The Ties That Bind Page 3

  It seemed the most fitting capstone to a frustrating day, but at least this problem, she knew how to fix.

  Chapter Three

  “Peter, I must speak with you for a moment.”

  Peter Thomas looked up from his desk and saw his grandmother standing in his office doorway, her hands clasped in front of her and her little reticule dangling from its silken cord around her wrist. She wore her serious face, the one that told him he’d better pay attention.

  “Do you mind walking with me, Grandma? I was getting ready to take these deposits over to the bank, and I can’t be late.”

  “I can always use more exercise. Lead the way.”

  Peter slid the money into the pocket of his suit coat, checked to make sure he hadn’t left any important paperwork behind, then locked his office door. As the accountant for several businesses in the town of Topeka, he was the steward over a great deal of sensitive information, and he had to be careful not to let anything out of his sight. Each piece of paperwork went into his safe at night, he carried a small pistol whenever he was transporting money, and he was sure to keep his friends close and his enemies closer. Not that he had actual enemies, but he had to be aware at all times.

  Once they were out on the street and walking toward the bank, Peter took his grandmother’s elbow. “So, what brings you to see me today?”

  “I’ve been worried about you lately. Did you know, you even popped up in my dreams the other night? You know I only dream about certain people if they need my help in some way.”

  He gave her arm a little squeeze. “I’m perfectly fine, as far as I know. Was I doing anything odd in this dream of yours? I wasn’t dying, was I?” Maybe a little bit of humor would break up the raincloud over her head.

  “No, you weren’t dying, but you looked troubled, and that’s enough to trouble me.” She glanced up at him. “Are you sleeping well? Getting enough to eat?”

  Peter laughed. “You know Mother—she always cooks like she’s feeding the entire congregation. No one could possibly go hungry under her roof.”

  “That’s true enough, but what about sleep?”

  Peter paused, allowing a wagon to rumble past before escorting his grandmother across the street. “I’m sleeping fine too. Maybe your dream didn’t actually mean anything this time, Grandma. Isn’t that a possibility?”

  Maude looked uncertain. “It’s never happened before . . .”

  Peter gestured down at himself. “It’s sweet of you to be concerned, Grandma, but I seem to be in excellent health. I think you can stop worrying now.”

  “I’ll never stop worrying. It’s my job as your grandmother.”

  Just then, a young boy went tearing past, dodging between ladies’ skirts and around gentlemen’s legs. Peter watched with some amusement as he was collared, turned, and marched back the way he’d come by an austere-looking gentleman with a pencil mustache. The child was delivered to his mother, who looked horribly embarrassed, and she scooted him off as quickly as she could manage.

  “That was Freddy Carlson,” Maude said, “and his mother, Scarlett. The family has just moved to town.”

  Peter nodded. “I met Mrs. Carlson at Miriam Brown’s homecoming party.” He’d made a fool of himself, too—he’d been taken by her beautiful auburn hair and kind eyes, not knowing until her children ran up that she was married. “I believe her daughter has become good friends with Eliza.”

  “That’s right. I’m sure Eliza has invited her over to play at least a few times by now.”

  Peter shrugged. “I haven’t been home until late over the last few weeks—I’ve taken on some new clients, and sorting through their paperwork has taken all my free time.” He never paid much attention to his little sister’s friends anyway, but he had noticed this particular girl—Princess Amaryllis, she called herself. Whether it was her spunky personality or her beautiful mother that made her stand out in his memory, he wasn’t sure, but he did know that he’d better stop admiring Mrs. Carlson’s hair, and as soon as possible. It made him the worst sort of man.

  “Well, if you get the chance, you should acquaint yourself with the family. They’re an entertaining lot.”

  “I’m sure I will, especially if Eliza has anything to say about it. She’ll be quite the hostess someday, if her present favorite games are any indication. I’ve lost count of how many tea parties I’ve attended so far this year.”

  Maude smiled. “You’re a good brother, Peter. Not many young men would show that sort of patience with a sibling so much younger.”

  “I confess, she’s our family pet, and more spoiled than she ought to be. But you know that, Grandma—I seem to recall you making her a certain red dress not too long ago.” Peter held open the door to the bank, allowing Maude to enter first.

  “Believe me, I’ve wondered several times if making that dress was a mistake. Some forms of vanity should not be indulged.” Maude chuckled, then paused. “Oh, look—there’s Elizabeth Brody from the hotel. I’ll go say hello while you conduct your business.”

  Peter waited in line for a moment, then stepped up to the teller window and slid his deposits through the bars. “Good morning, Timothy,” he said to the man on the other side. “How are things today?”

  Timothy Hancock grinned. “Couldn’t be any better. Nancy Ann delivered our daughter three nights ago, and they’re both doing well.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” Peter smiled even as a pang shot through his chest. He’d always thought he’d be a father by now. He could so easily picture himself with a sweet wife, a baby on each knee, telling them ridiculous stories and making them laugh. Sometimes he saw it even more clearly than reality, and he had to remind himself that no, he was still looking. Looking, and not finding.

  He couldn’t help but wonder why he was struggling so much to find the right woman to spend his life with. There were more men than women in Kansas currently—as the railroad expanded west, men were coming from the east to work on the lines and push the tracks out to the ocean. But these men weren’t the marrying kind—and if they were, their wives were living in tents, moving along the tracks with their husbands, cold in the winter and probably hungry no matter what time of year.

  Peter could provide a warm, stable home. He’d make sure the stove had wood and there were rugs on the floors, and the kitchen would always be well stocked. From a financial standpoint, he was a very good match, and he might even be pleasant to look at, too. For some reason, though, romance kept passing him by.

  “Please give Nancy Ann my best,” he said to Timothy as he gathered up the receipts for his deposits.

  “I will. And you should come over for dinner in about a month. It’s been too long since your last visit.”

  Peter nodded, wished Timothy well yet again, and turned to find Maude standing by the door, waiting for him.

  “Did I hear something about a new little Hancock?” she asked.

  “Yes. Nancy Ann delivered a daughter the other night.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful. I’m on my way to the Sewing Shoppe right now, and I’ll tell the ladies it’s time for some booties.” Maude tucked her arm through Peter’s as they stepped outside. “You seem even more melancholy than you were before.”

  Peter chuckled. “I’m not melancholy. I promise you, Grandma—if anything goes amiss with me, you’ll be the first to hear it. I won’t even tell my parents first—I’ll come straight to you.”

  “That’s a promise?”

  “Yes, Grandma. It is.”

  She seemed satisfied. “Good. Now, drop me off at the shop, please. I’m out of blue and white thread, and I’m nearly out of black.”

  “Well, we can’t let that happen.”

  “Of course not.”

  He walked her to Jane Henderson’s shop, stayed just long enough to say hello to Mrs. Henderson, then left. He needed to meet with his newest client, Mr. Sandstrom, about his livery business, and after that, he had some letters to post. If he kept himself busy enough, he’d be able to sto
p thinking about love and marriage and children. He knew several people who’d managed to survive without them—he was sure he could do it too.

  “Oh, that’s lovely work, Scarlett.” Alexandra Evans looked over the bodice Scarlett had finished embroidering early that morning. “I never could have done it so well.”

  “I’m sure you could, but thank you for the praise.” Scarlett glanced over to the corner of the workroom, where Freddy played with a wooden horse and May was bent over her sampler. Thank goodness things had settled down—Freddy had to stop running off like that or she didn’t know what she was going to do. She’d thought the marshal had scared him into better behavior, but apparently not. “I’ll finish the seams I basted, and then I believe this one’s done.”

  “Mrs. Blanchard will be so pleased. It’s exactly what she wanted.” Miss Evans gave Scarlett a smile, then turned back to her own work.

  The shop carried both ready-to-wear items and produced special orders, everything from kitchen dresses to ball gowns. Scarlett had only seen shops that specialized in one or the other, and she liked the variety here because it would keep her from growing tired of making just one sort of thing. She sat down at the sewing machine and finished up the basted seams, then began attaching the pieces together.

  “Mama, I want to go,” Freddy said, tugging on her arm.

  “No, son. I’m not finished yet. A few more minutes.”

  “But I want to go now.”

  Scarlett pulled in a deep breath, reminding herself of the vow she’d taken the night before—to be firm with her son in a way she never could while her husband was alive. Anthony would scold her any time she tried to discipline Freddy, but Anthony wasn’t here now, and Freddy needed her to show strength. “I know you want to go, but this is my job. This is what puts food on the table, and you will sit down and wait until I’m finished.”

  “Fine.” The boy flopped down on the floor, looking petulant. Scarlett couldn’t help but feel a wave of triumph. It was a small victory, but huge in so many ways. It was more than Freddy sitting down and folding his arms—it was putting a lid on the voices in her head that told her she could never parent on her own, that she would drown without Anthony.

  She was coming to realize that she’d been drowning with Anthony.

  Once the dress was complete, she hung it up and told Miss Evans she’d press it in the morning. Then she gathered up the pieces she’d need for her next project so she could start it that night, and she and the children started their walk home.

  They were about halfway when May cried out, “Look, Mama! It’s Eliza! She’s coming this way. We have to say hello, Mama. It’s the polite thing to do.”

  Scarlett smiled. “Of course we’ll say hello.” She couldn’t tell at that distance who was walking with Eliza, but she presumed he was the child’s father. He was tall and thin, with dark hair and a small mustache. His coat looked like it might be a bit much for the temperate weather, but he did cut a very professional figure.

  As soon as the girls were within earshot, they started calling out to each other, and in another moment or two, Scarlett recognized the man. He was actually Eliza’s oldest brother, Peter Thomas, whom she’d met before. He gave her a nod, which she returned, and the girls hugged like they hadn’t seen each other in weeks.

  “I have to tell you,” Eliza said. “We have to find a new teacher because our old teacher, Miss Blake, is getting married. And if we can’t find one in time, school might be late.”

  Scarlett’s gaze flew to Mr. Thomas’s face. “Would school really be delayed?” She’d been counting on the year to begin so she’d be able to enroll the children. If they weren’t kept occupied during the day, she’d never be able to work enough hours to afford a better home.

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Carlson, but we don’t need to worry about it just yet. We encountered the president of the school board a moment ago, and he says he’s received a few applications already.”

  “Oh, that’s good.” She hesitated, but then took courage. “I have some classroom experience and could possibly fill in, but considering my marital status . . . Does your school adhere to those traditional rules and regulations?”

  Mr. Thomas looked thoughtful. “To be honest, I don’t know. It seems that we’ve had to make some adjustments because we’re on the edge of society here in Kansas, as it were, and we can’t afford to be as stiff and proper as they are back east.”

  She smiled. “Well, if a teacher isn’t found soon, I do hope I can make a difference.” She’d make more money teaching than she would sewing, so that might not be a bad turn of events. She had to admit, though, that she’d been looking forward to a break from Freddy. It was a terrible thought to have and she knew it, but at least she was being honest with herself. Someday, she’d have it all figured out and she’d feel more confident. A step at a time.

  “You said we could go home now.” Freddy yanked on her arm, causing a sharp jab of pain to run through her elbow.

  “And we will. In a moment.” Scarlett smiled at Mr. Thomas, hoping to smooth over the embarrassment her son was causing. If she pretended it wasn’t bothering her, perhaps it would create less of a scene.

  “But I want to go now.” Freddy let go of her arm and took three running steps away, but came up against something solid—Mr. Thomas.

  Not again . . . How many of the men in Topeka would Freddy try to plow over before he was done?

  Mr. Thomas looked down at Freddy with a mixture of amusement and solemnity. “Well, hello there. I can think of more appropriate ways to introduce yourself, but I suppose this will do.”

  Freddy scowled. “I want to go home, and she won’t let me.” He pointed a finger at Scarlett.

  “I see.” Mr. Thomas nodded. “Would you like me to help?”

  “Yes. She needs to take me home now.”

  “All right, I’ll help you.”

  Scarlett cringed. Just what did Mr. Thomas intend to do? Was he going to scold her, like the marshal had? And what right did he think he had to do so?

  “First,” Mr. Thomas was saying, “you’ll apologize to your mama.”

  Now Scarlett blinked. Had she heard correctly?

  “What do you mean, I gotta apologize?” Freddy asked.

  “You were speaking very unkindly to her just now, and I saw the way you pulled on her arm. That simply will not do.” Mr. Thomas hadn’t raised his voice, but his tone was clear. “You must tell her you’re sorry.”

  Freddy turned around to face Scarlett. “Sorry, Mama,” he mumbled.

  She gave him a nod. She didn’t know how else to react—he’d never apologized to her before. Anthony had never required it—but then, Anthony had never apologized either.

  “How old are you?” Mr. Thomas asked Freddy.

  “I’m eight years old.”

  “I see.” Mr. Thomas nodded. “Eight is a very important age. That’s when boys learn how to become young men, and girls learn how to become young ladies. It’s a time to learn responsibility and good manners.”

  Scarlett cringed. She felt he was saying that Freddy should already be trained in these things—that it was her fault he wasn’t. If she’d been allowed to mother him, if she’d been allowed to raise him the way she believed he should have been . . .

  “I have a proposition.” Mr. Thomas glanced at Scarlett. She waved a tired hand at him—she didn’t know what he planned to say next, but she might as well hear him out. “I’ve noticed, Freddy, that you like to run.”

  Heat flooded Scarlett’s cheeks. Just how many of her son’s escapes had Mr. Thomas witnessed?

  “I don’t like holding still,” Freddy muttered. “It’s boring.”

  “Well, it just so happens that I need a messenger boy. I do a lot of business here in town, and sometimes I need to send a message to someone three or four blocks away.” Mr. Thomas looked Freddy up and down. “Do you think you could run that far?”

  “Probably. But is that all a messenger boy does? Just runs around?”<
br />
  “No. First of all, he calls everyone ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am,’ and he always says ‘excuse me.’ I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you say any of those words.”

  Scarlett glanced down at May, whose mouth was wide open. She was tempted to let hers fall open too. This man kept correcting her son right in front of her . . . and she wasn’t sure if she should let him. Wasn’t he overstepping his boundaries a fair sight? At the same time, though, he was saying exactly what Freddy needed to hear, so she thought she’d let it be for another minute and see where it led. The marshal’s scolding had worn off by now—would this one be forgotten just as quickly?

  “Second, he earns money for doing his job well.” Mr. Thomas fished in his pocket and brought out a coin. “The messages must be delivered on time, in perfect condition, by a polite and respectful delivery boy. Then, and only then, will I pass along this penny. What do you say? Would you like to give it a try?”

  Freddy scuffed his toe in the dirt. “I like money.”

  “I think we all do, and it’s even more fun to have money when we’ve earned it. What do you say?”

  Scarlett held her breath, wondering how Freddy would react to this offer. It would help teach him some respect and maturity, both of which were in short supply, but if he didn’t see it for the opportunity it was, it wouldn’t do him any good.

  Finally, Freddy nodded. “All right.”

  “Wonderful. If you prove yourself dependable and courteous, you could work for me for quite a while and earn several pennies.” Mr. Thomas turned to Scarlett. “Is that arrangement suitable for you, Mrs. Carlson? He could come to my office at ten o’clock in the morning and be home by noon each day—two hours wouldn’t tax him too greatly, I don’t think. And when school starts up, he could come afterwards.”