Her tiny stepmother smiled benevolently at the agent. "I'd be delighted."
Though not helpful in the kitchen or with chores, Trudy Coulson was a gracious hostess and an excellent seamstress. She and her daughters spent a great deal of time in St. Louis, while leaving the running of the house to Thea.
Unfolding a bright red-and-white-checked tablecloth, Thea spread it beneath the towering oak and stood before the remaining children. "Come with me," she said, holding her hand out to the youngest girl and motioning to the freckled one beside her. She included Lucas in her invitation with a pointed glance. "Let's fill our plates and have a picnic right here under the tree."
Without the slightest hesitation, the girls took her hands and stared up at her, trustingly.
"You sure are tall," the freckled child said in awe. Her front teeth were missing, and Thea found it charming.
"Yes, I am, aren't I?" she replied. "It sure comes in handy when I pick apples." No one ever mentioned her height anymore. As a child she'd endured merciless teasing from other children. Her stepmother and half sisters used to express their chagrin at her ceaseless growth, but as an adult her size wasn't commented on—rather like ignoring a hideous birthmark or pretending not to notice a disfigurement. The child's innocent observation was refreshing.
"Where do you pick apples from?" Freckles asked.
"Off the trees," she replied, and reached an overhead branch to demonstrate.
Freckles frowned up into the oak branches. "I don't see no apples."
Thea laughed. "If this were an apple tree there would be pink-and-white blossoms this time of year. This is an oak tree. Coming, Lucas?" she asked over her shoulder.
The boy shrugged and remained propped against the tree as though it supplied his sustenance.
Starting across the grass, Thea noticed a growing resistance on her hand and glanced down. At her side, the blond child limped awkwardly, trying to keep up. Thea slowed her pace and helped the girls through the throng around the tables.
"I had a orange once," Freckles announced. "You got any orange trees?"
Thea looked at her with dawning understanding. "No. We don't."
"Look at the food, Zoe," the freckled girl said to the other. "What's them green things?"
"These?" Thea asked. "They're pickles. Do you like them?"
"Dunno," was the reply.
She forked a sweet pickle onto each of their plates, then prepared Lucas servings of chicken, pickles, coleslaw and fresh rolls. Seating the girls on the tablecloth, she carried the plate to the shade tree.
"Hungry?" she asked.
He lifted a shoulder in a churlish shrug.
"I made a plate for you. There's dessert, too, when you've finished this."
He avoided her face, but his eyes slid to the food she offered.
"Will you come sit with us?"
He ignored the question and looked away.
"Scared of girls?" she asked with a grin.
His thick-lashed, hazel-gray eyes swept the yard in silence.
"Suit yourself." She placed the full plate on the grass and returned to the other children. Freckles had already finished her pickle and chicken and was scraping corn-bread crumbs into her spoon. Zoe, too, ate like there was no tomorrow, saving her pickle for last and savoring it. Thea broke her own pickle in half and gave it to the girls.
She peeked toward the oak tree and discovered Lucas sitting with his back against the bark, barely chewing his food before he swallowed it. Sympathy welled in her throat, and she fought the bubble of emotion in her chest. There'd always been enough to eat in the Coulson home. She'd never been hungry or alone. She'd always had her own bed, and even after her mother had died, she'd had her father and her sister, MaryRuth. She'd always known she belonged to a family, that she was loved.
These children had none of those securities. No wonder Lucas was so distrustful. Mrs. Vaughn had explained some of the children's situations. New York City had been besieged with immigrants. Many parents had died in epidemics, either on board the ships that carried them to America, or in the years that followed living in the crowded city. And some parents, because of poverty, lack of work or poor health, simply couldn't afford to keep their children. Hundreds of children had been deserted on the streets or left in the foundling homes, orphanages and hospitals.
"Can we have more?" Freckles asked.
Zoe, still having not spoken, raised hopeful, grave blue eyes to Thea.
"You can have anything you want." She turned to Lucas. "You ready for dessert?"
He swallowed, and his Adam's apple bobbed inside his loose shirt collar. "Yes, ma'am."
"What do you like?"
He shrugged.
She rose to her feet. "I made apple pies this morning," she said with a wink. "All the men love my pie."
Thea returned with a slice for each of them.
"Thank you," Lucas mumbled.
Zoe shifted on the checkered fabric beneath her, peeled back the edge of the tablecloth and picked up an acorn between her thumb and forefinger. She studied it intently, then held it toward Thea, a question on her sweet face.
"It's an acorn. It fell from the tree. If the squirrels don't eat the acorns, they turn into trees."
Zoe's eyes, wide with amazement, returned to the nut. She tucked it safely into the pocket of her limp pinafore.
A wagon pulled alongside the barn by others. A couple climbed down from it and studied the crowd.
Mrs. Vaughn met the new arrivals as they approached the small group under the tree.
Thea and the girls stood.
The plain woman nodded. Her bearded husband offered his hand. "We're the Carstens."
Mrs. Vaughn's expression split into a smile of pure elation. "How wonderful! This is Sarah."
The woman's plain face took on a lovely glow. "Hello, Sarah."
Freckles stood and looked at her prospective parents. "Do you have pickles?"
"Why—" Mrs. Carsten formed a reply, though she was obviously caught off guard. "Yes, we do."
"I like pickles."
The Carstens smiled.
Mrs. Vaughn offered a printed document. "This is the agreement I'd like you to read over before you sign. Sarah is to be treated like any other child of your family, and after a trial period, if you and she agree, you can sign the adoption papers."
Mr. Carsten took the paper. "Will O'Conner and his boy passed our land on their way to Nebraska City," he said. "His wife caught sick and died, so they headed out for Colorado."
"Oh, dear. I'm so sorry." Mrs. Vaughn's dark gaze met Thea's.
"Help yourself to food," Thea offered the Carstens. "It's almost time for the dancing."
The Carstens and Sarah moved into the crowd.
Mrs. Vaughn glanced toward Lucas, then down at Zoe, and sighed. "I'll pass the word and perhaps another family will be willing to have you two."
The child's blue-eyed gaze swam from the agent's to Thea's. She dropped her attention to the toes of her shoes, one of which was incredibly scuffed and worn due to her crippled gait.
A knot lodged in Thea's throat. She knelt and raised Zoe's chin on her knuckle. "I'll bet you'd like to see what's under the edge of the porch over there."
The child lifted her blue gaze in question.
"Kittens," Thea supplied. "My Tabby had a litter right under the steps, the silly old girl. I made her a bed out of an old blanket at the corner of the porch. You can go look."
The child gave her a feeble smile and limped toward the spot indicated.
Thea turned to the agent. "Do you think someone else will want them? It's such short notice. What will happen to them if no one takes them?"
"I'll do the best I can, Miss Coulson. I've had good luck on short notice before. If no one wants them, they'll leave for Lincoln with me. Of course, I've been there before, so I doubt there will be a willing family. In that case, they'll go back to New York City with me."
"Back to the Home."
"Yes."
"I'm afraid so. I've had a very good trip, however. I placed sixteen children."
Thea nodded.
Mrs. Vaughn moved away.
Someone had to take these last two pitiful children. A darling little girl and a boy old enough to work. Who wouldn't want them? She didn't allow herself the additional worry that she still hadn't heard Zoe speak and that the child obviously had a crippled leg. Nor did she want to consider that Lucas had an unpleasant attitude and looked like he'd rather run than stay.
Someone had to take them.
* * *
Carrying pots into the kitchen, Thea discovered MaryRuth sitting at the wooden table, her two-month-old baby, David, fretting in her arms. MaryRuth spotted Thea and gave her a half smile.
"What's the matter with David?" Thea deposited her load and laid her hand on MaryRuth's shoulder.
"He's a little fussy."
"Have you eaten?"
"It's too much work to juggle him and a plate, too."
Thea took the snugly wrapped infant from her sister. "Go eat. Dance if you want to. But don't come back for him until you and Denzel are ready to leave."
MaryRuth glanced up.
"Indulge me," Thea coaxed. "Time alone with a male?" She raised her eyebrows suggestively.
For a moment Thea thought she meant to object, but then a smile spread across her sister's face and she stood. "Thanks, sis."
Thea kissed her pale cheek. "Sit in the sun for a few minutes. You don't have any color in your cheeks."
"I will." MaryRuth turned and scurried from the house, the screen door slamming behind her.
David jumped at the sound. Thea nestled him against her breast and brushed her lips across his downy forehead. "How are you today, my little beau?" After studying his old-man frown and laughing, she snuggled him against her shoulder and rubbed his tiny back. He smelled wonderfully clean, and his blanket and gown were incredibly soft. She inhaled his baby scent, weighed the diminutive bundle against her breast and closed her eyes in pleasure.
Nothing in the world compared to the feelings a baby inspired. She couldn't imagine anything more wonderful than having one of her own to love and cuddle. Except maybe... Thea shook off the idea of a man to provide the baby before the wistful idea had time to take shape. She'd given up on that dream a long time ago.
Did MaryRuth know how lucky she was? She had a hardworking husband who loved her. A beautiful son. A home of her own.
Thea's thoughts drifted to the orphans who'd arrived that morning, and she recalled Mrs. Vaughn's tales of life in New York City. How many babies like this one had been abandoned? How many had suffered sickness, inattention or lack of nutrition in the crowded hospitals? How many had died of starvation and exposure in the streets? Tears sprang to her eyes. What horrors had the children she'd met today seen and experienced in their dismal, short lives? Had she done all she could to help?
David slept, his minimal weight a sublime pleasure against her breast. Kissing his fuzzy head, she reluctantly placed him in the small iron crib in the downstairs bedroom and returned to the festivities.
The dancing was in full swing, with couples following the caller's instructions to the "Texas Star." As always, her two younger half sisters caught and held the admiration of the single men. Madeline do-si-doed with a tall young man, while Lexie, the youngest, smiled prettily at a gangly swain who brought her a jar of lemonade. Elsbeth, the oldest, had married a St. Louis dentist the summer before.
Delicate little creatures like their mother, all three of her half sisters were blessed with lustrous dark hair in shades from russet to mahogany, flawless complexions and dainty hourglass figures. Thea felt like a giant among fairies in comparison to her half sisters, who were dressed in pastels and ruffles, their hair curled and coiffed.
She let her gaze drift and encountered Irving Jackson talking to Lorraine Edwards, the town's new seamstress. Irving was Omaha's hotel owner now, but she'd known him since her family had moved here when she was a girl. They'd attended school simultaneously. He'd made her childhood miserable.
Thea couldn't help studying the attractive woman he was speaking to. Lorraine had hair as black and shiny as a raven's wing, coiled into a perfect coronet with ebony wisps at her neck and forehead. Her petite figure boasted a tiny waist, and little kid boots encased her feet.
Thea turned her attention back to Irving. He'd been the first. The first to call her "Too-Tall Thea." Those childhood memories hit the pit of her stomach and curdled.
James Coulson led Trudy from the wooden floor, which he kept stored in their barn for just such occasions, and stopped before Thea. "I expect folks'll be breaking up soon," he said. "Everybody has chores to do before nightfall."
Thea nodded, shook herself from her unpleasant reverie and regretted seeing the festivities come to an end. She had enjoyed the chance to visit and watch the dancing.
Mrs. Vaughn appeared at their sides. "There you are. Mr. Bard signed an indenture for Lucas!"
"Bard?" Thea scoured her mind for the name. "I don't know a Bard. Papa?"
Her father dabbed perspiration from his forehead with a red kerchief. "Ronan Bard. He's one of the squatters from Irishtown. Has a dugout, I hear."
"A wife?" Thea asked. "Does he have a wife?"
"He said his wife was at home ill," Mrs. Vaughn supplied.
Apprehensively, Thea scanned the crowd. "Where are they?"
"Oh, they left. Mr. Bard said they had chores to do. Don't worry, I'll come back and check on him."
"Oh." A lone figure sitting in the grass beside the dance floor caught her eye. "Zoe?" she asked.
Mrs. Vaughn sighed. "I'm afraid not. She'll be leaving on the stage with me tomorrow."
A heavy-hearted ache seized Thea's chest and constricted her breath. Back to New York City. Unwanted. Knowing no family wanted her. Back to start all over again. The image injected misery into her heart.
"She can stay with us," Thea blurted out.
Her father stopped in the process of stuffing his kerchief into his hip pocket and gaped at her as though her hair was on fire.
"I'll take care of her," Thea promised matter-of-factly. "She won't be any trouble."
"Thea-girl, this isn't a pup or a lamb you're talking about here," her father reminded her when he found his voice. "This here's a youngin'. We've got enough of our own."
"Yes, we do. We have a great big family, but Zoe doesn't have anyone. No one in this whole world cares whether she eats or sleeps or laughs or cries." She didn't need to mention that she knew firsthand what it was like to be without a mother. "Think of it, Papa. What harm could one more be?"
James's eyes softened as though he read her silent plea, as well. He cast a glance at the agent.
"You couldn't keep her," Mrs. Vaughn hurried to say. "You're an unmarried woman."
"Just until you return next time, then," Thea argued. "You can keep looking for a family for her, and I'll take care of her until you find someone."
The woman raised her brows and nodded. "I could do that."
All eyes focused on James Coulson. He rubbed his mustache. "I hope you know what you're doin'." He shrugged. "Do what you have to."
Jubilant, she hugged him and kissed his cheek. He was the only person she didn't have to bend over to embrace, a special pleasure. "Thank you," she whispered.
Her father hugged her soundly.
"Jim! Jim!" MaryRuth's lean husband, Denzel, came running up out of breath. "Jim, there were surveyors down by the river this afternoon."
Denzel had the attention of more than their small group. Bystanders turned to catch his news.
"You sure?" James gave his fair-haired son-in-law the once-over. "Railroad people?"
"Nah," Burnet Hyatt, the squat-figured postmaster, denied, elbowing his way into the conversation. "Years back the railroad sur
veyors came in teams. Tents and all. These here fellas got a rented buggy."
"It's got to be the one who bought the Hazel Creek section," Denzel said with a furtive glance at his father-in-law. "Took his sweet time, didn't he?"
A scowl crossed her father's suntanned face.
Around them, the crowd quieted. It was common knowledge that Jim Coulson'd had his eye on that piece of government land ever since he'd paid off his and his late wife's two sections. It was a prime strip of bottom land with access to the train and the city, and it abutted his property on the north.
Alternate sections along the railroad's path had been given to Union Pacific, and as the tracks were laid the sections went up for sale. Jim had bided his time. He had the cash in the bank waiting to pay for that land, his homesteading days long past.
Four years ago the railroad sold the hundred-and-sixty-acre Hazel Creek section to someone with first option—no doubt a war veteran.
No one knew who. The land had been leased to a farming family by the name of Wynn on a year-to-year basis, and the owner had never shown up to work it himself.
Until now.
bookmark:Chapter 2
Chapter 2
image:flourish.png
Lucas piled the dilapidated cart with corn and pulled it to the reeking pit, his tired muscles screaming at the effort. The stench from the pit below twisted his empty belly painfully. Wary of the enormous hogs crowding toward the side in the slimy mud, Lucas groped for solid footing on the edge and dumped the feed into the hole. He backed away quickly as the hungry animals squealed for a front position.
Behind him, Ronan Bard's scrawny dogs yipped, and Lucas turned. The mongrels chased a squirrel into the brush.
"You got supper on, boy?" hollered Lucas's keeper from fifty yards away. He was carrying two dented buckets dripping with water from the stream.
Lucas watched the man's approach with contempt. "I ain't had time yet," he replied when Bard got closer.
"Ain't had time, my eye, ya good for nothin' slum boy. Git yer skinny rear in there an' fix somethin' t' eat afore I take the razor strap to ya." Bard spat at Lucas's feet and carried the buckets into the cave.
Reluctantly, Lucas followed. The wooden door was the dugout's only opening, so in fair weather it stood open, allowing a meager panel of light into the dwelling. The dank, dark interior smelled of dirt and smoke and stale cooking odors. Dry weeds dangled from the hay-twist ceiling, an occasional wind dislodging a shower of dust.
Land of Dreams Page 2