"I be right back."
The child dashed away to the high weeds at the edge of the yard and dropped the biscuits — except for one, which Sunny saw get surreptitiously slipped into a pocket on the tattered gown. Catching a glimpse of brown and white fur when an animal's head popped up from the weeds, she realized the child was sharing the burned bounty with an animal of some kind — it looked like a dog.
Finally, the child started back toward the house, the walk a mixture of seeming nonchalance and restrained eagerness. Sunny studied the figure as it drew closer, empathy for her slowly combining with outrage toward parents who would allow a child to fall into such a state. The child wore no shoes, but then, neither did the rest of the children in town. The torn hem of the gown fluttered just below knees covered with scabs and scratches interspersing the streaks of dirt on the lower legs. On keener inspection, Sunny realized one of the spots on the face, at first taken for dirt, was instead a discolored bruise, faded now to a sickly yellow color.
She waited until the child stopped at the bottom step before she asked, "Want to tell me your name? Mine's Sunny."
The figure toed the dirt with one foot, blue eyes dropping for a minute, then gazing past Sunny to the open door leading to the kitchen. The yearning face tore at Sunny's heart.
"It's Teddy," the child finally said. "Can we go eat now?"
"It'll take me a little while to cook the food. But you'll have plenty of time to wash up while I do that. And . . . um . . . well, is Teddy a boy's name or a girl's?"
"Boy's," Teddy said. "But I got stuck with it anyway. Pa thinks it's funny to call a girl by a boy's name. When he says anythin' about it atall, anyways."
She slowly climbed the steps, and Sunny suppressed the urge to cover her nose. It would take more than a basin of water to counteract the rank odor, but she was leery of asking the child to take a complete bath. It wasn't really her place to do that. She fully intended to get to the bottom of why this child was in such a neglected condition, though. Right now, it seemed like a better idea to get something in her poor little stomach besides burned biscuits.
"Come on in, Teddy." She motioned the little girl past her, and the child moved hesitantly through the door. Inside, she halted stoped and stared around the room. Sunny had to squeeze around her to get to the stove.
"Sure is pretty," Teddy said in a reverent voice. "Ain't never been inside a real house a'fore. Not's I 'member anyways."
"Um . . . what sort of place do you live in?" Sunny ventured as she filled the basin from the reservoir of water on the side of the stove and set it on the counter.
"Just a shack outside of town. It ain't so bad in the summer. Gots lots of places for the wind to blow through, there be any wind. This past winter, it got kinda cold sometimes."
Thinning her lips, Sunny shook her head. But it wasn't the child's fault she lived in such dreary surroundings, she reminded herself.
"Here's a washcloth and some soap," Sunny said cheerfully. "Go ahead and clean up while I get started on breakfast."
As Teddy complied, Sunny gathered flour and other supplies from the pantry, keeping an eye out to see whether Teddy had any idea of how to clean herself. Surprisingly, the child seemed to enjoy washing the dirt from her body. By the time Sunny had flapjack batter mixed and a skillet heating on the stove, Teddy had cleaned her hands, arms, and face, and had started working on her legs.
"Would you like some more hot water?" Sunny asked.
"Oh, could I? I don't wanna waste it. Our well's been 'bout dry for so long. We gets a little water from it, but then has to wait for more to come in. I was meanin' to get to the creek pretty soon, but it's a fur piece of a walk."
A hundred questions ran through Sunny's head, intermingled with her still-simmering anger over the child's condition. However, she restrained her usual forthrightness in deference to Teddy's youthfulness. She didn't want to scare the child away, although Teddy didn't appear to have any qualms about answering inquiries.
Sunny dumped the dirty water into the sink and refilled the basin. As she poured a cup of flapjack batter into the skillet, she heard Teddy sigh. The child stood with her eyes closed, running the washcloth around her neck and under her dress, across to her shoulders. Then she rather reluctantly rinsed the cloth out and resoaped it, bending once more to her legs.
"Uh . . . how old are you, Teddy?"
"Eight," she responded without hesitation.
Good grief! She was so tiny that Sunny had thought her no more than five or six. Raising her estimate of Teddy's age, however, didn't diminish her outrage at her condition one bit.
"Have you lived in Liberty Flats all your life?" Sunny questioned next.
"Huh-uh. We gots here last fall."
"Um . . . does we mean you and your folks?"
"Nah. Just me and Pa. Don't 'member my ma, but probably should. When Pa gets to talkin', he says she left when I was four. You'd think I'd 'member her, bein' that old, but I don't."
"Do you remember where you lived before Liberty Flats?"
"All over," Teddy said with a shrug of her slight shoulders. "Town's run together after a while. Just wherever Pa could find work, 'til he decided to drag up for one reason or another."
Sunny flipped the flapjack to the other side. "Drag up?"
"Yeah, that's what he always called it. Like it was his own idea we move on. Sometimes I sorta got the feelin' it wasn't him quittin' on his own, tho'."
Sunny slid the flapjack onto a plate and poured another cup of batter into the skillet. When she noticed Teddy eying the plate longingly, she hurriedly buttered the flapjack and added syrup. After filling a glass with buttermilk from the pitcher she'd brought in earlier from the well house, she motioned Teddy to the table.
"Go ahead and eat this one while I fix some more," she said, but Teddy was already digging into the flapjack.
Then her fork paused halfway to her mouth, dripping syrup onto the plate. "You mean, I can have more than one?" she asked in an awestruck voice.
"You can have as many as you want," Sunny said with a laugh. Thinking better of it, she qualified, "Well, as many as I think are good for you. I get the feeling you haven't had a lot to eat lately, and sometimes when people overindulge after not having eaten for a while, it's not real good for them."
"Over . . . over . . . in . . . ?" Teddy mumbled around a mouthful.
"Overindulge," Sunny repeated. "It means having too much of something, even if it is sometimes good for you. And it's not proper manners to talk with your mouth full."
"Sorry." Teddy nodded and turned her attention quickly back to her plate. Before the next flapjack cooked completely, Teddy was staring at the skillet, her fork poised. She finished three more, along with two glasses of buttermilk, before Sunny decided she should caution her about overloading her stomach. Teddy leaned back in the chair with an ecstatic look on her face, patting her tummy, and Sunny placed the next flapjack on her own plate.
Recalling the glimpse of brown and white fur, she scooped one more cup of mix into the skillet before she sat down.
Over her own breakfast, Sunny learned that Teddy was an only child and that she'd never gone to even one day of school. The child was perfectly candid about herself, seemingly unaware of any discrepancy in her lifestyle and the type of existence that whould be normal for a child of her age. Sunny's ire grew with every new piece of information, but the child in no way could be blamed, so she restrained her anger until a more appropriate time. And that time would definitely come.
Pretending she had a full stomach herself, Sunny asked Teddy if she might want to take the last flapjack along with her. Nodding eagerly, the little girl jumped from her chair and waited impatiently for Sunny to wrap the food in a piece of newspaper and hand it to her. Before she could disappear out the door, Sunny said, "If you'd like to come back for lunch, I'm sure there will be plenty."
The first glimpse of shame that Sunny had seen filled Teddy's eyes. "Pa'll be awake by then," she said, making Sunny w
onder if the father could be what caused Teddy's mortification. "And I ain't supposed to leave the place. But . . . maybe I could come back in the mornin'."
"Please do," Sunny insisted. "And any other time you can. Maybe we could find time for you to take a complete bath and even wash your hair."
Teddy's hand went to the snarled mass of hair, and her eyes lit up. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Wish I had me a brush, to keep it neater. But I finger-comb it sometimes. If I don't, Pa says he's gonna cut it all off. He'd probably do it, too, if he didn't fall asleep so early in the evenin' after he samples his jug."
She glanced out the door, an apprehensive look on her face. "It's gettin' awful late. I gotta go."
She ran out the door and, ignoring the back steps, jumped off the porch. Then she whirled to face Sunny. "Oh. Forgot my manners again. Thanks for breakfast."
"You're welcome," Sunny replied with a smile.
"See you tomorrow!"
While more questions filled Sunny's thoughts, the child raced off. She must remember her mother a little, since she had at one time been taught at least a few manners. From what Sunny had learned of the father while Teddy gobbled her food, she couldn't imagine that man teaching her anything.
She laughed aloud when she saw the brown and white head poke out of the weeds at Teddy's approach. The little girl knelt and threw her arms around the dog, then rose and started skipping off, with him at her heels. As they moved away, Teddy fed him pieces of flapjack. In a moment they were out of sight, and Sunny went back into the kitchen.
Before she could pick up the dirty plates and glasses, a knock sounded at the front door. Since Aunt Cassie still hadn't appeared for breakfast, Sunny sighed and headed through the house, steeling herself to meet a townsperson who had probably already heard of her debacle with the biscuits. Well, she was just not going to be embarrassed about it. Every woman alive burned something once in a while!
When she opened the door, she found Jake Cameron standing on the other side, his fist poised to knock again. He dropped his arm, nodding at her. Craning her neck, she stared pointedly at his hat, which any other man of her acquaintance would have removed immediately in her presence. Jake only stuck his thumbs in his gunbelt.
"Miss Foster around?"
"My aunt is still dressing. Or at least I assume so, since she hasn't come out of her room yet. May I help you with something?"
"Probably. Tell her Fred said her supplies are ready, whenever she wants to come by the general store and pick them up. His boy's still laid up with that broken arm, so he can't deliver them."
"Is that one of the other duties you have in town to keep you busy?" Sunny asked in amazement. "Delivering messages for the merchants?"
"Just happened to be wandering by," Jake said with a shrug. "Fred mentioned it to me after we got back from putting out the fire here."
"There was no fire!" Sunny exclaimed. "You know darned well it was only a pan of burning biscuits!"
"Couldn't prove it by the word going around town." Jake's lips curved up in a bare hint of a smile. "You know how it is in a small town. Story gets started, it sort of grows."
"I've never lived in a small town, so I wouldn't know about that," Sunny said through gritted teeth. "But I hope you will correct any misconceptions people have. After all, you were here!"
Jake sniffed the air. "Sure smells like a fire."
"Ohhhh!" It took a great effort not to stamp her foot like a child and slam the door in his face. Unclenching her teeth, she stared up at him. "What is it with you, Marshal?" she asked, deliberately misnaming him again. "Or, more to the point, what is it about me that you don't like? You've made it very clear that I'm quite low on your list."
"Well, now, ma'am," Jake drawled. Tipping his hat up an inch with his forefinger, he gazed down at her, a suspicious twinkle in his whiskey-brown eyes. "I don't keep no lists. Keep what I know about people in my head. Have a pretty good memory, too, once someone tells me their name after I'm polite enough to give them mine. And I always remember when a man tells me what he does for a living, whether it's that he's a marshal or a Texas Ranger."
Despite her vow to remain unflustered and unembarrassed, Sunny felt a blush creeping over her cheeks. Still, she couldn't bring herself to apologize to him.
"Most men who consider themselves polite remove their hats in the presence of a lady," she spat in her defense.
"Reckon they do," Jake agreed without hesitation. "In front of women who act like ladies."
With a brief nod, he turned and walked away, leaving Sunny gaping after him in fury. Although he appeared only to saunter, he was out the gate and well on his way back to town before she could find her voice. By then, she would have had to scream to make him hear her. She almost did just that but settled for slamming the door instead.
"Good grief, child," Cassie said from behind her. "Must you make such a racket? Who was at the door?"
Sunny turned to face her, hands on hips. "The most infuriating, arrogant, ill-mannered man I have ever met. That's who was at the door! How on earth do the people in this town stand to have that Jake Cameron bossing them around?"
"Don't underestimate Ranger Cameron," Cassie warned. "He's not to be trifled with."
Sunny blew a wisp of hair off her forehead. "That's what Mary Lassiter said, but I'll tell you what . . ."
"What were you doing talking to that woman?" Cassie snapped. "You stay away from her!"
"Mary seemed very nice," Sunny said in surprise. "And I'm quite old enough to choose my own friends, Aunt."
"Not while you're living in my house. I won't have you associating with her."
"Aunt Cassie." Sunny tried to respond in a mild voice. "This house is half mine, and you know it. And I didn't come out here to have you tell me how to live my life. I needed to get away from St. Louis for a while and come to terms with my grief over my mother. I . . ."
"You aren't even mourning Samantha properly," Cassie cut in. "Look what you're wearing. The mourning period is a full year, and you should be wearing black during that time."
"My mother believed in life, not death," Sunny said with a tired sigh. "I explained to you yesterday, after I arrived on the stage, why I wasn't wearing black. My mother would not have wanted me to. She hated me in black."
"Perhaps you could get away with that in a large town like St. Louis," Cassie said with a sniff, "but this is a small town, and I have an reputation to keep up. Once people find out Samantha's only been dead three months, they'll frown on your wearing bright colors. I intend to honor the mourning period."
Sunny stared at Cassie's black gown. It intensified her sallow skin, although with her hair now styled, it set off the iron gray curls. She searched for a glimpse of her mother in Cassie's face. One reason she'd decided to come to Liberty Flats was the fact that her mother's sister lived there, and she'd been hoping to find a kindred spirit in her grief.
Admittedly, she'd also been yearning to find another person as wonderful as her mother, since the two were blood sisters. That hope had been dashed when Aunt Cassie didn't even bother to meet the stage, despite the follow-up telegram Sunny had sent at the stage stop in Dallas, on the way to Liberty Flats. She'd had to ask directions to the house and hire a man lounging on the walkway to carry her trunk.
And given her aunt's attitude toward her, she definitely couldn't talk to her about the other reason she had chosen Liberty Flats as the final destination for her journey.
"Aunt, if my presence here is so disturbing to you, perhaps there's a boardinghouse in town where I can find a room," Sunny said at last.
"The only boardinghouse is usually full, with a waiting list," Cassie replied. "And, as you pointed out, the house is half yours. I can't afford to buy your interest and, even if I could, I'd never be able to find another place on what my share would be. Besides, I've lived here all my life. I was born in this house!"
"I have no intention of asking you to move, Aunt," Sunny said in exasperation. "But I also don't intend to return to S
t. Louis until I feel I can handle it. Please. Can't we at least try to get along?"
Cassie sniffed again — Sunny was beginning to find that sound immensely nerve-wracking — and turned toward the kitchen. "Is there any coffee left?"
Shoulders drooping in defeat, Sunny followed her. "I'm sorry." Darn it. Why did she keep apologizing to the woman? "I don't drink coffee, Aunt Cassie, so I had buttermilk instead. But I'll make you a pot of coffee, if you wish."
"Never mind. I like my coffee made in my own particular way. You'd probably make it too weak. I'll just have some biscuits while it perks."
"Uh . . . I made flapjacks instead of more biscuits. But there's still some batter left."
"Flapjacks? That's much too heavy for breakfast."
"Well, the little girl looked like . . ."
"Little girl?" Cassie stared at her. "What little girl? I'm not partial to having a pack of children hanging around my house, Miss. They do nothing but destroy things with their rowdy ways."
"She was gathering up the burned biscuits by the back porch, Aunt Cassie! And she didn't look like she'd had a decent meal in weeks. Months, maybe. What did you expect me to do? Shoo her off like a stray dog?"
"That would have been the best thing," Cassie said. "People need to be made to take responsibility for their own children."
"That's one thing you and I can agree on," Sunny said in a grim voice. "Totally."
***
Chapter 3
"Sunny," Jake mused as he sauntered away from Pete, who was lounging in front of the stage stop as usual. Well, he had to admit the name fit the new woman in town — at least in a physical way. Her temperament, now, was a different matter.
He headed for the telegraph office send a wire once again reminding the Ranger headquarters office in Austin that they were supposed to be getting a marshal assigned to Liberty Flats. His feet were so itchy he could barely keep from forking his dun and leaving the town to fend for itself. He'd never been in one place this long in all the time he'd been a Ranger. As a matter of fact, he hadn't stayed this long anywhere for a full half of his life.
Town Social Page 3