She attempted to swallow, but her throat refused to work. She couldn’t lose this job. If Anthony ended up going with Silas, she couldn’t put herself in the same position as she’d been in Hartfield, so desperate for security she’d almost married a drunk. “I promise, I’ll give you no reason to chastise me from here on out.”
Chapter 5
“Thank you.” Silas smiled at young Myrtle as she set his plate in front of him.
She gave him the same wide-eyed stare she gave him every morning when he thanked her—which was precisely what he should do since she was highly efficient. The moment he sat at one of the three rickety tables in the boardinghouse’s dining area, she placed a plate in front of him. Even arriving earlier than normal this morning, she’d gotten him breakfast immediately.
He wasn’t hungry yet, but yesterday he’d slept in after reading late and missed Anthony and Kate before they headed to school. And evidently, they’d skipped breakfast the day before, perhaps because of Richard.
He’d stay the whole three hours of breakfast if necessary to make sure Richard didn’t keep them from eating.
He yawned a greeting to a man walking past him and leaned back to wait. He’d learned a lot about Anthony’s teacher, Richard, and Lucy from her journals. Her embittered words and complaint-filled pages made him wonder why Kate had befriended her. Lucy might not have admired Kate, but she hadn’t slandered her either—which was high praise coming from Lucy’s pen.
Richard walked in the door, face scruffy, eyes dark-rimmed, a slight off-color tone to his skin. The man frowned at the lack of places to sit that weren’t at Silas’s table.
As much as he wished to tell the man not to sit with him, he hadn’t the right to tell another lodger he couldn’t eat breakfast.
The man plunked down to his left, the smell of bay rum and body odor overwhelming. “You still here? I’d thought you’d wise up and realize you’re wasting your time.”
“There’s a bathhouse down the street on Pine and Fourth, in case you didn’t know. Might not want to offend the judge’s nose if you’re looking for a favorable ruling.”
The man scratched at his stomach and stretched. Silas tried not to gag at the smell wafting from his shirt’s now-exposed underarms. “I’ll probably go tomorrow—need a shave.”
So would he just douse himself with cologne again today?
Silas set down his fork. The smell of this man made his entire plate unappetizing.
Unfortunately, there were no journal entries on how Richard treated Anthony, but there were plenty on how Richard had treated Lucy—damning stuff.
But there were scathing things about himself in the journals as well. Were Lucy’s stories about Richard as exaggerated as her stories about her Kansas hardships?
Given that she referred to Richard as Anthony’s pa though, he could only hope some page clearly stated Anthony was his; for as it was, the journals would be enough for Richard to make his case the upcoming Monday.
If he knew they existed.
Lord, if Anthony truly is mine, let her have written something.
Of course, if Anthony was Richard’s son, should he not be praying for Anthony’s father rather than against him?
Myrtle scuttled over and handed Richard a plate of bacon and corn mush. “Here you are, sir.”
“’Bout time.” He wrinkled his large-pored nose and yanked his plate from her, as if her touching the dish’s edge tainted his food.
Silas’s arms itched to stretch out and accidentally whack him in the face, but that’d not help his case come Monday.
“Could I bother you for salt and pepper, Myrtle?” Maybe if he could doctor his mush so it wasn’t tasteless, he could get it down before it got cold—now that Richard had put his arms down. Though at the rate the man was shoveling in his food, perhaps he’d leave before he had to worry about his breakfast cooling.
“No problem, sir.” Myrtle bustled toward the door as Anthony entered. She quickly sidestepped to the serving table, prepared a plate of food, set it across from Silas, and smiled at Anthony. “There you are, Mr. Riverton.” She gave Silas a wink. “Now I get the salt.”
Richard called Myrtle a derogatory name under his breath, and Silas clenched his fists to keep from punching the foul-smelling brute.
Anthony sat warily, choosing the chair directly across from Silas instead of Richard. At least he favored him a bit.
Kate’s pretty form swept into the dining area and stopped. Her face looked as if she could smell Richard across the room.
Silas wiped his greasy fingers on his stained linen napkin and waved. “Good morning.”
Anthony dug into his mush, swallowing the tasteless concoction as quickly as Richard did.
Myrtle skirted around Kate, set the shakers down, and then moved to answer another man’s bellow.
Silas stood and dragged an empty chair over for Kate, squeezing her into the small spot next to him. “Did you sleep well last night, Anthony?”
Anthony shrugged.
“Answer him, boy.” Richard’s bark made them all jump.
“Fine,” Anthony mumbled.
“I didn’t—too hot.” He’d not let Richard know he’d been up reading Lucy’s journals.
His eyes dreaded reading any more of her cramped, frilly handwriting, growing illegible with fading ink—his hope of finding anything barely intact.
He had to spend time outside today. He had three more days until the hearing— plenty of time to read the rest, so he could take a break to work on his relationship with a boy he prayed would be returning to Salt Flatts with him next week. “What’re your plans for today?”
“Hoping another cup of coffee will stop this headache,” Richard mumbled, then swallowed his last spoonful of mush. “Then I’m going to take a nap before I head back to Lucky’s.”
“Sounds like a plan.” He hadn’t been asking Richard, but at least he’d be busy and out of the way.
But how to arrange an outing with Anthony after school when Richard might be opposed, or worse, decide to come along?
Myrtle filled the cup Richard tapped as he growled, “Have you packed, boy?”
Anthony shook his head. “I only have two outfits.”
“My wife won’t be happy with those rags of yours.” He glared at Anthony. “We’ll get some ready-made clothes while we’re in the big city before heading home.”
Anthony lifted his eyes to look at Silas.
He nodded a bit to encourage him to answer civilly.
“All right.”
Richard appeared rooted to the seat, sipping and staring.
He’d ignore him. “Know a good place to fish around here?”
No interested gleam lit the boy’s eye, though Kate turned an accusatory glare on him. “You’re going fishing?”
“Or I might play chess.” Silas tried to cut through his rubbery bacon with the edge of his fork.
Not even a fidget from Anthony. Too bad—he liked chess. “Maybe I’ll find a place to shoot targets . . .” Could the boy truly not be interested in any of those things? “The library perhaps? Maybe I could learn to draw or paint.”
“Paint?” Anthony’s spoon hovered in front of his mouth, his left eyebrow raised.
Richard huffed. “Sounds like a waste of time to me.”
“Well sure.” Silas blinked against the thought of actually having to go through with painting lessons. He couldn’t even draw a recognizable map.
“Miss Dawson paints.” Anthony shrugged.
“Not you?” He grabbed the salt shaker for the second time to doctor his mush.
“Only when she wants me to.”
Silas blew out a breath. At least he didn’t have to pretend to like art for the boy’s sake.
Myrtle set a plate in front of Kate, and she bowed her head over her food. Too bad he hadn’t thought to ask Lucy about her relationship with God before the wedding. Maybe if she’d been like Kate, things would’ve gone more smoothly.
He now told peopl
e he liked living alone; it was quiet, gave a man time to think. But maybe his life would’ve turned out better if he hadn’t written for a wife but waited on a praying woman to show up in his little town in Kansas.
One who smelled like flowers and soft soap like Kate.
He blinked. Wait, what was he thinking?
Once Kate took up her spoon, he tried again with Anthony. “So what do you do when you’re not in school?”
The boy shrugged again.
Silas swallowed a sigh. Was he simply not much of a talker? Or was Richard the problem? “Are you a good runner? I used to outrun all the boys. Bet you’re fast.”
“Not as fast as Miss Dawson.”
He looked to Kate, who was now the one afflicted with shrugging.
She had flown past him rather quickly that first day. Why had he brought that up anyway? It’d been an age since he’d run. He’d probably hurt himself if he challenged anyone to a race.
“Boy, you don’t admit that a girl can outrun you. If you can’t outrun her, you practice until you can.” Richard snapped his fingers at Myrtle and pointed at his coffee.
If only Myrtle could slip some of that soft soap Kate smelled like into his cup. Of course washing out his mouth wouldn’t clean his heart.
“Well, I’m thinking of taking a walk this afternoon. Where would you suggest I go?” He tensed, waiting for Richard to spout off a recommendation for him to go home.
“You can find snakes at the river sometimes.”
“Snakes?” He couldn’t stand the creatures anymore, not after waking to one falling from his ceiling smack onto his chest, then wriggling into his nightshirt.
If he wasn’t mistaken, that was just a few days before Lucy left him. He’d not been particularly fond of remaining in his soddy after that incident either.
Silas stuck his spoon into the bland mush that remained in his bowl and left it there. Hunger pains weren’t the worst thing a man could face. “Do you look for anything else at the river?”
“Frogs and crawfish, but since it’s getting cold, you can’t find much.”
Creepy crawlies had yet to terrorize him. “What about bugs? They’re great for science lessons, I’d bet. Maybe Miss Dawson wouldn’t mind you collecting some for school.”
Kate hummed negatively. “We don’t need more pests in my room. We’ve got plenty of mice.” She went back to stirring her mush. Had she taken a bite? Not that he’d blame her if she passed on the morning’s vittles.
“Snakes eat mice. Maybe she’d appreciate you bringing in one of those.” Silas winked at Anthony, who actually let a grin slip onto his determinedly blank face.
“I’m afraid the boys would find a snake too useful for scaring the girls.” Miss Dawson’s greenish eyes brightened and she turned to Anthony. “Though, if you found a small snake, we could keep him upstairs for a while.”
Anthony’s face lit. “Really? Mother never let me keep anything I caught.”
Silas frowned. Was there really a woman who wasn’t against living with a snake in her room?
Tenacious, spirited, hardworking. Kate was the kind of woman who’d make it on the Kansas prairie, one who wouldn’t run away . . .
Silas blinked. Where had his thoughts gone off to again? He grabbed his coffee.
“Don’t get your hopes up, boy.” Richard set down his empty cup. “Did you see Mr. Jonesey shiver when you mentioned snakes? He’s not about to let you keep one. And Miss Dawson here ain’t going to get the boardinghouse woman to agree to let you keep varmints in her place either.”
“Now, hold on—”
“Kid, they’re just buttering you up, making you think they’re going to take time out for you, but they won’t. Since you left, did your mother and Miss Dawson have time for anything like that?”
Kate drew up. “Lucinda was sick!”
“Let’s all stop lying.” Richard stood. “The boy’ll be coming home with me on Monday after you all have your fun getting him to dream big. Boy, they’re not doing you any favors. You’ll be faced with reality next week.”
Richard stomped off, and Anthony stared at his plate.
“Don’t listen to him.” Kate put her hand on his shoulder. “We—”
“Can you promise the judge won’t make me go with him?” Anthony looked at Kate with sad eyes.
Kate took back her hand and swallowed. “Well, no.”
Anthony wadded his napkin and stood. “I’m not hungry anymore.”
Kate winced, then looked to Silas. “We better head to school anyway.” She stood and went after Anthony.
Frowning at the dirty dishes left around him, Silas sighed. His stomach churned. He wouldn’t have to deal with Richard much longer, but Anthony possibly would—without Silas or Kate nearby.
“Are you all right?” Myrtle gathered silverware and piled them on a plate.
He pressed his eyes closed for a second, wishing he could answer affirmatively. “Unfortunately, no.”
A man called to Myrtle from across the dining area.
Silas cleared his throat. “You’ve got people to attend. I can see to our dirty dishes.”
She left to go serve more tasteless corn mush.
Besides, I’ve got more journals to read, he thought. Though considering he’d gone through seven with nothing pointing to him as the father, Richard was likely right. Maybe they were dreaming to believe the world held anything better for the boy than it had for him.
Was there anything he could do if the journals came up empty?
Walking out of the schoolhouse behind Anthony on Friday, Kate spied Silas on the street, pacing in front of a wagon.
Had he finished reading all of Lucy’s journals? Did he have good news or bad?
“I smell fried chicken.” Anthony tipped his nose into the air and sniffed.
Catching sight of them, Silas smiled as they approached.
“Did you find out something?” Would he tell her now, in front of Anthony?
He shook his head. “I only have one journal left, but I’m not holding out much hope. But as I said yesterday morning, I need to get outside. So, I’m taking you both to Dry Creek.”
“Dry Creek?” Anthony’s eyes lit.
“Yes, see here?” He leaned over what must have been a rented wagon and hauled up a crate. “If you find a snake, we have something to put him in.”
She glanced at the box, thankful he’d chosen something with tight slats. “Is the chicken to lure the snake?”
“No, it’s our dinner.” Silas held out his arms for her books.
How long would they be gone? “Shouldn’t you be reading?”
“I can finish tomorrow. I wanted to make sure we spend time with Anthony. Richard made me realize our pursuits shouldn’t keep Anthony from enjoying the bit of growing up he’s got left to do. I rarely had time for fun at his age, not sure I have enough of it now.”
Relaxing was necessary once in a while, but right now? “What if you find nothing in that last journal?” She stepped closer and lowered her voice. “What if you can’t keep him?”
“Then he’ll have a great memory.” His face was solemn.
“Is that all you’re going to do for him—give him a memory?”
Silas glanced over his shoulder to where Anthony had climbed onto the bench seat before leaning closer to her, lowering his voice. “Almost every diary refers to Richard as Anthony’s pa. That’s a lot of evidence against the one sentence that says, ‘Silas doesn’t deserve to know.’ I don’t think that’s going to get us anywhere.”
“But I know Richard isn’t his father. She told me.”
“Did she tell you I’m his father?”
“No, but surely if the judge knew Anthony would rather be with you—”
“Does he?”
She bit her lip and took in Anthony’s serene face. “I think your afternoon plans might move things in your favor.”
“And what about you?” He held out his hand.
She blinked at his open hand. He was
only offering to help her into the wagon, of course, so why had her brain jumped to make that question mean something more?
“What do you mean?” She swallowed and let him guide her up into the wagon, the touch of his hand on her elbow strangely intensified. “Why do you care what I think?”
“When I first arrived, you lumped me into the same category as Richard. I’m hoping you’ll see I’m not like him.”
“Then no. If that’s what this afternoon is about, it won’t make me change my mind about you.”
He stopped and frowned up at her.
She shrugged. “I’ve already realized you’re not how Lucinda painted you. At least not anymore.”
He let out a steady exhale. “Thank you.” He went around the other side of the wagon and climbed up. Calling to the team of bay horses, he drove them out of town.
She stared at her hands in her lap. Should she even go with Anthony and Silas this afternoon? She needed to plan for possible bad news at the hearing, not stroll along the creek and . . . and daydream about the judge deciding to give her Anthony.
Having him with her at school all week had made the upcoming court case feel so far away, but now that the weekend had come, dread swelled her throat.
Despite what Richard thought, she’d run with Anthony if the judge decided in Richard’s favor . . . she’d only promised not to do so before the court date.
Anthony needed to be safe more than he needed to be with a blood relative.
But without this teaching job or anything more to sell . . . If it was just the two of them, they’d likely turn into beggars and need Anthony’s pickpocketing skills to stay alive.
No, she had to trust God would take care of them. But then, He’d not kept either of them out of hard situations before. . . .
Maybe the best she could hope for was that Silas was the nice man he seemed to be and the judge decided on him.
She swiped at her eyes, determined not to lose a single tear. She’d not ruin this happy memory Silas was creating.
The wind tugged at her bun, so she pulled it free and made a looser one at the nape of her neck while Anthony bounced on the well-sprung seat.
At the creek, as Silas helped her from the wagon, Anthony tore off, calling for her to run after him. She looked in the back of the wagon for something to carry.
A Bride at Last Page 5
