Diamond Duo (26 page)

Somehow Bertha managed to close her gaping mouth. She returned to the basin to splash water on her face and arrange her hair, determined to find an explanation for the miracle she’d just witnessed. She’d start by asking Papa about his astonishing conquest on the way to Thad’s house. Perhaps he could offer a few tips on how she might approach Thad. After last night, she’d need them.

Papa rushed past her door in a whoosh. “Let’s go if we’re going. I’ll fetch the rig.”

“Yes, sir. I’m coming.”

With no time to get warm water, she picked up the ceramic pitcher left there from the night before and poured a cold stream into the basin on her dressing table. She dipped a rag and wiped her face, tucked back a stray curl and pinned it then hurried to the kitchen.

Mama stood at the stove warming milk for black pudding. Still wary, Bertha pushed past her and pulled a few sprigs of parsley from the cold box. Unsure what to make of the strange woman in the kitchen, she tucked the parsley into her mouth and opened the door. “We’re going now. Please say a prayer we reach Thad in time.”

The stranger pointed at Bertha with her ladle. “Speaking of prayer, try to be home in time for church. And don’t forget your wrap. It’s still cold out.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she called then grabbed her hat and coat from a hook by the door and scurried out to the wagon.

Papa stood waiting. She rushed over and hoisted herself up before he had time to offer a hand. He gave her a mock frown then hustled around to board on his side.

They were quiet on the ride to the Bloom house. Planning what she would say to Thad distracted Bertha from asking Papa how he’d reclaimed his trousers. By the time she remembered, they were nearly to Thad’s and Papa seemed lost in his own thoughts. Sitting tall on the seat, he wore a silly grin on his face, and Bertha wondered if he sat basking in his recent victory. More in keeping with his character, he likely sat basking in expectation of fried bread and black pudding.

A lump rose in Bertha’s throat as they neared the big white house northwest of town. She twisted on the seat and latched onto Papa’s arm. “What will I say to him?”

He patted her hand then loosened her fingers. “Don’t fret, darlin’. The words will come.”

She rubbed the red marks on his forearm. “Sorry, Papa. I’m just so afraid.”

He tilted her face up to his. “Remember the thing I asked you? About trusting God with the details?”

She nodded.

“Well, if you have a mind to ever trust Him, this is your chance.”

Bertha nodded again and leaned against his arm, her heart too full to speak. Her breath caught when they pulled up and stopped in front of the low picket fence surrounding Thad’s yard. She sat up and stared past the tall magnolia, past the smaller Eve’s necklace, and down the cobbled path to the two-story house, wondering which window stood between her and Thad.

Papa set the brake and shook his finger under her nose. “You sit tight till I come ’round. We’ll have no more hurtling into wagons, young miss. You’ll wait for help like a proper lady.”

“Yes, Papa. But hurry, please.”

He grumbled but climbed down and hastened around to her side. Together they rushed up the walk to the white double doors. Papa questioned her with his eyes and she nodded, so he lifted the heavy brass knocker and let it fall. As the door swung open, Bertha thought her heart would burst. She held her breath and readied the words she needed to say.

“Mr. Biddie. Little Bertha. What a nice surprise to find you on our doorstep.”

Bertha’s body wilted. She couldn’t answer Mrs. Bloom because Thad’s words still pressed her tongue. Papa cleared his throat then slipped past Bertha and lifted his hat.

“Mornin’ to ye, me lady. Apologies for disturbing your fine household so early on the Sabbath morn. But we fancy a short chat with your boy, if you don’t mind.”

Leona Bloom lifted her brows. “Of course. One moment, please.” She left the door open and slipped away. Bertha stared at the entry, waiting for Thad’s broad shoulders to fill the empty space.

“You all right, love?”

“Yes, Papa.”

After a wait that lasted forever, Thad’s lanky little brother appeared with his mama on his heels. Cyrus looked nervous and clearly couldn’t imagine what Papa might have to do with him. He squinted out the door, pushing his wire-rimmed glasses higher on his nose. “Yes, sir, Mr. Biddie?”

Disappointment and impatience warred in Bertha’s gut like cats in a bag. Papa gave a nervous little laugh and addressed Mrs. Bloom. “While we’re double-blessed by young Cy’s handsome face, I fear it’s Thad we mean to see.”

Cy stepped back, his cheeks going crimson. Mrs. Bloom tented her fingertips over her lips and shook her head. “Of course you do. How silly of me. It’s not as if I didn’t think of Thad first, but since. . . Well, you see. . .”

The door swung wider, and Thad’s papa appeared behind his wife.

“Why, Francis, how nice to see you.” He leaned past his family to clasp Papa’s hand then frowned at Mrs. Bloom. “Leona, where are your manners, dear? Don’t leave our guests on the stoop.”

She flushed a bright pink and moved away from the entrance. “Oh my. Forgive me, Abel. I’m not myself with all that’s gone on around here.”

Mr. Bloom motioned them inside. “Come in, come in, before you ice over.” He held out his hand. “This way to the parlor, folks. Leona, brew some tea to warm their bones.” He glanced at Papa. “Unless you prefer coffee, Francis.”

Papa waved off the coffee and the parlor. “Don’t go troubling your good wife, sir. The warmth of your foyer is sufficient. We can’t stay long.”

They stood discussing foul weather and trading good-natured remarks until Bertha feared her pounding head might explode. At long last Papa pulled her forward, and Mr. Bloom turned his attention her way.

“Look who this is.” He accepted the hand she offered and kissed it. “Bertha, you’re lovelier each time I see you.”

“You’re too kind, sir. I wonder if I might be allowed to see Thad now?”

Papa cleared his throat again, louder than before, and laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. “What my wee daughter means to say–”

“Hold up. You came to see Thad?”

Mr. Bloom wore a puzzled look. Behind him, Mrs. Bloom pressed a hankie to her lips and spun away from the door, leaving Cyrus staring after her with startled eyes. Mr. Bloom lowered his head and frowned then took hold of Bertha’s hands. “I thought if anyone knew, it would be you, dear. Thad’s gone.”

Bertha peered into eyes so like Thad’s and tried to make sense of his words. “Gone? You mean he left for the station without you?” She looked from Mr. Bloom to Papa to Cyrus, trying to work it out. She couldn’t imagine Thad’s family not seeing him off to school. Well, no matter. She would. A renewed sense of urgency pulsed
through her heart. “It’s so early I doubt the train has arrived. There’s still plenty of time to catch him before he leaves, and we can all ride to the station together. Won’t Thad be surprised?”

Mr. Bloom came toward her with his mouth open, about to speak.

Done with talking, Bertha rushed for the door and opened it. “Forgive me, Mr. Bloom. We have to be quick or we won’t make it.” Outside she made a mad dash for the rig.

“Better stop her, Francis.” Mr. Bloom’s voice behind her sounded strained.

“Bertha, wait right there,” Papa ordered.

She stopped and turned.

Papa, Cyrus, and Mr. Bloom gaped at her from the porch.

“Wait? For what? We’re going to miss him if we don’t hurry.”

Compassion softened Mr. Bloom’s eyes. “You won’t find my boy at the station, Bertha.”

Papa asked the question for her. “Why’s that, Abel?”

“Thad left last night. Seemed in a powerful hurry to go, so I let him take one of our horses. He planned to ride to Longview, sell the horse for spending money, and take the first train out to Bryan.”

Bertha knew she stared openmouthedly but didn’t care. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice a feeble croak.

“I said he’s gone, Bertha. Thad’s already gone.”

Something had Henry’s long johns in a knot. Sarah knew it for a fact after he shoveled food around his dish at supper then left the breakfast table without cleaning his plate. Anything that interfered with her man’s vittles would be no light matter, but Henry wasn’t talking–and it scared her.

Worse still, he’d left early that morning without her. Said he had business in town. Said he wouldn’t be back in time to fetch her for Sunday service, but he’d stop along the way and ask a neighbor to bring her. On his way out the door, Henry promised to finish his dealings in plenty of time to join her at the meetinghouse.

The reason these things troubled Sarah?

Henry never did business on the Sabbath. When Sarah asked him outright what he planned to do, he mumbled and shuffled then dashed out the door.

By the time Thomas Jolly pulled into the yard, the bed of his wagon overflowing with laughing children, worry had curdled Sarah’s stomach. After giving him a wave out the door, she went to her room for a wrap. Sarah wore a dress made of heavy fabric but didn’t own a proper coat, so she grabbed the warmer of her two good shawls and dashed outside, braced for a cold morning ride.

Thomas raised his hat. “Miss Sarah.”

Sarah nodded. “Thomas.” She stepped to the back of the wagon and grinned at the turned-up faces. “Children! How spry you look, all washed and polished.”

“Morning, Miss Sarah,” rang out from eight different voices.

Sarah tried hard never to question God, but as her hungry eyes roamed the tiny faces, she wondered about His ways. Why bless some folks with more babies than they could feed yet withhold one tiny suckling mouth from her barren breasts?

Thomas leaned to wipe off the seat while one of the older boys handed Sarah up beside him. She thanked him and settled the skirt of her Sunday dress around her. “Where’s Arabella this morning?”

“Sent her on ahead with Thomas Jr.”–he jerked his thumb behind him–“so you wouldn’t have to ride in back with those ruffians.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t have minded that a bit. I hope I’m not putting you out.”

He winked and grinned. “Not a whit. We more’n happy to help.”

“Well, the Lord gon’ bless you. I know I sure do appreciate it. I bet you’re glad Doc Turner lets you off on Sunday mornings to go to worship.”

Thomas snorted. “He know I’ll quit before I work on the Lawd’s day.” He gave her a sidelong glance. “Say, what’s old Henry up to
this morning? He come by my house in a right big hurry. Didn’t say where he had to get to so quick.”

Sarah’s clabbered stomach lurched. She wasn’t about to admit she didn’t know what business her own husband was about. She squirmed and glanced away. “You know Henry King. Probably found him a good trade or some such. I don’t pay no mind to that man’s mischief.”

Just as she hoped, Thomas laughed and asked no more questions. They didn’t talk much after that because the teasing, giggling children made it impossible. Sarah settled back and tried to forget Henry’s strange doings. She set her mind instead on thoughts more suited to the day.

Thomas began to hum a gospel hymn in a deep baritone. The clamor behind them ceased, and several small voices rose with the lyrics of the song. The tension in Sarah’s body melted. She turned on the seat and joined her high soprano to the swaying angel choir clustered in back.

Just as her heart rose up and soared to the throne of grace, the thundering hooves of an approaching rider reached her ears. A boy on horseback galloped toward them, shouting and waving his arms.

She looked at Thomas. “What’s that about, you reckon?”

Thomas stared at the rider and shrugged, but worry drew lines over his brow.

When the frenzied rider reined up so fast he almost landed in her lap, Sarah’s back stiffened, and her stomach forced bile to her throat. One glance at the boy’s frightened eyes–his gaze locked straight on her face–and she knew. Something bad had happened to Henry.

“Best come quick over to the Commercial Hotel, Miss Sarah. There’s trouble out back.” Without another word, the boy, who turned out to be Cook’s son, dug his heels in the horse’s flank and sped away.

“Is it Henry?” she called after him, but he raced away as if the weight of the disaster rested on his young shoulders.

She stood up in the wagon. “Wait! You come back here!”

The wind picked up her useless cry and blew it behind her as the rider disappeared in a cloud of dust.

“That foolish boy. I could’ve taken his horse or rode with him at least. Oh, Thomas!”

Thomas gripped her hand and pulled. “Sit down, Miss Sarah. We’ll get you there.” He slapped the reins hard and roared, and the horse took off as though he’d been stung.

Holding on to the seat, Sarah twisted to look behind at their precious cargo. Fear had the children as wide-eyed as a basket of owls, especially the little ones. She gave them a steady smile while she lifted up a prayer.

I know I deserve it, but don’t take Henry from me. And please don’t let harm come to these babies on my account.

T
had rode into Longview in the wee hours, cold, hungry, and heartsick. The only accommodations available at that time of night happened to be a shabby little room above the saloon–a fact he’d forget to mention to his mama. He paid the bartender in advance then slipped past a drowsy dance-hall girl and a cluster of men engaged in an all-night poker game.