Mr. Pearce rose from a bench near the crabapple tree, and Jinny trotted over.
“Hallo, dear Jinny,” Charlotte said. Before she could offer the same hand to Mr. Pearce, her hand was scooped up and enveloped by both of his.
“Was your mission successful, Mrs. Kent?”
“Why yes, it was.”
“I’m happy to hear it,” he said. “You’re not angry with Miss Shipsey, are you?”
“For sharing more than her shepherd’s pie recipe? Not at all.”
“I’ve come to thank you.”
“You’re quite welcome. However, that begs a question.”
He grinned. “My uncle paid a call this morning.”
“Oh my! You must tell me every detail!”
As they shared the bench, he related his morning adventure, adding, “I felt a connection to my father, just hearing his voice.”
“To think you woke assuming this would be an ordinary day.”
“Indeed.” Mr. Pearce hesitated. “He insisted I take a substantial sum of money as my father’s legacy.”
“Why, this just gets better and better!”
“Do you think I was right to accept it?”
“Would your father have wanted you to?”
He nodded. “I believe so.”
“Then there you have it,” Charlotte said. “Whatever will you do with it?”
“I’ve been considering that while waiting for you. Firstly, I’d like to divide my tithe between Saint Paul’s and the London Missionary Society, which sponsored my parents.”
“How very admirable.”
“And then I would buy my shop from Mrs. Hooper. No more renting.”
“Won’t that be liberating!”
“I should also go to London and meet with a couple of new book publishers. I haven’t been in years.”
“Now that you’re a man of means, you must stay at The Langham, at least for one night. The hydraulic lifts are a marvel, and the food at the restaurant is superb.”
“You’ve been to London often?”
“Now and again,” she replied. “Will you also take a trip to India?”
“Perhaps.” His face practically glowed. “When monsoon season is over.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“Thank you. The bulk of it I’ll save, of course. But it may be that I shall want to build a cottage one day. My loft is small.”
The words came out a trifle too casually. He glanced away.
Charlotte smiled to herself. “You strike a nice balance of practicality and liberality.”
He chuckled. “My grandmother’s Indian frugality balanced my grandfather’s Latin spontaneity. But there is one thing more I should like to do.”
“And what is that, Mr. Pearce?”
“Now”—he held up a hand—“please hear me out. All the way over, I wondered how I could ever repay you.”
She sat up straighter. “Surely you’re not about to offer me money.”
“I wouldn’t insult you, Mrs. Kent. But after speaking with Miss Shipsey, the solution came: I would like to pay the boys’ wages.”
“No.”
“If it weren’t for you, this wouldn’t have happened to me.”
“You don’t know such a thing. God could have made another way if He meant for you to have it.” She shook her head. “You’re very kind, Mr. Pearce. But I feel impressed to do this.”
He sighed, stared at his crossed shoes, but then brightened. “Books!”
“Books?”
“Will you allow me to donate some books?”
“Well, there’s a thought,” she conceded. “Children should have stories.”
“Stories opened up new worlds to me as a child.”
“To me as well.” Charlotte patted his shoulder. “That will be lovely, Mr. Pearce.”
He hesitated. “May I include some for you?”
She opened her mouth to refuse, but then, how could she deny him the joy of giving, when she herself was spilling over with it?
And she did enjoy books!
“Very well, Mr. Pearce. If that is what you wish to do. And I thank you.”
27
Danny could tell something was amiss the moment he and Albert stepped into the cottage. For one thing, they were met by a delicious aroma coming from the kitchen, accompanied by a song.
“I wish he would make up his mind, Ma,
For I don’t care much longer to wait;
I’m sure that I’ve hinted quite strongly
that I thought about changing my state . . .”
His stepmother had a more pleasing voice than Mr. Clark, who began every morning belting out “God Save the Queen.” Yet she rarely sang other than to put Teresa to sleep with a “Rock-a-bye Baby” so gentle and loving that Danny pressed his ears into his pillow when the notes drifted through their bedroom wall.
Albert inhaled as if about to plunge into the sea. “M-m-m, ginger biscuits?”
“For a sweetheart, he’s really so backward,
I can’t bring him out if I try;
I own that he’s very good-tempered,
But then, he’s so dreadfully shy!”
“Don’t ask for nothing,” Danny whispered.
His brother gave him a stricken look but accompanied him into the kitchen.
Teresa, playing with wooden spoons on a rug, pointed and chattered. Their stepmother looked up from sprinkling bits of rosemary onto a raw chicken in a pan.
“You’re home. A Mrs. Kent asked to hire you to work Saturdays in her garden. She lives in the yellow cottage at the end of Orchard Lane.”
Albert brightened. “We went—”
“We’ve picked brambleberries in the woods nearby,” Danny cut in.
“Berries.” She sighed. “My mum made the most marvelous tarts. She died when I was but ten, so I never learned her recipe.”
“Yours are very good,” Danny said carefully.
“Why, thank you.”
It seemed a spell had been cast, warm and smelling of ginger. As if the woman who had boxed his ears this morning for leaving shoes upon the landing had taken a potion.
“I smell biscuits,” Albert said, eyeing a tea cloth–draped plate on the table.
Teresa burst into tears while holding a spoon aloft. Mother hurried over to her, lifted her into her arms. “There, there. Did you hit yourself, mite?”
“Hold your tongue,” Danny whispered to Albert.
She patted the child, rocking her back and forth until the tears abated. “Will a sweet make it better?”
Albert’s eyes widened with longing, but Danny shook his head.
And then Stepmother lifted the tea cloth from the plate. She took a golden biscuit and gave it to Teresa, who pushed it into her mouth. She set Teresa to her feet and, incredibly, held the dish out to Danny.
“Have one. For him too.”
No matter her mood, she still could not voice his brother’s name.
Albert accepted his, grinning, and took an immediate bite.
“Now sit,” she said with a nod to the chairs.
When they were seated, she put two more biscuits before each of them, then pulled out her own chair while hefting Teresa into her lap.
“If your father asks if you want to work for Mrs. Kent, what will you say?”
Danny could not dream of his father caring, but then, he had broken through his indifference for a little while on the day of the fair, hadn’t he? Before Albert could swallow the mouthful of biscuit in his mouth and chirp out something incriminating, Danny said, “We’ll say that we should like to work. It’s good for us.”
What a relief to speak the truth for a change. He did not need to ask how this came to be. Why Mrs. Kent took such pains for him and his brother, he could not fathom. But what a comfort to know she thought of them.
Stepmother looked at Albert. He nodded, wide-eyed.
“If you do as she says and she decides to keep you on, I’ll give you each a penny every week.”
> A penny! Danny wondered if his joy could be contained. Not that the thought of spending time at Mrs. Kent’s cottage every Saturday wasn’t joy enough.
Later, Father sat at the table chewing listlessly, even though the roasted chicken and vegetables were the most marvelous meal they had had in months. Again, Danny wondered why bank clerking was so taxing.
“She can pay them only a tuppence,” Mother was saying. “But it would be good for them to help a poor widow.”
Father swallowed. “I don’t know, Sabrina. We don’t need the money.”
The warning line appeared between her eyebrows. “Don’t need the money, you say, when the town forces school fees upon us? It would be within our rights to send Danny out with the boats now that he’s ten, but I’m not saying we should, am I?”
Danny shifted in his chair. Should he inject himself into the argument? Surely she would not make him pay for it later, especially for taking her side.
Before he could speak, she waved a hand toward him and his brother. “They wish to do it. Ask them!”
“We do, Father!” Albert piped. “She’s nice!”
Danny felt the blood drain from his face.
Oddly, Stepmother was too pleased with the support to ask how he could possibly know this. Or perhaps she assumed Albert referred to her.
“You see?” she said.
Father gave Danny a questioning look.
“Yes, Father,” Danny said, stretching his lips into a smile. “We wish to learn how to garden.”
“Very well,” he said wearily. “We shall see how it goes.”
Stepmother’s mood was so light that she allowed Danny and Albert each another biscuit for pudding, with well-sugared tea.
“Mother loves us now!” Albert said in bed.
“Sh-h-h.” Danny glanced at the door and whispered, “She’s not our mother. And she just wanted Father to agree. You still have to be careful.”
“I’m tired of being careful!” Albert hissed.
He turned on his pillow and shoved a thumb into his mouth. The tea increased his chances of an accident, thus Danny slept fitfully when at all, rousing himself twice to have his brother use the chamber pot.
By Saturday, Mother’s mood had regressed.
“She said meals are included, so I’m thinking that means breakfast. You’ll work hard so she’ll keep you on. And no speaking of what goes on here. None of her affair.”
“What will she make us do?” Albert asked Danny as they walked up Orchard Lane with empty stomachs. “Scrub the fireplace, like Cinderella? I would, for Mrs. Kent.”
Danny snorted. “There aren’t any fireplaces in gardens.”
“Oh yes. We seen one behind a big house on fair day, remember?”
“That was the inn. Whatever it is, do your best, so we’ll be allowed to stay.”
On the porch of the yellow cottage, he spit into his hand and attempted to press down some of Albert’s red curls. Mrs. Deamer answered his knock and smiled.
“Good morning, Danny, Albert. Come this way.”
She led them into the kitchen. Danny was disappointed not to see Miss Shipsey, but a teakettle simmered upon the stove, so he reckoned she was not too far away. They continued on to the narrow white door leading to the water closet.
“You’ll want to wash your hands.”
“Why must we have clean hands to work in the garden?” Albert asked as Danny pushed back his sleeves at the sink.
“I don’t know,” Danny whispered. “But don’t complain.”
Again, the towel was too nice to use. He wiped hands upon his trousers and directed Albert to do the same. They followed Mrs. Deamer back through the kitchen and into a dining room, where Mrs. Shipsey was placing cutlery upon a white cloth, and Mrs. Kent was arranging flowers in a vase.
Danny did not know what to say. For once, he appreciated Albert’s barging ahead.
“Hallo, Mrs. Kent! We’re here!”
Mrs. Kent chuckled. “And so you are. We’re celebrating your first morning of employment with a breakfast feast . . . a cold one, because I neglected to give you an arrival time. I do hope you’re hungry.”
Hungry? Danny approached the table, where a loaf of dark bread sat beside a crock of butter. Strawberries, as red as he had ever seen them. Cheese, pickled beef tongue, and scones. He could only stare. Even Albert appeared dumbstruck.
“Has the cat got your tongue?” Miss Shipsey said on her way to the door.
Albert laughed, and Danny eased into a smile.
Miss Shipsey returned with a silver teapot. They all took chairs, and Mrs. Kent said, “Shall we pray?”
A memory stirred of earlier prayers at table. Danny motioned for Albert to bow his head before bowing his own.
“Dearest Father, thank you for another day, and for allowing Danny and Albert to visit. Forgive us our failings, and give us the strength to honor you with our lives. In the name of your Son, Jesus Christ, amen.”
While Mrs. Deamer poured two beakers of milk from a pitcher, Miss Shipsey put a bit of everything on their plates, including a piece of buttered bread as big as his fist. Danny tried to pace himself as his brother shoved food into his mouth.
The women did not seem to mind. They chatted. The greengrocer’s wife, a Mrs. Stark, had been to Paignton to see a show called The Pirates of Penzance. Danny wondered if actual pirates were on stage, but children were not to speak at the table, and anyway, he was still too nervous to call attention to himself.
But minutes later, Mrs. Kent smiled at him and asked, “What did you learn at school yesterday?”
“Um . . . the solar system?”
“I could never remember their order,” Miss Shipsey said. “Particularly Uranus and Neptune. Which comes first?”
“An acronym helps,” Mrs. Deamer said.
Miss Shipsey blinked at her. “Acro—”
“Making a sentence from the first letters. I once had a schoolmistress who used them for everything. My very elderly mother just sits up nights. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune.”
“Well done, Mrs. Deamer,” said Mrs. Kent. She turned to Albert. “And what did you learn, young Albert?”
He scrunched up his face. “A song about boats.”
“Will you sing it for us?” Miss Shipsey asked.
With the women smiling and Danny holding his breath, Albert wiped his mouth on his sleeve and piped,
“Sail-ing, sail-ing, over the bounding main.
Where many a stormy wind shall blow,
’Ere Jack comes home again!”
The women laughed in a delighted, non-mocking sort of way. The knots in Danny’s stomach eased. No angry outburst loomed on the horizon. Not all kind people in the world turned on you. What a marvelous thought!
Afterward, Mrs. Deamer and Miss Shipsey collected the dishes onto trays as Mrs. Kent led Danny and Albert into the parlor.
“We have a bit of weeding, but it’s not good for digestion so soon after a meal. Let us rest a bit.” She lifted a book from the sofa and then sat in the middle. Albert, hesitating, climbed up to sit upon her left. Danny took the other side.
She held up the book in her lap, The Swiss Family Robinson. “Mr. Pearce of the bookshop brought several over for you. I chose this one because I so much enjoyed the story when I was a child.”
Danny knew of the shop, had seen the man with spectacles sweeping the pavement and sometimes walking a small dog.
“What’s it about?” Albert asked.
“Why, a family who find themselves shipwrecked on an island.”
“Why did he give us books?” Danny asked.
“Because he’s a kind man who remembers how fond he was of stories when he was a boy. I’ll show you the rest later.”
She opened the book, but Albert said, “May we bring them home, Mrs. Kent?”
“No, Albert,” Danny said.
Their stepmother would disapprove. He knew this instinctively, though he would be at a loss to explain.
“To keep them here is best,” said Mrs. Kent, moving pages. “But they will always belong to you. Perhaps when you’re grown men, you’ll read them to your children.”
The concept of being grown had never occurred to Danny. Now was all he had, save those trips to a happier past.
“The tempest had raged for six days, and on the seventh seemed to increase. The ship had been so far driven from its course, that no one on board knew where we were. Every one was exhausted with fatigue and watching. The shattered vessel began to leak in many places, the oaths of the sailors were changed to prayers, and each thought only how to save his own life.”
Birdsong floated through the window, and in the distance, gulls squawked faintly. Danny closed his eyes, leaned back against the seat, drew in a deep breath of pine and salt and flower-scented air and imagined himself onboard the doomed ship, rocked too and fro by the sea.
His shoulder was being given gentle shakes.
“Danny?”
He forced open his eyes. Mrs. Kent smiled down at him.
“You both dropped off like Rip Van Winkle. It’s been two hours. I fear if you sleep longer, you’ll toss and turn tonight.”
He sat up, looked to the bare place to his left.
“Albert went to the water closet.”
Danny did not smell anything, nor see any dark spot on the cloth. Still, he had to ask. “Did he . . . have an accident?”
“No.” She sat beside him, her eyes studying his face. “Does he have them often?”
“Oh, not at all,” he assured her. “But he’s a heavy sleeper. So I wondered . . .”
Albert skipped through the doorway, licking his lips.
“Miss Shipsey gave me a chocolate! There’s one for you in my pocket.”
Mrs. Kent smiled and rose. “Shall we do some gardening?”
The vegetable patch was comprised of a half-dozen fresh-looking rows, about twice as long as Father was tall. Short sprouts of various kinds were spaced out across the tops of five, like soldiers on hillsides.
She bent with a soft grunt, pulled a small shoot of grass from the soil. “Some weeds and grasses are trying to elbow themselves in. Mind you pull from the base, to get the roots. I shall be thinning tomato seedlings at the table on the terrace.”
A Haven on Orchard Lane Page 17