The Halsey Brothers Series

by Paty Jager

  “I see.” Mr. Griffin cleared his throat.

  The click of a door shutting behind him swung Clay around. “Who else is in the room with us?” he asked.

  “No one, Mr. Halsey. I had Mrs. White close the door.” The man’s steps retreated. “You may sit, Mr. Halsey.”

  Clay gripped the back of the wooden chair in front of him. He wasn’t going to sit. He wanted to stay in a strong position. “No, thanks. I don’t plan on staying that long.” He relaxed his fingers on the chair. “Mr. Griffin, no disrespect to Miss Hubert or the school, but I’m here to learn to read and help my brothers, not sing in a choir. I’d rather put my time to better use.”

  “I understand, but Miss Collins doesn’t come in until the afternoon. The mornings are spent with music and trades.”

  Damn! Clay didn’t need a trade or to learn music. He needed typing and reading. “What about Donny? Does he take music lessons?”

  “No, he’s not really a student any more. He teaches the broom-making classes. Why?”

  “Then he can work with me on reading while the rest of the students are singing. I assume he knows how to read Braille?” Clay wanted to learn as fast as he could.

  “I suppose…” The skepticism in the man’s voice rang like a fire bell.

  “What? Why do you seem hesitant?” This had to work. Unless the doctor could read Braille and teach him… There was a thought. And not an unpleasant one. His heart picked up pace.

  “Donny has a problem with adult males.” The man coughed. “This is confidential, but if you want the boy to work with you, you should know his father is the reason he’s blind. The man whacked him hard upside the head one too many times.”

  A vision of Aileen’s boy, Colin, came to mind. He and his mother had been victims of her second husband. “I know a little about how to handle a boy like that. My new nephew came from a similar situation.”

  “Let me have Mrs. White round up Donny.” The rustle of the man’s clothes and the sharp tang of cigar swirled. A whoosh of lye-filled air wafted around him.

  Voices mumbled behind him. He heard the woman snort, then her retreating footsteps.

  Mr. Griffin’s footsteps tapped past. “Mrs. White will bring Donny here, and we’ll ask him if he’ll do this.” A chair creaked behind the desk. “Please, sit. It could be a while before Mrs. White finds the boy.”

  Clay tried to read the emotions in the man’s voice. Did he like the boy or only tolerate him? He eased around the chair and sat down.

  “Will you join the students in the trade classes?” Mr. Griffin’s grating tone held censure and resignation.

  “I already have a trade. As I said, I help my brothers with the family business. Typing and reading are the skills I need.” He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms.

  Footsteps and voices floated through the open door. “I’m getting ready for my class, what’s with dragging me down to Griffin’s office?” The indignant voice, Clay remembered from tripping the boy, harangued the matron.

  “Donny!” The superintendent’s firm tone indicated he wouldn’t put up with insolence.

  “Mr. Griffin may I speak?” Clay didn’t want Donny ordered to help him.

  “Go ahead, Mr. Halsey.”

  Mr. Griffin’s sighing “good luck” attitude almost made Clay smile. He stood and extended his hand, hoping the matron would point Donny in the right direction. “Donny, I’m Clay Halsey. I’m looking for someone to teach me to read Braille in the mornings while the others are singing.”

  A calloused hand, half the size of his, touched Clay’s palm, and he gave it a firm shake.

  “Why’re you askin’ me?”

  The skepticism in his young voice made Clay smile. The boy’s distrust reminded him of his nephew, Colin.

  “Because the reading teacher doesn’t come in until the afternoon, and you read Braille and teach.” He wished he could see the boy’s face and determine if his words sank in. Damn, losing his sight made him more than physically blind, it made him emotionally blind. He’d give anything to see what emotions played across the boy’s face. That way he’d know what to say to get the boy to come around to helping him.

  “I’ll lose set-up time for my class.”

  “I’ll have nothing to do after our reading class. I can help you prepare the classroom.”

  The boy laughed, shooting Clay’s temper up a notch. “How are you going to help with something you know nothin’ about?”

  “I’m a fast learner, and I’ve been working with my hands a lot longer than you’ve been teaching how to make brooms.”

  “Gentlemen,” Mr. Griffin said, “how about Mr. Halsey sits in your class today, and if you think he can handle helping you, you’ll start reading with him tomorrow.”

  “I agree. How about you, Donny?” He didn’t want to waste half a day at the school. The short time he’d been around the boy, he felt a kinship, not only through their blindness but their need to feel useful. He could help Donny feel useful, and possibly help him get over his fear of men.

  Feet shuffled, and a groan of regret filled the air. “All right. But if he messes up my room or bugs the other students, I’m not helpin’ him.”

  Clay wanted to strangle the little brat and give him a handshake to seal the deal.

  “Donny, show Mr. Halsey to the broom-making area.” A hand landed on Clay’s shoulder. “Mr. Halsey, good luck,” the superintendent said close to his ear.

  Clay chuckled. He’d prove all of them wrong. Donny, the superintendent, even his brothers. He’d be back at the mill in time to enjoy the last rays of summer sun.

  He followed Donny into the broom-making room. The scent of fresh dried straw with a sweeter undertone wafted around him, bringing back memories of feeding the horses. He inhaled. A tang of dried wood also hung in the air.

  “Stay to the right.” Donny’s voice carried to him from the middle of the room. “Feel along the edge. There are five stations set up.” The rattle of corn stalks grew closer as Donny’s footsteps approached. “Are you in the first station?”

  Clay ran his right palm along a wood surface. “Is there a table?” He felt a low, metal pan. “A pan.” His fingers dipped into water. “With water?”

  “Yes,” Donny said near him.

  The straw scent engulfed him as tassels brushed past his face.

  “Watch where you’re going.”

  Something hard smacked him in the side, and he fumbled around until his hand was captured.

  Donny placed Clay’s hand on a pile of round, long, corn-like stalks. “This is the broomcorn we use to make the brooms.”

  “I didn’t know brooms were made from corn.” Clay picked up one piece and ran his fingers the length of the stalk. There weren’t any ears, and the scratchy leaves were slenderer than corn. The top tassel was stronger, harder than the top of a corn stalk. Seeds sprinkled onto his palm.

  “It isn’t corn. It’s sorghum. But because it looks like corn when it’s growin’ and it’s used for brooms it’s called broomcorn.” Donny grasped his wrist again. “Each station is set up with a pile of broomcorn and a seed scraper.” Donny dipped Clay’s fingers in the water. “And water to soak the straw.” He pulled Clay’s hand out of the water and placed it on a ball of wound string. “The twine is used to secure the straw to the handle.” The boy raised Clay’s arm and moved it around in the air until a thin rope twisted around Clay’s wrist. “This is used to tighten the twine around the stalks. It’s kind of like a pulley, only the rope loops over the rafter. One end is on the person’s foot acting as a weight. The other is slipped around the broomcorn, tightening it to wrap and tie with the twine.”

  Donny untangled Clay’s wrist and led him forward. “This is another station. I have to make sure they all have water, broomcorn, twine, and handles.” They stopped four strides from the last station. “I was pourin’ water when Mrs. White came and got me. There are two more to fill.” Donny pivoted Clay to the left, and they walked forward five strides. Clay
reached ahead and smacked his knuckles into a table, hip height.

  “The supplies are kept on this table. Mr. Smith replenishes them every night and takes away the finished brooms.” Donny’s voice drifted to the right. “Stay here until I get the rest of the water poured.”

  Clay ran his hands over the table top, walking first left and encountering broomcorn, and then right and finding balls of twine, small wooden pegs the size of a match but sturdier, and long wooden staffs. Fingering the length of the staff, he discovered two holes the perfect size for the wooden pegs. Water splashed behind him.

  Donny knew this room and his trade well. “How did you end up teaching this class?” Clay positioned his back to the table of supplies and listened for Donny’s whereabouts.

  “I made brooms before I became blind.” The scorn in the boy’s voice piqued Clay’s interest.

  “How long ago did you lose your sight?”

  “I was eight, I’m twelve now.” Water splashed again.

  “Why were you making brooms at such an early age?” At eight, Clay had worked alongside his father and brothers in the mine, but never more than an hour at a time.

  “Because my drunken father couldn’t keep up with the orders.” Donny’s voice deepened with anger. He stomped toward Clay. “My ma and little sister had to eat. I’d watched Pa enough to know how to do it. And when he was drinkin’ ’stead of fillin’ orders, I started makin’ them.”

  “If you aren’t there to make brooms, how are your ma and sister managing?” Clay thought of his new sister-in-law and how she and her children had scratched to get by until Ethan fell in love with the whole lot of them.

  “I get paid for teachin’. I give the money to my ma. They moved here when I came to the school.” He snorted. “My pa can rot in hell. He may have taken my sight, but I’m a better man than he is.”

  “I agree.”

  The boy’s intake of breath made Clay smile. Donny hadn’t expected an adult to take his side. Clay pondered what the matron had said earlier. “Why did Mrs. White say you don’t have any place else to go?”

  “My money here just pays for a room at a boardin’ house for my ma and sister. What my ma can make sewin’ helps them some. But they can’t afford another mouth to feed. So I stay here.” He cleared his throat and sighed heavily. The boy’s resignation struck a chord with Clay.

  “You won’t be here forever. At sixteen you could start up a broom-making shop.”

  “You think so?” Hope rang in Donny’s tone.

  “Yes. Now, what can I do? I don’t like to stand around.”

  Donny stepped beside him. “To your left are wooden pegs. Use the small mallet and insert one in each hole on the handle.”

  Clay smiled. Finally, something he could do. He grasped a handle, found the hole with one finger, poked a peg in the hole, and brought the mallet down. It wasn’t the same as pounding a stake in the ground for cart tracks, but each swing of the mallet proved he could do more than sit in the dark and feel sorry for himself. He hoped learning to read Braille proved as easy and satisfying.

  Chapter 4

  Rachel entered the superintendent’s office. She had time to check Mr. Halsey’s eyes but hadn’t found him in the music room with the other students.

  “Dr. Tarkiel, good morning.”

  His over-enthusiastic welcome and exaggerated smile were always at the ready for her. Even though the state paid for her to be on call to the school, her father gave the school generous donations to make sure she had a place to practice medicine. That her father more or less paid for her to have a doctor’s position irritated her. She’d give up her family ties to strike out in her own practice. But until the blind school, no one had wanted a woman doctor with a disfigured face. Even the hospital had turned her down, despite her glowing credentials in surgical applications.

  “Mr. Griffin, I’ve come to ask that you have a word with Mrs. White. She is condescending and rude to Mr. Smith.”

  His smile drooped, and his eyes lost their welcoming gleam. “Mrs. White has been the matron here for many years and no one has complained about her behavior.” He shuffled papers on the desk and avoided eye contact.

  “That’s because she has bullied everyone into not saying anything. She has a good heart, for the most part. But her prejudices need to be kept to herself. It makes the children frightened of Mr. Smith, and they shouldn’t be. He does so much for them and the school.”

  “Is that all?”

  His quick dismissal didn’t surprise her given Mr. Griffin’s indifference to Mrs. White’s treatment of the handyman. She’d have to ask Mr. Smith how he came to get this job when it was evident two of the staff held such bigotry.

  “No. Where might I find Mr. Halsey?”

  The superintendent jerked his head up, his eyes questioning. “Why are you looking for Mr. Halsey?”

  “All students require a physical.” She squeezed her hands together in an attempt to not say more to endanger her job. She may hate the fact her father “bought” this job, but at least she wasn’t a burden on her family.

  “B-but he’s a man…”

  “Yes, and I’m a doctor who is paid to check all incoming students.”

  He stared at her like she’d pulled up her skirts and shown her knees. She’d received that look so many times when working with a male patient, her face didn’t heat anymore.

  “It is no different than a male doctor giving a female patient a physical.”

  “He’s helping Donny set up for the broom-making class.” His gaze strayed to the scar on her face, and then darted away.

  “Thank you.” She spun out of the stuffy confines of the office and shook out her aching fingers. She may desire a more fulfilling physician’s appointment, but she didn’t want to lose this one until something better came along. She would never allow herself to be a burden on her parents.

  Her heart fluttered the closer she walked to the door of the broom-making room. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t look forward to giving Mr. Halsey a physical. Heat flamed up her neck and scorched her cheeks. Heavens!Not in an inappropriate way. She enjoyed his company and the ease with which they could talk. And yes, the way his touch ignited her senses fascinated her.

  She stepped in the door and smiled. Donny and Clay chatted like old friends, working side-by-side at a table laden with supplies.

  “Excuse me, Donny, Mr. Halsey?”

  The two turned toward her voice at the same time. Donny’s brow scrunched in concern, but a smile lit Mr. Halsey’s face. Her midsection did a slow roll, and heat curled behind her bellybutton.

  “Dr. Tarkiel. Have you come to learn how to make a broom?”

  The teasing in Mr. Halsey’s voice fluttered her insides. “No, you need a physical, just like all the other students.”

  “Does he have to go now?” Donny whined and frowned. “The students will be showin’ up any minute.”

  She smiled. Never had she seen Donny show anything other than bravado. His whining about taking Clay away was a sign the boy might finally be making steps toward not being afraid of men.

  “I promise to bring him back as soon as I’m through.”

  The lines on the boy’s face deepened, and his mouth screwed up in disbelief.

  “It can’t take that long to see I’m healthy.” Clay patted the boy’s back and started across the room.

  To help navigate Clay to the door, she said, “It will only take about thirty minutes.” When he stood in front of her, she moved to his side and slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

  “I’ll be back as soon as the doc’s through with me,” Clay said over his shoulder, and then motioned for her to start walking.

  Out in the hall, she studied him. The faded flannel shirt and denim work britches suited him more than the gentleman’s coat and trousers he’d worn the day before. The softness of his shirt enticed her to snuggle against him. She straightened her back. That was a most inappropriate thought.

  “Does thi
s physical include you looking at my eyes?” His voice dropped, suggesting he wanted to keep their conversation private.

  “Yes.” She led him back into the main hall and around the corner toward the dining hall.

  “The infirmary is near the dining hall?” He tilted his head and his nostrils flared.

  She sniffed, inhaling the hearty scent of the noonday stew, and smiled. “Yes, the infirmary door is across the hall from the dining entrance.” She stopped, and he stepped forward, searching with his hand until he found the knob and swung the door open. Rachel stepped through the threshold, took his hand, and led him to a chair in the examining room. The heat of his palm and the small squeeze he gave her fingers fluttered her mid-section anew.

  “Sit.” She placed her palms on his solid chest, moving him back onto the chair.

  “I could get used to being bossed around by a woman.”

  The devilish smile curving his lips sent another flurry of heat and excitement skittering around inside her.

  “Wait until I start probing and prodding, then you won’t think that.” She reached toward the counter for her stethoscope. His large hand grabbed her skirt.

  “You’ll tell me the truth. No saying things you think I want to hear.” His ragged voice pleaded, and his brow furrowed in worry. The sight and sound of his desperation tugged at her heart.

  “I’m professionally bound to tell you the truth about your condition.” She released his fingers from the folds of her skirt. “I promise you will only hear the truth from me.”

  “Thank you.” He swallowed and his Adam’s apple bobbed. “There’s days I’d rather be dead than blind, then I meet people like you and Donny and curse myself for being so weak.”

  Rachel stared at him, uncertain what to say. He couldn’t know about her scar. “Why do Donny and I make you curse yourself?”

  “Donny’s only twelve, yet, he teaches others how to make a living and provides for his ma and sister, and he’s blind like me. You work in a profession that’s generally held by a man. Yet, you”—he coughed into his hand, and his face reddened—“you keep your womanly qualities right there where a person knows you didn’t take this on because you wanted to be a man.”