Her Patchwork Family. Lyn Cote
the corner ahead of them. Felicity’s heart began doing strange antics. It sank to her knees and then leaped into her throat. The fact that she was outside barefoot and in her night clothing hit her like a wet mop in the face. This could spawn gossip for years to come.
The man walked toward them, head down and hands in his pockets just like Tucker. She saw it was the judge. She wished she could become invisible.
“Turn around and start walking normal,” Tucker whispered and did what he’d just told her to do.
Felicity hurried to follow his example. The two of them walked, her hand on the boy’s shoulder. Every moment she expected to hear the judge call for her to stop. And since she couldn’t lie, what possible explanation could she give to explain why they were out in the night?
Tucker and she came to their house at last. When they came to her abandoned slippers, they paused as she slipped her feet into them. Then they walked up the flagstone path and through the front door. Felicity had never been so grateful to hear her door close behind her. Either the judge had not seen them or he had chosen to be merciful again and behave as if he had not seen them. And she must make certain that Tucker’s night wandering ended now.
Tucker tried to go on, but she squeezed his shoulder and led him down the hall to the moonlit kitchen. “Sit down at the table.” When he made no move to obey, she added, “Please.”
The boy sank into the chair. She sat down across from him. He would not meet her gaze. “Tucker…” What could she say? He knew he should be upstairs in bed. So she just sat, letting her tight, serrated worry flow out. She prayed, waiting for the Inner Light to lead her.
“Are we going to sit here all night?” the boy finally snapped.
She stared into his eyes. “That’s up to thee.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” The boy’s tone showed plainly that he didn’t hold her in any respect, probably held no adult in respect. The defiant eyes that returned her gaze told her much more than she wanted to deal with tonight.
It grieved her. “Tucker Stout, I don’t understand what took thee out of thy comfortable bed in a comfortable home—”
“I like being on my own. I don’t like people interfering with me, see?” His brows drew together.
“I must on the whole agree with thee.” Peace began trickling through her, soothing her rasped nerves. “I also like being on my own. And I don’t like interference of any kind either. So we have that in common. What interference are thee expecting from me?”
The boy snorted. “You’ll be telling me to wash my hands and do this and do that and say grace at the table and don’t pick my nose—”
The last forced a chuckle from her. Her good humor surged back. “Does thee do that often?”
Rebellious, Tucker made as if to rise. She pressed a hand over his and said, “Sit, please.”
He stared and then capitulated, scowling.
“May I ask thee a question?” She waited for his permission.
Finally, he realized that she wasn’t going to speak until he granted her the opportunity. “Okay, ask me.”
“If thee runs away and is caught and sent to jail, won’t they tell thee to wash thy hands, and do this and don’t do that?”
He stared at her.
“I would think that Vista and I would be preferable to jail guards.” She folded her hands in front of her on the table and waited. Would he accept this simple truth?
He lifted one shoulder and demanded, “So what do you want me to say, lady?”
“Nothing, really. I will ask for no promise from thee. And I am not going to tie thee to thy bed. Or bolt thy door and window shut. And this is the last time I will come after thee. Thee must decide for thyself which to choose—this home or jail.”
Tucker looked at her as if she were speaking in ancient Greek.
Felicity rose. “I will bid thee good-night. Will thee turn the lock on the back door, please? Thank thee.” She walked up the stairs without a backward glance. Oh, Father above, heal this wounded heart. Only Thee can. I cannot.
In her room again, she took off her robe and slippers and sank onto the side of her bed, still praying. Forcing herself to have faith, she lay down again, trying not to listen for Tucker’s footsteps on the stair. Her final thought was not about Tucker but about Judge Hawkins. What was he doing out well after midnight? And had he seen her with Tucker? And if he had, what would he do?
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