Page 9 of Mail-Order Bride Secret
Ivy stood before the stove, wrapped in a towel, her hair hanging down her back like a brown mane.
Madeline balanced Jonny on one side as she brushed Ivy’s hair.
Splashing in the other room indicated Otis was getting clean. As clean as a boy would get without an adult to supervise. Wally guessed he’d be the adult. He grinned at the thought and handed the clothes to Madeline before he went to the bedroom.
Otis glowered at him. “I don’t need you.”
“Don’t want to waste the water so I’ll make sureyou’re clean.” He knelt by the tub and took up the washcloth and soap. “Ears first or hair?”
“Neither.”
Ignoring the scowl on Otis’s face, Wally wet the mat of hair and then rubbed in soap. Water streamed from the cloth as he lifted it to Otis’s hair to rinse it. The boy huddled in the water, his eyes closed. Wally wished he could tell if his ministrations were soothing Otis or making him tense with fear. But the boy’s shoulders did not rise in defense as he would have expected if it was the latter.
Wally studied Otis more closely. A tiny scar followed his jaw line. Wally’s thoughts divided. One path tended the boy. The other remembered the child Wally.
The cloth he held was white—but in his mind, it had red stripes in it. The tub was silver. The one he remembered was gray. In his memories, a sweet voice sang a song. He strained to hear the words. They didn’t come. But the voice stayed, washing away orphanage life. Taking him back to being a wanted, loved child.
“My parents died when I was four, so I know how uncertain you feel. You now have a home here.”
Otis turned, his eyes drilled into Wally’s, seeking yet afraid. Wanting. But aware every dream could be shattered in the blink of an eye.
Wally’s hands hung idly on the edge of the tub ashe faced the boy, his gaze every bit as steady as Otis’s. “What I can promise you is this. You are safe with me. I will never abandon you or purposely do anything to harm or hurt you.”
Their gazes held. The moment felt as fragile as a robin’s egg. As full of potential and possibility as that same egg.
A movement to his side caught Wally’s attention. Madeline stood in the doorway with Jonny in her arms and Ivy pressed to her side. How much had they heard?
He met Ivy’s look.
“Never?” she whispered.
“Never.” His voice was firm holding every bit of assurance that rushed up from deep in his heart.
She nodded before lowering her gaze as if she didn’t want him to see the emotion pressing tears to her eyelids.
He looked at Madeline. He hoped she knew he made the same promise to her. And more. He had vowed to love her and be faithful and he meant to keep that oath. He would patiently wait for her to be ready to accept him.
“I have nightwear for him.” She handed a nightshirt to Wally then escorted Ivy from the room and closed the door.
Wally offered Otis a towel. The boy pushed away help. While Otis dried and put on the things Madelinehad brought, Wally carried the water outside, wiped out the tub, and hung it. He’d considered offering fresh water to Madeline but guessed she would feel awkward. And Jonathan would not leave her arms, so a bath was out of the question for now.
Madeline tried but failed to hide a yawn.
“I’ll put these two to bed, shall I?” He waited for a response from the twins and Madeline.
Relief was plain on her face. No doubt she was tired after her trip and worried about her son. The twins clung to each other. Otis’s look blared with resistance, but Ivy’s eyes ate at Wally—hungry and eager.
He pointed toward the room where they would sleep, and they shuffled in that direction.
“Thank you,” Madeline murmured as he passed. “I’ll see if Jonny will settle.”
Aware of her footsteps going toward the nursery, he let himself hope the baby would sleep and Madeline would come to him. At least to talk. He grabbed a book off the shelf in the living room and then joined the twins in what was now their room.
Otis lay between the covers, fingers holding the edge of the quilt with enough force to whiten his knuckles. Ivy’s expression was unreadable.
He pulled her quilt up and tucked it around her then sat on the end of her bed. “This book belongs to Andy Shannon. I recall his mama reading it to him. Ithought you might enjoy hearing the stories like he did.” He opened the pages. The first story was of God making the world. As he read it, the curtains rolled away and he recalled a deep, calm voice reading to him. He was remembering his pa. He couldn’t think of what his father looked like but now he was able to bring the sound of his voice to mind.
The story ended and he closed the book with a soft sigh of the pages.
