“Jimmy, can you help Mrs. Summerville with the last of her order? I need to check something in the stockroom.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Murphy.”
Colin gave Kathleen a distracted glance before disappearing through the doorway into the back room.
I might as well be invisible for all he notices me. She drew a deep breath and let it out on a sigh. At this rate, I’ll live with Mother Summerville until I’m a hundred.
Returning home, Felicia removed her straw hat and left it on the kitchen table. Then she took a basket outside and removed the clean laundry from the clothesline. Before she went to bed, she would have to iron her clothes for Sunday, but she would wait for the day to cool before she heated the iron on the stove.
“Hi, Miss K.”
Felicia glanced over her shoulder as she removed the last shirtwaist from the line. “Hello, Charity.”
Perhaps that morning the girl’s long hair had been tidy, captured at the nape, but now most of it had pulled free from the ribbon. It hung in loose curls over her shoulders and down her back. Her cheeks and the skirt of her dress were smudged with dirt.
“What have you been up to?” Felicia asked, smiling.
“Tommy Bryant’s dog Goldie was missing, so I helped look for her.”
“And were you successful?”
“Yes’m. We found her and her new puppies too.”
“Puppies?”
Charity nodded. “Twelve of ‘em.”
“Gracious. Twelve puppies. That’s a large litter.”
“That’s what Mrs. Bryant said. Tommy wanted to keep ‘em in his room, but his mother said dogs don’t belong in the house. I don’t see why not. Do you?”
Britta Kristoffersen hadn’t allowed any pets, let alone any pets in the house, but Felicia liked to think her real mother would have allowed it, had they had the money to feed an extra mouth.
Sadness pulled at her heart.
“Something wrong, Miss K?”
She forced another smile. “No, Charity. Nothing’s wrong. I was remembering something from my childhood.”
“Want me to carry that basket inside for you?”
Felicia’s sadness disappeared like a vapor, and she laughed. “You, Charity Murphy, are an amazing child.”
The girl cocked her head to one side, obviously wondering why her teacher had said such a thing.
“I’ve never known anyone—child or adult—so quick to help others as you’ve been to help me.”
Charity grinned. “That’s ‘cause I knew I was gonna like you right from the start. Even before you got here. Don’t know why. Just knew I would. And I want you to like me too.”
“I do like you, Charity. Very much. I like all of my students.”
“And do you like Frenchman’s Bluff?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Good. Then you’re gonna stay. Papa said if you didn’t like it here, you’d wanna leave and not be the teacher anymore.”
“Well, I do like it, so neither you nor your father need be concerned about that.” She picked up the clothes basket, balancing it on her hip, and started toward the door to her cottage.
Charity followed. “I’m gonna ask Papa if I can have one of Goldie’s puppies. He told me I could have a dog when I was old enough to take care of it on my own. Nine’s old enough for that. Don’t you think, Miss K? I’m gonna be nine tomorrow. That oughta be old enough to take care of a dog. Don’t you think?”
Felicia set the basket on the kitchen table, once again refraining from comment.
“Maybe you can get one of the puppies too.” Charity flopped onto a chair. “I bet Mrs. Bryant would let you have one if you asked her.”
“I’m sure she would.” No doubt Mrs. Bryant was eager to find new homes as quickly as possible for Goldie’s entire litter.
“We’re going to the Franklins’ tomorrow after church.” Charity leaned her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her knuckles. “Mrs. Franklin’s making me a cake for my birthday. She makes really good cakes. I hope she makes mine chocolate. That’s my favorite. What’s your favorite?”
“Lemon.”
The girl’s nose wrinkled. “Lemon? You mean like lemonade?”
“Mmm.” Felicia sat on a chair opposite Charity. “Maybe it’s my favorite because I couldn’t have it very often. Lemons were a rare treat when I was your age.”
The girl’s gaze roamed from the kitchen to the small sitting room. All of a sudden—presumably when she saw the time on the clock in the parlor—she hopped up from the chair. “Gotta go! I was supposed to be home before now.” She dashed out of the cottage as fast as her legs could carry her.
Felicia leaned back, a smile once again slipping into place. That child was a delight. It was going to be terribly hard not to make a favorite of her.
ELEVEN
Ellen Franklin lifted the crumb-scattered plate from the table. “And here I thought there might be some cake left over for you to take home.” She shook her head. “Silly to think so, considering my boys.”
“Just as well. It would’ve been too much temptation.” Colin patted his stomach. “Best chocolate cake I’ve ever eaten.”
“Thanks.” She carried the plate into the kitchen. When she returned, she had a package in her hands. “Happy birthday, Charity.”
His daughter’s eyes lit with excitement. “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin.” She took the package, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with string. “You didn’t have to do nothin’ more than the cake.”
“Maybe not, but I wanted to.” Ellen sat on her chair again. “Go on. Open it.”
A few seconds later, the string was untied and the paper folded back to reveal the gift inside.
“A book.” Charity’s voice was soft, but her disappointment was obvious all the same.
Colin felt like scolding her but managed to hold his tongue. But when they got home, they would discuss the matter at length.
Ellen said, “It’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve read it since I was a girl. It’s a wonderful story.”
Charity glanced at her father, then turned her eyes on their hostess. “Thank you, Mrs. Franklin. Mr. Franklin.”
“You’re very welcome.” Ellen leaned forward and patted the cover of the book. “Maybe you’ll come over sometime and we can read the book together. My boys were never as taken by Alice as I am, but I’m sure you’ll love her.”
Colin’s irritation with his daughter turned to empathy. He knew she was ashamed because she couldn’t read as well as her friends. Miss Lucas had said she needed to try harder, to apply herself to the task with more diligence, to stop daydreaming, stop talking, and make herself read. The schoolmistress had told Charity she would never excel in her studies as long as she was lazy. But Colin didn’t believe his daughter was lazy.
He rose from his chair. “Charity, come with me.”
The last traces of excitement drained from her face. He hadn’t meant to do that to her, hadn’t meant to make her think she was in trouble.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “This won’t take long.”
Eyes locked on the floor, shoulders slumped, expression dejected, Charity fell into step beside him. Once they were outside, she said, “I didn’t mean to sound like I didn’t like the book, Papa. Honest, I didn’t.”
“I know.” If I was a better pa, you’d probably read better.
They walked across the yard toward the barn, but before they reached the entrance, an idea occurred to him. He steered them to the left, stopping just before the corral came into view. Then he lifted his daughter into his arms.
“Tell you what.” He resumed his walk. “You read two pages in that new book of yours every night before bed, and I’ll do something for you in return.”
Suspicion replaced dejection in her dark brown eyes. “What?”
He stopped, set her feet on the ground, and turned her toward the corral where the dun mare stood, a bright blue ribbon�
��courtesy of the Franklins—tied around her neck. “Well, how about I give you your own horse.”
Charity seemed momentarily frozen in place, her mouth agape.
“Happy birthday, pumpkin.”
She let out an ear-piercing squeal of excitement that probably carried for miles. The mare tossed her head and moved to the farthest part of the corral.
“She’s mine?” Charity looked up at him. “She’s really mine?”
“She’s yours. That means you have to feed and water her and brush her and take care of her every day. No exceptions.”
“I will! I will!” She jumped up, throwing her arms around his neck. “Oh, Papa! Thank you! Thank you! This is even better than one of Goldie’s pups.”
He barely had time to return her hug before she was out of his arms and rushing to the corral, slipping through the bottom two rails.
“What’s her name?” she called back to him.
“That’s up to you.” He strode to the corral, opened the gate, and entered. “You could call her Alice, like in the book Mrs. Franklin gave you.”
“Don’t be silly, Papa. She doesn’t look like an Alice.”
Although he couldn’t see her face, Colin was fairly certain she rolled her eyes.
“She looks more like a … a princess. That’s what I’ll call her. Princess.”
Colin loved his daughter more than he could express with words, but she often puzzled him. Charity liked to ride horses and climb trees and go fishing and play baseball. She wasn’t afraid to get dirty and could hold her own with most of the boys at school. But she also liked to dress up and put ribbons in her hair … and pretend a horse looked like a princess.
“Hello, girl. Hello, Princess.” Charity held out her hand, palm up, and began moving toward the mare. “Aren’t you a pretty girl. You’re mine now. Did you know that? We’re gonna have the best times together. Just you wait and see if we don’t.”
Colin grinned. His daughter was fearless around horses. She’d been that way even as a toddler. He used to put her in the saddle in front of him and take her for long rides. He’d planned to buy a pony for her third birthday, but then her mother got sick, and ponies and most everything else had been forgotten. Many other things had been forgotten too in the months, and years, that followed Margaret’s death.
He watched Charity stroke the mare’s head and neck. I shouldn’t have waited so long to get her a horse of her own.
He’d become overly protective of his daughter after her mother died. He’d tried to control where she was and what she was doing every minute of the day. He’d tried to make certain she was never in any danger, that there was no chance of her getting hurt. If she so much as sneezed, he’d put her to bed and sent for the doctor.
But a year or so ago, Ellen had taken him aside and told him he had to stop, that he had to allow Charity to be herself, to be a child, to play and fall and skin her knees. Ellen had been right, of course. He’d known that, although he hadn’t wanted to admit it immediately. It hadn’t been easy, but he’d begun to change after that. He’d started to loosen his tight grip on his daughter.
Not that there weren’t times when he fell back into those old habits. But for the most part, he’d succeeded. Now if only he could succeed in making Charity a better student so she didn’t grow up to be like him.
George and Helen Summerville, Kathleen’s in-laws, owned the largest house in Frenchman’s Bluff, and it was apparent to Felicia from the moment she stepped through the front door that they were likely the wealthiest citizens in town as well. It was apparent in the elegant draperies at the windows and the upholstered furniture that filled each room and the ornate rugs that covered the floors and the oil paintings that hung on the walls. Even the small statues, framed portraits, and varied knickknacks that filled nearly every flat surface—the mantelpiece, the piano, the side tables—spoke of money and influence.
Felicia was not the only guest invited to dine with the Summervilles that Sunday afternoon. Walter Swanson was there, along with Reverend Benjamin Hightower and his wife, Nancy.
It was a pleasant company, and the conversation around the dining room table was lively and enjoyable. All the same, Felicia felt uncomfortable. She had the distinct feeling her hostess didn’t care for her. Helen Summerville’s gaze, when turned upon her, seemed cool and condescending, which resulted in Felicia saying little and thus avoiding the woman’s attention.
As the party rose from the dining room table at the end of the meal and retired to the parlor, Kathleen’s oldest daughter tugged on Felicia’s hand. “Miss K?”
“Yes, Suzanne.”
“Did you know today’s Charity’s birthday?”
“Yes. I knew.”
“Now we’re the same age. Nine.”
“Nine is a good age to be.”
“Grandmother asked Charity and her father to come to dinner today, but they already were planning to go eat with the Franklins. So then she asked you.”
“Suzanne!” Helen Summerville spoke in a whisper, but the note of displeasure could not be missed.
The girl glanced over her shoulder at her grandmother, then turned and went to stand before her. Felicia moved on with the others but still heard Helen telling Suzanne to please remember it was no one else’s business who had been invited to dine with them.
No one’s business, or just not mine?
Kathleen slipped her hand in the crook of Felicia’s arm and drew her toward the parlor sofa. “I’m so glad you joined us today, Felicia.”
“I appreciated the invitation.”
Kathleen lowered her voice. “Mother Summerville always waits until Sunday morning to invite friends and neighbors to dinner. She says she wants the Spirit to move her.” She smiled briefly. “I don’t believe anyone has ever turned down her invitation until Colin … until Mr. Murphy did so today. That’s why she’s out of sorts.”
“Did you hear that, Miss Kristoffersen?” Walter Swanson interrupted.
As she sat on the sofa beside Kathleen, Felicia turned her attention toward him. “No, I’m sorry. I didn’t.”
Walter looked at Nancy Hightower. “Go on. Tell Miss Kristoffersen.”
The reverend’s wife seemed happy to oblige. “I was just telling Mr. Swanson that you’ll have some new students in your classroom this week. Lewis and Jane Carpenter have brought home two orphan boys from New York. They arrived in Boise City yesterday by train.”
For an instant, Felicia recalled her brother and sister and nearly two dozen other children as they sat in a railcar, dust and smoke blowing in the open windows as the train sped westward from Chicago. She felt again the fear of the unknown and the grief over her mother’s death.
“My heart breaks for the Carpenters. They’ve buried five infant sons over the years. I suppose this is their only way of having a family now.”
“Dear,” Benjamin Hightower said softly, “we mustn’t gossip.”
His wife’s eyes widened. “I wasn’t gossiping, Ben. I was merely explaining to Miss Kristoffersen why Jane and Lewis have taken these boys into their home.”
As if it were yesterday, Felicia remembered when the Kristoffersens had taken her home from the grange hall in Laramie. She no longer believed they’d wanted a daughter so much as they’d needed a housekeeper. It might have been worse, she supposed. They might have beaten her or abused her. In some ways, she almost wished they had. If they’d been cruel, she might have tried to leave. She might have run away. Instead, she’d lived in a house where emotions were never expressed, where love and anger and joy and sorrow didn’t exist.
Please, God. Let the Carpenters be kind to those boys. Let them love them. She drew in a breath. And if I can be of help, show me how.
Colin couldn’t recall a time when he’d seen a brighter smile on his daughter’s face as the one she wore during their ride home that Sunday, Colin mounted on his buckskin gelding, Charity riding Princess, the dun mare. Most of the journey passed in silence, broken only by Charity’s oc
casional questions: “Isn’t she the prettiest horse ever?” “Do you think she likes carrots?” “Can I ride her to school tomorrow?”
The latter question caused him to laugh. “Ride her to school? We’re hardly more than a stone’s throw away.”
“I know, Papa. But I want to show her to my friends.”
“Maybe you’d better bring your friends home after school and let them see her in the stable.”
“But Papa—”
“Charity.”
His single word of warning caused her to swallow the rest of her protest, and he was glad. The day was ending too perfectly to spoil it now with a reprimand.
When they crested a rise in the road and Frenchman’s Bluff came into view, he said, “Shall we canter the rest of the way home?”
“Yes.” She kicked Princess’s sides, and the mare jumped forward. Charity’s laughter sailed back to him on the breeze.
He grinned. “Let’s go, boy.” The buckskin responded to the nudge of his boots, and in moments, they’d caught up with Charity and the dun. “Not too fast,” he called to her.
What his daughter wanted was to let her horse break into an all-out gallop. He could tell that by the set of her mouth and the madcap look in her eyes. But she wisely chose to obey him, keeping the mare at a canter until they arrived at the edge of Frenchman’s Bluff, where, in unison, they drew their horses to a walk.
“That was fun, Papa.”
He grinned.
“I bet Princess could’ve beat Drifter if you didn’t make us slow down.”
“Not likely.”
“She’s small but she’s fast. Faster than you think, I bet.”
“Hmm.”
“Can we go for another ride tomorrow?”
“We’ll see.”
They rode up to the small barn behind the mercantile living quarters and reined in. Colin dismounted first and looped the reins around the hitching post. Charity followed suit a moment later.
“I’ll get a couple of brushes,” she said and rushed into the stable.
Colin released a chuckle as he loosened the cinch. It had been a good day.
Belonging Page 9
