Morning Sky (16 page)
“His schedule varies, though the two of you will eventually meet.
Now go along and tell Daisy to show you to your quarters,” Mr. Laird instructed. “She should be in the kitchen preparing supper.”
Truth’s stomach rumbled at the mention of food. She hadn’t eaten anything since early morning. “What time is supper?”
Mr. Laird smirked. “I can’t believe you were expecting to take your meals in the dining room with the students, Miss Harban. You may be able to find a few extra morsels in the kitchen.”
Truth picked up her valise and opened the door. “I shall expect more than a morsel, Mr. Laird. Obviously, Macia isn’t eating. I shall plan to eat her portion. After all, her family has already paid for her board at this
academy
.”
Without another word, Truth strode off. She hurried down the steps, using the front stairway rather than the back stairs Mr. Laird had suggested. It was a childishly defiant measure, but one that pleased her nonetheless. After navigating the curved hall that meandered in several directions, Truth spied Daisy moving about in the kitchen. The girl looked up as Truth entered the room.
“Mr. Laird sent me. He said you would show me to the servants’ quarters.”
Daisy swiped her floured hands down her apron. “Do I look like I got time to take you out dere right now? I’s busy fixing supper. It don’t matter what Mr. Laird said I should do with you. There won’t be no forgiving me if supper’s late, and I ain’t losing my position over some stranger.”
Truth could wage an argument against Daisy’s position—and perhaps even win. But what would be accomplished? She needed a friend, and maybe if she was kind, Daisy would be willing to help her. She set her valise in the corner and removed her cape. “Give me an apron and I’ll help you, Daisy. I cook for the Boyle family, and I can follow your orders.”
Daisy’s eyes shone with suspicion, but she handed Truth an apron. “You can peel them potatoes.”
Truth finished each of Daisy’s assigned tasks without complaint. “You can help yourself to any of that food,” Daisy said after they had completed the supper preparations, indicating the pots and bowls. “I always fix extra for me and Silas. Mr. Laird says we’s only s’pose to eat the scraps. That man is crazy if he thinks I’m gonna gnaw on the bones while the rest of them eat the pork chops.”
After helping with the supper dishes, Truth was exhausted but certain she’d made a friend. Daisy looped arms with her as they walked to the servants’ quarters. “This here place ain’t very nice—nothing like what you’s been living in with that fancy doctor and his family.”
“Once I’ve had some sleep, I’ll tell you about some of the places I’ve lived, Daisy. I’m certain your room will do just fine.”
As they neared the carriage house, Daisy called to Silas and asked him to bring a bed from the storage barn. “Miss Harban’s gonna be staying in my room.” Daisy led the way upstairs to the large rooms above the carriage house—much larger than what Truth had expected. “Me and Silas was sorry Miss Macia was one of the gals to get sick this school session. Miss Macia and Miss Rennie been right nice to both me and Silas. Not like some of them uppity girls. I was hoping it would be one of them snooty gals like Inez Barringer that got sick.”
Daisy waved Silas into the room and helped him as he set up the bed. Silas pounded the wood frame together and topped it with a flimsy mattress. “Once in a while the snooty ones get sick.”
Truth unfolded the sheet Daisy handed her. “You mean there are students sick during every school session?”
“Um-hmm. Mrs. Rutledge says it’s the change in climate and water. Sure ain’t my cooking, ’cause Silas ain’t never got sick.”
Silas laughed and rubbed his stomach. “Now that’s a fact. And those pork chops tonight was really good.”
Though Truth wanted to question the two of them further, Silas excused himself, and Daisy was soon asleep.
When Truth awakened the next morning, sunlight spilled through the two windows on the east wall, and there was no sign of Daisy. The girl had likely been in the kitchen working for several hours. Truth hurriedly dressed and then raced across the rear yard to the kitchen.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
Daisy gave her a lopsided grin. “I figured you was mighty tired what with your traveling and then helping me in the kitchen. Thought you could use the sleep. ’Sides, ain’t nothing you can do for Miss Macia. Jest like all the other gals, she ain’t gonna do nothing but sleep.”
“Does Dr. Anderson come to check on her, Daisy?”
“He was here once. He don’t never come too often.”
“But he wrote that Macia’s been having seizures. How does he know that unless he comes to see her?”
Daisy shrugged. “Don’t know. I ain’t never seen Miss Macia have no seizure. She jest sleeps all the time.”
“Tell me about the other girls that have gotten ill,” Truth urged.
Daisy glanced about. “We can talk tonight when we go back to my room. I don’ like talking ’round here where people’s always listening.”
Truth wondered why anyone would be interested in listening to a servant’s conversation, but she harkened to Daisy’s admonition. She and Daisy would talk at length this evening.
Truth headed off toward the grand stairway but turned on her heel and walked to the back stairs. It was, after all, closer to Macia’s bedroom. She was nearing the top of the steps when she saw Mr. Laird and another man exit Macia’s room. She stood quietly, wanting to hear what they were saying. The stranger explained he would bring additional medicine. Was this Dr. Anderson? She absolutely must talk to him.
She stepped into the hallway. “Dr. Anderson?”
The stranger turned in her direction. “Yes? May I help you?”
Mr. Laird dipped his head toward Truth. “This is the woman I mentioned—Miss Boyle’s servant.”
Truth didn’t correct the statement. She was, after all, the Boyles’ maid and housekeeper, if only for a short time longer. “May I speak to you about Miss Boyle’s condition?”
The doctor rubbed his index finger over his mustache. “Yes, of course.”
“I’d like to accompany Miss Boyle home, where her father can attend to her medical treatment and restore her back to health.”
The doctor shook his head. “She’s unable to travel in her current condition. However, I’m sure your ministrations will be helpful. Perhaps in the next several weeks her strength will return.”
The days marched on in blurry replication while Macia continued to fade in and out of a hazy stupor. Unfortunately, the meager amount of food Truth could force into her patient usually came back up, and her condition had changed little since Truth’s arrival. Truth had been ever watchful, hoping there might be some way she could reverse the tide. None of her efforts had met with success, however, and Dr. Anderson soon proved to be as obstructive as Mr. Laird and the Rutledges. When her attempts with all of them had failed, Truth turned to Daisy and Silas.
After much prodding, they had agreed to reveal what little they knew about Macia’s illness. Although Truth had hoped for more information, both of the servants were frightened to speak freely. And Truth understood their reticence—both of them stood to lose their employment with the school should they speak out of turn. But they had told her enough so that she’d begun watching Mr. Laird very carefully, and she’d now discovered a pattern in Macia’s incessant sleeping. Shortly after Mr. Laird would arrive with fresh water and encourage Macia to drink, she would drop off into hours of sleep, followed by periods of lethargy. And just when she would become somewhat lucid, Mr. Laird would reappear with more water.
Truth now believed Mr. Laird was pouring medication into Macia’s water to make her sleep. She didn’t know, though, if the medication had been prescribed by the doctor or if the treatment was Mr. Laird’s idea. Worse yet, she dared not ask Dr. Anderson, for he would likely tell Mr. Laird, who would surely send her packing.
After another day without any correspondence from home, Truth decided she must take matters into her own hands. The thought was frightening, yet she absolutely must do something to get Macia out of this place. As if being imprisoned in this dreadful school wasn’t enough, she’d not received one letter from Moses or the Boyles. She’d been faithful to write Moses daily and Dr. Boyle several times. Mrs. Rutledge had at least been amenable to posting the letters—the woman’s only act of kindness. Yet neither of them had bothered to respond. Pacing back and forth in front of the windows, she startled when Macia groaned and turned in the bed.
“What time is it?”
Truth hurried to Macia’s bedside and grasped her hand. “It’s nearly suppertime, and you’ve not yet eaten breakfast. Why don’t I help you into the chair and I’ll brush your hair.”
Macia closed her eyes and turned away.
“Please, Macia. You absolutely must spend some time out of this bed. Let me help you.”
Without waiting for Macia’s approval, Truth leaned down and hoisted the girl’s skeletal frame upward. Using her powers of persuasion, Truth dragged Macia to the nearby chair. Holding her shoulder with one hand, Truth retrieved a silver-handled brush from atop the dressing table. She began to brush Macia’s hair in earnest, for she doubted her patient could tolerate sitting in the chair for long.
“I’m going to marry Marvin.” Macia’s words were garbled.
Truth looked into the mirror and met Macia’s glassy-eyed stare. “Who is Marvin?”
“Mr. Laird.”
“Mr. Laird? No, Macia. You’re going to marry Jeb Malone when we return to Hill City. Remember?”
Although Truth knew Jeb hadn’t yet proposed to Macia, everyone in Hill City expected a wedding would take place the moment Macia returned from New York—everyone with the possible exception of Mrs. Boyle, who still held out hope her daughter would marry a wealthy man with social standing.
Macia extended a wobbly finger toward the mirror. “Nooo. I’m going to marry Mr. Laird. He loves me, and he’s going to marry me.
He says I’m bea
uuu
tiful.”
Truth patted Macia’s arm and slowly repeated her earlier explanation as though speaking to a small child.
Macia slapped at the brush. “I know who I’m going to marry. Don’t you tell me . . .” Before Macia could complete the sentence, she collapsed into uncontrollable sobs. “What has happened to me?”
Truth knelt down and cupped Macia’s chin in her palm. She wiped away the tears that rolled down Macia’s cheeks. “It’s going to be all right. You’re confused because you’re ill, that’s all. We’re going to get you better and go home.”
Macia’s eyes reflected confusion, so Truth said nothing further about going home. Instead, she fashioned a dark blue ribbon into Macia’s blond curls and spoke of the warm weather. When Mr. Laird arrived moments later, he appeared startled to see Macia sitting in the chair with her hair properly combed.
With his jaw tightly clenched, Mr. Laird approached Macia. “Look at you! It seems the two of you have accomplished more than usual today.”
“Do you like my hair?”
“Indeed, it looks quite lovely, though I believe you’ve likely over-exerted yourself. I’m going to have to give Truth a sound reprimand for having you out of bed much too long.”
Truth knew his jovial tone was nothing more than a charade for Macia’s benefit. The moment they were alone, Truth would be the recipient of his wrath. His jaw continued to twitch as he poured a cup of water. With his back turned, he pulled something from his pocket. Truth edged closer and saw him pour something into the glass.
“Here you are, Macia.” Mr. Laird turned with the glass in his hand.
“I’ll give it to her.” Truth reached for the glass and knocked it to the floor, the contents spilling on the dressing table and wool rug.
“You idiot! Look what you’ve done!”
“Why are you so upset? It’s merely water. I’ll pour her another glass.” Truth stooped down to wipe up the spilled liquid and winced as Mr. Laird’s fingers dug into her arm. Her feet barely touched the floor as he yanked her toward the door.
Truth glanced over her shoulder. “I’ll return in a moment, Macia.”
“Don’t count on it,” Mr. Laird hissed as he closed the door. “What do you think you’re doing interfering with Macia’s medical care?”
“Medical care? A glass of water? It was an accident. I’m guessing you’ve had an accident from time to time, Mr. Laird.”
“I want you to leave the academy, Miss Harban. Go back to Kansas— go anywhere—but I want you out of here. Do I make myself clear?”
“Very clear.”
She hurried down the back stairway. She must think—she needed a plan.
Nicodemus , Kansas
E
zekiel arose before sunup. The night had been warm, and the wheat should be dry enough to cut by the time his neighbors arrived. He’d struck an agreement with several of the surrounding farmers, and they were joining together to harvest their fields. They’d finished John Beyer’s crop yesterday. If all went well, Ezekiel should have half an acre cut and tied by noon. They could make better progress with more tools. However, the wheat was ripening throughout the township, and the farmers couldn’t wait in hope of borrowing more implements. Ezekiel wasn’t one to complain, though. Having help to rake and bind the sheaves made the work go faster, as did alternating their jobs. Swinging the cradle scythe was hard on the shoulders and arms, and he couldn’t withstand it for too long. After thirty minutes he would switch out to rake or bind the bundles. Though some of the township residents had decided to hire a man to cut their grain by machine, Ezekiel and several others decided they’d work together and save the money charged by a cutter.
He’d planted five acres of wheat this year, the rest in corn. He hoped his crops would provide him with the necessary cash to purchase more livestock and a few more tools and perhaps a few items for the house. Last year he’d seeded only two acres with wheat and five with corn. But his yield had been good. From the money he’d made off his crops, he’d been able to purchase a cow and a few pigs. Though folks said a yield of fifty bushels was good, he’d been pleased to produce twenty-five bushels per acre last year. Again this year, the entire county had been short on rain. He’d be counting his blessings if his fields yielded thirty bushels per acre. Even if he set aside thirty bushels for the year’s bread and seed, he should still make a tidy profit. But he’d not count on that until the greenbacks were in his pocket.