Beloved Counterfeit (7 page)

“I know what that means,” Tess said. “It means you’re in trouble.”

“Hey now,” Ruby said, pointing the spoon at Tess then cringing when she realized she’d dripped gravy down her skirt. “You’ve got troubles of your own. Unless you’d prefer we discuss your behavior right now.”

Tess stuck out her lower lip as she reached to grasp Maggie’s hand. Maggie, in turn, linked fingers with Carol.

“It’s stewp,” Ruby heard Tess mutter just before she yanked her sisters outside.

“No, Tess O’Shea,” Ruby called, using both names carefully but deliberately as her temper flared, “it’s bread that you’ve ruined, and a mess you’ve left all over the kitchen floor just when I’m expecting the boarders back for lunch. Rest assured, you’ll be sorry later.”

Ruby clamped her lips shut and reached for the towel to swipe at her skirt, the second she’d ruined since dawn. Except for her Sunday dress, she was without a clean spare.

What was wrong with her?

“Ruby?”

She’d all but forgotten about Emilie. “I’m sorry you had to hear that,” Ruby said without sparing her a glance. “Sometimes Tess is a little, well, hard to handle.”

The front door opened, and the sound of several deep voices sent Ruby scurrying into the dining room with the pot of stew. Over the next few minutes, the boarders streamed in to take their places at the table.

Micah Tate was missing.

Ruby shook off any thoughts of what his absence might mean as she returned to the kitchen for the coffeepot. There she found the schoolteacher hard at work, scrubbing the last of the bread crumbs off the floor.

“When do you and the girls manage to eat?” Emilie asked without looking up.

“I generally chase off the chickens and set a table for the girls back on the porch.” The truth was, the table was really a rain barrel with a board set across it, but it gave the girls a place of their own to take their meals without upsetting or interrupting the boarders. “I’ll fix their bowls soon as I get dessert on the table.”

“Let me,” Emilie said.

Ruby gave the teacher, who’d recently become the wife of the town judge, a look. “You don’t have to do that.”

Emilie smiled as she dusted bread crumbs off her skirt. “I want to.”

The sound of a boarder calling her name didn’t give Ruby much time to think. “I suppose there’s no harm in it. Just don’t let Carol convince you she’s allowed more than one serving of dessert. She’s got quite the sweet tooth, that one. And watch out for Red.”

“Red?” Emilie asked.

“The rooster. He thinks he rules the yard.” Someone in the dining room called her name again, and Ruby responded then turned her attention back to Emilie. “Just wave him away and he’ll run.”

Another call, and Ruby left Emilie standing in the kitchen. The group of boarders was still missing Micah Tate. Ruby was too tired to worry about why the persistent wrecker had missed lunch for the first time since she’d come to work in Mrs. Campbell’s kitchen.

Perhaps this God she’d only just come to know really did love her. He’d certainly smiled on her by not causing her to face Micah Tate twice in one morning.

Ruby shrugged off the unwelcome reminder and cleared the table, then piled the dishes together for washing. A moment later, she went back for the soiled linens and tablecloth. Only then did she pause to sigh. An afternoon of laundering and more cooking awaited her, as did the nighttime routine of preparing for the morning meal, yet Ruby gave thanks for the work.

At least it was an honest living that kept a roof over their heads.

A giggle drew her attention to the window overlooking the back porch. There Ruby spied the very proper schoolteacher sitting on the back steps, watching what appeared to be wild heathens turning and spinning like tops and scattering Red and three hens to the far corners. Just as one girl would fall, another would jump up and take her place.

If they continued, none would be able to hold down her lunch. Yet it seemed a shame to stop the very thing that made them shriek with happiness. After all those three had endured the past year, happiness was certainly due them.

Had Emilie not spied her, Ruby might have let the dancing and spinning go on indefinitely. Instead, she offered Emilie a smile then hurriedly divided the remains of the stew into five bowls, being careful to fill the other four before spooning what remained into her own.

At Emilie’s command, the girls ran to the rain bucket and doused their hands and faces. While Maggie used the corner of her skirt to dry Tess’s hands, Emilie shooed away Red and replaced the board atop the bucket.

Ruby placed spoons into all five bowls then situated them on a fancy ebony and silver tray that likely came from one of the wrecker’s auctions. Backing out the door to keep it from slamming on her, she stepped onto the porch.

“Oh no,” Emilie said as she rose, “I didn’t intend to interrupt your lunch. We can talk another time.”

“Girls,” Ruby called, “how would you like to have a picnic over in the churchyard again?” All three squealed with delight, a sure sign the answer was yes. “Maggie, go and get the tablecloth from the laundry pile. Carol, you see to Tess’s bowl.”

In a flash, the girls were headed across the yard, scattering chickens as they slipped through the gate. When the last blond head disappeared from sight, Ruby collected her bowl and settled on the top step. Exhaustion began its familiar trek from the tips of her toes past knees that had bent one time too many, finally settling at the small of her back, where she refused to acknowledge it.

“What is it about that churchyard that makes the children love to picnic there?” Emilie asked. “Not a day goes by that I don’t see at least one group of boys or girls there during their lunchtime break.”

Ruby grinned while she waited for her arms to comply with her wish to lift the spoon. “Mary Carter’s the reason. She’s forever baking sweet treats and offering them up for the children if they can show her they’ve cleaned their plates.”

“Well, that does explain it, though knowing my sister’s mother-in-law, I shouldn’t be surprised. Maybe I’ll start taking my lunch over at the churchyard, too.” Emilie dug into the stew with a gusto that told Ruby she’d forgotten her reluctance to intrude on lunch. “This is delicious, by the way,” she said when she’d swallowed a bit.

“Thank you.” Her stomach’s protest overpowered Ruby’s need to rest, giving her the strength to spoon up a portion of the gravy along with a tiny bite of meat. She looked down at the watery dregs in her bowl, the remainder after all other hungry mouths had been fed. “Stew and soup.” Ruby chuckled. “Stewp.”

The schoolteacher looked up from her meal. “I’m sorry?”

Ruby’s chuckle became a giggle that, by degrees, dissolved into tears she was nearly too tired to cry. “Stewp,” she said as the events of the day, the week, and the years came rolling down her cheeks. “I’m eating stewp.”

Chapter 8

“Home?” Viola shook her head. “Why would I want to go back home, Remy? I have a wonderful life right here, but—please understand I mean no offense—it doesn’t include being bullied by Papa and Henri.”

Her brother seemed to study her for a moment. “Tell me about your wonderful life, Vivi.”

“I’d be happy to,” she said, “though might we leave Emilie’s gate? I’ve a lovely little home in town that I’d like to show you.”

“Would you, now?” He held up his forefinger then bounded up the walk to the porch. There he hefted a small trunk to his shoulder and retraced his steps. “Show me this lovely little home, then.”

“Is that trunk heavy?” she asked after they’d gone a few steps. “I can send someone back for it.”

Her brother laughed, and the sound sent her mind reeling back to childhood days. “I’m not a child anymore,” he said. “I’ll manage.”

“No, you’re not a child,” she said. “Tell me what I’ve missed.”

“It’s more what I’ve missed, actually, and that’s you.” He glanced down at her. “Though I must admit I’m not at all displeased that you didn’t marry Emilie’s brother.”

“You never said so,” she countered.

They walked in silence through the heart of town, and more than once, Viola waved to a familiar face. As they passed the courthouse, she saw Micah Tate and Josiah Carter deep in conversation. When neither looked her way, she went back to talking. “It’s just ahead,” she said when they reached her block.

“You didn’t ask.”

Viola paused at her gate and shook her head. “What?”

“About Andre. You never asked my opinion. To offer it unasked would have been disloyal.”

She thought a moment as she struggled with the latch. When it finally gave and the gate swung inward, she shrugged. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. And you were always loyal to me. I thank you for that.”

“Brothers are loyal,” he said, “or at least they should be.”

“I’m thankful all the same.” Viola stepped ahead of Remy to open the door. “Here we are,” she said. “This is my home.”

“Why is there a bell on your porch? Has your cow gone missing?”

“Very funny. I am a midwife, and that bell is for emergencies. While I might miss a knock in the dead of night, I’ve not yet slept through a ringing of that bell.”

“Nor, I wager, have the neighbors.” He reached for the bell and gave it a jangle. “Indeed, a handy alarm. Perhaps I should keep it at my bedside in case I have need of coffee or breakfast in the morning.”

She gave him a playful but gentle elbow to the ribs. “Put that down. Your height might proclaim you to be an adult, but I’ve just seen evidence that the little brother I left still exists.”

“Long may he live.” Remy shifted the trunk into his arms and then set it on the floor. Stretching his arms over his head, he grinned. “So—a midwife? This is very much the home of a woman, Vivi. Is there no husband? No man in your life?”

How to answer?

“I see this is a question I’ve obviously no business asking.”

She dropped her things on the nearest chair. “Oh, you can ask. Doesn’t mean I have to respond.” Viola paused. “Yes,” she said with a sigh, “there is a man, though I’ve grown weary in trying to figure out whether he’s actually in my life or merely just in the neighborhood.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he’s spent much time courting and little time considering what comes next.” Viola leaned against the door frame and watched her brother heave the heavy trunk about as if it weighed nothing. “What of you? You’ve certainly grown up. Is there some woman pining away back in New Orleans while you’re away?”

Remy raised a dark brown eyebrow in response as he walked to the other side of the room. He picked up the worn copy of
Paul Clifford
, the book she’d left on the table when Mrs. Vincent’s husband had fetched her to deliver little Arabella in the wee hours, and opened it to the first page.

“It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents—except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind.” He looked up. “Brilliant novel, though it always intrigued me how this fellow Mr. Clifford could live a dual life as a criminal and a gentleman.”

Viola strolled over to take the book from his hands. “Surely a dual life isn’t all that difficult, though I’d not recommend it. Now what of your lunch? Are you hungry? As I recall—”

A ring of the bell stopped her, and a moment later she opened the door to find the eldest of the Vincent girls on the porch. “Is it time?” When the girl nodded, Viola sent her off to let her mother know help was on the way. “It appears you will be left to fend for yourself for a while,” she said to Remy as she reached for the bag she kept nearby.

“How long do these things take?” he called from the door.

“Things? Oh, babies?” She shook her head. “There’s no predicting. Would you like to come along?”

Remy’s stunned expression made her chuckle even as she turned her attention to the task ahead. The last time she’d delivered a baby at the Vincent home, things had not gone well.

“Vivi?”

She turned to see Remy standing in the doorway. “Miss me already?” A poor joke, she realized as soon as the words tumbled out.

* * *

Ruby let her spoon fall into the bowl and swiped at her eyes. Had she not a full day’s work still ahead, she might have leaned her head against the porch post and claimed a quick nap. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Emilie Gayarre watching her and resumed eating.

It seemed the only way to avoid conversation, at least for the moment. The stew—stewp—was good but might have been better had she a slice of bread to go with it.

She took another bite. Maybe later she’d find time to start another loaf. Yes, with her dinner plans all but done, she could surely do that. Another bite and then one more, and the bowl began to empty.

A pie, perhaps. Yes, she’d serve the pie instead.

“I don’t know how you do it all.”

“Oh,” she said with a start as she set the bowl aside and scrambled to her feet. “I’m terribly sorry. I’d all but forgotten you were here.” She smoothed her apron and offered a shrug. “My mind tends to wander sometimes, though I never let it go any farther than the kitchen.”

“There’s no need for an apology.” Emilie shrugged as she rose and reached for the bowl. “Actually, I rather enjoyed the quiet. It’s lovely here.”

Before Ruby could protest, Emilie had deposited the dishes inside and returned to stand in the open door. “I wonder if perhaps I’ve chosen the wrong time to discuss the girls with you, Ruby. I can surely wait until you’re not so. . .” She paused, and Ruby figured her to be weighing her word choice against her upbringing. “So tired,” Emilie finally said.

“Best we talk now,” she said, even though dread snaked up her spine.

The schoolteacher had been the first to take them in, offering shelter on that rainy night in August. She’d offered clean clothes and soft beds and never once inquired of the how or why of their arrival. Along with her sister, Isabelle, Emilie had made them feel welcome and offered a measure of dignity to a woman who’d had none for a very long time.

Ruby took a deep breath and said a quick prayer the best way she knew how. “I’ll answer whatever questions you’ve got.” She paused. “At least I’ll try.”

Emilie seemed to consider the statement a moment. “All right, then.” She came to sit next to Ruby. “The twins,” she said tentatively. “I’ve noticed, well. . .” The schoolteacher turned her attention away from Ruby to study something off on the horizon. “I think perhaps there’s more to your story,” she finally said. “To their story.”