Love Blooms in Winter (8 page)

“I wish I could help, but Pauline’s mind—” Mae abruptly stopped speaking and shrugged.

Wiping his mouth on his napkin, he said, “If Pauline is kin, then you can rest assured I’ll see to her care.” How? He still didn’t know. He supposed he could hire someone to stay with her and look after her needs, especially if she didn’t have long on this earth.

“Are there any widows or single women in town who could assume her care? I would handsomely compensate them.” Money wasn’t an issue. He never had time to spend what he earned, so his savings had grown, and with the new promotion and benefits he’d be set for life.

Her features sobered. “I’m afraid there isn’t. The town is very small, Mr. Curtis.”

“I can see that. Unfortunately, Miss Wilkey, I put in sixty to seventy hours a week at work. I’m not in a position to care for a ninety-year-old woman. Few people live to be that old.”

“Ninety-two, actually,” she murmured, “and most of the time they don’t. I don’t understand why Pauline has lasted this long, and I’m sure this has come as quite a surprise to you.”

“Quite,” he said. He couldn’t have been more surprised if a cannonball had landed on his desk rather than her letter.

“Would your wife—”

“I’m not married.”

“I see.” She pursued her lips. “This is a quandary.”

“If I offered to compensate you well, could you do it?”

She shook her head. “I love Pauline, but with the post office and…” Her eyes discreetly indicated the young boy absorbed in his food. “Family responsibilities devour my time.”

“What if I placed an ad in newspapers in surrounding areas?”

“You could, but would that be the best choice? Who knows what manner of person would answer? Some folks would do anything for money. Pauline won’t be able to tell us if she is mistreated in any way.” She met his eyes. “I couldn’t sleep nights thinking she might be neglected by a stranger.”

Pushing away from the table, she said, “Why don’t we pay her a visit? Perhaps when you meet her something will click. A family feature? Perhaps a turn of phrase?” She glanced at the boy. “Jeremy, I’m going to quickly mend Mr. Curtis’ coat and shirt and wash the mud off his clothing. While the garments dry, Mr. Curtis and I will pay Pauline a short visit. Dinner was delicious.” She leaned down to kiss his cheek.

Nodding, he continued to eat. She left to do her work and Tom finished his meal. When the boy offered a slice of piping hot apple pie swimming in hot cinnamon butter, he couldn’t resist. If he’d ever been fuller, he couldn’t recall the time. Mae would have to let out the waist on his pants if he stayed around these parts for very long.

While Jeremy cleared the table, Tom moved to the chair in front of the fire. The house, like the others he’d seen, was small, but not a speck of dust was visible. There was a large knitted red throw on the back of the chair he occupied. Next to it sat a rocking chair with a wicker basket filled with yarn. His gaze shifted to the knitting needles stuck in a ball of earth-colored thread. An end table separated the two chairs. A round braided rug was in front of the fireplace. Other than a small couch, the room couldn’t hold more furniture.

The setting was relaxing. His room in the boardinghouse didn’t have a homey feel. It contained a bed and a washstand. Mrs. Fletcher’s downstairs sitting room had more warmth, but he never spent any time there. When he was in town he ate his meal and then excused himself to head for his room. His gaze shifted back to the two men’s magazines sitting on the end table. Remains of her father, or was there a man in Mae Wilkey’s life? Tom closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth and comfort of the quiet house after his long journey.

He was almost dozing by the time Mae return to the main room. Smiling at him, she reached for her cloak. “All finished. Jeremy, would you please hang the garments in front of the fire while Mr. Curtis and I visit?” She glanced at Tom. “Pauline lives across the street.”

He stood and then paused as the words sank in. “Across the street?”

Taking his arm, she squeezed. “The dogs are just pets. I’m sure we can eventually talk her into relinquishing a few.”

Dogs. Cats. Family connections he couldn’t remember. Tom could always contend that he wasn’t kin, but something inside him made him question that. He had no idea how his name and address landed in a crazy woman’s desk drawer. He realized he could step away right now and return to his nice, sane boardinghouse that also served good fried chicken, claim his new job, and let Pauline become someone else’s problem. However, his conscience would never rest until he had the answers he had come seeking.

“Ready?” Mae asked. “Here, since we don’t have a coat to fit you, wrap this quilt around you. It will keep you warm until we get there.”

He mustered an obliging smile as he took the makeshift wrap. He was as ready as a blindfolded man standing before a firing squad.

If he hadn’t already looked like an imbecile wearing small cloths, he surely did now.

“Ready.”

T
om couldn’t help staring at the pack of mongrels prowling Pauline’s yard. This time, with Mae at his side, the animals didn’t trounce on him. Perhaps it was the clothing he was wearing or the quilt around his shoulders that stopped them in their tracks. He looked like a plain fool in a shirt and pair of pants three sizes too small. His gaze roamed the cats next and he shook his head. There wasn’t a Curtis or Holland born who would live here.

“Pauline does seem to go overboard with animals.” Mae worked her way up the three porch steps. “Git! When she started accepting every stray that wandered this way, things sort of got out of hand. Git down!” When she reached the top of the porch, she turned to urge him to the front. “Come on. Most don’t bite.”

“That’s encouraging.” He’d bite anything dressed in this shirt. He climbed the steps and paused as Mae knocked and then pounded on the door. Eventually it creaked open a notch and one faded blue eye peered out.

“Pauline, it’s me, Mae!”

“Eh?” Pauline held her hand to her ear.

“It’s Mae!”

“May is months away. It’s January, I think.”

“No.” Mae wedged her foot between the door and the frame and stood firm. “Open the door, Pauline. It’s your neighbor.” She turned to whisper. “I’m sorry, Mr. Curtis. This doesn’t appear to be one of her better days.”

Nodding, Tom pulled the quilt tighter around his shoulders. He hoped no one in town saw him like this. A moment later the door flew open, and he dodged a couple of cats that sprang out. A bent woman stood in the doorway, her right jaw bulging with snuff.

“Oh, Pauline.” Mae sighed. “You promised me you’d given up chewing.”

“I did?”

She raised an empty can and spat into it.

Mae gently nudged the woman back from the door to allow entry. “You have company!”

Pauline stood back, eyes fixed on Mae. “Honey, you’re not company. You’re family.”

Mae turned and offered Tom a silent apology for the condition of the house. Today it appeared ransacked. Clothing was strewn over furniture and the floors. Pots and pans lined the baseboard in a train fashion. Feathers tied to strings hung over everything. Sighing again, Mae asked, “Have you been cooking today?”

“No.”

“Then why are your pots and pans on the floor?”

Pauline turned to access the situation. “Are those pots and pans? I thought I was straightening my shoes in the closet.”

Reaching for Tom’s hand, Mae said, “I have a wonderful surprise for you.”

“You do?” The old woman’s eyes lit up.

“I might have found your kin! Tom Curtis, this is Pauline Wilson.”

Grinning, Pauline clapped her hands with delight. “My kin! Why, that’s just wonderful! Step closer, sonny. My eyesight ain’t what it used to be.”

Tom reached for the woman’s hand. Her clasp had surprising strength. “Miss Pauline.” His eyes scanned her features as he searched for any sign of recognition. She had his mother’s nose—maybe—and the shape of her eyes favored the Holland side. Somewhat.

Her faded eyes traced him, and he could see she was having a hard time making the connection too.

“Goodness.” She pumped his hand. “My own kin. I thought I had lost everyone. You’ve outgrown your clothes, son!”

“I believe you’re right, Miss Pauline. Miss Mae’s letter came as a real surprise.” His eyes traced again her face, powerless to completely recognize one familiar feature. Most Curtises had brown eyes—and the Hollands had blue or hazel eyes. Pauline’s faded eyes were blue, but not the deep hue his mother had.

“Well, honey.” She drew him to the table, which was cluttered with dirty crockery and utensils. A cat was licking one dish clean. “Sit down and let me fix you something to eat.”

Tom smiled. “That’s not necessary. Miss Mae just fed me a huge meal.”

“You been eating Jeremy’s Sunday fried chicken?”

“Yes, ma’am. He’s a fine cook.” He sneezed.

“Oh, now. Call me Auntie.”

He nodded. She apparently recognized something he didn’t. “You are my aunt?”

“You said I was.”

“No. I don’t know if you’re my aunt or cousin or anything. I’m sorry, but I can’t make the connection.” He sneezed a second time, and Mae handed him a dainty handkerchief. It held the scent of sweet jasmine, and he found it quite pleasing.

Pauline frowned. “You said you were kin.”

He glanced at Mae. “She says I am.” Another sneeze.

“He is your kin, Pauline. And he’s here to help.” Mae focused on him. “Are you coming down with a cold?”

“No, ma’am. I think it’s the animals.” He swiped at his itchy nose and glanced at Mae. How could the woman be so all-fired sure he was related to Pauline Wilson when he didn’t know that himself?

Pale eyes brightened. “He’s come to stay!”

His hand flew up in protest. “No, not permanently. I’m just here long enough to figure out our kinship and maybe get you settled somewhere.” Even though she might not be kin, he could perhaps follow through with helping the poor old thing. After all, without a wife and family, he could afford it.

“I am settled.”

Mae shot him a “move slowly” glance. The news that family had shown up had obviously unnerved Pauline. Wondering about it unnerved him too.

“I think we’re tiring her.” She helped the older woman to the couch, pitching a bundle of clothing aside in order to sit beside her. She reached for a blanket and folded it three times to fashion a middle cushion. “Why don’t we all just sit here and visit? Maybe something will ring a bell for one or the other.”

Tom joined them, and the three sat in silence, like blackbirds lined up on a board fence. Suddenly Pauline leaned out and peered around Mae to look at him.

“What did you say your name is?”

“Tom. Tom Curtis.” He felt another sneeze coming on and put the sweet-smelling handkerchief to his nose.

She shook her head, pondering. “Ain’t got no Curtis kin.”

“What about Holland? That was my mother’s maiden name.”

Pauline shook her head. “Nope. Don’t know anyone named Holland.”

“Pauline,” Mae cautioned. “Try to focus.” She patted the older woman’s hand. “I know it’s difficult, but think. Does Tom show any physical evidence of family traits? Eye color? Hair?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Yes, they all had hair and eyes.”

Mae ignored that. “His mother’s name was Holland.” She glanced at Tom. “I believe that’s what you said.”

Tom knew Mae would give him another scolding look if he didn’t stifle the laugh that tried to make its way out at the old woman’s statement. He nodded. “Beatrice Holland.”

“Beatrice!”

He met her faded gaze. “Do you know her?” Part of him wanted a firm no, but another part, one he identified as plain ol’ curiosity, was eager to hear her response. The woman’s almost skeletal frame settled back against the couch.

“No. Just always favored the name Beatrice.”

“Maybe you like it because the name brings back fond memories of someone you once knew,” Mae reasoned.

“Miss Pauline—”

She stopped him. “Call me Auntie.”

For the time being he’d comply with her request. “Auntie.” If the clothes didn’t make him feel like a buffoon, saying the name sealed it. He felt about as foolish as judging a horse by its harness. “Do you have any idea why you had my name and address in your desk drawer?” The cat that sat before the fire suddenly got up and leaped into his lap, and then he promptly climbed Tom’s shirt and curled around his neck.