The Ties That Bind

by Amelia C. Adams

  “Yes, I did say that.” Toby chuckled. “Funny how your own words can come back and haunt you. The thing is, Peter, if it’s meant to be, you’ll find a way, even if the road seems bumpy at times.”

  “Thank you. I definitely mean to spend a little time with her and see if this could lead to something more, but I’m trying not to get my hopes up again. I’m not sure how many times I could survive having my heart broken in one lifetime.”

  “As many as it takes. The heart is resilient—it can go on for some time as long as it’s fed on faith.” Toby stood up. “I need to get going, but I’ll be waiting on your good report. You deserve happiness, Peter, and I hope this is it.”

  Peter let out a long breath. “Me too. And thanks for the visit.”

  Peter glanced at the clock on the wall. Freddy Carlson was expected any minute, and Peter was glad of that because he had four messages to be delivered. They should be simple for the boy to locate, as they were all there on Main Street. If Freddy did well and his mother felt he was up to the challenge, Peter would add in some locations a little farther away, but for now, this was just enough responsibility for the child to feel as though he was making an important contribution. Once he felt that, his behavior would likely settle down—he needed to have an outlet for his excessive energy, and doing a good job at the same time would help him emotionally.

  A light knock sounded on the office door. “Come in, Freddy,” Peter called out.

  Instead of Freddy, though, it was Freddy’s mama. She wore a navy blue jacket over a white dress with blue flowers, and just as he had the first time he’d seen her, Peter felt his breath get taken away. This time, though, he had no reason to feel guilty. She was a widow, not a married woman with a husband waiting somewhere to punch Peter in the jaw for thinking his wife was pretty.

  “Mrs. Carlson.” Peter came to his feet. “Good morning. Do you have Freddy with you?”

  “He and May are sitting on the little bench in your lobby,” she replied. “I thought it was best if I spoke with you privately.”

  From the way she was clutching her bag, Peter could tell she was nervous, and that made him nervous as well. This wasn’t likely to be good news. “Please have a seat. What can I do for you?”

  She sat, but only on the very edge of her chair as though she wanted to be able to leave quickly. “Mr. Thomas, this is a rather awkward thing to bring up, but I feel I need to be open and honest with you.”

  He nodded. “I appreciate honesty,” he said when she paused. “Feel free to say whatever’s on your mind.” He steeled himself for whatever it might be. Toby said the heart was resilient, but he wasn’t so sure.

  She pressed her lips together, then took a deep breath. “Mr. Thomas, while I’m very grateful to you for offering Freddy a job, and for insisting that he apologize to me, I also feel that you were a bit high-handed by stepping in the way you did. I recognize that I’m still learning how to be an effective mother and that my disciplinary skills are fledgling at best, but I am trying, and it’s embarrassing to me that others feel the need to correct my children on my behalf. Especially on a public street. I don’t feel that it was any of your business.”

  Oh. Peter hadn’t even considered that she might feel that way. He’d just wanted to lend a hand, and apparently, he could have gone about it differently. This wasn’t the sort of impression he’d meant to leave on her—he’d hoped for something more romantic, more personal.

  However . . .

  “Mrs. Carlson, I can’t tell you how sorry I am,” he began. “I never intended to cause you any sort of embarrassment, and I apologize for that. I also didn’t mean to imply that I find you ineffective. Anyone can see how deeply you love your children and how you want the very best for them—I respect that a great deal.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Thomas,” she said, leaning forward a little as if to stand up. “I appreciate your time—” He held up a finger, and she paused. “Yes?”

  “I do wish to mention two items, though,” he went on. He hated to do it—he would love to leave things at a simple apology, but that wouldn’t do any of them any good, least of all Freddy. Any chances Peter had of getting in this woman’s good graces were about to be demolished, but he had to do what was right.

  “First of all, Mrs. Carlson, Freddy ran into me full tilt, and yet he showed no signs of remorse. I’m not a prideful man, but I do believe that when I’ve been wronged, I should receive some sort of apology, and in that regard, standing up for myself was the right thing to do.”

  She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. “The second item?”

  “The second item is my desire to give Freddy a job, and if he’s to work for me, his conduct must reflect my office’s standards.” Peter studied Mrs. Carlson’s face. “You came in here today to cancel our arrangement, didn’t you? You don’t feel he should work for me.”

  “I . . . I’m not sure.” She looked down at the desktop. “I thought I knew, but you’ve made some very good points already, and it’s only been a moment or two.”

  “If Freddy works for me, and if he wants to retain that job, he will need to slow down and be more respectful,” Peter went on. “On the other hand, if he’s not in my employ and he’s not running into me and treading on my toes, you’re correct—I have no right to interfere. It would be the right of the next person he injures.”

  Mrs. Carlson nodded slowly. “I understand, Mr. Thomas. I should have thought things over before I reacted. It seems I should have listened to Mrs. Barton’s advice more carefully.”

  Peter smiled. “She’s a very wise woman.” He was tempted to ask just what Thora had counseled her to do, but that really would be overstepping his bounds. “I do want to make something clear, though—you did nothing at all wrong by speaking to me. As Freddy’s mother, you are the one who determines his raising and his opportunities. I should not have given you any cause to feel otherwise. I only meant to step in where it pertained to myself and the way I should be treated.”

  “Which is more than fair.” She gave him the faintest smile in return. “It seems we both learned something from this little chat, Mr. Thomas.”

  “Yes, I believe we did.” Peter leaned back in his chair and regarded her. “So, what do you think? Will Freddy be working for me, or do you feel it’s best that we dissolve our agreement? I will understand either way.”

  “You really are very kind, Mr. Thomas.” Mrs. Carlson pressed her lips together, then looked back up. “I think he could try the job for a day or two and see how it goes.”

  “I’m very glad to hear it.” Peter tried to hide his wide grin. Not only would his messages get delivered, but he’d have the chance to see Mrs. Carlson again soon. He liked her all the better for speaking her mind, and while he might have ruined any prospects for romance by being straightforward in return, he knew they’d each honored themselves by asserting their rights, and that was a healthy way to begin any sort of friendship.

  Friendship . . . not quite the word he’d been wanting to use, but he’d take what he could get. It was a step in the right direction, at least.

  He stood up and took Mrs. Carlson’s hand. It wasn’t a handshake, but it was definitely business and nothing else. He wished he could hold that hand while strolling with her through a moonlit garden, but he needed to change his expectations. Again.

  Chapter Five

  Things had gone much better at Mr. Thomas’s office than Scarlett had expected. He had listened to her and she felt they’d arrived at a good understanding, but she was still disappointed, and she wasn’t sure why. What had she been hoping for?

  If she was going to be absolutely honest with herself, she’d been hoping that their conversation would take a more . . . well, personal turn. He had to feel the same attraction she did—it buzzed in her ears so loudly, it was a wonder the whole town wasn’t aware of it. But he probably had no time in his life for anything but business, and she’d surprised herself by finding him attractive in the first place. After all, h
e’d humiliated her on a public street. That alone should be enough to squelch any thoughts of romance she might have had. But when he explained the reasons behind his behavior, her respect for him grew exponentially, and now she was having a hard time concentrating on her work.

  Why did her heart have to be so fickle?

  She trimmed the loose threads from the sleeve she was working on and picked up the other one. This dress had lovely lace cuffs, and she thought it would look very nice on their client—a lady in her early fifties who had decided it was time to treat herself to something pretty rather than merely practical. They’d had fun discussing lighter colors and easier fabrics, and Scarlett couldn’t wait to see her try on the finished product.

  She also wondered how Freddy was getting along. He’d been out delivering messages for exactly twenty minutes now, and so far, he hadn’t been brought back by the marshal or any other irate Topeka citizen. She had to consider this a good thing—every minute that went by was a success.

  The door to the shop opened, and she glanced up to see Miss Evans greeting a tall young woman with hair the color of corn silk. “Miss Blake! I hear congratulations are in order.”

  Blake? That name sounded familiar . . . Oh, yes. This was the schoolteacher Eliza had been talking about, the one who was getting married.

  “Thank you, Miss Evans. The whole thing came about unexpectedly, but I’m very happy. I will miss teaching, though.”

  “Have they found someone to take the post?”

  Scarlett leaned forward to hear better. She hoped it wasn’t obvious that she was eavesdropping.

  “Yes, they told me just this morning. Her name is Betsy Reynolds, and she’ll be arriving in about a week.”

  “Oh, that’s good news.”

  Scarlett sat back in her chair, pushing down the disappointment. Yes, teaching would have given her a higher salary than sewing, but she was a better seamstress than she was a teacher, and it gave her more flexibility—plus that distance from Freddy she believed they needed. They would appreciate each other more if they weren’t spending all their time together, so this would be for the best. Still disappointing, but for the best.

  Why was it that so often, the things that were for the best didn’t seem to pay all the bills?

  “Mama?” May put down her sampler and walked over to Scarlett’s chair. “Mama, I’ve thought of something very important I must do. I’ll be right back, all right?”

  Scarlett frowned. “What sort of important thing? Can it wait until I can take you?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama, but this is something I should do myself. I know where I’m going—I won’t get lost, I promise.”

  May did have a good sense of direction, but she was only seven. She seemed so intent on this errand, though. “You may go, but come back as quickly as you can, all right? Why can’t you tell me more about it?”

  May tilted her head to the side. “Because when someone is growing up, sometimes they hafta do stuff.”

  Scarlett nodded. The explanation wasn’t very clear, but it did make sense, she supposed. “Is fifteen minutes long enough?”

  “I can’t tell time yet, Mama.”

  “Hmm.” Yes, that did add a complication to the mix. “Hurry then, all right? I’ll be watching for you.”

  “Thank you!” May gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then scampered through the door.

  Scarlett sat there a moment, trying to adjust. Freddy was out on a job, May was out on an errand, and she was alone for a moment without chattering voices filling every space in her head. It was oddly quiet. She liked it.

  And then the countdown began for when the children would return. She missed them.

  After bidding Mrs. Carlson a good morning and giving Freddy the messages to deliver, Peter leaned back in his chair and sighed. He knew he’d ruined things with Mrs. Carlson, he still had to take care of the errands that were too confidential to send with Freddy, and to top it off, he was hungry. He didn’t have time to go home for lunch before his next meeting—maybe he’d just drop by the hotel. They always had something hot ready to serve.

  He’d decided that’s what he’d do and was preparing to leave when yet another knock came at his door. He was standing right on the other side this time and opened it, but didn’t see anyone at first. Then he glanced down.

  “Oh, hello, Princess Amaryllis,” he said to the little girl on his threshold. “What brings you by? Does your mother know where you are?”

  “I told her I had something very important to do and I’d be back in a few minutes,” she said.

  “I see. And what is this important thing you need to do?”

  “I think you’re supposed to invite me in.” She gave him a pointed look.

  “Oh, you’re right. Of course. Please, come in and have a seat.” Peter returned to his spot behind the desk, a smile on his face. “Now, how may I help you?”

  “I would like to con . . . con . . . um, something . . . some business with you.”

  Her expression was so serious, Peter knew he’d better not show his amusement. “You’d like to conduct some business?”

  “Yes, exactly.” She folded her hands primly on her lap. “Eliza says you do business for people.”

  “I do.”

  “Well, then . . .” She opened up the tiny bag that dangled from her wrist and extracted two pennies, which she placed on the desk. “I would like to hire you to help Freddy be a nice boy.”

  “You . . . want to hire me?”

  “Yes. It’s very important.”

  Peter interlaced his fingers as he regarded the little girl. This wasn’t a game to her—this was something she wanted very badly, and he wondered at her motivations behind it. “Do you think I could do that?”

  She nodded emphatically. “No one has ever made Freddy apologize to Mama before—not anyone. But you did.”

  Peter shook his head. “I’m sure lots of people—”

  “No. Never.” She leaned forward and spoke confidingly. “People always act like they don’t know what to do with him, but I know what they should do. They should spank him. Right on the trousers.” She all but whispered the last part.

  “I see.” Peter studied the pennies on the desk. “And you’re paying me . . .”

  “Yes, but I think you can teach him to be nice without spanking him because Eliza says you’re the nicest brother ever, and you’ve never spanked her.”

  Peter blew out a breath. “I might be a kind brother, but I’m not sure I’m the one to help Freddy. He’s promised to be more courteous while he’s running errands for me, but that’s as far as my influence goes.” And that was the promise he’d made to Mrs. Carlson . . . so many promises floating around.

  “Mr. Thomas, I just don’t think you understand.” Princess Amaryllis fixed him with a look that was like a dagger right through his chest. “Sometimes children who don’t have papas have to find other papas to help them, and you’re the one I found. You can make Freddy be good, and if he’s good, maybe Mama will stop crying.”

  Peter swallowed. “Your mama cries?”

  “Yes, but only when she thinks I don’t know it. She doesn’t want me to be sad too. She’s worried that Freddy’s going to grow up to be like our papa—I heard her tell my grandma.”

  “Your papa was like Freddy?”

  “Well . . .” She seemed to consider the question. “My papa never ran down the street like Freddy does, but they both pulled Mama around a lot.”

  Peter remembered the sharp tug Freddy had given Mrs. Carlson’s arm, then imagined a grown man using that kind of force. Had Mrs. Carlson been an abused wife? He needed to ask more questions before he leaped to those sorts of conclusions—he’d already interfered far too much, and the last thing he wanted to do was assume things that weren’t true. “Did your papa ever hit your mama?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Once in a while,” the girl replied. “Mostly he yelled and said mean things. And that’s why Freddy does it. He always wanted to be ju
st like our papa.”

  Peter closed his eyes for a moment, trying to bring his emotions back under control. If there was anything in the world that made him angry, it was knowing that someone was being abused—most especially a woman or a child. His attraction for Mrs. Carlson wasn’t the reason for his anger, but it certainly did add fuel to the fire.

  Finally, he opened his eyes to find Princess Amaryllis studying him intently. “Did you just take a nap, or are you praying?” she asked. “Because my grandma used to close her eyes like that, and I never could tell which was which.”

  “I was thinking,” he replied. “But . . . maybe a little bit of praying, too.” He certainly could use some extra guidance—he didn’t know how to proceed from here.

  “I thought so,” Princess Amaryllis said. “You looked too serious to be asleep, and you weren’t making those weird little noises like my grandma makes when she’s sleeping.”

  “I’m glad I wasn’t,” he told her. “How old are you?”

  “I’m seven.”

  This girl was too young to know about so many of the hardships of life, and Freddy was scarcely older. Peter had told Mrs. Carlson he wouldn’t interfere, but where was the line between interference and protection? Mr. Carlson was no longer around to hurt her, but Freddy needed to be taught differently before he developed the same traits, and Amaryllis believed he was the one who could do it.

  Oh, the faith of a child.

  “Tell me about your name,” he said while he mulled over what to do.

  “Well . . .” She took a deep breath as though preparing to recite something for the hundredth time. “My grandmother’s name is Myrtle, and she wanted me named after her. My mama doesn’t like the name Myrtle, so she named me Myrtle May so she’d always have something to call me that she did like.”

  “And you don’t care for either name?”

  “Mr. Thomas, if you got to choose any name in the whole world, would you choose your own name all over again?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. I’ve never thought about it, I guess.”