Panic still gripped Tommy after seeing Judge Calder so close up. He reminded himself that if the judge remembered him, it would be from his time in jail and he had given a phony name, so there was no connection to his mother, no real risk of the judge finding Tommy or telling his mother.
Tommy pulled the little dish he kept for Frank’s water under the porch trellis so the bird could drink without being doused by rain. He petted Frank’s head, the movement allowing relief to settle in, and Tommy calmed. He stripped out of his reeking clothes, needing to soak them immediately to avoid the stench sinking in and having to relegate them to work clothes for good.
The family who’d bought the original property had lived in the shed until they’d built the big house and the servant quarters so there was a large stone fireplace available for warmth and household chores. Tommy hauled water inside, dumping it into the larger pot he’d set up. He lit the kindling and blew on it until the fire roared. He dumped his filthy clothing into the warming water and cleaned himself from head to toe with the soap Katherine had made. He even rinsed his mouth with peppermint water she’d given him for a stomachache, wanting to remove the taste of booze even if he couldn’t shake its numbing results.
He pulled on fresh underthings and work clothes that were stained and ratty, but clean. Remembering the trunk the former owners had left behind, he dug through it and found a newsboy hat. As the rain let up, he dragged a rain barrel into the shed and emptied half of it into a large pot.
Leaving the water to heat, Tommy headed to his family’s house to get soap flakes and a washboard. He entered the kitchen to find Mama serving a bowl of soup to Mr. Hayes and Yale.
Mama’s face brightened. This buoyed him, and he ignored the irritation that the initial trade of tilling for bread had run its course, yet Mr. Hayes was still helping with the garden and often enjoying meals with Tommy’s family, as if he were part of it. The two men nodded hello to each other.
“That storm was something else, wasn’t it?” Mama said, brushing back Tommy’s hair.
“It was.” Tommy drew back, unsure whether he’d successfully scrubbed away all traces of whiskey scent.
“Have some potato soup. Katherine made it for Miss Violet’s meeting, and there was extra. Bread, too. The cinnamon and raisins melt in your mouth.”
Tommy rubbed his growling stomach. He was hungry. “Could I take a bowl to the shed? I worked a job for the tannery, and my clothes smell like all heck. I’ve got a fire started to soak and wash them.”
Mama smiled a little smile, eyeing Tommy suspiciously. “You’re not troubling me with your filthy clothing? Very mature, Tommy.” He liked the compliment, even for something insignificant.
He pulled the cellar door open and peered at the shelf where they stored the soap and other supplies. He picked up the washboard. “Yeah, that stench would curl your hair. Wouldn’t do that to you.”
He glanced at Mr. Hayes, who was watching mother and son.
“Well, thank you,” Jeanie said. “Helps a lot since I have a meeting with Mrs. Hillis and Mr. Hayes.”
Tommy set the soap and washboard by his feet. Mrs. Hillis’s name had been mentioned in the saloon. She and Mama had been friends before the Arthurs left Des Moines, and she’d talked to Mama since they’d come back, but he was surprised to hear Mrs. Hillis would continue to associate with his mother since so many of her other friends would not.
“What kind of meeting?” He lifted his chin at Mr. Hayes.
“Apparently the masters of our little Des Moines universe are looking to clean up the town, one orphaned child by one desperate child by one wayward boy at a time.”
“Shoving them into Glenwood by the dozen,” Mr. Hayes said.
Mama and Mr. Hayes shook their heads, the two of them seeming to share additional, silent thoughts.
“Some of the folks at Glenwood have good intentions, but I’ve seen as much harm as help,” Mr. Hayes said. “Every child in Des Moines is threatened with a stay there at some point growing up. But there’s a reason it works as a threat.”
A crack of thunder shook the windows.
Mr. Hayes turned in his chair, squinting into the yard. “Not sure we should take Yale into the weather tonight. Thought it was past us, but doesn’t look like it now.”
Mama agreed then patted Tommy’s arm. “Could you sit with Yale? People need to see upstanding men at these meetings because half the judges in town are playing half the citizenry against each other, claiming Mrs. Hillis and others like me are raging females set on letting feral children run wild, robbing and stealing and turning the streets brown. As if they’re not brown every blessed day of the year anyway.”
Tommy squirmed but didn’t answer. He was happy to sit with Yale, but the idea that Mr. Hayes and Mama were spending so much time together wrenched his insides.
Mr. Hayes spread butter on a slice of bread. “Some of the aldermen are playing a game, judges, too, shuffling kids in and out of Glenwood and a few workhouses for profit.”
“I’ve heard those same whispers,” Jeanie said.
Whispers? Tommy’d heard the booming voices, knew too well Judge Calder’s hand in sorting boys in and out of jail and various workhouses to make it appear as if he was tough on crime. Meanwhile, Calder was taking breaks, gambling in saloons, letting boys be beaten in jails, and paying off reverends to supply the boys so he could show a level of rehabilitation that earned him votes and money.
“Tommy?” Mama asked, bringing him back into the conversation. “Could you? Sit with Yale? This is very important to both of us.”
“’Course, Mama. For you, anything.” He picked up the washboard and soapbox. He should have just walked out to get the laundry going, but he couldn’t keep his trap shut. “Why’s it so important to you, Mr. Hayes?”
Tommy glanced at Mama to indicate that he was on to Mr. Hayes’s interest in her.
“Besides the data collection from the garden work I’ve been doing with your mother, she and Mrs. Hillis have enlightened me about some of the ills plaguing our growing city. My interest goes toward common societal good, Tommy. I may be studying science, but my doctoral studies at Drake are rounded with a good deal of philosophy and religion.”
Tommy raised his eyebrows to keep from rolling his eyes. If Mr. Hayes hadn’t been getting too close to Mama, he might have really liked the man. But as it was, Mr. Hayes seemed to be drawing Mama further and further away from thoughts of Frank Arthur.
“Sit, eat, Tommy,” Mama said.
He shook his head. “I’ll eat when I come back to watch Yale. Give a shout when you’re ready to leave.”
“Well . . . all right.”
He walked out the door, hearing Mama’s voice, quieter, full of questions she didn’t ask, questions like whether he’d been drinking, why he was so moody. He hated that he so often reacted before thinking through his actions when it came to Mama. Mr. Hayes hanging around, helping, using information from the Arthurs’ garden for his studies, didn’t seem to bother Mama. Surely a man studying at Drake University wouldn’t sully his reputation by taking up with a divorced woman. Yet here he was.
Nothing wrong with Mama helping Mrs. Hillis. Seeing her excited about that and the garden was good, Tommy told himself. Mrs. Hillis was the kind of woman Mama used to be, and so if they were together, Mr. Hayes’s influence would be lessened. That, and seeing his mother more like her old self, was something Tommy could live with.