Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote

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СКАЧАТЬ spoke up. “The catch is that you got to be scrubbed clean to come inside. I know you chil’run can’t help it, but you have to be scrubbed head to toe before you come in. No vermin allowed in any house I’m living in or cleaning up.”

      Vista’s calm but firm pronouncement slightly embarrassed Felicity. But better to start as one plans to go. Katy glanced at Felicity, who nodded her agreement with Vista.

      Katy glanced around and then pointed to the door mat. “What about out here? Could we sleep here on the porch?”

      Felicity turned to Vista. After all, she was the one who would be cleaning and she was the one who’d brought up the issue of cleanliness.

      “You can,” Vista replied, “as long as the weather is warm like this, but if you stay till Donnie needs shoes, you will have to be clean to stay inside.”

      “You mean we could really stay here?” Katy asked with an appraising expression.

      “That’s why I’ve come—”

      Vista cut Felicity off. “We got no chil’run and I need help with chores and such. The gardener has been away so the weeds have started getting thick. If I show you how to weed today, would you pull weeds, not my flowers?”

      “And we might need errands run,” Felicity added, catching on. These children had probably rarely known generosity which asked nothing in return. Better to draw them in slowly, gaining their trust. Vista was already proving to be an asset.

      Katy nodded. “We got a deal. Where are them weeds?”

      Felicity glanced at Vista and lifted one eyebrow, asking her to proceed.

      “Over here. I have a garden patch that is choked with them. And I do not like pulling weeds.”

      Katy followed Vista down the steps and around the house with Donnie in tow. Relief whispered through Felicity. Vista had displayed a practical kindness and sensitivity that impressed Felicity. And the children were staying—at least for now.

      Vista returned and Felicity helped her carry in the dishes. After waving Felicity to a chair at the kitchen table, Vista began to wash them. “I see you are planning to start the orphans’ home right quick.”

      Sitting down after eating caused exhaustion to sweep through Felicity and she closed her eyes. “I want to give children who have no home a place, a safe place to grow up strong and good.”

      “That’s why Mrs. Barney left you this house and all the money?” Vista glanced over her shoulder.

      “Yes, she came to Pennsylvania and we worked together coordinating movement on the Underground Railroad. She was a wonderful woman. And she was certain that many children would be left orphaned by this dreadful war.”

      “And just generally, too?”

      Felicity nodded, blinking her eyes to keep them open. “Will thee stay with me and help?”

      Vista gave her a sidelong glance. “I got no plans to leave…yet.”

      So Vista was sizing her up, too. Felicity stretched her tight neck and sighed.

      “I got a room ready for you upstairs, miss. Why don’t you go on up and rest?”

      Felicity sighed again—a habit she must overcome. “No, first I must walk back into town and speak to Mrs. Barney’s lawyer.”

      Her hands in the wash basin, Vista frowned. “Well, first of all, if you going into town, you’re not walking. The groom will hitch up the gig for you. But what do you need to talk to the lawyer about?”

      “Why mustn’t I walk into town?” Felicity asked, not answering the housekeeper’s question.

      “Mrs. Barney had a certain standing here. I know she wouldn’t want you to walk to town,” Vista replied firmly.

      Felicity tried to think of a polite answer to this. Yes, Mrs. Barney had been a lady of generous means. But Felicity didn’t ride where she could eaily walk. But here and now, she was just too tired to argue.

      “And the lawyer, Miss Felicity?” Vista asked again.

      Clearly there was no putting anything past this woman. “There’s a child who needs my help,” Felicity answered. “And I’m going to need a lawyer in order to give it to him.”

      That evening Ty paced his library, wishing he were deaf. After four years of listening to cannon fire and bombs bursting in air, he should be. Unfortunately, he could still hear well enough to suffer each evening’s ordeal. The rocking chair on the floor above him creaked in a steady but rapid rhythm. Every once in a while, Camie cried out as if someone had jabbed her with a needle.

      No one should have to rock a five-year-old girl to sleep. But if no one rocked her, Camie would stand by the door in her room and sob till she fell down with exhaustion. Then upon waking in the night as she always did, she would scream as if someone were scalding her.

      Ty rubbed his face in time with the rocking chair. The sounds of the rapid rocking and Camie’s sudden cries of terror shredded his nerves into quivering strings. He halted by the cold hearth and rested his head on the smooth, cool mantel. When would this nightly torture end? Dear God, help my little daughter, help us.

      Finally, the rocking above slowed and quieted, then ceased, along with the outcries. Ty’s tension eased. He slumped into the wing chair by the fireplace. His mother’s light footsteps padded down the stairs. As always, she paused at the doorway to wish him good-night.

      Tonight, however, she came in and sat down across from him. His mother, Louise Pierce Hawkins, perched on the tapestry seat, a small canary of a woman with silver strands liberally mixed into her faded blond hair. Her kind face showed her distress.

      His heart beat faster. “Did something happen?” Something worse than usual?

      She gazed at him. “Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately.” She locked her hands together. “I’m becoming more and more concerned about our Camie.”

      Ty chewed his upper lip and frowned. He wanted to ask if she thought Camie needed…no, he didn’t want to know.

      “I don’t think she’s mentally unbalanced, son,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “But nothing I do appears to help her get past her panic. In fact, I don’t know why she has such fear or what exactly she is afraid of.” She shook her head. “She fights sleep as if it were death itself.”

      Her face twisted with concern. “Whenever she feels herself slipping into sleep, she cries out to wake herself and hold…something at bay. I wish I knew what it was.”

      Ty could think of nothing to say, nothing that could end this nightly struggle. Guilt weighed on him. He hadn’t been able to tell his mother the part he may have unwittingly played in making his daughter’s night terrors worse.

      Louise rested her head in her hand. “I confess I’m at my wits’ end. God must send us help, an answer, someone who knows what to do.”

      His mother’s strained, defeated tone alarmed him. “I could hire someone to care for her. This is too much for you—”

СКАЧАТЬ