Undercover Bride (4 page)

Thomas and the children dived into their food without benefit of grace. Had Thomas known her inexperience as a cook, he might have been more inclined to ask for the Lord’s blessing.

Maggie said a silent prayer, and when she opened her eyes she found both children staring at her.

“Are you going to take care of us?” Elise asked.

Maggie glanced at the far end of the table. Thomas was smothering his food in salt with the same intent as one might use to put out a fire.

“Yes, I am,” she said and smiled.

She just hoped her domestic responsibilities didn’t interfere with her investigation. Fortunately, both children attended school, so her days should be free.

Elise considered Maggie’s answer with a worried frown. “Are you going to be mean like my teacher?”

“I’m only mean to children who don’t do their chores or schoolwork,” she said.

Thomas set the salt dish down. “Well, it seems that Miss Taylor and I are in accord.”

“What’s accord?” Elise asked.

“It means that they like each other,” Toby said, the metal wires on his head waving back and forth.

Maggie dabbed her mouth with a napkin. “Actually,
accord
means that your father and I are in agreement.”

Elise’s head turned from one to the other. “So does it mean that you don’t like each other?”

“We like each other just fine.” She lifted her lashes to find Thomas watching her, and heat rushed to her face.

She quickly looked away. She needed to keep her wits but for some reason couldn’t seem to even control her breathing. Maybe she was just tired. The trip to Arizona had been long. After a good night’s sleep she was bound to feel like her usual confident self again.

Satisfied that she had solved the mystery of her uncharacteristic behavior, she reached for the neglected plate of corn bread. “Would anyone care for some?” she said a bit too brightly.

Toby glanced at his father. The wires on his thinking cap quivered. “We’re n—not allowed to—”

“Eat the bread,” Thomas said, interrupting his son’s protest.

Toby’s bottom lip stuck out. “You said that corn bread—”

“I said eat it.” Thomas looked up. “Or go to your room.”

Toby regarded the bread with grave suspicion but, prompted by his father’s stern look, reached for the smallest square. He dropped it on his plate and stared at it with downcast eyes.

Maggie sent a glance of inquiry to Thomas. “Is there a problem with the bread?”

“Don’t worry about it. You had no way of knowing.”

“Knowing what?” she persisted.

“We can’t eat corn bread,” Elise said, her eyes round as saucers. “It’s poison.”

“Poison?” Maggie set the plate of bread down and took a piece for herself. Biting into it, she said, “See? It’s perfectly safe.”
A bit dry, perhaps, but tasty.

Both children stared in round-eyed horror as if they expected her to topple over at any moment. No one else touched the bread, and they finished their meal in silence.

Later, as she cleared the table, she discovered Toby’s corn bread tucked inside his napkin.

Thomas surprised her after supper by helping clear the table. A widower for two years, he obviously knew his way around the kitchen.

While they waited for the water to heat, he leaned his tall form against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her. His presence seemed to fill the room, and she was extremely conscious of his every move.

“That was a mighty fine meal,” he said, his voice warm with approval. “I didn’t expect you to take over the household chores on your first day here.”

“I don’t mind.” She turned to the iron cookstove just as a funnel of steam rose from the kettle spout.

“Let me get that for you,” he said.

Before she could turn down his offer, he stepped to her side. His elbow brushed against her arm as he easily lifted the kettle off the cast-iron stove and poured the hot water into two basins in the sink. One was for washing, the other for rinsing. Returning the kettle to the stove, he lifted a pail of cold water and poured it into each basin to lower the temperature.

“Thank you,” she said. Oddly aware of his strength, she reached for the stick tied with strips of linen. She swiped the swab against a bar of hard soap and swished it in the hot water until foamy suds bubbled up.

He grabbed a clean flour-sack towel from a hook. “I’ll dry,” he said with quiet authority.

She washed a plate, rinsed it off, and handed it to him. His fingers brushed against hers, and she quickly drew her hand away and plunged it into the warm water.

They worked for several minutes without speaking. Questions she wanted to ask about his past would have to wait until she’d earned his trust, but she felt safe querying about the children.

“I’m confused as to why your children think corn bread is poison.”

The question hung between them a moment before he answered. “I spent a year in the Andersonville prison camp, and all they fed us was corn bread. I’m afraid Elise and Toby have picked up my aversion to it.”

He’d never mentioned his wartime experiences in his many letters to her, and she couldn’t let on that she already knew about his confinement. Instead, she afforded him a sympathetic look.

“I’m so sorry.”

Raw pain glittered in the depth of his eyes. “I don’t like to talk about it.”

Surprised by a surge of sympathy, she set to work scrubbing a plate clean. She didn’t want to feel anything for him. Certainly not empathy.

Still, she knew from painful experience that the mere act of putting some things into words was akin to ripping open a wound. That’s why she never talked about her outlaw father.

At the tender age of twelve, she’d watched him hang from the gallows, and the shame never left her. Tracking down criminals was her way of making up to society for her father’s heinous crimes, and right now, Garrett Thomas was on the top of her list.

“I would hope that my corn bread tastes better than what they served in prison,” she said, breaking the awkward silence.

“You’re an excellent cook,” he said.

Hoping he didn’t think she had been fishing for compliments, she glanced at him sideways. “Is that why you dumped an entire salt dish on your food?”

“A bad habit, I’m afraid. Acquired after the war. Salt was a rare commodity then and nonexistent in Andersonville.” He shrugged. “It’s since been my salvation. I can’t stand my own cooking without it.”

She laughed. She didn’t mean to; it just bubbled out of her. A grin inched across his face, and a moment of rapport sprang between them. It was the very thing she had hoped to accomplish. Still, that one unguarded moment worried her. She’d been trained to control her emotions, but at the moment was having a hard time managing even her thoughts.

Turning her attention to the dishwater, she practically scrubbed the painted design off a dinner plate. When she agreed to take on this job, she thought her biggest challenge would be hiding her loathing for him. The opposite appeared to be the case, and that was a problem. Liking a suspected killer was not an option—no matter how blue his eyes or devastating his smile.

“Is there anything else I should know?” she asked, staying focused on the task at hand. “Anything I should avoid besides corn bread?”

“That about covers it. Just don’t let Toby talk you into going to the moon.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I’m afraid the boy’s imagination runs away with him at times. He’s now working on a contraption to take him to the moon.”

“Oh, I see.” Since he had introduced the topic of his son, she felt confident in pursuing it. “I got the feeling from your aunt that there’s… something I should know about him.”

He took his time answering. “He’s got an inquiring mind,” he said at last. “I’m afraid he was too much for Aunt Hetty to handle. The housekeepers, too, which is why I couldn’t keep one.”

His inability to keep a housekeeper explained the shabby condition of the house but hardly explained the difficulty with Toby. Since that seemed to be all he was willing to concede, she let the matter drop.

“Would you object to my teaching the children to say grace before meals?” If things worked out the way she hoped, she would soon have proof enough to send him to the gallows. Without their earthly pa, Toby and Elise would need their heavenly Father more than ever.

“If you feel you must.” He hesitated. “You should know I have no regard for religion.” This time his voice had a steel-like edge. She’d gathered as much but remained silent. If a suspect wanted to talk, you let him talk.

“I hope you can live with that,” he said. Without another word he tossed down his towel and left the room.

W
hat kind of work was required of a tinker after hours? Maggie couldn’t begin to guess, but that was the excuse Thomas gave for locking himself in his room for the remainder of the evening.

In a way she was grateful. Tonight she was feeling oddly vulnerable and in no condition to deal with him. She couldn’t afford to make a mistake. Not this time.

After overseeing that both children had washed their faces and brushed their teeth, she settled down on the divan in the parlor, a child on each side of her. Elise read a story from McGuffey’s. She struggled with every word, and the going was slow. Toby’s reading skills were better, but he was far more interested in working on a sketch.

“What are you drawing?” Maggie asked.

He held his paper up so she could see. “A catapult to take me to the moon.”

“The moon is a long way away,” Maggie said.

“That’s why the catapult has to be big.” His eyes grew round. “As big as a mountain.”

“I would imagine so.” It was hard to believe that this was the very same boy who gave his father’s aunt such a bad time. “Why do you want to go to the moon?”

“So I can see everything that’s happening on Earth.”

The thought made her smile. “Just like God.”

Elise looked up from her book. “Is God on the moon?”

Maggie leaned over and tapped Elise’s cute button nose with her finger. “God is everywhere.”

After the children finished reading to her, she stood and yawned. “Okay, pumpkins, time for bed.”

Elise giggled. “We’re not pumpkins.”

“You’re not? Well, you could have fooled me. Come along now. It’s late.”

Actually, it was only a little after eight, but she looked forward to trying out that bathtub, after which she planned on hitting the sack. It had been a long and nerve-racking day.

Moments later she tucked Elise in bed. “Do you want me to hear your prayers?”

Elise shook her head.

Flat on his stomach on the floor, Toby looked under the bed and pulled out his slingshot. “You only have to pray if you’ve been bad or want something,” he said.

“Actually, I think God would be disappointed if those are the only times we talked to Him,” Maggie said. “He wants us to talk to Him when we’re happy, lonely, or sad.” How odd. Aunt Hetty had insisted that her marriage to Thomas be performed by a minister but neglected to teach the children the simple basics of communicating with God.

Elise looked confused. “You mean we can talk to Him even if we haven’t been bad?”

Maggie brushed a strand of hair away from Elise’s face. “Most definitely.”

Elise pondered this for a moment. “But I only know what to say when I’m bad.”

“Is that so? Hmm. Come and kneel next to me.” Elise scrambled out of bed and dropped to her knees by Maggie’s side.

“Fold your hands like this.” Maggie steepled her hands together.

Elise followed her example. “Why do we have to kneel when we pray?”

“It’s so God knows we’re talking to Him and not to someone else,” Toby said, scrambling to his feet, slingshot in hand.

Maggie resisted the urge to explain how kneeling showed humility and put God above all else. Better to let Toby think he had the world figured out. He would learn soon enough that he didn’t; no one did.

“What should I say?” Elise whispered.

“You can thank God for giving you good food and a nice soft bed to sleep in. You can also ask Him to help you with your reading. You can pray for your brother and for your mother in heaven. You can pray for your teacher and your father, too.” God knows, he needed all the prayers he could get. They all did.

“Just say what I say. God bless…” Maggie said a simple prayer, and Elise repeated after her. “Amen.”

Elise’s eyes flew open. “You forgot to pray for yourself.”

Maggie smiled. “You can do it for me.”

Elise clasped her hands together and squeezed her eyes shut. “God bless Miss Taylor, and don’t let her die. Amen.”

“What makes you think I might die?”

“You ate corn bread,” Elise said, her voice hushed. “People always die when they eat corn bread.”