Chapter Five

A huge pie bursting with apples and fragrant with cinnamon cooled on the sideboard while Finola kept a watchful eye on the turnips simmering on the stove. How easy it was to make a good meal when she had so much to work with. A pan of buttermilk biscuits were ready to pop into the oven, and the pork would soon be finished roasting with its accompaniment of quartered sweet potatoes.

Once again she went over her plan to tell Timothy and Liam about what she had done. She was overstepping her bounds of authority, but someone had to take this matter in hand before it was too late. Besides, what was done was done, and no manner of argument could change that now.

After assuaging Liam with the explanation that she had to speak to his father privately about some household matters, she had given him a length of string and showed him how to play games like “Cats in the Cradle” and “Jacob’s Ladder” to keep himself amused. It was time for Mr. Adams to arrive home, and she wanted to be sure they were alone when she told him of her discovery.

His footsteps in the hallway made her heart pound. This would be one of the most difficult things she had ever done, and she swallowed hard to settle her nerves.

“Finola, is Liam in his room? My, it smells wonderful in here. And look at that, an apple pie.” He crossed the kitchen to admire her handiwork.

“Yes, sir. I’ve made you some coffee. I’d like to have a word with you, if possible.” Her heart felt as if it were beating in her throat.

“Certainly. Is something wrong? You look worried.”

She smiled faintly. “Yes, sir, you might say that. I have something to tell you, and I’m afraid you might be upset by it.”

He accepted the cup of coffee she offered and motioned for her to sit down at the table opposite him. “Just say it. I can see you’re upset, so just say what you have to say.”

“Well, you see, sir, it’s about Liam,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think I know what’s wrong with him,”

Timothy remained still and quiet, staring at her for what seemed an eternity.

“Have you noticed his gums, sir? He has a blue line on his gums. My cousin Little Nancy had the same before she passed away,” Finola explained, pausing to cross herself. “It was a poisoning of sorts, you see.”

“Poison? What are you talking about?” His voice rose sharply despite her urging him to remain calm. “Are you trying to say I poisoned my son?”

“No, sir, I’m not saying that at all.” She shook her head firmly. “This afternoon I went down into the cellar, and that’s when I found that which I was fearing. Little Nancy died from lead poisoning, but not a soul knew it until it was too late. Her da had brought some vats home from a journey he went on, and her ma stored pickled pig feet in them. It never occurred to any of them that those vats might have lead in them until Father Clanahan told of the same kind of sickness that he had seen in Mexico during the war. By then, it was too late. Little Nancy died. But when my uncle, her own father, had the doctor in town check those vats, they were full of lead.”

“I’m not understanding, Finola,” Timothy leaned closer. “Are you saying there’s lead in my cellar?”

“Not anymore, sir. After I looked into your wife’s sauerkraut crocks, I had Carmine take them out and destroy them. I kept a few pieces for your doctor to check it.”

“My God, Finola, what if you’re wrong?” Timothy made an inhuman sound as he dropped his face to his hands. “Don’t you think that educated doctors would know to look for that sort of thing? What if you’ve destroyed all that sauerkraut for nothing? Liam will be devastated. Don’t you see that’s how he keeps his mother alive? He will be inconsolable.”

“I’ll have to live with that, Mr. Adams, but I don’t believe I’m wrong. Didn’t you make your son stop eating that foul smelling concoction for several days? And doesn’t he seem a little better now?” She raised a hand as if taking an oath. “If I’m wrong, I’ll leave this house without a fight. You know that I wouldn’t ever do a thing to hurt your little boy. Have the doctor test the pieces of the crock that I saved. If I’m right, and I believe I truly am, then it won’t be long until Liam is back on his feet.”

A sudden mask of horror clouded Timothy’s face. “Ruth ate almost an entire crock of sauerkraut by herself. I can’t believe that she may have killed herself and our unborn child in such a way.”

Finola cocked her head to one side. “Liam told me that your wife didn’t usually undertake such endeavors. Perhaps she just made a mistake. Do you know where she got the crocks?”

Timothy’s voice fell to a whisper. “Her brother brought them to her from Mexico.”

The bell at the kitchen door jangled, and they both jumped at the sound. They would have to tell Liam, and it was a chore they both dreaded.

Timothy arose and said, “Put supper on the dining room table. I’ll be back shortly.”

She quickly set the dining room table with two settings and returned to the kitchen to fill plates for Liam and Timothy. Although she knew she was welcome to have her meal with them, she had a sinking feeling that after Liam was told that she had destroyed his sauerkraut the invitation to eat with them would quickly be withdrawn.

Taking hot biscuits from the oven, she assembled their plates and hurried to the dining room. Two sets of eyes, one pair filled with trepidation and the other with excitement, greeted her at the table. She set their plates before them and stepped back.

“Aren’t you going to join us, Finola?” Timothy asked, his tone edged with both hope and threat.

“Uhm, no, sir. I’ll be having me supper alone in the kitchen after, uhm, a moment,” she said, avoiding Liam’s glare.

“Where’s my sauerkraut?” he demanded. “You promised me.”

“Son, I have to talk to you about that,” Timothy began.

“You promised me I could have sauerkraut,” the child bellowed.

“Liam, I did not promise you. I said I would look about it, and I did.” She held her hand up to stop his protests. “Now, your father is trying to tell you something, and in my opinion you would wise to listen.” She hardened her gaze to match his and stood firmly in place.

Timothy sighed. “Liam, the sauerkraut is gone. Finola had Carmine throw it all away.”

The boy’s pale face flamed red with anger. He returned his glare toward the slight, Irish woman with renewed fury. “You did what? How could you? That was mine, my sauerkraut that my mother made for me. How could you do such a thing? You’re just a housekeeper.”

“Liam! Apologize to Finola right now.” Timothy Adams thundered at his son. “She had a very good reason to do what she did.”

“No, she didn’t!” he cried. “She just wanted to get rid of it because my mother made it. She doesn’t want me to like something else better than what she cooks. And I hate what she cooks.” With a vicious smack of his hand, he sent his plate clattering to the floor.

“Now, you can clean it up, housekeeper!” Liam’s anger reverberated through his tiny voice.

Timothy started up from his chair, but Finola stopped him. “I’ll handle this,” she whispered. Turning toward the sobbing boy, she set her hands firmly on her hips.

“No, Master Liam, this housekeeper will not clean up your mess. You did it and you will clean it up. And when you’re finished, you’ll go to bed without any supper.” She tossed a tea towel onto his lap. “Start cleaning, and while your father eats his meal, I’ll explain to you why you no longer have that sauerkraut.”

Liam looked toward his father with a pleading eye, but Timothy remained mute.

Finola had a feeling that never in his young life had Liam ever been made to obey. She suspected that he had been spoiled and catered to by both his parents, and now he was being forced to bend his will.

Finola strode to the back of his chair and pulled it out, handing him the towel again. “Get busy, Liam.”

With no alternative, the child dropped to his knees and began mopping up gravy.

“Now, as I’ve explained to your father, when I saw the blue line on your gums I recognized it. My cousin had the same malady as you. She got sick from eating pig’s feet that were pickled in a vat that contained lead.” She spoke to him not as a child, but as someone who could understand what she needed to tell him.

“While you were upstairs today, I went down into the cellar and looked at the crocks your mother made the sauerkraut in. You yourself told me she hadn’t made it before, and I believe she wasn’t aware that those containers were better suited to growing flowers in them than holding food.” She paused to give him a chance to reply.

“But they weren’t yours. It’s like you stole them from me.” Liam’s voice rose to a pitch. “They were not yours.”

She nodded. “You’re right about that. But I couldn’t take a chance that you would be harmed more by waiting. I told Carmine to take them away and break them so that you would never get sick again. He threw all the sauerkraut away too, for it was poisoned.”

The child shook his head violently back and forth. “You don’t know that. You’re not a doctor.”

“Maybe I’m not, Liam, but that’s what’s made you sick, dear. Your father is going to take a piece of the pottery to the doctor to have it tested.”

The child glared at her. “You don’t know anything.”

“But look at yourself, darlin’. You haven’t had any of that stuff for several days, and you’re already feeling better. Aren’t you?”

Liam nodded as he retrieved pieces of turnip from the floor. “My mother wouldn’t do anything to make me sick,” he insisted.

“I know. Didn’t you tell me that your grandmother always brought her sauerkraut to your mother? It was her first time to make it, and she just didn’t realize her mistake.”

“And now she’s dead. And so is our baby,” he said with a sob.

“Yes, but you’re not dead.” Her heart felt as though it might shatter, but on the outside she forced herself to remain calm. “Maybe your dear mother was looking out for you from Heaven and made sure I figured this out so that you wouldn’t also die.”

Wiping up the last bit of sweet potato from the floor, Liam turned to Finola with tears in his eyes. “I’m not going to say I’m sorry until Father takes the broken pieces to Dr. Halloway. If he says you’re right, then I’ll apologize.”

“Fair enough. Now, I’ll leave you and your father to talk things over. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

She took the broken plate and ruined dinner back with her, trembling with relief that the boy’s tirade was over for the moment. She could live without an apology, but one thing she could not abide was wasting food. He would go to bed without supper, and that wasn’t a point about which she was willing to argue.

When Timothy eventually brought the remainder of the dishes into the kitchen, she fetched him a cup of coffee and a wide wedge of apple pie. He sat in silence for several minutes, a lock of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he stared into his cup. Finola waited for what she felt sure was to be an apology.

“I am only going to say this once,” he began, his voice low and even. “Liam is my son and I will decide how he will be disciplined, if and when the occasion should arise. Never, ever take it upon yourself again to do that. No child of mine will ever go to bed hungry.”

She couldn’t believe her own ears—surely they were deceiving her. Staring at him in disbelief, she kept her tongue. Arguing wouldn’t help anything at this point.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. McNamara. If you are right about the crockery, I’ll be forever indebted to you for saving my son’s life. On the other hand, we’re still not sure that you are correct, and then all of this agony will have been for nothing.” He took a deep breath and stared at her with hard eyes that had taken on a dangerous glint. “Just be advised that in the future, you are not to make any decisions of this kind without my knowledge and consent. Are we agreed? Have I made myself clear?”

Timothy Adams set his jaw in a gesture that reminded her of who he really was, and how hurtful he could be. Oh, she thought, I remember you. You’re the man who first met me at the train station. The same one who accused me of such nonsense as trying to swindle a new coat in the carriage. Yes, I remember you.

“Oh yes, sir, perfectly clear,” she answered. “Will you be needing anything else?”

“No, that’s all.”

“Very well then, sir, I’ll see you in the morning.” She left the kitchen with the battered shreds of her dignity gathered up like the hem of her worn skirt. Muttering under her breath, she trod up the stairs and went straight to her room.

Pausing at the door, she remembered how Mr. Adams had appeared at her bedside during the night in search of help.

Well, she would make sure that liberty wasn’t taken again. Turning the key in the lock, she bolted herself inside. Let him take care of his troubles by himself, she thought with a hint of bitter satisfaction. After all, she was just the housekeeper.