“Though Mr. Lowe is going to fund Max’s schooling, we can’t take his charity forever. So I’ll make money, and Max can get his degree. After he graduates, he can pay me back.” Robert winked. “And I’ll find me a girl too, make working all day worth it.”
Aaron smiled. Thankfully the stresses of schoolwork hadn’t completely depressed Robert’s spirits. “Hope you do.”
“You won’t tell the Lowes, will you?”
“I figure you and Max can decide what’s best for you when you get to Boston. But don’t be afraid to change your mind. School gives you an advantage over others, so . . .” He tapped his finger on Robert’s paper. “Let’s figure out when this train arrives in Atlanta.”
“Stupid trains. They’ll get there when they get there.” Robert sighed and went back to scribbling with his stub of a pencil.
Watching Robert work and redirecting him when he got off track, Aaron stretched his arms and legs as he’d done a dozen times already, but it seemed the aches from constant mowing might plague him for weeks.
But at least he was doing something worth his salary. Though he’d been hired to challenge Max, if it wasn’t for Robert and the grounds work, he’d feel like a highwayman come payday.
“Is Max finished already?” Cook came bustling in with something smelling of oven-kissed brown sugar. Her dark curls framed a round face that sat atop an even rounder body.
“I’m afraid so.” He was going to have to put a lot more thought into these tutoring sessions if he was going to keep Max engaged for an entire hour.
“I’ll try harder to get something baked earlier tomorrow, then.” She slid the goodies in front of them. “Do you know where he went?”
Robert snatched the top cookie.
Aaron shook his head and gave Robert a glare. “Math first.”
The boy sighed, tossed the cookie back on the pile, and picked up his pencil.
Aaron turned to Cook, only to find her glaring at him. “Robert just has two more questions—he won’t starve. And no, I’m not sure where Max went.”
Cook sized him up, then took two cookies and bustled out.
Aaron leaned back and closed his eyes, mentally counting the staff. So many people for so few children. Mr. Lowe had told him they’d had up to eighteen orphans at one time, but his boss didn’t seem at all concerned he was spending so much on so few right now.
Oh for that much money.
Once Robert finished, grabbed his cookies, and left, Aaron headed out. The mansion was grander than any building he’d ever been in. He’d not received a tour and was only inside to tutor and get his meals, so it would likely be months before a new detail or interesting piece of furniture wouldn’t take him by surprise.
While trying to find his way to the conservatory he’d been told was at the back of the house, the hair on the back of his neck prickled. He slowed and looked over his shoulder but saw no one.
Likely Mercy watching from somewhere. He’d caught her studying him from afar several times the last couple days. Twice after hearing a noise outside the music room, where he tutored, she had come in shortly after, acting as if she had reason to be there but leaving with nothing more than what she’d brought in.
How many times had she been watching him when he hadn’t noticed?
He would be flattered by any other woman as pretty as she was taking secret glances at him, but her glances were full of suspicion and mistrust—they’d never turn romantic.
A woman like her would never have romantic thoughts about a man like him. Not only was she beautiful, but as a child she’d always been kind, dependable, and bright—and it looked as if nothing had changed.
At the end of the high-ceilinged hallway, Owen, the youngest orphan, slid across the polished floor in his socks. The five-year-old used the wall to stop himself and laughed, but the second he saw Aaron, he scrambled back across the slick floor and disappeared into another room.
Aaron frowned. What had he done to scare him? “Wait.”
He jogged after Owen and watched him slip under the desk in the study. Aaron ran his fingertips through his beard. Robert had tried to introduce them yesterday when the young boy had run into the music room, but Owen had left the second he spotted him—like he did today. Aaron wanted to do whatever he could to help these orphans, but he could hardly help a boy who wouldn’t get within ten feet of him.
He slowly made his way over to the desk chair and pulled it out to sit. When his leg brushed against the boy, he pushed the chair back to look under the desk. “I’m sorry. What’re you doing under there?”
The boy was a handsome little fellow with those golden-blond brows puckered above his big blue eyes. His pupils were so wide with fright, his irises were barely visible. “Miss McClain said I shouldn’t talk to strangers or anyone I don’t want to.”
“She’s right.” He backed away a little farther. “But the staff aren’t strangers. You don’t have to talk to me, but I at least want you to know who I am. My name’s Mr. Firebrook, and I’ll be outside most of the time cutting grass. Do you like being outside?”
The boy only swallowed.
He’d better leave before the boy started to tremble. “Well, if you do, I saw a wagon in a pile of junk in the carriage house. Would you want me to wash it up for you?”
The boy’s legs pushed him farther into the corner.
Aaron forced on a bright, cheery smile, pretending Owen hadn’t looked at him as if he’d swallow him whole. Surely Mercy wasn’t filling the five-year-old’s head with terrible stories about him to frighten him away. “You let me know if you do, all right?” He stood and patted the desk, hoping that would somehow reassure the boy, before he headed toward the dining room. The conservatory was supposed to be to its south.
“Mr. Firebrook?”
He turned to see Mercy’s much older brother, Timothy McClain, coming across the dining room, perhaps from the kitchen entrance.
The man’s blond hair and the way the skin around his eyes crinkled made him look so much like Mercy that Aaron was surprised they were only half-siblings. He’d seen the other man arrive late yesterday while he’d been putting away his mowing machine for the night, but they’d yet to be introduced.
The man smiled as he approached, then held out his hand. Timothy’s handshake was firm, but when he tried to twist it so his hand was on top in a dominant sort of gesture, Aaron resisted, keeping his arm rigid and immovable.
Timothy stepped back with a stiffer smile. “My sister and Mr. Lowe informed me you’d started working here.”
“Yes.” Which made him doubt Timothy’s smile was genuine. Mercy wouldn’t have kept his background a secret from her brother, so why had Timothy waited two days to talk to him?
“Well . . .” The man eyed him, his green eyes a muddy hazel compared with Mercy’s brighter ones, and a bit more . . . unbalanced? Maybe the look stemmed from the man forcing himself not to haul his sister’s former tormentor out of the building. “I came home to get something and heard you were in here. Mr. Lowe mentioned you’d be willing to work with Jimmy this summer.”
Seemed Timothy hadn’t been thinking about tossing him out on Mercy’s behalf after all. “Yes.”
“Good.” The man blew out a breath and smiled again. “Why don’t you start taking over now? It’s only a month until summer, and I’ve been busy, so I’m sure the women wouldn’t mind if you start—” he waved his hand in front of himself as if trying to decide on a word—“taking over his discipline.”
Somehow he bet Mercy would mind. “All right.”
“Great.” And with that, Timothy headed toward the hallway, his dress shoes rat-a-tat-tatting across the polished floor.
Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. Had Mercy not told her brother how he’d treated her?
Of course, Timothy needn’t worry he’d treat her like that again, but Mercy’s reaction to his reappearance made more sense than her brother’s.
Regardless, it seemed he had even more work to do, but i
f all the flowering things started dying, he might lose this job. He had scythed and pulled around the mower every spare hour since his arrival to get the neglected lawn under control, but he’d fallen asleep before he’d read more than a few pages of a gardening book he found in his cabin.
Once inside the conservatory, he frowned at the neglected plants and crossed over to look inside a crate. Perhaps he could find tools or . . . something to give him an idea of how to tend these plants. He started looking through the shelving when a scuffling near the interior door made him freeze. He stepped back into a dark corner and the slight scuffling sound stopped. Just as he was about to reprimand himself for being suspicious of skittering mice, Mercy walked into the room and headed for the wall of windows.
She scanned the backyard, then furrowed her brow.
“Looking for something?”
She startled, and her neck turned red as she turned toward him with her hand pressed hard against her chest. “I was, I guess. But I can’t seem to think of what now.”
Somehow he didn’t quite believe her.
She turned away, suddenly fascinated with something outside. “I’m sure it had something to do with the children however.” She cleared her throat, still not looking at him. “Have you seen Jimmy?”
“Haven’t met him yet.” He took a step toward her, hoping she’d turn to look at him. “I know you’re worried about how I’ll treat the children, but I want to assure you, I will not treat Jimmy or the others as I did you.”
Her throat worked overtime as she continued to stare outside at whatever was fascinating her—though perhaps she wasn’t looking at anything at all. The silence grew longer, but he forced himself not to disturb it.
“Do you remember when you tripped me and I fell into that mud puddle and everyone laughed at me?” Mercy’s voice was whisper soft, yet it cut like a knife.
He nodded. He’d not only tripped her but had called her several of the new names he’d come up with the night before, along with throwing mud at her while she was down.
Her family had moved away from Teaville soon afterward. He’d actually felt a twinge of remorse back then about that.
Mercy wrapped her arms around herself, still staring out the window. “The night before, the doctor had told us my mother wouldn’t survive unless we moved to a big city and spent money we didn’t have on specialty doctors—though there was no guarantee she’d live even then.”
His body turned cold despite the humid heat of the room.
He rubbed a hand down his face, slowly searching for something to say—but what? Did he even deserve her forgiveness?
No. He didn’t. There was nothing he could do to take back his cruel actions. All he could offer was restitution.
Seeing her lips tremble, he could imagine the memories he’d just made her relive. “I take it the doctors couldn’t help?”
She shrugged. “We’ll never know. My parents died when their carriage flipped over hardly a week after we moved to Kansas City.” She stepped toward him, a sudden anger dancing in her eyes. “And because of you, my brother and I decided not to return to Teaville. I missed the comfort of friends and extended family, plus the last years of my grandparents’ lives, because of you. And nothing you can do will make up for that.” She stormed past him and back into the mansion.
How could he promise never to hurt her again when his very presence upset her?
And she was right. There was nothing he could do to erase the pain from their childhoods.
6
Aaron stared out over the mansion’s massive tiered garden, surveying the smattering of blooming flowers, some white, others in variations of red. Bushes grew in neat rows along stone walls with attractive arches and benches scattered throughout. Now that Robert had finished his lessons for the day, it was time to tackle the garden.
The big bad bully in charge of rose petals and tulips.
God certainly had a sense of humor.
At the spigot, Aaron unwound the heavy rubber hose and headed for the first row of vegetation. What were these plants anyway? Did they all flower? The illustrations in the first book he’d started reading were nothing but black woodcuts. Hopefully there was a book with better drawings on his shelf to help him identify these plants.
He stopped at a knee-high bush with flower buds so large they hung their heads in shame. The white of the petals could be seen compacted under the green leaf parts that kept the flower from bursting open, their thick, sweet scent already heavy in the air. But the plant was overrun with ants. The flowers likely wouldn’t survive long enough to bloom if he didn’t do something.
He headed back to the spigot, spun it a touch, and returned to the bush. He stooped down, cupped one of the insect-infested flower buds, and started washing it off. He looked at the next bush and sighed at the number of ants. He could get them off, but could he keep them off? He stomped on the ants escaping into the deeper grass.
“What are you doing?”
He looked up to see a boy who’d only ever eyed him from a distance since he’d started working here. The boy’s face was as smooth as a stone, but the rest of his body was rather awkwardly trying to achieve manhood. Had to be Jimmy.
“I said, what’re you doing?” The boy’s arms were crossed as he glared down at him.
Aaron stood. Seemed he needed to start this mentoring thing right away. They’d begin with a lesson on how to introduce oneself. He pulled his gloves off to shake the boy’s hand. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Jimmy—”
“Are you going to answer me?” The boy kept his arms crossed.
Had he once been this annoyingly belligerent?
He gestured toward the plants beside them. “Do you see the ants?”
The boy’s arms stayed locked like steel cables across his chest. “Just because I’m an orphan doesn’t make me blind.”
“Right.” Seemed this mentoring thing might be harder than he’d thought. “I only meant to point out that I’m taking the ants off.”
“Oh, for the . . .” The boy rolled his eyes, then looked at Aaron as if he were stupid. “I thought the Lowes hired a gardener.”
Aaron’s hands fisted of their own accord, an old habit he hadn’t quite quelled when anyone looked at him like that. He forced his hands to open and flex. “I am the gardener.”
Jimmy looked him up and down, his eyebrows rising as if Aaron had claimed to be President Taft. “That’s hard to believe.”
Did this boy know something about gardening he didn’t?
Though he didn’t want to appear ignorant, he actually was. “Whose job would it be to save the plants from insects, but the gardener’s?”
“A stupid gardener’s, maybe?” The corner of the boy’s lips turned up into a smirk. “That plant needs the ants.”
It was Aaron’s turn to raise his brow, as if questioning the boy’s intellect. Everyone knew bugs were bad for plants. “And how do you know?”
He shrugged. “Because there’s bunches of those where I used to live. No one bothered to take the ants off, and they came out just fine.”
“Are you sure?” He looked down at the bush.
Jimmy only rolled his eyes. “More than you are.”
The boy’s drawl was so condescending Aaron had to grit his teeth to keep from loosing one of the many put-downs he’d used when he was Jimmy’s age. “You don’t have to be smart-mouthed about it.” If only he didn’t have to read hundreds of pages to find out whether the boy was right or not.
“What do you want me to be, then—dumb-mouthed?” Jimmy sneered, though maybe that was supposed to be a smile. “My smart mouth stopped you from ruining the flowers.”
Aaron rubbed the back of his neck. As a child, if he’d felt needed, useful, or wanted, maybe he wouldn’t have put so much time in being smart-mouthed himself. “If you’re so smart, I could use you.”
The boy threw up his chin. “How’s that?”
“I could use your help figuring out what to do with—”
> “You think I’m going to do your work for you?” How many haughty faces could this boy pull? “If so, you’ve lost your doggone mind.”
“Fine.” Aaron hefted the hose and walked off. “Guess I’ll hire someone else to advise me.”
“Hire?” Jimmy’s voice cracked a bit.
Thankfully Aaron’s back was turned, allowing him to wipe off his grin before turning around. “Well, maybe you wouldn’t do. It requires a lot of reading, and I can tell you aren’t the kind to read.”
“What do you mean, I ain’t the kind to read?” Jimmy looked him up and down, as if sizing him up.
Hopefully challenging him would work and not drive him away. “Just meant it’d probably be too hard for you. You wouldn’t understand it well enough to be worth paying.”
“How much?”
Money might not be the wisest way to get on this kid’s good side, but it seemed it’d be a quick one. “Seventy cents a week until all the books are read and you’ve identified everything in the garden along with writing down instructions for all the plants. You’ll need to give me something each week worth paying you for though. If it’s done terribly, I’ll only pay you thirty cents and then you’re fired.”
The boy tilted his chin. “A dollar a week.”
He cringed. Seventy cents was already costly, but it would be worth it if he could avoid reading and could start off on Jimmy’s good side. Plus, the boy would run out of books at some point. He shook his head as if rethinking the whole deal—which he was, sort of. Ah, might as well. “You better be worth the dollar. You want the books?”
Jimmy shrugged as if he didn’t care—but he cared about that dollar, sure enough.
Aaron pointed toward his cabin. “Let’s get them.”
They started up the lawn, and on the mansion’s porch, Mercy stood watching them, her soft green gown fluttering about her.
Was she no longer bothering to hide while spying on him?
He led Jimmy to his cabin, forcing himself not to look back at Mercy. Hopefully she’d watch as often as she liked and see that he’d changed—or at least realize she didn’t need to stand over him like a hawk.
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