Her Patchwork Family, page 10
Vista let him inside. “Miss Felicity is upstairs putting your child to bed with Katy and Donnie.”
He would have liked to watch his child go to sleep but kept this to himself. If Camie was able to lie down and go to sleep without any distress, he didn’t want to do anything that would upset that. “I’ll wait, then. Miss Gabriel said she had something she wanted to discuss with me.”
“You come and sit out on the porch. This cool north wind has tamed the mosquitoes. They aren’t busy tonight.” Vista led him through the hall. “I’ll go let Miss Felicity know that you’re here.”
He considered cautioning her not to let his daughter know. Vista must have guessed this. “Don’t worry,” she said, walking away. “I won’t upset your little girl.”
Choking down the humiliation of others knowing he was unwanted by his own blood, he sat on the wooden loveseat. He leaned forward, his hands hanging between his knees. The sound of crickets heralded the first touch of fall. Of course, there would be many more hot days when Indian summer came, but autumn was whispering its coming tonight. He tried to swallow down the bitterness on his tongue, bitterness which had come with the destruction of all his hopes about what life could be after the war.
“Tyrone Hawkins,” Felicity greeted him as she walked onto the porch, “I’m so happy thee has come.”
He rose and lost himself in her bright eager eyes. “I wish you’d call me Ty. I’ve always hated Tyrone.” The words were out of his mouth before he knew it.
“As thee wishes. Please sit.” She sat on a chair across from him. “The cooler temperature is lovely, isn’t it?”
He did not want to discuss the weather. “Why aren’t you married?” He was shocked by his rude, personal question. What had gotten into him?
She chuckled. “I am not interested in marriage. I know that makes me odd, a spinster by choice. But I want to devote my life to bettering the lives of children. That is my calling from God. And that brings me to something I wish to discuss with thee…if I may?”
“That’s why I came. What’s on your mind?” He took himself firmly in hand. Why was it that this woman provoked words and actions from him that no one else did or ever had?
“When we first met,” she began eagerly, “we discussed the fact that Illinois law makes no distinction between lawbreakers over the age of reason and those younger.”
He nodded.
“I think the laws must be changed.”
He stared at her. Just like that? “Change the laws?”
She nodded decidedly. “Yes, how does one go about changing a law in Illinois?”
He sat back and studied her. How did she muster such pluck? And what did she want him to do in order to change these laws? He quelled the childish urge to fidget. “I suppose the first step would be to write to the state senator and representative for our district in the state legislature.”
“I was thinking that might be the way to start. Every state is different and I know nothing of Illinois law. You do and I was hoping…” She paused and caught her lower lip with her teeth like a girl.
“Yes?” he asked, charmed by her sudden shyness.
“I was hoping that thee would write the letter.”
His eyes widened. “Me?”
“Yes, I will of course write one. But men in government rarely pay attention to women, unfortunately. If thee, a judge, would write the letter, it would have to be taken seriously. Doesn’t thee think so?”
He couldn’t argue with her logic. Her letter would be dismissed as mere feminine sentiment. His would be read and considered seriously. He nodded. But was that all?
“And perhaps thee could encourage the county prosecutor and thy other law friends and acquaintances to send letters, too?”
He grinned. Did this woman ever stop? “Aren’t you busy enough with the children here? Too busy to set in motion a task like this?”
Her brows rose quizzically. “I have an interest in all children. And I don’t think that treating children as adults in court makes good sense. What does a child sent to prison learn except how to improve his criminal skills? In 1813 in England, Elizabeth Fry visited Newgate Prison and found three hundred women and children living in appalling conditions.”
Ty sat back, watching her light up like the dawn. This woman was nothing like his wife, who had never cared about anything except the latest Godey’s Lady’s fashion plates.
“That was the beginning of prison reform in England,” she said, her voice gaining intensity. “And our own Dorothea Dix has worked most of her life to improve living conditions for the mentally ill here and abroad, not to mention her work during the war for our wounded at President Lincoln’s request.”
He held up both hands in surrender, trying not to chuckle like a pleased lad. Trying not to reach out and brush her soft, tempting cheek. He pushed down these odd reactions. “I will write the letter and I will see if I can persuade my colleagues to do likewise.” After the way she’d taken Camie in, how could he refuse her anything? “Anything else? Do you want me to run for governor or senator?”
She laughed. “I thank thee. Truly. And also I owe thee thanks for thy batting lessons on Saturday. The children were thrilled. They keep asking me when thee will come. They are so eager for this Saturday.” In spite of her cheery words, her face took on a somber cast.
Her change of mood deflated his momentary happiness. “What’s wrong?”
She looked up, her expression arrested. “I was happy to see thee did not come alone. I was so grateful for thy persuading four fathers to bring their children here last Saturday. But I fear Mrs. Partridge was very vexed. I hope I didn’t sow seeds of discord between a husband and wife.”
“I don’t think you sparked Mrs. Partridge’s dislike of your work. My mother-in-law did that. Partridge is an old friend. He and I served together in the war. He feels his absence in his son’s early life keenly. He has been upset with his wife and how she refuses to let Percy be a boy. He just couldn’t figure out how to change things.”
“I see.” She remained still, head down, probably deep in thought. Probably wondering how to help Martha Partridge, who would like to box Felicity’s ears if she could and still look the lady. He shook his head, admiring Felicity.
“How…how is Camie doing?” he forced himself to ask, his throat swelling, constricting his airway.
Felicity looked up. “She is doing better, sleeping and eating well. She is very attached to Katy and to me. I try to encourage her to spend most of her time with Katy. But she will be playing with Katy and stop and come to find me. I think she needs to know that I am here for her, and I won’t leave her. I hope that soon she will begin to feel safe.” She gazed at him as though trying to read his heart.
Regret dragged like a rough, heavy sack over his raw, ragged soul. He must let her know some of what had caused Camie’s problems. “When she…when Camie was born,” he began, “I wasn’t here. And I was only able to visit twice on furlough. Both times she was still a baby.” He drew in air, fighting his feeling of failure. He had not been able to be the father he had wanted to be. The war, the terrible war. His hand itched to cover his scar which he felt certain must be part of the reason he frightened his child. “You said the other day that the war had affected these children.”
“Yes, it is a dreadful weight they all carry. Katy’s father was killed in the war and her mother died about a year ago. The two of them had no family. A woman took them in for a while, but mistreated Donnie so Katy took him and ran away. Can thee imagine a seven-year-old trying to provide for herself and her little brother? The thought hurts my heart.” She pressed her fist over her breastbone as if she were indeed in pain.
He felt a sympathetic pain with her. “Do you think that Camie will ever be able to come home?” he spoke, rushing his words, almost panting as if he’d been sprinting.
She smiled. “Yes, I do think she will want to come back to thee and Louise. We must give her time to heal. I hope that thee and thy mother will visit here every day. I think that will help Camie begin to see thee as friends of mine and of all the children here. The other children let your daughter know how much they enjoyed thy coming and teaching them baseball. Actions like these will begin to build a bridge between thee and thy daughter. I hope.”
He nearly shouted at her to stop, stop giving him hope. This pushed him to his feet. Suddenly he wanted to run down the street, to escape. He didn’t want to hope. That way lay the possibility of being hurt more. If he had chosen a wife wisely and not just based on how pretty she was, this all might have been avoided.
He turned his back to Felicity who’d become his guide, his hopeful link to his daughter, and said, “I will trust you. Do you think she’s asleep? I’d like to look in on her.” He put distance between himself and this disquieting woman.
“Come.” She motioned to him. “We’ll go up together. We’ll peek in on her.” She led him inside and up the steps to the second floor. She held her index finger in front of her lips and then opened the door to one of the bedrooms. Ty noted that the deconstruction of walls had begun farther down the hall.
Felicity turned and waved him in.
He stepped silently into the room. On a high bed, his daughter slept on one side of Katy with Donnie on the other side. Instantly, he saw how much more comforting sleeping with two other children would be to a frightened little girl. He tiptoed over to Camie and gazed down at her. Love for his only child poured from him. Suddenly he was able to draw an easy breath. She was happy at last. She was sharing a bed in an orphans’ home, but she was happy.
He glanced toward Felicity, who stood at the foot of the bed. Her head was bowed and he was certain she was praying for him and Camie. He tried not to notice what a lovely picture she made in prayer. She was a woman dedicated to children, not a woman who wanted a husband. And evidently God listened to this woman. Thank God for Felicity Gabriel.
Felicity couldn’t get last night’s conversation with Ty out of her mind. In a starched white apron, she stood in the warm, clean kitchen, kneading bread dough beside Vista, who baked eight loaves twice a week. Felicity rolled and folded the soft, pliant dough. The dread issue of registering the children for school had become the next hurdle. Today, Felicity was discovering if any of the children knew their letters or numbers so she would be able to discuss the learning level of each child with the town teachers. She hoped they would welcome her children.
“Miss Felicity,” Camie said, “see? I made a flower.” The children, sitting around the table had been given dough to form into whatever shapes they wanted.
Felicity looked over her shoulder. “Is it a daisy? A pretty one?”
“Yes.” Camie glowed.
Felicity gazed at the child. Ty had asked her why she wasn’t married. Why?
“Snake,” Donnie said, pointing at his long curve of dough. “Snake.”
“And a very fine snake, too,” Felicity said, enjoying the yeasty scent of the dough. Images from her conversation with Ty the night before kept coming to mind. He’d grinned when she’d suggested he persuade his colleagues to write letters, too.
“Katy, it’s your turn,” Felicity prompted. “How high can you count?”
“To twenty.” Katy did so, holding up fingers one by one for each number.
Camie knew how to count to ten but nothing else. Felicity wondered again about Alice Crandall and her daughter. A child of seven in a good home should know her letters and numbers by sight and Camie did not. “Very good, Katy.”
Last night had meant so much to her. Being able to discuss weighty matters with a man had been a treat. Most men thought women unable to discuss politics, But Ty Hawkins had taken it in stride.
Vista spoke up briskly. “Now, children, the bread is ready for its first rising. You leave your dough and I’ll cover it with a moist cloth. You all go out and wash your hands and play in the backyard.”
Felicity took off her apron, hung it on a peg and headed outside, too. She ambled toward the carriage house. It was a perfect day—bright sunshine, blue sky, white puffy clouds.
Still, she felt the burden of concern. When Ty had gazed at his sleeping child, he had worn such a look of defeat and pain. She inhaled, filling her lungs, trying to temper the weight of her concern for them. She must focus on today’s chore. She still needed to find out if Tucker knew his letters and numbers. And she would broach the subject of school with him. She wanted him to get an education but doubted he would agree. Praying, she approached him where he sat talking to Abel. Both of them rose.
“Abel, I’d like to walk with Tucker for a bit.”
Abel bobbed his head. “He’s been doing good work.”
Felicity smiled. “I have no doubt.” She motioned and Tucker followed her into the alley.
This was where Ty had walked beside her not long ago—where he had kissed her hand. The spot his lips had touched still tingled at the memory. She covered it with her other hand. She cleared her throat. “I will get right to it. Tucker, does thee know thy letters?”
“You mean the alphabet?”
“Yes.”
“Yeah, I know them when I see them.”
She paused at the sandy edge of the alleyway. This near the river, sand was generously mixed in the soil. “Will thee trace an A for me in the sand?”
Tucker gave her a disgusted look and stooped and traced an A in the dirt.
“Now a Q, please.”
Tucker traced a Q.
“Can thee read words?” She started walking again.
She heard Katy and Camie’s voices. Suddenly she heard again Ty’s words: I will trust you. For some reason, her spirits lifted every time she thought of her conversation with Ty last night.
“Some.” Tucker walked alongside her, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
“Numbers?” she asked. Overhead, geese honked, flying south. She shaded her eyes and looked up. The seasons were changing. How long would Camie stay with her? How could she reunite her with her family?
“I can count to a hundred and I know what numbers look like.” Tucker also gazed up at the migrating flock.
“Good.” She paused again. “Does thee want to go to school, Tucker?”
“No.”
She recalled that this was the exact place where she was certain Ty had almost taken her in his arms. Turning away, she blushed warmly. “Very well.” She headed toward the house, away from these dangerous memories. After a few steps, she glanced back and noticed Tucker had not moved. “Tucker?”
“That’s it? I say no and you say okay?” He sounded almost miffed with her.
She faced him, suppressing a smile. This boy never liked it when she didn’t react as he expected. But then he had often surprised her, too, as with his protectiveness of the younger children, especially Camie. “Tucker, I want very much for thee to get an education. But I think it will be best if I tutor thee at home this year. Thee will need to catch up.”
“So you think you’ll make me go to school next year?” His tone was belligerent.
She chuckled. “No, I think I will allow thee to go to school next year, if that is what thee wants.”
He stared at her, obviously disbelieving. “I can’t figure you out. What’s your game?”
There it was again, his distrust. Would she ever be able to shatter his hard shell of suspicion? “My game is helping children who need help. That is my only game.” She waved for him to go back to Abel. He turned and went back to the horses he loved. She hoped that she had planted seeds that might bloom in the future.
Ty’s face came to mind again. She hoped she was planting seeds of reconciliation for this good man and his child. Her honesty also scolded her. Was she starting to have more than friendly feelings for Ty? She pursed her lips. That would not do. She must cultivate only camaraderie with Ty, nothing more. Of course that was the right plan. Still, she couldn’t forget the way he looked at her sometimes—as if she were a beautiful woman. No man, not even Gus, had ever looked at her quite that way.
Dalton stood, looking out the grimy window in the warehouse loft. Murky dawn was leaking out from darkness. His head hurt from imbibing too much last night. He rubbed his throbbing temples. That reminded him of his other headache. He’d been too busy to take care of matters with that interfering Quaker across the river. He’d worked it all out and his plan would work.
He walked over to one of the lumps on the floor and kicked it. The girl of about twelve got up, rubbing her side and glaring.
“Make the morning gruel, girl, and get the rest of the brats up. Time’s a-wasting.” Time’s almost up for you, Quaker.
On the next Monday morning, Felicity walked up to the white clapboard primary schoolhouse only three blocks from home to enroll the children. Would Alice Crandall’s vile gossip make this a difficult day? Father, I don’t want these children hurt. Protect their hearts today.
Behind her, like a parade, all the children except for Donnie and Tucker walked in a double row. Camie and Katy were holding hands. Felicity’s nerves were taut. And she had the strange feeling that someone was following her. But every time she looked around, she saw no one. Just nerves, no doubt. And, of course, the repeated experience of having Alice Crandall coming out of nowhere to scold and accuse her caused her an unsettled stomach.
On the school grounds, children were calling to each other, playing on the swings and jumping rope. Several large burr oaks, whose ruffled leaves were turning bronze, surrounded the school yard. Her children eyed the town children and vice versa. The town children started whispering and pointing. Felicity moved quickly to set the right tone.
This school, for children from first grade through fourth, had two rooms and two teachers. The women, wearing severe black dresses and dour expressions, were standing outside the school door, one on each side. Felicity marched up to the one who looked older. “Good day, I am Felicity Gabriel. I’ve come to register my children for school.”
The woman with gray at her temples looked at her and then the children. No doubt the mix of children of different colors was what made her raise one eyebrow.
