A Bride at Last (9 page)

She’d not be penniless and without a job again if she could help it.

“No need to fire her. She’s only had trouble with punctuality while keeping the boy, and he’ll be gone next week.” Mr. Zahn looked at the woman next to him. “Mrs. Monteclaire’s right—we’d be in a terrible lurch if she leaves.”

“Then fine.” Mr. Kingfisher pulled at his tie.

That was it, no apology? No asking Silas for his take on the events Richard had blown out of proportion?

If the superintendent was willing to fire her because of one random man’s testimony, would the judge believe her accusations about Richard’s misconduct? Richard would surely call her a liar, and since Mr. Kingfisher hadn’t even bothered to ask her if the story was true before accusing her of wrongdoing . . .

Would Richard mention seeing her in Silas’s arms at the
hearing to discredit him? Surely that wouldn’t matter between men—they’d not consider misconduct with a woman as detrimental to a man’s ability to parent.

She wrung her hands. “Do I still have my job?”

“Yes, but I don’t want you dillydallying with any more men.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Kingfisher, I wasn’t.”

“She’s always been upstanding before,” Mr. Zahn said with a sigh and a glance at his watch. “Let’s give her the benefit of the doubt.”

“Thank you.” She smiled at the more reasonable of the two men before spearing Richard with a glare from across the church.

Did amusement light his eyes? She clenched her fists. It would do her no good to go over and slap the smirk off him.

Well, besides feeling good. Real good.

“We’ll see you at school at seven o’clock sharp on Monday morning, Miss Dawson.” Mr. Kingfisher’s smile was lackluster. “No hard feelings?”

No hard feelings? He’d never have to worry about his safety should he find himself without a job.

She pressed the heel of her hand into her left eye socket, hoping to squelch the stab of pain caused by her taut hairdo. “Of course not, Mr. Kingfisher.” What good would hard feelings do for her predicament anyway? She still had to work for the man.

Once Mr. Kingfisher tromped away, Mrs. Monteclaire gripped Kate’s arm. “Be careful.” She turned to look at Silas, a small smile on her face. “I’d tell you to be careful with your heart too, but since they’ll be gone soon . . .”

Richard strode straight for them.

She had no intention of talking to that man. Nothing she wanted to say to him was appropriate in the house of the Lord. “Thank you for helping me, Mrs. Monteclaire, but I need to
excuse myself.” She wove her way through the crowd, keeping her eye on the church’s front door until she found herself on the other side of it.

The bright sunlight was not enough to chase away the storm clouds swelling inside her.

Clenching her fists, she forced herself not to run past Mr. Kingfisher on the crowded sidewalk. Because she needed to keep every stupid school-board rule until their concern about her conduct dissipated.

But they had no rule against walking very, very quickly. Thankfully Mr. Kingfisher was getting into his carriage and would soon be out of sight.

“Miss Dawson!” Silas’s low rumble sounded from behind her.

Could he not see she didn’t want company right now? And what if he ran after her in front of Mr. Kingfisher?

She refused to look back and walked even faster to put distance between her and the superintendent. All she wanted to do was hit someone, and Silas didn’t deserve to be the scapegoat for her pent-up anger. And hitting a man in public surely wasn’t on the list of things a teacher was allowed to do.

Half a block farther, Silas’s hand touched her shoulder, and it fairly tingled with the contact.

“What were you talking to the superintendent about?” His breath puffed faster than normal.

She clamped her hands together behind her back and forced her clenched jaw to open. “Richard told Mr. Kingfisher he saw me acting like a wanton, half-dressed in your arms in the middle of the creek.”

“What’s a wanton?” Anthony’s youthful voice made her wince.

Why hadn’t she looked to see if he’d come with Silas before spouting off so carelessly?

Silas put a hand on Anthony’s shoulder. “That just means
they don’t think Kate should’ve been in the creek without her shoes.”

The boy screwed up his face. “But then her shoes would’ve gotten wet.”

Silas ruffled his hair a bit. “Silly, right?”

Richard leaned against the wall of the haberdashery several buildings back, his arms crossed as he watched them through the milling people.

She glared right at him. “That man thrives on stirring up conflict.”

“Or the thrill of raising stakes.” Silas pulled her out of the way of an oncoming cart. “He’s a gambler, after all, and he’s been dealt as many useless cards as we have. He’s got as little proof of his fatherhood as I do, so he’s attempting to rattle us, hoping we do something crazy.”

“Proof of what?” Anthony swallowed and grabbed her sleeve. “You’re not going to let him take me, are you?”

She looked to Silas. Though she already knew the answer by his cheerless eyes, she had to ask. “Anything in that last journal?”

He shook his head slightly. “The journals only covered the years since she left me. I went through the room again, but there weren’t any more. I’m guessing she got rid of the ones she kept in Kansas when she moved in with Richard. I found nothing worthwhile.”

“Found nothing what?” Anthony’s voice held a whine of impatience.

Her throat felt dry, as if she’d spent an hour sitting atop a factory’s chuffing coal chimney. How could she tell him he might be going home with Richard tomorrow?

Silas got down on his knee to look Anthony in the eye. “I’m afraid we’re not certain who your father is.”

Kate forced the lump down in her throat. “Tonight we need
to pray very hard that the judge says you can go home with Mr. Jonesey.”

Anthony moved away from Silas and stepped so close to her he had to look up. “But I don’t want to go home with him. I want to stay with you.”

A whimper from deep in her chest escaped. “Oh, honey, I can’t keep you.”

“You told me God could give me what I asked for, and I prayed that you get to keep me.”

She grabbed his cold hands. “It’d be better to pray for Mr. Jonesey to—”

“No.” Anthony pulled his hands from hers. “I mean, he’s nicer than I thought, but—” He threw a side glance at Silas. “Mother didn’t like him. And I don’t love him. I love you.”

The notion of running away with him came back full force. If Mr. Kingfisher thought to get rid of her over one accusation, how much security did her job actually give her?

She tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “I wish I could keep you. I so wish I could.”

She wanted to tell Anthony she’d do anything to keep him, but what if he gave away her plans tomorrow? If the judge ruled for Richard, would he let her and Anthony out of his sight long enough for them to get away? It’d be harder to disappear if Richard had even the smallest hint of her intentions.

She slanted a glance at Silas. Would he help?

But would running away with Anthony provide him with a better life, or was her heart just too entangled to be objective? Richard’s wife, with no kids of her own, might actually do well by Anthony.

Or she could be a wicked stepmother of fairy-tale proportions.

“What if the judge tells me I have to go with Pa? You told me never to steal again. He’ll make me steal—I know it.”

“I . . .” What to tell the boy? “If it’s between him beating you or stealing . . .” What was the lesser of two evils? Could she tell him to break the law to save his skin?

“You could beg.” Silas turned Anthony around by the shoulders so the boy would look at him. “Instead of pickpocketing, you could ask for handouts, give Richard whatever you get that way.”

“That won’t be enough. He’ll know I could get more.”

Silas ran a hand through his hair. “Tell him you’re not as good as you once were.”

“Oh, this just can’t happen.” She pressed the heels of her hands against the throbbing under her eyelids. “We have to think of a way to keep Anthony away from Richard no matter what happens tomorrow.”

“Keep praying. We’ll trust God to do what needs to be done.”

“But if Richard wins?”

“Then we’ll trust that God knows what Anthony needs better than we do. He knows who Anthony belongs with.” Silas spoke as if he believed his words, but his quick breathing and erratic movements reflected the same panic that raced through her body.

Surely there was something more they could do on their own. And if Silas’s words were true, then why hadn’t God rescued her from her brother-in-law? Being her only living relatives, she’d belonged with her sister and her husband, but nothing good had come of it.

Maybe she could take off with Anthony for a little while, hiding until Richard gave up searching for them. Since he didn’t love the boy, he’d give up eventually, wouldn’t he?

But then her teaching job would be gone. How could she provide for Anthony after they came out of hiding?

His knock on Anthony’s door went unanswered, so Silas tried again. “Anthony? I know you’re in there.”

The boy had been alone all morning. He’d begged not to be sent to school, and since he’d not be returning next week, Silas hadn’t the heart to make him go. He couldn’t keep the boy from one last day in his mother’s rooms. If only he could have spent today with Kate. But after her conversation with Mr. Kingfisher yesterday, she hadn’t felt as if she could ask the other teachers to take her students and had gone to school alone.

Silas looked down the hallway at Richard’s door and worked hard not to think of the unpleasant things he wanted to say to that man. To have any hope of persuading the judge to send Anthony to Kansas with him, he couldn’t act like Richard.

Silas turned his attention back to Anthony’s closed door. “Why don’t you come have lunch with me?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Anthony . . .” Silas tried the door.

Open.

Anthony lay on his cot, arms crossed behind his head, focused on the ceiling as if he could burn it down with intense staring.

“You can’t hide in this room forever.” Though if he were him, he’d have certainly wanted to. “Staying hungry won’t keep the clock from ticking.”

He settled onto the end of Lucy’s empty bed, taking in every inch of Anthony, a long, thin rail of a boy. His feet hung off the cot as he stared at the ceiling, not once deigning to glance at him. “We’re expected at the courthouse at two. We’ve got plenty of time to eat, and you can stare at the ceiling later.”

The boy’s face remained rigid.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat, you should pack.” Nothing in the room looked as if it had moved since morning. “Since neither Richard nor I have need of a woman’s things, maybe you should go through your mother’s stuff before we leave and
see if you want to keep anything. Perhaps give something to Miss Dawson?”

“What’re you going to do with the rest of Mother’s stuff? Throw it away?”

Silas flinched at the boy’s anger but sympathized.

Twenty years ago, he’d seethed while at the mercy of adults who cared nothing for him. Though that wasn’t Anthony’s problem—both Silas and Kate certainly cared. Would the judge recognize that a caring stranger would be better for Anthony than a hardhearted gambler? “I thought we’d give the rest to Myrtle. Hopefully, she can alter the dresses to fit.”

Anthony looked at him out of the side of his eye. “All right.”

Good, he’d softened the boy a little. “I’ll bring in the crates I found for your mother’s things.”

Anthony remained motionless, staring at the ceiling again.

The desire to touch him fought against his earlier decision not to get too close . . . but the boy looked so forlorn.

He swallowed and reached out to squeeze his hand. Anthony didn’t seem to mind, and Silas couldn’t help but clasp him harder, as if permanently attaching himself to the boy would prove to the judge Anthony needed him.

“I know this is going to be tough.” Silas choked as the feeling of the boy’s warm skin burrowed into his heart. “But I understand the uncertainty you’re going through. You’ll survive. I promise.”

Anthony didn’t so much as twitch.

It took a moment, but Silas finally forced himself to let go. With a deep breath, he went out into the hallway to carry in the crates he’d scrounged from a nearby mercantile. After he thumped down the last box, Anthony still hadn’t moved.

He ran a hand through his hair. “Do you want me to come in after lunch and help you pack?”

“No.”

“You’ve only a few hours . . .”

The boy blinked and stared out the window. Was he crying? Silas walked over, crouched beside him, and put a hand on his shoulder, which immediately stiffened.

“Why don’t you come eat?”

“Will Pa be there?” The boy scooted far enough away that Silas’s hand slipped off onto the cot.

So the boy had as little hope as he did about what would happen today in court. “I’m sure he will be.” After a minute of silence, Silas sighed. “I’ll come see you after lunch, then.”

He left, shutting the door softly behind him. “I love you,” he whispered. “Son or not.”