“Camie feels safe here,” Felicity said. “Perhaps if thy daughter is allowed to stay here, she will be able to get past her fears.”

Ty knew he should go get Camie and carry her home. What would people say when they heard that he had left his only child at an orphan’s home?

He didn’t care. He recalled how happy Camie had been at dinner.

A hand came through the darkness and rested on his arm. “Thee has been carrying a heavy burden, friend. I will pray that the God who loves us will show us the way to help thy little one.”

Her kind, unreproachful words reached him and soothed him like no others. He rose, his exhausted body aching, but with hope and peace flickering like a candle flame inside him. “I will go home now. My mother will come tomorrow. Thank you for your understanding.”

Ty forced himself to walk away from her comforting presence. Miss Felicity Gabriel was different than any other woman he’d met. Her smile dazzled him. Love flowed from her. Why should it surprise him that Camie had been drawn to her? She had drawn him, too.

MILLS & BOON

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LYN COTE

Lyn Cote and her husband, her real-life hero, became in-laws recently when their son married his true love. Lyn already loves her daughter-in-law and enjoys this new adventure in family stretching. Lyn and her husband still live on the lake in the north woods, where they watch a bald eagle and its young soar and swoop overhead throughout the year. She wishes the best to all her readers. You may e-mail Lyn at l.cote@juno.com or write her at P.O. Box 864, Woodruff, WI 54548. And drop by her blog www.strongwomenbravestories.blogspot.com and read stories of strong women in real life and in true-to-life fiction. “Every woman has a story. Share yours.”

Her Patchwork Family
Lyn Cote

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Trust in the LORD and do good.

—Psalm 37:3

To my fellow Love Inspired authors—

you are a blessing to me!

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

May 1867

Keeping to the line of fir trees rippling in the wind, Felicity Gabriel tiptoed to the rear of the dark clump of mourners at the memorial service. There she attempted to hide behind a bulky man. A strong gust tried to snatch away Felicity’s Quaker bonnet and lift her gray skirt. She held on to the ribbons tied at her throat and pushed her skirt down. Ahead, she glimpsed the pastor holding on to his hat while reading from the Bible.

Her emotions hopped like crickets within her, distracting her from the familiar scriptures of victory over death. Then the man shielding her moved. She caught sight of the brand-new limestone marker. All that was left to show that Augustus Josiah Mueller had lived. Seeing Gus’s cold stone marker with the dates 1846–1865 took her breath. She drew in damp air. Gus.

The war had lured Gus away and then cruelly abandoned him in an unmarked grave somewhere in Virginia. The cannons were all silent now, but when would the consequences of this war end—one generation? Two? More?

“Why are you here?” The voice Felicity had dreaded hearing snapped like the sharp tongue of a whip.

She looked at the mourners and murmured, “I’m here to show my respect to Gus, Agnes Mueller.” Felicity lowered her eyes, not wanting to linger on the woman’s red-rimmed, hate-filled eyes.

“I’m surprised that you had the gall to show your face here today.” Each word was delivered like a blow.

“Agnes, please,” Josiah Mueller pleaded, tugging at his wife’s elbow.

“Our Gus is gone forever and we are left without consolation. And here you stand!” the woman shrilled, her voice rising.

There was a rustling in the crowd. Felicity knew there was nothing she could say or do that would comfort this woman who’d lost her only child. Or end her groundless grudge against Felicity. So she kept her eyes lowered, staring at the soggy ground wetting her shoes.

The tirade continued until the woman became incoherent and was led away, sobbing. As the mourners followed, many nodded to Felicity or touched her arm. They all knew the truth.

When everyone else had gone, Felicity approached the stone marker. Tears collected in her eyes. She knew it was human foolishness to speak words to a soul at a grave site, but she still whispered, “I’m leaving Pennsylvania, Gus, but I won’t forget thee ever.” And then removing her glove, she spit on her palm and pressed it—flat and firm against the cold stone.

Altoona, Illinois

September 1867

Amid the bustling Mississippi wharf, Ty Hawkins eased down onto the venerable raised chair. The chair was now his daily refuge where he got his shoes shined. Afterwards, he would catch a bite to eat at a nearby café. He rarely felt hungry these days even though he was several pounds lighter than he’d ever been as an adult. He would have liked to go home for lunch, sit on his shaded back porch and cool off. But he couldn’t face home so soon again.

I’m home but I’m not home.

This dreadful fact brought a sharp pang around his rib; he rubbed it, trying to relieve the pain. What am I going to do about Camie?

Jack Toomey had shined shoes here as long as Ty had worn them. Ty smiled and returned Jack’s friendly good day. The shoeshine man’s dark face creased into a grin. “It’s going to be another scorcher.”

“’Fraid so, Jack.”

“When is it going to realize it’s fall?” As Jack blackened Ty’s shoe, he gave him a long, penetrating look. He lowered his eyes. “Coming home’s not easy. Takes time. Patience.”

Jack seemed to be one of the few who understood Ty’s suffering. The shoeshine man’s sympathetic insight wrapped itself around Ty’s vocal cords. Jack glanced up. Ty could only nod.

Jack’s gaze dropped to Ty’s shoes. “It’ll get better. It wasn’t easy going off to learn how to shoot people and it isn’t easy to put down the rifle and come back.”

Ty managed to grunt. No one said things like this to him. Everyone seemed to overlook how hard it was not to jump at any loud noise, or to walk out in the open without scanning his surroundings for people who wanted to kill him. Ty wondered for a moment what Jack would advise if Ty told him about Camie’s dilemma.

The thought of discussing this private trouble with someone other than family only showed how desperate he was becoming.

Two urchins had come up to a woman on the street begging. She turned from the wagon and stooped down so her face was level with the children’s. Through the moving stream of people on the street, Ty watched the unusual woman. The ragged, grimy children—a little girl who held a younger boy by the hand—nodded. “What’s she up to?” Ty muttered to Jack.

“She don’t look like the kind who would hurt a child,” Jack said, looking over his shoulder again as he continued polishing Ty’s shoe.

The woman started to help the little girl up onto the wagon.

Then it happened.

A towheaded boy of about ten or eleven ran by the woman. He snatched her purse, throwing her off balance. With a shocked outcry, she let go of the girl’s hand and fell to the dirt street. Ty leaped up to go to the lady’s aid. He shoved his way through the crowd. As he reached her and offered her his hand, Hal Hogan, a town policeman, appeared from the other direction. Red-faced, Hogan had his beefy hand clamped on the thief’s shoulder. The boy cursed and struggled to free himself in vain.

Ty helped the lady up. “Are you all right, miss?”

She ignored his question, turning toward the caught thief. She very obviously studied the child’s smudged and angry red face.

Hogan handed her back her purse and said in his gravelly voice, “I usually would have to keep the purse as evidence but since I witnessed the theft that won’t be necessary. Would you tell me how much money you are carrying, miss?”

The young woman hesitated, then said, “I think only around five dollars.” She looked into the thief’s face and asked, “If thee needed money, why didn’t thee just ask me? I would have given thee what I could.”

The boy sneered at her and made a derisive noise.

Hogan shook the boy, growling, “Show respect, you.” His expression and tone became polite as he said to her, “I saw the robbery and can handle this. No need for a lady like you to get involved in such sordid business.” Hogan pulled the brim of his hat and dragged the boy away.

“Please wait!” the woman called after him and moved to pursue Hogan.

“Hey, lady!” the wagon driver demanded. “Are we going now or not? I’ve got other people who are waiting for me to get you delivered and come back to the station.”

Ty had watched all this, his jaw tight from witnessing the theft and her fall. He touched the woman’s sleeve.

She looked into his face, her large blue eyes worried. How could this woman say so much with only her eyes? This near-theft troubled her. Again, Ty nearly offered his protection, but why? The thief had been caught. He tightened his reserve and asked in a cool, polite tone, “May I help you up into the wagon?”

With one last glance in the direction where Hogan and the miscreant had disappeared, she nodded. “If thee would, please.”

Then she gave him a smile that dazzled him. She was a pretty woman—until she smiled. Then she was an extraordinary beauty. Was it merely the high caliber of the smile that made the difference?

After he helped her up onto the buckboard seat, she murmured, “I thank thee.” She was barely seated when the drayman slapped the reins over his team and with a jerk, the horses took off.

The lady waved her thanks once more and over her shoulder sent him another sparkling smile. He found himself smiling in return, his heart lighter.

Dalton watched from the shadowy doorway across the busy road. One problem taken care of. That kid wouldn’t be making trouble for him anymore. But he didn’t like that woman in the gray bonnet. What was she talking to those two little beggars for? He’d been watching them for days, waiting till they were ready. He frowned. No use looking for trouble. As soon as Hogan had appeared and nabbed the kid, the two had disappeared. But they wouldn’t go far and soon they’d be ready for the picking. He smiled. The dishonest life was good.

Felicity turned forward, distinctly unsettled. The two hungry children had been frightened away and the boy arrested. This was not how she had envisioned starting out here. Would she be able to find the little pair again? She sighed. Her eyes threatened to shut of their own accord. Traveling by train for miles and days had whittled her down to nothing. She forced her eyes wide open, stiffened her weary back and folded her hands in her lap.

What she needed was a long hot bath, a good night’s sleep. But those would be hours away. “Just a few more miles to tote the weary load”—her mind sang the old slave lament. But that was deceiving. In spite of her fatigue, uncertainty and hope tugged at her like impatient children. Here in Illinois, her work, the work God had given her to help the children, would begin, not end. She had planned on arriving a month earlier, but her sister Verity had needed help after the delivery of her first son in Virginia. Felicity smiled, thinking of how proud Verity’s husband, Matt, had been of his son.

Then the recent touch of the man’s strong hand on her arm intruded on her thoughts, the sensation lingering. She inhaled deeply. The man who’d leapt to her aid was not one to be taken lightly. And the red welt on his cheek could be nothing but the mark of a saber. A veteran like so many others. And with such sad eyes.

The wagon turned the corner. And there were the little girl and boy. The little girl was waving frantically, jumping up and down. “Lady! Lady!”

Felicity grabbed the reins. “Whoa!” The team halted, stomping, snorting and throwing back their heads. The drayman shouted at her for interfering with his driving. Thrilled to find the two so easily, she ignored him. She reached down with both hands and helped the children up. They crowded around her feet. The children were ragged, very thin, tanned by the sun and had tangled dark hair and solemn eyes.

She turned to the burly, whiskered driver and beamed. “I apologize and promise to make thee no more trouble.”

The driver looked bemused. He shook his head and slapped the reins, starting off again for Number 14 Madison Boulevard. Madison Boulevard proved to be a long avenue with wide lawns and massive houses, which struck Felicity as mansions. Very soon, the wagon pulled up to a very large, three-story white house on a wide piece of land with oak and fir trees and bushes. Looking through the porte cochere on the side of the house, she glimpsed a carriage house at the back of the estate. The grounds were well tended but the house looked uninhabited with its shades and lace curtains drawn.

“Is this your house?” the little girl asked, sounding impressed and scared at the same time.

Felicity was experiencing the same reaction. She had known that Mildred Barney was a well-to-do woman, but Mildred had always come east for the abolition meetings and work. “Yes, my new house.” Felicity tried not to feel intimidated by the home’s quiet grandeur. This did not strike her as a neighborhood which would welcome an orphanage. Indeed I have my work cut out for me. “I’ve just come for the first time. Thee may get down now, children.”

Within minutes, the silent driver had unloaded her trunk and valise and had carried both up to the front door. She paid him and tipped him generously for his trouble.

He looked down at his palm. “Unlock the door,” he ordered gruffly, “and I’ll carry that trunk upstairs for you.”

As Felicity turned the large key in the keyhole, she hid her smile. She stepped inside, drawing the children after her. “Please just leave it here in the entryway. I don’t know which room I will take as yet.”

The drayman did as asked, pulled the brim of his hat politely and left.

Felicity stood a moment, turning on the spot, drinking in the graceful staircase, the gleaming dark oak woodwork, the obviously expensive wallpaper with its lavish design of pink cabbage roses and greenery. Her parents’ parlor could have fit into this foyer. In this grand setting, she felt smaller, somehow overwhelmed and humbled. When God blessed one, He didn’t stint.

“Miss?” The little girl tugged her skirt. “You said you’d give us food and a place to sleep tonight.”

“I did indeed. Come let us find the kitchen.” Felicity picked up the covered oak basket that she’d carried on her arm since leaving Gettysburg. In it were the last remnants of her provisions for the trip. She hoped it would be enough for the children.

“Hello,” a woman hailed them from the shadowy end of the hall that must lead to the kitchen in the rear. “Who are you, please?”

When the woman came into the light, her appearance reduced Felicity to gawking. She was a tall, slender woman in a blue calico dress with a full white apron and red kerchief tied over her hair. Neat as a brand-new pin. She looked to be in her late twenties and had skin the color of coffee with much cream. Her smooth oval face reminded Felicity of drawings she’d seen of Egyptian queens. And her thick, black eyelashes were perfection. Felicity had been told that a housekeeper would stay until she came. But was this the housekeeper? She’d never seen a beautiful housekeeper before.

Felicity held out her hand, hoping the woman hadn’t noticed her momentary preoccupation. “I am Felicity Gabriel. I’ve inherited this house.”

The woman shook Felicity’s hand, firm and quick. “I been expecting you, miss. Mrs. Barney’s lawyer told me you would be coming any time now. I been keeping things ready for you. I’m the housekeeper, Vista.”

Felicity listened to the woman’s low musical voice with pleasure. Beautiful to both the eye and ear.

“Miss?” the little girl prompted, tugging on Felicity’s skirt again.

“Vista, we have company for lunch.” How would this very neatly starched and pressed woman deal with unkempt, ragged children in this elegant house? This was something she must be able to handle or there would have to be a change. Would she understand how to handle this situation?

The woman considered the children, tapping one finger to her cheek. “Why don’t I bring lunch out onto the back porch? There be a shaded table there. Mrs. Barney liked to eat outside in the summer. And it’s such a lovely September day.” Then Vista nodded toward the door behind Felicity.

Felicity got the message. She was to take the children outside and around to the back porch. And so she did.

Vista met them in the back and greeted them beside the pump. “I don’t allow anyone with dirty hands or a dirty face to eat at my table.” Vista pointed to a white bar of soap and a white flour-sack towel, sitting on an overturned wooden box nearby. Then she began to pump water.

As the water splashed, Felicity slipped off her bonnet and gloves and tossed them onto the nearby back-porch steps. Setting an example, she lathered her hands with the soap, then handed the bar to the little girl. “Be sure to keep your eyes shut so the soap doesn’t sting them,” Felicity cautioned. After scrubbing her face and hands, she rinsed off in the cold water Vista was still pumping. And then, since she’d taken her own advice and shut her eyes, Vista put the towel into her hands.

When Felicity opened her eyes, she looked over to find that the girl was teaching the boy how to lather his hands and face. When they were done, she passed the towel to the children, who left dirty prints on it. The girl said, “I ’member washing up. He doesn’t.”

“Does thee?” Felicity resonated with the impact of that simple but telling sentence.

The girl nodded. “Can we eat now?”

Felicity wondered how she could persuade these waifs to stay. She sensed a deep caution in the girl, wise for her years. Father, guide me.

“Right now, chil’run.” Vista led them to the small round table on the trellised porch, shaded by lavish, bright purple clematis. She went into the kitchen and returned with a cup of coffee, a plate piled high with slices of buttered bread and cheese and two glasses of milk on a tray. The minute she set the plate on the table, the little boy grabbed two slices of bread and shoved one into his mouth as deep as he could.

“Donnie, that’s not good manners,” the girl scolded. “Sorry, miss, but he don’t ’member eating at a table.”

Felicity choked down her reaction. Was eating at a table another privilege she took for granted? “That’s all right. I’m sure he will get used to it. What are thy names?”

“I’m Katy and he’s Donnie.”

Felicity gave them a smile. “Happy to meet thee, Katy. Now I will thank God for this food.” She bowed her head. “Thank Thee, God, for food and friends.”

After that, Vista was kept busy bringing out more bread and cheese. Finally, she murmured to Felicity that she didn’t want the children to eat themselves sick.

After her last swallow of milk, Katy stood up. “Thanks for the eats, miss. We’ll be back later to sleep.”

“Where is thee going?” Felicity asked, rising to stop them.

“We got to go beg. Donnie’s going to need shoes before the snow.” The child glanced down at the little boy’s bare, dirty feet.

“Does that mean thee doesn’t have a home?” Felicity asked.

“No, miss, but I take care of Donnie.” Katy took the boy’s hand and began edging away.

“Would thee like a home?” Felicity blurted out.

Katy stopped and eyed her with suspicion. “What’s the catch?”

“Catch?” Felicity echoed.

Vista spoke up. “The catch is that you got to be scrubbed clean to come inside. I know you chil’run can’t help it, but you have to be scrubbed head to toe before you come in. No vermin allowed in any house I’m living in or cleaning up.”

Vista’s calm but firm pronouncement slightly embarrassed Felicity. But better to start as one plans to go. Katy glanced at Felicity, who nodded her agreement with Vista.

Katy glanced around and then pointed to the door mat. “What about out here? Could we sleep here on the porch?”

Felicity turned to Vista. After all, she was the one who would be cleaning and she was the one who’d brought up the issue of cleanliness.

“You can,” Vista replied, “as long as the weather is warm like this, but if you stay till Donnie needs shoes, you will have to be clean to stay inside.”

“You mean we could really stay here?” Katy asked with an appraising expression.

“That’s why I’ve come—”

Vista cut Felicity off. “We got no chil’run and I need help with chores and such. The gardener has been away so the weeds have started getting thick. If I show you how to weed today, would you pull weeds, not my flowers?”

“And we might need errands run,” Felicity added, catching on. These children had probably rarely known generosity which asked nothing in return. Better to draw them in slowly, gaining their trust. Vista was already proving to be an asset.

Katy nodded. “We got a deal. Where are them weeds?”

Felicity glanced at Vista and lifted one eyebrow, asking her to proceed.

“Over here. I have a garden patch that is choked with them. And I do not like pulling weeds.”

Katy followed Vista down the steps and around the house with Donnie in tow. Relief whispered through Felicity. Vista had displayed a practical kindness and sensitivity that impressed Felicity. And the children were staying—at least for now.

Vista returned and Felicity helped her carry in the dishes. After waving Felicity to a chair at the kitchen table, Vista began to wash them. “I see you are planning to start the orphans’ home right quick.”

Sitting down after eating caused exhaustion to sweep through Felicity and she closed her eyes. “I want to give children who have no home a place, a safe place to grow up strong and good.”

“That’s why Mrs. Barney left you this house and all the money?” Vista glanced over her shoulder.

“Yes, she came to Pennsylvania and we worked together coordinating movement on the Underground Railroad. She was a wonderful woman. And she was certain that many children would be left orphaned by this dreadful war.”

“And just generally, too?”

Felicity nodded, blinking her eyes to keep them open. “Will thee stay with me and help?”

Vista gave her a sidelong glance. “I got no plans to leave…yet.”

So Vista was sizing her up, too. Felicity stretched her tight neck and sighed.

“I got a room ready for you upstairs, miss. Why don’t you go on up and rest?”

Felicity sighed again—a habit she must overcome. “No, first I must walk back into town and speak to Mrs. Barney’s lawyer.”

Her hands in the wash basin, Vista frowned. “Well, first of all, if you going into town, you’re not walking. The groom will hitch up the gig for you. But what do you need to talk to the lawyer about?”

“Why mustn’t I walk into town?” Felicity asked, not answering the housekeeper’s question.

“Mrs. Barney had a certain standing here. I know she wouldn’t want you to walk to town,” Vista replied firmly.

Felicity tried to think of a polite answer to this. Yes, Mrs. Barney had been a lady of generous means. But Felicity didn’t ride where she could eaily walk. But here and now, she was just too tired to argue.

“And the lawyer, Miss Felicity?” Vista asked again.

Clearly there was no putting anything past this woman. “There’s a child who needs my help,” Felicity answered. “And I’m going to need a lawyer in order to give it to him.”

That evening Ty paced his library, wishing he were deaf. After four years of listening to cannon fire and bombs bursting in air, he should be. Unfortunately, he could still hear well enough to suffer each evening’s ordeal. The rocking chair on the floor above him creaked in a steady but rapid rhythm. Every once in a while, Camie cried out as if someone had jabbed her with a needle.

No one should have to rock a five-year-old girl to sleep. But if no one rocked her, Camie would stand by the door in her room and sob till she fell down with exhaustion. Then upon waking in the night as she always did, she would scream as if someone were scalding her.

Ty rubbed his face in time with the rocking chair. The sounds of the rapid rocking and Camie’s sudden cries of terror shredded his nerves into quivering strings. He halted by the cold hearth and rested his head on the smooth, cool mantel. When would this nightly torture end? Dear God, help my little daughter, help us.

Finally, the rocking above slowed and quieted, then ceased, along with the outcries. Ty’s tension eased. He slumped into the wing chair by the fireplace. His mother’s light footsteps padded down the stairs. As always, she paused at the doorway to wish him good-night.

Tonight, however, she came in and sat down across from him. His mother, Louise Pierce Hawkins, perched on the tapestry seat, a small canary of a woman with silver strands liberally mixed into her faded blond hair. Her kind face showed her distress.

His heart beat faster. “Did something happen?” Something worse than usual?

She gazed at him. “Nothing out of the ordinary, unfortunately.” She locked her hands together. “I’m becoming more and more concerned about our Camie.”

Ty chewed his upper lip and frowned. He wanted to ask if she thought Camie needed…no, he didn’t want to know.

“I don’t think she’s mentally unbalanced, son,” she said, answering his unspoken question. “But nothing I do appears to help her get past her panic. In fact, I don’t know why she has such fear or what exactly she is afraid of.” She shook her head. “She fights sleep as if it were death itself.”

Her face twisted with concern. “Whenever she feels herself slipping into sleep, she cries out to wake herself and hold…something at bay. I wish I knew what it was.”

Ty could think of nothing to say, nothing that could end this nightly struggle. Guilt weighed on him. He hadn’t been able to tell his mother the part he may have unwittingly played in making his daughter’s night terrors worse.

Louise rested her head in her hand. “I confess I’m at my wits’ end. God must send us help, an answer, someone who knows what to do.”

His mother’s strained, defeated tone alarmed him. “I could hire someone to care for her. This is too much for you—”

“No.” His mother’s tone was firm, implacable. “Camie is a sweet, biddable child all day.” She looked to the cold hearth as if seeking warmth, encouragement there. “It’s just the falling asleep. She can’t face the night.”

His mother left out the other worrisome problem, which was that Camie would not look at him. Or suffer him to come near her. He clenched his jaw and then exhaled. “Mother, I appreciate all you do for Camie. Maybe we should do what Mrs. Crandall—”

Louise hissed with disapproval. “Ty, you know my opinion of that woman.” She jerked her head as if warning someone away. “I try to be charitable, but I think much of the cause of this worrying behavior lies at her doorstep.” She pressed her lips together.

Ty looked out into the night. The question of what to do hung unspoken and unanswered between them.

That evening, Felicity stood at the kitchen window, looking out at the two children huddled together on her back porch like stray puppies. She had been tempted to overrule Vista and let the children come inside without cleaning up first. But Felicity hoped Vista would become a part of her work here, and she didn’t want to do anything that might upset the housekeeper.

By staying here and keeping the house safe and cared for after Mrs. Barney’s death, Vista had proven herself to be honest and hardworking. It would be hard for a stranger to town like Felicity to replace Vista. Trust took time to forge.

And Vista was right. Basic cleanliness must be established for the benefit of all the children who would come here to live. Cleanliness was healthy. A home with children—Felicity hoped to have many children here in the future—must be a house with firm, sensible rules.

Felicity wiped the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand. It was a warm, humid night. Sleeping outside was probably more comfortable than sleeping inside. Still, homeless children sleeping on her porch grieved Felicity, causing a gnawing ache deep within.

Donnie snorted in his sleep and opened one eye. She realized he could see her through the window because he wiggled one of his little fingers as if waving to her. The boy, barely more than a toddler, hadn’t spoken a word to anyone all day. Though nearly moved to tears, she grinned and wiggled her little finger back at him. The child closed his eyes and fell back to sleep.

Felicity sighed. And then reminded herself that she must stop this new habit. Sighing sounded lonely and a bit sad, pensive even. She caught herself just before she did it again.

Dear Father, please bring me children, the lost ones, the ones that the evil lion Satan wishes to devour. Give me strength and wisdom to carry out the work Thee has given me. I will depend on Thy promise from Psalm 37. I will trust in Thee and do good.

Felicity turned from the window to go upstairs before she remembered one more request.

And Father, please give me the courage I will need in court tomorrow so that I may right the wrong committed against a child—a wrong that has been committed in my name.

Chapter Two

The next morning after breakfast with Katy and Donnie on the back porch, Felicity stood in the kitchen. The heat and the humidity were already growing uncomfortable. How could the calendar say September when it felt like July?

While the children pulled weeds, Felicity and Vista discussed the grocery list. Underneath these routine concerns lurked apprehension over what she would be facing in town today. Felicity glanced at the kitchen wall clock. She needed to get busy and set off for town. The lawyer had told her to be in court at 9:00 a.m. The coming test tightened her midsection. She was pitting herself against the powers of this world.

“What are you children doing here?” A strident female voice flew through the open window, followed by squeals of pain.

Felicity burst through the back door and sailed over the grass toward the woman, her heart outracing her feet. “Stop! Let them go!”

A tall, slender, very well-dressed woman had Katy and Donnie each by an ear. The sight sent anger rushing through Felicity like a hot spring.

The woman was brought up short and glared at Felicity. “These children can’t possibly belong here. This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Pulling them from the woman’s grasp, Felicity drew the children to her. “Katy and Donnie are my guests.” She gasped for air, trying to catch her breath after running in the sultry air.

“Guests?” The woman’s eyes narrowed as they took in every detail of Felicity’s attire and face. “Who are you?”

“I am Felicity Gabriel. Who is thee, please?” Standing very straight, Felicity offered her hand, which was ignored—a sting that tried Felicity’s temper.

“Thee?” the woman snapped, her face crimping up. “Are you some kind of Quaker?”

“There is only one kind of Quaker that I know of.” Taking another sip of the humid air, Felicity tried to keep her irritation out of her tone. “And yes, I am a member of the Society of Friends.”

“Well, I am a God-fearing Christian and this is a respectable neighborhood. We don’t want riffraff from the riverfront here.”

Felicity could think of nothing Christian to say to this so she merely looked at the woman. She knew she wasn’t to judge others, but…

“Why are these children here on Madison Boulevard?” The woman pointed at the ground as though it were sacred ground that Katy and Donnie were not worthy to walk upon.

Felicity gripped her spiraling temper with both hands. “They are here because they had no one to feed them and nowhere to sleep,” she replied in an even tone. “They are doing a few jobs for me in return for food and shelter.”

“You are not from around here,” the woman said, her attractive face reddening like a bull about to charge. “So you don’t know that we keep the river rats and their spawn down at the wharf. We don’t let them roam through town—”

Felicity gritted her teeth. “I met Katy and Donnie at the wharf and invited them home because they are hungry and homeless orphans. I hope to invite many more to come here.” Felicity quoted, “‘Pure religion and undefiled before God and the Father is this, To visit the fatherless and widows in their affliction.’ So since thee is a God-fearing Christian, I would think thee would be pleased.”

The woman leaned forward as if trying to either read Felicity’s mind or intimidate her. “Are you telling me that you’re starting an orphanage here?”

Felicity’s forced smile thinned. Her hold on her temper was slipping, slipping. “I think ‘orphans’ home’ and ‘orphanage’ are unpleasant titles. They sound so institutional and unkind. This will be the Barney Home for Children. I am going to welcome homeless children into this house and make sure they are kept warm and well fed. So yes, thee can expect to see many more children here in the future.”

The woman began making a sound that reminded Felicity of a dog growling at trespassers. “The law won’t let you disrupt our quiet neighborhood with an orphanage.”

Churning with righteous indignation, Felicity patted the children’s backs, trying to reassure them, and felt their spines sticking out, no padding of fat over the knobby vertebrae. This woman saw only their bare feet and ragged clothing, not their need. Father, help me make her see these children with Thine eyes.

“Mrs. Barney’s lawyer has already checked all the legalities of this charitable work which that good woman requested in her will. She asked me to carry it out in her stead.” Felicity took another breath of the sultry air. “I am breaking no laws. I don’t know why thee assumes that a small number of orphans will disrupt—”

The woman raised her chin another notch. “We don’t want beggars and sneak thieves living among us.”

“Neither do I.” Felicity gazed at the woman, trying to reach the soul behind all the vainglory. “Thee hasn’t introduced thyself. I’d love to talk to thee about my plans—”

“I am Mrs. Thornton Crandall,” she interrupted, “and I am uninterested in your plans to despoil our good neighborhood.”

Mrs. Crandall turned, lifted her skirts as if the ground had been defiled by Katy and Donnie and marched off. The kitchen door behind Felicity opened. She glanced over her shoulder toward the sound.

Vista gave her a wry smile. “I see you met Mrs. Crandall, one of the leading ladies in Altoona society.”

Stirred as if she’d just fought hand-to-hand in the opening battle of war, Felicity shook her head. She tried to return Vista’s smile and failed. How could this woman look at these children and not be moved to pity?

Katy tugged Felicity’s skirt. “Miss, was you telling the truth? Are you going to take in children that don’t have homes?”

“Yes,” Felicity gentled her voice and stooped down. “Katy, would thee and Donnie like to come live here?” With the back of one hand, she touched the little girl’s soft cheek.

Katy looked back and forth between Felicity and Vista. “I’ll think on it, miss.”

“Yes, please do, Katy. We would be so happy to have thee and Donnie with us.” Rising, Felicity squeezed her shoulder. “Now I must get into town. Please do whatever Vista tells thee and I’ll be back by lunch.”

I hope.

Ty walked into the stark, whitewashed courtroom with its polished oak floors as the bailiff declared, “All rise. Judge Tyrone Hawkins presiding.” Ty settled himself on the high platform in the judge’s seat and looked out over the sparsely filled courtroom. And there she was.

The woman with blue eyes he’d seen arrive in town the day before whose purse had been stolen was sitting on one of the spectator’s benches. A tingle of recognition coursed through him. Hadn’t anyone told her that she need not suffer coming to court? He never liked to see ladies in court. It was such a rough setting and often the defendants used coarse language.

No doubt she’d come out of a sense of duty. He tried not to stare in her direction, but she kept drawing his tired, gritty eyes. In this stark setting, she glowed, the only appealing face present.

The first dreary case began and then another, and another. Finally, the boy who’d snatched the newcomer’s purse was ready to be heard, making his plea. The boy was marched into the room by Hogan, the arresting officer. Ty wondered if there was any hope for this lawless child. He hated this part of adjudicating the law. He could not believe that children should be treated as adults by the courts. But what was he to do? The law was the law.

One of the prominent lawyers in town, John Remington, with his silver hair and imposing presence, rose and approached the bench. “I am defending young Tucker Stout.”

The young, already portly prosecuting attorney looked back and forth between the defendant and Remington, his mouth open in disbelief. Ty felt himself goggling at Remington. Surprise crashed through him, making him even more aware of his bone-deep fatigue. Months of little sleep was wearing him down, making him vulnerable. “Did I hear you right?”

“Yes, I am defending Tucker Stout.” The elder lawyer continued in his distinctive, deep voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Miss Felicity Gabriel has hired me to act as his counsel.”

Still unsettled, Ty looked to the woman. She responded with a half smile. Even her subdued smile had the power to dazzle him.

The prosecuting attorney blurted out what Ty was thinking, “But she’s the plaintiff. Hers was the purse stolen.”

Remington nodded. “She is aware of that. But she is anxious, in light of the defendant’s tender age, that his rights be protected.” Remington paused and then added as if in explanation of such odd behavior, “She’s a Quaker.”

Ty sat back and studied the woman, who sat so deceptively prim in his courtroom. A Quaker. Well, that explained the situation somewhat. He’d met a few Quakers. They spoke strangely and didn’t fight in war. Peculiar people.

Loose jowled, Hogan snorted where he sat on the prosecution side of the courtroom. Ty drew himself up. He’d lost control at home—he wouldn’t also lose control of his courtroom. “Very well. Bailiff, please read the charges against the defendant.”

The bailiff did and Ty asked, “How does your client plead, Mr. Remington?”

“We plead not guilty.”

“And you realize that I witnessed the purse-snatching myself?” Ty responded dryly. Was this woman trying to play him and the other men in this room for fools?

“Yes, but Miss Gabriel believes that the boy is too young to be held to adult legal standards of behavior.”

“What Miss Gabriel believes may be true, but not in the sight of the laws of Illinois,” Ty retorted, antagonized at having to defend what he did not believe.

The lady suddenly rose. “God does not hold children accountable for their sins until they reach the age of reason. Are the laws of Illinois higher than God’s?”

The question silenced the courtroom. Every eye turned to the woman who looked completely at ease under the intense scrutiny. Ty chewed the inside of his cheek. Does she expect special treatment because she is a woman?

“Females,” Hogan grunted, breaking the silence.

“Miss,” Ty said curtly, “you are not allowed to speak in court without permission. You must let your counsel do the talking.”

She nodded and sat down without dispute, giving him an apologetic little smile. He found he had no defenses against her smiles. They beckoned him to sit beside her and be at ease.

“Your Honor,” Remington spoke up, “Miss Gabriel has asked me if I might have a word with you in your chamber during a short recess.”

“What is this?” the prosecutor asked, rearing up.

“You’ll be included, of course.” Remington bowed to the man whose face had reddened.

Ty passed a hand over his forehead. After falling asleep last night, Camie had cried out with nightmares twice more, keeping the whole house up. He closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened them. He couldn’t let the situation at home interfere with his work. Though the headache was making his right eyelid jump, he forced himself to act with magisterial calm. “Very well. The court stands adjourned while I meet with counsel in my chambers.”

He rose and so did everyone else. His black judge’s robe swirling out behind him, he strode into his paneled chambers just behind the courtroom and sat behind his oak desk, waiting for the attorneys to knock. The bailiff let them in and the two men sat down facing him. “Remington, what’s this all about?” Ty asked without preamble, able at last to release some of his spleen.

“Miss Gabriel is Mildred Barney’s heir. She has inherited the Barney house and all the Barneys’ considerable estate.”

The prosecutor let out a low whistle.

Remington nodded. “Miss Gabriel is also following Mrs. Barney’s instructions and turning her house into a private orphanage which the Barney money will support.”

Ty lifted his eyebrows. His mother-in-law would love that. He studied Remington, thinking of Miss Gabriel’s pretty face. He shook his head, resisting. Pretty or not, he had to judge this case fairly. “The boy is guilty. What can I do but sentence him to jail time?”

“This isn’t his first arrest,” the prosecutor was quick to add.

“We know that.” Remington folded his hands in front of himself. “Miss Gabriel would like you to dismiss charges so that she can take the boy with her to the orphanage.”

The prosecutor made a sound of derision. “And how long would he stay there? Till her back’s turned and then he’d just go back across the river to St. Louis, picking pockets and snatching more purses. Women are idealistic but we men must be realistic. The kid is from bad blood. He’ll never be anything but what he is.”

Ty didn’t like the sentiment the prosecutor expressed but he suspected that the man was right. If he released the boy, he wouldn’t stay at the orphanage. Like a wild horse, Tucker Stout had never been broken to bridle. And at eleven or twelve, it might already be too late to salvage the boy. Weighed down by this unhappy thought, Ty rose. This signaled the end of the conference.

The attorneys left to meet him on the other side of the wall back in the courtroom. By his desk, Ty waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, giving them time to reach their places. Then he strode back into court and took the judgment seat.

Remington waived the boy’s right to a jury and the trial was brief, proceeding just as Ty had expected. When they reached the time for sentencing, he looked out at the few people sitting in the benches of the courtroom.

Miss Gabriel’s head was bowed as if she were in prayer. Her smile still glowed within him, a tiny ember of warmth. He hated to disappoint her. He opened his mouth to sentence the boy to a month in the county jail.

“I am sentencing Tucker Stout to six months’ probation,” he said, surprising himself. “The conditions of probation are that he live and work at the new orphans’ home under Miss Felicity Gabriel’s supervision. If Tucker leaves Miss Gabriel’s house and refuses to follow her orders, he will be sent to jail for a year.”

The prosecutor gawked at him. Hogan balked with a loud “What?”

Miss Gabriel rose, beaming at him. Her unparalleled smile brightened the whole of the sad room where no one ever found cheer, least of all Ty. The ember she’d sparked flared inside him. “Will you accept this responsibility, Miss Gabriel?”

“Of course!” she beamed.

Ty caught himself just before he returned her brilliant smile.

He struck his gavel once, unusually hard. “Case closed. Bailiff, please announce the next case.”

Outside, under the sweltering noonday sun, Felicity gripped the lawyer’s hand. “I cannot thank thee enough, John Remington.”

The lawyer shook her hand. “Good luck,” he said, eyeing Tucker. “The judge was kind to you, young man.” He tipped his hat and was gone.

The intriguing face of the judge popped into her mind. So the man she’d seen in town that first day was a judge. A judge who could show mercy as well as justice. And a man who looked worn down by some secret pain.

Felicity shook off her thoughts and turned to Tucker. “We need to get home in time for lunch.”

Tucker looked like he wanted to say something rude. But he shrugged and got in step with her. They walked in silence down the busy, noisy street. “Does thee have parents?” she asked.

“Everybody’s got parents. Somewhere.” The boy didn’t even bother to look her way.

“A good point.” People kept turning to look at them. Felicity resisted the urge to lift her chin. She hoped in the coming weeks that people would become accustomed to the sight of her walking beside uncared-for children. “Are thy parents living?”

He shrugged again. “Might be. Don’t know. Don’t care.”

Felicity had spoken to souls scarred like this before. At this tender age, Tucker had given up on people. “How old is thee?”

“Old enough.”

Felicity gave up questioning him. If this one ever opened up, he would do it in his time and in his way. “I am from Pennsylvania. I am the middle daughter of seven sisters. I grew up on a farm near Gettysburg.”

Tucker kicked a stone and ignored her.

Felicity was glad to see home ahead—until she noted that Mrs. Crandall was coming toward them. Oh, dear. Could they get into the house before she reached them? “Two children have already come to my home, Katy and Donnie. They are deciding whether or not they want to stay with me.”

“Oh, goody.”

“But thee will be staying.” Felicity walked faster. “Or thee will be in jail.”

Tucker snorted. “Been there before. Be there again.”

“The question is, does thee want to go there again?”

He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t have much use for do-gooders.”

Felicity knew what he meant. She’d met many do-gooders who lorded their superiority over those they “ministered” to. Many of these, she would gladly have kicked. She knew that wasn’t a Christian thought but it was the truth.

As she and Tucker turned up her front walk, Mrs. Crandall bustled up to her. “I see you have brought another undesirable into our neighborhood. If you go forward with this orphanage, no decent person in town will have a thing to do with you.”

Felicity’s first inclination was to give this woman a talking to about Christian charity. She settled on, “I’m afraid I’m very busy right now, Mrs. Crandall. Could we discuss this later?” Or when thee has had a change of heart?

The woman turned and huffed away.

The back of Felicity’s neck was unusually tense. She began to lead the boy toward the back door. He surprised her by saying, “That lady’s right, you know.”

Struggling to quench the aggravation burning inside, Felicity paused and then fixed her gaze on Tucker’s face. “I doubt what she said is true. If it is, then I don’t think much of the decent people in this town. Now let’s get our hands washed and sit down to lunch. I think thee will find that Vista’s food is worth the effort to stay and do what is expected of thee.”

“I’ll let you know.”

Felicity hid her smile at his unexpected savoir faire. And then the moment of lightness was gone. What a world this was where boys became cynics before they even began to shave. She led Tucker to the pump and handed him the soap. He made a face of sincere distaste, but began lathering his hands.

For a moment, she lingered on the memory of the judge’s sad drooping mouth, troubled dark eyes. It was a strong face with eyes that didn’t flinch from meeting hers.

He also had that lean look many veterans had. Too many hardtack meals and days of travel, and then the ordeal of battle after battle. How did a good man put aside his rifle and sword and go back to life, put the war behind him? Her mourning for Gus, a dark chilling wave of loss, welled up and swelled, tightening her stays.

Felicity almost sighed, but stopped herself. Father, bless Judge Hawkins and keep Tucker here while Thee works Thy will upon him. Felicity decided to keep mum on the topic of Mrs. Thornton Crandall. She was certain that the Lord had heard quite enough already about Mrs. Crandall from others.

The next afternoon Felicity tried to slip away and walk to town, but was caught by Vista and the groom. The groom drove the half mile into town and helped her down at the clothing store on Merchants Street. How could she persuade them that she should walk?

Inside the door of the large well-appointed store, a man in a crisp dark suit greeted her. “Hello, miss, I am Robert Baker, the proprietor. May I help you?”

She smiled. “Thank thee, friend. I need clothing for children and I’m afraid I have never bought much before.”

The man smothered his obvious surprise and asked, “What are the ages and gender of the children, please, miss?”

She pulled a list out of her reticule. “I will need an assortment of clothing for boys and girls of all ages.”

The salesman looked confused.

“I should tell thee—”

“Are you here buying clothing for those orphans of yours?” A lady with a jarring voice bustled up to them.

Felicity didn’t appreciate the sound of the question. Worse, there was only one way this woman could have heard of Felicity’s plans for the Barney house—by listening to gossip. Disapproval ground inside her. However, Felicity gagged it down. She smiled hopefully. “Yes, I am. Would thee advise me on clothing for children?”

“No, I would not. I live on Madison Boulevard. I, along with many of your neighbors, don’t want an orphanage in our neighborhood.”

“Thee doesn’t like children?” Felicity asked, her spirit suddenly simmering, bubbling with displeasure.

“We don’t need riffraff from the wharf infesting our lovely avenue.”

“I am truly sorry thee has that opinion. How does thee know of my work here?”

“Mrs. Thornton Crandall is one of my best friends. She told me all about your despoiling the Barney mansion.” The woman brushed past her. “And she is going to do something to stop you!” The woman departed with a slam of the door.

If God be for me, who can be against me? Still prickling with outrage over the gossip being spread, Felicity looked at the proprietor. She calmed herself. “Would thee show me some clothing now?”

The man stood looking back and forth between the woman’s retreating form and Felicity with her long list in hand.

Well, Robert Baker, does thee want my business?

Finally, he bowed. “Don’t orphanages usually order a large quantity of uniforms—one for boys and one for girls?” The man led her down the aisle.

“I considered that and rejected it. It’s like marking the children as odd, different from other children. Being orphaned is bad enough without being branded. Doesn’t thee think?”

He nodded. “But it is less expensive—”

“Funds from Mrs. Barney’s estate are more than adequate.”

“Follow me, miss. We’ll look at my selection for girls first, if you please.”

She followed him down the neat aisle of folded shirts for men over to the girls’ section. Felicity was relieved to discover that the man was not about to lose her as a customer, just because her children’s home had evidently ruffled a few fancy ostrich feathers in town. With any luck, Felicity would be rewarding the man’s decision by becoming one of his best customers, ordering more children’s clothes than he could possibly keep in stock for the many children she planned to care for.

Felicity’s eyes opened wide. By the scant moonlight, she distinguished the gray outlines of the furniture in her room. What had wakened her? She listened. The house was quiet. Still, something had roused her. She rose and donned her blue-sprigged wrapper and slippers. She slipped down the hall and peeked into the room where a very clean Katy and Donnie should have been sleeping in the high four-poster bed. Except that they were sleeping on the rag rug beside the bed. The forlorn sight wrenched her heart.

She nearly stepped into the room to lift them onto the bed. Then she halted. They would adjust eventually. She would never forget the image of the two of them with tightly shut eyes and agonized expressions sitting in the heaping soap-suds, neck-high tub of water on the back porch. Vista, singing under her breath, had ruthlessly scrubbed them with a soft brush. Such beautiful children.

Felicity turned away to the room across the hall and found the bed where Tucker should have been sleeping—it was empty. Her heart tumbled down. If the boy had run away—a year in jail. She hurried down the stairs and out the front door, looking up and down the dark street. Just turning the corner ahead was Tucker. No! She kicked off her slippers and picked up her skirts and ran.

Within seconds, she was at the corner and around it. The boy didn’t hear her. He was walking, head down and hands in his pockets. She put on speed. Just before she reached him, he turned. She clamped a hand on his shoulder.

“Tucker,” she said, her heart beating wildly, her breath coming fast. “Why are thee out here?”

His expression showed his shock. Before he could say a word, a man came around the corner ahead of them. Felicity’s heart began doing strange antics. It sank to her knees and then leaped into her throat. The fact that she was outside barefoot and in her night clothing hit her like a wet mop in the face. This could spawn gossip for years to come.

The man walked toward them, head down and hands in his pockets just like Tucker. She saw it was the judge. She wished she could become invisible.

“Turn around and start walking normal,” Tucker whispered and did what he’d just told her to do.

Felicity hurried to follow his example. The two of them walked, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Every moment she expected to hear the judge call for her to stop. And since she couldn’t lie, what possible explanation could she give to explain why they were out in the night?

Tucker and she came to their house at last. When they came to her abandoned slippers, they paused as she slipped her feet into them. Then they walked up the flagstone path and through the front door. Felicity had never been so grateful to hear her door close behind her. Either the judge had not seen them or he had chosen to be merciful again and behave as if he had not seen them. And she must make certain that Tucker’s night wandering ended now.

Tucker tried to go on, but she squeezed his shoulder and led him down the hall to the moonlit kitchen. “Sit down at the table.” When he made no move to obey, she added, “Please.”

The boy sank into the chair. She sat down across from him. He would not meet her gaze. “Tucker…” What could she say? He knew he should be upstairs in bed. So she just sat, letting her tight, serrated worry flow out. She prayed, waiting for the Inner Light to lead her.

“Are we going to sit here all night?” the boy finally snapped.

She stared into his eyes. “That’s up to thee.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The boy’s tone showed plainly that he didn’t hold her in any respect, probably held no adult in respect. The defiant eyes that returned her gaze told her much more than she wanted to deal with tonight.

It grieved her. “Tucker Stout, I don’t understand what took thee out of thy comfortable bed in a comfortable home—”

“I like being on my own. I don’t like people interfering with me, see?” His brows drew together.

“I must on the whole agree with thee.” Peace began trickling through her, soothing her rasped nerves. “I also like being on my own. And I don’t like interference of any kind either. So we have that in common. What interference are thee expecting from me?”

The boy snorted. “You’ll be telling me to wash my hands and do this and do that and say grace at the table and don’t pick my nose—”

The last forced a chuckle from her. Her good humor surged back. “Does thee do that often?”

Rebellious, Tucker made as if to rise. She pressed a hand over his and said, “Sit, please.”

He stared and then capitulated, scowling.

“May I ask thee a question?” She waited for his permission.

Finally, he realized that she wasn’t going to speak until he granted her the opportunity. “Okay, ask me.”

“If thee runs away and is caught and sent to jail, won’t they tell thee to wash thy hands, and do this and don’t do that?”

He stared at her.

“I would think that Vista and I would be preferable to jail guards.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table and waited. Would he accept this simple truth?

He lifted one shoulder and demanded, “So what do you want me to say, lady?”

“Nothing, really. I will ask for no promise from thee. And I am not going to tie thee to thy bed. Or bolt thy door and window shut. And this is the last time I will come after thee. Thee must decide for thyself which to choose—this home or jail.”

Tucker looked at her as if she were speaking in ancient Greek.

Felicity rose. “I will bid thee good-night. Will thee turn the lock on the back door, please? Thank thee.” She walked up the stairs without a backward glance. Oh, Father above, heal this wounded heart. Only Thee can. I cannot.

In her room again, she took off her robe and slippers and sank onto the side of her bed, still praying. Forcing herself to have faith, she lay down again, trying not to listen for Tucker’s footsteps on the stair. Her final thought was not about Tucker but about Judge Hawkins. What was he doing out well after midnight? And had he seen her with Tucker? And if he had, what would he do?

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