Belonging (3 page)

Kathleen felt the sting of rebuke in her words, but for a change, she didn’t attempt to redeem herself in her mother-in-law’s eyes. Instead, she pressed her lips together and said nothing.

After a few moments of silence, Helen flicked her fingers in the general direction of the door, her way of saying their talk was over. Kathleen rose and left the room.

A moonless sky glittered with stars, and soft, cool air caressed Felicia’s face as she stepped to the edge of the porch and wrapped her right arm around an awning post outside the kitchen of her cottage. Most of the citizens of Frenchman’s Bluff had retired long before now, evidenced by the silence that surrounded her and by the dark homes and buildings that dotted the streets of the small town. But lamplight still shone from a downstairs window in the living quarters of the Murphy home.

Felicia wasn’t sure what to think of her landlord. Colin Murphy was polite, to be sure, but he also seemed cool and reserved. Felicia felt a rush of sympathy for his daughter. She knew all too well what it was like to live in a home where laughter and love were in short supply, where emotions were expected to be kept to oneself and never expressed to others.

She drew in a deep breath as she looked upward, her gaze sweeping the heavens until she located the Big Dipper. Seeing the familiar constellation, she recalled, as she always did, the last time she’d been with her older brother and younger sister.

“As long as you can see those stars,” Hugh had said, pointing
toward the night sky, “you’ll know we’re not far apart. Don’t you worry. I’ll find you again, Felicia. I’ll find you both.” She’d believed his promise for a long time.

She no longer believed it. How could she after so many years? Hugh had been a boy of thirteen. He’d made his promise never knowing how far Felicia would go on that train before someone wanted her.

Years ago, once before she’d gone to normal school, once after she’d returned to the Kristoffersen farm, she’d written to Dr. Cray’s Asylum for Little Wanderers, hoping to locate her siblings. She hadn’t received an answer either time.

A lump formed in her throat, and the diamond-studded sky blurred. She blinked back the unwelcome tears. “I should be ashamed,” she whispered. “I was clothed and fed and educated. I never went without anything I truly needed.”

Except love.

In her mind, she pictured the couple who’d raised her—Britta and Lars Kristoffersen. In their late sixties and childless, they’d come to the grange hall to see the last of the children from the asylum, the few who hadn’t been taken at the other train stops between Chicago and Laramie. Boys who were strong enough to work on farms had been chosen at the earliest stops. And after those boys, the youngest children had gone next. A girl of ten, like Felicia, had been betwixt and between. But the Kristoffersens had wanted a girl, someone old enough to help Britta with the housework, someone young enough to still be with them as a comfort in their old age. Felicia had been the only girl of the right age remaining. They’d taken her with scarcely a glance.

She drew in a breath and let it out on a sigh. There was no point dwelling on the past. It was behind her now. The future would be what she made of it. She was young, strong, educated, capable. She
would make a new life for herself in Frenchman’s Bluff, Idaho. And if she didn’t like it here, she could go elsewhere. There was no one to tell her she couldn’t. She was free to do as she pleased.

For the first time in her life.

THREE

On the following afternoon, Colin and three other men sat on the benches outside the Benoit Feed Store, keeping to the shade while the sun beat down on the dusty main street of town. Across from the feed store, two of Quincy Daughtry’s black Labradors lay flat on their sides underneath a wagon—looking more dead than alive—while horses in the livery stable’s corral swatted at flies with their tails.

“Now that Cleveland’s out of office, it’ll happen,” Arnold Hanson said with conviction. “The country’s got too much invested in Cuba. You’ll see. It’s gonna mean war with Spain.”

Noel Bryant looked at Colin. “What do you think, Murphy?”

“Sorry. I never can guess what those fellows in Washington will do.”

Noel shifted his eyes to Gary Peters, who was busy whittling something with a knife. “What about you, Peters?”

“I agree with Arnold. There’ll be another war.” Gary curled off a thin slice of wood with the sharp blade. “Maybe not this year. Maybe not next year. But there’ll be one.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Noel rose from the bench, stretched, then looked up and down Main Street. “Sure is hot. Hottest August I can remember in these parts.”

There was a general murmur of agreement from the others.

After a lengthy silence, Arnold looked at Colin. “I hear tell our new schoolteacher arrived yesterday.”

“Yep.”

“What’s she like?” Noel asked.

Colin shrugged. “Like a schoolteacher, I guess. We didn’t talk much. She was tired from her trip.”

“She as pretty as Miss Lucas was?” Arnold persisted.

Colin stared out at the street, squinting at the bright light that bounced off the dirt. “Guess so. Maybe.”

“He guesses.” Arnold chuckled. “Maybe. Murphy, you’re the limit. You’ve got another young single gal livin’ in the house right behind yours, and all you can do is
guess
if she’s pretty. No wonder you haven’t married again if you can’t even take notice of a gal’s appearance.”

Colin clenched his jaw. He didn’t much care for Arnold Hanson. The man didn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. And now would have been a good time for him to do so.

“Well,” Noel interjected, “I reckon he’s trying to be polite. I heard the schoolmarm’s kinda dowdy.”

Colin could have set Noel straight. Wearing mourning clothes didn’t make a woman like Felicia Kristoffersen dowdy. But he didn’t say so out loud. It would just lead to more jesting, and he wasn’t in the mood for that. He stood, setting his hat on his head. “I’d better get back to the store.” He stepped off the boardwalk and strode across the street.

“Tell my boy to go straight on home when he’s done working,” Noel called after him. “His ma’s got some chores that need doing.”

Maybe you should go straight on home and help your wife instead of sitting there like a bump on a log. It was an uncharitable thought, given that Colin had been idling away the last half hour, maybe longer, right along with Noel and the other men.

When he entered the mercantile, he found it empty, save for his daughter and Jimmy Bryant. Charity sat cross-legged on the counter, and she and his young store clerk were playing a game of cards. Jimmy straightened when he saw Colin, and a guilty flush reddened his face. As well it should. Colin didn’t pay the boy to amuse his daughter with a deck of cards.

“Your dad said to get home to help your ma with some chores.”

“Yessir.” Jimmy removed his apron and took it into the storeroom. “I finished all the things you told me to do, Mr. Murphy.” He appeared in the doorway again. “Hasn’t been any customers since you left.”

“Not surprised. Too hot to do much more than sit in the shade if you can help it.” He jerked his head toward the door. “Get on with you.”

“See you tomorrow, sir.”

Colin turned toward the counter just as Charity’s stockinged feet touched the floor. “What have I told you about that?” he asked, frowning.

“There wasn’t anybody else in the store. Nobody saw me up there but you and Jimmy.”

Colin cocked an eyebrow.

His daughter hung her head, eyes downcast. “I’m sorry, Papa. I won’t do it again.”

“See that you don’t.”

Margaret’s voice whispered in his memory.
“God Almighty, help me to be a good mother.”
Colin could recall the scene as clearly now as if he’d heard her praying beside their daughter’s bed the previous night.
“Help me to bring her up to be a lady in every respect. I’m so afraid I’ll fail.”

What sort of God took a wife and mother from the family who needed her? And for all the things that hadn’t been right in their little family, they
had
needed one another. Given more time, Margaret would have become a good mother, and Colin would have become a better husband. He was sure of it.

Charity came to stand next to him. “Want me to scramble eggs for supper?”

“Sure. Eggs would be good.” He resisted the urge to ruffle her hair, not wanting to relent just yet. Charity needed to know she couldn’t talk her way out of trouble as easily as an “I’m sorry.”

The bell above the entrance jingled, and he turned to see who’d entered the store. Even before he saw her face, Felicia’s black gown gave her identity away.

“Miss Kristoffersen. How are you today?”

“I’m well, thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

“Is there something you need?”

“Yes.” She held a slip of paper toward him. “I’ve written down everything that I require.”

He shook his head, not taking the paper from her. “Just tell me what you’re after, and I’ll get it for you.” He moved toward the wall and took up a large basket. “It’s faster that way.”

“All right,” she answered, a note of surprise in her voice. “I need a scrub brush … a house broom … some China laundry soap …”

Colin moved around the store, finding the requested items quickly. The smaller items went into the basket, the broom he leaned against the counter.

“Some English breakfast tea … a pair of reading spectacles, number thirty … and fishing tackle.”

“Fishing tackle?” He stopped and turned to face her, certain he’d misunderstood.

“Are there no streams or rivers to fish in hereabouts?”

“Well, yes. But—”

“Then I shall require fishing tackle. I enjoy the exercise it provides as well as being outdoors, and I like nothing so much as fresh trout for dinner.”

He wouldn’t have pegged her as the outdoors type, but he wasn’t one to argue with a customer. Her money was as good as anyone’s. “What precisely do you need?”

“I was unable to bring any gear with me.” A pink flush colored her pale cheeks. “I shall require all of the basics. Pole, reel, line, hooks, basket, landing net. That should suffice for now. But I—,” the blush deepened, “I must be careful how much I spend. Until I draw my first pay.”

“Of course. I understand. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll put everything together for you.”

Felicia relaxed a little after Colin Murphy turned away. It was galling to have to admit her funds were in such short supply. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, of course. That was her pride. And as everyone knew, pride went before a fall.

“Miss Kristoffersen?”

She turned to find the Murphy girl standing nearby. Charity wore a simple gingham dress of green and white with stockings on her feet but no shoes. Her dark hair was caught back at the nape with a wrinkled white ribbon, the bow uneven.

“Have you been over to see the schoolhouse yet?” the child asked.

Felicia nodded. “Yes, I went this morning. The classroom needs a good scrubbing before school starts. I thought I would take care of that tomorrow morning when it isn’t quite so hot.”

“Can I help you? “

“
May
you help me.” She smiled to soften the correction. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather play with your friends than help me clean?”

“Nah. I can play with Suzanne and Phoebe anytime, and I like to help. Honest.”

“Well, I suppose the answer is yes, then, as long your father doesn’t mind.”

“Can I—I mean,
may
I, Papa?”

Colin reached to take a fishing rod from a display on the far wall. “May you what?”

“Help Miss Kristoffersen clean the schoolhouse.”

That brought him around. “If you want to clean, you could start with your room.”

“Papa.” Charity rolled her eyes.

Felicia stifled a laugh.

Colin looked at her. “She might be more hindrance than help. She can be a chatterbox.”

Felicia smiled. “I believe I should like her company anyway.”

“Then I suppose it’s okay by me.” He turned back to the display of fishing tackle, this time selecting a reel.

As she watched him, Felicia found herself wondering about his wife. She had yet to meet Mrs. Murphy. Hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of the woman yesterday or today. She hoped they would meet soon. She would like to thank her for the use of the lovely cottage. Surely a woman had a hand in making it so warm and welcoming.