The Patchwork Bride

by Sandra Dallas

They waited, not talking, watching Tom pour whiskey into a glass and hand it to a customer. He took a dirty glass off the bar and washed it. Then, after looking around to make sure no one wanted anything, he came to the table. “Everything all right here, Mr. Hamilton? Ma’am?”

  “Everything’s fine, Tom. Can you sit down?”

  The bartender glanced around the room. Most of the patrons had left. “Sure thing. You want another?” He gestured at the glasses.

  Nell shook her head, and James said no. She was nervous and ran her handkerchief through her fingers. She picked up her glass and sipped the sherry. It was sticky, and she decided she didn’t care for it.

  Tom wiped his hands on his apron and leaned forward in his chair. He waited for James to speak.

  “I was telling my companion here that you and I had an interesting conversation yesterday. She thought you might know someone in common.”

  “Me?” Nell mouthed, wondering why James had suddenly made her responsible for telling him about Betty. She clasped her hands in her lap because with the warm air and the excitement, they were damp with perspiration.

  “Who’s that?” Tom asked.

  Nell didn’t know what to answer. After all, she didn’t want to blurt out Betty’s name. So she picked up her drink again, buying a little time. She finished the sherry and set down the glass. “First, I want to ask you a question. Did you live in a mountain town when you were a boy?”

  “Yep. Swandyke. It was a nice place back then, but cold in the winter. My God, it was cold. And the wind!” He shook his head. “I’ve heard Swandyke’s played out.” He started to say more, then stopped and narrowed his eyes at Nell. “Why?”

  “Did you have a sister?”

  Tom’s mouth formed a straight line, and he clenched his fists in his lap. “Who are you? What’s this about?”

  Nell didn’t answer, and she was silent for a moment, waiting for her heart to settle down. This was Betty’s son! Finally she said, “Your sister was … well … not quite right in the head. She died. You were mean to her. And your father’s name, was it Foster?”

  “My father … What’s that to you?” Tom started to rise, but James put out his hand and told him to take it easy, that everything was all right.

  “We don’t mean to pry, but you see, I believe we know your mother,” Nell said. She let out a deep breath. Now she had said it!

  “My mother?”

  Nell nodded.

  “Not likely. My mother’s dead.” He rose and said, “I’ll thank you not to mind my business, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Please,” Nell pleaded. It hadn’t occurred to her that Tom wouldn’t believe them. “How do you know she’s dead?”

  “My father told me so.” He paused, thinking over his answer. “But maybe he made it up because he was such a liar. Maybe she just ran out on us. I always wondered about that. It doesn’t matter. She’s dead to me.”

  “Or you ran out on her,” Nell said in a low voice. She looked down at her handkerchief, which was wadded up and damp now. She glimpsed the initials embroidered in it and realized it was the one James had given her at their Elitch Gardens outing. She had washed it and meant to return it to him, but she must have slipped it in with her own handkerchiefs by mistake.

  Tom stared at Nell for a long time, then slowly sat down again. “Why are you here?”

  “My friend is a waitress. She believes she works for your mother, who runs a café near here,” James said.

  “What café?”

  “Buck & Betty’s,” Nell said.

  Tom nodded. “I’ve seen it. I thought it was funny that it was just like my mother’s name. Her name was Betty.” He absent-mindedly picked up the empty glasses. “I’ll get you another drink.”

  “No,” James said.

  “On the house.” Tom rose despite their protests, then was gone for several minutes. Two men had sat down at the bar and involved him in a lengthy discussion about the merits of the various whiskeys before they ordered. Then a man called from the other side of the room, asking for another glass of beer. When Tom returned, he set two fresh drinks on the table. “Is she really my mother?” he asked.

  “I don’t know for sure, but she must be. She told me about your sister. She said you used to torment her,” Nell said.

  James bit his lip, then nodded. “It wasn’t right, but my father told me to do it. He hated her. She embarrassed him. Me, too.” He looked away, ashamed. “After Nellie died, Papa took me away. He told me that my mother was going to die, that the sheriff had arrested her, and she was going to be hanged, that she’d killed Nellie. He said I’d be arrested, too, if we stayed, because I’d been mean to Nellie, that she was a dummy because I’d hit her when I was little. I didn’t remember that, but I believed him.”

  “That’s not true. None of it.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Betty told me.”

  Tom closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “She could have lied.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then what did happen?”

  “It’s not my place to say. You’ll have to ask Betty.”

  “I doubt she’d want to see me.”

  “Of course she would. She’s your mother,” James told him. He picked up the shot glass but only sipped. “This is your best whiskey, isn’t it?”

  Tom shrugged. “Maybe you deserve it.” He nodded at Nell’s glass. “You’ll like that sherry better than the other.”

  She tasted it and decided he was right.

  “You really think she’ll see me?” Tom asked.

  “She’ll see you if you walk into the café. It’s up to you if you want to tell her who you are,” James said.

  Tom thought that over. A customer called to him to order a drink, but Tom waved him off. “I don’t think I can do that, tell her who I am with a bunch of people sitting there. What if she asks me to leave?”

  “I’ll be there,” James said. “You can walk in just before closing. She shuts down at two thirty. Why don’t you come by tomorrow.”

  Tom stood up and started for the bar. “I don’t know. It’s been a long time. I’ll have to think about it. If I decide to do it, I’ll meet you there a few minutes before closing.” He paused. “But maybe I won’t go.”

  “Please,” Nell begged. “Please give her a chance. Give yourself one, too.”

  Tom went back to the bar, and Nell asked James, “Do you think he’ll show up?” She sipped the sherry, thinking she still liked whiskey better.

  “Of course he will. You know, he’s like those waifs we saw at Elitch’s. What they want more than anything in the world is a mother. I think we’ve done a good deed, Nell. We’ve brought together a mother and her little boy.”

  Yes, they had, Nell thought, or at least James had. What a kind, decent man he was. She shivered as she wondered what it would be like to lose your son, then meet him again after twenty years. What would she do if that happened to her?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  James sat at the café counter, a cup of coffee half full in front of him. The coffee was cold with a shimmer of oil on top, and when Betty wasn’t looking, Nell threw it out and gave James a fresh cup. He let that grow cold, too. He was the only customer, and from the looks Betty sent him, it was obvious she wanted him to leave so that she could close up.

  “That clock right?” he asked. He seemed to have forgotten the pocket watch he carried in his vest.

  “Just as right as the last time you asked,” Betty called from the kitchen. She had long since cleaned the top of the stove and washed and dried the dirty plates and cups and cooking pots and put them away, and she had taken off her apron.

  “No sign of him. I guess he’s not coming,” James said in a low voice to Nell.

  She was disappointed. James had done such a kindness in telling Tom about his mother. If Tom didn’t show up, Betty would never know what a good man James was. “Maybe he doesn’t have a watch, or he doesn’t know where this place is.”

&
nbsp; “Maybe.” James poured sugar into his coffee and stirred it—the third time he had added sugar, and Nell thought the coffee must taste like syrup by now. It was a good thing James wasn’t drinking it. He leaned forward and whispered, “If I was going to meet my mother for the first time in fifteen or twenty years, I’d sure know the address. Besides, he told us he’d been by here—that he knows where this place is.”

  “I guess he doesn’t want to come, then.” Nell felt sad for Betty as well as Tom. After all those years, how could he stay away? If nothing else, he must be curious. But perhaps he believed the stories his father had told him. It was a good thing they hadn’t said anything to Betty about her son. She would have been in turmoil all day and then might have been devastated when he didn’t show up.

  They heard a clock chime in a tower far away.

  “Café’s closed,” Betty called out. She turned off the light in the kitchen. James gave Nell a look of resignation and shrugged. “Maybe another time,” he whispered.

  But just then the door opened, and Tom came in. He wore a clean shirt, and it looked as if he’d just been to a barber. His hair was neatly trimmed, and his face was smooth and pink from a shave.

  “Café’s closed,” Betty repeated, not bothering to look at him.

  Tom stared at Betty, but her back was turned. He sent a questioning glance at James, who nodded. “I been walking up and down outside, not knowing if I should come in,” he whispered. He straightened his tie, then ran his hand across his hair, patting it into place.

  “You’re too late,” Betty said.

  “I’m glad you did,” Nell whispered back, then spoke up. “You want coffee?”

  “Coffee’s gone. We’re closed,” Betty said for the third time.

  Tom looked confused. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “We didn’t know if you’d come.”

  “I guess I didn’t either.”

  Betty came out from the kitchen, her purse over her arm. She stopped when she saw them whispering. “What’s going on?”

  The three of them exchanged glances, not sure who should speak.

  “Nell?” Betty asked. Her voice was sharp. “What are you up to?”

  “This is your … I mean, we want you to meet someone,” Nell said.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Me,” Tom said.

  “Yeah, who are you?”

  Tom started to reply. He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn’t come. Sweat was beaded on his lip, and he wiped his hands on his pants. He looked ready to bolt.

  “Well?” Betty said, and when the three were silent, she added, “I haven’t got all day. What’s going on?”

  Tom seemed to panic. He took a step backward and said, “Maybe I better go.”

  He edged toward the door, but Nell grabbed his arm and stopped him. She was perspiring, too, and thought this wasn’t going well. “Betty, he’s somebody you ought to meet,” she said again. “He’s a bartender at the Windsor Hotel.”

  “That’s nice,” Betty said. “He looking for a job as a waiter? Tell him we don’t hire men, only women, and I got a good one right now. Is she planning on quitting? Unless she is, she’d better tell me what she’s up to.”

  Nell took a deep breath and rubbed her palms on her apron. Then she gripped the material in her damp hands. “The bartender … he’s … his name is Tom Buck.”

  “What?” For a long time, Betty stared at Tom. Then she grabbed the counter and slid onto a stool. Her purse fell to the floor. “Tom Buck?” she repeated, her voice hoarse, shaky. “You’re Tom?”

  “I … I…” His voice gave out, and he nodded.

  “You’re…?” Betty couldn’t finish.

  Then Tom said in a soft voice, “Mama?”

  Betty stared without saying anything.

  “I’m your son. At least I think I am. They say I am.” Tom looked wretched, as if he still might flee.

  “He must be,” Nell added. “He’s the same age, and he looks like—”

  Betty held up her hand to stop Nell. She began to shake. “I know who he is. I should have recognized him, but I never thought I’d ever see him again.”

  Tom opened and closed his mouth a few times, before saying, “Me either. I thought you were dead. Papa told me you were dead.”

  “He would have. Does he know you’re here? Did Foster send you?” Suddenly Betty looked wary.

  “I don’t know where he is,” Tom said quickly. “I ran off as soon as I was old enough. I’d have looked for you, but like I said, he told me you were dead.”

  “I thought he’d taken you a long way away, back east somewhere.”

  “Not so far. Just to Pueblo.”

  “If I’d known … I would have looked for you, but I didn’t know where. And I didn’t know if you’d want me.” Betty began to cry.

  Tom rushed to her and got down on his knees. “Mama, is it you? Mama?”

  “Tommy,” Betty said. “My little boy.”

  “I cried for you. I didn’t want to go away. Papa said you didn’t want me anymore, not after Nellie died. He said it was my fault and you didn’t love me. You only loved Nellie.”

  “That’s not true. I always loved you. But you didn’t like me. And you were cruel to Nellie.” She reached out her hand, holding it over Tom’s head before she touched his hair with the tip of one finger. Tom’s hair was ginger-colored and curly, like her own, and she ran her hand through it.

  “I didn’t want to be. Papa said Nellie was a dummy and I had to treat her like one. I tried to be nice. Once I gave her half an apple, and Papa saw me do it, and he knocked the apple out of my hand and slapped me down, said I wasn’t to waste food on such as her. He hit her, too, for taking it. Papa said you spoiled her because you didn’t care about him or me.”

  “And you believed him?” James asked.

  “He was only a little boy,” Nell said. She had watched the scene with more emotion than she’d expected, wondering what she’d do in Betty’s place.

  Tom stood then and stepped behind his mother, his hand on her shoulder. Nell thought the scene was too intimate, and she went into the kitchen and lighted the stove to make coffee. She filled a teakettle with water and ground the beans. When the water was hot enough, she poured it over the grounds in a pot and let it steep. James came into the kitchen and took out cups. They felt like intruders. “Maybe we should leave,” James whispered.

  “Not yet.” Nell put her hand on James’s arm. “Betty might need me.” Nell wasn’t sure that was true, but she didn’t feel right leaving her friend.

  “You didn’t say good-bye,” Betty told Tom.

  “I didn’t know we were leaving,” Tom replied. “Papa took me to the depot, and we got on the train. We didn’t take our clothes with us. I had to leave my jackknife behind and even my sack of marbles.” He swallowed. “And the bear. Remember you cut up an old coat and made a bear out of it for me? That hurt me the most, not taking it. I loved that bear.”

  “I have it,” Betty said softly. “I kept it all this time.”

  Tom took a deep breath, then blurted out, “Papa said the sheriff arrested you for killing Nellie and that they’d punish me, too, because I’d been mean to her. He said they were going to hang you. He said he didn’t want me to see you hang.”

  “Hang me?” Betty looked at her son in surprise. “I never hurt Nellie. I protected her. Your father was the one who beat her that day. People saw it. There were witnesses. He beat her until she was senseless. She never woke up. Someone went for the sheriff. He arrested your father. The only reason he got away with you was because the sheriff said he could go to the funeral.”

  “Papa killed Nellie?” Tom was astounded. “I thought you did it.”

  “It was your father.”

  “Did you ever try to find me?”

  “I would have, but how could I? I didn’t know where you’d gone.”

  Tom sat down on a stool next to Betty, his head in his hands. Nell busied herself pouring coffee into the c
ups. She started to carry them into the café, but James stopped her and nodded his head at Tom, who was shaking with silent sobs. “Wait,” James mouthed.

  Nell set down the cups and leaned against the drainboard. She started to cry, too, and she placed her fingers over her eyes to stop the tears. James put his arms around her, and Nell leaned her head against his shoulder. Nell loved Betty, and she was shaky with emotion. When her tears stopped, Nell looked up at James and whispered, “This is all because of you. I don’t know how to thank you.”

  James shut his eyes for a moment, as if he, too, were taken up with feelings. “We did it. If you hadn’t told me about Betty, if you hadn’t cared so much about her, I never would have connected her with Tom Buck. I didn’t even know Betty’s last name until you told me.”

  “It was you who did it. You are an extraordinary man,” Nell said, and she thought how true that was. She had never known anyone so thoughtful. In that moment she loved him. She wanted a life with James. He was her future. Nell leaned her head against his shoulder, thinking how comfortable she felt touching him.

  Tom had stopped crying. With a final look at James, Nell picked up the coffee and a pitcher of cream and carried them out of the kitchen, setting them down on the counter. The four were silent as they drank the coffee. When they were finished, Nell took the cups back into the kitchen and said she would wash them in the morning. Betty should be alone with her son now, and Nell hung up her apron and picked up her pocketbook. “I’ll see you in the morning, Betty,” she said as she walked to the door, James behind her.

  Just as she did, a man came into the café and asked, “You still open?”

  “We closed a few minutes ago,” Betty told him.

  “Sign says open. All’s I need is a bowl of chili and some crackers.”

  “It’s shut, bub,” Tom said, pushing the man outside. “Mama says it’s shut.”

  Nell smiled and turned around the sign so that it read CLOSED. Then she switched off the light and shut the door, leaving Betty with her son in the shuttered café.

  * * *

  As they walked down Seventeenth Street, James grasped Nell’s arm and held it tight, and he did not let go. “Betty should be pleased with you.”