Hannah's Dream (7 page)

"Becky tells me you've come to see me on some business," Marian said.

The woman was young, but a hard life had left her looking ten years older than her chronological age of twenty-five.  Her bleached blond hair was pulled up towards the top of her head and wrapped into a bun that was loosely pinned.  Her blue eyes bore the same dark circles as the boy's, and the lids were darkened with charcoal.  The straw hat she wore was from several seasons ago, the edges were frayed, and some of the straw had come apart and stuck out.  The style of her dress was also out of fashion and the fabric threadbare.  She clutched a small handbag as she spoke.

"I didn't know what else to do," she began.

"What's your name, Miss?" Marian asked.

"Agnes.  Agnes Welsh."

"So, what can I do for you, Agnes?"

"It's the boy.  He needs things I can't give him."

"Have you asked your church for help?"

Agnes sniggered.  "What church would have me?"

Marian was at a loss.  She had never seen this woman before and had no idea why she'd come to see her.

"I'm still not sure why you wanted to see me."

"Because it's Randy's boy.  I can't take care of him no more.  He's Randy's son and since you had his girl, I figured you could keep him."

Suddenly Marian understood what Agnes was saying.  The boy was Randall's son.

"You mean to tell me that this boy is Randall's son?"

"Yeah, Randy's son.  He told me he'd take care of me, that I had nothing to worry about.  Then he goes and gets killed, leaving me with him."

Agnes pointed to the boy with her thumb.

"I can barely keep body and soul together as it is.  I can't feed him, too.  Since this was Randy's house then he should be able to live here."

"You mean to just leave him here with total strangers?"

Marian was flabbergasted.  What kind of mother abandoned her child, and to strangers no less?

Becky, walking to the parlor and holding the tea tray, found Hannah at the door and shooed her away.  Edward was descending the stairs and smiled at Hannah.

"That easel took some doing to get set up, but I think I got it right."

"Thank you," Hannah said.

She didn't want to leave the parlor door, but the look on Becky's face drove her up the stairs to her room. Edward had indeed set up the easel -- right in front of her dresser.  She'd have to find a place near the window where the light was brighter.  She went to the top of the stairs and looked down.  Becky wasn't there, so she crept down the stairs and looked around.

"What right have you to come to this fine lady's house and bring your...boy with you?"

"Becky, that's enough," Marian said.  "Take the boy to the kitchen and give him something to eat."

Becky was about to protest but the look on Marian's face stopped her.

"Come, boy," she said.

The boy hesitated, but his mother pushed him off the settee and swatted his bottom.

"You mind," she said.

He reluctantly walked to the door where Becky waited, and followed her.  His pants were far above his knees and his shirt too short to tuck into his pants.  His shoes were torn and his toes stuck out of the end where they had been cut so he could wear them longer.  Hannah followed them to the kitchen.

Marian's heart went out to the boy and when she saw Agnes hit him, she decided to take him in no matter what, anything to get him away from her.

"If I agree to take him, you have to promise never to show your face here again.  You're a disgraceful mother.  Look at that boy.  When was the last time he ate?"

"I told you I can't keep body and soul..."

"But you've managed to feed yourself, haven't you?  Your face is round, and your figure full.  You should be ashamed."

"You have no right to insult me.  I've taken care of Randy's boy all these years by myself.  He made promises.  You have no right."

"I have the right of decency.  Now, get out of my house before I call the police."

"Not so fast, lady.  I ain't leaving here without some money.  Randy made promises."

"I don't care what
Randy
promised.  He's dead, and you weren't mentioned in the will."

"Then I'll stay around town and tell everyone about me and Randy.  How would that set with you, missus?"

New Beach was a very small town, and Randall had been a prominent citizen.  Hannah still went to the public school, and if word got out that her father had sired an illegitimate child, her reputation would be sullied.

"I don't have much money.  Randall left me a small allowance."

"I'll take a hundred dollars and go."

Marian would have to contact the attorney handling Randall's estate.  It would take a few days, and she didn't want Agnes in town longer than necessary.

"Wait here," she said.

She went upstairs to her bedroom.  Inside the jewelry box on her dresser was her diamond wedding band.  The gaudy piece of jewelry had belonged to Randall's grandmother, and Marian had always hated it.  She plucked it out of the box and took it downstairs.

"Here," she said.  "Take it to Atlantic City and pawn it.  I'm sure you'll get what you want from the sale."

Agnes's eyes lit up at the sight of all those diamonds.

"I'm sure I will," she said.

Marian then sat down at the small desk in the corner of the parlor.  She took out a piece of her ivory colored stationery and wrote something.

"Can you read?" she asked Agnes.

"I can sign my name."

"I'm writing that you have received a ring from me in return for some work you did in my home.  You will need to show this to the pawnbroker.  I'm making two copies, one for each of us."

Marian got up and went to the door.

"Becky," she called.

Becky appeared at the kitchen door.

"Would you please come here?"

Becky wiped her hands on her apron and came to the parlor.

"I want you to witness our signatures."

"How do I know what it says?" Agnes asked.

"Becky, would you read this?" Marian asked as she handed the paper to Becky.

"It says 'I, Marian Dawes of New Beach, New Jersey, give this ring, a gold and diamond wedding band, to Agnes Welsh, in exchange for services rendered.' "

"I'll sign it," Agnes said.

Marian put the paper down on the desk and sat to write another as Agnes signed her name.  When Marian had finished the second sheet, they both signed and Marian handed one to Agnes.

"Keep it safe.  If the police see that ring, they may question where you got it.  You'll need this paper to prove you didn't steal it."

Agnes glowered at Marian.

"You think you're so high and mighty, don't you, Mrs. Randall Dawes.  You're no better than me.  We both spread our legs for him."

"You get out of here, you trollop, before I forget I'm a lady," Becky said.

"I'm leaving.  Thanks for the tea."

"Don't you want to say goodbye to your son?" Marian said.

"It's better if I don't.  He'll be upset if he sees me leave."

Agnes went out the front door, and Marian, who had grabbed her handbag, followed her.  She saw Edward waiting with the carriage.  He would have to take it back to the livery in Long Branch, and Marian had an idea.

"Edward," she said.  "Will you come here?"

Edward walked to the porch and Marian met him on the walk.

"Yes, ma'am?" he said.

"I'm sorry I've taken so long."

She handed him a ten dollar bill.  Edward's eyes widened at the sight of it.

"Would you please take Miss Welsh to Long Branch where she can catch a train to Atlantic City?"

She handed him a five dollar bill.

"Buy the ticket yourself," she said.

Edward tipped his hat.  His eyes implied that he understood, and he took the money and put it in his pocket.

"I'll do just that, ma'am, and I'll send you a receipt."

"Thank you, Edward, for everything.  You were a great help to us today."

He again tipped his hat and returned to the carriage.

"Miss Welsh," he called.

Agnes had begun to walk down the street.  She turned when she heard her name.

"The missus has asked me to take you to Long Branch so you can catch the train."

Agnes hadn't gone very far and it only took her a minute to walk to the carriage.

"I'll bet she has," Agnes said.

She looked knowingly at Marian and when Edward offered his hand, she waved it away.

"I can get in by myself," she said.

Marian watched the carriage pull away and waited until it was out of sight before going back inside the house.  She could hear Hannah talking in the kitchen and went to see how the boy was getting along.  He and Hannah were sitting at the kitchen table while the boy ate some soup.

"His name is Jimmy," Hannah said.  "He doesn't know how old he is."

"I would imagine he's at least nine," Marian said, calculating the years since Randall had died.

"Then he can go to school," Hannah said.

The boy was quiet as he ate.  He was eating so fast that most of the food fell on the front of his shirt, but he didn't seem to notice.  Marian sat at the table and looked up at Becky.  She had a sad look on her face.

"We'll have to go to the dry goods tomorrow and see if we can get some fabric for curtains," Marian said.

"Why do you need new curtains?" Becky asked.

"He'll need a room of his own.  The only one we have is the one I use at the end of the hall.  He needs a boy's room, not a frilly lady's room."

"So, you're giving up your sanctuary for him," Becky said.

"I don't mind," Marian said.  "I don't use it much anymore."

That night, Jimmy and Becky fought as she tried to put him into the bathtub.  Becky won, and Jimmy was washed from head to toe.  When Becky put one of Hannah's old nightgowns on him, he spoke the first words they had heard him say.

"I'm not a girl," he said.

"We're all aware of that, but we've nothing else to put on you until I wash those clothes.  Now hush up and get into bed."

They had fashioned a bed for Jimmy out of any old mattress that had been stored in the attic.  Becky and Marian managed to pull it down and dragged it to the little room.  They placed it in the middle of the floor and covered it in clean sheets.

Jimmy's belly was full for the first time since he could remember, and he felt safe.  Within five minutes of lying down, he fell fast asleep.

Chapter 11

Autumn, 1896

Pierre walked through the classroom.  He stopped now and then to offer guidance to a student but he didn't linger.  When he stood next to Hannah, however, he found it hard to move on.  He loved to watch her hands mold the clay.  She had such small, soft hands.  Her intense love of art was attractive to him.  He wanted to take her to the finest museums in Philadelphia and New York where French paintings hung amidst crude American drawings.  He longed to hold her hand and show her the finer things in life.

"Mr. Rousseau," Hannah said.

Pierre snapped out of his daydream.  "Yes, Hannah."

"Am I using this chisel correctly?"

He hadn't noticed.  "Yes, you are doing fine."

He forced himself to move to the next student, a fat, mousy girl named Louise.  He didn't care for Louise.  She smelled bad and didn't have any friends.  But her paintings took his breath away.  Hannah was a good sculptress -- Louise was a great artist.

Pierre thought this unfair.  How could such a lovely girl as Hannah be a mediocre artist and this pumpkin of a girl, well, be so gifted?  He would contemplate this injustice daily as he watched Louise create painting after painting with ease.  They were truly amazing works of art.  He had tried to discourage her from entering the school art contest without success.  His only hope was Margaret Mason.  She was judging the contest.  Surely she would favor a member of her social class over Louise, and Hannah would win.

"Is this okay?" Louise asked.

"Yes, it's fine, Louise."

He hurried past her.  Her cheeks reddened as they always did when he spoke to her.  She looked at her painting, a seagull in flight over the ocean, and sighed.

He doesn't like me,
she thought.

Hannah's sculpture of a seagull perched on a piece of driftwood was giving her problems.  The delicate feathers were always hard to emulate.  She had spent hours at the beach watching the birds.  They were hard to get close to, unless you had a large bag of breadcrumbs.  The contest was in one week and she wanted this bird to look real.  She sat back and looked at it.  She would have to smooth the bird's form and start again.

"It looks good," Louise said.

Hannah smiled.  She always tried to be nice to Louise.

"Thank you," she said.  "But I have to do the feathers again."

"Why?  They look real."

"I think I can do better."

Louise thought the feathers looked good.  She didn't understand why Hannah wanted to change them.  Her picture, though, was not very good at all.  She looked at the bird and wanted to blot it out with her black paint.  She didn't, though.  She just took her eyes off it and worked on the sea.

Hannah was still working the clay when class ended.  The other students walked past her and out the door, but she stayed.  Pierre came over to her, stood by her side, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from touching her.

"It's coming along nicely," he said.

"Why did they want us to make birds?" she asked.

"Mrs. Mason likes birds."

"I don't," Hannah said.  "Not after working on this for so long."

"You are too hard on yourself, Hannah.  It is a fine bird."

He wanted to touch her hair.

"Oh, everyone has gone," she said.  "I'll be late."

"But this is your last class."

"I must get home.  I promised Mother I wouldn't be late."

Ah, the lovely Mrs. Dawes, he thought.

As she ran from the room, Pierre looked at her sculpture.  It really wasn't very good.  But a girl like Hannah, with her personality and breeding, would rise above a lump like Louise.  He wasn't worried.  Hannah would win.

He left the classroom and walked home.  He was feeling a bit randy and knew it was time to visit Mrs. Porter's house in Long Branch.