“I need your mark on this piece of paper, Mr. Morrisey,” Clover said, and pulled a small bill of sale she had written up out of a pocket inside her cloak. “It simply says that, for the sum of forty-two dollars, you will relinquish all claim to the child.” She pointed to the bottom of the paper. “I want you to make your mark here and make a thumbprint right next to it.”
Even as she pulled from her bag the ink, quill, and paper Morrisey needed, Clover asked Willie, “Are you hurt?”
“Just some bruises. Ain’t nothing broken. I just be a mite stiff ‘cause that punishment hole ain’t too big.” He looked at her in awe. “Am I free then?” His eyes widened when she nodded. “I could hug you, ma’am, but I’m powerful dirty.”
“You can hug me after you have had a bath.” She smiled when he grimaced at the wordbath,revealing that, despite his sad condition, his spirit was undaunted.
“Where am I going now that I be free?”
“Well, you can come and live with us, but since youarefree, it must be your own decision.” When she saw that Morrisey had finished putting his marks on the paper, she held the man’s belligerent gaze and asked Willie, “Were you being punished for spending time with me?” Morrisey lowered his hand to his loins and Clover smiled coldly. He had not forgotten her threat that day at Ballard’s.
“Nope. I forgot to do the milking.”
Clover suspected that the milking had not been done because the boy had been with her and his punishment was for that visit as well, but Morriseyhad had enough wit to claim another reason. Since she had no weapon and probably lacked the backbone needed to shoot a man anyway, she decided to let well enough alone. The important thing was Willie’s freedom.
Morrisey thrust the paper at her. Clover took it, studied his mark, and put it back in her pocket. She signaled her mother to take Willie out to the wagon and then tossed the money onto the table. Morrisey snatched it up so quickly she was not sure it even touched the surface of the table.
“I have found this transaction extremely distasteful, Mr. Morrisey,” Clover said. “The child is no longer yours. If you ever touch him again, I will see that you pay dearly for it.” She nodded at Bess. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Morrisey.” She hurried out of the house, briefly wishing there was something she could do to help Bess and her children and knowing there was nothing.
As she climbed onto the wagon seat next to Adam, waving aside his offer of assistance, she looked at her mother and Willie seated in the back. Willie was eating a scone Molly had packed for him, struggling valiantly to obey her mother’s gentle commands to eat slowly. Clover almost dreaded cleaning him up, for she knew that once the dirt was washed away, she would see the results of Morrisey’s brutal hand all too clearly.
“Lord above, did he crawl out of a mudhole?” cried Molly as she gingerly helped Willie from the wagon.
“Actually, Molly, you are almost right,” Clover saidas she hopped down from the seat and went to help her mother out of the wagon. “He has been in a punishment hole since the day he rescued me. He needs a good scrubbing.”
“He does that.”
“I should go and thank MacGregor.” Willie tried to squirm free of Molly’s grip on his arm.
“Mr. MacGregor be doing some business. He will not be wanting a dirty little boy rushing over and interrupting.” Molly towed him toward the house. “You can thank him when you are clean, though I be thinking he might not recognize you.” She looked back at Clover. “Your man said to come and join him when you get back. He be in the stables with a Mr. Potsdam, talking horses.”
“I think some of the twins’ clothes will fit Willie,” said Agnes as she followed Molly into the house. “We will burn those rags of his.”
Clover laughed softly as she watched Molly drag a reluctant Willie into the house. She then looked toward the stables. It was not going to be easy to meet Ballard’s best customer when she was still feeling somewhat shaken from her dealings with Morrisey. She would much prefer to have a long hot bath, but Ballard was eager for her to meet Mr. Potsdam, a member of the area’s small society.
“Adam?” she called, halting the farmhand as he started to drive the wagon back to the barn. “What is Mr. Potsdam like?”
“Good man. Money. Pretty manners. A gentleman,” he replied before continuing on to the barn.
“Succinct,” she murmured and, taking a deep breath, headed for the stables.
Although Adam’s reply had been terse, Cloverfelt she knew the sort of man she was about to meet. It was to feel equal to and comfortable with men like Mr. Potsdam that Ballard had been seeking a wife with her particular qualifications. She wished she had thought to ask Ballard just how much of a proper lady he wanted her to be.
It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the stables. She spotted Ballard at the far end, discussing the merits of a yearling whose stall they leaned against with a slender, silver-haired gentleman. She was just nearing Ballard’s side when he turned toward her.
“Clover, did everything go weel?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her close.
“A complete success. Much better than I expected.”
“Good. There is someone here I would like ye to meet. Clover, may I introduce Cyril Potsdam. Cyril, my wife, Clover.” He grinned and winked at her. “How was that?”
“Very proper.” She smiled and shook Cyril’s hand. “I am pleased to meet you, sir.”
“I have been eager to meet you.” He kissed her hand and smiled when she blushed. “I am pleased to see that you have recovered from your ordeal.”
“Thank you. I am very resilient and my kidnappers were not the most intelligent men.”
Cyril laughed, then grew serious again. “We are all looking for the rogues. Rest assured, we will find them.”
