Undercover Bride (16 page)

“How long has your grandmother been like this?” she asked.

Linc set two pieces of bread on the grimy table. “She’s been old for a long time,” he said. “Since before I was born.”

“I’m not talking about her age. How long has she been so forgetful?”

He put some moldy-looking cheese onto the bread. “Sometimes she’s not forgetful. Sometimes she even knows I’m Linc.” He glared at her. “She’s not crazy. She’s not. And I’m not letting her go nowhere with you. So you can leave.”

Maggie realized that the boy wasn’t just defiant; he was scared. “I’m not here to take your grandmother away,” she said gently.

Wariness replaced the suspicion in his eyes. “You’re not gonna put her in an asylum?”

“No, of course not. Why would you think such a thing?”

“Some people want to.”

“Who?”

“The woman from the Orphans Society.”

“Oh, Linc.” He was the age that many criminals first turned to illegal activities. Some began stealing as a matter of survival. Others knew no other way of life. Linc was at a crossroads, and if something wasn’t done to help him, he might one day end up on Pinkerton’s mostwanted list.

“Don’t you have any other family who can help you?” If only life could be played like chess. If only it were possible to protect someone from temptation as one might protect a king.

“It’s just me and Granny, and I ain’t letting ’em take her away.” With that he ran from the room.

No sooner had he departed when his grandmother walked into the kitchen shaking her head. “That boy will be the death of me yet.”

Considering the moldy cheese, stale bread, and grimy table, the old lady was closer to the truth than she probably knew.

She looked at Maggie, and this time her eyes were clear and focused. “What did you say your name was, dearie?”

That night over supper, Maggie told Garrett about her visit to Linc’s house. She was so incensed by what she’d found there, she pushed Rikker’s warning to be careful to the back of her mind.

“I don’t understand why someone hasn’t stepped in and helped them. The church—”

As soon as she said it, she regretted her words. Garrett already thought poorly of organized religion. “There must be something that can be done.”

“I had no idea that things were that bad,” he said. He looked every bit as concerned as she felt.

Bad didn’t begin to describe the poor conditions of the house. “Would you mind if I gave Linc some of Toby’s outgrown clothes?” Toby was large for his age, and though his clothes might be a tad too small for Linc, they were better than anything the boy currently owned.

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure Toby won’t mind, will you, son?”

Toby shook his head. “Long as you don’t give away my thinking cap.”

“I can give Linc one of my dolls,” Elise offered.

“Boys don’t play with dolls,” Toby said.

Maggie smiled at her. “No, but it’s very kind of you to offer.”

Garrett looked up from cutting his meat. “Purchase whatever else he and his grandmother need. Just bill everything to my account.”

Maggie dabbed her mouth with her napkin. It was a kind and generous offer, but she couldn’t think about that. She had to keep a clear mind, an unbiased mind. The truth was that she couldn’t have planned this whole thing better had she tried.

If she ran Garrett’s accounts up high enough, he would have to dip into the stolen money to pay them. No doubt Rikker would approve the plan. She only wished the idea of taking advantage of Garrett’s generous nature didn’t make her feel so utterly wretched.

Maggie got to work the very next day. Her first stop was Grover’s Mercantile where she purchased crates of tin goods, along with safety matches, lye soap, candles, and kerosene. She ran up such a large bill that the bespectacled clerk behind the counter added the numbers three times to make sure he hadn’t made an error.

The next stop on her list was Adams’s Boots and Leather shop to purchase a pair of black boots for Linc. She also bought yards of gingham fabric from Murphy’s Dry Goods.

The shopkeeper had recommended a young Mexican housekeeper who agreed to clean Linc’s house for a fee. She spent a full day just organizing the kitchen.

Convincing Linc to take a hot bath at the hotel bath house was the real challenge—that, and getting him to sit still in the barber chair.

After the barber cut Linc’s hair, she stood him in front of a store window where he could see his reflection. “What do you think?”

“It don’t look like me,” he mumbled. “Granny won’t recognize me.” Considering the old lady’s condition, it was a strange thing to say, but the boy looked dead serious.

“She’ll recognize you,” Maggie said, smoothing his hair to one side. “Just like always.”

Linc and his grandmother were very much on her mind that night as Maggie stood at the stove stirring the stew. She was especially worried about the boy. He was far too young to shoulder so much responsibility.

If something happened to his grandmother, he would probably end up in an orphanage, but few institutions did little more than turn out vagrant and unlawful people. The number of former orphans who turned up in the Pinkerton files was no accident.

The word
orphanage
was actually a misnomer; a surprising number of children had a parent or parents who couldn’t or wouldn’t take care of them. Much like her own mother refused to take care of her and her brothers.

Some orphanages did try and even taught their charges a trade. She had been lucky. Her orphanage was run by a Christian organization, and though the headmistress was strict, almost everyone who left turned out to be a responsible citizen. But homes like that were rare. Most directors ran highly regimented facilities that applied corporal punishment and shaved children’s heads. They were also dangerous places, and the mortality rate was often the same as it was for urchins living on the streets.

Hurtled back to the present by the mouthwatering smell rising from the stew pot, she sniffed in appreciation. She’d found the recipe in her new cookbook. The liquid was thick and savory and not watery like the stew served at the orphanage.

After putting the ingredients together, she carefully hid the cookbook. God was in the details, and the same was true of cloak and dagger operations. An Indiana farm girl would most certainly know how to make lamb stew and wouldn’t need a recipe.

It surprised her how much she enjoyed cooking. Mealtime at the Thomas house was nothing like the silent orphanage meals where no one was allowed to talk except in whispers.

In contrast, the evening meal here was boisterous and full of laughter. She ached to think it would soon be coming to an end, and she would once again face an endless panorama of impersonal hotel rooms and poor eating establishments.

The telegram she’d received earlier from headquarters was curt and to the point: keep investigating.

The problem was, she was quickly running out of time. The wedding was little more than three weeks away. She felt conflicted, at odds, and so unlike herself.

She set the spoon down and walked over to the table where Elise sat doing schoolwork. She was learning about plurals and having trouble with words ending in
y
.

“Oops! You got
baby
wrong,” Maggie said, peering over Elise’s shoulder. “Remember, you have to change the
y
to
i
and add the letters
e
and
s
.”

Elise erased what she’d written and tried again.

The front door slammed and Garrett’s voice thundered through the house. “Maggie!”

Grimacing, Maggie turned to face the doorway as Garrett stormed into the kitchen. He waved a bunch of bills in her face.

“Twenty pounds of beans? Two dozen boxes of…” On and on he went, his voice rising with each item, along with his eyebrows.

“Three cans of kerosene, fifteen boxes of tea, and ten bars of lye soap.” He looked up from the bill of goods. “Does Linc even know what to do with soap?”

She wiped her damp hands on her apron. “I’m afraid I may have gone overboard.”

His eyebrows rose so high they practically disappeared into his hairline. “You didn’t just go overboard, you sank the whole confounded ship!”

As if suddenly realizing that Elise was present, he lowered his voice. “When I said to purchase whatever Linc and his grandmother needed, I didn’t mean for you to run us into the poor house!”

“I’m sorry—

“Sorry!” He shook his head, sputtered, and left the room.

Maggie blew out her breath, surprised to find herself shaking. At least he didn’t make her take her purchases back.

Elise looked up from her paper. “What’s a poor house?”

Toby walked into the room and grabbed a slice of bread from the counter. “It’s a place you go when you’re not rich.”

“Are we going to a poor house?”

“I’m not,” Toby said. “I’m going to the moon.”

Elise chewed on the end of her pencil. “Is Papa going to the poor house?”

“No,” Maggie said. “Your papa’s not going to the poor house.”
Jail maybe, but not the poor house.

“There,” Elise said after a while. She held up her paper. “I made the plural of poor house.”

S
upper wasn’t the usual happy occasion. No jokes or riddles tonight, though Garrett did question the children about their day. Maggie could sense the barely contained anger coiled within him, but he did his best to maintain a civil tone for the children’s sake. They both did.

As usual, Elise was more than happy to share what she’d learned that day. “Miss Taylor taught me how to make babies,” she said.

A startled look crossed Garrett’s face. “Did she now?” His narrowed eyes bored into Maggie as he pushed his empty plate away. “It would seem that Miss Taylor has had a busy day.”

Before Maggie could explain, he rose from the table and retired to his room. She hated that he left such a void. Hated even more that she missed him when he was gone.

“Is Papa angry?” Elise asked, looking worried.

Maggie rose to clear the table. “Maybe a little. But not at you.”

She glanced at Toby who was busy trying to balance a fork on his nose.

Later, after the dishes were done, Maggie walked into the parlor and found the children whispering among themselves.

“Who wants to read first?”

“I do,” Elise said.

Elise’s enthusiasm brought a smile to Maggie’s face. Their nightly reading sessions had paid off and already Elise had shown improvement, though she still struggled with some vocabulary.

Maggie settled on the sofa next to Elise. “Tomorrow, can we stop in town after school for ice cream?”

“I guess we can do that,” Maggie said.

Midway through the story, Whitewash started barking furiously outside.

“Toby, open the door for Whitewash, will you?”

Elise looked up from her book, her eyes wide. “Maybe it’s the boogeyman,” she whispered.

“Or maybe Whitewash just wants to come in,” Maggie whispered back.