Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote

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СКАЧАТЬ 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?

      Chapter Three

      After a too-short, two-block walk, Felicity strode up the Hawkins’ front stone pathway. Her every step tightened her anxiety. She mounted the steps. And before she could turn tail, she sounded the brass knocker on the door twice politely. The judge’s troubled eyes had haunted her for several days, etching her heart with sympathy. What beset the judge? Did God have work of mercy for her to do at this home?

      Even if the answer had been no, she couldn’t have stayed away. She’d stewed for hours till she’d come up with a reasonable excuse to visit him at his home, where she might glimpse a hint of what tortured his eyes. So here she was with deep apprehension—deep, gnawing apprehension.

      While she waited, golden twilight wrapped around her with its heavy humidity. She took out a handkerchief and blotted the perspiration from her face. Why did women have to smother themselves with gloves, high shoes and hats even in summer?

      Drawing in the hot, moist air, she resisted the urge to pluck the bonnet from her head and tear off her gloves. She needed all her “armor” to meet Tyrone Hawkins face to face without a courtroom of people looking on. Her hand again tingled with his remembered touch that first day at the wharf…

      The door opened, revealing a dainty older woman with silvered blond hair.

      Felicity smiled, uneasiness over the unsolicited visit skating up her spine. “Is Tyrone Hawkins at home, please?”

      The woman looked her over thoroughly. “Yes, my son is home. Won’t you step in?”

      This gave Felicity another jolt. The judge’s mother had answered the door herself? The judge lived on Madison Boulevard in a home nearly as large as the house she had inherited. These types of estates needed staff to maintain. Wondering at this discrepancy, Felicity crossed the threshold. She followed the woman through a long hallway out onto the shaded back porch. “Ty, we have company.”

      He was already rising from his wicker chair. “Miss…”

      Though her heart was fluttering against her breastbone, she said, “I am Felicity Gabriel.” She offered him her hand, a fresh wave of awareness of his deep sadness flowing through her. “We met yesterday in court?”

      “I remembered your name,” he said, taking her fingers, not her full hand, as if holding himself at a distance. “However, I didn’t expect to see you here this evening.” He bowed formally. His words and expression warned her away as if he’d thrown up an arm to fend her off.

      Grateful for the excuse to turn from his intense, unwelcoming gaze, Felicity offered her hand to his mother.

      “My mother, Louise Hawkins.”

      “Louise Hawkins, I am pleased to meet thee,” Felicity greeted her. His mother’s eyebrows rose at her Plain Speech but Felicity was used to this and made no comment.

      “Won’t you sit down, Miss Gabriel?” Louise invited. The woman watched Felicity as if she were an exhibit in a sideshow. Had Louise Hawkins heard gossip about her, too?

      Looking anywhere but at the tall, brooding man and the rudely inquisitive woman, Felicity noted a little girl with long dark braids, sitting far from the adults, rocking in a child’s rocker. She held a rag doll and was sucking her thumb.

      Felicity sat down in the white wicker chair that her hostess had indicated, which put her opposite Tyrone and beside Louise. Why hadn’t he introduced the little girl?

      “What can I do for you, Miss Gabriel?” Ty Hawkins’s brusque voice snapped Felicity back to the fabricated purpose for this visit.

      “I have come to thank thee for letting me take Tucker Stout to my home.”

      “No need to thank me. Prison isn’t the place for children.” He didn’t look her in the eye, but focused on a point over her shoulder.

      “Indeed.” She resisted the temptation to lower her eyes. I have nothing to be ashamed of.

      Her disobedient eyes went over his face again, noting the dark gray puddles beneath his eyes and the vertical lines in his face were so pinched and somber. She sealed her lips to keep from asking him plainly what was wrong.

      From the corner of her eye, Felicity noted that the little girl had stopped rocking and was listening to the conversation. Her intense brown eyes studied Felicity with an unnatural solemnity in one so very young. Felicity smiled bravely, trying to shove off the oppressive gloom of these three. “Still, I wished to thank thee.”

      He made a dismissive gesture. “No doubt some, many of my colleagues, would not agree with my giving a miscreant into another person’s hands as in Tucker’s case.”

      Felicity nodded, drawing up her strength. She glanced sideways at the little girl and saw so much pain in the little girl’s face—unmistakable unhappiness. The child’s misery thumped Felicity in her midsection. She tore her gaze back to the judge. “I wonder if thee has followed the career of Mary Carpenter.”

      Ty raised СКАЧАТЬ