Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote

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      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 СКАЧАТЬ