Forever and a Day

by Delilah Marvelle

  Her pulse skipped.

  Averting his gaze to Matthew, Robinson casually remarked, “Thievery and pistols aside, Mr. Milton, I admire that you seek to educate these men. Without an education, they can’t think for themselves, let alone rise above circumstance.”

  Matthew reached out and thumped him on the back. “I can see why John was all nettles about you. You’re a good-looking book and it made him feel like the stale hoecake that he is.”

  Robinson smirked. “You flatter me. That boy would make any man look good.”

  “Right you are in that, Brit. Right you are in that.” Pausing, Matthew held up a bargaining hand between them. “So how about we come to a mutual agreement? For however long you’re in these parts, I’ll see to it you fall under my protection. What does that mean? It means that by the end of this day, every man in this ward, right down to the sweeper, will know that if they touch you, they touch me. And I don’t like men touching me. So I most certainly won’t like men touching you. Sounds dirty? Believe me, it is.”

  Pointing at Robinson’s face and then sweeping a forefinger over to where Georgia lingered, Matthew tossed out, “Now, whatever the hell this is that is going on between the two of you, I don’t want to know. But despite my letting the two of you play, don’t think that you can dirk this girl’s heart, Mr. Crusoe. Because if you do, I’ll not only gouge out both of your eyes with my own thumbs, but I’ll hand you over to the boys for a very long night that will only end when the last drop of your blood streams its way into the gutter. Do you understand?”

  Robinson held up both hands. “Blind. Blood. Dead. I understand. There won’t be any dirking of her heart. I wasn’t planning on it.”

  Matthew smirked. “He’s a smart one, this one.”

  Georgia crossed her arms. “Certainly smarter than you.”

  Matthew grudgingly angled back toward Robinson. “Seeing Georgia is getting a full six for putting a roof over your head, I’m asking for an even six myself that will assure you live. Anything less than six would be insulting considering what I’m offering.”

  Robinson reached into the inner pocket of his coat. “After I give Georgia her due six, I’ll give you half of everything I have left. Will that do?”

  Georgia gasped and grabbed hold of Robinson’s coat from behind, frantically jerking on it. “Don’t you be up and givin’ him half! You haven’t even counted it!”

  Robinson glanced back at her from over his broad shoulder and said in an unusually cool tone, “It’s only money, Georgia. Now let go of my coat.”

  She released him and huffed out a breath. “Robinson—”

  “Enough.” He glared at her and pulled out the leather satchel. “I’m not as mindless as I appear.”

  Saint Peter save them all. She anxiously rounded him and grabbed hold of Matthew’s forearm, shaking it. “Matthew. You shouldn’t take half. ’Tis all he has and I’ve no idea when his family will come.”

  Matthew held up a hand. “He’s the one offering.”

  “Yes, I know, but he’s not in his right mind.” She shook her head and glared at Robinson. “Don’t give him a penny over six. He’s a thief who deserves to be hanged, not coddled.”

  Robinson ignored her, loosening the string on the leather satchel. He turned toward the table and dumped its contents. A brass fob clattered onto the whitened wood, along with a leather pocketbook. He shook the satchel again, forcing out a folded wad of large paper notes that fluttered out, landing primly atop the pocketbook.

  Seeing all that money on her table was like seeing a mythical creature in the flesh.

  Matthew let out a low whistle and veered toward the table.

  Robinson spread out all the money with a single sweep of his large hand, pushing aside the fob and the empty pocketbook toward the satchel he’d tossed onto the table.

  Leaning against the table, Matthew angled himself toward the pile. “Is this all you have?”

  Georgia reached out and punched his arm. “What? This isn’t enough?”

  Robinson lifted the fob and dangled it, letting it sway from side to side on its chain. “’Tis all I have. Not that I can even remember how any of this came to be in my pocket.” Using his other hand, he draped it over his palm, letting the chain unravel over his hand and sway. He fingered the glass front of the watch.

  Matthew leaned in with an ear to it. “Do you have a key to wind it?”

  “No.” Robinson’s brows came together as he separated the glass and the watch itself from the gold casing. He brought it closer. “’Tis numbered 365 and reads…Thomas Hawkins, London.” He glanced up. “London. That must be where I’m from.”

  Matthew jabbed him. “You think?” Leaning in to better scrutinize the watch, Matthew paused and then reached out, digging the tip of his nail into the metal. He glanced up at Robinson, eyes widening. “Shite. This here isn’t painted brass. ’Tis gold. Who the blazes are you? A wealthy merchant of some sort?”

  Robinson lowered his gaze to the watch. “If I knew who I was, Mr. Milton, I wouldn’t be here handing out dollar bills.”

  Matthew patted him on the shoulder. “Ah, no worries. I rather like you being here handing out bills. We’ll have to get to know each other more, is all. I’m always looking for friends in the upper circles.”

  Georgia’s eyes widened. “Don’t you be talkin’ to him like that. He’s not some politician whose mores you can easily buy with a word and a vote. Get out. Take your damn money and leave, Matthew. Go. Now.”

  “I’m only trying to help, Georgia,” Matthew chided as he leaned toward Robinson and gestured to the watch. “Men usually etch their names on the back of a watch to keep them from being pawned. Perhaps yours is on the back. Have you looked?”

  Georgia scrambled toward them. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. Is there anythin’ etched on it?”

  Robinson turned the fob over in his hand, facing its smooth gold back upward. “No.” He paused, staring down at it. “I feel like I’m holding the key to a door that refuses to open.” Tossing the fob down with a clatter, Robinson glanced back at her, his features tightening. “Did you know how much money I had in the satchel before you gave it to me? Is that why you were panicking about my giving Matthew half?”

  She nervously eyed him. “Dr. Carter told me the amount, but I swear to you I never opened it or touched it. I gave it to you the moment you entered the office.”

  Robinson’s brows flickered. “So why did you only ask for six dollars? Knowing I had more to give?”

  It was as if the man was astounded to find that she wasn’t a thief. “To ask for more than what I need is greed. Somethin’ Matthew prides himself on, not I.”

  Robinson paused and glanced toward the pile again. “Mr. Milton. I cannot give you half.”

  Matthew shrugged. “All I need is six.”

  “Good.” Robinson fished out several of the notes from the pile, counting them out, one by one, and then folded them together. Turning toward her, he held out the grouped banknotes between bare fingers. “Four and forty dollars to oversee your journey and your land. Take it.”

  Stunned, Georgia gawked up at him. She hadn’t known such extraordinary generosity and kindness from a man since Raymond gathered her up out of his coal bin and showed her a world of words, patience and respect she never thought possible.

  She swallowed and shook her head. “I only need six.”

  Robinson’s eyes softened. “You will need the extra money.”

  She shook her head again. “I can’t take it, Robinson. It’s too much.”

  Matthew snatched the notes from Robinson’s hand, stalked over and shoved the money into her hand. Grabbing her hard by the shoulders, he propelled her toward Robinson. “Thank the man, instead of playing all high and mighty. You’ll need it given your lofty plans of wanting to play farmer.”

  Crumbling the bills in her trembling hand, Georgia awkwardly glanced up at Robinson, who still lingered before her expectantly. Bless the man for being her
ticket west.

  She smiled. “I’m only takin’ this, Robinson, because I most likely will need it. Thank you. It means so much to me knowin’ that you care.”

  He inclined his head. “I care more than you think.” Turning away, he counted out the rest of the money and divided it again. Gathering up half, he folded them and held it out toward Matthew. “Four and forty, down to the dollar. I have decided to split everything three ways. I think it only fair.”

  Matthew hesitated. “Are you certain you want to hand over that much?”

  Robinson waved it at him. “Take it.”

  Matthew plucked up the money and stuffed it into his own trouser pocket. “Thank you. I, uh…” He cleared his throat, appearing unusually awkward. “You’ll not regret investing so generously in me or the ward.”

  Robinson crossed his arms over his chest. “I hope not.”

  Matthew’s brows came together. He hesitated, patting his pocket. He glanced over at Georgia and then back over at Robinson. “These notes are yours, aren’t they?”

  “They were in my pocket.” Robinson swung toward the banknotes on the table and riffled through all the notes, laying them out. “They appear to be fairly crisp and were all issued by the same bank. So the likelihood is that, yes, they are indeed mine.”

  Matthew hit his shoulder. “You may not know this, but banks keep records of everything that goes in and out of their vaults. If I take these here notes over to the bank that issued them, they might be able to trace their origin, which could give us a name. Maybe even your name.”

  Robinson glanced toward him. “You would do that for me?”

  “Of course. Consider it an extra thank-you for your unexpected generosity toward me and Georgia.” Matthew swiveled back toward her and smacked his hands together. “Four and forty in my pocket and I didn’t have to use a pistol or a fist. I like him.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Could you drop off some clothes for him later today? He’s only got what he’s wearin’.”

  “Will do, luv. Will do.” Matthew strode toward the door, stepped out and enthusiastically slammed the door behind himself, his footfalls disappearing with a pounding dash down the stairs.

  Georgia met Robinson’s gaze and slowly shook her head from side to side. “Givin’ Matthew such a profane amount of money is only encouragin’ him to be an even bigger leech than he already is. You do realize that, don’t you?”

  Robinson turned away and gathered his money, neatly tucking everything back into the leather pocketbook. “Better to pay a leech in coin than in blood.” Still keeping his broad back to her, he dragged over the fob and set it onto the leather pocketbook and asked in a grudging tone, “Why do you hate me?”

  Georgia blinked in astonishment. Tightening her hold on the banknotes in her palm, she wandered over to where he stood, lingering behind him. “I don’t hate you.” She leaned toward him and touched his arm with her other hand. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  His muscles hardened beneath her fingers as he fully turned toward her, his body grazing her. He purposefully pressed himself closer, as if to physically intimidate her, and lowered his gaze to hers. “Because your tone isn’t always as warm as I wish it to be. Do you even like me?”

  He was so endearingly forward and real. It made her soul want to melt like butter in a pan. She softened her tone. “I do like you, Robinson.”

  He eyed her. “You do?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He held her gaze. “Do you like me enough to kiss me again?”

  She bit back a smile. “I like you well enough to kiss you on the cheek. Will that do?”

  “No. I want you to kiss me on the mouth.”

  “I’ll kiss you on the cheek and then we can decide if there’s room for more. Take it or leave it.”

  He hesitated, then leaned down toward her, offering his good cheek. “Fine.”

  Lifting herself on her bare toes, she grabbed hold of his linen shirt to balance herself and touched her lips to the warmth of his cheek, the stubbled, unshaven hairs rasping against her own skin. She kissed that cheek softly, only to kiss it again and again, finding herself slowly giving in to wanting so much more of him and that tender warmth. Sliding her hands up to his solid shoulders, she kissed his cheek again.

  His hand quickly encircled her waist, his broad chest rising and falling more notably against her own as he dragged the heat of his moist lips across her entire cheek, guiding them down toward her lips.

  Georgia half closed her eyes and leaned heavily against him, unable to breathe against the feel of his tensing muscles. She fought the urge to seize that mouth that lingered so close to her own. She also fought from raking her own fingers down toward the flap of his trousers, dragging up her skirts and riding him there against the table just to know what it would feel like. She doubted he’d resist, but as lost as he was in that head of his, the last thing she wanted to do was take advantage of him.

  “Do it,” he murmured against her skin. His tongue darted out and erotically traced her lips with its wet warmth.

  Her stomach flipped, realizing he was in tune with her thoughts. She released his shirt and scrambled away and out of his hold. “We shouldn’t.”

  He leaned heavily against the table, causing it to creak and sway beneath his weight, and gripped the edges, turning his knuckles white. The thick line of his erection was visible against the flap of his trousers. “Why not? Am I not attractive enough?”

  Only a man who had knocked out every last thought from his head would require an explanation as to why they shouldn’t bend to lust. She quickly held up the folded banknotes. “I ought to put this away.”

  He leveled her with a heated stare. “You didn’t answer my question. Do you not find me attractive?”

  “We’re gettin’ too involved, Robinson. All right? It isn’t that I don’t find you attractive—I do, believe me—it’s just that we don’t even know who you are and I’m rather worried this won’t end well for either of us.” She turned away and hurried into the front room.

  Though she could have easily stripped him and let what boiled between them explode, she knew nothing good would come of it. Men of wealth didn’t marry penniless girls from the Five Points. They only ever fecked them. That much she knew, even if he didn’t. And though she had no qualms of submitting to this bubbling desire coiling within her, for she was no prim virgin, she sensed far more than her body was going to get fecked. Her dream of owning land and being a self-made woman would be ruined. What if she ended up pregnant?

  Hurrying over to the patched wool curtains, she pulled each across the set of three windows facing the street, dulling the bright morning light spilling into the room.

  Robinson strode into the front room and crossed his arms over his chest, leaning against the farthest wall. “What are you doing?”

  “Ensurin’ no one sees where I keep my money.” She wandered over to the wall she had tacked from ceiling to floor with posters and handbills Raymond had gathered throughout the years from political rallies. She never cared for male politics but the posters and handbills had proven useful, for they hid all the holes in the walls.

  She paused before a slogan poster that read True Democrats Meet Here. She glanced back at Robinson and intoned, “Open, sesame.”

  Turning back, she untacked the bottom of the poster from the wall. She leaned in. Reaching into the jagged four-inch hole in the plaster of the wall, between protruding thin wood lattices, she patted her way down and to the right until her fingers grazed her box.

  Grasping it, she carefully angled it so as not to let the contents spill and pulled the carved wooden box up and out of the wall. She brushed off the dust from the posy-engraved box. Lifting the lid, she tucked in the last of what she would need atop those pennies, dimes, nickels, quarters and folded banknotes.

  She pressed the lid back onto it, smoothing her hand over it with genuine pride, knowing she had at long last achieved what she never thought possible. She had a ful
l ninety-eight dollars and ninety-six cents thanks to Robinson, when she’d needed only sixty to head west and claim her half acre.

  She smiled, fingering the box to ensure it was real. “My father gave this box to me. ’Twas like he knew I’d be fillin’ it with a dream he’d never be able to be a part of.”

  A large hand touched her lower back, making her jump. She glanced back at Robinson from over her shoulder, realizing he’d been standing behind her all along.

  He pushed away her long, unbound hair over her shoulder, causing her skin to frill from the graze of his fingertips. His eyes trailed down toward the box in her hands. “What happened to your father?” he inquired in a soft voice that made her want to turn and rest her head against his shoulder.

  Shifting toward him, she lowered her eyes to the box, pressing its smoothed edge against her stomach. Her throat tightened. She rarely spoke about her father anymore. “I’ll never know.”

  Robinson slid his arm around her and pulled her closer against his muscled warmth. “Forgive me. You needn’t feel obliged to tell me anything about him.”

  “No. I want to. I feel like I’m honorin’ him when I do.” She leaned against him. “Da worked over at the docks paintin’ ships and haulin’ crates since I was old enough to remember. He never missed a day of work. Not even when he was sick. A day’s wage meant more to him than his health, no matter how much I nagged him about it. On that fifth of June, he pinched my cheek the way he did every morn before leavin’ to work, and insisted that after I sold all of my matches, that I stay away from the boys and make turnip soup for the both of us. So I went about my day and, by the end of it, made soup, filled his bowl for supper and set a spoon beside it at exactly a quarter to five the way I always did.”

  Fingering the box still in her hands, she swallowed. “I sat there waitin’ two hours. It was so unlike him. He was always punctual in everythin’ he did.” She swallowed again. “So I went over to the docks lookin’ for him. All the men were still there, includin’ the foreman. They claimed he’d never even showed up for work that mornin’. ’Twas the first in thirteen years. I panicked and took it straight to the watch, knowin’ somethin’ wasn’t right. They were useless and only called me in to identify bodies that never belonged to him. Bein’ a mere fifteen with barely eighty-two cents in a jar, I took to sellin’ as many bundled matches as I could, prayin’ on my rosary he’d come back.” Tears rimmed her eyes, remembering those nights spent cradling her father’s clothes unable to breathe or think.