These Honored Dead (A Lincoln and Speed Mystery #1) - Jonathan F. Putnam Page 0,25
voice faltered—“celebrated his birthday last month. He’s very small for his age, it’s true. I don’t think he’s ever had enough to eat, not in his whole entire life. In fact, his age is what brought them to my door.”
“How so?”
“Once Jesse reached ten, the master at the poorhouse would have been able to send him off to the lowest bidder, just like their father. Lilly didn’t want him to suffer the same fate. That’s why she contacted me when she did and why I felt I couldn’t refuse her.”
On the other side of the counter, Jesse was trying on a pair of adult pantaloons. There was a distinctive ripping sound as he tried to extricate his leg. He lost his balance, toppled over with a soft thud, then popped up again and, with the pantaloons still twisted around his body, started pulling on a jersey.
Rebecca winced and said, “I’ll pay for the damage. He’s a good-natured boy, but his whole world’s disappeared with his sister gone.”
“It’s nothing a needle and thread can’t fix,” I said as another ripping sound erupted from the muddled mass of boy and clothing. “We’ll be fine.” Loudly, for Jesse’s benefit, I added: “Did you say the young man plays dominoes? Have you told Master Jesse I was the Oriental Dominoes youth champion at the state fair of Kentucky for two years running? You leave Jesse in my hands and let me see what kind of skill he’s got with the tiles.”
Jesse had finally managed to shed the clothing, and he scampered back through the opening in the counter and into Rebecca’s arms.
“That’s a good lad,” Rebecca said, holding the boy tightly to her bosom and stroking his straight, dark hair.
“I had one other question I wanted to raise with you privately,” I said, thinking this was my chance to explore Prickett’s new allegations.
“Can it wait until I come back to collect Jesse? I’m late as it is.”
I nodded. “Go about your business. We’ll be here when you return.”
Jesse spread out his set of worn, wooden tiles on the shop floor and we played several rounds wordlessly. Then Jesse’s attention started to wander. He made a few careless plays.
“Let me show you something,” I said. I fetched a small leather bag from underneath my counter and handed it to the boy. He dumped out the contents and his eyes widened. It was a polished set of tiles made from ebony-wood with ivory pips that my brother James had given me for my sixteenth birthday. Jesse picked up a few of the tiles to admire them in turn.
“Shall we play a game with them?” I said, feeling pleased with myself that I was managing to entertain the young boy.
“When’s my Auntie gonna be back, Mister?” he said.
“Don’t you want to play with my fancy tiles?”
“When’s my Auntie gonna be back?”
“Any minute now,” I said. I glanced at my pocket watch: fifty minutes remained until Rebecca’s promised return. My self-confidence in my caretaking abilities began to ebb. Then I had another idea. “Jesse,” I said, “would you like to see my horse Hickory?”
His little head shot around and his face lit up with something approaching pleasure. He nodded once, decisively.
“Come with me,” I said. I scribbled out a note to Rebecca, which I propped up in the store’s front window, and I took Jesse by the arm and led him around the corner toward the stables behind the Globe. As we walked, the afternoon sun high and hot, I asked, “Do you like your new home with your Aunt, Jesse?”
“It’s lonely,” he said quietly, without turning to look at me.
“I suppose it is,” I said. “I’m sure you’ll find a new playfellow up in Menard before long.”
He trudged ahead as if he had not heard me.
At the entrance to the stables, I nodded at a stable lad about Jesse’s age who was perched on two bales of hay by the gate and awaiting the next stage arrival. Then we proceeded past the carriage shed to the stable building itself, a cavernous wooden structure appended to the back of the tavern.
But on the threshold of the stables, Jesse abruptly stopped, his face contorted. He mumbled something unintelligible.
I got to one knee and put my hand on his shoulder. “What did you say, son?” I asked quietly.
“Don’t go into the barn.”
“Why not? We’re allowed to enter. See, the stable boy back there says we can go in to visit Hickory.”