The Halsey Brothers Series

by Paty Jager

  He pushed to his feet, again leaning on the wall while his dark world settled. “Ready.”

  “You sure?” Jasper’s strong hand grasped his arm.

  “Yes. Go slow, I’ll be fine.” Clay clenched his jaw and started forward. His uninjured leg wobbled. He reached out to steady himself, and his knuckles rapped a door jamb. He’d made it out of one room. Jasper turned him slightly to his right. His heavy bandaged leg dragged. He used all his energy to force his leg to pick up the weight.

  The pungent scent of lye swept over him. Jasper turned him right again. How many steps to the outside door? His strength diminished with each step he fought to take. Maybe going outside had been a bad idea. Sweat dampened his forehead and trickled down his temple. Both legs wobbled and ached.

  Jasper stopped and stepped away, leaving Clay gasping for air and willing his weary limbs to stop quivering and hold him erect until the man came back.

  A door creaked, wafting fresh air over Clay. He breathed deep, and a new surge of energy charged through him.

  Jasper grasped his arm and led him forward. Gravel poked Clay’s stocking-clad foot for two steps. Grass cushioned his steps for three more strides. Sun warmed his face and he breathed in the sweet scent of flowers in bloom.

  Jasper’s hands shifted him and pushed down. “Sit.”

  Clay had no choice. Between the man’s strength and his shaky legs, his backside landed harder than he liked on a solid seat. He gripped a wooden arm with one hand. His other hand splayed across a smooth wooden surface. He sat on a bench. Maybe Rachel would join him after all.

  “Thank you, Jasper.” Clay sucked in the fresh air and willed his hammering heart to slow. Recovering would take time if his weariness from this short walk were any indication.

  “You gonna be all right here?”

  “I’m fine. Unless you have something I could do with my hands while I sit here?” The citrus scent he associated with Rachel swirled around him, warming him in places she’d best not know.

  “I brought the bandages you offered to roll.”

  Rachel’s brisk and formal tone amused him. He smiled. “Good. I hate sitting around doing nothing.” He expected her to sit next to him. Instead, something hard brushed his arm and crunched like dried twigs beside him.

  “On the bench beside you is a basket of cloth strips. Find an end and start rolling.” Her scent rippled around him, and her skirts rustled. “There’s another basket on the ground by your right foot. Place the rolled bandages in that basket.”

  Clay pulled a folded letter out of his shirt pocket. He’d received it the day before but hadn’t asked anyone to read it to him.

  He held out the unopened envelope. “Could you read this letter to me?”

  “I-I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to see your personal mail.”

  Her stammer and low whisper surprised him. Why would she worry about reading a letter that had to be from one of his brothers?

  “I can’t read it, and other than you, Jasper, and Donny, I don’t want anyone else knowing my business.”

  Paper crackled. “Do you know who it’s from?”

  “No. I figure one of my brothers. I doubt Ethan since he should be sailing toward England. That leaves three other possibilities.”

  “It’s from Hank.”

  He nodded. “Figured as much, he’d be the only lonely one.”

  “Oh, thank you, Jasper.” Her skirts rustled.

  “‘Dear Clay.’”

  Her sweet voice was head level. Jasper must have brought her something to sit on.

  “‘I wasn’t sure if you are up to writing letters yet, but thought I’d fill you in on the stamp mill and what I know about Gil and his family and Zeke and Maeve.’”

  Clay listened to the lilt of her voice and only half heard the news of his brothers. He wished she were on the bench beside him instead of the basket of rags.

  Her voice stopped.

  He shifted his injured leg and waited.

  “You could roll the bandages while I read.”

  Clay picked up the end of a rag and started rolling.

  “‘The miners have been flocking in here wanting to schedule days to run their diggings through the mill. There are days we could have put in double the stamps.’” She stopped. “Could you explain to me what a stamp mill does?”

  Rachel stared at the transformation on Clay’s face. His mouth lifted at the corners. His shoulders squared, and his back straightened. The stamp mill was definitely the Halsey brothers’ pride and joy.

  “It has five stamps which are large heavy stones attached to long poles that move up and down like pistons.” He moved one hand up the same time the other went down. “In a motion like this with each hitting at a different time. Small pieces of rock drop under these and are crushed, revealing the flakes and nuggets of gold.”

  “From the letter it sounds like you do this for other miners?” She wanted to learn all she could about Clay and how he planned to fit in when he left. Knowing he would be safe with his family helped, but he had to feel needed as well.

  He grinned. “It was Ethan’s idea, but we all agreed. We use Sundays to collect our own gold. The rest of the week we allow the other miners to cart their diggings in. We receive a percentage of what comes from their rock.”

  “So if there isn’t any gold, you don’t get anything? Isn’t that a lot of work for nothing?” She wasn’t greedy, but she believed in getting paid for her time.

  Clay grinned and nodded. “It’s rare a miner brings in rock that doesn’t have gold in it. We have men working for us, and they have to get paid.”

  “What was your job before you lost your sight?”

  “I helped build the mill and lay the ore cart railing. It had barely started when all hell broke loose.” His brow furrowed, and his mouth straightened into a disapproving line.

  “What happened?”

  He sucked in air and exhaled. The white knuckles on the hand holding the rolled bandage relaxed, and the wrinkled, scrunched cloth fell from his hand and landed in his lap.

  “A person, I thought of as a friend since grammar school, tried to kill a child, assaulted the woman Ethan loved, tried to blow up a mine, and blinded me.” He shook his head slowly. “I didn’t have a clue he had such a mean streak in him.”

  Wanting to move the discussion away from the accident, she asked, “After you lost your sight, what did you do at the mill?”

  Sarcasm wreathed his laugh. “Nothing, if my brothers had anything to say about it. But I’d sneak out to the mill and work on the gears and stuff at night when it was shut down.” He almost smiled before his lips tipped down once more. “Until one of the workers wanted to know who was coming in at night and greasing the gears. They figured it was me and shipped me out here.”

  She placed a hand on his knee. “What do you want to do when you go back?”

  His hand covered hers. The weight comforted her and conjured up visions of the same hand roaming about her body. Heat ignited in her belly.

  “I want to work alongside my brothers, building all our futures. I have some ideas how to make the mill more productive in the winter when the stream is frozen.”

  “Are those the drawings I saw in your journal?” She hoped they had become good enough friends that he wouldn’t think her a busybody.

  “Yes, I had it just about figured out when I lost my sight.”

  “Dr. Tarkiel, you have a visitor,” Mrs. White said.

  Rachel jerked her hand off Clay’s knee. She spun toward the pathway and groaned. Celeste stood beside the matron. Her frilly off-the-shoulder dress and fancy hat reduced the matron to the servant class.

  “So, this is why we hardly see you.” Celeste’s gaze traveled up and down Clay. She extended her hand. “I’m Celeste Tarkiel, Rachel’s sister.”

  Rachel stood, taking Celeste’s hand and drawing her to the chair she’d just vacated. “Celeste, this is Clay Halsey. The student who recently broke his leg.”

  Celeste�
�s eyebrow rose as she took the offered seat. Rachel still held Clay’s letter. She shoved it in her apron pocket. Grabbing the basket on the bench, she sat next to Clay.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Tarkiel. Rachel talks about her family quite a bit.”

  Clay’s deep smooth voice tipped Rachel’s lips in a smug smile. For a miner he could talk just as smooth and sappy as a politician.

  “So, do the two of you spend a lot of time together?” Celeste’s tone rang with accusation and innuendo.

  “Not as much as I’d like.” Clay’s smile and comment warmed Rachel’s heart. She hid the smile tickling her lips and set her face in her professional expression.

  “Mr. Halsey, you’ve been told before not to be so forward.”

  “I can’t help it, you’re so interesting.” He reached over and placed his hand on her arm. His actions and seductive voice fluttered her heart.

  Celeste’s mouth dropped open, and then snapped shut.

  Rachel stared at her sister. How could she get Clay to remove his hand without being rude in front of Celeste? He must have felt her tremors, because his brow furrowed, and his hand moved to his leg.

  “Why are you visiting me here?” Rachel asked, wondering if Mr. Smith would come by so, she could have him take Clay back into the infirmary.

  “It was such a lovely day I went for a walk. And do you know who I ran into? Madge Newcomb. She was going on and on about what a shame it was you were tucked away here in this blind school and not getting out and socializing.”

  Rachel groaned and swept a glance at Clay. Of course he’d perked up to listen. “I don’t really—”

  “I told her you would be at the Fourth of July celebration. After all, it is an election year, and Father will be expected to speak. You never miss his speeches.” Her sister shot a glance to Clay and took a breath to go on. “She wanted to know who would escort you—”

  “I don’t need an escort, and I’d rather you didn’t gossip about me with your friends.” Anger gurgled in her stomach. Heat streamed up her neck, infusing her cheeks. How dare her sister presume to speak of her to others? Her business was just that—her business.

  “I’m escorting her.”

  Clay’s declaration nearly shot Rachel off the bench. She twisted on the seat, her knees bumping his. Her heart bounced around inside her ribs like popcorn in a kettle.

  “You have a broken leg.” She couldn’t control the warble in her voice.

  “A Fourth of July celebration would be on July fourth. That’s still a month away. You said this should be healed in six weeks. What better way to celebrate getting this heavy thing off my leg than escorting a beautiful woman to listen to her father speak?” He placed his hand on her knee and squeezed. “I could use some time away from here, and so could you.”

  Her heart palpitated. Eagerness to get away from the school and be with him flushed her whole being. But what if it only made her wish for things that couldn’t be?

  “That sounds like an excellent idea!” Celeste clapped her hands. “Wait until I tell Mother. She’ll be beyond ecstatic to know you have an escort.”

  “B-but I haven’t—”

  “Just say yes.” Clay spoke the words so quietly she almost didn’t catch them. He gave her knee another squeeze. His familiar touches and the sincerity in his request melted her. She had no resistance to this man and his charms.

  “What about the staff here? What will Mr. Griffin say?” She wanted to go. But a niggling in the back of her mind said their relationship would change outside the security of the school.

  “He’ll say it’s about time you have some fun,” Clay said sarcastically and smirked.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Celeste stared at Clay, her gaze sweeping over him like he was a Paris gown.

  Rachel stood and clutched the basket of bandages to her middle. “Mr. Halsey and I will discuss it further. Don’t tell Mother anything until we’ve made a decision.”

  Clay shoved to his feet beside her. “We have made the decision. We’ll be there.”

  Celeste glanced from Rachel to Clay and back to Rachel. “I do believe, big sister, you have found your match.”

  Rachel’s jaw dropped open and her hands clenched the basket. Not only was Clay forcing her to go to the celebration, now Celeste had fallen into cahoots with him.

  Celeste laughed and stood. “Mr. Halsey, it was a pleasure meeting you, and I look forward to seeing both you and my sister at the celebration.” She strode back to the school.

  Rachel snapped her mouth shut and fidgeted. Should she run to her sister and beg her once more not to say anything, or lay into the man standing beside her grinning like he’d been handed a fistful of money?

  Chapter 13

  Clay knew he’d get a tongue lashing. He’d spoken up when she would have rather he kept quiet. But dang if escorting her to a celebration didn’t seem like a great chance for them to get to know one another outside the school. The opportunity couldn’t have fallen into his lap any better.

  “I don’t understand your sister’s appeal to men.” That should throw her thoughts in a tizzy.

  “I beg your pardon?” Rachel’s voice squeaked. The basket bumped him in the hip.

  “She has a screechy voice and a penchant for gossip. Listening to her intrude in other people’s lives with that voice would send me scurrying to the highest hill.”

  “Most men see only her beauty. They’re mesmerized before she opens her mouth and all they hear is a choir of angels.”

  He couldn’t tell if she mocked her sister or believed what she said. “Your voice is a choir of angels and your beauty shines through in your gestures.” He reached out, touched her arm, and slid his hand down to her hand clutching the bottom of a basket. “I really want to spend the day with you away from here. Please, say you’ll go.”

  “I’ll think about it.” She pulled her hand away from his touch.

  He smiled and sat back on the bench. “Give me the basket and finish Hank’s letter.” He reached out with both hands. “Please.”

  The basket crunched back on the bench beside him. The rustle of her skirts stopped where he pictured another chair sat. Paper crackled, and she cleared her throat. Her clear crisp voice began reading again, and his mind wandered to the possibilities of their outing. He had to build up his strength so he wasn’t hobbling around when the bandage came off his leg.

  “‘We all miss you and hope to hear from you soon, Hank.’”

  Clay jerked his attention back to the moment. Dang. He hadn’t heard the end of the letter. She’d think him a fool if he asked her to read it again. Or…perhaps she’d think him sentimental.

  “Could you read that last part one more time?”

  She sighed and started reading again. This time he kept his mind on the letter.

  “Thank you for re-reading the last part.” He craned his head to listen for Jasper’s whereabouts. “I asked Jasper to build something for me. Is he somewhere close?”

  “I don’t see him.”

  Rachel’s no-nonsense reply made him smile. Would she treat him even more distant now that they had a tentative outing?

  “Would you look for him while I finish rolling the bandages? The item will allow me to write a letter to Hank.” He picked up the end of a bandage and began rolling.

  The crunch of footsteps faded. He worked fast, rolling the bandages and setting them in the basket by his foot. He was anxious to try out his invention. If it worked, he’d see if Mr. Griffin would allow other students to use it.

  ****

  Rachel found Mr. Smith working in the shed. The clean tang of fresh wood filled her nostrils. Wood shavings spilled over his boots like tan snowflakes. She knocked on the open door.

  He glanced over his shoulder and his hands stopped whittling on a flat piece of wood the size of a ledger. Evenly spaced slats allowed elongated openings the width of the board.

  “Mr. Halsey asked me to find you. He wanted to know if the item he as
ked you to build was finished.”

  The handyman faced her, holding the board. “He’s a right smart fella. He told me how to make this so’s he can write a letter and make lists.” He waved the board in the air. The item intrigued her.

  “How will that work?” She stepped into the shed.

  He placed a solid board the same size as the first on the work bench. “He can put a piece o’ paper on this”—he swiped a hand across the solid board—“and place this here board with the openings on top, matching the edges. Then he can write in the cut out spaces.”

  Her heart beat rapidly. What a wonderful idea. And it would help so many other blind people. “It’s marvelous!” She ran her fingers over the smooth wood, dipping her finger into the open groove and sliding it along the straight line. “Is it finished? He received a letter from his brother and wants to write back.”

  “I jus’ have to add a strip a leather to hold the pieces together.”

  He cut a three inch wide length of leather and fit it on the long side of the board. Awl in hand, he tapped through the leather and into the wood and inserted small wooden pegs into the holes. He flipped the boards over, pulled the leather over the other board, and repeated the process.

  She studied the finished book he held out to her.

  “Oh, no. You should present it to him. You have remarkable craftsmanship.”

  Jasper smiled and motioned for her to exit the shed in front of him. She did, leading him to Clay, his hands folded on his lap, a full basket of rolled bandages at his feet.

  They both stopped in front of him. Clay tilted his head in a way she’d learned meant he focused on their movements.

  “Is it finished?” he asked.

  “Yes. And Mr. Smith did a wonderful job on a remarkable idea.” She couldn’t keep the admiration from her voice. His idea and the handyman’s workmanship had created a truly superb invention

  Clay held up his hands. Mr. Smith placed the wood tablet in them. Clay’s hand roamed over the surface. His fingers dipped into the open spaces and slid along the straight groove. His grin grew and grew. His dimple deepened. Her heart stuttered.

  “Jasper, this is exactly what I’d envisioned. You did an excellent job.” He held up a hand. “Anyone have paper and a pencil?”