by Ruth Reid
“Sure, if it isn’t an inconvenience.” He stomped his boots on the doormat and removed his hat, exposing a head of matted curls. “Are you sure I’m nett a bother?”
“Of course you’re nett.” Mattie smiled. After a long night of hourly rechecks of Nathan’s temperature, she would like to take a nap. Then again, she wouldn’t mind the distraction.
Alvin’s cheerful smile fell on Amanda, but quickly faded to a frown when her daughter disappeared behind Mattie. “She having another bad day?”
“Amanda is . . .” Mattie had used all the excuses. Sure, Amanda didn’t warm easily to strangers, but Alvin had stopped in almost every day for coffee since he’d returned from the lumber camp in the spring, and they saw him at church and group functions. “She’s tired.” Mattie turned and headed to the kitchen, Amanda glued to her side.
“Where’s Nathan?”
“He’s sleeping in.” The multiple needle sticks and constant parade of people traipsing into the hospital room had exhausted her boy. He’d clung to her all night, frightened by the ordeal. Mattie motioned to the sink. “You can wash up if you’d like.”
Alvin went to the sink and rolled up his sleeves as she poured two mugs of coffee. She removed the dish towel she’d draped over the apple pie to keep the pesky flies away and cut a large slice, keenly aware of his gaze on her. Pretending not to notice, she measured a spoonful of sugar and deposited it and the spoon in his coffee.
He dried his hands on a nearby towel. “You look as though you could have used a little more sleep yourself.”
Alvin wasn’t normally observant, at least he’d never vocalized it. Sometimes he ate his dessert and drank his coffee in total silence. Her raccoon eyes must have prompted his comment. She handed him a fork and the pie plate, then picked up the two mugs of coffee. “Nathan and I haven’t slept very well lately. He’s run a fever the last few days.” She omitted the part about taking him to the hospital. Members in her district already thought she was overly protective—paranoid, too, according to past whispers she’d overheard.
He took a seat at the table and stabbed his fork into the pie. Lifting it to his mouth, he paused. “You fret over that boy a lot.”
Her spine bristled. “That’s what mothers do when their child is sick.”
“Just an observation.”
One she didn’t need. Nett from someone who had never married.
He took another bite, chasing the pie down with a gulp of coffee. “I suppose most women don’t have time to hover over one or”—his gaze fell on Amanda as she sidled up beside Mattie—“two children when they have seven or eight. If you had more children . . .”
She arched a brow as much in wonderment of what he was about to say as shock the man with no kids was about to offer parenting advice.
“Well,” he said, loading his fork again. “I’m sure you don’t need mei two cents.”
The sound of buggy wheels crunching over the gravel driveway caught her attention. She rose from the chair and went to the window. “It’s Grace,” she said, hoping he didn’t hear the hint of relief in her voice. She hurried out of the room and opened the door as her best friend was tying her horse to the post. “Guder mariye, Grace.”
Grace lumbered up the porch steps, pausing to glance over her shoulder at Alvin’s parked buggy. “If this is a bad time . . .”
Mattie opened the screen door and whisked her friend inside. “It isn’t.”
Chapter Five
The kaffi is hot. Let me pour you a cup.” Mattie shuttled Grace through the sitting room and into the kitchen. “Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the chair next to Amanda’s. Grace had become Mattie’s closest friend when Mattie and Andy first moved to Badger Creek. She recalled how isolated the district felt tucked deep within the forest. If it hadn’t been for Grace’s friendship, Mattie might have gone stir-crazy that first winter not having any relatives nearby.
“I can’t stay . . . long.” Grace offered Alvin a nervous smile. “Hiya, Alvin.”
“Guder mariye.” He gathered the last pie crumbs from the plate, then lifted his fork, only to pause it midair. “What’s Ben up to?”
Mattie retrieved a mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter.
“Ben’s down at the river fishing with Philemon.” Grace pulled a chair out from the table and turned her attention to Amanda, who had been quietly sitting at the table munching on dry Cheerios. “And how are you doing this morning, Amanda?”
“Gut.” Amanda smiled and continued eating.
Mattie poured a mugful of coffee and added a teaspoonful of sugar the way Grace liked. She hoped that since Grace’s husband was fishing, she could spend a little more time with her friend. Mattie was careful not to steal Grace’s time away from Ben since the men were only home from the timber camp during the few short months of summer.
“Ben would really like it if you joined them at the river,” Grace said to Alvin.
“No time.” Alvin drained his mug of coffee and stood. He shot a sideways glance at Mattie and offered her a brief smile. “I’ll check on that lamb later this afternoon, okay?”
Mattie smiled. “Danki, Alvin.” She had her hands full with Nathan and no time to tend sick livestock too. She crossed the room and set Grace’s coffee in front of her.
Alvin grabbed his work gloves from the table, paused a second, then left the kitchen. The screen door slapped closed a few moments later.
“You have something going on with Alvin tonight?” Grace wiggled her brows.
“What makes you think that?”
“He’s coming by later to check on the sick lamb. Sounds like code to me. Besides that, he’s always here drinking kaffi, ain’t so?”
“Nay, he wasn’t speaking code. One of my lambs isn’t doing well. And as for having kaffi with me, that’s the only form of payment he’ll take for his work. He’s cut mei winter’s supply of firewood for the last two seasons now. Also, he does most of the odd jobs that need attention. Alvin’s helped me a lot. I wish he would take pay.” Mattie sighed. “Then maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty. You heard him. He doesn’t have time to go fishing or do anything he finds relaxing.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t mind.”
“Still, there must be other things he would rather do.”
Grace grinned. “I doubt it. He seems very content helping you with the chores. Very.”
Mattie bowed her head. She would never find the same contentment with any man again. This was the home that she and Andy had made. He built it for them to grow old in. Andy had only been gone a year when the womenfolk started urging her to find another husband. Alvin hadn’t brought anything up along the lines of marriage, but he was beginning to be more vocal about family and children.
“Hey, Mattie. Are you okay?”
Mattie lifted her head and forced a weak smile. “I’m just a little tired.” And reading more into Alvin’s friendship than I should. “I was up most of the nacht checking Nathan’s temperature.”
“Is he sick again?” Grace leaned back in her chair and looked toward the sitting room. “By the way, where is he?”
“Still sleeping. The fever really drained his energy. I took him in to see the doktah when I couldn’t bring his temperature down with feverfew.”
“What did Doktah Roswell say?”
Mattie shook her head. “He’s on vacation. And I don’t think I like his replacement.”
Nathan padded into the kitchen whimpering softly and rubbing his eyes. He crawled up on Mattie’s lap. No doubt he was feeling a bit insecure after everything he’d gone through at the hospital. She gave him a gentle hug, then ran her hand over his forehead.
Grace studied Nathan. “His face is flushed. Does he have a fever?”
“Nay.” But on closer inspection, he did look a little red around the nose and cheeks to Mattie as well. “Maybe he was lying on that side.”
Grace shook her head. “It’s more than that. His eyes are bloodshot and, to me, they look glossy.”
>
“It’s probably a combination of allergies and lack of sleep.” She kissed the top of Nathan’s head, then turned to look at her daughter propped up on her knees in the chair beside her. Even on her knees, her little hand barely reached the table. “Will you share some of your Cheerios with your bruder, please?”
Amanda stretched her neck and eyed the mound of cereal, then pushed a few pieces toward Nathan, who shook his head.
“You might want to take him back into town if the redness starts to spread. Even without a fever—”
“I’m going to make him a cool bath.” She fanned her face with her hand. “Is it hot in here to you?”
“I’m nett,” Grace said, adding, “but I’m nett sick either.” She broke into a giggle. “Maybe Alvin will have more than a sick lamb to tend to when he returns.”
“You haven’t forgotten about dinner tonight, have you?” His mother’s voice chimed with excitement. Hosting extravagant charity dinners was a disguise for finding him a suitable wife.
Bo shifted the phone to his other ear in order to reach for the stapler on the corner of his desk. “Would you let me forget?”
“No.”
“Didn’t think so.” He sighed and glanced at his watch. “Tell me again what time.”
“Seven. You really should put a reminder on your phone.”
“Why?” He chuckled. “I have you to remind me.” He stapled the pages of his monthly report and tossed it into the file folder in the bottom right drawer.
“You’re hilarious.”
“And to think I get my great sense of humor from you.”
He pictured her sitting ramrod straight in her judge’s robe and scowling on the other end of the line. Not that she had worn her robe since retirement; it was more out of habit that he visualized her that way when she was scolding him.
“Okay, Mom, I’ll see you at seven fifteen. It’s just the two of us, right?” It never was.
“It’s a charity dinner for the new hospital wing. Bo, I don’t think you listen to anything I say anymore.”
“Charity, you say. Hmm . . . Who is she?” The interoffice line rang.
“You have a lot in common with this one. She’s—”
“Sorry to cut you short, Mom, but I have another call I need to take.”
“Seven.”
“I know, I know. I’ll see you tonight.” It wasn’t as if he could avoid a house party. He lived with her.
“Wear something nice.”
Bo groaned. That meant his tux. “Got to go, Mom.” He disconnected the call, then pushed the lit button on the phone. “Lambright.”
“I need to see you in my office,” his boss said.
“On my way.” Bo glanced at his watch. Four thirty. A new assignment this late in the day would mean missing his mother’s party. Bo smiled. Entering Norton Farley’s office, he shot a glance at Davis seated in the leather chair facing Norton’s desk. Her long legs were difficult to miss. So was the scent of lilacs that she must have bathed in. He turned to his boss. “What’s up?”
“Close the door and take a seat.” Norton motioned to the empty chair beside Davis. “We need to talk about the Diener case.”
Bo sat. “What’s to talk about? The case is closed.”
Davis shuffled some papers in her lap. “I’ve reopened it.”
“You did?” He shot her a sidelong glare and tightened his jaw to the point his muscle twitched. She merely stared with a gloating smile, aggravating him even more.
“On my orders,” Norton interjected. “Why did you fail to mention that the woman made a confession?”
Bo jerked his attention back to his boss. “Because she didn’t.”
“Not according to the case manager at the hospital. I spoke with her this morning,” Davis announced.
The competitive glint in her eye reminded him of a peacock fanning its colorful feathers. He half expected her to rise from the chair and strut those long legs over the span of the office.
Bo rubbed his jaw and shifted his focus to his boss. “Ms. Elroy didn’t hear the entire conversation. She walked into the room as Mrs. Diener made a general comment that was by no means a confession. And I told Ms. Elroy that when we had coffee.” He disregarded Davis shuffling her papers—or maybe it was his paperwork that he’d turned in earlier—and leaned forward. “Norton, I’m not wrong about this.”
His boss shrugged. “It’s reopened. Apparently the woman signed her son out of the hospital AMA.”
“She pulled the IV line out too,” Davis added.
Bo fell back against the chair. Why in the world would the woman sign her son out against medical advice? It only made her look guilty.
Chapter Six
Bo straightened his bow tie in the mirror. He should be used to formal dinner parties by now. He’d been summoned to enough of them during the years his mother ran for reelection. Since her retirement from the judicial system, she’d focused her efforts on two tasks, fund-raising and finding his Mrs. Right.
So far, her influence had successfully equipped the library with new computers, the county school district with more busses, and supplied a complete renovation for the women’s crisis facility, but the unmarried guests she’d invited to her charity events had failed to capture his attention beyond the required meet-and-greet cocktail hour. Perhaps it had something to do with him slipping into each conversation that he lived in his mother’s basement. The women’s jaws dropped every time, and their perfectly penciled brows crinkled in puzzlement. At thirty-two, maybe he should be ashamed. But moving back home after his father had passed away seemed the right thing to do. The seven-thousand-square-foot chalet, situated on five acres of lakefront, manicured lawn, was too overwhelming and lonely for his mother to inhabit alone.
He glanced at his watch. Six forty-five. Any moment his cell would ring. He clasped the gold links on his cuffs and shoved his arms into the tux coat. At least a new children’s wing was a good cause, unlike the Garden Club Cotillion where he just happened to be the only male attendee under sixty. The dinner wasn’t formal—only boring. Before the evening ended, he’d heard more than he cared to know about the hundred different species of roses, how tulips could grow even after they were cut, and that roasted dandelion roots were used to make a special caffeine-free coffee. He’d stick with the fully loaded blend at the gas station.
Bo flipped off the light switch and headed up the stairs. He ducked into the kitchen, avoiding the front room where the sound of laughter mingled with a Chopin tune being played on the grand piano. Waiters from the catering service bustled around him in a flurry.
His mother’s personal assistant, Rita, appeared at the kitchen entrance. “Mr. Lambright, your mother sent me to find you. Most of the guests have arrived.”
He scanned the food trays lining the counter and selected a bite-size crostini piled with smoked salmon on a layer of cream cheese. “Any suggestions for how to avoid them?”
Rita smiled. “Miss Penelope Woodrow doesn’t like to talk about politics or religion. She will be seated on your left.”
“And on the right?”
“Sorry. Your mother handled the invitation and told me to leave a seat open next to you. But Caitlyn will be across from you. You sat next to her during the Garden Club Cotillion.”
“The awkward one who stepped on my feet every time we danced?”
Rita looked down at her leather-bound notebook. “Yes, she’s the one you called Tulips. If you would rather sit by”—she glanced again at her notes—“Roses, I probably have enough time to switch the placement cards.”
“No.” He chuckled. “You did well. I seem to recall Roses was chatty.” Bo plucked a few grapes from the lattice garnishing on one of the platters and smiled at Rita. “But you shouldn’t have allowed my mother to blindside me with the mystery guest. I don’t like to feel cornered.” He moved toward the hallway and the whimsical sounds of laughter.
Mother approached, brushing her fingers over the front of her dress. “I�
�m glad you’re here. How do I look?”
The glittering sequins on her gown reminded him of fish scales. He tried to recall how his father used to answer. Nothing about scaly fish. “You look . . . fancy.”
She cuffed her arm around his. “I want to introduce you to some of the members on the hospital board.” She led him toward the veranda where a small group of men had gathered. His mother meant well, introducing him to some of the most influential men in the county, but Bo merely obliged her. Once introductions were made, the men’s conversation resumed about the conditions of the greens at Forest Hills Country Club. Bo nodded every so often, but remained mostly disengaged. He wasn’t a golfer and had no intentions of joining the country club. His mother knew that about him sixteen years ago when she tried to get him to join the Junior League. At the time, chasing a ball across a fairway seemed pointless.
A man close to his mother’s age approached the group. “Agnes,” he said, smiling fondly and reaching for her hand. “I think what you’re doing for the children’s wing is wonderful.”
“Yes, well . . .” She stammered a moment, her cheeks turning a rosy tint.
Bo cocked his head at her. Interesting. His mother never blushed.
“It’s for a good cause,” she said, recovering well. The pinkness vanished. “Judge Steinway, this is my son, Bo,” she said with complete control of her voice.
“Willard,” the judge said, extending his hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
Either Judge Steinway hadn’t recognized Bo from testifying in his courtroom, or he simply wanted to avoid mixing business and pleasure. Bo hadn’t been keen on the judge’s verdict. The lousy father had used his child as an ashtray and should have received a stiffer penalty. But his mother wouldn’t appreciate Bo bringing up the case now.
“My son is an investigator for Child Protective Services.”
Judge Steinway eyed him a little closer. “Tough job.”
Bo nodded. “Even tougher when you have a repeat offender back in the home because the louse wasn’t put away the first time.” He masked his curt tone with a smile.