by E. E. Burke
Maggie nodded.
Phineas Gregg strolled outside. He touched the brim of his hat in greeting. “My woman went into that Five Cent Store to look around. Got to find her afore she spends ever’ nickel we got.” He winked at his own joke, and then eyed the large suitcase. “Met that nice young lady you brung home. Fannie’s new ma.”
What could he say? He hadn’t instructed her not to tell anyone. She didn’t know she was on trial, and he couldn’t refute her claim without damaging her reputation and looking like a fool.
David pasted on a smile and hefted the heavy suitcase. “Feels like she packed a load of bricks. Maybe she thinks we need them to build a house.”
The long beard lifted as a broad grin spread across the old man’s face. “Good luck to you two. I’ll be sure an’ tell the missus. She’ll want to come by and visit.”
David waited until Phineas crossed the street and entered Sumner’s Five Cent Store before he heaved a frustrated sigh. “He tells his wife, and the whole town will know by suppertime.”
Maggie gave him a look of sympathy. “You can’t blame Victoria for telling them about the engagement. It was only a matter of time before the news got out.”
“I’m not angry with her.” He didn’t look forward to her reaction when he got around to telling her he wasn’t the one who’d extended the proposal. With any luck, he would be prepared to ask her to marry him immediately afterwards. That would save them both a great deal of embarrassment.
“You needn’t worry, either,” he assured Maggie. “My anger’s spent.”
Relief flooded her face. “I’m glad you’re not mad at me anymore. And, like you said earlier, this may work out for the best.”
“For the best. Did I say that?”
She shrugged. “Something close to it.”
Maggie, the perpetual optimist; life had forced him to be more realistic. If things worked out, fine. If not, he would help Miss Lowell get a fresh start in Fort Scott, or somewhere of her own choosing.
* * *
“Fannie? Are you back here?” Victoria felt her way around a barrel. She paused by sacks of flour piled as high as the top of her head. Navigating the storeroom proved more difficult than making her way through a winding cave, and if the child kept silent, she might never find her.
Her hand encountered a stair rail. Had Fannie gone up to the second floor? Oh, why was it so dark in here? Mr. O’Brien really ought to purchase some working lamps.
Victoria unbuttoned the fastening at her neck and draped her heavy cloak over the rail. The garment was bulky and getting in the way. “Fannie? Please answer me. I don’t know my way around.”
The child had to be back here, waiting, perhaps hoping she would give up. Not after assuring Mr. O’Brien she would be a good mother. She would not be outwitted—Victoria groped past a stack of slatted crates—not unless she fell and broke her neck, and then it wouldn’t matter.
She squinted at a weak light coming from what appeared to be the back wall. Drawing closer, she saw a door ajar. Fannie had escaped out the back, it seemed. What if she had run away? Even if she hadn’t gone far, she could take ill in this cold, windy weather.
Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear…
Victoria peeked out at a narrow alley. Along the back of the buildings beneath stairways leading to top floors, bins were filled with trash. Empty boxes and crates were stacked one on top of the other. A movement caught her eye.
Fannie crouched in the dirt beside a vegetable crate pushed up against the back wall of the store. The frightened child reminded Victoria of a stray pup she’d found once, which had taken refuge behind the stables. The poor creature had regarded her with that same look of wounded wariness. When she’d tried to pet it, the dog bit her.
Since that time, Victoria had learned a few things about frightened creatures. One had to move slowly and be patient. No petting until trust was established. Treats helped, but Mr. O’Brien hadn’t yet returned with her bag and she didn’t want to spare the time to find it, or to explain why Fannie had bolted.
The child’s resistance was to be expected. Fannie must know her aunt planned to leave, another abandonment in her mind. Mr. O’Brien might be strict and become harsh when angered. Victoria had experienced both. Her mother had died when she was young. Her stern father hadn’t known how to show affection, and when he remarried her stepmother had wanted nothing to do with her. She, like Fannie, had felt lost, confused. She might not possess many mothering skills, but she understood the child’s pain.
Moving slowly, Victoria squatted down next to the little girl. “I used to have a secret place when I was your age. Is this where you come when you want to be alone?”
Fannie pulled her coat around her and wrapped her arm wrapped protectively around the crate. She narrowed her eyes at Victoria, conveying her distrust.
Mew. The tiny cry confirmed what had brought her out here.
“Oh, you have a kitten.” Victoria got down on her knees and peered inside the crate.
A tiny orange tabby, mewing its distress, walked on wobbly legs atop a ratty pink blanket. The kitten looked very young—too young to be taken from its mother.
“Is this your pet?” Victoria reached in to comfort it, but when Fannie grabbed her arm she immediately withdrew. “I won’t touch it, if you don’t want me to. But I promise, I would never hurt it. I love kittens, too. I wasn’t allowed to have one, but the stable boy owned a cat and he let me play with it.”
Fannie pushed part of the blanket that had fallen out of the crate back inside. Her anxious expression made her distress clear, but she still didn’t speak.
Victoria rubbed at her arms to generate warmth. She should’ve worn wool instead of silk, but she’d wanted to look nice, fashionable. Who knew she would be kneeling in the dirt? “It’s very cold out here. Why don’t we go inside where it’s warm?”
Fannie hugged the crate protectively. Perhaps she was worried about the kitten with the weather taking a turn for the worse.
Victoria remained on her knees. Her stepmother had scoffed at her childish concerns. She wouldn’t make that mistake with Fannie. This presented a golden opportunity to forge a bond. “What if I take the crate and blanket, and you get the kitten? We’ll go inside together and find a warm spot.”
The girl scooped the kitten into her arms, guarding it with her hand so the little creature wouldn’t leap away and fall to the ground.
Getting to her feet, Victoria picked up the crate. She followed Fannie inside the darkened building. With the sun hidden behind a mass of clouds, less light came inside through the door and small windows. That, combined with the clutter, made it difficult to see which way to go, although Fannie seemed to have no problem. She moved catlike through the maze.
“Fannie! Miss Lowell!” Mr. O’Brien’s calls reached the rear of the building.
“We’re back here—” Victoria stumbled over something on the floor. “It would help if you would put on a light.”
A moment later, light flooded the storage area.
So, the building did have gas lighting. Mr. O’Brien just didn’t see the need to turn it on. He and his progeny must have the same ability to see in the dark.
Fannie sat down at the base of the stairs and settled the kitten in her lap.
Victoria lowered the crate to the plank floor in front of several large burlap sacks, and slid it through a fine dusting of what appeared to be flour. “Underneath the stairs, that’s a good place to put the crate. Have you named it yet? Is it a girl kitten, or a boy kitten?”
Two successive thuds came from behind her. Victoria whirled around, seeing her large case next to the stairs and beside it, her tapestry bag.
Mr. O’Brien wore the same frown he’d left with. He hadn’t taken his hat outside and his hair had a tendency to go wild at the slightest provocation. The wind must’ve been very provoking; that, or he’d been running his fingers through it because he was frustrated with someone. Her, perhaps?
“What are yo
u doing back here?”
Her spine stiffened at his churlish tone. She was fed up with his uneven moods and secretiveness. “Thank you for retrieving my bag. Did you return to the train station to find it?”
“We weren’t gone that long.”
“You were gone long enough to have an extended chat.”
When he spied the kitten in his daughter’s arms, Fannie tucked it behind her. The poor thing began to yowl. Mr. O’Brien must not allow pets and his daughter had been hiding the kitten. That would explain the baby blanket in the crate.
Rather than let Fannie be the recipient of her father’s ire, Victoria squared her shoulders and took the blame. “We found a kitten outside. I told Fannie to bring it in. It’s getting colder. An animal that young won’t survive if temperatures drop below freezing.”
His gaze turned speculative. “Where are the others?”
“Others?”
“There were five kittens and a mother cat.”
Victoria turned to Fannie, who was back to hugging the frightened kitten. “That’s why you’re distressed. They’re missing.”
Fannie remained silent. She might be afraid her father would get angry because she’d brought the kitten inside. Victoria tensed, ready to leap to the child’s defense.
Mr. O’Brien knelt next to the step where his daughter sat, huddled over the remaining kitten. He began to rub the tiny creature’s head with his forefinger. “Mama cat moved her litter somewhere, I’ll bet. Cats are smart like that. They know when bad weather’s coming and make sure their babies are safe.”
His low, resonant voice swept over Victoria. Each time he ran his finger over the kitten’s head, she could feel it, almost as if he was stroking her. Shivers danced across her skin that had nothing to do with the cold. She stared at his hand, mesmerized.
“The kitten’s mother will come back for it. We’ll leave the door cracked open and put the crate under the steps so she can find it.” Mr. O’Brien had become very gentle with his daughter. He attempted to alleviate her fears, not scold her for them.
Victoria breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t understand why he’d been so grouchy earlier, but she was glad to finally see this side of him. This was the man who had wooed her with tenderness. “Your father is right, Fannie. Mothers are very protective.”
He lifted his head. His dark eyes, so like his daughter’s, reflected deep distrust. “Not all mothers.”
Given his wife’s desertion, David O’Brien’s lack of faith in motherhood didn’t surprise her, but she didn’t expect his doubt to be directed at her.
Deep wounds didn’t heal overnight, she reminded herself. Given time, he would see and believe in her faithfulness. His proposal proved he was willing to take the chance, a huge step for a man in his situation.
Victoria sat down next to Fannie. The poor child had to be wondering why her mother hadn’t stayed, or whether any mother would. “Mothers should protect their babies. That’s what God intended. But some mothers are selfish, uncaring. I’ve even heard of mother cats that will reject and abandon a kitten. When that happens, another cat will accept it, unless it only cares for itself, or its own kitten…” as Victoria was painfully aware. “But the cat that wants the abandoned baby will love it like its own.”
Fannie raised her head, her mouth drawn in a solemn line.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, about mothers?”
“What Miss Lowell means is, most mothers are good mothers, and stepmothers can be good mothers, too, but it isn’t the kitten’s fault if they aren’t.”
Victoria turned an astonished gaze on Mr. O’Brien. She hadn’t said that, exactly, but he’d provided a perceptive interpretation. Part of her still ached for approval and acceptance, two things she would never get from her stepmother or her father, no matter what she did or didn’t do. As her betrothed had so astutely pointed out, it wasn’t the kitten’s fault they couldn’t love her. “You’re a wise man, Mr. O’Brien.”
“Only when it comes to kittens.” He sat on the step on the other side of Fannie and circled his arm around his daughter. Her shoulders lowered, along with her defenses, and she leaned into him, trustingly.
Victoria longed to embrace them both, only she hadn’t been raised in a family that showed affection and wasn’t confident enough. Even if a hug would be premature, there was no reason she couldn’t affirm him. A compliment might be just what he needed. “I admire a man who is wise in the way of cats. That proves you’re intelligent. But I could tell that from reading your letters.”
Chapter 4
David reached for the kitten, rather than look Miss Lowell in the eye and admit he was not the author of those letters. It went without saying she wouldn’t praise his intelligence if she ever did read anything he wrote.
For her part, she had shown remarkable insight and sensitivity when dealing with a touchy subject: a mother’s love. He agreed that giving birth didn’t guarantee proper nurturing, his wife being a perfect example of a bad mother. Miss Lowell had strongly implied she would be a good mother. He would withhold judgment until he knew her better.
Fannie twisted away and hugged the mewling kitten to her chest.
“Careful now,” he warned. “It’s little. You don’t want to hurt him. We need to put the kitten back into the crate, so the mama cat can find it.”
His daughter shook her head. Curls swung into her face and tears swam in her eyes. She feared losing something she loved. That kind of loss scared him, too. However, admitting as much would make him appear weak.
Hunched over, Fannie guarded the kitten in her lap. The tiny thing was too small to leave its mother, so he couldn’t let her keep it. At the same time, he couldn’t bear to see her cry when he removed it. Maybe the gift would distract her.
“Let’s see what Miss Lowell has brought you.” He leaned forward and met her gaze, his stomach knotting at the admiration shining in those remarkable eyes. She wouldn’t look at him like that after he told her the truth. “What’s in that bag of yours?”
She looked at the satchel as if she forgot she sent him after it. Her reflective mood persisted as she stood and brushed dirt and grass off her skirt. Perhaps she’d been forced to chase after Fannie on her hands and knees. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had done that.
“I wish I’d known you liked kittens,” she murmured.
Good grief, she didn’t have a dog in that carpetbag, did she?
She bent to open it, and reaching in, withdrew a large object wrapped in what looked like a cashmere shawl. An expensive item of clothing, and she’d used it for packing, more evidence she didn’t know the value of a dollar. If she became his wife, she would have to learn to be more frugal.
Fannie’s head remained down, but he could see her looking up through her lashes.
David had to admit to curiosity, as well. He rested his wrists on his knees and waited. He should’ve anticipated Fannie’s reaction to a new mother and prepared her. Victoria was smart to bring a peace offering.
She unwound the soft fabric to reveal an exquisite childlike doll. Its pale hair looked real, as did its aqua glass eyes. The head, formed from bisque porcelain, had hand-painted eyebrows and lips. Even the cheeks had a faint pink tinge. The doll looked like a younger version of Victoria, right down to its fashionable clothing.
Fannie gave up being coy. She still held the kitten, but her attention was riveted on the doll.
David recognized it as one of the popular, expensive types made by a French company. Those dolls were luxury items, status symbols purchased by the wealthy. “That’s a Jumeau,” he pointed out.
Miss Lowell gave him a pleased smile. “Yes, you know of them?”
“It’s my business to know merchandise. I own a general store.”
“Oh, of course, I should’ve thought before I said something so foolish. You sell dolls.”
“Not that kind. My customers can’t afford them.”
Her smile faltered. She’d interpreted his statement
of fact as criticism.
“Very generous of you to give her one.” More than generous, giving a six-year-old a costly, fragile doll seemed extravagant, even wasteful. Come to think of it, why would a woman rich enough to purchase an expensive doll as a gift answer a personal ad from a lowly shopkeeper? That was a question he would ask when Fannie wasn’t squirming with impatience.
“Would you like to hold her?” Miss Lowell asked.
Fannie’s eager expression said she would. She wouldn’t ask for it, though. She’d sit there longing to hold it without saying a word.
David gave in and made it easier on her. “Let me hold the kitten while you look at the doll.”
Fannie scooped up the kitten and nestled it into David’s cupped hands. He stroked the whiskered cheek with this thumb while she eagerly reached for her gift.
She cradled the doll, fingering the shiny curls and silk ribbons dangling from the bonnet. With the tip of her finger, she traced a bowed mouth. Her lips lifted in response.
If David hadn’t been holding the kitten, he would’ve kissed Miss Victoria Lowell. She’d made Fannie smile. That was something he hadn’t been able to do since his wife left.
A loud meow echoed in the storeroom. The kitten in his hand stirred, started crying.
“The mother cat. She’s in here somewhere.” Victoria started for the rear of the store. She peered around a pickle barrel, providing a nice view of her well-rounded backside. “Kitty, kitty? Where are you?”
David dragged his attention away from the lovely scenery and stood. “It’s coming from over there.” He indicated the far wall where canned goods lined multiple shelves. Handing Victoria the kitten, he made his way past barrels and crates, following the cries. He pushed aside a stack of boxes. The mother cat emerged from behind them, winding her lithe body around his leg.
The gray and white tabby had shown up on the doorstep one day and Fannie had wanted to make it a pet. As a boy, he’d been scratched by a cat and had gotten deathly ill. He told her to leave it outside. Undaunted, Fannie continued to open the back door and let the cat in. He would find it and put it out. When it became apparent the cat would birth a litter, he’d provided an empty crate and put it outside, with a stern warning to Fannie that he would take the cat somewhere far away if she left the door open again.
