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The woman raised her chin another notch. “We don’t want beggars and sneak thieves living among us.”
“Neither do I.” Felicity gazed at the woman, trying to reach the soul behind all the vainglory. “Thee hasn’t introduced thyself. I’d love to talk to thee about my plans—”
“I am Mrs. Thornton Crandall,” she interrupted, “and I am uninterested in your plans to despoil our good neighborhood.”
Mrs. Crandall turned, lifted her skirts as if the ground had been defiled by Katy and Donnie and marched off. The kitchen door behind Felicity opened. She glanced over her shoulder toward the sound.
Vista gave her a wry smile. “I see you met Mrs. Crandall, one of the leading ladies in Altoona society.”
Stirred as if she’d just fought hand-to-hand in the opening battle of war, Felicity shook her head. She tried to return Vista’s smile and failed. How could this woman look at these children and not be moved to pity?
Katy tugged Felicity’s skirt. “Miss, was you telling the truth? Are you going to take in children that don’t have homes?”
“Yes,” Felicity gentled her voice and stooped down. “Katy, would thee and Donnie like to come live here?” With the back of one hand, she touched the little girl’s soft cheek.
Katy looked back and forth between Felicity and Vista. “I’ll think on it, miss.”
“Yes, please do, Katy. We would be so happy to have thee and Donnie with us.” Rising, Felicity squeezed her shoulder. “Now I must get into town. Please do whatever Vista tells thee and I’ll be back by lunch.”
I hope.
Ty walked into the stark, whitewashed courtroom with its polished oak floors as the bailiff declared, “All rise. Judge Tyrone Hawkins presiding.” Ty settled himself on the high platform in the judge’s seat and looked out over the sparsely filled courtroom. And there she was.
The woman with blue eyes he’d seen arrive in town the day before whose purse had been stolen was sitting on one of the spectator’s benches. A tingle of recognition coursed through him. Hadn’t anyone told her that she need not suffer coming to court? He never liked to see ladies in court. It was such a rough setting and often the defendants used coarse language.
No doubt she’d come out of a sense of duty. He tried not to stare in her direction, but she kept drawing his tired, gritty eyes. In this stark setting, she glowed, the only appealing face present.
The first dreary case began and then another, and another. Finally, the boy who’d snatched the newcomer’s purse was ready to be heard, making his plea. The boy was marched into the room by Hogan, the arresting officer. Ty wondered if there was any hope for this lawless child. He hated this part of adjudicating the law. He could not believe that children should be treated as adults by the courts. But what was he to do? The law was the law.
One of the prominent lawyers in town, John Remington, with his silver hair and imposing presence, rose and approached the bench. “I am defending young Tucker Stout.”
The young, already portly prosecuting attorney looked back and forth between the defendant and Remington, his mouth open in disbelief. Ty felt himself goggling at Remington. Surprise crashed through him, making him even more aware of his bone-deep fatigue. Months of little sleep was wearing him down, making him vulnerable. “Did I hear you right?”
“Yes, I am defending Tucker Stout.” The elder lawyer continued in his distinctive, deep voice, glancing over his shoulder. “Miss Felicity Gabriel has hired me to act as his counsel.”
Still unsettled, Ty looked to the woman. She responded with a half smile. Even her subdued smile had the power to dazzle him.
The prosecuting attorney blurted out what Ty was thinking, “But she’s the plaintiff. Hers was the purse stolen.”
Remington nodded. “She is aware of that. But she is anxious, in light of the defendant’s tender age, that his rights be protected.” Remington paused and then added as if in explanation of such odd behavior, “She’s a Quaker.”
Ty sat back and studied the woman, who sat so deceptively prim in his courtroom. A Quaker. Well, that explained the situation somewhat. He’d met a few Quakers. They spoke strangely and didn’t fight in war. Peculiar people.
Loose jowled, Hogan snorted where he sat on the prosecution side of the courtroom. Ty drew himself up. He’d lost control at home—he wouldn’t also lose control of his courtroom. “Very well. Bailiff, please read the charges against the defendant.”
The bailiff did and Ty asked, “How does your client plead, Mr. Remington?”
“We plead not guilty.”
“And you realize that I witnessed the purse-snatching myself?” Ty responded dryly. Was this woman trying to play him and the other men in this room for fools?
“Yes, but Miss Gabriel believes that the boy is too young to be held to adult legal standards of behavior.”
“What Miss Gabriel believes may be true, but not in the sight of the laws of Illinois,” Ty retorted, antagonized at having to defend what he did not believe.
The lady suddenly rose. “God does not hold children accountable for their sins until they reach the age of reason. Are the laws of Illinois higher than God’s?”
The question silenced the courtroom. Every eye turned to the woman who looked completely at ease under the intense scrutiny. Ty chewed the inside of his cheek. Does she expect special treatment because she is a woman?
“Females,” Hogan grunted, breaking the silence.
“Miss,” Ty said curtly, “you are not allowed to speak in court without permission. You must let your counsel do the talking.”
She nodded and sat down without dispute, giving him an apologetic little smile. He found he had no defenses against her smiles. They beckoned him to sit beside her and be at ease.
“Your Honor,” Remington spoke up, “Miss Gabriel has asked me if I might have a word with you in your chamber during a short recess.”
“What is this?” the prosecutor asked, rearing up.
“You’ll be included, of course.” Remington bowed to the man whose face had reddened.
Ty passed a hand over his forehead. After falling asleep last night, Camie had cried out with nightmares twice more, keeping the whole house up. He closed his eyes for just a moment, then opened them. He couldn’t let the situation at home interfere with his work. Though the headache was making his right eyelid jump, he forced himself to act with magisterial calm. “Very well. The court stands adjourned while I meet with counsel in my chambers.”
He rose and so did everyone else. His black judge’s robe swirling out behind him, he strode into his paneled chambers just behind the courtroom and sat behind his oak desk, waiting for the attorneys to knock. The bailiff let them in and the two men sat down facing him. “Remington, what’s this all about?” Ty asked without preamble, able at last to release some of his spleen.
“Miss Gabriel is Mildred Barney’s heir. She has inherited the Barney house and all the Barneys’ considerable estate.”
The prosecutor let out a low whistle.
Remington nodded. “Miss Gabriel is also following Mrs. Barney’s instructions and turning her house into a private orphanage which the Barney money will support.”
Ty lifted his eyebrows. His mother-in-law would love that. He studied Remington, thinking of Miss Gabriel’s pretty face. He shook his head, resisting. Pretty or not, he had to judge this case fairly. “The boy is guilty. What can I do but sentence him to jail time?”
“This isn’t his first arrest,” the prosecutor was quick to add.
“We know that.” Remington folded his hands in front of himself. “Miss Gabriel would like you to dismiss charges so that she can take the boy with her to the orphanage.”
The prosecutor made a sound of derision. “And how long would he stay there? Till her back’s turned and then he’d just go back across the river to St. Louis, picking pockets and snatching more purses. Women are idealistic but we men must be realistic. The kid is from bad blood. He’ll never be anything but what he is.”
Ty didn’t like the sentiment the prosecutor expressed but he suspected that the man was right. If he released the boy, he wouldn’t stay at the orphanage. Like a wild horse, Tucker Stout had never been broken to bridle. And at eleven or twelve, it might already be too late to salvage the boy. Weighed down by this unhappy thought, Ty rose. This signaled the end of the conference.
The attorneys left to meet him on the other side of the wall back in the courtroom. By his desk, Ty waited, chewing the inside of his cheek, giving them time to reach their places. Then he strode back into court and took the judgment seat.
Remington waived the boy’s right to a jury and the trial was brief, proceeding just as Ty had expected. When they reached the time for sentencing, he looked out at the few people sitting in the benches of the courtroom.
Miss Gabriel’s head was bowed as if she were in prayer. Her smile still glowed within him, a tiny ember of warmth. He hated to disappoint her. He opened his mouth to sentence the boy to a month in the county jail.
“I am sentencing Tucker Stout to six months’ probation,” he said, surprising himself. “The conditions of probation are that he live and work at the new orphans’ home under Miss Felicity Gabriel’s supervision. If Tucker leaves Miss Gabriel’s house and refuses to follow her orders, he will be sent to jail for a year.”
The prosecutor gawked at him. Hogan balked with a loud “What?”
Miss Gabriel rose, beaming at him. Her unparalleled smile brightened the whole of the sad room where no one ever found cheer, least of all Ty. The ember she’d sparked flared inside him. “Will you accept this responsibility, Miss Gabriel?”
“Of course!” she beamed.
Ty caught himself just before he returned her brilliant smile.
He struck his gavel once, unusually hard. “Case closed. Bailiff, please announce the next case.”
Outside, under the sweltering noonday sun, Felicity gripped the lawyer’s hand. “I cannot thank thee enough, John Remington.”
The lawyer shook her hand. “Good luck,” he said, eyeing Tucker. “The judge was kind to you, young man.” He tipped his hat and was gone.
The intriguing face of the judge popped into her mind. So the man she’d seen in town that first day was a judge. A judge who could show mercy as well as justice. And a man who looked worn down by some secret pain.
Felicity shook off her thoughts and turned to Tucker. “We need to get home in time for lunch.”
Tucker looked like he wanted to say something rude. But he shrugged and got in step with her. They walked in silence down the busy, noisy street. “Does thee have parents?” she asked.
“Everybody’s got parents. Somewhere.” The boy didn’t even bother to look her way.
“A good point.” People kept turning to look at them. Felicity resisted the urge to lift her chin. She hoped in the coming weeks that people would become accustomed to the sight of her walking beside uncared-for children. “Are thy parents living?”
He shrugged again. “Might be. Don’t know. Don’t care.”
Felicity had spoken to souls scarred like this before. At this tender age, Tucker had given up on people. “How old is thee?”
“Old enough.”
Felicity gave up questioning him. If this one ever opened up, he would do it in his time and in his way. “I am from Pennsylvania. I am the middle daughter of seven sisters. I grew up on a farm near Gettysburg.”
Tucker kicked a stone and ignored her.
Felicity was glad to see home ahead—until she noted that Mrs. Crandall was coming toward them. Oh, dear. Could they get into the house before she reached them? “Two children have already come to my home, Katy and Donnie. They are deciding whether or not they want to stay with me.”
“Oh, goody.”
“But thee will be staying.” Felicity walked faster. “Or thee will be in jail.”
Tucker snorted. “Been there before. Be there again.”
“The question is, does thee want to go there again?”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “I don’t have much use for do-gooders.”
Felicity knew what he meant. She’d met many do-gooders who lorded their superiority over those they “ministered” to. Many of these, she would gladly have kicked. She knew that wasn’t a Christian thought but it was the truth.
As she and Tucker turned up her front walk, Mrs. Crandall bustled up to her. “I see you have brought another undesirable into our neighborhood. If you go forward with this orphanage, no decent person in town will have a thing to do with you.”
Felicity’s first inclination was to give this woman a talking to about Christian charity. She settled on, “I’m afraid I’m very busy right now, Mrs. Crandall. Could we discuss this later?” Or when thee has had a change of heart?
The woman turned and huffed away.
The back of Felicity’s neck was unusually tense. She began to lead the boy toward the back door. He surprised her by saying, “That lady’s right, you know.”
Struggling to quench the aggravation burning inside, Felicity paused and then fixed her gaze on Tucker’s face. “I doubt what she said is true. If it is, then I don’t think much of the decent people in this town. Now let’s get our hands washed and sit down to lunch. I think thee will find that Vista’s food is worth the effort to stay and do what is expected of thee.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Felicity hid her smile at his unexpected savoir faire. And then the moment of lightness was gone. What a world this was where boys became cynics before they even began to shave. She led Tucker to the pump and handed him the soap. He made a face of sincere distaste, but began lathering his hands.
For a moment, she lingered on the memory of the judge’s sad drooping mouth, troubled dark eyes. It was a strong face with eyes that didn’t flinch from meeting hers.
He also had that lean look many veterans had. Too many hardtack meals and days of travel, and then the ordeal of battle after battle. How did a good man put aside his rifle and sword and go back to life, put the war behind him? Her mourning for Gus, a dark chilling wave of loss, welled up and swelled, tightening her stays.
Felicity almost sighed, but stopped herself. Father, bless Judge Hawkins and keep Tucker here while Thee works Thy will upon him. Felicity decided to keep mum on the topic of Mrs. Thornton Crandall. She was certain that the Lord had heard quite enough already about Mrs. Crandall from others.
The next afternoon Felicity tried to slip away and walk to town, but was caught by Vista and the groom. The groom drove the half mile into town and helped her down at the clothing store on Merchants Street. How could she persuade them that she should walk?
Inside the door of the large well-appointed store, a man in a crisp dark suit greeted her. “Hello, miss, I am Robert Baker, the proprietor. May I help you?”
She smiled. “Thank thee, friend. I need clothing for children and I’m afraid I have never bought much before.”
The man smothered his obvious surprise and asked, “What are the ages and gender of the children, please, miss?”
She pulled a list out of her reticule. “I will need an assortment of clothing for boys and girls of all ages.”
The salesman looked confused.
“I should tell thee—”
“Are you here buying clothing for those orphans of yours?” A lady with a jarring voice bustled up to them.
Felicity didn’t appreciate the sound of the question. Worse, there was only one way this woman could have heard of Felicity’s plans for the Barney house—by listening to gossip. Disapproval ground inside her. However, Felicity gagged it down. She smiled hopefully. “Yes, I am. Would thee advise me on clothing for children?”
“No, I would not. I live on Madison Boulevard. I, along with many of your neighbors, don’t want an orphanage in our neighborhood.”
“Thee doesn’t like children?” Felicity asked, her spirit suddenly simmering, bubbling with displeasure.
“We don’t need riffraff from the wharf infesting our lovely avenue.”
“I am truly sorry thee has that opinion. How does thee know of my work here?”
“Mrs. Thornton Crandall is one of my best friends. She told me all about your despoiling the Barney mansion.” The woman brushed past her. “And she is going to do something to stop you!” The woman departed with a slam of the door.
If God be for me, who can be against me? Still prickling with outrage over the gossip being spread, Felicity looked at the proprietor. She calmed herself. “Would thee show me some clothing now?”
The man stood looking back and forth between the woman’s retreating form and Felicity with her long list in hand.
