The New England: ROMANCE Collection

by Susan Page Davis, Darlene Franklin, Pamela Griffin, Lisa Harris

  Pooches raced to greet Lewis and stood on his hind feet, planting two big paws on his chest. Lewis swayed, and Clara stumbled a bit under the weight. “Down, boy.”

  Not receiving the enthusiastic greeting he had hoped for, the dog satisfied himself with running around the pair in circles until they hopped into the house. “You stay out, now. That’s a good dog.” Clara closed the door in his face.

  Lewis collapsed into the chair closest to the fireplace and hung his head in his hands. Clara didn’t know where to start. Clean clothes? Fresh coffee? Bed?

  Coffee, she decided. He couldn’t do anything for himself until he sobered some. At school she had heard tales about pouring cold water on someone in an inebriated condition. If the coffee didn’t work, she’d try that next.

  After she started the coffee, she went out to take care of their horses. The beasts shouldn’t suffer because of Lewis’s bad choices. Even so, she rushed her normal routine a bit. The coffee had finished brewing when she returned, a good, strong drink like he preferred. She poured a mug half full and brought the coffeepot out to the parlor with her.

  Lewis’s head had dropped back against the chair cushion, and snores and moans alternately emanated from his mouth. Should she let him sleep?

  Exhaustion from everything she had done over the past few days swept over her. No! Why should he get to sleep? She shook him, hard, and he blinked at her. “What’s up?”

  She thrust the coffee cup into his hands. “Here. Drink this.”

  He took a sip and gagged. “This is stronger than tar. Stronger even than the way I make it.”

  She glared at him. “It takes strong coffee to combat strong drink.”

  A tiny grin tugged at his lips, and he drank it down. “Satisfied?” He leaned back in the chair.

  “Not so fast. There’s plenty more where that came from.” She poured him a second cup.

  “Do you think you can eat anything?”

  The green face he turned in her direction gave her the answer she expected. When he finished the second cup, he didn’t ask. He held a trembling hand out to Clara, and she filled it again.

  He drank it down in one long swallow—maybe the only way he could stomach the taste—and set the mug on a side table. “I refuse to drink another drop. I don’t want to have an accident in addition to all the other problems I have. And now”—he stood, locking his knees together—”I will head to my bed.”

  Clara opened her mouth to speak. Before the words came out, someone knocked at the door.

  Daniel.

  Chapter 5

  Daniel saw the movement behind the curtains and waited before knocking a second time. When Clara answered the door, she came out on the stoop with him and shut the door behind her. She looked mussed, as if she hadn’t bothered to fix her hair that morning, and her cheeks pinked in the sun.

  “May I help you with something?”

  Her question made him realize he hadn’t yet said a word, let alone explained his visit. She looked at him as if she expected him to set a bag of goods for sale on the ground and start hawking his wares. The day-old beard on his chin probably didn’t help matters any.

  “When you weren’t at church yesterday, I was worried.” There, he’d said the bald truth. “With all the ruffians running through Vermont these days, I was afraid harm might have come to you.”

  “As you can see, I’m doing fine.” Her face softened. “You’ve had no luck in finding the miscreants?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve talked with most folks from town, but I haven’t caught up with Lewis yet. Is he here?”

  Clara’s face went still, and her mouth writhed with unspoken words. “He’s … indisposed at the moment.”

  A dozen possibilities flew through Daniel’s mind, but soon he identified the most likely possibility. “He’s drunk.”

  “No.” She dragged the word out. “Not exactly.”

  Daniel considered his options. “If he’s sober, he should be able to answer some questions. And I wanted to speak with you about our business matter as well.” He waited for her answer.

  “Very well.” She opened the door, and he followed her inside the vacant room. “He mentioned going upstairs to rest. I will ask him to come down.” She grabbed a shirt lying on the floor and headed upstairs.

  Daniel hadn’t visited the Farley home before. Old Mr. Farley must have mounted the rack of ten-point antlers, fashioned into a hat rack. The rather yellowed antimacassars protecting the chair backs might have been made by Mrs. Farley, long deceased. A dozen things pointed to Lewis’s presence in the home. A pipe rack, the muddied floor where his feet had rested, a faint odor of spirits. For signs of Clara, he had to look to the bookshelf, where a Bible rested with a ribbon marking her place, and stationery tucked away for her next letter.

  All in all, it was a comfortable, lived-in room, but not a room decorated with the intention of receiving company. What would she do if given free rein in the Bailey house? Would she allow it to run into this state of comfortable disarray, or would she keep it spotless for her students?

  He decided he wouldn’t mention the subject to Simeon. His wife kept their house like a museum. Of the two, he preferred Clara’s approach. He shook his head. He was thinking as if the house already had passed into her hands. That was the problem. He wanted her to have the house so he could see her frequently.

  The real reason behind his trip today had little to do with Lewis and more to do with seeking out the contrary Miss Farley. Back at the jail, Dixon had drafted a chart for the men of the town, tracking what they knew about their movements on the morning of the robbery. Lewis’s was one of several blanks left, and Daniel had decided to start the day with him. He hoped Lewis could make a good accounting of his day, for Clara’s sake, if nothing else.

  Clara returned to the parlor. “He’ll be down presently. Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Tea?”

  He spotted the coffeepot on the side table. “I’ll take a cup of that, if there’s any left. I can get it myself.” He grabbed a mug from its rack over the table and lifted the pot.

  “Oh, but it’s terrible coffee. Thicker than March mud.” The panic on her face made him want to laugh.

  “That’s just the way I like it. How did you know?” He lifted the cup to his lips. “Perfect. It takes considerable talent to make coffee like this.” The chuckle that escaped her warmed him deep inside.

  “At least let me get you a piece of lemon cake, lest you think coffee sludge is the extent of my culinary talents.” She didn’t wait for an answer but went into the kitchen and returned with a three-inch slab that made his mouth water to look at it.

  The cake melted on his tongue, its tangy sweetness the perfect complement to the harsh coffee. He forced himself to pause after two bites. “You missed an important announcement at church yesterday.”

  “I’m sure I missed more than that.” She sneezed. “I hate being away from the Lord’s house.”

  “I know you are a customer of the bank. And I also know you didn’t join the general panic and remove your funds on Thursday.”

  She stilled her hands, their hold tighter than a dead man’s grip.

  “The robbers cleaned out the money stored in the bank.”

  “I guessed as much.”

  The fearful acceptance in her voice tugged at his heart.

  “Cheer up.” He took another bite of cake and moaned with pleasure. “A bank’s assets don’t consist simply of cash on hand. Simeon has invested the money wisely and expects a good return for years to come. In other words, he has personally guaranteed the funds of everyone’s deposit. It may take a day or two longer than before to access ready cash, but your funds are safe.”

  She turned her head away and reached into her reticule for a dab of white lace to blot her tears. “Thank you for telling me.”

  He leaned forward. “Your welfare matters to me.” The way she looked at him with those dove-gray eyes, he’d have promised to grow wings like a bird and fly to th
e moon if she asked him to. Another gulp of harsh coffee brought him to reality, and he settled in his chair. “When do you want to reschedule your tour of the house?”

  “And the appointment with Simeon. Provided no one else decides to rob the banks of Lamoille County.” The twitching of her lips suggested she held back a laugh. “Actually, I was going to go into town today, but … something else came up.”

  “I have a few more people I need to see today. Let’s plan on early tomorrow morning, after school starts.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He had time to finish the cake and imagine what else she could cook if she set her mind to it by the time Lewis came downstairs. He had taken time with his appearance, shaving his chin close, brushing his hair back, donning a clean white shirt. He had prepared to conduct business, but so had Daniel. He was a soldier pursuing the enemy—if he could only identify him.

  “Well, Captain Tuttle, Clara said you wanted to see me.” Lewis took the biggest chair in the room, the one designed to accommodate Mr. Farley’s girth, and crossed his arms across his chest.

  He must know about the robbery by now. Clara was a witness, after all. But Daniel knew better than to tell a witness something he might not know. “You had a rough weekend.” He made it a statement.

  “I confess, I did.” Red shot through the eyes that so resembled Clara’s in color. “To think those rebels could make it all the way up here. I was shocked, and even a little scared.” He spread his hands as if in apology. “Perhaps I’m a coward.”

  Any man who sees the world through the bottom of a bottle is a coward. But Daniel didn’t voice the maxim. He had seen too many men seek courage from any source, including liquor, to chastise Lewis. Neither would he let it interrupt his interrogation.

  “When did the binge start, Lewis? How long were you drinking?”

  The man blinked as if surprised at such a crass question. “Some friends and I went to the tavern on Friday night. We had heard about the robbery, and we didn’t want to go back in case the robbers were still around.”

  “Which friends?”

  “The usual.”

  Daniel wondered if he would have to drag the names out when Lewis continued. “Bob and Rod Whitson. Ned Whimsey. They were with me the whole time.”

  Daniel thought about Dixon’s distrust of the Whitsons. The twins Lewis mentioned had earned a reputation notorious even for their family.

  “There were others? Part of the time?”

  “I believe there were,” Clara said. “He also mentioned Dupre, Ford, and Bradford. Didn’t you, Lewis?”

  “I don’t remember exactly.” Lewis waved his hand in front of his face. “Things got blurry after a while.”

  A small groan directed Daniel’s attention to Clara. The details must be difficult for her to hear.

  “So when did you get to the tavern? And when did you leave?”

  The tale Daniel pulled out of Lewis included a few times and places and names to check, a sordid tale of nearly three days of a drunken spree. Daniel forced himself not to lecture the young man.

  “I’ll verify the information you’ve given me. If you think of anything, anything at all, that might lead us to the criminals, please let me know.” He couldn’t keep quiet, not entirely.

  “This kind of behavior does no good for anyone involved—least of all yourself.” He left before his temper led him astray. No one should treat Clara the way Lewis did.

  Clara’s conscience pricked her. Lewis might have started drinking on Friday afternoon, as he said. But neither one of them had told Daniel he’d left home before breakfast. He could have done everything exactly as he said—after he had gone with the others to rob the bank.

  Foolishness. Lewis wouldn’t have robbed the bank, robbing himself in the process. He was often lazy and even thoughtless, but he wouldn’t bring terror to innocent people.

  With Daniel’s departure, all the starch fled from Lewis, and he sprawled in Pa’s old chair. “If you sit like that, you’ll ruin that beautiful shirt before you’ve worn it for an hour,” Clara said.

  “Then I’ll have to take it off.” Suiting action to word, he started unbuttoning the cuffs.

  “Lewis, you can’t stay down here naked.“ As a matter of fact, Lewis had often pulled the stunt as a young boy. But he was a man grown, even if his behavior over the weekend called that into question.

  “Then I’ll go upstairs.” He was about halfway down the front of the shirt now. “I want to rest awhile before tonight.”

  “Tonight?” Visions of Lewis rejoining the lads for another roundplagued her.

  “Don’t worry. I shall be here for supper and in my own bed at a respectable hour.” He threw his arms around her in a brotherly hug and kissed her on the cheek. “I know there must be a God, because I don’t deserve a sister like you.”

  With comments like that, how could Clara stay upset with him, even if his theology was wrong? “Chicken and dumplings?” she asked after his departing back.

  “My favorite.”

  Clara’s hopes of a brief afternoon nap faded as every step of making the dumplings took longer than usual—starting with chasing the chicken all over the yard. She tasted the broth. It was a tad too salty, but Lewis wouldn’t notice. He poured salt onto everything he ate before taking a bite, enough to burn away his taste buds.

  When at last the dumplings were bubbling on the stove and applesauce heating in a pan, she settled down in the closest chair and laid her head on the table.

  She hadn’t counted more than ten sheep before she heard the tread of Lewis’s footstep, but by the clock, fifteen minutes had passed. She grabbed crockery from the shelf, set it out, and retrieved a pitcher of milk from the cold cellar.

  “Milk?” Lewis sounded as unbelieving as a heathen at a church service. “I’m not six years old, Clara.”

  She leveled a look at him, and he put his hands in the air in mock surrender. “Very well, I’ll drink it. Tonight.”

  After ladling out the dumplings, she sat down to enjoy the meal with her brother. She didn’t say a word about his activities over the weekend. Instead, she asked, “Do you think George McClellan has any chance of being elected president?”

  The way Lewis looked at her reminded her that he had few political interests. “I’ll make sure I get to the polls and vote. My first time, you know.” He flashed a saucy grin in her direction.

  She bit her lip at that statement. Would she have the right to vote, a right her brother took for granted, anytime within her lifetime? How old would she be? Women in Vermont, herself among them, fought for that privilege even now. But she kept those opinions to herself. She wanted to get Lewis in a good mood.

  They bypassed the emancipation amendment—that seemed obvious to both of them—and instead discussed whether Governor Smith’s lieutenant, Paul Dillingham, was the best choice to succeed him.

  She had intended to make apple brown betty, Lewis’s favorite fall treat, but settled for warm applesauce with a cinnamon stick in it when she ran out of time. If it stayed chilly today, she might heat some apple cider for a going-to-bed drink. Apples were good whatever form she ate them in.

  She added gingersnaps to the warm applesauce. Lewis leaned back in his chair. “That was a delicious supper. Just what I needed.” His eyes had brightened, only a few red lines sneaking through the corners to indicate the abuse he had put himself through over the weekend. With a clean shirt, shave, and the tired bags under his eyes smoothed out, he looked young, healthy, and whole.

  After setting out fresh coffee for them in the parlor, she took a seat opposite Lewis. The time had come to speak her mind.

  “I expect you heard that Baruch Whitson was injured during the bank holdup the other day.”

  His expression darkened. “Do we have to talk about it? I got enough of a grilling from your Captain Tuttle.”

  Clara bit back the retort that rose in her throat—Daniel wasn’t her anything—and shook her head in a gentle denial. “Nothing
like that. I just wondered if Mr. Simeon Tuttle would want to hire another guard until Mr. Whitson has recovered. He might hire more guards because of the current situation. I would.”

  “And you want me to apply?” Lewis scratched his chin.

  “You’re a good shot. And strong. You’d do a good job.” And maybe a steady job will encourage you to stay away from taverns.

  Light danced in Lewis’s eyes, and she could see the idea take hold. “You say he might be looking for more than one guard?”

  “Bound to, don’t you think?”

  “I think I’ll check it out.” He bounced out of his chair and came over to kiss her on the cheek. The affectionate look he sent her way warmed her straight to the toes. This was the kid brother she knew and loved.

  “I’ll put in a good word for you with Mr. Tuttle when I meet with him again.”

  The spark in Lewis’s eyes flickered, but he patted her on the shoulder. “A quiet night at home is just what the doctor ordered for tonight, don’t you think?” His grin wobbled.

  “Maybe you can read me some of that Thoreau that you’re so fond of.”

  “A visit to Walden Pond. That sounds delightful.” She’d love to lose herself in the simplicity of Walden Pond and not deal with the shenanigans of humankind, which weren’t nearly so predictable. Next to the eternal truths revealed in the Bible, Thoreau enthralled her the most.

  She dug in the bookshelf for Papa’s copy of the original edition and sat down. Pooches draped himself across her feet as she settled down on the horsehair sofa her mother had loved. She felt Mama’s presence most powerfully when she sat there, wrapped up in a coverlet Mama had quilted with her own hands. As always, Clara smiled when she read the title page. “ ‘I do not propose to write an ode to dejection, but to brag as lustily as chanticleer in the morning, standing on his roost, if only to wake my neighbors up.’ ” A cheerful shout as lusty as a rooster’s crow in the morning—that would chase away the problems of the past few days. “We shall have to visit Concord some day.”