Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote
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kicked a stone and ignored her.
Felicity was glad to see home ahead—until she noted that Mrs. Crandall was coming toward them. Oh, dear. Could they get into the house before she reached them? “Two children have already come to my home, Katy and Donnie. They are deciding whether or not they want to stay with me.”
“Oh, goody.”
“But thee will be staying.” Felicity walked faster. “Or thee will be in jail.”
Tucker snorted. “Been there before. Be there again.”
“The question is, does thee want to go there again?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t have much use for do-gooders.”
Felicity knew what he meant. She’d met many do-gooders who lorded their superiority over those they “ministered” to. Many of these, she would gladly have kicked. She knew that wasn’t a Christian thought but it was the truth.
As she and Tucker turned up her front walk, Mrs. Crandall bustled up to her. “I see you have brought another undesirable into our neighborhood. If you go forward with this orphanage, no decent person in town will have a thing to do with you.”
Felicity’s first inclination was to give this woman a talking to about Christian charity. She settled on, “I’m afraid I’m very busy right now, Mrs. Crandall. Could we discuss this later?” Or when thee has had a change of heart?
The woman turned and huffed away.
The back of Felicity’s neck was unusually tense. She began to lead the boy toward the back door. He surprised her by saying, “That lady’s right, you know.”
Struggling to quench the aggravation burning inside, Felicity paused and then fixed her gaze on Tucker’s face. “I doubt what she said is true. If it is, then I don’t think much of the decent people in this town. Now let’s get our hands washed and sit down to lunch. I think thee will find that Vista’s food is worth the effort to stay and do what is expected of thee.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Felicity hid her smile at his unexpected savoir faire. And then the moment of lightness was gone. What a world this was where boys became cynics before they even began to shave. She led Tucker to the pump and handed him the soap. He made a face of sincere distaste, but began lathering his hands.
For a moment, she lingered on the memory of the judge’s sad drooping mouth, troubled dark eyes. It was a strong face with eyes that didn’t flinch from meeting hers.
He also had that lean look many veterans had. Too many hardtack meals and days of travel, and then the ordeal of battle after battle. How did a good man put aside his rifle and sword and go back to life, put the war behind him? Her mourning for Gus, a dark chilling wave of loss, welled up and swelled, tightening her stays.
Felicity almost sighed, but stopped herself. Father, bless Judge Hawkins and keep Tucker here while Thee works Thy will upon him. Felicity decided to keep mum on the topic of Mrs. Thornton Crandall. She was certain that the Lord had heard quite enough already about Mrs. Crandall from others.
The next afternoon Felicity tried to slip away and walk to town, but was caught by Vista and the groom. The groom drove the half mile into town and helped her down at the clothing store on Merchants Street. How could she persuade them that she should walk?
Inside the door of the large well-appointed store, a man in a crisp dark suit greeted her. “Hello, miss, I am Robert Baker, the proprietor. May I help you?”
She smiled. “Thank thee, friend. I need clothing for children and I’m afraid I have never bought much before.”
The man smothered his obvious surprise and asked, “What are the ages and gender of the children, please, miss?”
She pulled a list out of her reticule. “I will need an assortment of clothing for boys and girls of all ages.”
The salesman looked confused.
“I should tell thee—”
“Are you here buying clothing for those orphans of yours?” A lady with a jarring voice bustled up to them.
Felicity didn’t appreciate the sound of the question. Worse, there was only one way this woman could have heard of Felicity’s plans for the Barney house—by listening to gossip. Disapproval ground inside her. However, Felicity gagged it down. She smiled hopefully. “Yes, I am. Would thee advise me on clothing for children?”
“No, I would not. I live on Madison Boulevard. I, along with many of your neighbors, don’t want an orphanage in our neighborhood.”
“Thee doesn’t like children?” Felicity asked, her spirit suddenly simmering, bubbling with displeasure.
“We don’t need riffraff from the wharf infesting our lovely avenue.”
“I am truly sorry thee has that opinion. How does thee know of my work here?”
“Mrs. Thornton Crandall is one of my best friends. She told me all about your despoiling the Barney mansion.” The woman brushed past her. “And she is going to do something to stop you!” The woman departed with a slam of the door.
If God be for me, who can be against me? Still prickling with outrage over the gossip being spread, Felicity looked at the proprietor. She calmed herself. “Would thee show me some clothing now?”
The man stood looking back and forth between the woman’s retreating form and Felicity with her long list in hand.
Well, Robert Baker, does thee want my business?
Finally, he bowed. “Don’t orphanages usually order a large quantity of uniforms—one for boys and one for girls?” The man led her down the aisle.
“I considered that and rejected it. It’s like marking the children as odd, different from other children. Being orphaned is bad enough without being branded. Doesn’t thee think?”
He nodded. “But it is less expensive—”
“Funds from Mrs. Barney’s estate are more than adequate.”
“Follow me, miss. We’ll look at my selection for girls first, if you please.”
She followed him down the neat aisle of folded shirts for men over to the girls’ section. Felicity was relieved to discover that the man was not about to lose her as a customer, just because her children’s home had evidently ruffled a few fancy ostrich feathers in town. With any luck, Felicity would be rewarding the man’s decision by becoming one of his best customers, ordering more children’s clothes than he could possibly keep in stock for the many children she planned to care for.
Felicity’s eyes opened wide. By the scant moonlight, she distinguished the gray outlines of the furniture in her room. What had wakened her? She listened. The house was quiet. Still, something had roused her. She rose and donned her blue-sprigged wrapper and slippers. She slipped down the hall and peeked into the room where a very clean Katy and Donnie should have been sleeping in the high four-poster bed. Except that they were sleeping on the rag rug beside the bed. The forlorn sight wrenched her heart.
She nearly stepped into the room to lift them onto the bed. Then she halted. They would adjust eventually. She would never forget the image of the two of them with tightly shut eyes and agonized expressions sitting in the heaping soap-suds, neck-high tub of water on the back porch. Vista, singing under her breath, had ruthlessly scrubbed them with a soft brush. Such beautiful children.
Felicity turned away to the room across the hall and found the bed where Tucker should have been sleeping—it was empty. Her heart tumbled down. If the boy had run away—a year in jail. She hurried down the stairs and out the front door, looking up and down the dark street. Just turning the corner ahead was Tucker. No! She kicked off her slippers and picked up her skirts and ran.
Within seconds, she was at the corner and around it. The boy didn’t