While Daisy continued to recall memories of her mother to Aunt Myrtle, Braham leaned over and whispered, “Miss Clay, are you well?”
She nodded.
“Dear one, come closer.” Aunt Myrtle patted the side of the bed where Daisy tucked her snuggly into the bedcovers. “I hardly know you, yet you’ve been such a help, haven’t you?”
“I’ve hardly done a thing.” Josie spoke as she had on the bridge, weak and uncertain. “Only what was needed to help Miss Young.”
“You’ve got a deft hand, Miss Clay,” the young apothecary affirmed. “It would have taken me twice as long to prepare the soothing salve.”
“Tell me.” Aunt Myrtle’s voice was hoarse, and her eyes were bright with moisture. “Is my nephew a good manager at the mill?”
Braham chuckled, relief flooding him. “I see that you are still business-minded, even in this confined state.”
Aunt Myrtle gave a brief smile but began to convulse with another coughing fit, the wild nature of it having been the reason that Minnie and Daisy had sent for him.
Miss Clay stood immediately, tending to Aunt Myrtle with the steady hand that Braham had witnessed during the factory accidents. A certain calm settled upon the beautiful woman as she helped. She was swift in positioning his aunt, unwavering in her soothing tone, and so concentrated on aiding her through the episode, she did not pay attention to Minnie, who had come up behind her with a fresh tray of tea and Miss Young’s prescribed mixture.
“Miss Clay, if you would please step aside?” Minnie was short in her demand. She must have realized it, for she bit her lip and gave an apologetic look to Braham.
“Excuse me.” Josie gently laid Aunt Myrtle against her pillows as the fit subsided. The poor woman was completely exhausted. Her eyes remained closed. Long folds of skin hung from her cheekbones, creased around her mouth by the pulls and tugs from her coughing. Josie slipped behind Minnie, who was carefully holding the teacup to the spent woman’s lips.
“Aunt Myrtle, please, try and drink.” Braham sat beside her on the bed, wondering if she was indeed asleep.
A moan came out of her blue lips. She wagged her head back and forth. “My Bible.”
“May I read to you?” Josie asked.
Aunt Myrtle stopped her movement and opened her eyes. “Please.”
Braham opened the bedside drawer nearest to him and handed Josie the Bible he’d first learned from as a young boy. It was leather bound, near-pristine, with the gold engraving “Bates” in the corner. A red ribbon hung from between the pages. Josie used great care as she set it on her lap. Her fingers ran over the engraving, and upon using the ribbon to open the book, she shifted her gaze to him. Her eyes were seas, deep with trepidation—or was it longing? He expected that the same look crossed his face when he sat beside his uncle, wanting to soak in every last moment and longing to be the true blood relative of the man. It was a look of knowing and desiring all at once.
What was it that Josie Clay longed for?
Braham shuddered. He might not understand what Josie desired, but they all knew the fate unfolding on the white sheets and embroidered pillowcase. A wave of emotion cinched Braham’s throat, and he begged his mind to remain here and not flip back to all the wonderful memories of his care under Myrtle Bates.
Josie’s head dipped over the scriptures, and she read with a clear, steady tone. “O lord, thou hast searched me, and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou compassest my path and my lying down, and art acquainted with all my ways.” Her lips pronounced peaceful words to the withering woman. Aunt Myrtle’s chest was calm as it fell and rose.
No more convulsing.
She was listening.
“Excuse me,” Minnie said, standing at the door with a platter. “This came for you.”
Braham looked back at Josie, who was turning a delicate page, then gathered the envelope from the tray and stepped into the hallway.
He broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter, reading:
Mr. Taylor,
Your guardian’s will explicitly states that you shall be the sole manager of the factory, unless death or an act of God halts production. If you are excused from your position unwillingly, then Mr. Gerald Bates Jr. will surrender his right to the trust furnished by his father at the time of the signing of his will. The amount of the trust is substantial. The loan against the factory has yet to be paid off. Gerald would benefit more from the trust than the profit from the sale.
You have nothing to worry about, dear boy. You are a legal ward, and as valuable as any other blood relative of the man. The late Mr. Bates held you with the utmost and highest regard.
M. Williams
Thanksgiving invaded Braham’s heart just as he heard Miss Clay speak the well-known words, “I will praise thee; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.” He tucked the letter in his coat pocket, saving it for the next business encounter with Gerald. Gerald would return from Boston tomorrow after escorting Bellingham back to his estate and, no doubt, dabbling in the societal habits of his pampered colleagues.
Daisy met Braham at the door, wiping her hands on a towel. “She’s put the woman to sleep. I’ve asked her to come by and help me on Sunday. You might be in need of a new employee, Braham—Miss Clay would make an excellent partner for me.” She gave a sly smile and stepped back with her arms crossed. Daisy spoke in a more pleasant way to him than she had in years. Miss Clay was a marvel at more than healing the sick.
Aunt Myrtle expelled soft snores, yet Josie continued reading, “Search me, O God, and know my heart: try me, and know my thoughts: and see if there be any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” Silence encapsulated the bright room at this noon hour. The clink of Daisy’s mixing tools sliced up the lingering memory of the pretty reader’s voice. Josie’s lips were clamped tightly shut while she stared at the book in her lap. Without looking around to see who watched, she clasped Aunt Myrtle’s hand and closed her eyes. Her mouth moved, barely so, and her brow was rippled in a sea of wrinkles.
Braham should not continue to stare at her in this moment of pure innocence and obvious beckoning of the Holy Spirit, yet he dared not look away. She was an angel beside his aunt, an intercessor who might be asking for something unattainable, but whose faith shone as brightly as the faith his aunt had once shown him. Braham was certain that Josie’s presence was not happenstance but the very act of God directing the mill girl’s every step to the bedside of his dearly loved aunt.
Anger seared Josie’s throat as she tromped away from Braham’s wagon. He’d walked ahead of her to ready the mill for the afternoon shift. Josie stopped beneath the old elm, glad to be alone these last few minutes before the courtyard filled with the other workers. They had skipped the two meals and the shift in between. But hunger was her least concern. She balled her fist and pressed it against the rough bark of the tree. Her knuckles whitened as she stared through boiling tears. She was Judas. Instead of sitting at a banqueting table as betrayal brewed, she’d sat on the bedsheets of a peaceful bedroom, reciting holy words. Yet it would not be long before she’d turn over that sweet lady to the bloodthirsty men who waited for her.
Mill girls began to file out from the boardinghouse. Josie swiped at her eyes, plucked some wild daisies that sprouted along the boardinghouse wall, and fell into step just next to Sally and Liesl.
“Where were you, Miss Josie?” Liesl plunged her arm in the crook of Josie’s.
Josie just waved her daisies, swallowing hard as she outright avoided the question. “It is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”
“Skipping meals will not bode well toward the last hours of work,” Sally warned. “It’s not worth it to me. Even with the glory of early summer’s bloom all around.” She plucked a flower from Josie’s hand and stuck it behind her ear, giving a playful smirk.
“Ah, so you reap my treasures with a full belly.” Josie’s own stomach growled loudly, and all three girls fe
ll into laughter.
“It is good to laugh, isn’t it?” Liesl squeezed close to her. “My oma would say it is good medicine.”
Josie’s smile remained wide, a sure remedy for her recent anger. She was grateful for the cool breeze and the refreshing company.
Leaving behind the sunshine for the boxed rooms of the mill was unfortunate. The windows were hardly second best in offering views of the glorious day. Each pane was covered in a thin coat of cotton bits, showcasing only a hazy view of the cobalt sky and paper-thin wisps of clouds. As the hours went by, the muted sight agitated Josie, while Sally’s prediction came true with a constant grumbling of her stomach. Josie’s head became fuzzy as the windows darkened, and she leaned back on the wall, the room fading away and her body slumping down to the floor.
She was not sure how many minutes passed before she woke to a voice calling, “Miss Clay?”
Her eyes fluttered open but could only make out a blurred familiar figure. No matter how many times she batted her lashes, everything remained unfocused. “Braham?” She spoke his name before her senses righted themselves. The feel of his name on her lips was a comfort in itself. She squeezed her eyes shut then opened them again.
Horror filled every inch of her heart.
How could she have mistaken Braham for the silver-haired man whose wild eyes and pointed features sharpened in her recovered vision?
“Dr. Chadwick?”
He stood above her while she lay helpless. Were these past weeks a dream? Did she relive the terror of a mistaken death all over again? Or perhaps she was still ill, and the doctor was only here to help?
Dr. Chadwick stepped out of view again. Josie moved her wrists, assured that she was not bound. Perhaps she was waking from a nightmare. Perhaps there was not one speck of graveyard dirt on her conscience. Relief melted into sorrow for the fabrication of that kind factory manager. He had been a bright spot in all the dark twists and turns. She sat up, not feeling ill at all.
Where the yellowed glass of the doctor’s cabinet might reflect her image, there was only a papered wall with a ticking clock. And instead of the usual off-putting smell of poorly cleaned utensils and bedsheets, a savory aroma of roasted chicken and biscuits teased her empty stomach. Dr. Chadwick retreated from her bedside. The man she’d longed for in these short seconds stood behind the doctor.
Braham Taylor was not a figment of her imagination.
She was lying on the settee in the boardinghouse parlor. A warm breeze poured in from the window next to her.
“Miss Clay, your former employer arrived just as you fainted.” Braham knelt beside her, blocking out every other thing from view, extinguishing the monstrous man from her sight. She absorbed Braham’s kindness. He was a shield for a moment—a comforting balm warding off the terror of facing her near murderer. If she could, she’d take Braham by the shoulders and keep him there so she’d never have to face that horrible man again.
Shivers erupted from her torso, and gooseflesh crawled down her arms. Her teeth began to chatter, yet sweat pricked her forehead. “Please, do not leave me,” she whispered, her throat so thick with anxiety that she could barely make a sound.
Braham explored her face with the deepest concern. His fingers brushed her brow, and he fixed his gaze upon her lips. “Miss Clay, are you not well?”
“I—I think I fainted because I haven’t eaten—” A throb spread across the back of her head.
“See here, I have some tea from the maid.” Dr. Chadwick was unavoidable as he loomed behind Braham now. “Sir, if you would give us just a moment, I can help Miss Clay recover enough to tend to the business that brings me here.”
“Certainly.” Braham stood up and nodded to the doctor. “I must return to the mill. Please, Miss Clay, take the rest of the evening off. Your wages will be waiting for you in Miss Clyde’s office.” He gave a slight smile then stepped out of the room.
At the abrupt shut of the front door, Josie jumped. She was left alone with the doctor.
“Here you are.” Dr. Chadwick handed her the cup of tea. She could not bring it to her lips. She only stared at the sage-colored liquid.
“Why are you here?” she seethed.
“My, my, instead of the complacent murmur of my assistant, I find the growl of a cat.” He chuckled. From the corner of her eye, Josie watched him stride over to the cold fireplace. He thrummed his fingers against the mantel.
Josie’s bitterness mixed with grief. She’d once considered this man a mentor. She’d admired his knowledge and enthusiasm in finding cures and caring for the sick. She’d valued him more than he valued her, in the end. The glint of his knife was an angry memory.
Josie stood, the teacup shaking in her hand. With a large gulp, she allowed the tea to do its trick. She was steady enough. Dr. Chadwick’s back was to her, his sharp shoulders much too narrow for his unruly mass of hair.
“You have not answered my question, Dr. Chadwick.”
“Miss Clay, as you know, my supply has dried up as of late.” His fingers stopped moving. “Alvin seems to care more for business here in Gloughton than keeping his bargain with me.”
“Sir, you also know my father’s trouble.”
“And what of my trouble?” he barked. The usual flush of anger crept along his cheeks with spidery edges.
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Forgive me, but your leisure time spent at the table is hardly a concern of mine when my father’s very life is threatened.”
The doctor’s lip curled. “And if I happened to lead the authorities to your father, perhaps I’d end his misery.”
“Dr. Chadwick.” Josie’s voice wobbled. “I am no fool. Alvin has visited you. You are well aware that your sloppy work has left much evidence against yourself.”
“I see that Alvin has not been up-front with you, has he?” He snickered.
Josie clenched her teeth. “What do you mean?”
“He will do nothing to me,” the doctor sneered. “Not with the amount of money I withhold from him.”
Alvin had hinted to the fact that his meeting with Chadwick had not gone well the night of Harry Garnett’s funeral. Josie swallowed back bile. Of course money was more important to Alvin than her father’s safety.
“I am at the mercy of Alvin too,” she admitted. “Believe me, I want to get this over with.” Weariness fell heavy on her shoulders. She feared she might faint again. “I do not know when he will provide what you need.”
“Then you and I are alike in that.” His disheveled eyebrows prodded upward. “I have a plan that will get us out of this arrangement quickly.”
A warning rang in Josie’s ears—a cry against the knife plunging into her chest. “I will do nothing criminal—” She clutched at her waist, not wanting to use the exact word that pressed upon her brain.
Murder.
“No, no, we shall not go there again.” He waved his hand and then ran it through his mop of hair. “I might reconsider my threat to your father for a price.”
“What are you saying?”
“You work for wages that are to be sent to your father, do you not?” He thrummed his fingers together.
“What would you have me do?” Josie bristled at the answer she knew was coming.
He stepped closer, clutching at his coat. “You will give me your wages. I shall return them to your father when he gives me what I need—and that which will give you reprieve from this messy business.”
“What of my father then? His farm, his well-being—” Josie grimaced. “His life is threatened by those men and our swiftness in supplying for them.”
“But if you do not give me his wages, his life will be found out by more moral creatures.” He pushed out his lip mockingly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
She balled her fists so hard her nails dug deep in her palms. “If anything, I should be the one to call on the authorities and have you locked up for good. I’ve seen the secret room where you’ve desecrated souls. I know your thievery.”
“Ah, but
, you turn me in and your father will go as well.” He gave a wicked smile. “You see, the web is taut, and plucking one thread will bring down the whole lot.”
Josie hung her head and swallowed a sob.
“Just think, one less worry for your dear father.” Dr. Chadwick spoke in a soothing tone. “If we act quickly, he’ll not notice the delayed wages.” He reached out his hand to her, and she stepped back.
“Will Alvin comply?” She could barely get the words past her lips. Dr. Chadwick’s blackmailing tactic was not toothless, because of that wretched Alvin and his lust for money.
“My dear, it is up to you to convince him.” Dr. Chadwick caressed his bearded chin. “Beg him to act quickly. It is the only way to save your father. It is your father’s debt or his freedom, Josephine. ’Tis your choice.”
This was unbearable. All was lost, it seemed. “I will collect my wages this evening. Where will you be?”
A wide, unapologetic smile shone beneath the doctor’s hooked nose. “I shall have my dinner at the tavern. I will wait for you there in my carriage at half past eight.”
Josie’s chest tightened. She prayed her father would find some relief and that the wages would return to him quickly.
She marched to the door. “Get out.”
“I see your work as a mill slave has bankrupted you of manners.” He laughed lazily as he walked to the door. Before stepping outside, he turned and said, “In case you were wondering, I am close to discovering the greatest cure of all.” He placed his hand on Josie’s cheek. It was cold, lifeless, like the bodies he craved. She pulled her head back and glared at him. His lips parted then smacked shut. “Your mother would have benefited from such a cure. It is a shame someone like you balks at such efforts.”
Josie winced, remembering the stiff body of Harry Garnett being roughly handled by Alvin as he wrapped him in burlap and slung him over his shoulders. The man was treated like nothing more than livestock at market. No dignity was given to the creature who had once breathed the same air as he did.
The Yellow Lantern Page 14