CHAPTER NINE
David stayed in his drifty place. Even curiosity about the town, which he’d only seen once when he and Pa had rode through to buy some provisions, didn’t pull him out. He remained vaguely aware of a group of people surrounding him—of the big man handing him off to an old man before he was passed to a fat woman, who cushioned him against her soft body and smelled of bread and cinnamon.
The big man came for him. “Thank you, Mrs. Mueller,” he said, laying a strong hand on David’s shoulder, though the grip wasn’t hurtful like Pa’s.
“Iss goot, Mr. Gordon. You bring the bube to visit me.” She pinched David’s cheek. “Ve give you some kuchen. Fatten you up. You vill like, nicht vahr?”
The big man gave the cinnamon woman a weary smile. Something about his crooked grin stirred a memory inside David, but before he could examine it, the man nudged him to a square house set back from the street. “Come, David. It’s time for a bath and some food.”
The thought of food penetrated, and he reluctantly followed the big man to the door of the house. The man knocked, and the door flew open.
Inside an older woman glared at them. She had a sharp nose, thin lips, and skin hanging from under her neck like a rooster. “Found him, did ya?” Her lips pursed in disapproval. “Dirty. I’m not letting him in the house in that state.”
The big man sighed. “Widow Murphy, do you expect David to bathe in the middle of the street?”
Her expression didn’t change.
“I think Mrs. Norton will be over soon to check on him.”
An uneasy look crossed her sour face.
“I’ll pay extra.”
That seemed to work because she moved aside from the door, reluctance oozing from her very bones.
David’s feet remained planted on the wooden steps. He didn’t want to enter the house. The big man stood next to him, a firm hand the size of a tin plate still resting on his shoulder. The hand propelled him forward, not with a shove like his pa would have done, but still strong enough to make his feet move in spite of their reluctance.
They followed the rooster-woman to a kitchen, big and clean, with the smell of baking bread from the loaf resting on the table in the center and a rich meaty aroma coming from a pot on the big black stove. His stomach contracted, aching with hunger pangs.
The widow pointed at a chair. “Sit. Don’t touch anything. I’ll start heating water.” She pointed out a back door and shot a look at the big man. “Tub’s in the lean-to.”
David sat frozen in the chair, wondering if he could make a break for it before the big man caught him. But where would I go? What would I eat?
The man nodded, then moved over to the washbasin, wet his hands, soaped them and rinsed, then dried them on a towel. He walked over to the stove, picked up the loaf and tore off a chunk.
Mrs. Murphy squawked in protest.
He shot her a look that clammed her up. Then he handed the bread to David. “Something to tide you over.”
David held the warm chunk in his hand, fighting the need to gobble it down.
“Go ahead, David. Take a bite.”
David waited until the big man they called Mister Gordon turned away to go into the lean-to. Then he took a quick bite. The bread melted in his mouth, leaving only the chewy crust. David’s eyes watered—from what, he didn’t know. He gulped down the rest of the bite.
After Mister Gordon brought in the tub, setting it next to the black cast-iron stove, he looked over at David. “Do you think you could wash yourself, while I go to the mercantile and buy you some new clothes?”
David nodded, not sure what he was agreeing to.
The big man gave him a crooked smile and brushed a hand over David’s hair. “Goin’ to need a haircut.” He cocked his head toward the door. “It won’t take me long.”
David could tell from the man’s tone that he meant to be reassuring. As scary as the stranger was, he didn’t hold a candle to the old biddy. Don’t leave me. But the words didn’t come out of the place in his throat that had frozen a long time ago.
* * *
David looked so lost sitting in the chair. He reminded Ant of a captured bird paralyzed with fear. For a minute the blankness left David’s eyes, and he gave Ant a look of appeal. The boy has Emily’s eyes.
Ant’s gut knotted, and he could feel an unfamiliar prickling behind his eyes. He rallied behind a teasing tone. “You’ll be all right here, David. Can’t have you walking about as naked as a scrawny jaybird.” He nodded to the rooster-woman. “Beg pardon, Miz Murphy.” And to David: “Eat your bread to tide you over until we can have a meal.”
David looked down, breaking their eye contact.
“Need anything from the store?” he asked Widow Murphy, and then waited impatiently while she reeled off a list.
He nodded good-bye, then left the house, leaving behind an odd feeling of oppression. As he strode down the street, he couldn’t help feeling guilty about needing to escape. But the boy reminded Ant too much of his sister, something he hadn’t thought would bother him at all. Actually, the problem had never occurred to him. If he had thought about it, he would have assumed that the boy would be a welcomed reminder of Emily.
Added to his pain were the obvious physical and emotional scars the boy carried from his abuse... Familiar guilt weighed Ant down. If only he hadn’t argued with that scoundrel Lewis the night before that terrible event...threatened to take Emily and David away from him. If only he’d gone to Emily’s house a few hours earlier the next day. Hell, if only he’d stopped the wedding in the first place. But he’d been out of the country having fallen in love with Isabella...had assumed his sister had chosen a better man than their stepfather. His whole life seemed one long chain of regrets.
The boy didn’t talk. Not one word. Even on the horse, seated in front of him, David’s thin body had remained rigid. Had never relaxed. In response to David’s silence and misery, a lump had seized Ant’s throat like a fist. He hadn’t known what to say to the stiff young stranger in his arms. Ever since the kidnapping, he’d fantasized about the conversations he’d have with his nephew. He had two years of words stored up. Yet when the time had come to say some of them, he’d choked.
I may not be cut out to be raising that boy.
* * *
Dressed in a gray calico gown, Harriet sat by the stove in the Cobb’s kitchen, combing out her hair. Between brushing, she sipped a cup of tea and nibbled on some sugar cookies. She’d settled for a sponge bath instead of a soak, eager to escape to the privacy of her room.
Mrs. Cobb bustled around, setting the kitchen to rights. The woman had alternated between scolding Harriet and punishing silences, even while she’d made tea and set out cookies. While they’d been in Mrs. Norton’s presence, Mrs. Cobb had acted solicitous and thanked God Harriet was safe. But that caring behavior had vanished when the minister’s wife left.
For a while, Harriet had remained silent, too tired and numb to even listen. She’d allowed the scold to sail over her head, something she’d become good at since living with the Cobbs. But, once she was clean and changed, and after drinking some tea, it was harder to shut out the woman’s words.
“A good reputation is so important to a school teacher, Miss Stanton. I don’t know what the school board is going to think about this incident.”
That statement sucked her into the discussion. “They’ll probably be grateful to have another student. I’m sure Mr. Gordon will be a fine contributor to the school.”
“I mean about you, Miss Stanton.” With angry energy, Mrs. Cobb balled up one of the wet towels.
Anger began to uncurl in Harriet’s stomach. “What are you implying, Mrs. Cobb?”
The woman sniffed. “I’m not saying you’re a fallen woman, Miss Stanton....”
Harriet tried for some levity. “I almost was. I was halfway off the cliff before Mr. Gordon grabbed me. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t just be a fallen woman, Mrs. Cobb. I’d be a dead one!”
Eve
n that didn’t deter the woman. “It’s not funny, Miss Stanton. I’m talking about how your shirtwaist was ripped through.”
Should have known that wouldn’t work. The woman has no sense of humor.
Harriet sobered. “That was the most frightening moment of my life. Thank you for being concerned.”
The woman’s bosom swelled with indignation. “It’s indecent, I say. In front of Mr. Gordon. Parading that way through the town!”
The anger uncoiled. Harriet held onto her temper, but it was like trying to dam a flooded river. Any moment the dam was going to breach. “You’re talking as if I was exposing myself, Mrs. Cobb. I was completely covered.”
“It’s indecent!”
A knock on the door to the shop interrupted the tart reply Harriet had on the tip of her tongue.
“Come in,” Mrs. Cobb called.
Mr. Cobb stuck his head in the room. His bulbous nose twitched. “Mr. Gordon is in the store. He wants to know if Miss Stanton will join him and his nephew at Widow Murphy’s for supper.”
Widow Murphy was even worse than Mrs. Cobb. Surely Ant’s presence will keep her in hand. “Tell him I’ll be delighted. Actually, if he doesn’t mind waiting, I’ll join him in a few minutes.”
Mrs. Cobb sputtered something about resting.
Harriet wanted a nap, but even more she wanted to see David. Freshening up and having the tea and cookies had restored her. “Nonsense, Mrs. Cobb. I’m fine.” Please, please stop talking before I throttle you. She began braiding her hair.
“Miss Stanton, you’re spending entirely too much time with Mr. Gordon. It isn’t seemly.”
Harriet’s hold on her temper broke. “How dare you be so judgmental! You are not the arbitrator of what is right and proper. I’ve been helping Mr. Gordon find his kidnapped, abused nephew, an act of kindness and charity, two virtues you seem to lack!”
Mrs. Cobb drew herself up. “Well!” she harrumphed. “This behavior after all we’ve done for you. Boarded you. Fed you.”
“I pay you for that.”
“Yes, and where would you have been, missy, if we hadn’t. Some miner’s shack?”
“Perhaps. But at least it would have offered more congenial company!”
Mrs. Cobb’s face turned puce. She made some gabbling noises. Failing to find words she pointed at the door. “Leave,” she choked out.
Harriet tilted her chin proudly. “Gladly.” Without taking the time to pin her braid up, she hurried out the door, slamming it behind her.
Over at the counter, both Mr. Cobb and Ant looked at her in astonishment. Ant had a twinkle in his eye, while Mr. Cobb looked more reproving.
Ant walked over to the milliner’s shelf, studied several bonnets, and selected a straw one with green velvet ribbons. He brought it to the counter and held it up to Mr. Cobb. “Add this to my bill.” He set the hat on Harriet’s head.
She stared up at him too astonished to say anything.
“To replace the one you lost today. And I owe you a shirtwaist too. I’ll leave money for it, and you can pick it out later.”
“Mr. Gordon,” she protested, conscious of Mr. Cobb’s avid curiosity. “That was an old straw hat, not a bonnet.”
He tapped the brim. “This is what you need now.”
Half chagrined, half delighted, Harriet tied the velvet ribbons under her chin.
Ant placed some money on the counter. “This should cover everything, including Miss Stanton’s new shirtwaist. Keep the change for my account.” He gathered up the brown paper-wrapped packages, holding one out to her. “Miss Stanton, if you’ll help me carry things, I believe I’ll only need to make one trip.”
Conscious of the new hat, Harriet walked forward, trying not to limp, and took the parcel Ant held out. He piled two more in her arms, then swept up an armful and picked up the handle of a basket with his other hand. “Thanks for the loan of the basket, Cobb.”
The man eyed Harriet as if she was a rabid dog. Without taking his gaze off her, he nodded an acknowledgment to Ant.
Ant faced the door, waiting for her to precede him.
“Come, Miss Stanton. Let’s go see what David looks like clean.”
Harriet marched down the aisle, ignoring the merchandise that she usually enjoyed inspecting.
Before she reached the door, Ant stepped in front of her, set down the basket, and opened it. “After you, milady.”
Out in the sunlight, Harriet blinked, realizing under her new hat, her hair was trailing in a braid down her back like a girl’s. Oh, well. She stiffened her spine, hoping she wouldn’t see many people on her way to Widow Murphy’s.
Ant extended his arm to her. “My lady. Shall I escort you to Mrs. Murphy’s?”
Harriet blushed and set her hand in the crook of his arm.
They fell into step. Although Ant was far taller than any man she had ever walked with, he courteously kept his arm at an angle that was comfortable for her. Her sore ankle made her grateful for his support.
“Some fireworks back there.”
Harriet looked up at him to see Ant’s crooked grin, peeked eyebrow, and teasing brown eyes. “Oh, dear, you heard.”
Ant chuckled. “I would have paid money to see the look on Mrs. Cobb’s face.”
“Puce and puckered.”
Ant laughed again. “What a vision.”
“It was, indeed,” Harriet admitted ruefully. “Your invitation offered a welcomed escape.”
“I don’t think Widow Murphy’s is going to be much of an escape.”
She couldn’t help laughing. “My thoughts, exactly. But for right now, better than the Cobbs.”
“And later?”
She sobered. “I’ll worry about later...later.”
They’d reached Widow Murphy’s house and went around the side to the kitchen door. Once again, Ant set down the basket so he could open the door for her.
In the middle of the kitchen, Widow Murphy sat in a chair next to the wooden tub. David crouched in the tub, his legs drawn up, arms wrapped around his knees, as the woman attacked his back with a scrubbrush. He whimpered in pain, tears rolling down his face.
A wave of anger carried Harriet over the threshold, Ant close on her heels. She tossed the parcels on the table, then stormed over to Widow Murphy and grabbed the scrubbrush out of her hands. “He’s not the kitchen floor. You’re hurting him!”
“That boy has years of ground-in dirt. He needs to be scrubbed off.”
“You’re scrubbing off his skin along with the dirt! It’s cruel.”
“How dare you!” Mrs. Murphy puffed up like a rooster.
Ant came up behind them. He placed a quieting hand on Harriet’s back before kneeling down next to the tub and brushing the stringy wet hair out of David’s reddened eyes. “I’m sorry, David. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I shouldn’t have left you.”
Harriet heard a whole wealth of pain in Ant’s words, and her heart twisted in sympathy. “Why don’t we finish giving him the bath,” she said to him. “We can be gentle.” She shot a sharp look at the widow.
The woman’s body trembled with rage. She shook her head, and her wattle jiggled. “Don’t you order me around in my own house.”
Ant rose to his feet, his dark length towering over both of them. “Mrs. Murphy,” he said in a firm tone. “Let’s talk in the parlor.”
Harriet took off her new bonnet and set it on the table. She grabbed the towel from the washstand and dipped one end in the water, then gently wiped David’s tearstained face.
He scrunched his eyes shut and turned his face away, making a noise of protest.
“I know, dear. This is uncomfortable. Let’s get you clean so you can get out of the bath.”
He didn’t turn his head.
Harriet kept up a flow of soothing one-way conversation, but to no avail. David wasn’t responding. She needed to try something else.
Harriet started to hum. She soaped the towel, then ran it down David’s arm.
He flinched, but di
dn’t protest.
She glanced at his face, but was disconcerted to see how his eyes stared into nothing. She increased the level of her humming, gently washing the cloth down his body. Gradually his muscles relaxed.
The water in the tub turned darker. She needed to change it but didn’t want to stop. She worried how David would react if they made him get out of the tub while they emptied and filled it again.
“David, I’m going to wash your hair. I want you to keep your head tilted back and your eyes closed.”
Harriet reached over to a bowl on the table and grabbed the handle of a ladle. She dipped it in the dirty water, and then sprinkled it over his head, smoothing his hair back with the palm of her hand so no soap would drip into his eyes. Once his hair was wet, she took the bar of soap and rubbed it over his head, then worked it through the long strands. Then she rinsed the soap out.
David started to shiver.
He probably needed another soaping and rinsing, but he was clean enough. He could always take another bath tomorrow.
With a pang, she realized she wouldn’t be here to give him one. Maybe she should have Ant take him to the bathhouse, although from the rumors she’d heard about the place, maybe that wasn’t a good idea either. Ant would just have to do the bathing himself.
CHAPTER TEN
Knowing he was leaving his nephew in good hands, Ant led Mrs. Murphy into the painfully clean parlor, as sparsely decorated as the Cobbs’ was ornate. He turned to face her, holding onto his temper as if damming up a stream.
Charm, Gordon. Use charm. Once, he’d possessed that ability in abundance. Overabundance, actually, considering some of the escapades he’d engaged in during his younger years. Just that thought was enough to lighten his anger. Not much, but a little.
“Mrs. Murphy,” he said in a manner so smooth you could skid on it. “I know—”
“Don’t you try to bamboozle me, Mr. Gordon. I don’t run a lodging house for boys.”
So much for my charm.
“David’s been through a horrible experience. Actually, several years of abuse. I appeal to your sense of Christian charity, Mrs. Murphy. The boy needs food and shelter. It will only be a few days, while I figure out what to do.”
Debra Holland Page 9