by Anna Schmidt
“He should sleep for a while,” Addie said, wiping her hands on one of the wet rags before dropping it back into the bloody water.
Josiah carried the pan away, and Seth took that opportunity to settle himself on the stool outside the cell. He was aware that Amanda was staring at him. She seemed undecided about what her next move should be.
“If you’d be so kind, Miss Porterfield, as to let Miss Dooley know I’m unlikely to be at breakfast tomorrow.”
“Of course.”
The doctor had packed her bag and was waiting with her husband to leave, and still Amanda lingered.
“Do you…will you be all right?” she asked, her voice a near whisper.
“Come on, Sis,” Jess ordered. He waited for her at the foot of the steps while the others went ahead. “Grover is not someone you need to be concerned with,” Seth heard him say as Amanda followed him up the steps. “He’s…”
The rest was lost as the door closed, and other than the lantern at one end of the row of cells, the space was cast into darkness. The man on the cot moaned, the other prisoners settled back onto cots of their own, and Seth leaned back against the cold wall and planned his next move.
* * *
After she’d endured a lecture from her brother about the dangers of trusting strangers like Seth Grover, and she’d seen Jess and Addie off on their way back to Whitman Falls, Amanda returned to her room at the boardinghouse. Her head was spinning with everything that had happened that day—from the time she’d spent with the Baxter twins to Addie’s news about her father to her visit to the jail.
She knew she should have been disgusted by what she had seen there, but the truth was that once she got past the shock, she felt energized. Here was a cause she could champion. Her sympathies for Minnie Price—and what she assumed were other women just like her living right down the street from the boardinghouse—kept her awake long into the night. She wished she had more time to talk to Addie about what they might do, especially for these women she had once heard referred to as “soiled doves.” She thought about the woman who owned the saloon in Whitman Falls, Miss Lillian. She was ashamed by how often she and others had been guilty of crossing the street simply to avoid having to pass the saloon.
She took out pen and paper and wrote a long letter to Addie, laying out her feelings and seeking her friend’s advice for how they might work together toward better lives for these women. Tomorrow she would go to the drugstore and introduce herself to Mr. Matthews and his daughter. Together they would take up Addie’s cause and make it a complete success.
Exhilarated, she found sleep impossible, and abandoned it in favor of sitting on the window seat by the garret window. She was thinking of ways she might inspire the Baxter twins to get involved in the cause when she noticed someone scurrying across the flat roof of the Baxter home. She leaned closer to the window, trying to get a better look, and wondered what she should do. What could she do? By the time she might reach the house and pound on the front door to raise the alarm, the culprit would be long gone. Besides, the person was moving away from the house, climbing down a trellis, and disappearing from her view, obscured from her sight by the adobe wall that encompassed the property.
She wished Seth were in his room. He would know what to do. But Seth was at the jail. She strained to see the alley below and saw the same person leading a horse from the property—a horse that made no sound, because its mouth and hooves had been muffled with cloth. The person led the horse down the alley. He was stealing one of the Baxter horses! She had to do something.
She grabbed her robe and ran barefoot down the stairs, through the kitchen and past the door that led to Miss Dooley’s quarters. She peeked out the back door, moving the lace curtain aside only enough to see where the culprit might be, and gasped.
The man—or rather boy—guiding the horse was none other than Eli Baxter. She recognized him by the fringed jacket she’d seen him wear before.
Her shock at this discovery paralyzed her long enough for him to mount and ride away. She opened the kitchen door and stepped outside in time to see him crest a hill and disappear. In the alley she saw a piece of wool and knew it was one of the mufflers he had used on the horse’s hooves. She picked it up and rolled it into a ball. It would possibly come in handy when she and Eli had yet another standoff.
* * *
Not surprisingly, when Amanda arrived at the Baxter house the following morning, she found Ellie sitting alone at the table. “Where is your brother, Ellie?”
The girl kept her eyes on the closed book before her. “Sick,” she mumbled.
Amanda was hardly shocked. She had no idea when the boy had returned home, but since it had been well after midnight when she saw him leave she doubted it had been much before dawn. “I see. Has Mrs. Caldwell been told?”
“Yes, Miss Porterfield. She’s with him now.”
“And your father? Has he been informed as well?”
For the first time since Amanda’s arrival, the girl glanced at her. Her eyes were wide with fear. “No. I mean, Eli pretended to be all right until Father left for the bank, but then…”
“I see.” She did not have to ask why the charade for their father’s benefit. She placed a consoling hand on Ellie’s shoulder. “Hopefully, Eli will be up to joining us later in the day. In the meantime, why don’t you choose a Psalm to read before we pray?”
She handed Ellie her Bible. To her surprise, the girl did not hesitate, but turned to Psalm one hundred, stood, and read it aloud with feeling. Amanda suspected that when her brother was present, Ellie took her cues from him, but on her own she was far more confident. After they had prayed together, Amanda followed her usual protocol of writing the day’s work on the chalkboard. She returned to the table to see that Ellie had laid her completed homework assignments out for review. She seemed disappointed when Amanda did not immediately attend to them.
“Ellie,” Amanda said as she took the seat where Eli normally sat across from Ellie. “I have been wanting to speak with you about the essay you wrote that first week of class. The one where I asked what you would do if you could do anything?”
The girl’s cheeks flared bright red, and she looked as if she might burst into tears at any moment. “You mustn’t pay that any mind, Miss Porterfield. I mean, I just started writing because…well, I thought if I filled up a bunch of pages, you would tell my father that I had done good work and—”
“Are you saying what you wrote about becoming a novelist and traveling the world to gather your stories was not true?”
“No, miss. I mean, yes, miss, it’s true. I do love to make up stories, but Father says…”
“Oh Ellie, never concern yourself with what others may say when it comes to following your heart’s desire. Have I ever told you about my younger brother, Trey?”
Ellie shook her head.
“Trey was not well when he was a boy. In fact, he spent much of his childhood in bed or sitting in his room watching what happened outside his bedroom window. When he was around eight or nine, he began drawing little sketches of what he saw from that window. As his health improved, his passion for art grew as well, until just a few weeks ago he left home to spend several months in the wild. There he will sketch the things he sees, and those drawings are to be published—first in the Tucson newspaper, and eventually, Trey hopes, in a book.”
Ellie’s expression was rapt with interest, but then she frowned. “I don’t understand why you told me that, Miss Porterfield.”
“I told you that because, in spite of others in our family belittling Trey’s dreams, he has remained steadfast in following his heart. I told you about my brother with the hope that you might consider how truly passionate you are about your dreams for the future. Do you have what it might take to pursue them? I mean, what if members of your family do not approve? What if you write a novel, or two or three, and no one reads them? Wo
uld you continue to write? Perhaps a more pertinent question is, are you writing now?”
“No, but…”
“Then you must begin. While I go speak with Mrs. Caldwell about your brother’s condition, I want you to write.”
“Write what?”
“A story—a little story about anything. You must have ideas buzzing in your head. Choose one, and get it down on paper.” She pushed the inkwell, a pen, and a sheet of clean paper across the table. By the time she had walked to the door, Ellie was bent over the table, scribbling away.
Amanda smiled and went in search of Kitty Caldwell.
“I can’t find a thing wrong with the boy,” Kitty admitted, “but this much I know—he cannot keep his eyes open for longer than a few minutes.”
Amanda wasn’t surprised, but she decided not to share the information she had about Eli’s post-midnight ride. “Let him rest then, and perhaps after lunch he will improve.”
“I thought it was an act at first. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s pretended to be sick, but this is different. He was actually shaking when I went into his room.”
“Is he running a fever?”
“Not that I can tell,” Kitty said. “I made him some hot broth, and he took a couple of sips, then curled back under the covers.”
Amanda worried Eli had encountered something—or someone—that had threatened or frightened him. She had to come up with some way of warning him that his adventures could end up getting him hurt, and again she thought of Seth. Perhaps Eli would respect a man like Seth warning him about the peril he was putting himself in.
Kitty continued to talk, although Amanda’s mind was too occupied to really listen, until she heard the word “baseball.” Of course. She had identified Ellie’s love of storytelling and hopefully set her on a path to pursue that dream. Eli had written in large childish letters that his dream was to play baseball. But what did she know about the sport? As usual, she thought of Seth. Surely he would have some idea of how she might help Eli pursue that safer path.
“Let Eli sleep until lunch, and then tell him I expect him in the library.”
For the rest of the morning, Amanda gave Ellie assignments she could complete on her own, and when Eli came downstairs later, she did the same with him. He seemed well enough, but subdued. While they worked, she scanned the hundreds of titles that lined the shelves of the library, looking for something that might engage each child’s special interests.
Choosing something for Ellie was easy. She chose a copy of Louisa May Alcott’s Little Women, hoping that, even if she had already read the novel, perhaps Amanda might help her connect deeply with the character of Jo March. But what would hold Eli’s interest enough to keep him safe at home? She rejected book after book—science books, books on geography, books on the breeding of horses. And then she saw a thin volume almost lost among its wieldy shelf-mates. She pulled it out, first taken by the fact that it had fewer pages and therefore would be less daunting for the boy. The title was Chadwick’s Base-Ball Manual for 1871. It was the perfect choice.
Toward the end of their day together, she collected the children’s work and told them that, in light of all they had completed in class, their only homework assignments would be reading.
Eli groaned and drummed his fingers impatiently on the table. Ellie looked worried as usual. “An entire book in one night?”
“Fifty pages at a minimum. If you go beyond that, so much the better.” She handed Ellie her book. “I want you to pay special attention to the character of Jo March.”
Ellie nodded solemnly while her brother rolled his eyes. But when Amanda handed him the book on baseball, he had a good deal of trouble hiding his surprise. “Where did you find this?” he asked.
“Oh, Eli, there are many treasures to be found in a library. You just have to be willing to look.”
With something that approached reverence, he slowly turned the pages of the small volume. Ellie looked up from her own exploration and gasped. “Mama bought that book for you, Eli. It was to be your present for our birthday the year she…”
“She died,” Eli muttered. “The day before our birthday,” he added, more to himself. “So why didn’t Father give it to me?”
“Perhaps in his grief—” Amanda began, but Eli interrupted.
“His grief didn’t stop him from giving Ellie her present.” He continued to stare at the book, only now it seemed to Amanda as if he looked at it with disgust.
Amanda sat next to him. “Eli, I do not know the story behind how this book ended up on these shelves. What I do know is that you have a love of the game of baseball, and according to your sister, your mother was aware of that as well. If I were you, I would look upon this as a belated birthday gift from your mother—one she made sure has finally reached you.”
Eli sat very still for a long moment, fingering the cover. Finally, he nodded and carefully placed the book in the leather folder he used to carry his homework assignments and books to and from his room upstairs. “May I be excused?”
“Yes. We are done for the day. You both did excellent work, and I will make sure to relay that message to your father.”
As she did every school day once the twins had been excused, Amanda stayed on writing the report she would leave on Mr. Baxter’s desk before she headed back to the boardinghouse. She was so engrossed in choosing exactly the right words for praising the children without appearing naive about what the future might bring that Ezra Baxter entered the house—and the library—before she was even aware of his presence.
“You’ve stayed late today, Miss Porterfield. Was there a problem with the children?”
Amanda stood out of respect for her employer, although it annoyed her that his first assumption was that his children had caused trouble. He walked to a cabinet next to the fireplace, took a key from his vest pocket, and unlocked it. As he waited for her reply, he removed a crystal decanter from the cabinet and two glasses and poured a small amount of amber liquid into each.
“Well?” he said, offering her one of the two glasses.
“Thank you, no,” she said primly, and picked up her report. “As for the children, today was our best day to date. They have made remarkable progress, sir. You should be very proud of both.”
“Even Eli?”
“Especially Eli. I am aware that he has his problems when it comes to discipline, sir, but my theory is that they arise from boredom. He needs to be challenged.”
He watched her closely as he drained the liquor in the glass he held, set that aside, and did the same with the glass he had offered her. “You do not approve of my sending the children away in the fall, do you, Miss Porterfield?”
“I believe families should stay together,” she replied.
“Of course, if the children remained here, you would continue to be employed. Does that not factor into your thinking?”
She bit her lower lip to stop the words she wanted to say from tumbling out. Words like I don’t need this job. Or If you think for one minute that…
To her shock, the man smiled and indicated that she should take one of the two chairs facing the fire. “Please join me, Miss Porterfield.”
It would be rude to refuse. “Miss Dooley is quite strict about mealtimes,” she said as she glanced at the clock on the mantel.
“You have a few minutes. After all, the boardinghouse is practically in my backyard.” Again, he gestured to the chair, and when Amanda perched on the edge of the seat, he sat down in the other. “I have been most impressed with your handling of the children, Miss Porterfield. Perhaps I misjudged the importance of a female influence once my wife died.”
“They have Mrs. Caldwell,” she reminded him.
The smile reverted to the more familiar scowl that lined his face most of the time. “Mrs. Caldwell is a servant, Miss Porterfield. She is hardly of the class I would choose for influe
ncing my children.”
Of all the arrogant…
“You, on the other hand, come from a fine family—an educated family—and one of means and social standing in the region.”
Amanda glanced at the clock. It showed she had five minutes to get from here to the boardinghouse dining table or suffer the wrath of Miss Dooley. She so wished he would come to the point.
“It is for that reason, Miss Porterfield—Amanda—that I would like to propose we make our arrangement one of permanence.”
Her head was spinning with what excuse she might offer Miss Dooley for her tardiness, but as Mr. Baxter’s words broke through her thoughts she froze in mind and body. Surely, he could not be suggesting…
“I propose that we wed, Amanda, for the good of the children.”
That brought Amanda to her feet and had her backing away from him as she gathered her belongings. “I have to go, Mr. Baxter. I…thank you for…I have to go.”
He stood—a bit unsteadily, she noticed. “I have shocked you, my dear. I apologize. Please consider my offer, for I assure you, it is not made lightly.”
She had reached the doorway of the library. Ten more steps, and she could be out the door. She glanced toward the kitchen, where she could hear Kitty preparing the family’s supper, and then a movement at the top of the stairs caught her attention. She caught a glimpse of Ellie’s skirts as the girl fled back to her room and closed the door. Amanda hesitated, her instinct telling her to go to the girl and let her know that her father had not been himself, had surely not known what he was saying. And then she felt Ezra’s hand on her arm, squeezing tight.
“Please,” he whispered, and leaned in as if to pull her closer. Amanda wrenched her arm free, grabbed her cloak and satchel, and fled from the house.
* * *
The first thing Seth noticed when Amanda came rushing into the dining room was that she was ghostly pale. The second was that when her sleeve crept up to expose her forearm as she reached for her chair, there were red marks that were obviously fresh. They would possibly leave welts or bruises. Had the Baxter boy attacked her? If so, that kid was going to get a lesson in how to treat a lady.
