useless one at that."
"I will take care of him, Mama," Alex promised, holding the kitten so tightly that it mewled in protest. "I will teach him to be useful. He can hunt for us."
Janet Murray put her work-roughened hands on her hips and looked down at him. Her russet hair, the same shade as her son's but liberally streaked with white, was coming down from the tight knot at the back of her head. She squatted down in front of him on the scrubbed flagstones and rubbed one finger along the kitty's head.
"A hunter, hmmm? Will he bring me a nice deer, do you think?"
Alex looked down skeptically at the gray bundle in his shirt.
"I do not think he will grow large enough to bring down a deer, Mama, but he might grow large enough to hunt mice."
One of Janet's rare smiles creased her cheeks.
"That was a jest, Alex. Such a solemn little man! You must not be so serious about everything."
Alex had just looked at her. Boys whose mothers never married, those boys knew from the first time they heard the word "bastard" that life was serious. When his father's agent brought his mother her quarterly payments for Alexander's maintenance, he knew from the remarks the oily little scrub made, the way he looked at Janet, that life was serious.
Alex set down the kitten. Janet ruffled the curls atop his head, and said, "Fetch your wee kitty a drop of milk, son. If he's going to grow up to be a hunter, he will need his strength."
The kitten grew into a fine mouser named Robby, after Robert the Bruce, of course. If such a small scrap of nothing could become useful, perhaps there was hope for Miss Farnham on this trip.
He knocked at her door and her little dog commenced yapping.
Then again, perhaps not.
She opened the cabin door without asking who was on the other side. Alex resisted the impulse to run his hand through his hair in frustration.
"Dr. Murray! What a pleasant surprise."
"Is it?"
She blinked up at him.
"That was conversation, Doctor. It is what one says..." her voice trailed off and she looked befuddled.
"We must talk, Miss Farnham."
He stepped past her into the cabin. Trunks were open, and there was an explosion of fabrics in the small cabin, festoons of feathers and lace and ruffles and ribbons, mostly in pink, every shade from the faintest blush of dawn to a deep sunset rose.
Now he was really tempted to run back to his own cabin and bar the door, but Alexander had never yet shirked his duty, no matter how unpleasant.
Something crunched under his foot as he stepped into the cabin. He bent down and retrieved a book, which to his eye looked forlorn and out of place amongst the fripperies. Miss Farnham fluttered by him, closing the door behind her. He almost told her to leave the door open, but he did not want their conversation to be overheard.
"Have a seat...oh..."
Her voice trailed off as she realized every available surface was covered with furbelows.
"It is no matter, Miss Farnham. I will stand." Alex dropped the book on her pillow and took an armful of fabric off the one chair for her to be seated. The clean fragrance of lavender floated up to him. He resisted the temptation to bury his nose in it and breathe more deeply, and piled the frocks atop another mountain on the now empty bunk where Mrs. Cowper had slept.
Miss Farnham sat, looking up at him with an inquiring expression on her face. For a moment she reminded him of Robby, but then he remembered how canny the cat was and the image was lost.
Alex pulled down the edges of his waistcoat, did not run his fingers through his hair, and gazed at his new charge.
Miss Farnham was wearing a frock that was, of course, pink, a particularly bilious shade. Or maybe it was just the circumstances. Regardless, the garment was askew and he suspected it was misfastened. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, though some attempt had been made to bring it to order, a sad attempt evidenced by the trail of pins filtering down from a spot above her ear. The dog made a final
"I will take care of him, Mama," Alex promised, holding the kitten so tightly that it mewled in protest. "I will teach him to be useful. He can hunt for us."
Janet Murray put her work-roughened hands on her hips and looked down at him. Her russet hair, the same shade as her son's but liberally streaked with white, was coming down from the tight knot at the back of her head. She squatted down in front of him on the scrubbed flagstones and rubbed one finger along the kitty's head.
"A hunter, hmmm? Will he bring me a nice deer, do you think?"
Alex looked down skeptically at the gray bundle in his shirt.
"I do not think he will grow large enough to bring down a deer, Mama, but he might grow large enough to hunt mice."
One of Janet's rare smiles creased her cheeks.
"That was a jest, Alex. Such a solemn little man! You must not be so serious about everything."
Alex had just looked at her. Boys whose mothers never married, those boys knew from the first time they heard the word "bastard" that life was serious. When his father's agent brought his mother her quarterly payments for Alexander's maintenance, he knew from the remarks the oily little scrub made, the way he looked at Janet, that life was serious.
Alex set down the kitten. Janet ruffled the curls atop his head, and said, "Fetch your wee kitty a drop of milk, son. If he's going to grow up to be a hunter, he will need his strength."
The kitten grew into a fine mouser named Robby, after Robert the Bruce, of course. If such a small scrap of nothing could become useful, perhaps there was hope for Miss Farnham on this trip.
He knocked at her door and her little dog commenced yapping.
Then again, perhaps not.
She opened the cabin door without asking who was on the other side. Alex resisted the impulse to run his hand through his hair in frustration.
"Dr. Murray! What a pleasant surprise."
"Is it?"
She blinked up at him.
"That was conversation, Doctor. It is what one says..." her voice trailed off and she looked befuddled.
"We must talk, Miss Farnham."
He stepped past her into the cabin. Trunks were open, and there was an explosion of fabrics in the small cabin, festoons of feathers and lace and ruffles and ribbons, mostly in pink, every shade from the faintest blush of dawn to a deep sunset rose.
Now he was really tempted to run back to his own cabin and bar the door, but Alexander had never yet shirked his duty, no matter how unpleasant.
Something crunched under his foot as he stepped into the cabin. He bent down and retrieved a book, which to his eye looked forlorn and out of place amongst the fripperies. Miss Farnham fluttered by him, closing the door behind her. He almost told her to leave the door open, but he did not want their conversation to be overheard.
"Have a seat...oh..."
Her voice trailed off as she realized every available surface was covered with furbelows.
"It is no matter, Miss Farnham. I will stand." Alex dropped the book on her pillow and took an armful of fabric off the one chair for her to be seated. The clean fragrance of lavender floated up to him. He resisted the temptation to bury his nose in it and breathe more deeply, and piled the frocks atop another mountain on the now empty bunk where Mrs. Cowper had slept.
Miss Farnham sat, looking up at him with an inquiring expression on her face. For a moment she reminded him of Robby, but then he remembered how canny the cat was and the image was lost.
Alex pulled down the edges of his waistcoat, did not run his fingers through his hair, and gazed at his new charge.
Miss Farnham was wearing a frock that was, of course, pink, a particularly bilious shade. Or maybe it was just the circumstances. Regardless, the garment was askew and he suspected it was misfastened. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, though some attempt had been made to bring it to order, a sad attempt evidenced by the trail of pins filtering down from a spot above her ear. The dog made a final
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