Flynn emptied the coins into his palm and his insides clenched. “This is only—” He quickly tallied. “Ten dollars?” His face heated, and his muscles tightened. “Hardly a fraction of what we agreed.” Not nearly enough to compensate for the hours and sweat he had spent to form those rifle barrels. “I need more. You owe me more.” He’d barely meet his lease, never mind the payment to Dr. Allerton.
Hastings took a step back. “I supplied the iron and the contracts. Be grateful.”
“Grateful to be cheated?” Flynn clenched his fist and followed the man’s retreat.
“I don’t want no trouble.” Hastings held up his hands while his friend stepped in, cutting off Flynn’s advance. The rancid body of the second man drew Flynn’s attention to the sweat-stained clothes, scarred face, meaty fists. The gunsmith had brought a scrapper to keep Flynn in his place.
“Let it go, Flynn,” Hastings crooned.
Be cowered into giving up a just wage for his labor? Flynn had worked day and night for weeks, had given up other opportunities. He deserved—he needed—that money. Flynn sidestepped the larger man and gripped Hastings by the collar. “You will give me what we agreed upon or—”
An iron bar cracked down on his arms, breaking Flynn’s hold. Hot pain shot up his right arm, and he stumbled. The mangled iron Flynn had left to cool clanged to the floor. By the time he gained his balance, a meaty fist flew toward his head. He didn’t have time to even flinch, and the force knocked him into his anvil.
“Take the money.” Hastings toed the coins where they had dropped.
No! Flynn’s mind screamed the word, but it never breached his throat. He balled his fists to supply them with the answer, but agony momentarily darkened his vision, and he leaned into the unforgiving edge of the anvil. He stared at his right arm, willing the pain to ease. It had not been a fair fight. He could take the man if given the opportunity.
Instead, Flynn sank to the ground, unable to stop the tremble moving through his body. Blood dripped from his nose, splattering on his leather apron. The coins on the floor mocked him. He’d lose everything. Or dig his hole deeper. He’d not be able to swing his hammer with a broken arm.
Chapter 10
Esther tried not to pause, tried not to stare at the door to the blacksmith shop or the sign hanging from its latch.
Closed.
In the middle of the day?
It might not bother her so much if the smithy hadn’t worn the same sign yesterday. Charlie pulled at her hand, his desire to stop and visit his friend always foremost on his mind.
As it was on hers.
“Not right now, Charlie.” She led him past but found herself glancing to see who watched. Would anyone notice her slipping into the alley? Would it matter if someone did?
Her heart sped. How could she face Mr. Thomas Flynn again after what had transpired between them last time, and with her feelings still unsettled?
“No.” She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Charlie was her only focus, all that mattered.
“Mama?”
“Nothing, Charlie. Just that we should hurry home. You know Cook doesn’t like when we’re not on time for dinner.”
She led him away, though very aware of his pout and long glance over his shoulder toward the smithy.
“Why … you don’t like Mr. Flynn anymore?”
Her jaw slackened. “It’s not that I don’t like Mr. Flynn. He’s been very kind to us. He’s very busy though, I’m sure. We can’t keep interrupting him while he’s working.”
“How about … after his work?”
“After?” How long could she stall on that one? “Maybe. But not today, all right, darling?”
“I miss him.”
Esther squeezed Charlie’s hand. The sentiment settled deep, ringing with truth. She missed their visits too.
She worked hard to put Thomas Flynn from her mind the rest of the way home, and was almost successful until she walked in the front door and heard his name booming from Father’s office despite the closed door. She sent Charlie up the stairs to wash. A murmur of voices was punctuated with the latch bobbing downward at the door. She stepped aside and pretended to straighten the arrangement of lilies on a small decorative table. A moment later, Eli slipped out and eased the door closed.
Esther lifted her eyebrows with her unspoken question.
He tipped his head toward the library, and she led the way. “What’s going on?”
“Master Flynn sent a message asking for more time before the next payment of his debt. Says there was an accident.”
Esther’s heart slowed. “What kind of accident? Is he all right?”
“Not sure. Your father’s none too happy though. I think he doesn’t mean to give him more time.”
“What will happen if he doesn’t?”
Eli shook his head. “Nothing good.”
But Father should be more understanding if there’d been an accident. Was Flynn injured? Did he need help?
“You want me to go look in on him, see what’s happened?”
Was she so obvious? “I—I just wouldn’t want …” She blew out a breath. “I would feel better knowing he is well. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
“Of course.” But the slight upturn of Eli’s mouth suggested he read deeper. “I have an errand to run for your father. I’ll pause on my way.”
“Just don’t mention this to—” Esther glanced to the doorway, imagining what her father would have to say about her concern. After Julia suggested she was staining her reputation by visiting the blacksmith so often, Father had had quite a lot to say on the matter.
She chafed at the mere memory of his words. Thomas Flynn was as honorable a man as she’d met—more so than most in the upper circles of society. His occupation was no reason to slander his name, nor was his Irish heritage. A man should be judged on his character alone.
And you judged him any kinder?
Memories of their first meetings scalded her with guilt. What a hypocrite she’d become.
“Mama?”
Charlie’s call pulled at her heartstrings. Oh, that her son would be judged for his heart and not his outward appearance or slowness with words.
She squeezed Eli’s hand. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
Charlie poked his head in the doorway and beamed a smile at them. His gaze quickly wandered to the shelves of books, however, and she realized she’d not brought him in here before.
“Come, Charlie,” she beckoned. Esther took his hand and led him to a large stuffed chair. The dark-stained leather held her child as she reached for a copy of The King of the Golden River, a children’s novel filled with wonderful illustrations. “Why not sit here and look at the pictures while I slip upstairs for a moment? I’ll read you the story when I return.”
He nodded, not glancing up from the book.
Esther smiled and kissed his head before stealing up the stairs to her room. She set her reticule aside and shrugged off her walking jacket. The silken blouse beneath breathed much easier in the warmth of the house. After washing the dust from her hands and face, she started down the stairs. She had taken longer than she should have, but a few moments of quiet to let the weariness roll off her had been sorely needed.
She stepped into the library and was met by silence. No heels of small shoes bumping stretched leather. No crinkle of pages turning, or the hum of a happy child.
“Charlie?”
The chair sat empty, book abandoned, spine up on the floor.
“Charlie?”
She hurried around the room, glancing under the small tables and behind chairs. The foyer was also empty. Heart climbing in her throat, she tapped on her father’s office door as she cracked it open. “Have you seen Charlie?”
Father looked up from his ledgers. “Of course not.”
Esther let the door close with no further comment. She checked the kitchen next, but Cook hadn’t seen him.
No one had.
Flynn stared at the
stick of iron till his eyes blurred, the end he had mangled taunting him. His forge was stocked and billowed heat enough to fill the smithy. The iron glowed red and lay across his swage block, but he couldn’t swing a hammer. Not with his right hand, at least, and his left was clumsy—not much better than when he’d first started out as an apprentice. For the first four years after his parents had given him over to the blacksmith, he hadn’t touched a hammer. Only to fetch it for Leighton. All he considered Flynn good for was fetching this or that and stoking the forge. Flynn had also spent plenty of time on the bellows, making those coals glow. Sleeping on a pallet made up in the corner of the smithy and eating whatever and whenever the man remembered to feed him, learning quickly not to complain. If the blacksmith threw him out, he had nowhere to go.
Flynn gripped the hammer in his left hand and chased the memories away with an attempt to smooth a barb. The tip of the rod had been flattened and twisted in his frustration after the doctor’s visit, and almost resembled the wilted petal of a rose.
Flynn leaned forward on his stool with a small hammer and clumsily tapped away the burrs, flattened the ridges.
“That’s fine work.”
Flynn looked up at Eli, who stood in the open back door. Leaving the iron on the swage block, Flynn started to stand. Pain spiked through his bound arm, eliciting a grunt.
Eli frowned at the crude splint Flynn had strapped to his arm. “I heard something about an accident.”
“Not so much of an accident.”
“A fight?”
“I wish.” He’d liked to have finished it. Hasting’s goon might have some height on him, but years of molding iron would let Flynn hold his own. “Dr. Allerton send you about my late payment?” He fished the remaining coins from his pocket he’d held back for food. He wasn’t so hungry anyway. “This should keep him satisfied for a week or two.”
Eli’s hands remained at his side. “Dr. Allerton didn’t send me.”
Flynn stared. “But not a social call.” As a boy, Eli had been somewhat of a friend to Flynn, but any bond had faded after Eli started collecting his payments for Dr. Allerton.
“Miss Esther may have been concerned.”
“Esther?” Elation at her worry faded quickly. She hadn’t come herself for many a good reason. “Inform her I’m fine. She can put me from her mind.”
Eli shook his head. “Your arm, how bad?”
Flynn shrugged, trying to ignore the painful throb that beat in time with his heart. “I’ll heal.”
“Your shop has been closed.”
“I just needed a few days. Everything’s fine.” Flynn walked past Eli to the door, hoping he’d get the hint and follow him out. As much as he liked Eli, right now was not a good time for company—especially anyone tied to the Allerton estate. “I’d rather you didn’t say anything to the doctor, but see that he gets these.” Flynn pressed the coins into Eli’s hand.
A nod and Eli was on his way.
Flynn closed the door and leaned into it, the pain in his arm mounting along with the ache in his head. “What now, Lord?” He’d been raised by his parents to worship God, and Matthias Leighton had insisted Flynn attend church with him every Sabbath, but was that all God was good for? Something to believe in? Someone to thank when all was well, and plead to in times such as these?
A light tapping vibrated the door, and Flynn cracked it open to see what Eli had forgotten to say. Instead, two bright blue eyes stared up at him. Despite the huffing and puffing of his breath, a grin spread across Charlie’s face.
“I … found you.”
Chapter 11
Still several blocks from the smithy, Esther met Eli on his way home. “You haven’t seen Charlie?”
Esther’s plea was met with widened eyes and a shake of Eli’s head. “He was sitting in the library reading that book you gave him.”
“Not when I came down. He didn’t follow you?”
“I would have seen him.”
Esther started past Eli, toward the smithy. If he wasn’t with Thomas, how would she find him? He could be anywhere. Please, God, help me.
A breeze teasing her loose sleeves and her hair falling from its pins, Esther hitched her hem and jogged across the street. Who cared what anyone thought when her child was missing?
The front latch gave under her hand, and she swung the door open. “Mr. Flynn?” After learning his given name, speaking so formally felt strange. “Hello?”
A shuffle of boots, and a shadow filled the second doorway to the back. Her breath snagged in her throat. She was accustomed to seeing his hair tousled, but the look had spread to the whole of him. His usually smooth jaw wore scruffy whiskers, and dark rings hung under his eyes along with the purple-yellow bruising on the left. Cradled to his abdomen, his right arm had been wrapped in stained rags, short lengths of sticks acting as a splint.
“What happened?”
He replied with a grunt and stepped aside to show Charlie nibbling his lower lip.
“I in trouble?”
“Yes.” The word escaped Esther on a sigh as all her fears rushed from her. “Yes, you are.”
Charlie stepped to Thomas as though the man could provide a shield from her anger, anger that had fled with her fears. Concern took both their places. “We’ll talk when we get home. Just promise me you will never leave without me again.”
His head dropped forward. “Sorry, Mama.”
She pulled him to her and kissed his head while stealing another look at the man behind him. “Is your arm broken?”
“I’m fine,” he grumbled.
“You are not.”
He opened his mouth.
“You haven’t even sent for a doctor, have you? Just patch yourself back together and hope for the best.”
“I don’t need a doctor or his spoiled daughter telling me what’s wrong.”
Esther fell back a step, unable to push past the sting. “That’s how you see me.” She wanted to make it a question, but couldn’t.
He wiped a hand down his neck and retreated. “I just want to be left alone.” He started to the stairs, completely dismissing her.
Charlie pulled away and followed him.
Call Charlie back and let the man boil in his stupid pride, or … or what?
Forcing her spine straight, Esther charged up the stairs.
Thomas spun, surprise and uncertainty warring in his expression. “What are you doing?”
She froze at the utter disarray of his home. Dirty pots and dishes across the table, a chair shattered on the floor, worn quilt halfway hanging off the side of the bed. “Unwrap your arm while I find better bandages.”
He squared off with her, toe to toe, a head taller than her and pure brawn. He had no reason to take an order.
“Please.”
His gaze fell with his chest. “Why?”
“Because …” Esther hesitated. But there was nothing to give but the truth. “Because I care.”
The storm in his dark blue eyes softened. He moved to the one remaining chair, tipped it up, and began unwrapping the rags from his swollen arm.
It still took Esther another minute to catch her breath and the cascade of her thoughts. “Um, Charlie, stay with Mr. Flynn. I’ll be right back.” She made a mental list of the things she would need from the closet of medical supplies her father kept at home. She went out the back door and tried her best to go unnoticed for the sake of wagging tongues. At the house, she slipped in and out with only one servant noticing her presence.
By the time Esther returned to the room above the smithy, Thomas had his arm unwrapped and laid flat against the table. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Charlie stood at his side, concern mingled with confusion.
“It’ll be all right, sweetheart.” She cleared the other half of the table of dishes and dried bread crumbs before laying out the bandaging and formed splint. Esther cringed at the swollen arm and black bruising expanding out from a red welt. “How did this happen?”
“Lost a fight.”
“Couldn’t have been a fair fight then.”
Silence lapsed between them as she knelt on the floor and poured witch hazel over the welt. “The bone appears to be straight.”
“I set it,” he grunted.
The swelling made the splint a little tight, but not enough to impede circulation. The hardest was to wrap it tightly, knowing she caused him pain. When Esther did look up from her task, Charlie had taken up residence on Thomas’s knee. Thomas’s good arm wrapped him against his chest.
“Are you all right?”
Thomas nodded, but there was little color under his tan.
“Maybe you should lie down.”
“I’m fine.”
She shook her head at him and started gathering the leftover strips of bandages. She would put them aside for him. “You keep saying that.” She smiled, an attempt to lighten the mood in the room. Then set about piling dishes in the basin that already held a stained pot.
“What are you doing?”
Esther kept working, not daring a glance at him lest he see her uncertainty. She had no idea what she was doing, having never washed dishes or done much more than straighten her gowns or tidy her dressing table. But she wanted to be useful. To him.
“You don’t have to clean my mess. I can manage.”
“You need to rest that arm.”
The chair creaked as it was released of its burden. “Esther.”
She spun, bringing a hand to her hip. “Thomas.”
A moment of surprise faded behind a look of pain in his eyes. He sank back into the chair.
Thomas.
The name echoed in his head, but it wasn’t his da’s name on his mother’s lips. It was his, as her mouth touched his head. “Be strong, my Thomas, until I have you back in my arms.” A tear had splattered on his cheek, one of hers, before she tucked the newest Flynn baby to her bosom and allowed Da to lead her out of the smithy.
“Do as you’re told, Thomas,” was all Da said before showing his back, walking away.
Do as you’re told. Keep your head low. Be grateful. Do your work. He’d spent his life doing just that, and where had it gotten him? Buried and barely breathing. Even Da had more from life than him. A wife, children … a future. All Flynn had was a skill he couldn’t use.
Blacksmith Brides Page 24