by Tinnean
Papa was happier than George could remember seeing him, and Mama had smiled more than he’d seen her do since Papa brought her to Mrs. O’Connor’s boarding house.
Mrs. O’Connor…George worried his lower lip. She was upset because she wanted Papa for herself. He’d overheard her talking to the other widows who lived there, not only about being Papa’s wife, but also about the young women in the neighborhood, who she’d snarled were making eyes at the man she claimed was hers. What she’d said hadn’t been nice.
George was relieved Papa wasn’t in love with her. He had also heard her scolding the maids; her words had been cruel, and she’d often left the girls in tears.
He opened the door to their cottage and came to an abrupt halt. The covers had all been removed from the furniture, the windows sparkled, and the floor was spotless.
Had elves sneaked into the cottage to do this?
“George!”
He startled, not realizing he wasn’t alone, and the duck almost slipped from his grip. He tightened his arms around the bird. “Mrs. O’Connor. I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I came to pay a brief visit. Is Miss St. Claire home?”
George frowned at her. “She’s Mrs. Pettigrew now.”
“They’re already married?” Mrs. O’Connor’s lips tightened and the line around her mouth turned white. “Well, she didn’t waste much time.”
“Was there something I could do for you, Mrs. O’Connor?” What he really wanted was to get her out of here before Papa and Mama came home, but he’d been raised to be polite to a woman.
“No. Er…no. I wanted to apologize for my unforgivable behavior last evening, so I thought I’d do a little straightening.” She waved a hand to indicate the room.
“That’s kind of you. Thank you. I was going to do that myself.”
“Well, that’s saved you from doing woman’s work. I…er…was certain Miss St. Claire would be home alone.”
“Mrs. Pettigrew,” George corrected again. “I was a witness at the wedding.”
“I see. Of course, that’s what I meant to say.”
George wasn’t too sure about that.
“I made something as a luncheon for her. It was a good thing I did a little nosing around in the kitchen. As I suspected, the larder is bare. Men.” Her laugh was patronizing, even George could tell that.
“Papa sent me to fetch this for dinner.” He held up the duck, which was wrapped in butcher paper.
She cleared her throat. “I was sure Miss…Mrs. Pettigrew wouldn’t feel up to cooking—you knew she’s in a delicate condition, don’t you?”
“Yes. I’m going to be a big brother.”
She frowned. Didn’t she expect him to know what being in a delicate condition meant?
“And you’re not concerned your papa will love that baby more than you?”
“Why would he? Papa has a very big heart. It has enough room to love us all.”
Mrs. O’Connor started to grind her teeth, then stopped abruptly when she realized George was observing her. “I made a pot of my lamb stew—I could see she liked it. I left it in the kitchen. That’s quite some cook stove you’ve got there.”
“Papa liked it.”
“Aye.” She fussed with the buttons on her jacket. “I was certain you’d be at school.”
“I’m here.”
“It really wasn’t right that she left the cleaning to you.”
“I wouldn’t have minded.” He’d have done it gladly. He knew how to keep things tidy. And it would have been his wedding gift to Papa and Mama.
It was a good thing he hadn’t said that aloud; he could hear Mrs. O’Connor grinding her teeth again, and he almost winced from how painful it sounded.
“Where is Mrs. Pettigrew now? The stew is growing cold.”
“She and Papa went to see the priest at Church of the Beloved Apostle.”
“You said they were already married.”
Was she calling him a liar? He kept his temper. “They are. They went to see the priest because we’re going to join the congregation.”
“I see. But your papa always said he didn’t have any religion.”
“He’s doing it for Mama. So am I.”
“I see,” she said again. She smiled, the coldest expression he had ever seen. Even Grandpapa’s smiles had been warmer than that. “I thought sure your papa would be at work.”
“No. He decided to spend the day with us.”
“I see. When will they be home?”
George shrugged. “Papa didn’t say.”
“Well, considering that fine duck you’ve got there, I can see you have no need for the stew. I’ll just take it home with me. Give your papa my regards.”
“Yes, Mrs. O’Connor. Thank you for cleaning the house.”
She gave a curt nod, went to the kitchen, and returned holding a small pot. “Goodbye, George.” She opened the door and walked out of the house.
George shook his head, took the duck to the pantry, and put the bird in the ice closet.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door that opened into the kitchen. Had Mrs. O’Connor changed her mind and come back? If she had, how was he going to politely tell her to leave?
He opened the door. The woman who stood there was short and round and had bright red cheeks. “I’m Mrs. Hall.”
“Good afternoon. How may I help you?”
“I’m here to cook a duck dinner for your ma and pa.”
George hesitated to invite her in.
“It’s okay.” A boy stood beside her. “My father is the rector of Beloved Apostle, and he’s arranged for Mrs. Hall to work for your folks.”
“Yeah?” George studied the boy. He was taller than George and had strawberry blond hair and blue eyes, with an open, cheery face and a smattering of freckles across his turned-up nose.
“I’m Frank Thompson.”
“I’m George Pettigrew.”
Frank stuck out his hand. “Nice to meet you, George. Your father said he’d teach me to ride if I helped you with the horses.”
“Sure. Did you want to start now? I didn’t have a chance to groom them today.”
“Could we?” Frank looked like he had stars in his eyes.
“You bet. Mrs. Hall, won’t you come in?” He waved a hand indicating the room. “As you can see, this is the kitchen. The duck is in the ice closet.”
“I can find it, my boy.” She stared at the stove, then shook her head and turned to the hearth. “This will do much better.” She rubbed her hands together. “Why don’t you and Master Thompson go take care of the horses?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you, Mrs. H.” Frank kissed her cheek. He almost seemed to quiver with excitement. “Can we go now?”
George found he liked the boy’s eagerness and grinned at him. “The paddock is out back, behind the stable.” He led the way.
“Have you been riding long?” Frank asked.
“All my life.”
“You’re so lucky.”
“Let me get a hoof pick and a couple of curry combs and brushes.” He ducked into the stable, retrieved what they’d need to groom the horses, then rejoined Frank, who was standing a few feet away from the fence, staring at the horses with wide eyes.
Sunrise and Nightfall came trotting to the fence when George whistled, and they draped their heads over the top rail.
“Did you think I’d forgotten you?” George crooned as he rubbed a hand over their noses.
“I’ve never seen such beautiful horses!” Frank sounded almost breathless. “May I pet them?”
“Sure.” George was pleased to see how impressed Frank was by the mare and the gelding.
Frank went to Sunrise and raised a hesitant hand to stroke the white blaze on her face. “Hello, boy.”
George couldn’t help laughing. “That’s Sunrise. She’s a mare.”
Frank blushed. “Sorry, girl.”
“Haven’t you been around horses?”
“Not really. If Father needs to call on any of his parishioners, he usually walks, although sometimes he’ll hire a cab.”
“My papa drives a cab. If your father needs a ride somewhere, I’m sure Papa will be happy to take him.”
“That would be very kind of him. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I brought Sunrise and Nightfall some carrots.” He set down the equipment he was holding, pulled a carrot from his pocket, and broke it in two. “This is how it’s done, Frank. Watch, okay?”
“I’m watching.”
George fed one half to Sunrise and the other to Nightfall. “Want to try?”
“May I?”
“Sure.” George took out another carrot and broke it in half. “Make sure you keep your hand flat.”
“Oh!”
He grinned. He had a feeling the horses had made a conquest.
Frank wiped his hand off on his trouser leg.
“Will you teach me how to ride?”
“Papa will, but I can give you a quick demonstration. You wait here, okay?”
“Okay.”
George let himself inside the paddock gate and climbed the fence. He could mount Nightfall without the aid of the fence, but he didn’t want to come across as a showoff. Instead, he whistled sharply, and Nightfall came to him. The gelding crowded against the fence, and George swung a leg over his back.
“You can ride without a saddle?” Frank looked enthralled. “Will I be able to do that too?”
“It’ll probably be better if you use a saddle.” He tapped Nightfall’s sides with his heels and set the gelding dancing across the paddock. Sunrise watched for a moment, then joined in, all grace and elegant movements.
“George!”
George turned his head and met Frank’s gaze. “What? Is something wrong?”
“No. You…I’ve seen you before! A few months ago. I was running an errand for Mother and there you were—you and your father and your horses.”
“It’s a small world, isn’t it?”
“I want to ride like that, too!”
“It’s going to take a lot of hard work.”
“I’m a hard worker.”
“Okay. First learn to ride, and then we’ll see what my father says.”
“More, please? I’d like to see more.”
George grinned at him, gripped Nightfall’s mane, and touched his heel to the gelding’s side. George was going to enjoy having a friend.
* * * *
Eventually, Sunrise lost interest and began to graze. That was the signal the horses had both had enough. George patted Nightfall’s shoulder.
“He’s…he’s rather big, isn’t he?” Frank seemed a little in awe of the gelding’s height.
“Nightfall? No, he’s only about fifteen hands.”
Frank looked confused. George would have to remember he was a city boy.
“A hand is four inches. That’s how a horse’s height is measured. Now, suppose I show you how to groom the horses?”
“Yes!”
“Get the combs and brushes and the hoof pick and come in.” He swung a leg over Nightfall’s neck and slid off. “And make sure you always close and fasten the gate behind you.”
Frank did as George told him and stood within the paddock. “What do I do now?”
“First they need to have their feet picked. This is how it’s done.” George ran his hand down Nightfall’s leg and squeezed the gelding’s tendon, just as Papa had shown him forever ago. Nightfall obligingly lifted his foot, and George set to work making sure the hoof was clear of rocks and debris.
Once all four hooves were done, he brushed the hair out of his eyes with his forearm, blew out a breath, then pushed Nightfall’s mane out of the way.
“Nightfall’s a gentleman. He’ll let you do just about anything. Come here, and I’ll show you how to use the curry comb.”
“Why is Sunrise nipping your backside?”
George laughed. “She knows I have a treat for her in my back pocket.” He pushed the mare’s nose away. “Later, querida.”
“What’s that?”
“What’s what?”
“That word you used?”
“Oh, it’s Spanish. It means my dear.”
“You know Spanish? How did you learn?”
George bit his lip. Papa had always told him not to say anything about it. “My…my father taught me.” It wasn’t a lie, although it wasn’t the exact truth.
Frank sighed. “I wish I could speak another language.”
“I’ll teach you, if you’d like.”
“Would you, really? You’re a good friend, George.”
“We’re friends, then.” George stuck out his hand, and they shook on it.
It took longer than usual to finish caring for the horses, but they enjoyed the attention, and it was obvious Frank enjoyed the task, also.
Once they were done, they fed more carrots to the horses, and Frank practically wriggled with pleasure.
“I have to persuade Father to let me have a horse!”
* * * *
George and Frank were sitting on the fence watching the horses as they grazed and talking about their schooling.
“I’m going to be a lawyer,” Frank said. “That’s what my father wants, and he has a practice lined up for me to clerk in when I finish with school.”
“Don’t you want to be a lawyer?”
“Excuse me?”
“You said it’s what your father wants.”
Frank sighed. “Yes. I’d rather be a mountain man.” His gaze became dreamy. “To live under the stars, to trap and hunt and fight Indians…”
“Why would you want to fight Indians?”
That seemed to give Frank pause. “Well…well…They’ve been attacking wagon trains.”
“Wouldn’t you, if people came and tried to take away your land?”
“But they’re savages. It says so in the newspapers.”
“They’re people.”
For a second it looked like Frank was going to argue with him, but they were distracted by the sound of a jingling harness.
“Hi, Papa. Hi, Mama!”
“Hello, son. Franklin.” Papa looked over the horses and nodded in approval. “I reckon you did a fine job, both of you.”
“Thank you again for letting me help with the horses, sir.” Frank blushed and smiled shyly.
“You’re welcome. George, why don’t you return the dogcart?”
“Can Frank come with me?”
“Sure.”
“Come on, Frank. I’ll show you how to drive Sancho Panza, then we can ride him home.”
“Both of us?”
“Yeah. He’s a good mule. Here, Papa.” George offered him a carrot. “We’ll give Sancho Panza the last one.”
Tom took the carrot and broke it in half. “Thank you, son.”
George grinned at him, then went to the mule, rubbed the spot between his eyes, and broke the last carrot in two. “Here, Frank. Remember how I showed you.”
Frank put the carrot in his flattened palm and offered it to the mule. Sancho Panza’s large square teeth bit down on it, and he chewed with obvious relish.
George fed the mule the other half of the carrot. He patted the mule’s neck, then caught up the reins and climbed onto the dogcart.
Frank gave the mule a pat also and grinned back at George, almost wriggling in pleasure.
What a great day this was. George not only had a new Mama, but he had a new friend as well. George waited while Frank hoisted himself up beside him, then clicked his tongue and shook out the reins, and Sancho Panza set off at a brisk trot.
Chapter 16
Tom and Olivia watched as the boys drove off.
“Our son,” he murmured with pride.
“Yes.” Olivia yawned.
“Come along, querida. You should take a nap before dinner.”
She yawned again. “I don’t know why I’m so tired. I haven’t napped like this since I was a little girl.”
He paused when he heard the rattling of wheels.
“Papa! Papa!”
“Mr. Pettigrew!”
The dogcart came barreling along the drive to the stable. Tom put his wife behind him and bounded forward. As George slowed Sancho Panza, Tom seized the mule’s bridle just above the bit.
“What is it?”
“Mad dog!”
“What?”
“We’d just turned onto the street, and Sancho Panza almost ran into him.”
Tom could see the mule, usually a placid animal, appeared nervous.
It was early in the season, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. Tom whirled around, to find Olivia right behind him. He caught her around the waist and hurried her toward the stable. “You boys get in here too, and close the doors behind you,” he called over his shoulder. “Olivia, you stay with them.”
“What are you going to do, Tom?”
“I’ll take care of it.” Tom strode into the tack room where he’d stored his rifle. A quick check verified it was loaded, and he headed out. “George, take care of your mama.”
He eased open the stable door, in case the dog had made its way there, but the area was free of all mad dogs. In fact, Sunrise and Nightfall stood by the fence, curious but otherwise unconcerned.
Hmm.
He made his way to the street. A brown and black dog lay by the curb, dead.
“Son of a bitch.” It shouldn’t have died that quickly, not from rabies. He approached it cautiously, but sure as fire it was dead. He was surprised flies hadn’t started buzzing around it yet, but they would soon, and he needed it away from here. The last thing he wanted was dead animals piling up in front of the cottage he’d selected for Olivia.
A glance up the street showed a street sweeper lackadaisically pushing a broom and dragging his cart along behind him.
“Hey!” Tom waved him over.
“Help you?”
“Get rid of this dog, would you?” He reached into his pocket, took out a coin, and gave it to the man.
“Okay.” The man retrieved his shovel, scooped up the dog, and dropped the body into his cart.
