Redemption Read online

  Real little? The boy was far from grown now, she thought sadly. And living on memories of a better time in his young life.

  “Do you like fried chicken?” she asked, and at his enthusiastic nod, she determined to borrow the kitchen of the house where she resided and make the most mouthwatering meal she could put together. There was no time to waste.

  Friday was Alicia’s favorite day of the week. Two whole days, in which she could please herself, loomed ahead. She’d sometimes found herself walking beyond the town and exploring the countryside during the nice weather. She had a lonely life, but had learned to enjoy her own company. A light quilt tucked under her arm, she frequently took her current volume of history or novel of adventure, finding a tree under which to sit, the book on her lap. Pure heaven, she thought. The whole of an afternoon in which to enter another world, where her imagination could run riot and her mind be refreshed.

  Today was Friday, and for another reason she felt the swell of anticipation. A stop at the butcher shop gained her a plucked chicken, one the butcher was happy to cut into pieces. The general store yielded a supply of small new potatoes, fresh from some industrious soul’s garden. Early carrots and a large crimson tomato for slicing filled her basket and she set off for the house where the parents of one of her students had offered a room for her use.

  Her landlady, Mrs. Simpson, was willing for her kitchen to be used for Alicia’s project. By the time the chicken was fried and the potatoes made into a salad, Alicia was ready to walk out the door.

  Her meal was packed into the market basket and covered with a clean towel. She set off at a determined pace down the street toward the big house where Jake McPherson lived with his son. The front gate sat permanently ajar and the yard was still weed-infested, but the front parlor windows were barren of covering. She looked at them in surprise, noting the shadow of a man in a chair almost out of sight.

  Edging past the broken step, she climbed the stairs and crossed to the front door. Before her knuckles could rap, announcing her presence, the door was opened wide, Jason standing before her. His hair was combed, still wet from the dousing he’d given it, marks of the comb he’d used still apparent. That the part was crooked and the dark locks hung to his shoulders was of little matter; the boy had made an effort.

  “Come on in,” he said. “My pa’s in the parlor.” He lowered his voice and bent closer. “I don’t know if he’s happy about this or not, ma’am. He looked kinda cross when I told him you was bringin’ supper with you.”

  “It will be just fine,” she said, offering assurance and wishing she felt some of the same. The basket was heavy and she sought for a flat surface upon which to deposit it. A library table stood near the door and she placed her bundle there and then turned to face Jake. “I hope I didn’t intrude with my offer,” she said, addressing the man with a confidence she did not feel. “Jason thought a picnic would be nice.”

  “I don’t go outdoors,” Jake said flatly.

  “We’ll have it in here,” she answered. “Jason and I can sit on the floor on a quilt and you can join us from your chair.”

  “You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?” he asked, and she took note of the burning resentment in his dark eyes. “Did anyone ever tell you you’re a managing woman?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I’ve been called even worse than that.”

  His mouth twisted in a sardonic grin. “It doesn’t bother you?”

  She met his gaze head-on. “Do I look bothered?” She turned to Jason and issued an order. “Please go and find a quilt we can sit on. I’ll get the food ready.” That she’d brought napkins and plates was probably a good thing, she decided. Three forks and a salt shaker made up the rest of her supplies.

  Jason carried a folded quilt into the parlor. “This was in the airing closet,” he said, breathless after his jaunt up and down the stairs. Eyes glowing with anticipation, he spread it on the floor and sat on one edge. “Now what?”

  Alicia arranged the small tablecloth she’d brought, then placed the bowl of chicken, the potato salad and the carrots and sliced tomatoes in the middle. A loaf of bread, freshly baked only this morning and sliced into thick slabs, was wrapped in a clean dish towel, and she opened it, tucking the edges beneath the offering. Butter in a small bowl completed the arrangement.

  “Oh, dear. I forgot to bring knives for spreading the butter,” she said softly. Her gaze flew to Jake’s. “May I send Jason to the kitchen?”

  He nodded curtly, and Jason rose, almost trotting from the room, so anxious did he seem to get this meal under way.

  “Don’t spoil this for him,” she said, warning Jake quietly. She bent to arrange the food on their plates.

  “I do own some semblance of courtesy,” he told her harshly. “I don’t need a lesson in manners from the schoolmarm.”

  “Well, that’s encouraging,” she shot back, looking up as Jason skidded to a stop just inside the parlor door.

  “Here you go,” he said, a grin bringing to life a dimple in his left cheek, something she’d never noted up until now. He handed her the three knives and she inspected them with a cursory glance and deemed them clean enough to be used.

  She sat on the edge of the quilt, across from Jake’s chair, and folded her hands in her lap. “Shall we say grace?” she asked, and then at Jake’s snort of disbelief, she offered a glare in his direction. “You needn’t join us,” she said politely, “but Jason seems to understand the concept.”

  For indeed the boy had folded his hands nicely, waiting for her to speak the words. “My mama used to pray before we ate,” he told her, and then looked up at his father. “Remember, Pa? I always liked it when she did that.”

  Jake nodded curtly. “Go ahead, if it gives you pleasure, ma’am.”

  His words were brief, and her mind churned as she attempted to decipher his mood. The man was angry again, probably as riled as he’d been on their first meeting. Unless she missed her guess, he was not about to accept her help with Jason.

  “What part of the chicken do you prefer?” she asked her host.

  “Whatever’s left,” he said. “It’s all food.”

  Jason bit into a drumstick. “This is good food, Pa,” he said, the words muffled as he chewed. Some potato salad followed and he relished it for a moment, then swallowed. “My mama used to make stuff like this. Does it have eggs in it?”

  Alicia nodded. “And mayonnaise and a touch of mustard and a big onion.”

  Jake accepted his plate from her hand and their fingers touched during the interchange. His were warm, hers chilled, and he raised a brow as he looked down at her.

  “Surely you’re not cold, Miss Merriweather?” She thought a gleam of satisfaction shone from his eyes as he spoke, and rued the apprehension she’d tried so hard to hide. The man was enjoying her discomfort.

  “No, just afraid that I’ve offended you, sir.” She bent her head and took up a wing in her hand, breaking it apart and nibbling at the sparse amount of meat it held. The bones were placed neatly on the edge of her plate and she speared a slice of tomato, shook salt over it, then cut it up with her fork.

  “I’m surely more offensive, than offended,” he suggested, and she looked up quickly, catching him with a look of appraisal alive on his face.

  His gaze was warm and she shifted uncomfortably under it, feeling self-conscious. Her black boots were large, her hips wider than most women her age, and the size of her bosom was “magnificent,” a gentleman caller had said, long years ago. Back when she had thought there might be hope of a man in her life, and children born from her body.

  “Well, you do know how to cook,” Jake conceded reluctantly. “I’ll have another piece of that chicken, if you don’t mind.”

  She offered him the bowl and he took a thigh, then glanced at the potato salad. “Would you like another spoonful?” she asked, and lifted it within his reach.

  “Maybe a slice of tomato, too.” His voice softened as he grudgingly asked for her help
in serving him, but she refused to feel triumph at his expense. The man was making a stab at good manners, and she subdued her own natural inclination to gloat.

  “Do you cook often?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the napkin she’d provided. She’d already noticed Jason copying his father’s example, placing the napkin across his lap before he began eating.

  “Not very. I don’t have a kitchen of my own.”

  “Miss Merriweather lives with Catherine Simpson’s mama and papa,” Jason offered. “Catherine thinks she’s real smart because the teacher has a bedroom next to hers.” He looked gloomy, Alicia thought, as if a bit of jealousy had popped up its ugly head. And then he wiped his mouth, following Jake’s example again and looked hopefully at Alicia.

  “Do you think you could come and cook in our kitchen once in a while?” he asked.

  “Jason.” The single word was a reprimand and Jake’s lowered brows emphasized the rebuke.

  “I just thought—”

  “You’re imposing on Miss Merriweather,” Jake said firmly. “She was decent enough to bring us supper tonight. It would be rude to expect her to repeat the gesture.”

  No, Alicia thought grimly. Rude was a man who offered cutting remarks to the woman who’d carried a basket all the way across town to his house, a place where that man sat, totally lost in self-pity, brooding day in and day out.

  “I’d be delighted to come and cook your supper once in a while,” she said brightly, knowing that Jake was ready to burst with irritation at her high-handedness. “Shall we say once a week?” She smiled encouragingly at Jason.

  “That would be…” Jason fumbled for a word to express his delight, and only grinned widely, including his father in the elation he made no attempt to hide.

  “Will I be able to take Jason to the general store?” she asked Jake. “I am free tomorrow if that would be a good time for him.”

  Jake simmered, she could easily tell from the look he gave her. She had him neatly boxed in, and reveled in the fact. How she could find joy in making him fume was a question she wouldn’t even attempt to answer. She had to admit, there was a certain sense of satisfaction that had accompanied this meal, eaten at his feet, so to speak, and obviously enjoyed by both father and son.

  She decided to change the direction of their conversation, and pointed up at the two windows where late afternoon sunlight shone. “I see you decided to uncover your windows,” she said. “It’s an enormous improvement, Mr. McPherson.” Tilting her head to one side, she made a sober observation.

  “Perhaps I could bring over a bottle of vinegar and clean them for you tomorrow after Jason and I complete our shopping.”

  “I’m sure there’s vinegar in the pantry,” Jake said forcefully. “If you’re of a mind to be our household help for the day, you just go right ahead.”

  “I’ll help,” Jason said quickly. “I can do all kinds of stuff to help.”

  She looked at the boy, her heart aching at his eagerness. “Perhaps we can repair the front step,” she suggested. “You’ve a fine hand with a hammer and nails, Jason. We’ll look for a board to use and make that second on our list.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said quickly. Then he looked at his father. “Ain’t that a good idea, Pa?”

  “I’m sure your teacher has any number of talents that might come in handy around here,” Jake told him, his gaze turning to Alicia as she got to her feet.

  Never the most graceful of women, she came close to falling across his chair as she took note of his sarcastic observation. Her eyes burned as she turned aside and reached for her basket. “If you’ll take the leftovers into the kitchen and put them away, I’ll take the dirty dishes and go home, Jason. I think I’ve outstayed my welcome for today.”

  With a flourish of white tablecloth and the clatter of forks and plates, she packed up and headed for the parlor door.

  Jake watched her leave, his eyes pinned to the straight line of her spine, noting the brown braids that circled her head, crossing over almost double. Her hair must be very long, he thought. Probably past her waist. Dark and thick, it was probably her best feature. Unless he counted the clear gaze she afforded him from blue eyes that did not waver or retreat from his own. Strangely enough, she seemed to fit the body she’d been given. In fact, she could almost be considered attractive, in a regal sort of way.

  All that aside, she was definitely a woman to be reckoned with.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JASON LOOKED ABOUT as uncomfortable as a boy could get, Alicia thought. She sat in a straight chair next to the door of the barbershop and tried unsuccessfully to pin a pleasant smile on her face. Jason slunk down in the black leather chair a bit farther, to no avail. Joe Hamlet, the barber, merely tucked his hands beneath the boy’s armpits and boosted him higher.

  It was an ordeal for both of them, Alicia decided. Jason, because he was the center of attention; herself, because the men who lined the wall on a row of chairs were offering her long looks of appraisal. She was unaccustomed to being the focus of male attention and found it disturbing. Not that the gentlemen who awaited their turn in the barber’s chair were rude, only curious. Somehow that fact did not ease her discomfort.

  The barber, mindful of the boy’s wiggling, placed a firm hand atop the lad’s head to hold him still. If it turned out to be a halfway decent haircut, Alicia would be most surprised.

  “I think an ice cream is in order,” she said to a very relieved young man as they exited the shop ten minutes later.

  “I’m not goin’ back there again,” Jason said vehemently, totally ignoring her offer.

  “I suspect I can do as well as Mr. Hamlet, myself,” Alicia said. “Shall I give it a try when it’s grown out enough to tackle?” She steered him into the doorway of the drugstore and approached the counter. “What flavor do you want, Jason?”

  “Flavor?” He looked around, as if only just now aware of his surroundings. “Ice cream flavor?”

  “How about chocolate?” she asked, and lifted a hand to Frank Gavey, the owner of the store.

  They ate their ice cream slowly, savoring each lick, every bite of the sugared cone and finally the pointed end where the last drops had melted. The general store was behind them, their bottoms firmly parked on a bench just outside the establishment, and Alicia prepared herself for the next leg of this outing.

  “Are you ready to pick out some clothing?” she asked Jason. She rose, leading the way to the double doors that opened into the store. Jason followed slowly, dragging his feet, as if the experience at the barbershop had made him leery.

  Alicia waited inside the door for him, then placed her hand on his shoulder as they approached the long counter. A short, squat gentleman approached. Mr. Harris was a businessman. Perhaps he spotted Alicia’s determined look, or else he saw a likely prospect for a complete wardrobe when he looked at Jason. Either way, he made it his business to be cordial.

  “How can I help you, ma’am?” Mr. Harris greeted them jovially. “How about some new shirts for the lad? Looks to me he’s been growing like a bad weed.”

  “We’d like some trousers and then Jason will choose some other things,” she said crisply. “Is there somewhere he can try them on?”

  “Naw. Just take them home, and if they don’t fit he can bring ’em back.”

  “All right.” One way or another, she’d see to it that the boy was outfitted with a new wardrobe today.

  “May we see what you have in his size?” she asked.

  The counter soon was literally covered with clothing. Trousers, shirts, drawers and stockings were stacked in separate piles, and Jason obligingly held them up before himself, testing them for size. As the pile grew, his eyes kept pace, growing wider with each item chosen.

  Alicia nodded her approval. “Now, how about some new shoes?” she asked.

  “Mine are good enough,” the boy said quickly.

  “That’s a lot of stuff for Pa to pay for, Miss Merriweather,” he said beneath his breath, for Alicia�
��s ears alone.

  “He’ll want you to be outfitted properly,” she said firmly. “We’ll look at shoes next,” she told the storekeeper.

  The man beamed. It was likely the best sale he’d had all week, Alicia thought. Well he might smile. Jacob McPherson’s credit was as good as gold. The shoes were selected and tried on, then the items they’d decided on were wrapped in brown paper in two separate bundles and tied with string.

  “There you go, ma’am,” Mr. Harris said, pushing their purchases across the counter. “You’re gonna clean up fine, young man,” he announced to Jason.

  “Ma’am?” Jason halted on the sidewalk and looked up at Alicia. “Don’t you ever ask me to do that again. That fella was…” He groped for a word and Alicia filled the gap nicely.

  “I believe condescending is the word you’re searching for,” she told him. “And I agree with you entirely. The gentleman needs to learn how to deal with the younger members of the public a bit better. ‘Clean up fine,’ indeed!”

  If ever a youth needed some bolstering, it was Jason. Alicia could barely keep her arm from encircling his narrow shoulders, in fact had a hard time resisting the urge to drop a quick kiss on the top of his freshly barbered hair.

  “Let’s go and show your father the results of our morning,” she said briskly, leading the way, paper-wrapped bundle in one hand, her reticule swinging from the other. Jason followed, his package carried in front of him, like an offering. Several townsfolk nodded and eyed the two of them surreptitiously as they made their way home. Alicia breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner and walked along the line of picket fences that fronted the properties to the south of Main Street.

  “Today was quite an ordeal for you, wasn’t it?” she asked, slowing her pace a bit.

  “I didn’t have much fun, if that’s what you mean.” He kicked at a clod of dirt and frowned. “I won’t have to do that again for a long time, will I?”