Josie watched her as she gathered the tea leaves. Grief set in her every feature except when she looked over at Daisy. Even though the young apothecary did not pay Minnie any attention, it appeared that the servant was examining her. Perhaps she was longing to discuss the death of her employer and the change in her own duties. She must feel displaced now. Even so, Minnie did not realize that Daisy was feeling just as abandoned—her thoughts were no doubt ricocheting about a broken heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Delivering the elixir to Liesl was met with obstacle when Josie entered the boardinghouse. In the sunny parlor, a frantic Fawna waved her arms about, demanding, “This will not do! This will not do!”
Sally and Sarah were huddled near the cold hearth, each with a pot in her lap, the same distress as Liesl’s in their miserable faces.
“They are as sick as dogs and need to take this to their room.” The matron was nearly as green as the sisters. “Mr. Taylor followed these two over from the mill. He’s concerned about them—” She looked Josie up and down. “But mostly for you.” A flash of intrigue lit up her face. “He mentioned something about an occurrence early this morning?”
“He and I found an injured man in the village—” Josie winced. She quickly continued, “Mr. Bates left me to tend to him at Miss Young’s and no doubt wants an update on his condition.”
Josie bounced her gaze from the woman to the poor sisters leaning on each other, moaning.
Fawna placed her hands on her hips. “Well?”
“Well, what?”
“The man’s condition?” She smirked.
“Oh, he is gone now. Just fine.” She spun toward the sisters. “Come, ladies, let us get you to bed. I have something that will help soothe your bellies.” They set aside their pots and gingerly stood.
“Fawna, please have Fran make up some fennel and peppermint tea. I will settle these two.” She led the way to the stairs. “Oh, and bring some fresh pots, just in case.”
When they reached their room, the sisters and Liesl were not willing patients at all. She had to convince them that their stomachs would handle the elixir, having handled little else all morning. Finally, it was administered to each woman, and they settled on their pillows, anxious for relief.
Josie sat back on her side of the bed. Her head was clouding with exhaustion. No matter how contentedly she had slumbered in the comfort of Braham’s embrace, she had little sleep altogether. Each ill roommate dozed off. Josie closed her eyes and joined them.
The sound of the dinner bell aroused her too soon. Late afternoon sun flooded the feet of their beds, and the rumbling of women in the dining room carried up the stairwell through their opened door. She slid off the bed, checking Liesl’s forehead, once more grateful that she had no fever. The two sisters slept soundly.
What plagued this room of women? Had they passed along a sickness to each other? Would she be next? After a short prayer and doctoring herself with ointment on the bottom of her feet to ward off disease, Josie decided to go downstairs and grab a bite to eat before administering the last of the stomach remedy.
She passed by the dining room. If Fawna had said one word about Josie’s whereabouts this morning, then she was sure to hear an earful from Molly O’Leary, who’d be thrilled for a new story. Josie’s heartbeat sped up. The people of Gloughton were just a word away from discovering Josephine Clayton behind this exhausted mill girl.
She descended the steps into the kitchen. Fran’s back was to her while she stirred a cauldron of soup. Before looking at Josie, she declared, “Audra, I’ll have you wait on the next batch. It’s nearly ready.”
“It is me.” Josie sank down on the bench at the table, resting her heavy head on her fist.
The cook turned and gaped at her. “Oh, pardon me.” She returned to her task. “How is little Liesl? I heard two more are ill.”
“They are all my roommates.” Josie shook her head. “Pray that I don’t fall ill. Yet, I do think the elixir Daisy and I concocted will soothe any discomfort.”
“That is good.” Fran poured some fresh soup into a bowl and handed it to Josie. “You have the healing recipes, I have the hearty ones.” She winked and returned to the fireplace.
“Good evening, Miss Clay,” Braham called from the garden doorway. His silk voice was a delightful remedy for Josie’s weariness. Her heart leapt as if they had been apart for too long and were now reunited again. Yet it had only been a few hours.
“Mr. Taylor, it is good to see you.” Her voice rang high from the reaction he induced. She mustn’t get carried away. Her job was not complete. She dipped her head and said, “I apologize for missing work today.”
“Come.” He waved her toward him, glancing over at Fran with a curious look. “Let us talk in the garden.”
Although he was worn-out from a near-sleepless night, he had no desire to return home just yet. Gerald had unearthed insecurity in him. Braham’s home was not his own but willed to him from two deceased relatives. Furthermore, this mill position was an undeserved gift, not an earned right, as far as Gerald was concerned. Braham’s aching exhaustion collided with the fact that he was unwanted. There was not one person who would miss him if he passed by the Bates estate tonight and never returned. The thought of that terrified Braham. Enough so, that he dreaded facing the gate to the lonely house beyond the orchard. This garden would do for now, as long as Josie was with him.
“You do not know that I have stake in this garden, do you?” He cocked his head, giving Josie a playful look. He strode over to the vegetable patch where his rhubarb flourished since the factory first opened four years ago.
“You, Mr. Taylor?” She approached him, peering down at the patch. “Did you plant these?”
“I did. Helped the first months the factory was being finished.” He squatted and combed the soil with his fingertips. “I don’t mind gardening. There’s a peace about it.”
“Yes,” Josie near whispered. She knelt beside him. “Cultivating life has a peace about it.” Her mouth held a steady smile as she studied the plants. She caught his gaze. Her lips parted. Here they were again, speaking together as if they were the closest of friends, with not one care but the next crop of stew ingredients. He chuckled to himself, and she tilted her head in question.
“I do like talking with you, Josie,” he explained. “Tell me, what is the most useful plant in this garden?”
“Useful?”
He held out his hand, and they stood together. “Yes, useful. What one plant would you have me plant in a garden at Bates estate?”
“Are you starting a garden?”
He shrugged. He had not considered starting anything at a home where everything had ended. Besides, a plot of his own would no doubt infuriate Gerald further.
Josie’s teeth rested on her lip as she glanced around searching for an answer. He admired her thoughtfulness and pushed away his own cynicism. She was the perfect salve for his sorrow.
“I would have to say the elderberry.” She nodded to an irregularly shaped shrub that sprouted in the corner by the gate. “The blooms won’t come until midsummer, but they are creamy white bouquets.” She clasped her hands together. “One of my mother’s favorites.” Her look turned serious. “But she always warned that the pretty bundles aren’t fair warning to the poison of its other parts.” She grimaced, staring at the plant still. “But when the blooms fade, they give way to its greatest treasure—the fruit. Useful in so many ways.”
He watched her lips as she spoke. She caught him staring. Taking in a jagged breath, she walked over to the bench and sat down. “Is that what you came to speak about? The good and evil of a useful garden plant?” She smiled, her eyes flashing with amusement.
“Ah, no.” He laughed, strolling over to take a seat next to her. He sat, aware of her warmth at his side, just like in the cemetery last night. “I wondered how those girls are. You were not around when I brought them here.”
“The women are resting. Miss Young and I made an
elixir that is sure to help them.”
“And how is your father’s man?”
“He is well, I presume. He was gone when I went back to Daisy’s.” She ran her fingers through the threadlike tufts of a dill plant then plucked a stem of lavender.
“He did not seem well enough to leave on his own. But I know Miss Young is nearly as good a caretaker as you are.”
A blush bloomed on her face. A beauty through and through. “I would not worry about him.” Josie swiped a loose strand of hair and tucked it in her bun. “But if the mill girls take a turn for the worse, Miss Young has more elixir for us.”
“I will be sure to pay her for it.”
Josie smiled and held the lavender to her nose. Chirping birds serenaded from beyond the walls. She offered her bit of lavender to him then plucked another. He breathed in the fragrance.
“I am glad that you are here, Josie—” Braham cleared his throat, shoving down the deeper truth behind his statement. “You are wise in healing. And have been very—”
Josie tilted her head and grinned. “Useful?”
“Yes, Miss Elderberry, useful indeed.” He sat back with a chuckle then pressed his shoulder into hers. She smiled brightly, but a cinch of concern carved between her eyebrows.
“We have both dealt with much these past weeks, haven’t we?” He softened his voice, saying, “Tell me, are things right with your father now?”
Josie lowered her head. “His situation only gets worse.”
“I am sorry for that. I can imagine it is worrisome for you, being so far away.” He grimaced. “It is difficult to be away from family, isn’t it?” He swallowed hard past a lump forming in his throat.
“It is. And Mr. Bates left today, didn’t he? He was leaving Daisy’s when I arrived for the elixir. Daisy said he was heading down south and mentioned they were once in love. Both of them seemed quite disturbed.”
“Interesting. It has been a few years since those two were together.” The memories would be harsh now that Aunt Myrtle was gone. Even though Gerald had stolen Daisy’s friendship, it was during a time of abundant life—when Aunt Myrtle and Daisy’s mother would sit on the porch with tea and fans while they instructed Braham and Daisy to fill basket upon basket of apples for market day.
Life was simple then.
“Perhaps Gerald needed some relief for his hand,” he guessed. “He appeared to have hurt it when I spoke with him today. Coddled it like an injured animal.” He sighed. “The man only sits at his father’s desk when he’s not filling his gullet at the tavern. I cannot imagine how he managed to hurt it.”
“The tavern?” Josie’s eyes widened. “Where we found Alvin this morning?”
She searched Braham’s eyes with a growing intensity.
“You don’t think that man of your father’s crossed paths with Gerald?” Braham considered the fists swinging. He had encountered Gerald’s wrath as a boy. No matter how proper the man appeared, finding oneself on his wrong side was a dangerous place to be. “I cannot imagine what he would have to say to get Gerald that upset.”
“I am sure it was not him.” Josie stood up, tossing the lavender into the mounding plants. “I better get up to the girls. Pray that they are on the mend.”
Before Braham could say another word, Josie disappeared through the kitchen door.
Josie gathered up her soup and bread on a tray as Fran insisted and took her dinner into the empty dining room. She had no desire to eat. Her stomach churned like the waves of soup sloshing against the bowl’s edges. Had Mr. Bates discovered why Alvin was prowling about Gloughton last night, and in doing so, defended his aunt’s corpse with his fists? Hadn’t Alvin mentioned the man who’d affronted him was trying to stop him from stealing the body? Of course, Gerald Bates would defend the very corpse of his aunt! But then, why not turn Alvin in to the authorities?
Josie slumped into a chair and held her head in her hands. The suspicion that chased her thoughts stabbed hard and fast like the spindle of a loom. She begged God that she was wrong. Alvin was in rough shape, perhaps just coming out of a loss of consciousness this morning. Had Mr. Bates left Alvin, assuming he was dead?
Mr. Bates might not turn over Alvin’s body to the authorities if he’d presumed he killed him. Had he run from the crime to escape possible charges?
Poor Braham was surrounded by more than resurrectionists and posed mourners. His only relative left might have attempted murder.
Josie stirred the soup, considering all other possibilities. But, regretfully, she was stuck in her own worry. If her suspicion was correct, and Gerald knew who Alvin was, and if he ever told Braham, then she would be found out soon enough. To have to answer to Braham about such a thing as this crushed Josie’s hope in any kind of friendship with Braham.
Josie sniffled, the aroma of garlic from the soup teasing her appetite.
She had some time left.
Nothing had changed really, except that Aunt Myrtle’s remains were safe. Josie must demand that Alvin describe the person who assaulted him last night. She would have to wait until he returned to Gloughton. At least Mr. Bates had headed out of town.
Josie walked beneath the shadow of a secret, one that would astound any kind, upstanding soul. And one person in particular fit that description every waking hour she had spent with him and the short slumber they’d shared together. Braham Taylor was oblivious to who she really was, and as she cleared her place from the table, Josie’s tears fell on her tray, mourning the dwindling chance that she might deserve such a man as him.
She took the tray to the kitchen and tidied up. Fran must have retired for the evening. Josie headed back to her room to check on the girls, but Molly appeared to be waiting for her at the second-floor landing.
“Miss Clay, would you consider another piece for our newsletter?” She leaned on the banister. Josie had one foot on the first step up to the third floor and the other on the landing.
“I—I do not know. I am busy tending to my roommates, who are ill.”
“Ah, this would be a short interview. Nothing as tedious as reciting those Latin names of herbaceous plants.” She smirked. “It would be a simple set of questions.”
“Questions?” Josie noticed that a few other ladies had appeared behind Molly. Their arms were crossed, and they looked as though they were hanging on every word.
“There’s a rumor going about, and you are at its center.” Molly slid her arms along the banister as she neared Josie. “A few villagers have seen you with that man who visits often. They suspect you are both scheming.”
Josie’s mouth went dry. “Wh–what has been said?”
Molly shrugged. “Just that he’s lingered about here, saying he’s waiting for you one too many times.”
“But he’s my father’s hand. He informs me on how my father is doing.”
“He’s at the tavern most nights, rattling off about the woman he’s to marry.” Molly leaned in and whispered, “Most are saying it is you.”
A mass of auburn curls caught Josie’s attention, and she knew the woman Alvin must have referred to. Audra glared at Josie with a look that warned more than wondered.
Speaking loud enough for all to hear, Josie continued up the stairs saying, “It appears to me that gossip has bred lies. The man is twice my age. There must be some other woman he speaks of.” She slid a look at Audra, who had stepped away from the group. “Good night.”
What choice might Josie face when everything was over? Would she be a welcomed mill girl, sending her wages to her father, or would all of this scheming mark her among the villagers, giving her no reprieve in this second chance at living?
Chapter Nineteen
The next morning, Braham arrived to a bitter scene on the factory’s main floor. A third of his girls were missing, and Miss Clyde was frantic as she assigned certain women to several looms at a time.
The chomping noise of the machines rattled Braham’s nerves as he chased the woman down an aisle. “Miss Clyde, come here thi
s instant.”
She spun around, wringing her hands. “Mr. Taylor, the women are ill. They are bound to their beds with nothing in their stomachs but a foul bile. Miss Fawna has enlisted the help of that Miss Clay, and they are doing their best to get the girls back up for work. I fear we will lose much productivity. Mr. Bates will be furious.”
Braham grit his teeth. He swiveled on his heel and headed to the boardinghouse. The maid took him to the parlor. He waited for Fawna Jamison but kept an eye on the doorway for Josie. The disheveled matron dragged herself down the stairs, dark shadows encircling her glassy eyes and her arms wrapped around her waist.
“Are you not well?” he asked.
“I am fine, but I have faced much this past night. I fear my sympathetic heart is wreaking havoc on my own belly.” She laughed weakly and collapsed onto the couch. “There are ten girls in their beds, and Miss Clay is off to acquire more medicine. Her roommates are on the mend, so we are hopeful it is helping.”
“That is good,” Braham said, pride blooming his chest for the stunning Josie Clay caring so diligently. “Get some rest, Miss Jamison. I trust Miss Clay will be successful.”
He left the house, glancing toward town as he crossed the courtyard. When he reached the doorstep of the factory, Miss Clay hurried across the bridge. She carried a basket carefully in her arms.
He descended the stairs and ran over to assist her. “Is it as fragile as that?” He smiled as he strode up to her. She was pale but returned a genuine smile just the same. “Here, let me help.” He took the basket from her arms.
“Careful,” she warned. “They are corked, but already one has leaked as I walked.”
Bottles clinked as he held the basket against his chest. “Your roommates are well?”
“Yes, I do believe it is a short-lived malady.” In the bright sunshine, she put her hand over her eyes as she looked up at him. “How will the factory manage with so many women missing today?”
The Yellow Lantern Page 18