled. After she patted the wound dry and laid his hand on the table, she set the jewelweed into some warm water to soften. “She’s coming home because it’s best for her and for your grandchild. Micah wants to talk to you about maybe settling here permanently. Do you think there’s enough call for a lawyer here in Trinity?”
His eyes began to sparkle, as if reflecting the many ideas swirling through his mind. “I don’t know. Perhaps. But he wouldn’t have enough clients to support a family. Not for a good while. I could help, of course, if they really want to settle here.”
“Micah doesn’t want charity. He made that quite clear,” she cautioned.
“He discussed this with you?”
She nodded. As accustomed as she was to acting as a go-between for her patients or their loved ones, she could see Thomas found the experience unsettling. “We talked about many things, some of which are to be left confidential. Some,” she added as she laid the jewelweed atop the wound, “Micah shared with me so I could talk to you about it before they came home. He didn’t want to trouble Eleanor by discussing financial matters, but he didn’t want to encourage her to entertain any thoughts of moving here without settling some issues with you before he brought her home.”
He stiffened. “What issues?”
“Micah wants to provide for Eleanor himself. He doesn’t want you to do that, but he also realizes the best place for Eleanor right now is back at home with you. He’d like for them to stay with you until the baby is born. By then, if he decides he’d like to practice law here, he’ll move Eleanor and their child into a home of their own.”
“He can’t make that kind of living here. Not right away.”
“He has an inheritance from his mother which will be enough to support them for now. Even longer while he builds his practice, although not quite in the fashion you might demand for your daughter.” She wrapped a bandage around his hand while he pondered what she had said. Although she had tried to cushion her words, she could tell by the rigid set of his shoulders he had taken offense.
“I wouldn’t interfere. You know that.”
“I know you would try not to, but Micah doesn’t. Unfortunately, his experience with his own father has been . . . difficult. Once he leaves his father’s firm, he won’t be able to go back. If things don’t work out well for them here, he’ll have to take Eleanor with him to establish his practice elsewhere. That said, I’ve kept my promise to Micah and to you. How you control your sister, Anne, when she gets back in December is something you’ll have to handle. Now, suppose you tell me how an eight-year-old child managed to do so much harm.”
“I’m not eight yet. Not till March.”
She looked up and found Will standing only a few feet away, a forlorn waif swamped by the heavy blanket wrapped around him. How he had gotten back into her room without making a sound was a question she left unanswered, along with the question of how much he had overhead. She silenced Thomas with a shake of her head. “Sit by the fire to get warm. Spread out your clothes, too. I assume you have them somewhere under that blanket. And be still. You’ll have your turn to speak after Mayor Dillon.”
The boy shuffled to the hearth and plopped himself down on the floor so he sat with his back to them. Small hands emerged from under the blanket and set his shirt and trousers next to Thomas’s frock coat. “Lost my socks and my shoes ’cause of him,” he grumbled.
She put her hand on Thomas’s arm to keep him from bolting off the bench. “Tell me what happened, Thomas,” she urged.
He brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. “Just before dusk, I went by the pond to look for my canteen. I’d lost it somewhere along the way coming home after militia practice. I couldn’t find it, so I decided to look again in the morning. That’s when I met up with Stanley Pitt. He’d been to the tavern with some of the other men. He was so far into his cups, I decided to ride along with him to make sure he didn’t topple off his horse and fall into the pond or the creek by his cabin.”
“Which ain’t got nothin’ to do with how—”
“Will! Not another word,” she cautioned. “Go on, Thomas.”
“As I was saying,” he snapped, “I took Stanley Pitt home. On my way back to town, I stopped at the top of the falls. It was well and dark by then, but I thought I heard something floating down the creek. I got closer and spied some fool poling a raft straight for the falls. I yelled, but it was too late. The raft went right over the falls. By the time I managed to ride down to the pond, I found him thrashing about—”
“I was swimmin’—”
“Drowning is more like it,” Thomas argued. “The raft was torn apart, and the individual branches he used to make the contraption were too small to support his weight. Fool that I am, I waded in and managed to grab him before he drank enough of the pond to sink himself.”
Thomas held up his bandaged hand. “And this is how he thanked me.”
Will sighed. “Why should I thank you? It’s all your fault my pack’s at the bottom of the pond.” He turned his head and looked at Martha over his shoulder. “It ain’t like he said. I rode my raft right over them falls, too. ’Cept the blame thing busted up. I had all my stuff and my food in that pack. I kept divin’ to find it, when all of a sudden I felt somethin’ big grab me by my shoulder. I thought it was a bear or somethin’ like that, so I gave it a big ole bite. He let go, too, squealin’ like a pig with its ring caught in a fence. That’s when I knew it weren’t no bear. Didn’t know it was the mayor, though. Not till he dragged me to shore and started rantin’ loud as thunder when he found out his horse run off. Dumb ole thing.”
Thomas gritted his teeth.
Will glowered back. “You can’t say nothin’ now, neither, ’cause it’s my turn.”
Martha caught her lower lip and stifled a laugh just begging to be set free. “Tell us why you were on the raft in the first place. And what in heaven’s name eve
r made you think you could go over the falls? You could have been killed!”
He shrugged his shoulders. “They ain’t that high. Besides, I got no horse. The only way I can get to Clarion quick is to ride down the stream.”
“I see. And you were going to Clarion for . . .”
“A ship. I heard you could get a ship there.”
“Don’t you like it at the academy?”
He yawned and did not bother to cover his mouth. “I wanna be a sailor. I sure can’t do that here. P. J. says I’m old enough to be a cabin boy. Just for now.” He yawned again and curled into a ball facing the fire. “I got to get me some sleep so I can build a new raft in the morning. After I find my pack.”
Thomas rose.
She urged him to sit back down again. “Let him sleep a while. I’ll tuck him into bed later.”
“What are you going to do with him after that?”
“Take him to Sunday meeting with me tomorrow. I can hand him over to Reverend Hampton then.”
“Better think of a way to let them pick up the boy on their way to meeting. The fewer people who know about tonight, the better.”
“That means someone has to ride out to the academy to let them know he’s here. Are you up to the ride?”
“I don’t have a horse at the moment, remember?”
“Take Grace. Maybe you’ll find your mount along the way.”
He sighed, grabbed his frock coat from the floor, and started for the door.
“Don’t forget to watch out for Leech.”
He stopped, but kept facing the door. “Fine. I’ll watch out for the cat before I ride out on a slowpoke of a draft horse, soaking wet, in the middle of the night, to tell the Reverend Mr. Hampton that one of his incorrigible little monsters is safe and sound after nearly breaking his neck in a daredevil escape over the falls and then nearly biting off my hand—a tale which will cost you dearly if you breathe one word of it to anyone, especially my daughter. Then I’ll ride back, hoping I find my horse, and go home, where I’ll find an incorrigible feathered monster asleep on my pillow.”