The Yellow Lantern

by Dicken, Angie;

  “Business is a tricky thing, especially when your heart is involved.” Braham leaned near her, nudging her shoulder with his own. “Your father is blessed to have your kind watch over him.”

  If ever there was an embrace given by a look, it was now. The sapphire hold enraptured Braham in a trance, as if Miss Clay’s very warmth soothed every chill from the night air without even a touch.

  She smiled. “I thank you for that, Mr. Taylor. Although, I wonder if it’s so kind as it is desperate?” Her eyes fluttered closed.

  This woman was wrought with some unknown grief or disturbance. If only he could reach over and smudge it all away. If only his task going forward was to help Josie Clay through her father’s business mishaps instead of being wrapped up in his own.

  They sat in silence, Braham wishing he’d not thought about his own predicament. He would rather salvage some peace for Miss Clay. His woes seemed far too complicated for any more thought this evening.

  He pushed his chair closer to her and pressed his shoulder to hers again. “I am here if you need any advice, Miss Clay.”

  She smiled once more. Her gaze skimmed his face as if she searched for advice without words. Her lips parted and she drew closer. With a tilt of her head she laid her cheek against his shoulder. Soft curls pressed along his jaw sending gooseflesh across his skin. His every breath was fragrant with the fragile yet bold Miss Josie Clay.

  “I have lost my mother, and I fear I’ll lose my father too,” she whispered. “How could he have been so foolish?”

  “There was a day when my own father’s choice piled much shame on me,” Braham muttered, uncertain he wanted to remember.

  “What shame, Mr. Taylor?” She pressed her head closer to his neck. A perfect fit as he rested his cheek on her crown.

  “A crime he committed at sea was found out by the foreman down south. Everyone who cared for Father was beaten.” He winced at the memory. “Mr. Bates was away from the plantation and did not realize the way we were treated.”

  “How old were you?”

  “Only twelve.” He swallowed, trying to forget the smell of the salve Howie used to doctor the lashes. “I didn’t have it nearly as bad as the slaves. But Father could only endure it once. The second time killed him.”

  Josie sat up, stealing away the warmth of her head on his shoulder. “That is terrible, Braham—” She widened her eyes, pressing her lips together in obvious embarrassment. He enjoyed hearing his first name for once. Especially from her. “Mr. Taylor, did justice come from such an awful—” She grimaced.

  “The late Mr. Bates became my guardian. My father never saw justice for his beating, yet there was nothing better to come from my grief than finding favor with Mr. Bates.” He hooked her chin with his forefinger. “I pray that the good to be found in your father’s misfortune will be immeasurable for you.”

  She slid her fingers into his hand and pulled it to her cheek. “Thank you. I have no friend to confide in. But you have been one tonight.” Braham had sworn to never grow close to a mill girl, but sitting here with Miss Clay—Josie—he wanted nothing less than to be her friend.

  A slam of the back door forced her to jump up from her stool. Braham twisted about in his chair.

  Audra Jennings stood there, her attire matching Josie’s. Her face was nearly as ghostly as Josie’s when Braham first spotted her on the bridge.

  “What are you doing here, Mr. Taylor?” Audra’s auburn locks were released from her own ebony hat, and even though she addressed Braham, she stared only at the woman by his side.

  Braham stood up, tugging at his lapels. “I found Miss Clay quite distraught tonight.” He cleared his throat, embarrassment flooding him at Audra’s obvious surprise. Of course the woman appeared shocked. She had caught them in an intimate moment, with their hands entwined together.

  “Mr. Taylor, you should leave. ’Tis late.” Josie’s voice was soft but urgent.

  “Yes, forgive me, Miss Clay, for—” Braham curled his fingers, but he regretted nothing except that Audra had interrupted them. He gave a quick bow. “I do wish you a good night’s rest.”

  He took his hat from the hook by the door and mumbled a good night to Audra. Her surprise fell away to reveal a look of mischief. He did not trust that Audra Jennings. And by the horrified look on Josie’s face, he feared that nothing good would come from being caught in a tender moment. Poor Josie.

  As he left the boardinghouse grounds, the haze still hovered on the bridge like a whisper over the waters. He traipsed through the fog and finally came upon his horse. The murmur from the tavern was ever buzzing in the dark village street. The journey ahead seemed a long one. Home was often a destination to which he was eager to return to. But tonight, a tug held back his enthusiasm. He knew what it might be, and as hard as he might try to deny it, he surrendered to the truth.

  He was not ready to leave Josie Clay behind.

  He’d have stayed till dawn if he gave in to his senses. As he steered the horse down to the country path out of Gloughton, he wondered—would Josie have chosen to stay with him too?

  Chapter Thirteen

  It’s you,” Josie exclaimed as soon as she was sure they were alone.

  “Did you not know?” Audra marched across the floor and collapsed in the chair, no doubt still warm from Braham. She yanked off her hat and tossed it on the hearth, dangerously close to the flames. “Alvin surely told you.”

  “He did not.” Josie sank down on her stool. “He tells me very little.”

  The fire popped during a few breaths of silence.

  “Strange, he talks my ear off.” She grimaced. “I was not planning on being a part of this any longer.”

  Could Audra and Josie be kindred spirits in this? Audra was nothing like Josie—with her fiery tongue and crass attitude toward most. And, by the way she acted in the graveyard tonight, Josie had taken her for a coldhearted player. Perhaps that wasn’t so far from her impression of Audra Jennings in pure daylight. But now, maybe they were tied by mutual unwillingness.

  “I don’t want to be part of it either,” Josie admitted.

  “You must. I can do nothing with one arm, and your father cannot be trusted.”

  Josie’s skin pricked. “What happened to your arm?”

  “I stumbled on a job. Fell wrong.”

  “How long have you been … a mourner?”

  “Long enough.” Audra smiled as if she recalled a pleasant memory. “Alvin and your father were sent to New York shortly after my accident. Alvin was disappointed he’d not work with me, but that won’t stop him from continuing”—her lips froze with hesitation, and then she pressed back in the chair with a lazy smile—“in the business. It’s a contagion that clings close to the desires of the thieves. The excitement of slinking about at night, plunging their spades into moist soil, and stealing away the bags of bones for some sort of good, earthly use.” She shook her head like a disapproving schoolteacher.

  “I pray that heaven is pleased with the soul only.” Josie was sure of it, having convinced herself each day at church. But there were suspicious folk who believed the body was part of the grand entrance into the other world. And for the very possibility that might be true, Josie’s conscience twisted even more.

  “I do not know about heaven, but you better not think on that. So much more ahead of you.” She stood up and straightened the sling at her shoulder.

  Josie crossed her arms at her waist then whispered, “I just want this to be over.”

  Audra placed a hand on Josie’s shoulder. “Alvin is eager for it to be over too. Your doctor is withholding quite a sum from him because of you.”

  “Is that why he could not guarantee Dr. Chadwick’s silence to the authorities?” A fresh wave of the same hysteria that overwhelmed Josie at the canal threatened to wash over her again.

  But Braham was nowhere near to offer comfort.

  Audra slid her hand away and crammed it in her pocket. “I do not know nor care how Alvin deals with mediocre
doctors. I’d suspect he was in love with you to even consider losing that much money from the doctor.”

  Josie twisted in her seat. “What? He’s much older than I am. He—he did it out of decency. I was nearly killed—”

  “You are getting worked up over nothing. I am sure that Alvin is committed to one woman only.” She stared at the shiny pot hanging above the mantel, primping her hair in the disfigured reflection. “And, truth be told, you Claytons came just in time. I wanted nothing more to do with this part of the business.”

  She snatched up her hat and crossed over to the hallway. “Thank you, Josie—or is it Josephine?” Her eyebrow cocked above a devilish face. “You’ve given me a chance to move on to more intriguing obligations.” She spun on her heel and left the room.

  Josie sprang from her seat, desperate that Audra not say a word to any other gal, but she had disappeared around the corner. Josie slunk back to the hearth, not wanting to speak of it beyond the confines of this solitary room. She poured the ash atop the flame, smothering any light in the cold kitchen.

  What a difference mere minutes could make with a change of company. Josie had nearly buckled with thanksgiving at her time with Braham. She was safe. Braham had endured much also. He offered a wide-open compassion—a lovely place to collapse into. If only Audra Jennings hadn’t interrupted them.

  As Josie dragged herself out of the kitchen, all the warmth of Braham’s comfort was squelched as she recalled Audra’s words. They were as suffocating as ash. Of all the women in Gloughton Mill, Audra Jennings was the last person Josie would have confided in. And now, Josie was taking not only her father’s place but Audra’s as well.

  What would Braham think of Josie, knowing whose footsteps she would willingly follow?

  Josie woke up to Liesl’s wide hazel eyes watching her. “You were crying, Miss Josie.”

  “Oh.” Josie sat up and touched her cheek. It was moist. A soft glimmer from the bedside candle softened the dark room. The sisters stirred in the bed next to them. “What time is it?”

  “It’s half past four. I was about to dress, and then I heard you cry.”

  “I must have been dreaming.” Or everything she’d shoved in the secret corner of her mind had flooded her pillow as she slumbered. That was more likely it. She could not recall any dream, only the nightmare that she lived while awake.

  Two uneventful days had passed since the funeral. There had been no accident at the mill, and the evenings were filled with interviewing for another newsletter article. Molly insisted on writing a piece about Josie’s favorite herbs in the garden. She’d found a girl who would illustrate the plants for new summer gardens. Molly was hopeful that townsfolk might find it a useful guide. Josie was thrilled to lose herself in this type of work instead of waiting for news of death or worrying about her father.

  As she splashed cold water on her face and braided her hair by the candlelight, she prayed for her father’s well-being and for his enemies’ hearts to change. A futile prayer, but all she could think to do. Today was payday. If only debt were Father’s greatest concern.

  Once the workday began, Josie pushed aside her thoughts and focused on her tasks. The bellows of the machinery thrumming through her frame and the swaths of newly spun cloth rushing across the loom were enough distractions. Occasionally, she’d glance over at the office window and spy Braham with hands on his hips, his face determined at overseeing the operation. No rude men filled up his time with tours or crude remarks this day. She was pleased to be under the noble protection of his sole watch.

  Josie returned her attention to her work, near-satisfied with the exact place she stood at the very mill that rose around her and the gentleman’s attention only a glance away. If Josephine Clayton could run away from all that strapped her to this unfortunate path, this one man might be her greatest memory of the place, and her biggest regret in leaving it behind.

  Her heart pounded in succinct opposition to the thuds that trembled the floating cotton bits around her. When she looked back at Braham, his back was turned and he faced a very solemn Miss Clyde, who handed him his hat and coat. Braham looked over his shoulder and scanned the room through the glass, his sable eyes locking with Josie’s gaze. His chin pushed up his lips into a deeply set frown. He gave her a short nod and then turned to leave.

  His distress penetrated through Josie as if it were her own—as if she were still standing at the bridge, weeping over her wayward father. Her spirit deflated the same, and she was desperate to go to Braham. At that moment, the bell rang, indicating the breakfast break. Amid the sigh of quieting machines, Josie pushed her way toward the hallway. She found her bonnet and hurried toward the doors. Braham stepped out of the waiting room door ahead, pulling his coat on as he reached the large double doors to the courtyard.

  Josie ran toward him. She caught the door just as it closed behind him. In the bright sunshine, she tied her bonnet about her chin and scrambled down the steps. Braham crossed the courtyard and climbed atop his wagon on the other side of the old elm tree.

  “Mr. Taylor?” she called breathlessly, running after him.

  Braham turned to her. His top hat cast a dark shadow in contrast to the beaming sun. “Miss Clay, you are the first one out this day.” He gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes.

  “I am concerned for you, sir.” She caught her breath. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

  He grimaced and looked away. “Come with me. We’ve only an hour.”

  The factory doors opened, and the rest of the workers began to pour out of the building. Josie quickly rounded the other side of the cart and climbed up with the help of Braham’s extended hand. Before any curious eye could catch a glimpse at the newest mill girl riding off with the handsome manager, the cart scampered across the bridge.

  After they passed through the village, Braham signaled to the horse to move faster. Josie gripped the edge of the cart with tight knuckles. She held her bonnet to her head as the warm breeze rushed at them. The hills were a vivid green, edged with rich emerald tree canopies. As they raced through the country, she glanced over at Braham occasionally. He never once looked back at her. His simmering gaze was fixed ahead.

  The dreaded outcome of this sudden journey sat heavy on Josie’s heart. There was one impending sorrow complicating her acquaintance with Mr. Braham Taylor. The dying aunt he so dearly treasured would provide, in all inevitability, another payment to Dr. Chadwick and the resurrectionists.

  “Let us pray we are not too late.” The words tumbled from Braham’s tight lips as they turned through an open gate.

  “Too late? Is it that dire?” Josie bit the inside of her cheek as panic bloomed within her.

  Braham maneuvered the cart down a lane lined with apple trees. The sickly sweet smell of rotten blossoms mixed in the breeze. “Miss Clyde said that Minnie went to the apothecary’s home this morning. They asked I come as soon as I was able.”

  Josie began to pray that his aunt only needed comfort from her nephew at this hour. Against her own best interest, Josie also prayed that this was not the end.

  “Perhaps you can help Miss Young with tending to my aunt? I would feel better having you by her side, Miss Clay.”

  “I am sure Miss Young will know more than I.”

  “She is not trustworthy. She lacks quick thinking when it comes to tending to the sick.” He pushed the words out through his teeth as he pulled back on the reins, bringing the horse to a stop in front of the stable.

  Trustworthy?

  Josie batted her eyes closed, an uncertain wave crashing against her stomach. Why was she here? She wished that she had not come along but stayed among the flying cotton bits and mill girls. If only she were just a mill girl now. How much different her life might have turned out. Her affection for this man would be unashamed, and her conscience would be clear.

  “Come, let us go inside.” He swung his legs over the cart and jumped down, hurrying to Josie’s side. She placed her hand in his and step
ped down. Her chin was just below his shoulder as she stood across from him. His grip on her hand did not lessen. He faced her with his back turned to the house and his broad shoulders filling her view. The size of the space between them would be questionable to any onlooker. A leathery smell mixed with fresh cotton reminded her of his coat around her shoulders the other night.

  Josie dared to look up at him. His soft brown eyes did not waver but drank in her gaze. His Adam’s apple bobbed against his high collar, the hard swallow obvious even though she was bound to his stare. Her breath barely gathered in her chest. If she had time to consider the consequences of such a loss of air, she would have gasped aloud. But any slight movement threatened to end this trance. There was nothing she wanted more than another second trapped by his regard.

  “Miss Clay, you have impressed me much—” he said. “I am confident in your ability. And your care.” He lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips softly on her ungloved skin. The warm touch sent a current all the way through her arm to her fluttering chest. The bloom of heat on her cheeks would not be contained.

  She lowered her head and gave a meek curtsy. “I am here for you and your family, sir.” Tears sprang behind her eyes. “It is the least I can do.” Josie tamped down all her erupting sorrow.

  Braham’s brow furrowed, and he stepped aside. She released all her trapped air.

  With a wave of his arm, Braham invited her to enter first through the side entrance. ’Twas an appreciated opportunity, for she could now turn away from him and muster up the courage to continue this delusion that she was indeed the person he had hoped in.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Braham sat near his aunt, holding her frail hand while Minnie cleaned up the bedside table strewn about with empty bottles, powders, and several handkerchiefs. Daisy tended to the pillows propped behind Aunt Myrtle, and Josie sat on the bench at the foot of the bed, looking paler than even the dying woman.