He should wake her before anyone found them. The sun would be up soon. But when Braham caught the freshly laid grave at his feet, he tightened his embrace. Without Josie Clay, he’d be left cold and alone. He could sit like this forever.
She moved in his arms and sighed. Her hand clutched at his lapel. He took her dainty fingers in his own, squeezed his eyes and prayed.
“Braham?” Josie sat up, and as he’d suspected, a chill replaced the warmth. Sleep kissed her face, just as it had that morning he found her in the garden. “How long have we slept?”
“I do not know. Perhaps an hour?”
“The grave!” She withdrew her hand and rose to her feet. She crouched down and fiddled with the lantern, which was cold and dark. “The candle is melted.” Josie fell to her knees, smoothing the top of the dirt with her hands. “Does it appear disturbed?” Her face was fraught with desperation as she bounced her attention between Braham, the lantern, and the grave. She collapsed, weeping, on top of Aunt Myrtle’s grave.
Braham remembered her concern about grave robbers. He’d read about their activity in Boston and the laws in place to thwart them. Several arrests were made, yet bodies still went missing. Resurrection men is what they called the robbers. A lofty term for such a morbid business. This was Gloughton, a sleepy town far from cities and bizarre criminal activity.
He lifted her up by the shoulders. “Miss Clay, I do believe all is safe and sound. We were not asleep for very long.” A streak of dirt marred her cheek. He took out his handkerchief and wiped it gently. “Please, don’t cry—” A weak smile formed on her lips. He wanted to bundle her up again, hold her close and forget their surroundings. Beside the bench lay the lilacs she’d brought to the graveside.
A shudder went through his frame as he gathered them and placed them on the fresh soil.
“There, it is done,” he muttered.
An agonizing moan sounded from the far end of the cemetery.
They both froze, their eyes locked in question. Again, a painful outcry echoed across the yard.
“Wait here, Josie.” Braham started for the gate but did not get far without Josie joining him. She hooked her hand around his arm, making it impossible to resist her accompaniment. As they carefully walked between the crooked tombstones, Braham looked over his shoulder, bidding farewell to the lady who’d given him a home. Josie caught his eye, her brow muddled with distress.
“She’s at peace, I know it.” He gave her a reassuring smile and squeezed her close to his side. She looked away. All he could see were the golden curls along her back.
When they left the graveyard, the silver of early morning gave way to a pale yellow sunlight, washing the gabled roofs of the village’s Main Street shops and Josie’s profile in a soft glow.
The quiet morning was interrupted with spitting and coughing followed by another long groan.
“It’s coming from the side of the tavern.” Josie pulled him that direction.
“Allow me,” Braham said, taking the lead. He did not know what they might find, and he would not risk any harm coming to her.
At the corner of the brick building, a man was curled up like the frond of a fern, his head tucked beneath his arm and his knees to his chin. His body shook with labored breathing. Each exhale ended with a moan.
Braham rushed over and knelt beside him. “Sir, let us help.” A waft of ale mixed with the metal smell of blood induced Braham to gag. The man slid his arm from his face, exposing a large black eye and a swollen lip. “Man, you need a doctor.”
“I need my horse,” the man muttered.
Josie rushed up, her face nearly green. “Alvin?”
“You know him?”
“It … it is—” She bounced a look from Braham to the man who was now trying to sit up. “It is the man who brought me here.”
“Your father’s farmhand?”
She barely nodded.
Braham immediately helped the man up.
“Careful,” Alvin said gruffly. “My ribs are barely holding together.” His slight chuckle ended in a groan. Josie also assisted. Together, they got the man on his feet.
“What happened?” Josie asked.
“What do you think happened?” Alvin sneered, spitting to the ground in front of him. “I got on the wrong side of the wrong man.” He glared at her for a moment.
Anger began to rise in Braham. He’d always felt uneasy when he spied this fellow, and he could see he was a brute up close. “Miss Clay, I will take him to Daisy. You go home and get some rest.”
“I am coming with you.” She slid a wary look to Alvin. “I can help. Besides, you are needed at the factory more than I. If it takes too long, you can leave, and I will stay.” She did not say it as a suggestion but as a fact.
Braham bit back a smile, once again awed by her confidence when it came to helping the injured—even the scoundrel that neither of them welcomed in Gloughton.
“What happened?” Josie whispered in the small room behind Daisy’s kitchen. Both Daisy and Braham had left. Daisy was calling on a neighbor, and Braham left half an hour before to ready for the workday. Josie held a bowl of water in her lap and dabbed at the nasty cut on Alvin’s head with a fresh cloth.
“Someone did not want me to snatch a body last night. Simple as that.” He squirmed, but Josie remained persistent in cleaning the wound.
“Did the man know about the body?”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why else would he pummel the devil outta me?”
She lifted her brow. “Doubt he did that.”
“You’re probably right.” He laughed then winced. “Although, I’ve proven myself more of an angel on your part.”
Josie ignored him. “So, this person did not want you stealing bodies.”
“Not last night, he didn’t.” He twitched. Who else was about, knowing this underhanded business plaguing these rural parts of Massachusetts?
“It was wise to leave Myrtle Bates be.” Confidence soared within her. “I work for her family. It would be difficult to face Mr. Taylor if we’d gone through with it.”
He curled his lip. “Is that why you took your time? I waited and waited, and you just sat by that blasted grave.”
Josie stood up, careful not to spill the water. “It was for the best, wasn’t it? If that man didn’t want you snatching last night, imagine your condition today if you had.” She dropped the rag in the bowl and set it on the table beside his bed. “Who was that man, Alvin?”
Alvin’s nostrils flared, and he answered, “His face was hidden from my view.”
“Then how did he know your business?” Whoever the suspect was, Josie felt lighter than she had since her days before the fever had taken over her body. Aunt Myrtle’s body was safe. And it wasn’t even because of Josie’s own efforts. The woman was blessed beyond her life. Josie’s heartbeat sped up as she considered Braham. She would not have to hide her face from him like she had expected to do after being part of stealing Aunt Myrtle’s body. A flutter in her spirit wondered if there was a divine hand in all of this. The one person who held her as they slept began to take hold of her heart in a fierce, unrelenting way.
Alvin curled his lips again and glared at her. “I do not know, but he knew who I was.”
Fear slithered along Josie’s confidence. Someone else lurked about, knowing Alvin’s ties—and probably hers—to this business? “We cannot do this here anymore, Alvin.”
“What are you suggesting? This is the only way. We have a factory filled with accidents waiting to happen.”
All Josie’s elation from saving Myrtle’s body deflated.
“My father is running out of time. He said that the creditor is closing in on him.” Josie’s mouth went dry. “We must get the money from Dr. Chadwick.”
Alvin slammed his fist on the wall, rattling a shelf of empty jars and bottles. “Thanks to you.” He turned his head away from Josie. “Leave me.”
She slunk out of the room, a heavier weight than before pressing down
on her. She was still desperate for bodies. Saving Aunt Myrtle only delayed her father’s freedom.
Who was she now, this Josie Clay? It was no longer the hungry spider dragging her into the web. She was the one feeding it and asking for it to continue on its wicked path of desecration.
What else could be done though, when her father would suffer in the end?
Before Braham reached his office, Miss Clyde spoke without looking up from her ledger. “Mr. Bates is waiting for you, Mr. Taylor.” Her condolences at the funeral yesterday was the kindest she’d ever been to Braham, and yet it was the least heartfelt word he’d received that day. Even Gerald, whose tall figure now shaded the mottled glass of his office door, was at least kind to Braham. Yet he still had not mentioned the lost deal with Bellingham or his engagement. No woman sat by his side in the front pew of the church.
Braham entered, and Gerald turned immediately.
“Good morning,” Braham said as he hung up his coat.
“As good as it can be.” Gerald stood with his hands behind his back in front of the large window framing the lifeless workroom on the other side of the glass. “I am heading south.”
“I see. And Bellingham?”
Gerald straightened his cravat. “He is … out of the picture.”
“Will you sell?”
“Not anytime soon.” He cleared his throat. “However, I will return at the first word of another accident. My father did not expect girls to nearly lose limbs and life when he put you in charge.”
Braham bristled. “Perhaps we are both managing delicate businesses, Gerald. I daresay Terryhold is not accident-free, from what I remember.” He swiveled on his heel and positioned himself behind his desk, ready for the man to storm out. But he did not. He only gave a slight laugh and tucked his hat under his arm.
The women began to take their places at the looms.
Gerald approached his desk. “I would take care, Mr. Taylor. I am the only Bates left. Loyalty is rather limited from beyond the grave.”
The sorrow was fresh, yet Braham would not show emotion to this man. “We could go about this differently, Gerald. We will never be family, but we can at least be civil to one another.”
Gerald tossed his hat on the table and splayed his gloved hands beside it. He winced as he leaned closer, gingerly removing one hand.
“Are you hurt?” Braham asked.
Gerald narrowed his eyes. “As if you’d care,” he snorted. “Do not expect this arrangement to be anything more than what it is. I shall find another owner for this blasted place in due time. And in that case, we will be rid of each other. But in the meantime, you can stop trying so hard. You’ll never be more to me than that ridiculous boy in the cotton rows.”
Braham’s fatigue was melting away any guard he should keep up with this man. Anger rushed along his spine. “Why do you hate me so much?” His pulse pounded in his veins.
“Don’t be a fool,” Gerald snapped. He stood up straight and cradled one hand in the other. “Up until his last breath, my father wasted more time on you than anyone else. I’ll do anything I can to cut this ridiculous tie I have to the servant who stole away my inheritance.”
“You don’t want this inheritance!” Braham waved his arm at the factory all around. The man’s glaring eyes glossed over. His scowl softened along his cheekbones, pulling his mouth downward and his brow upward. Braham understood what he meant. Inheritance was more than money and property—even to Gerald Bates.
Braham realized that the man in front of him, the beast who’d squish any living thing to prove his worthiness, was driven by more than just his pride. His father’s attention meant something to Gerald, and Braham had been a distraction.
“I—I am so grateful for the opportunity your father gave me—” Braham’s voice was lost as the machines began to rattle the windowpane. Gerald swiped his hat from the desk, his face ever stoic. He turned without another look at Braham and left.
Braham sank into his chair, defeat cloaking him.
Before he could straighten his thoughts, Miss Clyde knocked on the door, pushing it open without waiting for permission. “The bobbin girl is not here, and neither is that Miss Clay.”
A guffaw came from behind Miss Clyde. Surely Gerald was marking their absences against the manager who’d stolen his father’s affection.
Fran wrung her hands as she followed Josie into the front of the house where she hung up her things. “Liesl’s been moaning and groaning all night. Her stomach is worse. Where’ve you been, by the way? You know Fawna will report you for missing curfew. And all night?” Fran’s brow furrowed with concern. “Josie Clay, I expect your excuse to be more wholesome than it seems.”
“Do not worry, Fran. I was tending to an ill man at Miss Young’s.” The whole truth would be impossible to believe. Guarding the grave of the late Myrtle Bates? Waking up in the arms of Braham Taylor? Her belly flipped. She would never forget her lashes fluttering against his soft coat and her whole self in an embrace so secure that no ill predicament could touch her. She had awakened to a dream.
Fran followed her up the stairs to check on Liesl. The little girl was asleep in a tangle of covers. Sweaty strands of blond hair pressed against her pallid face. A pot sat beside her, its vile contents tainting the air with sickness.
Josie reached over and felt the girl’s head. “Good. She is not feverish. She must have some stomach malady. The elixir from before is not strong enough. I must return to Miss Young’s for a special extract. I shall take care of this.” Josie took the pot and found its lid, placing it quickly atop. “Get the child a fresh pot. I shall return soon.”
Josie dashed downstairs and grabbed her cloak and bonnet then stepped into the courtyard. Besides the noise chugging from within the factory, everything was quiet. Not even a bird made a sound. She hastened across the bridge and passed by the graveyard, thankful for the undisturbed plot piled with fresh dirt. It was strange that Alvin had been demanded to leave it be when this business had so filled his time. A thought flitted in her mind—had he made it up? Did his trouble have anything to do with the body last night?
What would Alvin hide from her at this point, when everything seemed so easily confessed from his tongue of late?
Ahead of her, a familiar man bounded past the tavern, his long coattails flapping against his racing legs. He had a tall top hat and a pristine white collar. He turned to tip his hat at the blacksmith working in his yard, and she recognized his profile. She was certain it was Mr. Bates, the owner of Gloughton Mill.
Josie tried to manage the distance between them. Mr. Bates continued on her same path, eventually turning down Mosgrove Way. When he turned up Miss Young’s path, Josie ducked into the shadow of the alley behind the shops along Main. She should not hide from him.
Even though she sought help for an ill mill girl, she should be working. And besides the mill’s rules, Alvin was still there. She would rather not be questioned about her acquaintance with the ruffian, especially in his condition.
After a half hour, Mr. Bates left the cottage in a frantic state—more frantic than his determined procession down Main. He rushed to the road and looked up and down, forcing Josie to slip into the back doorway of the closest shop so she would not be seen. Once he passed the alley, she stepped out of the shadows and hustled to Miss Daisy’s cottage.
Daisy was quick to help Josie. Together they gathered the ingredients for a stronger elixir. The young apothecary worked diligently to mix the extracts needed to soothe Liesl’s stomach. While Josie ground some colic root, she asked, “Is Alvin gone?”
“He left shortly after you.”
“Do you think he was well enough to do so?”
“He appeared anxious. I could not stop him.” Daisy shrugged. “I believe the ale probably wore off and he wasn’t as injured as he seemed. It’s a good thing he was gone, though.” She gave a pained look at Josie. “He missed quite a quarrel between me and my former—” She shook her head, as if whatever was on her to
ngue was too much to expel.
“Mr. Bates?”
“You saw him?” Her voice was laced with expectancy, but then she frowned. “He is leaving town, once again. The reason we could never be together. I love Gloughton, and he loves anywhere but here.”
Daisy turned from the worktable and began to sort through her many jars on the kitchen shelf, sniffling as she worked. Josie considered revealing that Gerald Bates appeared distraught when he left—a doubtless sign of his perplexed devotion to Miss Young—but before she could decide if mentioning it would be beneficial, the outside door creaked open.
Minnie stepped inside, apparently not noticing Josie or Daisy until she turned to place her basket on the table. Her mouth fell open. She volleyed a look between them both. “Oh, hello, Daisy … Miss Clay.” She scrunched her nose. “I—I would think you’d be at the mill.”
“Were you looking for me?” Josie asked.
“No, not at all,” Minnie said, fiddling with her lip. “That is why I am surprised. Didn’t expect to see you.” She gave a timid smile, once again looking over at Daisy.
“What can I do for you, Minnie?” Daisy lifted a jar, batting lashes that glistened in the shaft of sunshine pouring from the open door.
“I just thought I’d return the bottles used for Miss Myrtle.” She took out several green-tinted bottles. “God rest her soul.”
“Here.” Daisy handed a couple of them to Josie. “Wash these up, and we’ll use them for Liesl’s remedy.”
“Who is Liesl?” Minnie asked.
“A mill girl. She’s come down with a stomach ailment,” Daisy explained as Josie began to pour some heated water into a basin. “We’re coming up with a good remedy.” Daisy brought more bottles to Josie. “The batch is large. We’ll need to fill several bottles.”
While Josie washed the bottles, Minnie offered to make some tea. She clicked her tongue as she hung a kettle above the fire. “The old woman is gone.” She sighed. “I do not know what to do with myself on this first day without her.”
The Yellow Lantern Page 17