The Halsey Brothers Series

by Paty Jager

  Her heart twisted remembering the day, five years ago, when she and William were caught in the rain. He’d wiped at her face before she could stop him, revealing the puckered ugly skin. At night when loneliness shrouded her like a heavy wool cloak, his face screwed up in disgust haunted her. She’d remain a spinster and help others rather than experience the repulsion she’d seen that day in a man who’d professed he loved her.

  The next day, hearing him revoke his intentions—she gulped the rising bile—she’d barely been able to face the contempt on a face she’d thought handsome. He’d said she deceived him. Maybe so, but only because she feared exactly what happened. She’d hoped by the time they married he’d love her for who she was, and the scar would mean nothing to him. Celeste was right about men—all they wanted in a woman was beauty or a servant.

  She’d lost her beauty twenty years ago. The day remained vivid in her mind. The shouts, the dust, the run-away wagon barreling through the street straight for Celeste. She’d shoved her sister out of the path and froze as the wagon swerved—but not enough.

  She cringed remembering the corner of the wagon striking her face.

  Falling into the street.

  The yelling, her mother’s shriek, her sister’s tears.

  The darkness and waking to a head swathed in cloth and her mother sobbing by her bedside.

  And the ache, physical and mental. Her head throbbed and her mother no longer called her, her beautiful girl.

  She’d never regret saving her sister, but she’d forever harbor anger at the cruel injustice. She who had longed for a mate and companion was destined to be a spinster, while her beautiful sister with throngs of suitors scorned the men flocking around her.

  Chapter 2

  “Mr. Smith, this room will do fine.” Clay counted the steps from the door to the far wall, rubbing his leg against the bed on his way across the room.

  “Sir, calls me Jasper.” The handyman’s voice drifted from the doorway.

  “Only if you call me Clay.” He ran a hand across the bed and slapped the side of a valise. “What’s in this room, a bureau or pegs?”

  “Both, sir—”

  “Ah, I said call me Clay.” He shrugged out of his jacket. “Which side of the room?”

  “Pegs on the one yer by. Bureau by the door.”

  Clay stepped forward, his arm extended, and found the wall. Moving his hand in circles chest high and raising it up the wall higher, he found a peg and hung his coat. “When do they serve the mid-day meal?”

  “S—”

  Clay frowned at the man.

  “Clay, you all done missed the mid-day meal. Ain’t nothin’ till dinner at six.”

  He’d eaten little that morning. His knotted stomach hadn’t tolerated much more than dry bread and a cup of coffee. “Is there a café close by?”

  “You all can’t leave the school without a teacher or such with you.”

  The fear in the man’s voice jolted Clay out of his musings of a nice hunk of roast. “I can’t go anywhere without someone from the school?” This was a prison.

  “It’s for you all’s safety.”

  That made sense. But he still didn’t like it. He’d guess from the time he spent on the bench, the tour, and visiting it was early afternoon. “Are all the teachers teaching right now?”

  “They’s not here today. Classes start tomorrow.” Jasper’s shuffling feet indicated the handyman wanted to get back to work.

  “What about the doctor. Is she kept so busy she couldn’t escort me to town?”

  “Tha’s a good idea.”

  The enthusiasm in his voice led Clay to wonder about the doctor. At their meeting, her voice hadn’t mocked but held a lilt of humor and good-nature. While the handyman had said barely a word to the matron, he wasn’t afraid of the doctor.

  “I’ll get her.”

  “You can just take me to her.” Clay reached for his jacket. He slid his arms in and felt a tug on his left hand. Jasper’s calloused fingers tugged Clay’s hand upward. The scratchy wool of the handyman’s shirt prickled his palm. He clamped onto the broad shoulder. When the man moved, so did Clay.

  Sunshine warmed his face. The crunch and roll of gravel under his feet disappeared. His steps were cushioned and hushed by grass. Why did the man go off the path? How was Clay to find his way around if he had to cross grassy patches?

  Jasper stopped and moved out from under Clay’s hand. Gravel scraped, and something plinked against glass. What was the man doing?

  The rasp of wood on wood reverberated from a few feet in front of them.

  “Mr. Smith, Mr. Halsey.” The doctor’s voice floated somewhere above them. “What can I do for you two gentlemen?”

  The light-hearted lilt in her voice made Clay smile. “I’m starving and Jasper”—the man beside him sucked in air like a drowning man—“says I can’t leave the school without an escort.” He smiled and raised his face toward the warm sun. “Would you be interested in escorting me to the closest café?”

  Fear bubbled in Rachel’s chest. Her makeup sat on her bureau at home. She couldn’t go out in public without it. Sitting in a café where people might stop to talk was different than wearing her large floppy bonnet and walking the three blocks to her parents’ house.

  “My stomach’s eating itself. Please.”

  He stared above her. The boyish smile and his rumpled hair stirred a longing deep and visceral. One she had no right to feel, but one she wished to pursue.

  “I’ll take you to the kitchen and find something. Mr. Smith, please bring Mr. Halsey to the back door. I’ll meet you there.”

  The handyman grinned, showing large white teeth, and nodded. She backed into the room and closed the window. No one knew Mr. Smith tossed pebbles at her window when he needed something from inside the school. It had been their little secret. Now Mr. Halsey knew. She’d have to tell him to keep it confidential. She had a feeling he’d like keeping the knowledge. He had the energy of a mischievous little boy.

  Rachel left the infirmary, headed down the hall, and met them at the back door. Mr. Smith backed away and nudged Mr. Halsey through the door. She hooked her wrist through the handsome new student’s arm, and they strolled down the hall like a couple on an outing. Her stomach fluttered. She’d touched other men as a doctor, but none made her feel giddy. She hadn’t been this close to a man since William broke their betrothal. Thoughts of William darkened her heart, and bitterness soured her stomach.

  “Jasper doesn’t work much with the students does he?” Mr. Halsey’s sarcastic comment laced with humor and a raised eyebrow made her laugh.

  “No, he’s not allowed to interact with the students.” She studied his full bottom lip, angular cheekbones, and slightly crooked nose. Her heart stopped, and then palpitated like hummingbird wings.

  “Why? He’s big but seems like a nice fella.”

  The question in the man’s tone made her study the frown lines on his wide forehead.

  “Negroes aren’t welcome in this state, Mr. Halsey.”

  His face jerked in her direction. “Who says?”

  She watched his dark brown eyes and wished she could see into their depths. The blank stare tugged at her heart. “It’s the law. They aren’t welcome here, but if they don’t cause trouble, people don’t care as long as they don’t own a business or land.” She stopped and opened the door to the kitchen, and then led Mr. Halsey to the table in the middle of the room and pulled out a bench.

  “Sit here while I find some leftovers.”

  He tipped his head as he sat. “Are we alone in here?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Daniels, the cook, is resting until she needs to make dinner.” She moved to the icebox and pulled out leftover chicken from the night before.

  “Will she mind our invading her kitchen?” His large hands rested clasped on the top of the table, he stared straight ahead.

  “I’ve been known to come in here and grab a snack when I need one, so she won’t think anything of it.” Rachel p
ut two pieces of chicken and two rolls on a plate. She carried the food to the table and placed the plate between his arms. She laid a trembling hand on his. He jumped, and then smiled.

  “Give me your hand, and I’ll show you where the food is on the plate.” She moved his warm, pliant hand around the plate clockwise. “Two pieces of chicken are at nine o’clock, and two rolls are at three o’clock. That’s the best I could come up with.”

  “It’s a feast compared to waiting until dinner. Thank you.” He picked up a chicken leg and took a bite.

  Rachel crossed to the stove and poured two cups of coffee, leaving one about an inch from the rim. She placed it directly above his plate. “There’s coffee at twelve.” She was impressed by how quickly he found the food and the cup.

  “How long have you been blind, Mr. Halsey?”

  He frowned. “About six months.”

  “You’re dealing well with it.”

  His frown lines deepened, and he stopped chewing. “Not much choice, now, have I?”

  She grabbed a dish towel, brushing his hand with it as she placed it on the table. He wiped his mouth and hands.

  “How did it happen?”

  He picked up the cup and took a sip. He was so quiet, so contemplative, she wasn’t sure he planned to answer. Had she opened a wound he wasn’t ready to talk about? She understood the self doubts and anger about a situation you couldn’t change. She’d spent years crying into pillows and wallowing in pity. Until she realized she could help others in her situation.

  She sat down next to him and took a sip of her coffee. If he wasn’t ready to talk, she wouldn’t push. Talking about her own personal scar wasn’t high on her list of favorite things.

  “Where are you from?”

  His body relaxed, and he lowered the cup he’d been sipping from. “Sumpter, a small mining community on the east side of the state.” His voice deepened, exuding pride and a touch of longing. Lines curved at the corners of his mouth. His face lit up. Her gaze dropped to his hands. No wedding ring, but that didn’t mean anything. Usually only the wealthy shared rings.

  “Do you have family there?”

  A smile spread across his face, drawing in a dimple on his left cheek and showing fine white teeth. “I have a passel of brothers. Four. And three of them are married. Gil, the youngest, and his wife, Darcy, have a little girl. Zeke’s next in line. He and his wife, Maeve, travel a lot as Pinkerton agents. Ethan, the oldest, brought me here. He and his new wife, Aileen, and her two kids are headed to England to settle a family land claim.” He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair. “Ethan shouldn’t have brought me here while he’s gone. Hank has to take care of the stamp mill all by himself. I should be there helping.”

  His frustration made his motions jerky and furrowed his brow. Rachel placed a hand over his, offering comfort, showing support, not expecting heat to race up her arm and bloom in her chest. “You’ll be more help to him when you can read and work a typewriter.”

  Clay pulled his hand out from under the doctor’s. He didn’t want sympathy. He wanted to be back at the mill helping his brother. Food wouldn’t settle the rumble of unease twisting his guts. Anger seethed through him, tightening his muscles, clenching his hands, and holding him as much a prisoner as his sightless eyes. The only thing that would make his world right again was his sight.

  “Since you’re a doctor, what are the chances of my sight coming back?”

  He wished he could see her face, judge if she told the truth. What color were her eyes? She must have a pleasant face, her voice held compassion and humor. Perhaps small laugh lines beside her eyes?

  “How did it happen? I can’t give you any answers without knowing the extent of the trauma.” Her voice lost its earlier softness. All business now.

  “A stick of dynamite blew up about ten feet in front of me. Doc Spangle said the concussion from the blast is what made me blind.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “He also said there was a slim chance I could get some vision back, or I could never.” He swallowed. “And told me to prepare for the latter.”

  A faint clicking sounded to his right. He slid his hand over and discovered the doctor tapping her fingernail on the wood.

  “Well?” He tried to keep the pleading out of his tone.

  “I’d say Doctor Spangle is correct, but I could examine your eyes to see if he missed anything.”

  Her voice didn’t sound hopeful, but he wasn’t about to miss a chance to perhaps find out something new about his condition.

  He pushed back from the table. “I don’t have anything to do this afternoon.” He started to stand, but a hand rested on his arm, stalling him.

  “I’m afraid I do. With the start of the semester, I have to check out each student and document his physical well being.” The rustle of her skirt and her voice ascending above his head told him she stood. “Are you going to finish the food?”

  He grabbed a roll and waved the plate away. “Do you have time to give me a thorough tour of the school? Mrs. White just took me down the hall to the classrooms and out to my cabin.” He stood when a brush of wind registered she walked away from him. Her citrus scent hung on the air and dishes rattled a few feet away. He started toward the sound but stopped at the tap of her returning steps.

  The snap of a pocket watch to his left brought his attention around.

  “I have twenty minutes until the first student arrives. However, tomorrow you will all be taken on a tour of the facilities after breakfast.”

  She draped her arm through the crook of his elbow. Her small wrist fit perfectly in the curve. He liked that she led him around in such a manner. It was less demeaning than being steered by his elbow or trailing behind the handyman like an old nag.

  She kept their bodies from touching. An endearing and aggravating action. He wanted to touch. Had from their first encounter. Her nearness set his body yearning. Not only did he want to feel her size and shape, his body craved the knowledge. But he’d have to be content with her light touches and citrus scent. He enjoyed her company, more in fact, than any other woman he’d encountered, but understood her need to keep a professional relationship.

  “I’ll show you the dining room and how to get from there to your room.”

  He followed beside her. She started to ease her hand from his arm.

  “Is there a door here?” He stopped.

  “Yes, I’ll get it—”

  He pulled her back and stepped forward with his hand extended in front of him. His palm smacked into the door.

  He swept his hand down the cool, smooth wood and found the round knob. He opened the door and motioned for her to go through. Clay followed, and she slipped her wrist back through his arm, gently tugging him to the left. A smile tickled his lips. Doctor Tarkiel allowed him to move about as an adult unlike his brothers who herded him like an imbecile or small child.

  He curved his lips in a smile of thanks and tipped his head Dr. Tarkiel’s way. Her intake of breath and tightening grip on his arm proved he affected her in the same heart racing way she affected him.

  For the first time since losing his sight, he saw a future.

  Chapter 3

  Clay kept his hand on the rail and followed the sound of shuffling feet as the group toured the school. At breakfast they introduced themselves. Eight boys, not counting himself, and four girls made up the student body this semester. He and one other boy were new, but they were all herded around the facility as if the staff thought they found comfort in numbers.

  He’d have preferred a personal tour by the doctor. She hadn’t said when she could give him an examination. He wanted to ask, but didn’t want to cause a rift by asking Mrs. White if he could talk with Dr. Tarkiel.

  The tour hadn’t come upon the infirmary in the maze of halls. The music teacher, Miss Valerie Hubert, had tittered when he asked a question earlier, and he wasn’t about to ask her another. He’d put his foot down at having music lessons. He’d come here to learn skills to help his brothers, and ser
enading the stamps or the mine wasn’t going to get them any more gold.

  “Everyone into the music room. You’ll start each day bringing the love of music into your world.”

  Miss Hubert’s dry squawky voice didn’t sound like she could sing any better than a crow.

  Clay stopped at the door. “Miss Hubert, I’m not here to learn music. I’ll go to the reading room and start learning to read.” He continued past the door. A claw-like hand dug into his arm through his flannel shirt.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Halsey, but all students are to have music.” The warble in her voice proved no one had ever bucked the rules.

  “I’m not wasting time here learning music. That’s not a skill I need to help my brothers at our stamp mill.” He yanked free of her hold and crossed his arms. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t going to waste time learning to sing. The school needed to cater to older students.

  “Is there a problem here, Miss Hubert?” Mrs. White’s domineering voice echoed in the hall.

  “I’m not taking music lessons.” Clay didn’t care if they tossed him out. He’d find another way to learn to help at the stamp mill without wasting his time singing.

  “Let’s go speak to Mr. Griffin.” The matron gripped his elbow.

  Clay shook it loose and marched across the hall—five strides—grasped the rail, and headed to the superintendent’s office. One thing about moving slow on the group tour, it had given him time to sketch a diagram of the halls in his mind and count steps. He knew where to find the superintendent.

  The handrail disappeared. He ducked into the office and drank in the aroma of cigar and leather. He walked straight into the room until his outstretched hand bumped the back of a chair.

  “Mr. Halsey.” The superintendent’s voice rumbled from beside him. “Why are you here and not on the first day tour?”

  “I’m not taking music lessons. I need to take an extra class of Braille instead.” Blazes! He wasn’t a child to be ordered around. He was a man, and a man made his own decisions. His face heated with anger. He’d be damned if he wasted his time in a room full of singing children.