The pastor called for silent prayer while the gravedigger covered the coffin. Kate squeezed Anthony’s cold hand and stared at their feet.
Lord, please help me figure out how to deal with Mr. Jonesey. I can’t let Anthony go unless I know he’s going with someone who’ll care for him—I just can’t.
A flicker of movement across the way made Kate peek from her prayer. Silas wasn’t praying like the rest of them—he was walking. Was he leaving? Hopefully.
She pulled Anthony closer, his right shoulder damp from jutting out from beneath her small umbrella, his little frame shivering. She rubbed her hand briskly against his well-worn, too-short sleeve, keeping her eye on Silas.
Please help me know what to do. I mean, Lucinda knew who Anthony’s father was, yet she wanted him left in my care. That has to mean something. How can I let a stranger take a boy who’s already escaped one man’s loveless household, to live with another who’s more likely to give him a hoe than a hug?
Last night, she’d found Anthony in the stairwell though she’d told him to go downstairs. She couldn’t chastise him for eavesdropping though; the poor kid was likely more uncertain about his future than she was.
He hadn’t been impressed with Silas and had begged her not to let him take him home.
She’d fully expected Silas to put up a fuss when she told him she was taking Anthony to stay with her at the Logans’ last night, but he’d said that was a good idea.
What if he wasn’t the man Lucinda had painted him to be? Or what if he truly was Anthony’s father? Could she let this precious boy go? She held Anthony tighter with each step Silas took.
He walked straight toward Anthony while pulling off his slicker.
“What are you—” Kate bit her lip. Her strangled voice had ruptured the reverent silence and drawn people’s narrow-eyed glares.
Silas walked behind them and wrapped the coat around Anthony. The boy tried to shrug the slicker off with exaggerated movements, but she squeezed his hand.
“Be civil,” she whispered into his ear. They shouldn’t cause a scene, and well, Anthony needed the warmth. He was too skinny and his coat inadequate.
“Thank you for coming.” Reverend Beasley finally nodded from his reverie. “I’m sure Lucinda’s son would welcome your prayers and condolences, and her husband as well.”
A few looked at them in surprise. Their gazes locked onto Silas. Did they wonder why he’d bothered to come when he’d left Lucinda alone for so long?
Yet there he stood, coatless with no umbrella, acting as if the rain and cold didn’t bother him, staring at his wife’s resting place, his hands shoved deep inside his pockets, as if warmth could be found inside his pants’ soggy fabric.
What a pitiful sight he was. If she had a hat, she’d have handed him her umbrella.
Mr. Yi, the owner of the laundry, walked over first. He held out his hand to Silas. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mr. Riverton.”
Silas grasped the man’s hand but said nothing to correct Mr. Yi about his name.
“Sorry about your mother.” Mr. Yi laid a lye-scarred hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I wish I could have employed her for longer time, but it is good thing you have an angel.” He grasped Kate’s hand and pressed something into her palm. He threw a glance at Silas before leaning closer, the smell of onions and cloves residing in his skin. “Please use this for care of boy,” he whispered. “I wish I had more to give you.”
At least Mr. Yi knew who the boy should stay with. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”
“I’m sorry, young man.” Mr. Kingfisher, the school superintendent, appeared next. After clapping Anthony on the shoulder, he turned to her. “I need to talk with you, Miss Dawson.”
“Now? In the rain?” Kate’s heartbeat ramped up at the tone of his voice. The two times Mr. Kingfisher had condescended to talk with her was to award her the teaching position despite her lack of credentials and to complain about her classroom’s lack of tidiness.
She’d left her school chores unfinished to run to Lucinda’s deathbed, but surely Mr. Kingfisher wouldn’t chastise her for dusty classroom corners at a funeral. Unless Miss Jennings complained again. “This isn’t the most convenient time for me to talk—”
“We can just step aside here.” He threw a sidelong glance toward Anthony.
Silas stepped closer to Anthony. “It’s all right.” He nodded at them both, as if they were in agreement.
“Miss Dawson?” Mr. Kingfisher held out his elbow.
A couple stood dripping in front of them, staring at her as they waited patiently to talk to Anthony.
Kate squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t be long.”
Under a nearby oak, Mr. Kingfisher shook off his umbrella. “Nasty weather we’re having for the end of September.”
“Yes.” She didn’t care about the weather. Every funeral should be dreary. “I’m sorry, but why do we need to talk so badly you pulled me away from a grieving child?”
He shifted his weight. “The Logans came to me this morning wanting to be clear on what they’d signed up for.”
“What they’d signed up for?” Her stomach tightened into a knot. This didn’t sound promising.
“It’s difficult to get families to take in our teachers. We don’t have enough money to raise your salaries, so rooming with families is your best option.”
Was he trying to make her feel like a burden?
“The Logans signed up to keep and feed you—just you, not a little boy as well.”
She stared at her hands. The Logans had been nicer than the Ishams last year, but they definitely acted put out with her presence. “I haven’t told them yet, but I intend to compensate them for Anthony’s food.”
“They aren’t excited about entertaining a boy with a house full of daughters either.”
So if they’d had a son, they would’ve allowed Anthony to live with them? “I suppose I’ll move into the boardinghouse, then.” There went the money to buy him a new coat and shoes and updates for her wardrobe.
Mr. Kingfisher sighed. “I know you’ve grown attached to the boy, but since his father has shown up—”
“Did Mr. Jonesey tell you he was the father?”
Mr. Kingfisher’s mouth puckered. “I’d assumed.”
“He didn’t even know about the boy.” She glanced back at Silas and froze.
Behind Silas loomed a man she’d never wanted to see again.
Richard.
“Excuse me.” Could this nightmare get any worse? She picked up her skirts and sprinted toward them.
Silas stood behind Anthony as a woman tried to squeeze the boy in two.
Richard moved toward Anthony the moment the woman let go.
Sliding in mud, Kate almost tripped over a headstone. “Silas!”
He startled and looked at her in surprise.
Who cared that she’d used his Christian name? Didn’t he hear the alarm in her voice?
Richard doffed his well-worn felt hat, leaving his dark hair a bit ruffled, and gestured toward the fresh grave. “Sorry about your mother, son. Say good-bye to your friend now, so we can get you packed.”
“What?” Silas pulled Anthony to him.
Finally he did something worthwhile.
“Mr. Fitzgerald.” Kate rushed between them. “Don’t you lay a finger on Anthony.”
The man’s smile melted into a scowl. “Forgive me, but I have no idea who you are.”
“That hardly matters.”
He slapped his hat back onto his head. “Seeing that you’re standing between me and my son, it does.”
Despite her heart leaping in and out of her throat, she worked to make sure her breathlessness wouldn’t mar her voice. “He’s not yours.”
“Of course he is.”
“No, Lucinda told me different.”
The man took a menacing step toward her, and Silas’s hand grasped her shoulder.
Richard stopped, taking in the sight of Silas’s hands on both Kate and Anthony.
“Who are you?”
That was the question, wasn’t it?
“Lucinda’s husband,” Silas said.
“He’s Anthony’s father,” Kate added. The only thing that could possibly send this man back to where he came from.
Richard blinked.
Kate stepped forward, hands on hips. “Now leave.”
His glassy eyes reminded her of her last intended—bright with drink. “I don’t know who you are, lady, but you’ve no right to keep my boy.”
“As I said, he’s not yours. Besides, the way you treated Anthony and Lucinda is plenty enough reason to keep him from you.”
The man’s face screwed up. “I treated the boy no worse than my own father did me.” He glared at Anthony. “Come here, son.”
Kate shoved him between her and Silas.
The man’s eyes narrowed. “I said come here.” He tried to dodge Kate to reach for the boy, but Silas blocked him.
“Excuse me?” All of them startled at the reverend’s voice. “Is something the matter?”
Richard pointed to where Anthony now hid behind Silas’s broad frame. “That boy’s mine and they’re refusing to give him to me.”
Silas shook his head. “We need proof he’s the father before we hand him over.”
“Hand him over?” Kate scoffed. “Never.” She’d not let him go with Richard, even if he paid her.
The reverend held out a hand. “Let’s think things through here.”
“There’s nothing to think through, Reverend.” Kate shook her head. “Richard abused Anthony and his mother, and he’s not an upstanding citizen considering he . . .” She glanced back at Anthony and grimaced. He knew his mother hadn’t been the best parent, but she didn’t want to explain too much either. “Well, Lucinda is . . . was married to Silas. He’s her husband, not this man.”
“Doesn’t negate the fact that the boy’s mine,” Richard blustered.
“No, he’s not, and even if he was, you can’t have him,” Kate said, reaching behind her to grasp onto Anthony. She caught his upper arm and squeezed, hoping the pressure felt reassuring instead of desperate.
“Seems we’ve got quite the tangle.”
“No tangle, Reverend.” Richard glared at Silas. “You really think you’re his pa?” His sneer made her skin prickle. “You weren’t man enough to keep Lucinda happy, so she came to me. And I took quite good care of her.”
The suggestive expression on the man’s face needed to be knocked off.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” Anthony’s voice trembled but held conviction.
“It might not be what you want, kid, but it’s how it’s going to be.”
“You’ll not strong-arm the boy anywhere when your claim to Anthony is as shaky as . . . as it is.” Goodness, she’d almost admitted Silas had no proof of him being the father either—which he didn’t, but maybe they could find something . . . anything.
Lord, if there’s any way I can keep Anthony from going back with Richard, even if it’s by proving the boy belongs to some other man, lead us to it.
“I think it would be best if you don’t play tug-of-war with the boy.” The reverend stepped closer to Richard. “Why don’t we take this matter to the law?”
The law? She licked her lips. Would simply informing the judge of the stories Lucinda had told her be enough to keep Anthony away from Richard?
“A court would see things my way.” Richard crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve raised the boy, even my wife knows about him. Just because Lucy fed these people lies doesn’t mean I’m not the father.”
She began to tremble. Was he right? She glanced at Anthony, who looked as worried as she felt. No, the stories about how he treated them were true, otherwise Anthony wouldn’t look so pale.
“There should be no trouble, then, but the boy seems to want to stay with the lady.” The reverend threw a sympathetic glance toward Anthony.
“She’s intent on keeping him from me.”
As a gambler, Richard likely knew what a sure bet that was.
The reverend looked at her. “Will you give your word you’ll not take off with the boy?”
She tensed. A pastor asking her to give her word quelled the lie about to roll off her tongue. She’d defy the law if she thought it better for Anthony, but to defy a man of God?
Her muscles ached to rush off with the boy that very instant. She couldn’t outrun Richard with Anthony in tow though.
Silas touched her on the shoulder. “It’d be best for Anthony to have a definite answer about who he belongs with.”
Was there a chance that they’d get such an answer? But if a court declared Richard had no right to the boy, then she’d only have to worry about Silas, who just might be convinced to leave the boy with her in the end. She nodded. “We’ll wait for a court decision, then.”
Silas didn’t know whether to smile or frown. Kate might have agreed to wait for a judge’s decision, but he didn’t doubt she’d run afterwards if the decision was in Mr. Fitzgerald’s favor. Was there a chance the judge would rule in Silas’s favor?
Would she run away with the boy if that happened?
“If I have to get a judge to settle this, then so be it.” Richard ducked his head and caught Anthony’s eye. “I’m getting a room at the boardinghouse. I’ll catch you if you run from me again.”
“Fine. You do that.” Kate snagged Anthony from behind Silas and marched toward the street.
The boy certainly had broad shoulders, and his rain-slicked hair revealed two cowlicks much like Silas’s own. But the boy looked more like his mother than him or Mr. Fitzgerald.
His insides flopped. The boy probably wasn’t his . . . but if Kate wanted to keep him away from this man, he’d not mention his doubts. He trusted her love for the boy over any man’s word.
The reverend cleared his throat. “I’d suggest you two go to the authorities tomorrow morning and get yourself a date for a hearing.”
Silas nodded. “We’ll do that.”
The shorter man’s mouth twitched and turned into a sneer. “Going to tuck your tail between your legs now and cower behind your woman?”
Silas swallowed a retort. He’d not let the man goad him into an argument. And it might be a good thing for Richard to think Kate belonged with him. “I’m going to see them safely home.”
The man rolled his eyes and snagged a flask from his coat’s inner pocket.
The urge to ask him for a drink welled up within Silas, but he tightened his hands and pressed his lips together.
Richard took a swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Tell that woman she better spend all the time she wants with Anthony, because she won’t be seeing him again.” He screwed the flask’s cap back on and tucked the container away. “You and I both know he ain’t yours.”
“We’ll see.” Silas turned to the reverend and shook his hand. “Thanks for coming to help us.”
“I’ll be praying for you both.” He turned to offer his hand to Richard, but the man ignored it.
“Your prayers are worthless, Reverend.”
“Would you care to enlighten me over dinner?” The reverend smiled. “The wife’s cooking a pot pie. I’ve heard the boardinghouse’s fare leaves something to be desired. Might as well have something good before you get yourself a room.”
“Don’t want a sermon with my dinner.”
“Then I won’t offer one.” He turned and gave Silas a small smile before he gestured for Richard to follow him. “The parsonage is this way. Please join us.”
The man grunted. “Fine.”
Silas ran after Kate, who was about to turn the corner three blocks ahead. Anthony trudged beside her, Silas’s coat hanging off his shoulders, dragging in the mud.
When he caught up, Anthony turned to look at him. “Is Pa right? Will a judge tell me I have to go back with him?”
Kate hugged him against her. “I won’t let you go.”
“But if they say I have to?”
; He needed the whole story from Kate before he could answer. After his encounter with Richard, he certainly had no good feelings toward the man.
But the boy needed hope at the moment. “Maybe they’ll rule that you should go home with me.”
Anthony stopped and shook his head. “I don’t want to go with you neither. I want to stay with Miss Dawson.”
He took in a deep breath. “I’m afraid a judge would probably choose between me and Mr. Fitzgerald.”
“Why do you want me? So I can do your chores?”
“No. I’ve done them alone for years. I don’t need someone for that.” Silas put a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “I’d love to have a son. I’ve never had a family. Your mother was the closest I ever got.”
Anthony jerked his shoulder away. “I’m Pa’s only son, but he still treated the dog better than me. Mother said you weren’t any better than him anyway.”
A sucker punch right to the gut. He knew he hadn’t been the best husband, but had alcohol corrupted him more than he remembered? Had his eyes been as empty as Richard’s while he discussed people as if they were pawns to manipulate instead of loved ones to care for? “No, that can’t be true,” he rasped.
They turned the corner and Anthony ran toward the boardinghouse stairwell, tripping on the overly long coat. “Leave me alone.”
“Wait.” Silas jogged after him but stopped at the bottom of the steps as the boy disappeared inside. He likely needed time alone.
Silas rubbed his hand along the smooth handrail and waited for Kate to catch up.
She stopped near him, her reddish tresses fallen and plastered against her cheeks. “Is it true? Did you treat Lucinda no better?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how Mr. Fitzgerald treated them, but I never hurt her, not with my hands anyway, but . . .” Above the crowded rooftops, the smoky remnants left by a train maneuvering through the many towns surrounding Independence hung low and wispy. He needed Kate on his side if they had any hope of a judge choosing to give the boy to him.
But anything but the truth would be a lie. “I drank. I don’t know if I remember everything I did while drunk, but I don’t drink anymore.”
“How long since you drank last?”
A Bride at Last Page 3