As the Sparks Fly Upward (18 page)

“Keep still!” Teague snapped. “She can't stay here, Colin. You can sell her and get your money back.”

Colin was regaining his senses and remembered what had happened. “She won't eat much,” he whispered.

“No, I won't have it,” Teague said stubbornly.

The girl moved closer to Colin and grabbed at his arm. “You won't do it, will you, mister? Sell me to someone?”

“No, I won't do that. Maybe I can find a nice family to take you in.”

“No! You bought me and I'm not leavin'!” She glared at
Phineas and snapped, “You're not no gentleman! 'e bought me fair and square and I'm stayin'!”

“How old did you say you were, Twyla?” Colin asked.

“I guess twelve.”

Colin turned and looked at the child for a long time. She was dirty and dressed in rags. Her arms and legs were like thin sticks. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, and her eyes were large and of a peculiar violet color. She was watching him closely, and there was a silent plea in her expression. Finally he shrugged and looked at Phineas. His voice was weak, but he said clearly, “Phineas, how much trouble can one child be?”

12

December 20, 1583

C
olin had made a rapid recovery from his beating, though he was still sore. He would always have a scar on the left side of his forehead, but he made light of that. Somehow—and he was never quite certain how it came about—Twyla had become his nurse. She insisted on changing the bandage on his head, and she was an outstanding cook. Colin and Teague were pleased with this, for neither of them could cook. For two days Twyla fed Colin nothing but soft food and soup that was delicious, but soon she was cooking more substantial meals.

It was a Thursday morning, and a cheerful fire was blazing in the fireplace. It cast heat throughout the bedroom, where Colin was sitting in a chair soaking up the warmth.

“You think you can feed yourself, Mister?”

Colin turned to face Twyla, moving carefully not to strain his side. “I think so.” He took the soup and tasted it. “This is wonderful, Twyla.”

“Anybody can make soup, Mister.”

Colin ate the soup while studying the girl carefully. She was dirty and apparently had no concept of bathing even her face. Her hair was as black as the darkest thing in nature, and those startling violet eyes seemed to bore right through him. She was
as thin as a stick but apparently healthy and strong for her age and size. “Tell me about your parents, Twyla.”

“I don't got none.”

“You must have had at some time.” He saw that the girl was glaring at him with something like anger. “What's the matter?”

“My ma was a dollywop.”

This was, Colin knew, the common term for the lowest form of prostitute. Twyla stared at him defiantly, and Colin could not think of a thing to say. “What about your father?”

“I never knowed who 'e was.” She used a vile term when she spoke of the man.

Trying to change the subject, Colin asked, “Where did you learn to cook so well, Twyla?”

“My ma left when I was six, and a woman and her husband took me in. She was a cook, and she taught me. She was the one that sold me to Clem Baxter.” This was the name of the man who had abused her.

Phineas came in, and at once Twyla got up and left. Her dislike of him was obvious. Colin knew she was still angry with Phineas for saying she should be sold.

“Well, let me see how that wound looks.” Phineas reached out and seized Colin's head, twisting it around and glaring at it as if it was some sort of enemy. “Oh, I did a good job there, but you're going to have a scar. A man ought to have a scar here and there to mark his foolishness.”

He reached down and began probing at Colin's ribs. When he reached a particular point, Colin took a sharp breath. “Careful, that hurts!”

“You should be glad you didn't get those ribs broken.” He shook his head and went over to the fire, backed up to it, pulled up his coattails, and sighed. “This feels good. It's colder than a well digger's rear out there.”

“The fire is nice.”

“What about that girl? You can get around now. Are you going to sell her?”

“No, I'm not.”

“She's in the way!” Phineas snapped.

“She cleans the house—as well as she can for a girl who never kept anything clean—and she can cook. She won't be any trouble. She's just a child.”

“She's a female child, and that can be trouble at any age. And she is dirty as a pig! I'll wager she's never had a bath in her whole life.”

“She hasn't had many opportunities.” Colin related what he had learned of Twyla's background and Phineas said, “She'll probably bring disease in here. We'll both probably die of it.”

“I wish you would look on the bright side of things! She's cooked the best meals we have had in a long time. We can make her take a bath and clean up.”

“Bath or no bath, she'll cause trouble.”

“No, she won't. Now leave her alone.”

Two days after this conversation Colin's parents arrived, and both were shocked at his appearance. His forehead was still purple from his bruises, and the thread that Phineas had used to sew him up was dangling. “What happened to you, Colin?” Eden cried.

“Well, I got on the wrong side of a fellow.”

“It looks as if you were run over by a carriage, and the horses, too,” Brandon said.

At that moment Twyla came in with a bowl of soup, but she paused abruptly, staring at the strange couple.

“Come in, Twyla, I want you to meet my parents.”

Brandon and Eden turned and looked at the child, waiting for an explanation. “Who is this child?” Brandon asked.

“I'm 'is bound girl, I am. I belongs to 'im. 'e bought me,” Twyla said.

The news seemed to shock both of his parents. Colin at once began a lengthy explanation. It did not suit Twyla, however, and she interrupted to say, “The man that owned me tried to 'urt me, and 'e put his 'ands on me. The doctor 'ere tried to 'elp me. 'e got knocked down and kicked, but 'e paid for me so now 'e owns me.”

“I don't
own
you, Twyla! I've explained that to you.”

“That's wot the paper says. I'm bound, that means you own me,” Twyla said curtly. She put down the soup, whirled, and left without another word.

Brandon scratched his head and looked dubious. “I don't know about this. What are you going to do with her?”

“I couldn't let that fellow have her. He was beating her mercilessly.” He found himself telling them the story of Twyla's background. When he finished, he dropped his head and said with some degree of embarrassment, “I didn't know what else to do.”

Eden walked over and put her hands around his head and kissed the good side of his face. “I'm proud of you, Son.”

“Adam could have done better. He could have whipped that man.”

“Adam wouldn't have thought about helping her,” Eden said in her sweet and loving voice.

“No, I don't believe he would,” Brandon said. “And even if he had whipped the man, she would still belong to him.”

“Mother, would you do me a favor?”

“Of course I will.”

“Take Twyla out and buy her a few things. She only has one dress, and it's only a rag. And see if you can get her to clean up a little bit. I don't think she's ever had a bath.”

“I'll do what I can, Colin.”

Later in the day, after Eden had taken Twyla out for some clothing, Brandon sat down and talked to Colin. His talk was mostly
about Mary, Queen of Scots. “That woman is going to get Elizabeth killed.”

“You don't mean that, do you, Father?”

“I certainly do! She has the morals of a cobra! There is evidence enough to hang her, if she were anyone else.”

“You mean actual evidence?”

“Not enough to suit Elizabeth, but nothing will ever suit her.”

“I can't believe Mary would harm our own Queen Elizabeth.”

“That's because you don't really know anything about her. Pretty much everyone knows Mary was responsible for the murder of her husband. Then she married the renegade who killed him.”

“Why did she come to England?”

“Because they kicked her out of Scotland. Elizabeth is going to have to face up to that sooner or later. She worries about Mary, and rightly so.” Brandon's face grew stern then, and he said, “No one likes to see a woman killed, but Mary will be the death of our queen—unless she dies.”

Eden was troubled about Twyla but never let her feelings show. The girl had no manners, and her speech was spiced with curses and vile language. She had no idea at all about making herself look better.

Eden took her to a dressmaker and bought her three dresses, one to take with them and two more to be picked up when they were finished.

“Wot do I want with three of 'em when I can't wear but one?” the girl said.

“Well, you can wear one when you go to church on Sunday, one when you work, and one for going to town,” Eden answered brightly.

“I'm not going to no church, and I got a dress to work in.” Nevertheless, Eden saw that the girl was pleased. “Why are you doing all this for me?” she demanded suddenly.

“Because I always liked to dress girls.”

Twyla looked up with fear in her eyes. “What do you want me to do for all these things you're buying for me?”

“Why, nothing, Twyla. I just want you to look nice. I tell you what, let's go home and wash you up. We will fix your hair, and you will see how pretty you look and feel.”

“You think Mister will like it?”

She had gotten in the habit, Eden had noticed, of calling Colin
Mister.
“I'm sure he will. Now, let's find you some new shoes.”

“I never 'ad no new shoes.”

The two spent several hours shopping, and during this time Eden pried the story out of the girl of how she had been abandoned and raised by her prostitute mother until she was six. She told of how she tried to keep her innocence from young men, and some not so young.

“You're going to look beautiful,” Eden said as they headed back to Colin's home. “So let's get started.”

Colin was standing beside the fire when the door opened. His father was at his side. Colin blinked with surprise when Twyla came in with his mother. She was still skinny, but looked older somehow. “You look very nice, Twyla. Did you pick out that dress yourself?”

“No. Your mum, she picked it out.”

“She did a very good job. Your hair looks nice, too.”

“She washed it. She washed me too.”

Eden turned to hide her smile. Colin said quickly, “Well, you look like a different girl.”

Colin's parents stayed for only a short time. When they came to bid him good-bye, Twyla was off in the other part of the house. “Are you sure you know what you are doing—about that child?” Brandon asked with some apprehension.

Colin replied the same as he had to Teague. “Why, Father, how much trouble can one child be?”

“More than you know,” Eden said dryly. “But I'm proud of you for taking up for the child. You just be careful now. Watch over her.”

“Of course I'll do that.”

It was December the twenty-fifth. Twyla had worked all day fixing a Christmas dinner. She had made wheat bread of the finest quality, and a large turkey cooked in the fireplace. She had roasted several small birds, basted with butter. She had also made a platter stacked high with homemade gingerbread, a delicacy that Phineas had never eaten. They drank beer with the meal, and afterwards for dessert they had boiled suet pudding.

“This was the finest meal in all of England, Twyla!” Colin exclaimed while sitting back and smiling at her.

“It was good,” Phineas agreed. “I don't know anything you could've done to make it any better.” This was the first positive thing Phineas had ever said to Twyla.

She managed to smile and said, “I loves to cook for people wot likes it.”

Phineas left sometime after dinner to go to bed for his afternoon nap. Twyla and Colin sat before the fire, soaking up its warmth. Colin said, “Here, sit down on this stool, Twyla. I have something for you.”

Twyla stared at him with something like suspicion. “What is it?” she demanded.

“Do you see that sack over on the shelf? Bring it to me.” He waited as she brought the sack over and tried to hand it to him. He pushed it back into her hands and said, “You've done very well. I had my mother buy this for you for Christmas. She was always good at picking out gifts.”

Twyla took the sack and held it for a moment. “For me?” she said.

“All for you. It's Christmas! Open it now.” Carefully, Twyla
undid the drawstring and pulled out a box. Colin watched her as she opened it. She stared at the gift. “Do you like it?”

Twyla reached out and picked up the comb and brush made from mother-of-pearl. She did not speak for so long that Colin asked again, “Don't you like it?”