Bitter Eden (8 page)

Mrs. Peach smirked. "You'll get used to the likes of them oglin' you. Get on with it."

Callie stood rooted, the dress pressed harder against her. She shook her head woodenly.

Mrs. Peach raised her cane. "You'll do as I say!"

"I can't ... make them leave . . . please."

Mrs. Peach struck the cane flat against the table top, making Callie jump and gasp in fright. "Off with that gown, girlie. You're wastin time and my patience. We haven't all night."

Callie began to whimper. Her hands shook so violently she fumbled with the gown.

Mrs. Peach poked roughly at her with the cane. Shaking and crying, Callie managed to pull the nightgown over her head. Mrs. Peach grabbed for the gown, but Callie hung on to it. "Oh, no . . . please . . . please. Make them turn around."

With a deft stroke of the cane, Mrs. Peach tore the gown from Callie's grasp. "Well, now, that wasn't so bad, was it? It's time you started growing up, dearie. If it weren't for men takin' their pleasures, what place would a woman have? You're past old enough to know that-Shamed, Callie tried to hide herself from their leering eyes. She quickly reached for her underthings. Involuntarily her eyes caught repeated glimpses of the lustful faces of Mrs. Peach's hired men. She crouched over, her back to the wall as she fumbled awkwardly, trying to get her feet into the waistline of her petticoat.

"Stand up straight! Be proud of what . . " Mrs. Peach stiffened, her head and back rigid as she listened.

The doorbell jangled through the house, followed by the shrill voices of the girls. Callie hastily put on her petticoat, not bothering with ties or buttons. She dragged her dress over her head.

Warily Mrs. Peach looked at her men. "It's too soon for the coach to take the girl. Keep her quiet while I see what it is. If it's trouble, take her out the back way. Hide her, and be certain she doesn't make a sound."

Callie stood mummified, afraid of drawing the attention of the three distracted men if she made a sound. One of the men was looking out the front window. Another leaned out the door trying to hear what

was going on downstairs. Then Callie heard the unmistakable, strident voice of Mrs. Pettibone in an indignant rage.

"Well just see about this, Mrs. Peach! I've the police with me now, so none of your hoity-toity nonsense this time. Callie! Callie Dawson! Can you hear me? Are you here, child? Callie?*

Callie's captors needed no more. "Get the girl!"

Callie screamed Mrs. Pettibone's name, then ran. With the frightened eyes of a deer at bay, the girl put the table between herself and the men. She screamed wildly as the footman came for her from one side and another man stalked her from the opposite side. The oil lamp wavered and smoked dangerously as she grabbed it, holding it aloft. She thrust it first at one man, then the other. "Dont come near me! No!" Her voice was shrill and hysterical. "Stay away! Mrs. Pettibone! Help me!" She threw the lamp, missing the footman by several feet. The oil spilled across the floor, and gold and blue flames ran rapidly along its trail. Overturning the table, she ran for the door. One of the men pushed past her, fleeing as the noise downstairs became more angry and insistent. The footman lunged to put out the fire. The third man grabbed Callie by the hair, his large dirty hand closing over her mouth.

Everything became a scattered blur of panic-filled impressions as policemen raced up the stairs. Callie was flung to the floor as the white slavers thundered toward the outside stairway, and Mrs. Peach and Mrs. Pettibone and the girls alternately screamed in fright or rage. Callie crawled along the floor, seeking the shelter of the bed again.

Mrs. Pettibone was the last to make her way up the stairs to Callies room. Callie, huddled beneath the

bed, repeated hopelessly, Tm here. Tm here. Don't leave me, please don't leave me."

When Mrs. Pettibone's sturdy shoes appeared at the edge of the bed, Callie began to cry harder. Mrs. Pet-tibone called to her, and still the girl did not come out. Straining, the landlady went down on her hands and knees and peered under the bed skirt "Lord, child, what's come of you? They didn't . . "

"Yes! Yes! He . . . he . . . touched me . . . Mrs. Pettibone . . . help me!"

Mrs. Pettibone's first instinct was to get Callie home, into warm clothes and filled with hot tea and broth. Then she would try to make some sense of the girl's ravings. God forbid the girl had been violated. Most likely the Bereans would turn her out in the cold without a hearing if that were the case. Not a decent family in England would want her for anything but a menial. There would be no future for her.

It took far more than Mrs. Pettibone had planned to calm Callie, and she got no rational response from her. At her wit's end, Mrs. Pettibone called for the doctor. Finally a draught from him and several nights' sleep began to restore Callie.

It was a week before Callie awakened without having had a nightmare tear her from sleep. Mrs. Pettibone approached her warily, not trusting this first calm morning. Callie ate a light breakfast, then fell back against the pillows wan and shaken. "Are you feeling better, Callie?" she asked.

Callie nodded.

"Well, I've some news for you if you've a mind to listen."

Callie looked at her, fear showing plainly in her blue eyes.

"Tosh, girl. All news is not bad! This is good." Mrs. Pettibone told Callie of the letter she had written to the Bereans.

Callie shuddered. "Do you know these people, Mrs. Pettibone?"

"No, I don't, but your father spoke of them often enough. He must have thought well of them. You'll be safe and sound now."

Callie's words ran together. "Are you sure though? Are they cousins? I've never met anyone named Be-rean. Papa said nothing to me. If they were really cousins wouldn't he have told me?"

Mrs. Pettibone sighed, not knowing what to do. She couldn't blame the girl. Mildly she wished Ian had had the good grace to die somewhere else, not leaving Callie on her hands. "They'll be giving you a home, and that's what you need. It's what you've been wanting. Well, now here it is."

"But are they really my cousins!?" Callie shouted. "How do I know they are not just like Mrs. Peach? I thought she was wonderful. She acted like it. I thought she cared. I thought . . ." She burst into tears, and Mrs. Pettibone came around to the side of the bed, gathering her into her arms.

"Hush now, Callie. It's enough. You got a long taste of wormwood, and that was all. Not all the world is as sweet as it tastes at first. Some of the sweetest things hide only the bitter root. Just like the wormwood, so good as they go down, sweet an' all. Then we find the taste was false. The real thing addles the mind and sours the stomach. That is the way of things. It's always been man's way from the beginning of time. After the fall, God left us our Eden, but it's a bitter Eden, child. It can't be helped, and it comes to us all sooner or later. But you, Callie, you've learned your

lesson early on. Maybe you're lucky for the learning. Remember to look at tilings clearly; don't let your mind get fuddled by appearances. You remember that, and you'll be all right. Now sit up here, and dry your eyes. Tears won't help. It's faith you're needin."

"But . . ."

"No more to be said. You'll go to the Bereans when they come for you, and you'll be grateful for the home they give you. If it isn't right, you'll know, and you can always come to me for help."

"Will they want me when they know . . ."

"They won't know! Not if I can help it. And don't you breathe a word. Even if those men never . . . harmed you, the Bereans might not believe you and

"Put me out?"

"They'll never know."

"What if they do? What if they look at me and can tell what happened? What if they want me for the same reasons Mrs. Peach did? What if I can't get back to you?" Callie was shaking as the frightful images built up in her mind.

"You're makin' up witches' tales. Stop it! I won't hear any more. The Bereans will be good people, and you'll go with them!"

Very late that night Callie admitted to herself that mixed with the fear and dread of what the Bereans might be, there lived a wistful hope. She was so tired and alone and afraid. If only the Bereans could be all she wished for. If only they would really want her, she would be forever grateful and willing to give of herself whatever any of them needed. If only—but if only were words that Ian had scoffed at, saying they were the words that made inaction seem a virtuous occupation. Words such as those were a luxury he had never

let himself or his daughter indulge in. Callie turned on herself for her wishful thoughts. But underneath her good sense at squarely facing her reality, she still hoped that this one if only was true.

Ma

Chapter 5

James Berean was eager to be done with his business in London. Already he and Peter had been in London two days, and James was fretful. He wanted to give Peter time to recuperate safely away from the questioning, suspicious gaze of Albert Foxe, but he worried about Frank. He wasn't sure to what lengths Frank's jealousy of Peter would take him. He knew only that Frank would do what he thought was right. Frank was an honest man, but how much Frank's view was colored by the intense frustrations he lived with, James didn't know, and it worried him.

Regretfully he admitted he was getting old in mind and body^ He had awakened this morning in his hired-for-the-night bed cold and stiffly cramped in all his joints, and uneasy in his mind. He missed Kent and his wife and his family and the hot brick that warmed his feet at night.

He woke Peter. "I want to get the girl and be gone from here this morning." He didn't really want Callie Dawson, he thought. She was another uncertainty to add to a new year already filled with uncertainties.

He was too old to steer another young life on the proper path. After a lifetime of firmly held, vigorous opinions, James now questioned whether he knew anything. He couldn't guide his own sons, his own daughter. What was he to do with Ian Dawson s daughter?

Gruffly he asked, "How's your arm?"

Peter stretched slowly, cautiously loosening tight, sore muscles. The bruise across his shoulder and chest was vivid and ugly. "I am feeling better than I deserve. Just don't count on me to be spritely and alert today."

Think you'll be able to hide the damage from Albert when we get back?"

Til have to. But I'm not too worried about Albert. He'd have caught me long ago if he had anything but bone between his ears."

James frowned. "That kind of talk makes me wonder if you and Albert don't have something in common after all."

Irritably James pushed Peter through breakfast, then through the London streets, grumbling incessantly about everything except the problems at hand. 'The damned city stinks! Too many people crammed into one place. A man can't breathe. Look at that! Brick wall grating against brick wall—no air between. Bah! Soot!" He sneezed.

Peter smiled to himself, knowing his father. James was deciding to accept Callie Dawson as one of his own children. He'd never laid eyes on the girl, didn't know who she was or what she was like, or how many more problems she'd add to those he already had, but James was thrashing out his misgivings by attacking the irrelevant. Peter loved his father heartily. James could accept anything—nearly anything—given the freedom of a few moments of irascible temper in

which to batter at the walls of his world and make room for something new. Peter's laughter was soft to his father's ears. "You realize you've reduced one of the world's great cities to a rubble of people, dirt, and sweat"

James managed a smile. "Perhaps I've overlooked its finer points. I seem able to recall them only when I'm comfortably at home." James bounded into the street to hail a cab. He instructed the driver to take them to Mrs. Pettibone's establishment.

Mrs. Pettibone, in spite of talking so positively to Callie, had heard nothing from the Bereans. She had no idea if they would take Callie in or not. To Mrs. Pettibone it was no longer of consequence. Now that her better nature had recovered its practicality, she had made her decision: One way or another she was going to be rid of the responsibility of Callie. Mrs. Pettibone was not without resources. She knew of several families who would like a hand with their houses or their children. And for once that useless sister of hers could be worth something. She had traded ailments and symptoms with half the women of London. Surely one of them must be in the market for a com-ganion. Of course, it wouldn't be quite like being taken in as part of a family, but in Callie's position there was no room to be choosy. She was fond of Callie, but only so far as her meager ability to share her life would allow. She couldn't become a surrogate mother.

Mrs. Pettibone helped Callie pack crates and boxes with her father's books, her mother's china and ornaments. These were possessions Callie treasured, and although Mrs. Pettibone recommended strongly they be sold, Callie insisted on keeping them. Defeated on that score, Mrs. Pettibone determined to have her way

in all else. Systematically she sorted through the clothing, allowing Callie to select a few items of Ian's she could keep in remembrance. The rest would be given away or sold to pay the back rent Ian had owed.

Last, she examined Callie's scant wardrobe, her face crumpling in disapproval. "I've seen better in the maid's cupboard," she sniffed. "Your petticoats need mending. If you're not handy with a needle, you'd better learn. No one will be wanting a useless girl. That's what comes of bein' raised by a man." She glanced at Callie's pinched, frightened face. "Well, we'll get to that. Meantime I'll mend these for you. Come down for them in an hour. I'll leave them on the hall table for you." She snatched up the disreputable petticoats and left Callie alone in her room, fighting back tears.

Rapidly the small security Callie knew in her father's flat was being torn away from her. She knew Mrs. Pettibone liked her, was even genuinely fond of her—but didn't want her.

Callie rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes. The Bereans wouldn't want her either. No one wanted her except Mrs. Peach and her horrible men.