A Haven on Orchard Lane

by Lawana Blackwell

  “No, that’s quite all right,” Jude said. “I’m curious. Continue, please.”

  He touched a second fingertip. “Well, she seems to take issue with you for refusing to court her niece, a brilliant lass who would make an excellent wife.”

  “A child. Did she happen to mention that she was a child?”

  “Not to my memory. But she did express regret that I move about so much, otherwise she would arrange an introduction.”

  “That poor girl,” Rosalind said.

  “And . . .”

  “There is more?” Jude said.

  “Only that her son defended you in grammar school when you were mocked for having Indian blood.”

  “Defended me? Bartholomew Hooper was the worst of the lot.”

  Why did you ask, Jude? Rosalind thought. The crunches of soles upon the roadway were the only sounds.

  Mr. Smith kicked a stone. “There is no shame for having been bullied, Mr. Pearce. I was for having parents in service. Until I outgrew my tormentors.”

  “Lucky you,” Jude said. “I used to daydream of that very thing . . . discovering some magic potion that would turn me into Hercules.”

  “But you became wealthy instead. What did George Herbert say? ‘Living well is the best revenge’?”

  “I don’t seek revenge. Bartholomew has apologized. Some of my old schoolmates are my best patrons now.”

  “So . . . you’re not the least bit happy that they may be a little envious?”

  “Not at all.” Jude smiled over at him. “But that’s a good saying.”

  Rosalind marveled at how men could be so brutally frank with each other without taking offense. Still, she was relieved at the sight of Mother at the cottage gate.

  “It is always a pleasure to see you, Mr. Pearce!” she said.

  He took her hand. “A pleasure to see you as well, Mrs. Kent.”

  “I realize you can’t leave the shop for very long. Coral has lunch ready. Shall we?”

  In the dining room, Mr. Smith put fork and knife to work with his usual enthusiasm, but he did pause to say, “You have a fine dog, Mr. Pearce. From where did you get the name? Surely there is an interesting story.”

  Jude shook his head. “Sorry to disappoint, but it was the name of a neighbor’s especially good-tempered beagle when I was a boy. I suppose I thought the name would ensure like behavior.”

  “And obviously did.”

  “She’s yet to bite anyone.”

  “I was bitten on the hand by a dog when I was a girl,” Mother said. She held up her left hand. “You can barely see the scar.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Mother,” Rosalind said, then realized that was something she should have known. Even Aunt Vesta had been fond of relating events from her own childhood. But Rosalind was weary of the deception, and in any case, the men had not seemed to notice.

  “Oh, it frightened me more than hurt,” Mother said.

  “I can relate to that,” Mr. Smith said, and soon they were laughing at his account of a snake dropping down his collar in Hyde Park as he listened to an orchestra performing the works of Rossini.

  “I sat propped against a trunk, my collar loosened, as it was an especially hot August day. At the first bite, I jumped up dancing like a lunatic, which caused the snake to do the same! Nannies covered the eyes of their wee charges! People pointed! I tore buttons and a sleeve in my haste to shed the shirt . . . and it was a new one!”

  “How many times did it bite you, Mr. Smith?” Mother asked.

  “Five, Mrs. Kent. Ten punctures! Fortunately, it wasn’t an asp, just a grass snake. But to this day, I avoid low-hanging branches like the plague.”

  “And what of Rossini?” Jude asked.

  Mr. Smith grimaced at him. “Not quite so fond of him anymore, truth be told.”

  On the porch a while later, Rosalind thanked Jude for being so kind to Mr. Smith. “I gather he is lonesome for male company during his travels. You men seem to have a language all your own.”

  Jude smiled and squeezed her hand. “It was no burden. I like him.”

  “So, you’re not jealous?” she teased.

  “Should I be?” he asked, his eyes playfully narrowing.

  She pecked his forehead. “No. Now go and open your shop.”

  On her way to the parlor, she thought of how Reginald would have sulked. Not that she had ever had a male friend when they were courting, but he was jealous even of her school acquaintances.

  Fear of spinsterhood had almost led her into a grave mistake. Rosalind could picture herself now, bound into marriage, perhaps with a child or two, while dying inside. How grateful she was to God for giving her the wisdom to veer from the path she was on when she had no way of knowing if others lay in the shrouded future.

  Jude turned to send her a wave from the end of the fence. She smiled and waved back. Was Jude the right path? She hoped, for she was certain that she loved him. “Too soon,” her mother would say. And too soon to admit as much to him. The man was supposed to say it first. That was a law set into stone.

  39

  Danny and his family had a railway carriage to themselves on the way home. Father and Stepmother, cradling a sleeping Teresa, shared the forward-facing seat. Danny and Albert knelt upon the opposite seat at opposite windows, the parcels and folded sheepskin between them.

  All this time, Danny had thought they were poor, but in the shops, Father had purchased two sets of clothes and a pair of shoes for each. Even after their stepmother reminded him that summer break was near! As hills and trees, cattle and pastures, moved by, Danny stretched out his arm and relished the breeze against his skin.

  A westbound train whooshed by with a gust of hot air. He jerked back his arm.

  Father chuckled.

  “May I see?” Albert hopped down as the train clicked by.

  “Mind you keep your arm inside,” their stepmother warned.

  It was not like her to concern herself with their safety, particularly Albert’s. As his brother squeezed to share the window, Danny turned to say, “I’ll watch him.”

  She smiled, closed her eyes, and nuzzled her nose into Teresa’s silky curls.

  A rush of happiness came over him. This was the most perfect day in his life. The cathedral was bigger than he had remembered, the fish and chips the best meal he had ever had, though he would never say that to Miss Shipsey. Afterward, chocolate ice cream!

  And in the luggage carriage was a new mattress!

  “How will we get the mattress home?” he asked after the other train had passed.

  “Mr. Ford will have someone on hand,” Father said. “Most likely Mr. Plummer.”

  “Who is Mr. Ford, Father?” Albert asked, moving over to his knees.

  “The stationmaster, Albert.”

  “And who is Mr. Plummer?”

  “The Methodist minister. He lives near the station and drives people when they need him.”

  “He didn’t drive us there.”

  Father tousled his flaming hair. “Why, we had no parcels then, did we?”

  “Do you know everyone?” Danny asked.

  “Everyone with two shillings to rub together.”

  “Mrs. Kent?” Albert asked.

  Breath held, Danny glanced at his stepmother. Her eyes were still closed.

  “But of course,” Father said. “You’re her gardeners, yes?”

  Danny eased out the breath. But of course Father knew her. Hadn’t he sent a letter that they would not be there today? He hoped Mrs. Kent was not too disappointed. They would work twice as hard next Saturday to make up for it.

  Too soon, the train hissed to a stop at Port Stilwell Station. Teresa whimpered and raised her head, blinking. She pointed to Albert, whose hair was wild from the wind and father’s tousling, and laughed. “Look!”

  That made Father laugh, and Albert. And miracle of miracles, so did their stepmother. Happiness so overwhelmed Danny that his eyes teared.

  Mr. Plummer seemed as wide as he was tall,
and sometimes jabbed Danny with his elbow, but Danny relished sitting high in the wagon seat behind the team of horses. Father, his stepmother, and Teresa sat just behind them, on a wide bench fastened into the bed. There was no doubt as to Albert’s enjoyment, for from Mr. Plummer’s other side, he called to every person they passed.

  “Hallo! Hallo!”

  At the cottage, Danny and Albert followed as Mr. Plummer and Father lugged the mattress indoors and up the stairs.

  “What will you do with this one?” Mr. Plummer said of the old mattress.

  “I haven’t thought,” Father said.

  “My wife and the ladies at the church . . . they take apart, patch, and clean them, then give them to pensioners and poor families.”

  “Very good.”

  “He shouldn’t have charged you,” Stepmother muttered when Father returned from helping Mr. Plummer load it into his wagon.

  Danny’s stomach felt the familiar knot.

  “Sabrina, we don’t need the money.”

  When she did not argue, Danny relaxed a bit and went back upstairs. Albert lay curled upon the foot of the bare mattress. But for the slight indentation made by his brother’s body, it was the same height all around. And the blue-and-white ticking was not stained! Which brought on the old panic. He shook his brother’s shoulder. “Albert!”

  Father came into the room. “Tired him out, did we?”

  Not yet used to his being interested in their lives, Danny said, “He’s not been to the bathroom since Exeter.”

  “Wake up, son,” Father said, scooping him into his arms.

  Albert stirred enough to use the chamber pot, but with eyes closed and mouth agape. Father hefted him onto his shoulder and turned to Danny, studying him as if for the first time. “How long have you been waking him to go?”

  “Just before you came in.”

  “No. Before that.”

  Danny tried to think, shook his head. “I don’t know. But sometimes I can’t wake myself.”

  “But of course. You’re a boy yourself.” Father’s eyes were fixed upon him as if he were some new discovery, some wonder.

  Please, Mother, ask God to have him stay this way. For Albert.

  Danny’s conscience felt a pang. He wanted it as much for himself as for his brother. Albert had never known Father any other way, so he could not have the same yearning.

  God knew Danny’s thoughts. Would He make his father the way he was before, to punish him?

  That was a lie, Mother. Please tell God that I want it for me too. Please tell Him that I’ll never be dishonest again.

  His throat swelled. In a tinny voice, he said, “I stole a sheet.”

  “You what?”

  Danny hung his head. “Took a sheet from Mrs. Winter’s wash line. Before Christmas. It’s in the attic.”

  “But why?”

  “So we would have a dry one whenever Albert had accidents.”

  The old weariness settled into Father’s face. Danny had apologized to God too late. But then, Father reached his free hand between Danny’s shoulders and pressed him into his side. The strength of the hand upon his back, the cloth against his cheek, brought fresh but good tears.

  “I expect we’ll need to buy Mrs. Winter a new one.”

  “I’m sorry,” Danny said into his side.

  Father released him, stepped back. “It’s a sin to steal, Danny. But the greater sin would have been to watch your brother be punished without trying to put a stop to it. I’m sorry you couldn’t come to me. I’ve failed you both.”

  Lips pressed tight to keep tears in check, Danny shook his head.

  “But I have. Never again!”

  “Teresa has ice cream on her nose,” Albert murmured upon his shoulder.

  Father laughed.

  Danny laughed as well. He reckoned he had laughed more today than any day in his life.

  His stepmother served coddled eggs and toast for supper, because, as she said, she had had no time to prepare anything else.

  “I like coddled eggs,” Danny assured her. Not from affection, for the beatings were still sharp in his memory. Even though life was so much better now, he still feared her power to change Father. He resolved to say nice things to her, to help more and keep her happy.

  He had not realized how bad the room had smelled until Father tucked them in that night. The breeze from the windows felt as crisp as their new sheets. Albert lay upon the sheepskin, which Father said would dry quickly and could even be washed.

  “So sleep, Danny.” Father said with a kiss upon his forehead.

  He did, face pressed into pillow, and woke Sunday morning to the familiar smell. But this time, Father came in and bathed Albert’s naked body at the washstand with a flannel.

  “I tried not to muss it up, Father,” Albert said.

  “That’s why it’s there, Albert. No matter. Let us dress for church.”

  “But Mother hates the vicar,” Danny blurted before thinking.

  It had to do with his calling upon Father and Stepmother some months ago because someone had spoken to him about a bruise covering Albert’s cheek.

  Danny reckoned that person to be Mrs. Fairburn, and the odd thing was that a fall from the elm in the garden had caused the injury. With Albert and Danny to confirm her innocence in this case, their stepmother had ranted and raved, thus ending their church-going days at Saint Michael’s.

  His father gave him a sad look. “Mr. Plummer has always been a decent fellow. I thought we should give the Methodists a try.”

  Danny and Albert set out on Monday morning with full stomachs and clean shirts and trousers. At the schoolhouse, Danny handed his brother his lunch pail, heavier than it had ever been, and said, “Mind you don’t go mucking about in the dirt at recess.”

  “But I have more clothes now,” his brother said.

  “We don’t want Stepmother to have to wash too often.”

  Albert’s forehead furrowed. “She wouldn’t be angry. Would she?”

  Torn between admitting the worry in the back of his mind, and not spoiling his brother’s newfound happiness, Danny chose the latter and patted his shoulder. “We want to be nice boys for her, don’t we? And nice boys stay away from dirt.”

  On the grammar school side of the building, some children gave him bemused looks, but most treated him with the same disdain.

  “Stinky has new clothes! Did your father rob the bank?”

  Mr. Clark came out to the steps and rang the bell. Danny filed past with the others, head tucked as far into his new shirt as possible, expecting more abuse.

  “Will you read the morning prayer, Danny?”

  Danny jerked his head up as his cheeks burned. “Um . . .”

  “Very good,” Mr. Clark said. And smiled!

  At the end of the day, Danny sprinted to the other side of the building to find Albert, two other boys, and a girl playing tag. He sighed at the dirt upon his brother’s shoes and trousers. Perhaps he could brush it off with his hands.

  But even that could not dampen his spirits! While his schoolmates still shunned him at recess, they had spared him the usual taunts. And Adelle Whitaker had thanked him for picking up her pencil from the floor! Adelle, who looked down her nose at everyone because her father was postmaster!

  “Emery says his uncle walks with a wooden leg,” Albert said during their walk home. “He straps it on under his trousers.”

  “What happened to his real leg?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Are you sure he said it at all?”

  “He did!”

  “Well, ask.” Danny opened the front gate. “And listen.”

  Teresa’s shrieks met their ears before they stepped onto the porch. Danny ran inside and tossed their lunch pails onto a parlor chair.

  “Mother?”

  “Mo-ther!” Albert called.

  Danny hustled up the steps into the nursery. Teresa sat at an angle in her crib, with one chubby leg stuck out between the iron bars to just above the
knee. Her face was wet, and she sobbed more loudly when he approached.

  “Go and find Stepmother!” Danny shouted as Albert came huffing through the doorway.

  To Teresa, he soothed, “Don’t cry . . . Mother’s coming.”

  He was too short to reach over the railing and lift her. Pushing on her leg did not work. Her howls made him want to cry himself. But then, the leg seemed to loosen a bit when he raised it. Gently, he wiggled and raised some more.

  It worked! She drew in her leg and pulled herself to a wobbly stand.

  “Da-ey!” she sobbed, straining arms to reach him.

  He took her under the arms and pulled. Her belly, then legs, slid over the railing, so heavy against him that he stumbled backward a step.

  “There, there now,” he said, rocking her from side to side as his stepmother did.

  She wept against his shoulder. He took a couple more backward steps, patting her back. Seconds later, she raised her sodden face and twisted to point to her doll in the crib. “Baby!”

  “I’ll get it.” Before he could put her down, rapid footfalls sounded upon the landing. His stepmother rushed in and pulled her, arms flailing, from him. The suddenness caused her to shriek again.

  “There, there now,” his stepmother said, rocking her as he had just done.

  “She wants her doll.” Danny went over to reach through the bars. He handed it to Teresa, which calmed her at once.

  Albert entered. “The kitchen smells good, Mother. What are you cooking?”

  She glanced at him, not smiling but neither was she frowning. “Come with me.”

  A treat? For saving Teresa? Danny and Albert traded cautious smiles as they followed her down the staircase. In the kitchen, their stepmother set Teresa in the corner with her doll and blocks. She went over to the stove to lift the lid from a kettle and stir with a wooden spoon.

  “What are you cooking?” Albert asked again.

  She replaced the lid, set the spoon upon the stove, and moved over to face them.

  “Sit.”

  They climbed into chairs. She took Father’s, at the head of the table.

  “I wasn’t to be away long. Can’t have her wander about when I’m in the privy.”

  “Her leg was stuck,” Danny said, just in case Albert had not explained. His stomach was beginning to feel queasy. But why?