“I think I might be able to glue the pieces back int’ one,” said Delilah doubtfully, examining what had been broken.
Nathaniel had the final word. “We need t’ have a little talk,” he said firmly. “Girls, please come into the study with me.”
“But you won’t—”
“No, Delilah,” he turned back for one brief smile, “I won’t.”
No one ever knew what went on during that little talk. But the three girls eventually emerged shame-faced and chagrined, to offer an abject apology to their older sisters and a promise never never ever to get into things again without asking permission first.
That was Tuesday.
On Wednesday came The Incident of the Four-Square Woods.
Housewives in Virginia City, and in many places elsewhere, lived by routine: on this day you washed laundry, on this day you ironed laundry, on this day you dusted and cleaned, and so on.
Not so Delilah. Her routine was all her own, set by no rules. When something needed to be done, you did it, no matter which day it happened to fall on.
Thus, she had begun early to work on accumulated laundry, always piled high in such a large family. Right after breakfast, the pails of water were heated, the soap slivered, the washboards set up, and the clothes pegs laid out. With interruptions for meals and whatever else, the chore would take all day to finish, even helped by the older girls.
That left the unsupervised littlers to find more trouble. Not that they had so far to go.
Parson, sir, had closed the door to his study in order to work on Sunday’s sermon, free of outside interference. Emmie knew that. She had checked.
“Wanna go t’ Four-Square?” she whispered to her siblings.
Linnie protested. “We’re not s’posed to. Delilah always told us there’s bad stuff there.”
“Oh, pooh. What kinda bad stuff? It ain’t that far away. B’sides, I’ll be leadin’ us.”
The baby began to tear up, as usual. “I don’t wanna go, Emmie,” she whined. “I’m afraid.”
“Oh, scaredy-cat. All right, then, you stay home. I’ll go have all the adventures.”
Eventually, of course, temptation, in the form of one blue-eyed devil-child, won out. Sidestepping Jezebel, who lay on the front porch keeping perfunctory watch over the outside world and its environs, the girls slipped away. Four-Square, an undeveloped chunk of land made up of sagebrush, Manzanita, mountain mahogany, and scrub pine, lay in distance that would have been a couple of city blocks, easily reached by determination and grit.
By the time they got to the outer fringes, Hollie was already cringing. “What’s in there, Emmie?”
“Betcha wolves and bears,” guessed Linnie. “They’ll kill us daid and eat us up t’ smithereens.”
“Rabbits and squirrels, more like,” their brave leader scoffed. “C’mon.”
The area wasn’t quite a wilderness. It wasn’t quite a jungle. True, tree limbs intertwined overhead, shutting out the sun; and bushes stretched out thorny fingers to grab at flossy hair and untied pinafores. However, a path of sorts did wind here and there over small gullies and up small hills.
“I’s done with ’ventures now, Emmie,” the baby politely informed her sister. “I’s ready t’ go back home. Delilah’ll be lookin’ for us.”
“Doncha wanna jist see what’s ’round this bend?” hissed the Satan in cherub form.
“No, not no more. We’re tired,” said Linnie obstinately.
“And, b’sides, we cain’t—oh, Emmie, what’s that? Emmie!”
The low buzzing sound that came from not far away was fast approaching. No movement of shrub or branch, no thump on grass or ground. Just that angry sound…
And then it reached them.
“Aieuwwww!” shrieked Hollie and Emmie in unison, flailing wildly about.
They had walked straight into a hive of bees, swarming in mid-air, distinctly unhappy that any interloper might interrupt their work and showing their displeasure by a series of furious dive bombs.
Screaming for help, all three fled. Retracing their steps, they made it out of the woods, then paused, panting for breath, wailing, squalling, and howling. Such a racket that, as they went trundling home, the Winthrop household was aroused and rushed out to see what had happened.
Nathaniel, less accustomed to such emergencies and blessed with longer, stronger legs, reached them first. “Emmie, what have you gotten—”
“Not now, Parson, sir!” implored Delilah, right behind. Hastily drying both hands on her apron, she checked over first one, then another, and then the last nearly hysterical child. “Bee stings! Oh, my word! C’mon, everybody, let’s get ’em home.”
Once arrived, she barked out her orders like a military general. Reverend, get the bathtub filled with cold water. Portia, grab Emmie; Carrie, get hold of Linnie; I have Hollie. Tina, find the tweezers and get me supplies from the kitchen. Move!
Bee stings appeared as nasty red welts, mostly on their unprotected small faces and bare arms. As soon as stingers had been pulled free—at least, as many as possible—each girl was popped into the cool water to soak away some of the discomfort. After a while, they were dried off, slipped into their nighties, and tucked under a quilt of the one huge double bed that all three shared upstairs.
Once settled, Delilah could dab a paste of baking soda and vinegar on each of the stings, resulting in a seriocomic polka dot effect.
“What does that do?” Nathaniel asked, curious but confused, from the sidelines.
“Not rightly sure, Parson, sir. But it does seem t’ ease the discomfort.” She was surveying her listless charges with concern. Sad little features, reddened and swollen, and sad weepy heavy-lidded eyes. “Later on, we’ll use some honey, and that’ll help heal ’em up faster. Poor babies.”
“Ahuh.” Nathaniel was sympathetic, but not quite so much. “I think I need t’ have a little talk with the girls. Could you all excuse us for a few minutes?” Shooing the women out like the proverbial new broom sweeping away leaves, he shut the door in their astounded faces.
Delilah stood in the hallway with hands on hips and arms akimbo. “Well, I swan,” she began, indignant.
“They sure must’ve done something they weren’t supposed to do,” was Tina’s opinion. “It seems they’ve been running wild lately. About time there’s some kind of dressing down, don’t you think?”
“Those little urchins have gotten away with murder since Papa died,” Portia agreed. “They need some discipline. But I don’t want to see them punished.”
“Don’t worry, I think they’ve met their match in the Reverend,” chuckled Carrie, starting down the stairs. “At least it isn’t anything more serious than bee stings. This time.”
Another confidential conversation held confined within these four walls. Slipping out some time later, when three exhausted youngsters had finally fallen asleep, Nathaniel, almost as exhausted himself, wondered how many more of these homilies he would be forced to decant. Please, God, let these girls reach adulthood safely. And quickly, before I keel over of a heart attack!
Gently drawing out the story of how this clandestine foray into the woods had all come about, Nathaniel had explained how dangerous Emmie’s idea of adventure was, and what terrible results might have ensued. Now, afterward, followed what was starting to be standard fare: her admission, her contrition, and her absolution. She was certainly a little hell-raiser. And yet he couldn’t help feeling proud of her spirit and her courage.
One needn’t be a philosopher to understand that the child was simply reacting to so much tragedy in her young life. Now she needed something constructive to replace all that adverse energy. Time to figure out some responsibility for Miss Emerson Winthrop—positive, productive behavior, instead of mere mischief.
Thursday provided a lull.
By now, Nathaniel had been able to visit The Little Chapel, some thousand or so feet apart from the parsonage that, in Virginia City parlance, constituted next door. It had indeed been
built among the pines, atop a gentle knoll, to look down from its leaded-glass windows and fresh-painted white expanse of clapboards and bell tower upon the citizens below.
Entering, he found a single center aisle between the rows of pews, and one more beside both outer walls. Beautiful. With exactly the air of repose and harmony that he had been seeking. Along with the scents of beeswax and candle wax, a vase of wildflowers near the altar, and a podium of such impressive stature that he hoped his sermons—and he—could measure up to it.
After his visit, he put the finishing touches on Sunday’s homily, read and prepared the gospel text specified for that particular date, and spent some time discussing important issues with Delilah.
Number One on his list: names.
“I see no reason not to dispense with the formal Miss Winthrop for the older girls.” He threw that out to judge her reaction.
“Makes sense t’ me,” agreed Delilah, ever-practical. At the moment she was busy near the stove, stirring Mrs. Stewart’s Liquid Bluing into a pan of hot water before adding his clerical collars. “First names are quick and easy. And you ain’t that much older’n any of them, anyways.”
He sipped at the mid-morning cup of coffee she had offered him, and selected one of her oatmeal cookies from a china plate. During the past few days, he had discovered that she was as excellent a cook as she claimed. At the rate he had started devouring all these homemade treats, he’d need to begin walking a few miles every afternoon just to work off the calories.
“And what’re they t’ be callin’ you, Parson, sir?”
“Out in public, prob’ly best if they all show respect with a Reverend or a Pastor. But here, ’round the house? Nate would do me just fine. Fact is, I kinda miss hearin’ it.”
“Then I’ll make sure they know.”
A nod, another sip, and another bite. From outside came the sound of childish voices as the littlers played school; no wailing or whining, for once, with Emmie in charge, dictating orders to her class. Even Jezebel had been recruited to serve as a student. Or, possibly mascot. The cat was, he had noticed earlier at a glance out the window, wearing a bonnet while she snoozed in the shade.
Both Portia and Tina had gone for a walk after their morning chores, and Carrie had betaken herself to the library for a good browse—one of her escapes from this hectic household, Nathaniel suspected.
He and Delilah had the kitchen all to themselves. At least temporarily.
“Now, tell me about these young men in their lives. Are they reputable? Honorable? Well intentioned?”
“Well, sure.” Leaving the small bits to soak, she joined him at the kitchen table and began to reminisce. “Portia had been steppin’ out with Andy for about a year when he asked her t’ marry him. So they got a date set for sometime in September—I disremember the exact day.”
“Where does he work? What is his family like?”
“Oh, he works with his paw runnin’ the livery stable. Nice trustworthy young man, Parson, sir; still lives at home, but says he and Portia will set themselves up in a separate establishment once they’re hitched.”
“And you like him.” Nathaniel was beginning to depend upon his housekeeper’s opinions.
She shrugged. “As much as I like any man, I reckon. Got a good home life, with a coupla younger brothers. Seems like our Portia could do a lot worse for herself. And Andy thinks the world of her.”
“Good t’ know. She feel the same?”
“T’ hear her tell it,” Delilah’s black eyes danced, “Andy hung the sun and the moon for her.”
“Ahuh. And Tina?”
Rising, Delilah fetched the coffeepot and another cup for herself, pouring out and savoring these few minutes of interruption from a day full of routine. Amazing that no one had come busting in, demanding one thing or another, and that no shrieks or screams were issuing from the play yard. Maybe their terrifying brush with the bees had taken some of the starch out of the littlers.
“Christina is eighteen, Parson, sir. Old enough t’ be wed, it’s true, but young enough t’ not be sure that’s what she wants right now. So she’s been seein’ Josh off and on, since b’fore her paw was killed.”
Nathaniel pondered that for a moment. Pondering required the help of another cookie. “Did the Reverend Winthrop approve?”
“Sure did. Josh’s family b’longs to The Little Chapel. They approved, too.”
Satisfied so far, he nodded. Two down, one to go. “Last, then, is Caroline.”
“Carrie. Prob’ly too soon for you t’ notice yet, Parson, sir, but our Carrie has a good sound head on her shoulders.” The flash of a smile tinged with something else. Concern? Doubt? “I like t’ think I helped in that department, bein’ as I was here t’ help bring her up.”
“And a fine job you’ve done of it,” he praised her as she well deserved.
“Well, she’d stayed in school past the learnin’ of her teacher, so Reverend Winthrop sent her away for what they called graduate studies, in San Francisco. Just got back not long b’fore the tragedy.”
“Quite an adjustment, then, all the way around. And this Luke Dundall fellow—what about him?”
With a small frown, Delilah spread out the dishcloth she’d been using and wiped up a few crumbs. “Now, there you have me, Parson, sir. Don’t know much about him, and that’s a fact.”
“A good job, apparently, if he’s at the bank.”
“Yeah. But I look t’ bankers the same way I look t’ politicians—I hate ’em all.”
Nathaniel, taken aback, laughed so infectiously that she couldn’t help joining in. “You’d get along just fine with my brother, Travis, then. He feels pretty much like that, too. What’s wrong with bein’ a banker?”
“A heart as hard and cold as some lump of black-mined coal. Now who would want that for our sweet Carrie?”
“Nobody, of course,” he agreed. “But let’s not prejudge, Delilah. If she’s seriously interested, then we need to find out more about him.”
“Hmmph. You coulda knocked me over with a feather when he first showed up here, wantin’ t’ see her.” A snort of contempt. Completely devoid of artifice, this housekeeper: as free and open with her usually shrewd viewpoints as she was with her love for the Winthrop family.
“I must admit, the age difference seems a bit questionable…”
“Carrie’s only just started goin’ out with him, now and then. One night, Mr. High and Mighty took her t’ some fancy dinner at our best hotel, and they’ve been out on carriage rides a coupla times. So there’s ain’t anything important between ’em yet.”
Another moment for consideration, aided by a third cookie. “Seems t’ me like it would be a good chance for her t’ see somethin’ else in life b’sides Virginia City. Maybe she’s meant for greater things. Bein’ shut up behind the doors of a parsonage wouldn’t be every girl’s cuppa tea.”
“Mmmm. You may be right, Parson, sir. But Carrie’s never mentioned wantin’ anything else, so I just figured marriage was her end-all, be-all. O’ course, there’s usually so much goin’ on around this place that I don’t get much chance just t’ sit and chat with her.”
“Delilah, after my last three days here, I can certainly understand that you don’t have much chance to sit and chat,” agreed the Reverend fervently. “With anyone. In fact, I don’t know how you get done as much as you do.”
The expression on her thin face was as bright as a celestial angel’s, come down to earth. “Why, thank you kindly. The girls can be a handful, sometimes, and runnin’ this house takes a lotta effort. Not t’ mention that once in a while church doin’s overflow int’ the parsonage. But I appreciate your noticin’ my efforts, Parson, sir.”
Surprisingly, he reached across the table to pat her hand. “I do more than notice, Delilah. From now on, since I’ve got settled in somewhat, I’ll try to be more help. And if there’s anything you need, please talk t’ me about it. Things can only run smoothly if we work t’gether.”
“A
men t’ that, Parson, sir. Amen t’ that.”
She rose to stir energetically at the collars still soaking in their broth, then poured away the bluing and began to scrub and rinse. Steam rose into the air, and the strong scent of whatever soap she was using wrinkled his nose.
“Reckon I better see about gettin’ custody of the littlers transferred over t’ me,” Nathaniel mused, almost to himself. He was toying with a spoon, turning bowl over handle, handle over bowl, as if the motion helped clarify thought. “That’ll mean talkin’ to a lawyer. Know any good ones in town?”
“Hmmph. Ain’t no good lawyers, just like there ain’t no good bankers nor politicians, neither. As t’ the girls, you don’t really need t’ do anything.” She turned away from the sink to face him, chin uplifted in a curiously pugnacious expression. “They’re mine.”
His jaw dropped. Of all things he might have expected concerning their future, he hadn’t foreseen this development.
“What, you don’t think I’m good enough t’ look out for ’em?”
“Good enough? Great almighty God, Delilah, I never—of course I don’t—” Snorting and stumbling to a stop, he recommenced in a sharp tone. “Stop fussin’ with that stuff and come back over here and sit down. From what I’ve seen, you’re capable enough, and carin’ enough, t’ handle any number of little hellions. Tell me what you’re talkin’ about.”
Mollified, she dragged her chair out again, sipped at her now cool coffee, and explained.
Of course Reverend Winthrop had had no premonition of impending doom. Being a sensible man, however, as well as a saintly one, he had planned beforehand for any unanticipated change in circumstances. Should fatal accident or illness befall him, custody of the three adopted Winthrop daughters would revert to Delilah Trubody, with a substantial sum set aside from their portion of his estate for care and maintenance.
“Whew,” Nathaniel breathed out. “That’s quite a responsibility, Delilah. And quite a commitment.”
“I couldn’t do no less, Parson, sir,” said Delilah in low tones. Surprisingly, tears had gathered on her mascara-black lashes to cling, glittering, in the sunlight. “I love them girls like they was my own.”
A Western Romance: Nathaniel Yancey: Taking the High Road (Book 6) (Taking the High Road series) Page 4
