“I’ve got to get back to work. Would you like me to escort you home first?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No, thank you. I’m going to continue cleaning and then write some lesson plans.”
“What time are you leaving?”
“Oh, I don’t know. After I feel I’ve made good progress, I suppose.”
Max gave her a peck on the cheek, then turned and headed for the door. “The sun sets around eight o’clock. Make sure you’re home before then. Unfortunately it’s not safe for a lady to walk around alone here after dark.”
Charlotte smiled. Before the spanking, she would have felt irritated about being told to go home before dark, but now she only felt grateful for Max’s care.
Max pulled the door to the schoolhouse open and looked back at her. “Bye, darlin’. I’ll come find you tomorrow and take you to lunch. It’ll only be for a quick meal though. I’m terribly busy with work.”
“And now you’re even busier,” Charlotte said, waving her hand in the direction of the decrepit furniture.
“Yes, but that’s one job I look forward to doing, as I hope to please you.” He winked and disappeared out the door.
Chapter Six: Tim’s Secret
Max walked with a light step from the schoolhouse to his shop. He felt a few inches taller than before his time with Charlotte. He whistled and thought out a plan to fix the schoolhouse’s furniture. He owned enough raw wood to replace the rotted benches, so that would be easy enough. He would work on that first and finish them before classes started so that no child would be in danger of breaking a seat and falling. The tables could be done later, if necessary. To prevent future wood rot, he and Tim would also need to patch any leaks in the roof upon discovering where they came from during the next rainfall.
Max heard a thud coming from inside his shop as he neared. He stopped whistling, which allowed him to hear a loud voice he recognized. Clenching his jaw, he walked to the door and shoved it open. He was greeted by the sight of Simon launching a hammer at Tim, followed by Tim ducking in time for the tool to hit the wall behind him.
Anger surged through Max, and his voice boomed. “Simon, what the fuck are you doing in my shop throwing around my tools?” He strode in his direction, fury making him feel like a powerful giant. “You all right, Tim?” he asked as he walked toward the man.
“Yeah. His aim has gotten worse,” Tim replied. His voice sounded dry and numb with hatred.
Max stopped in front of Simon, who stood up straighter and appeared to be gathering his wits. It took every ounce of self-control for Max not to punch him when he smiled.
“Do forgive me, Max. My son and I were having a bit of a disagreement.”
Max gritted his teeth at how he referred to Tim as his son, which as far as Max was concerned, he had no business doing, having never treated him like one. “You’re welcome to disagree with Tim, but not in my shop when he’s supposed to be working, and not with violence. What’s this all about?” Max glanced at the boy, who stood on the other side of the room with his arms crossed and his eyes set on his father. Something had changed in his posture. He didn’t appear afraid, only disgusted and angry.
“I hope you didn’t just tell me how to raise my own son,” Simon said jovially. “While I admit your shop is not the ideal location, and I do apologize, how I treat my son is none of your concern.”
“Tell me what this is about,” Max growled, impatient to deal with it so he could be rid of the man.
“Once again, it’s none of your concern,” Simon responded. He fixed Tim with a hard stare before he strutted out the door.
Max tossed his Stetson on a chair and looked at the boy, who avoided eye contact. He sat on his bench to resume his task of forming a chain.
“Well, Tim?”
“It’s nothing,” the boy responded, not looking up from his work.
“Bosh,” Max exclaimed. “Something is wrong, and you know very well I won’t let it go that easy. Now you stop what you’re doing and start exercising your jaw.”
Tim kept the chain in his hand and looked at him. “I don’t want to discuss it, Max,” he said, quietly and with resolve.
Max stared at him for a moment, dumbfounded, and then cleared his throat. “Now you look here, young man. I’m proud of you for having the courage to stand your ground, but I’m disappointed that it’s happening now and with me. You’ve been secretive lately, and I thought I’d earned your trust.”
Tim looked down at the chain and shook his head. “I do trust you, Max. It has nothing to do with trust. I’m my own man, and I can take care of this situation.”
Max tied the strings of his chaps around his waist with a yank, then stuffed his gloves over his hands. “Unbelievable,” he muttered as he strode to his work table. He felt exasperated and offended that Tim and Simon shared knowledge of something without his involvement, and he didn’t like that whatever it was led to violence against the boy.
He swept metal shards off his table and pondered Tim’s unusual words and behavior, such as claiming to be his own man. Max let out an irritated sigh. Tim was still a boy, a vulnerable one at that, and he seemed to be in need of a man’s help. Max would help him without question, if Tim would only tell him how he might. Max worried silently, and the two of them didn’t speak again until Tim prepared to leave.
“I finished the chain. Thanks for letting me go early, Max.”
“It’s all right, Tim,” he said without looking up from his task, which was drafting the dimensions and structure for the benches.
Max didn’t hear him leave. He looked over and found the boy observing him with a pained expression. Max set his pencil on the table as Tim approached. Tim didn’t stop until he’d reached Max and wrapped his arms around him. Max felt stunned for a moment, but then returned the hug with a tight squeeze. He only released him when he felt the boy’s arms soften their grip around his waist. Max tousled his hair and gave him a small shove.
“Get out of here, scamp, before I give you a licking.”
Tim offered him a small smile that held love and sorrow. He knew by then that Max wouldn’t lay a finger on him after the abuse he’d endured from his father. Maybe if Max were his real father, he might have suffered a walloping or two growing up, but not the kind that would have left him bruised and bloody. Both Max and Tim wished the past was different and that the other was in it.
After Tim left, Max tried to figure out what the boy could possibly be up to that he didn’t feel comfortable sharing with him. He considered trying to coax the information from Simon, but that idea was even more distasteful to him than remaining ignorant. The situation rankled him, but he decided to honor Tim’s wish to keep the information private. He worked to push it out of his mind and mostly succeeded, since his thoughts were easily filled with Charlotte and his mounting work.
* * *
Tim trudged along the sidewalk toward the telegraph office a few blocks from the shop, his slow steps reflecting the dread he felt about carrying out his errand. He needed to send an answer to New York regarding the college scholarship he’d been offered. The words of the telegram would either be in obedience to his father or in direct opposition, and he hadn’t yet decided which message to send.
He tensed and clenched his jaw, thinking about Simon. He feared his father and had done so since he was old enough to feel fear, and he hated him from the same age. His memories of childhood contained little else but violence and, in the absence of that, the unrelenting threat of it. His only relief from the pain and chaos was the time he spent reading alone, during which he could escape the reality of his life.
His father put up a good front in public most of the time, charming those he met with his eloquence and gentlemanly manners. While his wife and son had struggled to survive off the paltry earnings he brought home, Simon remained well-dressed, well-fed, and well-entertained as a regular at the saloon. As Tim grew older, so did his awareness of his father’s cruel neglect, but he never stood up to him, kno
wing that if he did, the repercussions would be severe.
Tim didn’t think much of his mother either. Although he never feared her, he viewed her as selfish and uncaring. She did nothing to protect him from his father, and she eventually abandoned him to suffer the man alone. Things only got worse after his mother left, about a year before Tim became Max’s apprentice. During that time, all of Simon’s rage focused on Tim, who reminded Simon of his wife and his failure as a husband.
Tim’s thoughts wandered to Max, and he felt a painful constriction in his chest. Nearly two years ago, after reading about apprenticeship in one of the novels he borrowed, Tim set out on the town, intent on learning a trade, any trade that would provide him with enough financial support to leave his father and live on his own when he came of age. It took every ounce of courage for him to walk into the blacksmith’s shop. He recalled the words he exchanged with Max that day. His voice shook, and he felt like his very life depended on Max saying yes to his request. Perhaps, in hindsight, it did.
“Mr. Harrison, I’m interested in learning a trade, and I wonder if I might offer my labor in exchange for your knowledge. I would be a diligent and obedient apprentice.”
Max regarded him with a confused expression. “I never really thought about taking on an apprentice, Tim. What makes you interested in blacksmithing? I always thought your father had greater plans for you.”
At the time, Max didn’t know the truth behind closed doors at Tim’s house, only the front Simon presented of himself being a highly educated man with a son who invariably scored high marks in school.
“My father is agreeable to me smithing. I’ve already asked, so you don’t need to,” Tim lied, desperation creeping into his words.
Max frowned at his response, and he didn’t agree to take him as an apprentice right away. When Tim showed up the next day, Max directed his attention to the wall of the shop. On it hung more than twenty-five tools of the trade. Max pointed at each tool and gave its name in addition to its use. When he finished speaking after some time, he asked Tim to tell him what he’d just learned.
Tim repeated the information nearly word for word, and Max’s eyes grew wide in amazement. “Sakes alive, Tim. I expected you to remember some of what I said, but you remembered everything. I reckon I’d be lucky to have you as an apprentice, though your memory might be better suited for other purposes.”
Tim felt afraid to get his hopes up. “Does that mean I can work for you, Mr. Harrison?”
“Yes. I will just need to speak with your father first, to make sure this arrangement is all right with him.”
Tim’s spirits sank upon hearing those words, which must have reflected in his face and posture because Max rubbed the beard on his chin and said, “I think I can convince Simon, don’t worry.”
Max did convince Simon after some negotiating, the specifics of which Tim didn’t learn until later. Tim dropped out of school immediately and began work, showing up on his first day with a black eye. Max said nothing about the bruise and put him to work manning the forge right away. He told Tim to keep it supplied with coal and not let the fire go out. Tim’s hands shook, terrified of making a mistake, and he let the fire die when he became distracted watching Max hammer iron over the anvil.
Max approached him when he noticed the lack of fire, and Tim shrank back, equally afraid of being punished and of being fired. “Now, Tim,” Max chided. “Keep focus on the task I gave you. When you prove you can do that, I’ll give you a more interesting one.”
Tim nodded and felt relief when Max tousled his hair and returned to his work station. It was the first of Tim’s many mistakes, all of which Max reacted mildly to, and with humor occasionally. Once he laughed when Tim melted a strip of iron to liquid that couldn’t be shaped or salvaged after it mixed with the ashes in the forge. Tim felt horrified, but Max said, “You’ll get the hang of it. I’m only laughing because I remember doing that myself as a boy. My father was fit to be tied, but I escaped a thrashing. He swore like the dickens and scolded me for an hour after, but he was a forgiving man beneath his brusque exterior.”
“Much like you,” Tim dared to say.
Max smiled. “Maybe so. I reckon there are worse things to be compared to than my father, God rest his soul.”
Tim looked down. “I hope I am never compared to my father.” When he looked up, all mirth had disappeared from Max’s eyes, replaced by a spark of anger.
“I’m sorry, Tim. I’ve had my suspicions of his treatment of you, but I wasn’t sure.”
Tim shrugged and turned his attention to cleaning up the mess he’d made. The next day, Max informed Tim that he’d spoken with his father and arranged for Tim to live with him, if he so wished. Tim felt surprised, then overjoyed. The day he moved in with Max was the day his life became something worth living.
Nearly two years later, as Tim walked to the telegraph office, he realized that his love for Max far outweighed his fear of his father. He came to a halt and leaned against a hitching post. Covering his forehead with his hand, he thought hard about which telegram would work better in Max’s favor. He shook his head, feeling great distress and confusion. He couldn’t decide, so he didn’t send either. He turned away from his errand and walked home.
* * *
Charlotte was in love. Every hardship and annoyance slid off her back like ice off a hot plate. She wrote to her mother and gushed about her new beau and all the wonderful things he said and did. She left out the spanking, of course, though it was in the forefront of her mind. She sat at her desk in her room at the boardinghouse and gazed out the window, recalling the discipline over Max’s lap. She decided she wouldn’t like a spanking much harder than what she’d received, but she liked how it made her feel, especially when Max held her in his arms and comforted her afterwards. The spanking had made her feel soft and vulnerable and, as a result, able to enjoy the full benefit of Max’s strong and tender care. She overflowed with a sense of well-being like she’d never experienced before.
Max took her to dinner nearly every evening, despite his long work hours. She felt guilty that the task of quickly building and repairing the schoolhouse furniture, along with keeping up with his other work, caused him fatigue, but she comforted herself by knowing he would be paid by the county. She still awaited word from Tucson regarding the exact sum available. She’d read her contract again, which made no mention of funding, so she wired the superintendent requesting information and payment. She was impatient to receive the money to hand to Max.
A little more than a week after they began courting, Charlotte set out toward Max’s house on a cool Sunday morning, carrying the book she’d promised Tim. Birds chirped around her, adding a spring to her already light step on the dirt path. Max’s house was about a half-mile outside of town, so it was an easy, pleasant walk.
Shortly after the start of her journey, she heard the sound of raised voices ahead. When she rounded the corner and saw who they came from, she stopped. Tim and Simon stood in the middle of the road, engaged in a heated argument.
“I’m not going anywhere, Simon,” Tim said to his father. “I want to stay with Max and continue working for him.”
Simon held a shaking fist up to the boy’s face. “Are you addled? You have less brains than a headless chicken if you think I’ll back down. You are your mother’s son.”
“Good,” Tim replied. “Though I’m about as fortunate in that regard as I am having you as my father. I’m going to stay with Max and remain his employee when I come of age.”
“You do that, I’ll ruin him. I’ll make his life so miserable he’ll wish he’d never met you.”
Tim’s eyes flashed with anger, and his hands closed into fists at his sides. He looked away from his father’s face, and that’s when he noticed Charlotte. His brow furrowed.
She reluctantly walked in their direction. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” Charlotte said meekly, feeling ashamed that she’d eavesdropped and also alarmed by the conversation she’d overheard.
Simon turned around slowly to face her. “Well, if it isn’t the charming schoolmarm. How do you do, Miss Rose?” He smiled, but it looked more like a grimace.
“I’m well. I’ll be on my way to see Max.” She continued walking and passed them.
“Max, is it?” Simon sneered. “Are you that familiar with the blacksmith?”
“Yes,” Charlotte said simply, stopping with a half turn to look at him. “Max is courting me.”
Simon snorted. “Well, isn’t he a lucky man? How did he manage to garner your affections? Was it his soot-stained breeches you found attractive? Or perhaps his sweaty pits?”
Charlotte turned around fully to face him. “Perhaps both,” she said, with a haughty lift of her chin. “I respect a man who makes an honest living.”
Simon laughed without humor, then turned his attention back to his son. “Perhaps you should escort the lady to your master’s house. I’ve said all I need to say. It’s your turn to do what needs to be done, and you’d best remember this: I’m quickly running out of patience.”
Simon tipped his hat to Charlotte and walked in the direction of town. Tim stared after him for a bit, then sauntered to Charlotte’s side. They walked together in silence for some time before Tim said quietly, “How much of my conversation with Simon did you hear, Miss Rose?”
“I’m sorry, Tim. It was terribly rude of me to listen for as long as I did, and I’m afraid I heard enough to alarm me. I heard your father say he would ruin Max. What was that about?”
Tim sighed. “I’m in a bind. I’ve been trying for weeks to be shed of it. Normally I would seek Max’s advice, but I don’t want to with this. I feel lost at sea.”
“Perhaps I can help?” Charlotte offered.
Tim didn’t say anything, so Charlotte changed the subject. She handed the boy her copy of Huckleberry Finn. “Do let me know what you think. I love talking about literature with folks. I hope to find more people in town with a love of reading.”
Fetching Charlotte Rose Page 5