Redemption. Carolyn Davidson
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“I hope there won’t be a repeat of this sort of behavior. The next time I’ll probably have to involve the law. And I don’t think it would be any help to your father if you were called before a judge.”
“You won’t need to worry about that,” he said glumly. “My pa will likely find enough for me to do at home to keep me busy.”
That seemed to be exactly what the boy needed, Alicia thought. And what he asked for every time he misbehaved. Getting in trouble was an obvious ploy to gain his father’s attention. For a man of Jake McPherson’s intelligence, he seemed to be lacking common sense where his son was concerned.
She watched as Jason plodded away, wincing as she imagined his pain. Abandoned by his mother, although the circumstances had not been deliberate, he’d become a boy who was starving for that which the woman had provided in his life.
“JAKE?” The man who poked his head through the back doorway called out in a familiar voice, and Jake frowned as he turned his chair in that direction. “Are you home?” he asked loudly.
“You know damn well I’m home. Where else would I be?” Jake answered, shoving the kitchen door aside as he rolled across the threshold. “What do you want, Cord?”
“Just came to town to run some errands and I thought I’d drop in and see if there’s anything I can do for you while I’m here.” Jake’s brother was tall, muscular and walked about on two legs, a fact Jake had been able to set aside for a number of years. Now the difference that he’d once accepted seemed insurmountable.
“I’m doing just fine,” Jake answered gruffly. “Take a look around, brother. See anything that needs attention?”
Cord winced as he gave the kitchen a cursory once over. “Several somethings, actually,” he said mildly. “You need a good housekeeper.”
“Tell me about it,” Jake answered with scorn. “There aren’t any women in this town ready and willing to put in a solid day’s work and follow orders. Must be they don’t need a few dollars a week to keep them going. Probably finding other work to do.”
Cord raised a brow at that. “You’re kinda sarcastic, don’t you think? I’ve heard that you’ve already gone through the available widows and older ladies who might take such a job. You’re difficult to work for.”
“How do you figure that?” Jake’s jaw jutted forward as he faced off with his brother, almost relishing the foray. It broke the boredom to have a good argument—such as the one he’d indulged in with the schoolteacher.
“You’re a hard man to please,” Cord said. “You’re determined to sit in this house and keep the world away. You haven’t got any draperies open, and this place smells stale. You need to open those windows and let the breeze blow through. That would help, for starters.”
“Well, you find me a woman who’ll open my windows and keep my house clean and I’ll hire her.” That should shut the pompous fool up, Jake decided.
“And how long will that last? Until you decide it’s too much effort to be pleasant to another human being?”
“Some days that’s more trouble than it’s worth,” Jake muttered.
Cord leaned against the sink board. “I heard you had a visitor the other day. It seems a couple of the ladies saw the schoolteacher force her way into your house. It was all the talk at the general store. She caused quite a flurry, it seems, coming to visit you.” Cord grinned. “That bit of information has brought the gossips a new bone to chew on, and they’re settling down for a real meal, at her expense.”
Jake bristled at the thought of the meddling female who’d invaded his home, thus causing the old hens to peddle their stories about her behavior, and in turn about him.
Cord grinned. “Then your boy spread it around that he’d managed to show the woman how to pound nails in the boards that are currently covering the schoolhouse windows.”
“Jason said that?” The boy certainly hadn’t shared that bit of information, Jake thought. He’d only come home and sullenly done the chores assigned to him over the past days, earning the money to pay for panes of glass.
“Yeah, your boy said that,” Cord repeated. “But the rest of it came from a couple of passersby, I understand.” He straightened from his relaxed stance and faced Jake head-on. “Jason needs a haircut, Jake. He needs some new clothes that fit. His pants are too short and his shirts are either ripped or missing buttons. He doesn’t wear stockings half the time, and I doubt he’s washed his neck in a week.”
“He’s a boy.” The words hung between them, and Jake felt a moment of shame as his brother listed Jason’s shortcomings. And yet, they weren’t of Jason’s doing. They were items that Rena would have tended to, had she not been lying in the churchyard under six feet of dirt.
“You know, Jake, what you really need is a mother for your son.” With those words, Cord walked away, out through the back door and down the steps.
Behind him, Jake sat in his chair with a grimace of bitterness painting his features. A mother for Jason. That was about as likely as snow in August, to his way of thinking. He couldn’t even find a decent housekeeper. How the hell would he go about finding a mother for his child?
“Pa?” From the front hallway, Jason’s thin whisper reached Jake’s ears and he spun his chair around to face the boy. “What was Uncle Cord talkin’ about just now? Was he tellin’ you to find a new woman to get married to?”
“That’s not about to happen,” Jake said, dodging the query. “Who do you think would marry a man in a wheelchair? A man without any legs?”
“Mama did,” Jason answered quietly.
“Your mama was one in a million,” Jake said gruffly. “There aren’t any more women in the world like your mama.” And wasn’t that the truth. He lost himself for a moment in the memories that were stored in a part of his mind he no longer visited. Rena had been the sweetheart of his youth; and when they’d brought him back from the war without his lower limbs, she’d made it her business to crawl beneath his skin.
So well had she accomplished the task she’d set for herself, that he’d capitulated to her demands, believed her promises of forever, and married her. Now look where he was. Alone again, left to mourn.
Rena had taken ill and then succumbed to pneumonia during a week that would remain forever in his memory as the most horrendous time of his life. Pneumonia was a winter disease, and Rena had contracted it in midsummer, her stamina reduced after a cold had dragged on for three weeks.
He’d entered this house the day of her funeral determined never to leave it again. And except for a few memorable occasions, he’d kept that vow. Jason had been stuck with the most disgusting tasks imaginable, performing menial work that would have been more appropriate for a housekeeper or nurse.
Now he’d been told by two different people during a span of a few days that his son was lacking in the basic essentials of life. The love and attention of a parent and the chance to live as a child.
He rolled to the door and shut it, tempted to slam it, but leery of breaking the glass. Jason had already been responsible for repairing two windows this week; he would not add to that count. Behind him, he heard the boy’s dragging footsteps as he left the kitchen, and Jake turned the chair and followed the boy into the hallway.
“Come into the parlor, son,” he said quietly, and noted the startled look the boy shot in his direction. Had he not spoken to his boy in a decent tone of voice for so long that it would take him by surprise?
“Sit down.” Jake waved at the couch, where books lay in disarray and two dirty plates sat on the middle cushion.
Jason moved the plates and settled onto the seat, and Jake wondered that it was such an automatic gesture on the boy’s part. Used to the clutter, he didn’t seem to notice that the house was in havoc.