Love's First Flames (Banished Saga, 0.5) (8 page)

Jeremy moved over to his cot against the far wall. Now when he lay with his legs fully extended, they reached three-quarters of the way across the desk. He sat with his back against the wall, facing the rest of the room, his legs folded under him. Gabriel reached under his cot, extracting a box filled with old clothes and spare sheets. He pushed it aside and crawled farther under his cot, pulling loose a smaller box, one that would be hidden by the larger box filled with junk.

He placed it on his bed and pulled off the lid. Inside he stored their treasures. A copy of the book
Treasure Island
he had bought for them four Christmases ago. A map of the world that they kept rolled up to one side, as many red dots as they remembered placed on it. A book with loose binding where they’d written down memories. A picture snitched from upstairs of their mother sitting next to their aunt, with their aunt carefully folded over and hidden from view. He extracted three apples and tossed one to each of his brothers.

“It’s slim pickings tonight, I’m afraid,” Gabriel said as he slipped the lid back on the box and stuffed it under the bed, sliding the large box in front of it.

They ate their apples, the room filled with the crunching noise of each bite. Richard rose, taking the apple cores and depositing them in the rubbish bin in the kitchen. He shut the door behind him and crawled onto his cot. “I’m sorry, Jer. I know you need to eat.”

“We all need to eat,” Jeremy said.

“I’ll get more food at Mr. Smithers. He won’t mind. And, Rich? Buy something at that bakery tomorrow.”

“Bakery?” Jeremy asked, raising his head from the book he was reading, amusement lighting his face. He appeared as though filled with restless anticipation, looking for any excuse to tease his middle-born brother. He relaxed at Gabriel’s subtle shake of his head.

“It appears Rich takes a new route to work each morning and passes directly by a bakery. Buy something for our cache,” Gabriel said.

Richard nodded, watching Gabriel closely, but Gabriel met his questioning glance with an inscrutable stare.

CHAPTER EIGHT

“WHY WOULD A SINGLE OLD LADY eat so many cakes?” Richard whispered in Florence’s ear, causing her to start as she stood in line at the bakery. Her tense shoulders relaxed at the sound of his voice.

“Yes, the large fruitcake,” Florence said, addressing the baker’s assistant. She turned to Richard, unable to hide the relief from her gaze. “She wants a large cake each day in case any of her old friends decides to visit her. When no one calls, even though they have sent vague notes promising a visit, she sends the rest of the cake to the kitchen where the staff enjoys it. She’s quite generous.”

“I should say,” Richard said as he nodded to the assistant, purchasing a loaf of bread and a medium-size cake. After paying, he escorted Florence out of the bakery. “I’m sorry I was late today. My aunt decided I needed another tongue-lashing for fighting with her son yesterday.”

“Your cousin.” Florence raised an eyebrow as she watched him with confusion.

“He may be considered my cousin because he is my mother’s sister’s son, but I don’t consider him, or my aunt, any part of my family. My only family is my brothers.”

“You’re lucky,” Florence murmured. “Even though you’re an orphan, you still have family.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as one, even though my aunt and cousins taunt me with the word often enough. What would you know about orphans?” Richard asked. He studied her for a moment before coming to a stop. “I see. You’re one too.”

Florence watched him with confusion. “But so are you. That’s what I don’t understand. You have no parents, just like me. Why don’t you consider yourself an orphan?”

Richard offered his arm, and she slipped hers through it as they walked the few short blocks together. “I guess it’s because I always had Gabe. He ensured I never felt alone or unloved.”

“You’re lucky,” Florence whispered again, unable to hide her envy.

“I know. But you are alone?” Richard asked.

“Yes, I have no one. My entire family died in an outbreak in one of the tenements when I was seven. I was the only one to survive, and then I was brought to an orphanage.”

“Was it as horrible there as they say?” Richard studied her, his blue eyes gleaming with frank curiosity. “My aunt was always threatening to send us to an orphanage with hopes we’d be sent on one of those orphan trains or on a ship out to sea, lost forever.” He felt an involuntary shudder run through Florence and sent her an apologetic smile.

“It wasn’t terrible. I was fed, educated, clothed. But it wasn’t home, and I wasn’t with my family. It’s hard to realize, at such a young age, that your life is going to be very different than you had envisioned.”

“Now that I understand,” Richard murmured. He squeezed Florence’s hand as she reached her corner where he left her. “I’ll try to be on time tomorrow,” he murmured.

She smiled and nodded her good-bye, her eyes luminous as they met his for a moment before she walked away.

Richard stood on the corner, watching Florence bob in and out of increasingly busy foot traffic, wanting to keep her in sight for as long as possible.

“Rich, what do you think you’re doing?”

Richard spun to face Gabriel and missed the last few moments of watching Florence walking toward the South End. He pushed Gabriel in the chest, shoving him back a pace. “Were you following me?”

“You know you’ve not been acting like yourself. It’s not like you, and I needed to know why.”

“I have not been acting strangely.”

Gabriel folded his arms across his chest as he watched his middle-born brother with amused disbelief. “Who is she, Rich?”

“A maid who works for a widow in the South End.”

“And her people?”

“I don’t know much about her, Gabe. I’m just getting to know her.”

“But you like her.”

“Yeah. She’s feisty. A survivor.”

Gabriel nodded. “Like us.”

“Yeah, like us.”

“And the only way you can see her is by meeting her in the morning when she goes to the bakery? You have to know Aunt or Henry will figure it out soon. Then you’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“I come this way before I grab the trolley to the smithy.” Richard flushed at Gabriel’s implacable stare. “I’m not late everyday, Gabe. I promise.”

“But more than the one time?” At Richard’s nod, Gabriel shook his head. “This won’t work. You can’t be late. Old Man Harris is understanding, but . . .” Gabriel shook his head again and rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought you were as eager as I am to move out of Aunt’s house. To help me earn the money needed so that we could be free of her at last.”

“I am. I didn’t expect to meet Fl . . .”

“I assume she has a name. What is it?” Gabriel was unable to hide his amusement at Richard’s attempt at being circumspect.

“Florence Butler.”

“Hmm . . . never met any Butlers before. I wonder what tenement they lived in? How old is she, Rich? What does she want from life?”

“I don’t know! We’re just getting to know each other,” Richard said.

“I wouldn’t get a young lady’s hopes up if you aren’t serious about her. And, by my count, this is the third time you’ve met with her.” His deep blue eyes held a warning. “It wouldn’t be fair to her, especially as it seems she’s an orphan and has no one to look out for her.”

“We’re just talking, Gabe.” Richard shook his head in exasperation.

“Well, look what talking got Mum and Da.” Gabriel smiled sadly as he thought of his parents and the story his da had told about gathering his nerve to talk to the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Gabriel reached out and grasped Richard by the scruff of his neck, immediately lightening the mood. “Let’s get to work and figure out how you can continue to see your Miss Butler without raising any suspicion. And thanks for buying food at the bakery. We’ll need it this afternoon when Jer shows ups.”

***

GABRIEL ENTERED THE WORKSHOP, the door opening with a thud as his rain-slicked hands slipped off the handle. Faint light streamed in through the windows, illuminating the large workspace. Two work desks, covered in a fine layer of wood dust and a smattering of wood cutting tools, stood against the wall to Gabriel’s right. A stack of wood—a mixture of oak, mahogany and maple—all piled side by side, sat in one corner. Along the far wall, a small stove emitted heat into the room on this damp and dreary day.

Mr. Smithers sat at the table to the side of the room, a cup of coffee in one hand and a pencil in the other. He tapped the end of the pencil as he stared at a piece of paper.

“Design problems?” Gabriel asked as he rubbed his head with a towel and took off his jacket, sprinkling raindrops on the floor. He moved toward the stove, holding his hands out for a moment to warm them.

“Get yourself a cup and see what you’d do,” Mr. Smithers said. He chewed on the end of a cigar, unable to smoke inside the workshop full of wood. “There’s leftover sweet bread Mr. Ferrara left behind. I’d eat it before it goes bad.”

After shucking his coat, Gabriel fixed himself a cup of coffee with two sugars and grabbed the hunk of bread wrapped in a napkin and brought it with him to the table. He opened the napkin, pulling off a small piece.

“Eat up, young Gabriel. I’ve more put aside for your brothers,” Mr. Smithers said. “How’d you like the coffee?”

“It’s strong enough to put hair on a whore’s chest,” Gabriel said, continuing the game begun years ago of trying to shock Mr. Smithers with an outrageous comment.

Mr. Smithers barked with laughter. “Ah, that it is. The only way to start a day, with a good cup of coffee. None of that weak tea you seem to favor. And since I arrived first, I chose our beverage.” He furrowed his brow as he stared at the drawing in front of him. “Now tell me what you think of this. A Mr. Wheatleigh wants a grand front hall stand to rival one he saw on a recent trip to Europe. The man’s no eye for detail, can’t tell me any one reason why he liked the piece.” Mr. Smithers coughed his hacking cough, part of his morning routine.

“Why did he say he liked it?” Gabriel drank another sip of the strong coffee to wash down the dry bread.

“He wants it to be known, the minute a guest walks into his hallway, that his is the home of one to be esteemed.” Mr. Smithers shared a sardonic smile with Gabriel as his mentor attempted to mimic the prospective client’s upper-class accent.

“If you need a hall stand to impress your friends, I’d get new friends,” Gabriel said and grinned as Mr. Smithers laughed.

“I agree, son. I agree. Look at my drawing. I’ve not spent much time in those fancy homes. What do you think?”

Gabriel looked at it and shook his head. “No, it needs to be grander. Wider, with a mirror, and double the number of hats it could hold. And a marble tabletop. That would proclaim his wealth. It should be constructed in mahogany, with intricate carving and rosettes in the corners.”

“Is that what your aunt’s looks like?”

“Yes, although hers would be smaller than the one you’d create. And I’d relish informing her of that.” Gabriel smiled as he envisioned his aunt’s response.

“Don’t go stirring up trouble when you already live in a hornet’s nest,” Mr. Smithers said as he rose to walk toward his workbench. “What are you working on, Gabriel?”

“A new shop owner wants me to build him shelves to hold tea and other sundries. I need to stop by and take measurements and determine the particulars before I start. I also have the commission for Mr. Gilman to finish. It needs another coating of varnish, and then it will be ready for delivery.”

“You’re caring for that piece as though it were your firstborn,” Mr. Smithers said. “It’s a chest of drawers for his daughter. I doubt she’ll notice the amount of time you’ve taken to ensure it is as you’d like.”

“But I will, and that’s what counts,” Gabriel countered.

“Exactly.” Mr. Smithers hacked again and sat at a chair at his workbench. “You’ll be a great success, my lad. I’ve never been so proud as the day you became a Master of this fine craft. I hope your brother will follow in your footsteps.”

“No, sir. Jeremy will do something with his education.”

“He’d be lucky to work with you. With the aftereffects of the Panic, there’s still too many out of work.”

Gabriel grimaced at the mention of the Panic of 1893, and remembered the number of people who had lost their livelihood when businesses and banks had failed. Signs of recovery were around them, and he knew that he and Mr. Smithers were fortunate to continue to receive excellent commissions. “I know. It’s the only reason I agreed to Richard becoming a blacksmith apprentice when he completed his education. I have faith Jeremy will find a good job when he’s finished his schooling.”

“You’ve cared for those boys as though they were your own. Something I’ve always admired. But you must allow them to live the lives they want, Gabriel. Without you hovering over them, advising them on what you think that should be.”

Gabriel stiffened at Mr. Smithers’s words.

“I try not to give you much advice. But both your brothers are getting of an age when they will need to test their wings. Let them.”

Gabriel met his old friend and mentor’s serious gray eyes. “I try. But after nine years, it’s very hard to let them go when all I see is what could happen to them.”