The Ties That Bind Page 2

  Mrs. Carlson took a step, but Esther, who was sitting nearest the window, held up a hand. “No need to go dashing after him,” she said. “He plowed right into the marshal’s stomach, and I think he’s learning his lesson.”

  Sure enough, just as Jane was snipping her last thread, the door opened and Colonel Gordon came in, his hand on the scruff of Freddy’s neck. “Morning, ladies,” he said, giving the room a nod. “I wonder if any of you recognize this young man.”

  “He’s mine, Officer. I’m very sorry.” Mrs. Carlson looked utterly humiliated. “Ever since his father died, I haven’t known what to do . . .”

  “Horsefeathers!” Colonel Gordon turned a shrewd eye on her. “My mother was a widow, young lady, and she raised me on the Bible and a willow stick. Now, I’m not saying you have to march down to the river and cut yourself a switch, but I am saying that there’s no reason why you can’t take his discipline upon yourself. Particularly when it comes to running headlong into the street.” He touched the brim of his hat, then turned and strode out of the building.

  Mrs. Carlson looked like she was about to cry.

  “Don’t worry about him,” Thora told her. “He’s always been a little crusty.”

  “He’s right, though.” Mrs. Carlson shook her head. “Thank you all for being so kind. What do I owe you, Mrs. Henderson?”

  “Oh, gracious, I’m not charging you,” Jane replied. “Anyone could see that was a genuine sewing emergency, and we don’t charge for those around here.”

  “Thank you. I truly mean it.” Mrs. Carlson took each of her children’s hands. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again.”

  “Please stop by any time,” Jane called out as the door closed behind the little family.

  “Well now,” Maude said, returning her attention to her sewing. “That certainly was an adventure. I do hope that young lady is able to get the help she needs when it comes to controlling the boy.”

  “I believe she will,” Viola proclaimed from her warm corner.

  “She will?” Nola asked, turning with curiosity on her face. “What makes you say so, Viola?”

  “Because,” Viola announced, “that young lady is Peter’s match.”

  Chapter Two

  “What?” Maude spluttered, her face turning a curious shade of bright pink. “She . . . she can’t possibly be Peter’s match. She’s . . . she’s . . .” Her hands waved around like she was trying to swat a fly.

  “She’s what?” Jane asked mildly. There were only so many directions that statement could go, and none of them would cast Maude in her best light.

  “She’s been married before. She has children. She’s . . . unsuitable.”

  Jane glanced at the floor, pressing her lips together. Maude could be very pointed with her opinions, but she was rarely outright unkind about someone’s situation. Something must be bothering her or she wouldn’t be reacting this way now.

  Thora turned to Maude with surprise on her face. “Why would any of those things make her unsuitable? I think she’s a lovely girl.”

  “And Princess Amaryllis . . .” Esther chuckled. “I remember her from Miriam’s party. That child could talk up a snowstorm in August. I think she’d be a delight to have around. Not to mention, she’s already good friends with Eliza.”

  “I have no problem with . . . Princess Amaryllis,” Maude replied as though the name annoyed her. “It’s the boy. He’s incorrigible. Did you see him stick his tongue out at his sister right before they left?”

  “My mother always told me that if I stuck my tongue out, a bird would swoop down from the sky and snip it off with its beak,” Bonnie said, shuddering. “I’ve never forgotten that.”

  “I can see why you wouldn’t.” Jane tried not to shudder as well. Why did mothers tell their children such frightening things sometimes? Desperation, most likely. When nothing else worked . . . Milton had been quite a lot like Freddy. Those days were definitely something Jane had tried to put behind her so she could focus on the nice man Milton had eventually become.

  “I’m curious, Viola,” Nola said. “Why do you think Mrs. Carlson is Peter’s match?”

  “Because only great love can overcome great heartache,” the woman replied.

  “Mrs. Carlson has certainly been dealt a great deal of heartache,” Thora said.

  Maude sighed, slumping in her chair. “And Peter has a great deal of love to give.”

  The room was quiet for a moment as they all pondered Viola’s words and Maude’s hesitation to accept them.

  Finally, Maude sat up straight again. “If it’s meant to be, I suppose I can’t fight it,” she said. “I just fear that boy will set fire to something before he’s properly brought around.”

  “Think of it this way, Maude,” Jane told her. “You have quite a number of sons and grandsons in your family—you know what it takes to raise boys. You might be the one who makes all the difference for Freddy.”

  Maude pressed her lips together. “You could very well be right, but I can’t say that I’m excited about the prospect. I raised all my boys from scratch—I’ve never tried to reform one who was already partially made.”

  “Then what an interesting challenge this will be!” Bonnie clasped her hands under her chin. “You’ll do a wonderful job, Maude—I just know you will.”

  “I would like to know how we went from being matchmakers to raising strangers’ children,” Maude grumbled as she picked up her sewing again. “Next, will we be walking people’s dogs?”

  “I think we’ll do whatever is needed at the time,” Jane said. “And I believe you’ll find an ally in Princess Amaryllis. She doesn’t approve of her brother’s behavior either, and I’m sure she’ll be only too glad to lend a hand in his reformation.”

  “Of course, maybe Peter will fall in love with Mrs. Carlson and her children exactly as they are, and Freddy won’t need to reform,” Esther pointed out.

  “I haven’t considered Peter’s feelings in the slightest when it comes to Freddy,” Maude returned. “I’m thinking purely of myself—if I’m to be the boy’s grandmother, he and I will have to get along, and I’m not feeling very confident in that regard.”

  “Well, let’s get organized, shall we?” Jane said. “We’ll leave the question of Freddy to Maude, who is the most experienced boy wrangler out of any of us. But we shouldn’t get too invested in that until we know more about his mama. She said her name was Scarlett?”

  “That’s right,” Nola replied. She always was handy for remembering things like names when Jane couldn’t.

  “Why don’t I make up a basket of jam, and we can deliver it tomorrow?” Bonnie suggested. “We’d never all fit in her tiny house, but a couple of us could go.”

  “And while we’re there, we can find out more—like how long she’s been a widow and so forth,” Thora added. “She said her husband passed a short time ago, but that could mean anything, really, and we can’t go meddling in her romantic life if she’s not ready to move on.”

  “Those are all very good points,” Jane said. “Bonnie, Thora, Esther, why don’t you three do that? Most of my shipment today was thread, and that always takes me a while to sort and put away—I’ll still be working on it tomorrow.”

  “Why haven’t you ever asked for help? You know we’d step right in.” Nola looked exasperated. “You aren’t meant to handle everything alone, you know.”

  “I do know, and thank you. But believe it or not, I actually like sorting the thread. It calms me down somehow,” Jane replied.

  “I’d get the colors all wrong and end up throwing them around the room,” Maude interjected. “I don’t have that kind of patience.”

  “And that’s probably why she’s never said she needed help,” Nola pointed out. “She was afraid of what kind of mess we’d make of it.”

  Jane laughed. “You’re not completely wrong. Now, let’s try to get back on track, all right? Gracious, I can hardly remember where we were before we were interrupted.”

  “
The quilt,” Bonnie said helpfully.

  “Yes, exactly. The quilt. Do you think we’re on schedule to get it finished in time? Don’t forget that you can bring your work here if you’re getting too distracted at home,” Jane reminded them.

  “I think we can do it,” Thora replied, and the others nodded.

  “That’s excellent news.” Jane paused, centering her thoughts. “I believe that’s all for today’s official meeting. If you’d like to stay and keep working, by all means, please do so.”

  Esther was the only one who chose to stay. Viola needed to return home, so Nola and Thora helped her out the door, and the other ladies had things they needed to do. After they all left, Jane turned to Esther with a sigh. “What do you think? Are we laying the kindling for a horrible conflagration?”

  “Between Maude and Freddy?” Esther asked.

  “Exactly.”

  Esther shook her head with a chuckle. “Maude’s already so riled up about this . . . Let me put it this way. If we manage to get Maude and Freddy on the same page, that might be an even bigger triumph than getting Peter married off . . . and after his four failed romances, that’s saying a lot.”

  Jane had to agree.

  “Mama?”

  “Yes, May?”

  “What are horsefeathers? Horses don’t really have feathers, do they, Mama?”

  Scarlett Carlson looked up from the soup she was stirring. “Feathers? What are you talking about?” Some days, it was impossible to keep up with May’s prattling.

  “Horsefeathers,” the girl repeated, slower this time as though sure that would help. “Do horses have feathers?”

  “They don’t have actual feathers, but some horses have longer hair around their hooves, and they call those feathers,” Scarlett replied.

  May scrunched up her face. “Well, that doesn’t make any sense at all! We don’t even have a horse!”

  Scarlett put down her spoon and sat across from her daughter at the table, realizing she’d never understand what was going on unless she paid full attention. “Start from the beginning, please.”

  May shook her head, clearly exasperated. “Today when Freddy ran into the man with the badge, you said our daddy had died, and the man said it was horsefeathers. What does that mean?”

  Scarlett rubbed the back of her neck, trying to stave off the headache that was building. What a perfectly awful day she’d been having, made even worse by Freddy’s belligerence. And of course, May was full of questions . . . questions about things Scarlett didn’t want to talk about. She wouldn’t shy away from the conversation, though. She’d promised herself that she would always be open with her children, even if it was uncomfortable.

  “When someone says ‘horsefeathers,’ it’s another way of saying they don’t believe you,” she explained.

  “That man doesn’t believe our daddy is dead?” May sat upright, her eyes wide.

  “No, May.” Scarlett reached over and took May’s hand. The child slowly relaxed at her touch. “He thinks I should be able to control Freddy more than I do, and you know what? He’s right. I’m going to learn how to be a better mama.”

  “You’re a wonderful mama. You might need to get a better boy, though,” May said.

  Scarlett blinked. “What do you mean? Don’t you love your brother?”

  May looked thoughtful. “Yes, I love him, but that’s sort of because I have to. If you have a brother and you don’t love him, that makes you a bad person, and I don’t want God to be mad at me.”

  “God could never be mad at you, sweetheart,” Scarlett said, wondering just what all her mother had been teaching the children over the last few months when they lived with her.

  “That’s because I’m keeping a list!” May reached into her pocket and brought out a scrap of paper. “This is all the stuff you’ve gotta do if you want God to like you. See? You can’t lie, you can’t kill anybody, and you have to love everybody. I follow my list every day, so I know God likes me.”

  Scarlett leaned over and kissed the top of her daughter’s head. Oh, gracious. Where had this child come from? “He likes you for lots of reasons, sweetheart. Not just your list.”

  “Good. Because sometimes it feels kind of hard to follow. If we’re being honest, Mama.”

  Scarlett couldn’t argue with that.

  She took the soup off the stove just as Freddy came in, his arms full of firewood. He’d only agreed to go out and chop it when she mentioned they could always go pay the marshal another visit. She disliked resorting to threats when it came to her son, but she really did feel lost where he was concerned.

  Oh, Freddy.

  She sighed.

  Freddy and his father had been the proverbial two peas in a pod. There was no separating one from the other—if Anthony was home, Freddy was by his side. At first, Scarlett had delighted in watching them together and was proud to be the mother of this little family, but over time, Anthony’s treatment of her began to deteriorate, and Freddy learned to disobey his mother because of his father’s lack of respect. When May was born, she brought a little ray of sunshine into Scarlett’s life because at last she felt as though someone was on her side.

  Anthony paid no attention to the baby at all because she was a girl, and their house was truly divided down the center—the boys against the girls, Scarlett doing her best to keep things running smoothly and yet knowing it would never be good enough. She would never be good enough.

  If her father had been alive, he would have insisted that Scarlett and the children leave Anthony, and he would have brought in his lawyers to make sure they were all protected. But her father had died prematurely from a heart condition and never actually knew what Scarlett was suffering because she never told him. She knew he was ill and she didn’t want to worry him, so she kept it all to herself, smiling when she didn’t feel like it and crying when no one could see her.

  Her mother had become so ill that she’d been moved into a long-term hospital, the family home had been sold to pay for the medical expenses, and Scarlett was on her own with two children. Her dearest wish had been to stay in Kansas City so she could be near her mother, but she’d been unable to find work that would allow her to care for her children as well.

  Only after scouring the advertisements in the newspaper had she been able to find a position—she now worked in a dressmaker’s shop with flexible hours and permission to bring her projects home as needed. Alexandra Evans, her new employer, was also a widow and had shown a great deal of compassion for her situation, but Scarlett worried every day that something would happen to tip the scales and make her working arrangements no longer so ideal.

  “Mama, do we have any bread?”

  Scarlett blinked. She’d been so distracted by her thoughts, she’d forgotten to put it on the table. “Yes. Could you get it, please?”

  May hopped up, fetched the plate from the counter, and set it next to the pot of soup.

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “Yes, thank you, dear,” Freddy mimicked. He reached out and snatched the slice on top, shoving it in his mouth with a glower. Scarlett ignored him—she ignored him quite a lot. She simply didn’t have the strength to meet him tit for tat over everything. Horsefeathers, she remembered the marshal saying. Well, maybe he’d like to come over and try his hand at it for a few hours instead of judging her for her obvious failures.

  They ate in near silence and cleaned up the tiny kitchen, then got ready for bed. There was one room they all three shared—when she could afford it, Scarlett wanted at least two rooms. She didn’t mind sharing with May. Three rooms would be even more ideal, but she knew she’d need to be more modest in her expectations of life now. Her fortunes had reversed, and she had to be flexible or she’d never be anything but disappointed.

  May and Freddy finally went to sleep, and Scarlett sat by the fireplace, basting together the pieces of the gown she would put through the sewing machine the next day. She’d been mortified to discover that May’s hem was coming undone whil
e they were in town that morning—how could she claim to be a seamstress when her own child was running around in that condition? It had been so kind of the lady at the sewing shop to take care of it, but then to meet the town marshal under such embarrassing circumstances . . .

  Gracious. What a mood she was in. She wiped her eyes with her handkerchief so she could see the needle flashing back and forth. In her current state, she’d make a horrible mess of it and have to redo the whole thing.

  She finished her seam, then tucked her work into her basket. They’d need more bread in the morning—she could mix up some dough and set it rising, then finish up the pair of socks she was knitting for Freddy. Or . . . or she could sit there in her chair and succumb to the exhaustion that was overtaking her. Just one quick little nap—a few minutes couldn’t hurt a thing.

  No, she had work to do. She pulled herself to her feet and walked over to the cupboard where she kept her bread bowl. Staying busy was the only way to move ahead, so that’s what she was going to do.

  She just wished she didn’t feel so utterly alone.

  The warm water had just been added to the bowl when she heard a cry from the bedroom. She set her measuring spoon of yeast to the side and dashed into the small alcove, pushing aside the blanket that served as a door. May was talking in her sleep, her voice upset and anguished, and Scarlett lay down next to her and wrapped her arms tightly around her. She wished she could soothe away all her children’s pain so easily, but some wounds were much deeper and harder to heal.

  Freddy wouldn’t even let her try. He refused her hugs and kisses, dodging out of the way when she reached for him. Even now, he lay on his side of the bed with his back to her, always insisting on handling things on his own. What she wouldn’t give for him to come up to her and wrap his arms around her neck the way he had when he was just a toddler, before his father became his whole world and he couldn’t see anything else.

  Scarlett held May until the girl’s troubles eased, and then she held her another minute until her own heart felt somewhat lighter. Somehow or another, they would figure this out, the three of them. They would learn what it meant to be a family, she would gain her son’s respect, and she would be a good role model for May. With this resolve, she slipped out of the bedroom and went back to the counter, where she checked the temperature of the water. Just as she feared, it was cold now, and she’d need to reheat it.