Hunter's Prize (9 page)

“You’ll do no such thing,” Miss Whitfield said, reaching for a small brass bell.

The pleasant jangle brought a polite knock at the door, and the maid in the white cap peered inside. “Yes’m?”

“Delilah, will you show Mrs. McRae—” Her eyes widened as a small figure in khaki shorts and a striped percale waist staggered into the study, clinging blindly to Delilah’s skirts.

Addie’s first glimpse of Ceddy Whitfield took her breath. The boy was achingly beautiful.

Clear blue eyes dominated his delicate pixie features, and flyaway blond wisps fell over his forehead to tangle with his sweeping lashes. His graceful bottom lip dimpled, and his rosebud mouth turned up a bit at the corners. A beam of light from the hall shone through his hair, illuminating the top of his head like a kiss from God. Swinging his head dreamily from side to side, he seemed cut off from the presence of mere mortals.

Irritation marring her pleasant face, Miss Whitfield cleared her throat. “I asked you to keep him occupied until”—she glanced at Addie and her mother—”after.”

Delilah caught Ceddy’s shoulder to guide him from the room.

Whether her touch set him off or he’d noticed the company of strangers, Addie couldn’t tell, but he moaned and grimaced, straining toward the far corner.

“I done jus’ like you say, ma’am,” Delilah said, scrambling to hold on to him. “I kept right on his heels the whole time, only I heard you ring the bell.”

Ceddy’s moans became shrill screams as he struggled to escape her grasping hands.

The older woman bent close to the hysterical boy’s face. “It’s all right, precious. Won’t you please go with Lilah? She has a cookie for you, I’m sure. After a while she’ll take you out back to dig for rocks.” She glanced at the maid. “Won’t you, Lilah?”

“I sho’ will.” She stretched out her hand. “Come along, sugar.”

Ceddy eased from the corner and ambled out ahead of the maid.

Before she left, Delilah glanced over her shoulder. “I’m real sorry, Miss Priscilla.”

Pulling an embroidered handkerchief from her waistband, Miss Whitfield blotted her top lip. “Never you mind. Take Ceddy to the kitchen; then come show Mrs. McRae to her quarters. Make her comfortable and bring her refreshments. It’s awhile yet before suppertime.”“Yes, ma’am.”

The door closed, and Mother smiled at their hostess. “That’s very kind, Miss Whitfield. I’m grateful.”

She waved the hankie. “No trouble at all.”

Mother’s dark eyes softened. “He’s a lovely boy. You must be so proud.”

Their hands clasped briefly. Miss Whitfield’s damp lashes fluttered. “Thank you.”

Mother had made another conquest.

Their heads tucked close together, the women chatted quietly until Delilah returned. With a last encouraging wink, Mother backed from the room, shutting the door on Addie and her prospective employer.

Priscilla Whitfield cleared her throat, bringing Addie to the edge of her seat. Despite the gracious smile on the lady’s face, there was a change in her demeanor. “I suppose you have questions. About Ceddy, I mean.”

Addie sat straighter and modestly folded her hands on the desk. What could be said to explain the wild behavior they’d just witnessed? “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not sure what to ask.”

She nodded. “That’s understandable. I’ll just begin, then. Shall I?”

“Yes, please.”

She settled against her high-backed chair. “As I mentioned in my letter, my nephew’s son is an unusual child.”

Unusual or unmanageable? If only Addie had taken the warning to heart …

“He was a beautiful infant. Positively angelic. People noticed he was special and commented often on his appearance.” She smiled. “Peter and Eliza doted on Ceddy from the second they laid eyes on him and loved showing him off around the community.” Her smile waned. “I suppose that’s why they noticed his differences so early.”

“Differences?”

“He didn’t smile like most babies or respond to their voices. He wouldn’t meet their eyes and became easily distracted.”

Addie nodded thoughtfully. “I can understand their concern.”

Miss Whitfield pursed her lips. “We tried to comfort them, told them the child just needed time to develop properly. When Ceddy got older and his …
unique
behavior grew more noticeable, his parents took him around the globe searching for answers. The closest we came to understanding his illness was in a London hospital. Doctors there diagnosed him with nervous mental disease.”

Addie frowned. “What does it mean?”

Miss Whitfield glanced up from the desktop and whatever else held her anguished gaze. “I have no idea, to be honest. I can only describe his current behavior.”

Addie leaned closer. “Please do.”

“Well … he still avoids eye contact, still resists smiling. Loud noises, strong odors, and the like startle him. Any change in routine angers him. When he’s upset, he flaps his hands or rocks himself. Often he sits on the floor and spins like a top. Left alone, he entertains himself for hours, with no need for human interaction.”

She stared out the window at the manicured lawn, profound sadness etched on her face. “He forms attachments to objects yet won’t allow cuddles or hugs.” Tucking her bottom lip, she dug in her teeth so hard the skin turned white. The attempt to contain her grief failed. Large tears pooled at the corners of her eyes. “I find the last trait the saddest of all, and the hardest to accept.”

“I can imagine how difficult that would be.”

“No, dear,” Miss Whitfield said, wiping her eyes with the tips of her slender fingers. “I’m sorry, but you can’t.” Her trembling voice held no rebuke. Taking a quick breath, she regained her composure. “One last thing. Ceddy becomes preoccupied—obsessed, if you will—with certain items. Rocks and stones in particular.”

Remembering the mischievous charges from her past, Addie grinned. “It seems a harmless obsession for a boy. At least it’s not frogs and snakes.”

A smile tugged at the woman’s lips. “Except he won’t throw them away. His room resembles an excavation site.”

Addie chuckled. “I see your point.”

“As you may have noticed, he will not speak.”

“No speech at all?”

Miss Whitfield sighed and shook her head. “Not for a very long time, though he spoke quite well in the beginning.”

A lump swelled in Addie’s throat. “So he’s mute?”

“Not according to my understanding of the word.
Webster’s International
defines
mute
as ‘unable to speak’ or ‘lacking the power of speech.’ Ceddy meets neither criterion.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“The doctors say he still has the faculty of speech. He simply won’t use it.” She shrugged. “I suppose he doesn’t see the necessity.”

Addie shook her head. “How could that be? Speech is the greatest tool for communication.”

Miss Whitfield sobered. “You’re beginning to catch on, dear. With the exception of meeting his most basic needs, Ceddy hasn’t the slightest desire to communicate.”

Addie struggled with an urge to abandon the conversation. She longed to bolt from the chair and join Mother for refreshments, where she’d find the topic of conversation no weightier than adding one lump or two to her cup of tea. The pretense of appearing knowledgeable on the matter of broken children left her drained. Uncomfortable, Addie squirmed in her chair.

Miss Whitfield’s probing gaze flickered away. “Of course, these are just parts of his complex personality. With the passage of time, you’ll discover the rest on your own.” She angled her head. “If you accept the position, that is.”

Staring at her hands twisting in her lap, Addie cleared her throat. “What are the predictions for his future? I mean, what are Ceddy’s prospects?”

Lips pursed, Miss Whitfield studied her for several moments then slid open the shallow drawer in front of her. “I can best answer your question with an article Eliza discovered shortly after Ceddy’s diagnosis. Along with our faith in God’s plan, this story inspired us to hope.”

Unfolding a yellowed sheet of newsprint, the creases so worn they’d torn in spots, she spread it carefully on the desk. “A child born in Dalston, London, in 1835, was labeled a deaf-mute and developmentally disabled. They called him Poor James, an appropriate name considering his family gave up on him when he turned fifteen, committing him to the Earlswood Asylum. James nearly succumbed to the bleak environment, lapsing into terrible mood swings and exhibiting violent episodes of rage.”

Addie cringed. “I’m not the least surprised. How awful for him.” She’d heard horrid tales of such institutions, and the thought of a helpless child locked away in a hospital for the insane pained her chest.

“Awful indeed,” Miss Whitfield said. “Until a discerning employee suggested a handcrafting session for the boy. The staff introduced him to woodworking tools, and he took to it wholeheartedly, designingintricate figurines and elaborate pieces of furniture as if he’d been born with an awl in his hand. Before long, Poor James became the “Genius of Earlswood Asylum”—from discarded child to celebrated artist.” She smiled. “In fact, his lovely masterpieces are on display in England still today.”

Pleased with the ending, Addie sat back in her chair. “It’s a wonderful story, but I don’t see a connection to Ceddy’s plight.”

“Cedric has a similar gift in relation to rocks and stones. His father first saw it when he brought home a volume on gems and minerals. From that day, Ceddy spent hours poring over the book. At first, Peter supposed the pictures fascinated his son—until he realized Ceddy had lined up his entire collection of colorful pebbles according to the classifications in the book. He was six at the time.”

“Amazing.”

“From that moment, Peter began searching once more for cures. Eliza, God rest her, made the wise and heartfelt decision to stop chasing miracles and accept her son as he was. Over the protests of my brother and nephew, she ceased all interference from outside sources and began to raise Ceddy according to her instincts and God’s direction. In their bumbling fashion, both men raised a stink, along with the rest of the Whitfield family, but the darling girl held her ground.”

She carefully folded the article and put it away. “Once Ceddy relaxed, he flourished. His nervousness improved and his appetite picked up. For the first time in years, he seemed happy. This fact alone won my nephew over to his wife’s way of thinking.” She sighed. “That’s when he agreed to leave Ceddy to me, should anything happen to them.”

Addie leaned forward. “Because?”

“I stood in wholehearted agreement with his mama. Eliza knew she could trust me to keep the swarming horde from descending on the poor little thing.” Her jaw tightened. “And I shall. As long as I draw a breath, Ceddy will be safe from those who seek to poke and prod at his fragile spirit.”

“I should think the family would honor his parents’ wishes.”

Anger clouded her features as she struggled with unseen foes. “Certain of them feel compelled by duty to ‘fix’ Ceddy. I’m afraid, despite their good intentions, they’ll never see him as anything but flawed.”

Relaxing her chin, she drew a breath. “You’re very young, Addie. I’ll understand if you find our plight too much to bear, but I hope you’llconsider the position. I sense in you the same loving spirit that embodied the boy’s mother.”

Addie lowered her eyes. “Thank you. That’s a heady compliment.” Heady but undeserved. She couldn’t possibly accept the demanding position. Glancing up, she wrung her hands and searched for something to say.

Miss Whitfield held up her finger. “Don’t answer yet. You need ample time to decide about such an important matter.” Nodding as if the issue were resolved, she continued, “I’d like you to stay on at Whitfield Manor for a few weeks. You can observe Ceddy’s day-to-day activities and get a better idea of what’s expected before you commit.”

Startled, Addie shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. Mother can’t stay away from home for long.” She blinked rapidly, struggling to find a way out. “My father and sisters need her.”

Miss Whitfield’s knowing eyes studied her closely. “I’d love to have her, dear, but I’m certain a bright young woman like you can manage without her mother.”

Embarrassed, Addie tucked her lips. “And if I choose not to take the position?”

“I’ll arrange your passage home and accompany you straight to your doorstep. Your parents have my solemn word.”

Before Addie could protest further, Miss Whitfield swiveled in her chair and stood, signaling the end of the interview. “Talk it over with your mother, dear. She appears to be a very wise woman.”

Addie struggled to her feet, her knees trembling. “Yes, I’ll speak to her.” She held out her hand. “And thank you for considering me.”

The woman squeezed her fingers, determination burning in her eyes. “I believe God brought us together for a reason, Addie. Let’s sort out what He has in store for us, shall we?”

Ceddy shoved the last bite of cookie into his mouth then pulled the wooden box from under the bed. Running his thumbnail over the rows of square sections, he counted each time he passed a divider. Twenty-five across. Twenty-five down. Grunting, he hefted the case, struggled into the window seat, and settled the collection onto his lap where a ray of sunlight lit fires inside the bright stones.