The Gabriel Sisters

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 hear her. He was walking, head down and hands in his pockets. She put on speed. Just before she reached him, he turned. She clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Tucker,” she said, her heart beating wildly, her breath coming fast. “Why are thee out here?”

His expression showed his shock. Before he could say a word, a man came around the corner ahead of them. Felicity’s heart began doing strange antics. It sank to her knees and then leaped into her throat. The fact that she was outside barefoot and in her night clothing hit her like a wet mop in the face. This could spawn gossip for years to come.

The man walked toward them, head down and hands in his pockets just like Tucker. She saw it was the judge. She wished she could become invisible.

“Turn around and start walking normal,” Tucker whispered and did what he’d just told her to do.

Felicity hurried to follow his example. The two of them walked, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Every moment she expected to hear the judge call for her to stop. And since she couldn’t lie, what possible explanation could she give to explain why they were out in the night?

Tucker and she came to their house at last. When they came to her abandoned slippers, they paused as she slipped her feet into them. Then they walked up the flagstone path and through the front door. Felicity had never been so grateful to hear her door close behind her. Either the judge had not seen them or he had chosen to be merciful again and behave as if he had not seen them. And she must make certain that Tucker’s night wandering ended now.

Tucker tried to go on, but she squeezed his shoulder and led him down the hall to the moonlit kitchen. “Sit down at the table.” When he made no move to obey, she added, “Please.”

The boy sank into the chair. She sat down across from him. He would not meet her gaze. “Tucker…” What could she say? He knew he should be upstairs in bed. So she just sat, letting her tight, serrated worry flow out. She prayed, waiting for the Inner Light to lead her.

“Are we going to sit here all night?” the boy finally snapped.

She stared into his eyes. “That’s up to thee.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The boy’s tone showed plainly that he didn’t hold her in any respect, probably held no adult in respect. The defiant eyes that returned her gaze told her much more than she wanted to deal with tonight.

It grieved her. “Tucker Stout, I don’t understand what took thee out of thy comfortable bed in a comfortable home—”

“I like being on my own. I don’t like people interfering with me, see?” His brows drew together.

“I must on the whole agree with thee.” Peace began trickling through her, soothing her rasped nerves. “I also like being on my own. And I don’t like interference of any kind either. So we have that in common. What interference are thee expecting from me?”

The boy snorted. “You’ll be telling me to wash my hands and do this and do that and say grace at the table and don’t pick my nose—”

The last forced a chuckle from her. Her good humor surged back. “Does thee do that often?”

Rebellious, Tucker made as if to rise. She pressed a hand over his and said, “Sit, please.”

He stared and then capitulated, scowling.

“May I ask thee a question?” She waited for his permission.

Finally, he realized that she wasn’t going to speak until he granted her the opportunity. “Okay, ask me.”

“If thee runs away and is caught and sent to jail, won’t they tell thee to wash thy hands, and do this and don’t do that?”

He stared at her.

“I would think that Vista and I would be preferable to jail guards.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table and waited. Would he accept this simple truth?

He lifted one shoulder and demanded, “So what do you want me to say, lady?”

“Nothing, really. I will ask for no promise from thee. And I am not going to tie thee to thy bed. Or bolt thy door and window shut. And this is the last time I will come after thee. Thee must decide for thyself which to choose—this home or jail.”

Tucker looked at her as if she were speaking in ancient Greek.

Felicity rose. “I will bid thee good-night. Will thee turn the lock on the back door, please? Thank thee.” She walked up the stairs without a backward glance. Oh, Father above, heal this wounded heart. Only Thee can. I cannot.

In her room again, she took off her robe and slippers and sank onto the side of her bed, still praying. Forcing herself to have faith, she lay down again, trying not to listen for Tucker’s footsteps on the stair. Her final thought was not about Tucker but about Judge Hawkins. What was he doing out well after midnight? And had he seen her with Tucker? And if he had, what would he do?

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