her as that. Losing everything you own is one thing. Not having anything worth missing is something else.”
“Maybe, son, you could manage to take a bit longer than a week to make up your mind about the ladies. After all, we can’t send that little girl back to St. Louis with a lousy twenty-five bucks in her pocket.”
“Uh, I promised her fifty.”
“Fifty!” His father leaned back and made a long arm for the coffee pot. He tipped a generous measure of the thick, hot brew into Jeff’s cup and then into his own. ‘That’s a lot of money. Are you sure she’s going to be worth it?”
“I don’t know. She seems to have . . .” He shrugged. “If she can’t help me, then she’ll go home with fifty dollars. We can just call it charity.”
“Things are really that bad for her?”
“You should have seen the room she was living in. My shack when I worked on the Trinity had a more homelike feel. A good, big fire was the best thing that could have happened to her boardinghouse.”
“Why do you suppose a nice girl like that would live in such a place? She is a nice girl, isn’t she?” Sam narrowed his eyes at his son.
“Don’t worry, Dad. She won’t teach the girls five-card stud or how to swear.” He examined the formidable face of the woman in the advertisement. “Ask yourself what kind of girl this lady would have raised and you’ll see why I’m so sure.”
* * * *
A little while later, Jeff stepped out onto the porch. He glanced up at the little cage and saw that the bird was drinking, his head tipped back and his tiny throat working. When the bird saw the man, he flirted his wings and cheeped.
“Sociable little thing, aren’t you? Where’s your mistress?”
He stepped off the porch, setting his broad-brimmed hat on his head. It was good to be back on his own ground. Without thinking too much about it, he inspected at the house, checking the paint and the roof. He kicked a few white pebbles back onto the path and snapped a drooping flower off the honeysuckle vine that sprawled on a trellis at the front of the house. Gwen had loved honeysuckle. Though the fragrance clung to his fingers, it was not of his late wife that he was thinking as he came around the corner of the house.
He saw his daughters grubbing in a depression in the ground. A recent rain had left this spot soggy and the girls were squatting down above it, intent on their play. Several rocks served as bases for their mud cookery. Edith stood in the shadows of the house, watching them.
Before she could speak, Jeff strode forward. “Louise, Maribel! Is this any way to behave before our guest?”
Their startled faces jerked up at his first words. Now Maribel’s lower lip began to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. Louise, her left cheek smeared with rich brown mud, sent a resentful look toward Edith. “We didn’t know she was there.”
Edith hesitated no longer. She stepped forward and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Dane ... I mean, Cousin Jeff. There’s no need to be cross. I don’t . . .”
“You’re very kind, Edith, but they ought to know better. Now march inside and get washed up.”
“But we’re not finished . . . ,” Maribel began to protest.
“Yes, you are.”
She turned her swimming eyes up to her father, her baby lip pouting. Edith’s heart turned to butter, though she saw Jeff standing firm, his hands resting on his hips.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “Your pies look good enough to eat. But you know, they really should bake a while. You go in and wash as your father wants you to, and I’ll watch over these so they don’t get too brown. I mean . . . any browner.”
Maribel’s eyes cleared as though by magic. Louise, already halfway to the back door, turned and looked back. Edith expected to have to work hard to build liking in the older girl’s heart, but she saw no hostility there now. Louise gave Edith an easy smile as she waited for Maribel to waddle over to join her. As they went inside, their
“Maybe, son, you could manage to take a bit longer than a week to make up your mind about the ladies. After all, we can’t send that little girl back to St. Louis with a lousy twenty-five bucks in her pocket.”
“Uh, I promised her fifty.”
“Fifty!” His father leaned back and made a long arm for the coffee pot. He tipped a generous measure of the thick, hot brew into Jeff’s cup and then into his own. ‘That’s a lot of money. Are you sure she’s going to be worth it?”
“I don’t know. She seems to have . . .” He shrugged. “If she can’t help me, then she’ll go home with fifty dollars. We can just call it charity.”
“Things are really that bad for her?”
“You should have seen the room she was living in. My shack when I worked on the Trinity had a more homelike feel. A good, big fire was the best thing that could have happened to her boardinghouse.”
“Why do you suppose a nice girl like that would live in such a place? She is a nice girl, isn’t she?” Sam narrowed his eyes at his son.
“Don’t worry, Dad. She won’t teach the girls five-card stud or how to swear.” He examined the formidable face of the woman in the advertisement. “Ask yourself what kind of girl this lady would have raised and you’ll see why I’m so sure.”
* * * *
A little while later, Jeff stepped out onto the porch. He glanced up at the little cage and saw that the bird was drinking, his head tipped back and his tiny throat working. When the bird saw the man, he flirted his wings and cheeped.
“Sociable little thing, aren’t you? Where’s your mistress?”
He stepped off the porch, setting his broad-brimmed hat on his head. It was good to be back on his own ground. Without thinking too much about it, he inspected at the house, checking the paint and the roof. He kicked a few white pebbles back onto the path and snapped a drooping flower off the honeysuckle vine that sprawled on a trellis at the front of the house. Gwen had loved honeysuckle. Though the fragrance clung to his fingers, it was not of his late wife that he was thinking as he came around the corner of the house.
He saw his daughters grubbing in a depression in the ground. A recent rain had left this spot soggy and the girls were squatting down above it, intent on their play. Several rocks served as bases for their mud cookery. Edith stood in the shadows of the house, watching them.
Before she could speak, Jeff strode forward. “Louise, Maribel! Is this any way to behave before our guest?”
Their startled faces jerked up at his first words. Now Maribel’s lower lip began to quiver and her eyes filled with tears. Louise, her left cheek smeared with rich brown mud, sent a resentful look toward Edith. “We didn’t know she was there.”
Edith hesitated no longer. She stepped forward and said, “Excuse me, Mr. Dane ... I mean, Cousin Jeff. There’s no need to be cross. I don’t . . .”
“You’re very kind, Edith, but they ought to know better. Now march inside and get washed up.”
“But we’re not finished . . . ,” Maribel began to protest.
“Yes, you are.”
She turned her swimming eyes up to her father, her baby lip pouting. Edith’s heart turned to butter, though she saw Jeff standing firm, his hands resting on his hips.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “Your pies look good enough to eat. But you know, they really should bake a while. You go in and wash as your father wants you to, and I’ll watch over these so they don’t get too brown. I mean . . . any browner.”
Maribel’s eyes cleared as though by magic. Louise, already halfway to the back door, turned and looked back. Edith expected to have to work hard to build liking in the older girl’s heart, but she saw no hostility there now. Louise gave Edith an easy smile as she waited for Maribel to waddle over to join her. As they went inside, their
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