Keeping Secrets (4 page)

Sadie had assured Richard Caldwell that she wasn’t any better than those men’s wives. They were good women who treated their men well, and she didn’t want to be viewed as someone who was better than they. She was certainly only human herself, regardless of her clothes.

Richard Caldwell had only looked at her, levelly, and said nothing. She didn’t know whether he took what she said as truth or not.

When she returned to the kitchen, Dorothy had disappeared once again. With one look at the closed bathroom door, Sadie stifled a smile and bent to the task of cleaning up. She soaked pans in hot, soapy water, filled the large, commercial dishwasher, wiped counters, scoured the stove, and then felt dizzy and a bit weak.

She hadn’t eaten her breakfast at home, that’s what it was. Well, she’d drink some orange juice, then fill a plate after the men were finished eating.

What was that?

She straightened, turned off the hot water, then listened.

A knock, although a soft one. There. Another one.

Wiping her hands on her apron, Sadie went to the door and opened it slowly. She didn’t see anyone, until she looked down. There was a very dirty, very brown, little boy, clutching the hand of a little girl who must be his sister. She was an exact replica of him, only grimier, if such a thing was possible.

Their hair was impossibly matted, snarled until it stood out from their little heads, stiff with dirt and dust. There were brown streaks caked onto their faces. The little boy’s T-shirt had been orange at one time, but now it was a color somewhere between brown and rust. The girl’s skirt was torn, her T-shirt hanging from one shoulder, the neckline completely stretched out of shape. She was carrying a small, leather satchel, not a purse or a duffel bag, but a homemade bag bulging with items that were anyone’s guess.

The children stared up at Sadie, their black eyes bright with fear.

Sadie opened the door wider.

“Hi!” she said, smiling brightly, hoping they felt welcome enough to share their names and what they needed.

They didn’t answer.

“H … hello!” Sadie said, trying again.

“I’m Marcellus. This is my brother.”

The voice was soft and musical, spoken in perfect English with only a hint of an accent.

“My name is Sadie Miller.”

“My brother is named Louis.”

“Hello, Louis,” Sadie said quickly.

“Good morning.”

Sadie was unprepared for the perfectly pronounced greeting, the voice as soft and cultivated as his sister’s.

Looking around her, Sadie was undecided what to do. Invite them in? She did not want to get anyone into trouble, but she couldn’t let these poor little souls out here by themselves.

Where was that Dorothy?

Taking a deep breath, Sadie asked them to come in. Immediately, the children stepped inside, dropping the satchel on the rug inside the door. Their black eyes opened wide as they took in the vastness of the kitchen area.

“Where … where did you come from?”

“Our mother set us out of the car. She drove away. Our father went away first. There is a man who comes to our house. Our mother cries. We are not allowed to go with her. She will come back soon.”

This was all spoken in perfect English, in the musical voice by the little girl named Marcellus.

There was an audible gasp, and Sadie turned to find Dorothy behind her.

“What in the world is going on here?”

Dorothy for once spoke calmly, in disbelief. Her usual bristling personality quieted at the sight of these little ones.

Sadie heard a sniff, then turned to see Dorothy lower her round, little frame to her knees, holding on to the kitchen chair as she did so. Tears pooled at the corners of her eyes, as she held out her short, heavy arms.

“Angels, that’s what they are,” she whispered. “Come here,” she said, louder, in her usual commanding voice.

The children stepped over obediently, and Dorothy’s arms enfolded them to her breast. She smoothed their filthy hair with no thought for the grime. She kissed the dirty little faces, murmuring to herself.

“It’s God hisself came to our door. It’s a test. These little angels,” she kept murmuring.

Sadie bit down on her lower lip, trying to keep her composure.

When Dorothy asked them where they were from, Marcellus repeated what she told Sadie. Dorothy got up, still holding the grimy little hands close, then sank into a chair. Her hand went to her head as if it was almost more than she could bear.

“My little darlings!” she cried, suddenly. “Sadie, go get Richard Caldwell. Hurry up! He’s still eating in the dining room.”

“But…”

“Go!” Dorothy thundered, and Sadie went.

A sea of faces looked up as she entered the vast dining room. She found the face of her boss quickly and went to him. He slid back his chair, knowing it was important if Sadie appeared in the dining room when he was eating breakfast with the men.

“Excuse me.”

“Yes, Sadie?”

“Dorothy… I… You need to come to the kitchen for a minute.”

Richard Caldwell followed her as she made her way through the swinging oak doors, then stopped at Dorothy’s side. She watched Richard Caldwell’s face as he looked at the children.

He gave a low whistle, then shook his head back and forth. “Likely some drunk threw his kids out,” he muttered.

Dorothy’s eyes flashed. “Now don’t you go sayin’ that, Richard Caldwell. These is angels sent from God to see what we’re goin’ to do with ’em. You ain’t turnin’ ’em out, so you’re not. They ain’t no drunk’s kids neither. Listen to ’em. Tell the nice man where you come from, Mary. Marcy. Marcelona.”

Marcellus looked seriously from Dorothy to Richard Caldwell, then told them the same story as before, with Louis nodding his head beside her.

“There now,” Dorothy said triumphantly. “These kids has some upbringing. Can’t cha tell?”

Richard Caldwell was speechless. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

“I’m a goin’ to give them a bath, then me and Sadie’s gonna feed ’em. You go find your wife. Tell her to come to the kitchen in two hours. About 10 o’clock. You come with her. You an’ me an’ Sadie an’ her gotta decide what to do about these kids. We ain’t turnin’ ’em out, neither, an’ don’t even think ’bout calling the police. When Jim gets back, tell ’im to git in here!”

And so Dorothy arranged her soldiers, ready to do battle for her God.

D
OROTHY BATHED AND SCRUBBED
the children. She brushed their hair and dressed them in clean clothes she borrowed from a few of the ranch hands’ kids. She fed them at the kitchen table, heaping their plates with scrambled eggs, toast, bacon, and hotcakes. The children drank thirstily before lifting their forks to eat the food. They had perfect manners, wiping their mouths with the napkins provided.

She huffed upstairs and back down, her face almost the same color as Barbara’s purple kimono.

Barbara Caldwell came and watched Dorothy take care of the children. Her heavy, blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, her makeup applied expertly, the luxurious kimono she wore enhancing her elegance. She kept her emotions hidden, but there was no suspicion or judgment in her demeanor. She sat and observed, smiling, glancing at Richard Caldwell, occasionally commenting on the beauty of the children’s hair or eyes.

Dorothy sent Sadie to clean the bathroom, dispose of the children’s filthy garments, and clean the guest bedroom for them. She sprayed the tub with Tilex, cleaned the heavy mirrors and the ceramic above the sinks, then stopped when she spied an old leather satchel. It was not homemade at all. Rather, there was a tag, also made of leather, with foreign words inscribed on it.

Sadie knew enough about life to know what was affordable and what was not. This most definitely was not affordable, at least for anyone she knew, and it did not come from any store nearby.

But, these destitute little ones? Carrying a bag of finest…?

Glancing over her shoulder, Sadie lifted the flap and peered inside. Another bag. A cloth one. A drawstring. With fumbling fingers, she pulled it open and gasped. Quickly, she tightened the strings, closing the bag.

It couldn’t be. Children didn’t carry things like this. Who in their right mind would send two little ones, likely no more than five years old, out into the vast world with an expensive satchel containing what appeared to be jewels? Diamonds, maybe?

Sadie had no experience where jewelry was concerned, but she was pretty sure that when objects glittered and sparkled and were that heavy, they were probably real.

She considered opening the drawstring bag again, just to make sure she hadn’t imagined what she saw, but decided against it. She shivered and looked at the satchel as if it was coiled and ready to strike.

Sadie cleaned the tile floor on her hands and knees, wringing the cloth well over a bucket of hot, soapy water. She hurried downstairs to dispose of the soiled water, told Dorothy the bathroom was finished, and asked if she needed anything else done in the kitchen before she tackled the bedroom.

“Nah, go on yer way. I’ll keep an eye on Louise and Marcelona.”

“Louis and Marcellus,” Sadie said softly.

“I know. That’s what I said.”

Sadie didn’t respond. She had to find Richard Caldwell. Or Barbara. Someone needed to know about that bag of jewels.

She put the bucket in the closet, then walked resolutely through the dining room and down the wide, oak-lined hallway to Richard Caldwell’s study. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she knocked softly and cringed when she heard that ear-splitting, “Come on in!”

She pushed the heavy, oak door timidly and was relieved to see her boss relaxed. He was tilting back in his great, leather chair. His feet, encased in heavy boots, were propped on his desk. His teeth flashed white in his tanned face as he smiled at her.

“Sadie!”

“Yes. Hello, again. I’m sorry to interrupt your…”

Her voice was drowned out by the shrill ringing of his desk phone. Richard Caldwell motioned for her to sit down, then picked up the receiver and yelled, “Richard Caldwell speaking!”

Sadie grimaced inwardly and imagined the person at the opposite end of the line holding the receiver away from his ear.

She tried not to listen, her eyes roaming the bookshelves and the expensive objects of art. She noticed dust on the wooden blinds and made a mental note to take time to wipe them tomorrow when she cleaned the study.

“Mike? No? Mark? Yeah, got it. What did you say? Paint? Pate? Can you spell that?”

His feet clattered to the oak floor. Tipping his chair forward, he grabbed a notebook and scribbled, yelling the letters as he wrote.

“P…ei… Huh?”

There was a pause before he finished with the “G… H…T.”

“Got it.”

Then, “Yeah, come on down. I’ll talk to you. Never enough farriers to go around.”

Another pause, then a chuckle.

“All right. See you this afternoon.”

Sadie’s eyes were two large pools of agitation when Richard Caldwell turned to her.

“He sure doesn’t have a lot to say. A new farmer. Weird name. Hey, what’s wrong with you, Sadie? You look like you just swallowed your grandma.”

“N … nothing. I mean … yes, there is. I… The children?”

Richard Caldwell nodded.

“They… After they had their bath and got cleaned up, they… I found a bag of … of … I think diamonds or at least jewels of some kind—in a leather … purse. It was upstairs in the bathroom. I thought you needed to know about it.”

“What? Now come on, Sadie. Kids that dirty and tattered-looking don’t carry around bags of jewels.”

Sadie’s eyes flashed.

“Would I make this stuff up?” she asked.

“No,” Richard Caldwell shook his massive head, laughing, “Not you, Sadie, not you.”

He rose and asked her to take him to this leather satchel.

Sadie walked down the hallway and up the wide staircase, acutely conscious of Richard Caldwell’s heavy footsteps following her. She paused at the bathroom door before walking to the well-lit counter and handing the leather bag to her employer. She watched closely as his thick fingers tried to undo the flap and then the drawstring. Muttering, he handed it to Sadie.

“You do it.”

Her small fingers opened the drawstring efficiently. She held the opened bag out to him, her eyes searching his. Taking the bag, he spilled the contents onto the marble countertop, bent low, and whistled.

“What the…?”

He looked at Sadie, then bent to examine the small mound of glittering jewels, his heavy fingers raking through them.

“Earrings. Necklaces. Rings,” he murmured, holding each one up to the light coming from the bathroom mirror.

There was a whisper of movement at the door, and they both turned to see the tall form of Richard Caldwell’s wife, Barbara, enter the room.

There was a time when Barbara would have been suspicious, hateful even, of this Amish girl with the unusually beautiful face, her hair as dark as a raven’s wing, her great blue eyes fringed with naturally dark lashes.

Sadie’s presence had been a threat until Richard Caldwell helped her nurture the sick, broken horse, Nevaeh, back to health. During that time, Barbara’s husband came to grips with his past and, as each day unfolded, he grew more loving and tender, especially toward his wife.