Kendrick

by Zina Abbott

  Just as he pulled the damp gown off the baby, the sound of someone knocking on the back door that led into his kitchen stopped Kendrick in his tracks. His brain spent less than a second puzzling over who wanted him at this hour before a realization struck him.

  Unlike most of his neighbors, whose lots were open and easily accessed by anyone of a mind to walk through them, he kept his yard secured. Between the chickens, the firewood, the contents of his smokehouse, the large quarters of meat he worked on in his butchering shed—all of which had a tendency to disappear if he did not protect them because the less honest members of the public tended to walk away with it—he had made a point to build a sturdy fence around his yard. Not only did he keep his gate locked, he kept the door to his chicken coop secured with a chain and lock.

  The only weak spot in the security of his land was the five feet of property line he shared with that harridan, Dorcas Thompson. There, as a result of her insistence that more than a three-foot high picket fence meant he was up to something nefarious—dastardly deeds that surely were detrimental to her and the other neighbors—he had tolerated the shorter, weaker fence. What he got for his attempts to be a good neighbor was a woman who regularly walked into his shop to complain about one condition or another involving his yard, even though the activities he conducted there were legal and none of her business.

  What on earth was the old bat up to now? What was so important that she could not wait until he opened his shop so, as she was known to do on more than one occasion, she could walk in and harangue him while he tried to wait on customers? Why did she feel the need this particular morning to trespass on his property—his private backyard—and invade his personal home in order to spew her venom?

  Kendrick growled deep in his throat. “Enough. This is war!”

  Madeline reared back in his arms. Her gaze locked onto his face. Her lips parted and her eyes widened as if she questioned what was taking place.

  Kendrick patted her back. “It’ll be all right, sweetheart. Unfortunately, you’ll have to wait to get dressed. Right now, I need to prepare for battle.” He looked around his bedroom for a good place to set her down, but there was none. The floor was dusty, her bed was wet, and everything else she could fall off of. In spite of Jeb’s warning of the day before that, now he had a baby, he needed to watch his language, he muttered a few words he was grateful Madeline was too young to understand.

  Hiking Madeline higher onto his shoulder, Kendrick executed an about-face his commanding officer in the Army would have been proud of. He marched toward his back door. He was prepared to fire when ready. That meddlesome, sourpuss of a witch who shared five feet of property line with him was going to get a piece of his mind.

  Chapter 7

  P repared to verbally blast Dorcas Thompson with both barrels, Kendrick jerked the back door open. He froze in place. The unexpected halt to his forward movement almost sent him and Madeline stumbling off his back stair onto the ground.

  Instead of the bane of his life, the woman known for her pursed lips and eyes squinted into a perpetual scowl standing before him, he saw two girls outside his door. Both had golden blonde hair—one whose hair was thicker with curls that framed her face, and the other whose hair was softer and straighter. He had no idea how old they were, but their short skirts and the way they both wore their hair in braids that fell down their backs told him they were probably not sixteen yet. He recognized them as the Thompson daughters.

  Kendrick opened his mouth to ask them why they entered his backyard. He failed to get one word out before they beat him with a verbal barrage of their own.

  The one to his left sucked in her breath. “Mama was right. You have a baby.”

  The other held out her arms. “Let me hold her. Please?”

  Frowning, the first one turned to her sister. “I want to hold her first.”

  Her sister shook her head. “You got to carry the book. I get to hold the baby first.”

  Before Kendrick knew what happened, the blonde with straight hair snatched Madeline from his arms and, ducking beneath his armpit, stepped into his kitchen. His hand held out to capture her attention, he spun around. “Excuse me, miss, but you can’t just barge into the home of a single man like this. It’s against all the rules of convention.”

  “All I see in here are diapers. Where do you keep the baby’s gowns?”

  His mouth open, Kendrick spun toward the second girl, who had entered as soon as he turned his back to try to stop her sister. She now rooted around inside the carpetbag. He cleared this throat. “Her gowns are in a trunk I have stacked on top of my chest in the bedroom.”

  The girl started toward the door to Kendrick’s room. “Thank you. I’ll find it.”

  Kendrick slammed his door to the outside shut and stepped forward in an attempt to stop her. “Wait, you can’t do that. You girls shouldn’t be here. It’s bad enough you’re in my house. Certainly, your mother must have taught you to never enter a man’s bedroom.”

  Both girls faced Kendrick, and then they turned to gaze at each other.

  Kendrick sensed a secret message pass between them.

  The one holding Madeline, her eyes wide and appearing innocent, spoke for them both. “But you have a baby. It’s not very warm in here, yet, and we need to dress her.”

  Kendrick rubbed his forehead and huffed out a breath. “Listen, I know you two are Thompsons, but I don’t even know your names or how old you are. What I do know is—”

  “I’m Charlotte, but most people call me Lottie. We just turned fourteen.” The one girl carrying the book walked toward him and set the book on the table. She pointed to herself. “I’m oldest.”

  “Only by thirteen minutes. Who cares about that?” The girl holding Madeline sniffed.

  She next turned toward Kendrick, and the piqued expression she had directed to her sister transformed into one of the most charming smiles Kendrick had ever seen.

  “I’m Caroline, but please call me Caro. I promise you, Mr. Denham, we’re old enough to know how to take care of babies.”

  Kendrick put his hands on his hips as he looked back and forth between the two girls. They were twins but not identical. They certainly looked like sisters, but he could tell them apart. They kept talking, and he found he had to pay attention in order to keep up with what they said.

  “We took care of our sister, Susannah, before she died of scarlet fever when she was only a year old. She was born after Mama and the rest of us came to California.”

  “So, we were already plenty old and helped a lot.”

  “Plus, we took care of Jimmy when he was a baby. Except we were only seven when he was born, so Mama wouldn’t let us do much with him.”

  “When we asked when we would get another baby, Papa just laughed.”

  “He said he has two girls and two boys, and that’s plenty enough babies for him. That really made us sad, because we wanted another baby to take care of…”

  “…and Mama says she can either have babies or teach school, and she’d rather teach school…”

  “…so that means no more babies in our family....”

  “…but now we have this baby to help take care of.” Placing both hands around Madeline’s ribcage, Caroline lifted the baby above her head and twirled in a circle. “It’s going to be such fun.”

  Listening as the two girls took turns speaking, one picking up where the other left off, Kendrick felt his head spinning. Hearing Madeline giggle while being twirled in the air brought him back to an awareness of the situation. “No, girls. I appreciate your offer of help with the baby. However, your mother is unhappy with me most of the time as it is. She’ll skin me alive if she finds out I’ve let you into my house for any reason, especially with no chaperone, and I wouldn’t blame her. You need to leave.”

  Appearing confused, Charlotte looked at her sister and then back until her gaze locked on Kendrick’s. “But we’re following the rules. I’m Caro’s chaperone…”

  Caroline poin
ted at Charlotte. “…and I’m chaperoning Lottie. So, you see, we’re not here alone.”

  His hands on his hips, Kendrick narrowed his eyes as he studied them. “I’ll bet your mother doesn’t know you’re here, and I doubt she’d see things your way.”

  Charlotte, a mischievous expression blossoming on her face, spread her hands. “We’re right where we told Mama we would be.”

  Caroline nodded in agreement. “We went to the far corner of our yard, just on the other side of the big oak tree. Only, we usually sit there on our stools and read the book Mama assigns us while she teaches the younger children.”

  Charlotte’s grin widened. “Two weeks ago, we told Papa that at this time of year, we need more of a cover to protect our skin so we don’t freckle…”

  “…so he bought a big sheet of canvas and had our brother, Eddie, climb the tree and tie it to some of the high branches…”

  “…and we helped stake it down, only we made sure the bottom edges were really low to the ground so Mama can’t see us very well from the house…”

  “…which suits us fine, because sometimes, when we get tired of taking turns reading, we like to watch your chickens, and now you’ve got that cute little goat…”

  “…but, most important, you’ve got a baby to play with.” Charlotte walked to her sister and took Madeline from Caroline’s hands. She held the baby’s face to hers and rubbed noses. “Come with me, baby. Let’s find your gown and more clothes to keep you warm.” Charlotte rested Madeline’s diaper-clad bottom on her forearm and held her as she once again strode toward the bedroom.

  Her hands folded in front of her, Caroline remained. “It’s really all right. We’re only a little bit farther on the other side of the tree than where Mama thinks we are, but we didn’t really lie to her.” She followed behind Charlotte. “I’ll help.” She turned and walked backwards. “Mr. Denham, what’s the baby’s name? Mama didn’t say.”

  “Madeline. No nicknames, only Madeline.” His thoughts bounced in twenty directions at once. Without another word, Kendrick followed the three females into his bedroom—what used to be his bastion of male solitude. The squeals of delight from the Thompson twins, interspersed with Madeline’s giggles told him those days were over.

  While the girls opened the chest and sorted through the baby clothes to decide how they wished to dress her for the day, Kendrick walked to the window on the back wall of his bedroom. Set high, he had never felt the need to cover all or part of it with any kind of curtain, especially since he had built tall fences around his property. He stared through the glass in the direction of the offending five feet of property line he shared with the Thompson family. Sure enough, not far from that rickety excuse for a picket fence, a stately black oak tree guarded that section of the Thompson yard. Hanging from the far side of the tree, Kendrick made out the off-white square of canvas, one large enough to cover the wooden frame of a two-room canvas house. What was more, that bit of fabric barrier, combined with the branches of the oak tree, effectively blocked the view of most of the Thompson house.

  Kendrick rubbed the side of his face. He had counted on that oak tree to grant him an illusion of privacy from Dorcas Thompson’s sharp eyes. Thanks to her daughters, that tree obstructed the view even more. Unfortunately, the Thompson girls intended to spend more time on his side of the canvas shelter. It would mean he and his yard were on display even more to the clever pair of girls. He had no idea how early the twins liked to arrive at their reading hideaway. He guessed, as the days grew longer and the weather grew warmer, they would start coming at increasingly earlier times until autumn kept the mornings dark longer.

  Kendrick sighed with regret. His days of stepping out on his side lawn to quickly relieve himself or running to the necessary wearing only his long underwear were over. The last thing he needed was for those girls to see more than his chickens and Waggles.

  Not to mention, as Madeline grew older, he needed to be more careful about that sort of thing around her, too—if he still had her.

  How soon before I need to buy a chamber pot and privacy screen? Hopefully, that money for Madeline’s bedroom addition the sheriff mentioned would arrive before it was time to train her to use the pot.

  “Doesn’t she look pretty in this blue gown, Caro? Until Mr. Denham builds up a fire, we probably better put her pink sweater on her.”

  “I think so, too. It matches those knit soaker pants.”

  “I don’t think she needs the bonnet.”

  “I want to hold her again, Lottie. You better read, or Mama will figure out we’re doing other things than our schoolwork.”

  “We’ll get our reading done. What she doesn’t know about what we do with the rest of our time won’t hurt her…”

  “…or us.”

  Charlotte huffed out a breath. “All right, I’ll read, but only for one chapter. Then it’s my turn to hold her while you read.” She paused and tipped her head while she scrunched her face. “Do you think Mama will let us learn to knit more soakers for her?”

  “Ah…we better not let her know we’re making things for the baby just yet.”

  Kendrick turned from the window and followed the two girls into his kitchen. “That is why you girls can’t be here. I don’t want you to get in trouble with your parents, especially your mother, over this baby. Besides, I have a lot to do today. Madeline needs her breakfast before I go to the mercantile and buy a long list of things she needs, one them being some extra oilcloths. The one I used to keep on my table is now strictly for changing Madeline’s diapers.” He snatched the cover he’d used for Madeline’s diaper change off the table and tossed it in the corner.

  Kendrick reached for Madeline. Caroline clutched the baby tight to her chest and turned her away from his grasp. “We’ll feed Madeline. You go ahead and go to the mercantile. Please pick up some yarn in pretty pastel colors and some knitting needles so we can knit her soakers here.”

  Charlotte nodded in agreement. “Mr. Magendie will know what size you need. What do you feed her for breakfast?”

  Kendrick scratched the side of his head. “I’m not sure. I’ve got the instructions here somewhere.” His eyes searched the room from one end to the other in a vain attempt to spot where he had left Miss Womack’s list. “I’ll look for the notes after you girls leave. I also need to take care of my morning customers in the store and make my meat deliveries in town.”

  Kendrick felt brought up short as he realized Charlotte, her hands on her hips, stared at him in a no-nonsense manner that reminded him of her mother. “You only have us for a short time, Mr. Denham, so you need to make the most of it. We’ll feed Madeline a little soft bread and milk, plus cook some fruit for her for later while we take turns reading our assignment. We can watch her while you take care of your customers.” She raised one hand and shook her finger. “But you have to return from making your deliveries at least a half hour before dinnertime…”

  “You’re scolding again, Lottie. You said you never wanted to be like Mama, remember?”

  Lottie turned to her sister and stamped her foot. “I am not scolding like Mama…” She paused and gazed upward as if considering. A concerned expression on her face, she turned toward Caroline. “Am I really?”

  Caroline nodded.

  Charlotte sighed and her body slumped. She returned her attention to Kendrick. “I’m sorry, Mr. Denham. I’m serious, though. It’s important you return from making your deliveries well before dinnertime…”

  Caroline chimed in. “…because Mama will expect us back in time to put a cold lunch on the table for everyone. Since Mama teaches school, we don’t have a big dinner in the middle of the day like we did back in Pennsylvania…”

  “…and if we have to take Madeline with us because you don’t return in time to take care of her, you know that will cause all kinds of problems with Mama…”

  “…because she already isn’t very happy that Aunt Lydia and our two cousins are coming in on the stagecoach this afternoon
to live with us…”

  “…because she thinks Aunt Lydia should have gone to live with our Aunt Eunice in Ohio, even though Uncle Martin is a lecher who tried to climb into bed with Aunt Lydia the last time she went there.”

  Caroline, a frown on her face, turned to her sister. “I don’t think we better use the word lecher, Lottie, especially around Mama.”

  “Well, she sure used it last night. When she told Papa all about Aunt Lydia’s letter, and how silly she thought it was that Aunt Lydia gave that as her reason for coming all the way to California, she yelled it loud enough that, especially with our room right next to theirs, we couldn’t help but hear her say it.”

  “I know. But I don’t think she wants us to know that word or what it means.”

  Charlotte sniffed. “If she doesn’t want us to know what words mean, she needs to stop telling us to look up words we don’t know in the dictionary.”

  Caroline turned to Kendrick. “So, you see, Mr. Denham, you need to put a shirt on and start your day. You don’t have time for a big breakfast right now…”

  “…but with the right makings, I could cook you up some flapjacks and maybe some bacon, if you have it.”

  Kendrick closed his eyes as he felt the blood drain from his face. Here he had been so worried, first, about taking care of Madeline, and next, about how get two baby-crazed teenage girls out of his house in order to protect their reputations—not to mention his own life, should Dorcas Thompson realize where her daughters had gotten themselves off to this morning—he had completely lost sight of the fact that he had not put a shirt on when he arose. He had been in their presence this entire time wearing only his britches held up by his braces.

  At least he had put his pants on before he stepped outside to feed the chickens and milk Waggles. “I’m a butcher, Miss Thompson. I have bacon. I’ll get some from the store up front in just a minute.”

  Kendrick entered his bedroom and, with a resounding thud, shut the door behind him. He shoved aside the array of baby clothes the girls had pulled from Madeline’s trunk so he could find a place to sit. He grabbed the socks he’d worn the day before, shucked his boots long enough to put the socks on before replacing his footwear, and reached for his shirt hanging on a peg next to the dressing table. Imitating the style of most of the miners who frequented his shop, he tied a bandanna around his neck—handy thing to have close by to staunch the flow of blood when he cut himself.