Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote

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      Outside, under the sweltering noonday sun, Felicity gripped the lawyer’s hand. “I cannot thank thee enough, John Remington.”

      The lawyer shook her hand. “Good luck,” he said, eyeing Tucker. “The judge was kind to you, young man.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

      The intriguing face of the judge popped into her mind. So the man she’d seen in town that first day was a judge. A judge who could show mercy as well as justice. And a man who looked worn down by some secret pain.

      Felicity shook off her thoughts and turned to Tucker. “We need to get home in time for lunch.”

      Tucker looked like he wanted to say something rude. But he shrugged and got in step with her. They walked in silence down the busy, noisy street. “Does thee have parents?” she asked.

      “Everybody’s got parents. Somewhere.” The boy didn’t even bother to look her way.

      “A good point.” People kept turning to look at them. Felicity resisted the urge to lift her chin. She hoped in the coming weeks that people would become accustomed to the sight of her walking beside uncared-for children. “Are thy parents living?”

      He shrugged again. “Might be. Don’t know. Don’t care.”

      Felicity had spoken to souls scarred like this before. At this tender age, Tucker had given up on people. “How old is thee?”

      “Old enough.”

      Felicity gave up questioning him. If this one ever opened up, he would do it in his time and in his way. “I am from Pennsylvania. I am the middle daughter of seven sisters. I grew up on a farm near Gettysburg.”

      Tucker 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.