Her Patchwork Family, page 7
“I ain’t leavin’ Donnie,” Katy said, standing up, nearly upsetting her chair.
Felicity held out a hand. “Katy, I would never separate thee and thy little brother. Never. I give thee my solemn promise. Come here and I will give it to thee.”
Ty watched, uncertain of what Felicity was up to.
Katy came around the table and stood face to face with the sitting Felicity.
“Now, when a person makes a promise she will never break, this is the way it’s done. First, spit into thy hand like this.” She demonstrated. “And then press it to mine.” The little girl followed the Quaker’s example. The two pressed palms.
Ty recalled doing this type of childish ritual with his boyhood friends. It wasn’t something he thought girls did. Again it revealed how different this woman was from the usual, different from Virginia. He shoved the thought away.
“Now I have given thee my promise. I will never separate thee and Donnie—”
“Except when he gets too big to sleep with the girls. Then he’s got to sleep with the boys,” Vista said as she brought in another platter of beef.
Katy looked uncertain about this. But then Donnie spoke for the first time. “I a boy.” He pointed to himself and began chewing again.
“Yes,” Felicity said, clapping her hands together, “thee is a boy and a boy who can speak.”
Camie smiled at Donnie and then looked to Tucker. “And Tucker is the biggest and he doesn’t let anyone hurt us.”
“That’s right, Braids. You don’t need to be afraid here.”
Ty felt tears smart in his eyes. He couldn’t ever recall seeing Camie smile. The thought sliced his heart in two. And how had she decided to trust a boy he’d almost sent to prison? The dinner went on. The children tucked away a considerable amount of food. The little girl and his daughter were the only children who spoke, usually answering some question from Felicity. The boys just ate, each keeping a distrustful eye on him. What did they expect that he would do? Grab one of them and drag him off to jail? In any event, his traitorous eyes would not obey him; they continually drifted to Felicity’s reddish-blond hair and expressive face.
After dinner, the adults sat on the back porch, fanning themselves and watching the children trying to catch fireflies. Ty found himself captivated by Felicity’s lively mind. They discussed the recent amendments to the Constitution, the state of the still-rebellious South and the latest news. Was there any topic she couldn’t converse about intelligently? Diverted, he couldn’t recall ever having such a conversation with Virginia, or any other woman.
Finally the mosquitoes drove them inside. Fine but heavy cloth with weighted hems hung over every open window. The pleasant interlude must come to an end. Ty nodded toward his mother, signaling that it was time for them to leave. His whole body stiffened. How would Camie react?
Louise turned to Felicity. “Thank you for entertaining Camie today. And for a lovely supper.” Then she turned to Camie. “Come now. It’s time we got you home to bed.”
His daughter’s face shouted her panic. She turned, raced down the hall and pounded up the stairs. He ran after her, his heart thumping. “Camie! Camie!”
Felicity came up right behind him. His heart thudding, he paused at the top of the stairs, not knowing where his daughter had run. His worst fear had come true. There would be a scene here tonight.
“Let’s try Katy’s room.” Felicity passed him.
He followed her to a closed door. She tapped on it. “Camie, dear, it’s Felicity. May I come in please?”
No answer.
Ty held on to his frustration, unwilling to let this stranger know how bad things might become.
“Camie, dear, thee can come and visit Katy tomorrow. Tyrone, thee will let Camie come visit tomorrow, won’t thee?”
“Yes,” he snapped, “of course, Camie can come if you invite her.” In the war, he had seen men so distraught that they had torn out their hair. He felt himself nearing this disaster point.
“Camie, dear, I’m opening the door now. Thee will always be welcome here. And thee knows that I like children and I protect them. Thee saw that today.” Felicity entered slowly, peering around the door. “Camie,” she called in a soft sweet voice. “Camie.”
Ty waited in the hall, powerless to act and burning with embarrassment and frustration.
Felicity kept calling his daughter. Finally, she came out to him. “She’s not in this room. I think perhaps it might be best if thee went down and kept thy mother company and let me look for Camie.”
He couldn’t stop himself from making a sound of irritation.
She touched his sleeve. “Camie is a good little girl, but remember, she was born into a war just like most of these other children. It affects us and them in unusual ways.”
His heart throbbed with the agony only a father of a child with “problems” could know. What could he say to this woman who was offering him understanding? Nothing. He nodded brusquely and went back downstairs, his chin nearly touching his chest.
Many minutes later, Felicity walked quietly down the steps. Camie was hidden within the folds of her gray skirt. Ty met them at the bottom of the stairs near the front door. His mother waited behind him, uneasy.
“I told Camie I would ask thee if thee would let her spend the night with Katy.” Felicity looked him in the eye, appealing to him to allow this.
He couldn’t. He couldn’t subject this household—this kind woman—to the ordeal of getting Camie to sleep. “I’m sorry, but Camie must come with me. It’s time to go home.”
Camie clung to Felicity. Ty was forced to pry her fingers from Felicity’s skirt. He swung her up into his arms. Camie began fighting him and screaming, “No! No!”
He tried to thank his hostess but was forced to carry his hysterical child outside. He ran the two blocks home. His child’s screaming ripped him apart. Humiliated, he glimpsed people peering out their windows at the disturbance.
When he reached home, his taut nerves ruptured, flying apart. He climbed the stairs two at a time, set Camie in her room and slammed the door. He slid down to the floor and put his head in his hands.
Memories from the war flooded his mind—brutal bloodshed, staggering grief, crushing fear. Images too ghastly for a human to believe flickered in his mind. Bodies mutilated, faces unrecognizable. He tried to force the memories out. But cannons exploded in his ears. Black smoke billowed from rifles. Men fell around him.
Joining the mayhem of their outcries, Camie’s hysterical screams stabbed him over and over. She began kicking the door, pummeling his body. His mother hovered at the top of the stairs. He wanted to say something to her, reassure her, but he couldn’t. Would the horror never end? Would he never have peace?
I can’t take any more. I can’t. Oh, God, please, help.
He didn’t know how long he’d stayed there like that, sitting on the floor, drenched in despair, unable to speak or move. Finally, his mother came to him and handed him a cup. “It’s a chamomile tea with a few drops of laudanum. Drink it. Don’t argue.”
He looked up at her and realized that the house was quiet and very dark. His daughter must have finally given in to exhaustion. How could he have become senseless to Camie’s screaming? Fearing for his state of mind, he sipped the bitter tea which would bring sleep. Finally, he managed to rise. He again longed to reassure his mother but he was empty, as empty as the cup he handed his mother.
“Go to sleep now, son. We will talk in the morning. We will pray tonight and tomorrow come up with some way to help our little Camie.”
Without hope, he nodded and trudged the few steps to his door. Inside, he sat on the edge of his bed. Then without undressing, he collapsed and slept.
Moonlight glowed faint at the window. Ty realized that he was on his bed and still in his clothes. Then it all came rushing back—his daughter’s hysteria at leaving Felicity’s home. But he couldn’t have left Camie there and put the kind woman through Camie’s night terrors. He sat up. His guilt prodded him to go and reassure himself that his child was sleeping peacefully at last.
He crept out of his room and opened the door stealthily, fraction by fraction. He tiptoed into the room and looked down, expecting her to be crumpled on the floor right inside the door. She wasn’t. She wasn’t in her bed, under her bed, in her dressing room.
Thin and flat with fatigue, he felt his heart begin to pound. The sensation nearly nauseated him. He had experienced this reaction before when pushed past endurance.
He forced himself to go over the room once more. Then he searched the entire house, all the way to the basement. Finally he hurried outside to the yard. He didn’t find her.
Camie had run away.
Pressing the heel of his hand to his pounding right temple, he considered what he should do. The only place he could think that she had gone was to the Barney house. She had wanted to stay there and must have gone back. If she wasn’t there…
He walked down the moonlit street, trying to keep his footsteps as quiet as possible. When unable to sleep, he had taken to walking at night and had mastered how to move without disturbing anyone in the quiet dark houses with their windows open to let in any faint breeze.
He reached the Barney house and stood on the porch. Now that he was here, he didn’t quite know how to proceed. Waking a maiden lady in the middle of the night was not appropriate. Then he recalled Felicity pursuing Tucker Stout in her wrapper, barefoot. She wasn’t like other ladies. He knocked softly and waited. He was about to knock again when the door opened.
There she stood in her wrapper and slippers. The very light blue cotton caught the low light, gleaming. And he sensed the same beckoning quality as always from her. Somehow she drew him as a fire on a cold night.
“Tyrone, I’ve been dozing by the door, waiting for you.” She let him in and motioned toward a rocking chair that had been stationed at the base of the staircase, barely visible. Her voice was low and so gentle.
“Is Camie here?” The words cost him. His eyes burned. His head ached. His body cried out for undisturbed sleep. He wanted to lay his head on this woman’s shoulder and find ease and peace, just as his daughter had.
“Yes, I didn’t hear her come in, but I always get up at least once a night to check on the children. I found her at the foot of the bed with Katy and Donnie. She must have crawled in through one of the open windows in the parlor.” She paused. He thought she must be looking at him, but the foyer was so dark he doubted she could actually see his face. The two of them were only shadows here.
His knees weakened with sudden relief. He stumbled over to the stairs and sat down, needing to put space between them. Weakened as he was, the urge to reach for her was nearly overwhelming.
“Has thee come to take her home?”
Something in her voice alerted him. “You don’t think I should?”
“No, I don’t. Please let us talk.”
He heard her sit and the rocker begin to creak. “I’m just so tired,” he said at last with his elbows on his knees, his hands hanging down limp.
“I said earlier that the war has left its mark on these little children. We do not know what they have suffered through, even if it was only to be separated from a parent. And thy wife died while thee were away, I would guess.”
“Yes.” The word was so low it scoured his throat.
“For some reason thee or I do not understand, Camie feels safe here. I do not think for a moment that she has anything to fear in thy home. I cannot believe that thee would hurt thy daughter in any way.”
It was odd to sit here in almost total darkness speaking to a woman he barely knew about something he had not discussed with anyone but his mother. But her gentle words soothed the knot that was his heart.
“Perhaps if thy daughter is allowed to stay here, she will be able to get past her fears. Of course, if thee wants thy child home with thee, I would do nothing to prevent thee from carrying her home this night.”
The darkness shielded him, freed him to speak plain truth. “I’m too tired to think.”
“Why doesn’t thee ask thy mother to come over during the day tomorrow and visit Camie? Let us see how Camie feels after being allowed to stay here for the night.”
He knew he should go get Camie and carry her home. What would people say when they heard that he had left his only child at an orphans’ home?
He didn’t care.
He recalled how happy Camie had been at dinner. “I should have left her here instead of carrying her home. She…she hates the night.”
“Ah.” Felicity sounded as if this explained much to her.
“My mother and I try to be kind and loving and patient with her, but she fights sleep every night…and screams if she feels herself falling asleep.” He passed a hand over his forehead, trying to rub away the strain.
“I see.”
“We’ve tried letting her cry herself to sleep. That doesn’t work so my mother rocks her to sleep every night and Camie screams…” Tears were barreling up through him, ready to spout past his self-control. He clamped his mouth shut, damming up his words and tears.
A hand came through the darkness and rested on his arm. “Thee has been carrying a heavy burden, friend.”
Her touch comforted him. But what if Camie never wanted him? He folded a hand over his mouth to hold back words that had collected in his throat. All those years so far away, he’d imagined his little girl on his lap. He’d planned to read her fairy tales by the fire and in summer, push her in a swing in the backyard. Those thoughts of home and a little girl had sustained him through the unimaginable chaos and slaughter.
“I will pray that the God who loves us will show us the way to help thy little one. She is so dear. Such a lovely, sweet child. A blessing to thee surely. I always have taken God at His word. He says to trust Him and do good. We cannot heal Camie, but God and our love can.”
Her kind, uncondemning words spoken in the dark soothed him like no others. He rose, his exhausted body aching, but with hope and peace flickering like a candle flame inside him. “I will go home now. My mother will come tomorrow. Thank you for your understanding.”
“My understanding is limited, friend. But our God is not. Do not despair. Jesus said, ‘Suffer the little children to come unto me and forbid them not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.’ We must trust God and do good. He will not fail us.”
He forced himself to walk away from her comforting presence. He had often heard the scriptures she quoted, but for the first time they meant something real. Felt true. Somehow this young woman, this Miss Felicity Gabriel, was different than any other woman he’d met. Her smile dazzled him. Love flowed from her. Why should it surprise him that Camie had been drawn to her? She had drawn him, too.
What would tomorrow bring for them all? Would his sweet little girl ever run to him, asking him to swing her up into his arms?
Or would she remain lost to him—alienated—forever?
Chapter Five
Felicity and the children were still at breakfast at the long table on the back porch when Louise Hawkins ventured up the sidewalk.
“No!” Camie cried out and jumped from her chair. “I won’t go home!” Camie tried to flee inside but was intercepted by Vista at the kitchen door.
Felicity leapt up and hurried to Camie, who was struggling with Vista. She lifted the girl in her arms. “Camie, thee is not being polite. Thy grandmother has just dropped by for a cup of coffee and to bid thee good morning.” Felicity turned to Louise, who had paused on the first step. “Isn’t that so, Louise Hawkins?”
“Yes, why, yes. I just stopped to chat with you and see how Camie is enjoying her visit with Katy.”
Felicity nodded at the grandmother, who wore a bright smile that contrasted with her tired, worried eyes.
Louise came to the table and pulled out an empty chair. “Vista, I recall what excellent coffee you always make.”
“I’ll get you a cup right quick, ma’am.” Vista nodded and turned back to the kitchen.
Camie still didn’t let go of Felicity. This told Felicity that some adult had treated her unfairly or capriciously in the past. Children who were lied to or cheated found it hard to trust. What kind of person had Camie’s mother been? Felicity sat back down with Camie on her lap. Felicity hoped that Alice Crandall’s daughter had been nothing like her.
And then she glimpsed something next door that ignited worry in her stomach. The pretty, dark-haired woman was standing in her backyard. Why was her neighbor staring at them?
“You act like a baby,” Butch said to Camie with obvious disgust.
“Leave the little kid alone,” Tucker said.
Felicity frowned at Butch, but Tucker’s protection of Camie raised her spirits. Yet Camie was acting like a baby. What had happened when she was actually a baby? What had given her night terrors? Could Felicity hit upon a polite way of finding the answer to this question from Camie’s grandmother?
“Camie’s just a little girl,” Tucker said. “Braids, don’t worry. You’re safe here. You heard Miss Felicity stand up for Butch yesterday.” Felicity let this pass. Tucker’s protective impulse intrigued her. What did it stem from? She thought of the boys she’d grown up with. Who had acted like Tucker and why? A possible answer glimmered in her mind. But she would wait for the right time to test her theory.
Vista delivered a cup of coffee to Louise. The somber lady smiled her thanks and sat quietly sipping.
Felicity tried to give no outward reaction to her neighbor, who was now pacing outside her back door and glaring at Felicity.
“What do I got to do today?” Tucker asked in a sour tone.
“I think that Abel wants thee in the barn and carriage house again today, Tucker. Thee appears to have a gift of working with horses.”
Tucker shrugged.
“We don’t got to weed some more today, do we?” Willie asked in the same tone as Tucker.
“I’m afraid so. Vista wants thee to pull the weeds and grass in between the cobblestones in the path around the house.” She added brightly, “But soon all of thee won’t have as many chores to do. School began weeks ago. In a few days, thee will all be attending school, and only doing chores when thee comes home. After supper, thee will do thy homework and then go to bed.”
