all had jeans on, from the toddler holding another child’s hand, to the eldest who seemed intent on adding a few more stalks to the already monstrous heap. All except for one boy, the tallest of the group. He wore tight black pants that looked painted on, and a red checked shirt that hung way down his lean body.
Startled, Jefferson watched as the skinny one lit the teepee. In seconds there was a huge crackling bonfire in the center of his great aunt’s garden, and a pack of kids were dancing round and round, laughing happily.
“Ring around the rosy!”
Disgust and anger coursed through his veins as Jefferson watched the scene unfold They had no right to intrude, he fumed. No right at all. This was private property. For some reason the Bennets were not here, so these children were trespassing. They certainly didn’t have permission to light a fire.
Breaking into a run, Jefferson jogged across the lawn and through the black tilled soil of the garden to grab what he thought was the ringleader by his jacket.
“Exactly what do you think you’re doing?” he demanded through clenched teeth and then sucked in a lungful of air as shimmering green eyes glittered out from a tousled mop of black hair.
“Having a wiener roast, Mr. Haddon. Want to join us?”
Cassie Newton stood grinning up at him as the children ran circles around them happily. She looked like a child herself in the bulky old coat and decrepit jeans. Her face was smudged with dirt and her blunt fingernails were filthy.
“Who are all these children?” he asked, ignoring the grin. “And what are they doing here?”
“They’re mine,” Cassie told him proudly. “And I already told you. We are going to roast wieners.” Her voice dropped to a whisper as she hissed a warning up at him, green eyes flashing. “For the short time they have left here, this is their home and their party. And you will not spoil it, do you hear me?”
Sensing the tension surrounding them, most of the children had stopped their wild play and stood staring at the two adults facing each other.
Jefferson watched as the tall, skinny boy sporting the tight pants moved forward to stand protectively next to Cas sie. He topped her by a good ten inches and it was clear from his stance that he would take on anyone who challenged her.
Jefferson was flabbergasted.
“All of these children are yours?” His voice squeaked with surprise and he heard one of the kids snicker. He strove for control. His eyes moved over her assessingly. “How old are you, anyway?”
But she ignored him.
“David,” she addressed the young soldier at her side. “Would you please tell Mrs. Bennet that we’re ready. Then you could help her carry out the hot dogs and the hot chocolate.”
A sweet smile accompanied her words and Jefferson was surprised to see the sour-faced lad grin back good-naturedly before loping off to do her bidding.
She directed the rest of the children to arranging a picnic table that stood off under the trees, and finding wiener sticks. Satisfied that everyone was occupied, Cassie turned back to face him.
“I’m a foster mother,” she told him matter-of-factly. “The kids stay with me until the agency is able to find them families.” Her green eyes glimmered with mirth as she spied his Gucci shoes filling rapidly with rich black garden soil.
“You’re not really dressed for this,” she observed, eyeing his pure wool slacks, black vest and once pristine white shirt. “Perhaps you should wait inside until I am finished if you wish to speak to me.”
Jefferson seethed at the dismissing tone of this-this interloper. So she thought she could reject him so easily? He grabbed her arm as she turned away. His eyes opened wide as she turned on him like a fiery virago, ramrod stiff in the filthy garments.
“Mr. Haddon, you will let go of me. You will not create a scene to spoil our day. You will return to the house and wait there.”
Her voice was as crisp as a fresh fall apple and he found himself turning to obey her militarylike orders before he realized what he was doing and turned back.
“Just a minute here,” he protested, angry that she had him dancing to her tune. He pointed to the fire.
“You cannot let that thing rage away. What if it got out of control? The city has bylaws, you know.”
The urchin before him drew herself to her full height, which Jefferson figured was maybe a hair over five feet, before deigning to speak. When she did, her resentment was clear.
“I am in charge here, Mr. Haddon. If I need help I can call on Bennet. But I won’t.” Her hands clasped her hips and he couldn’t help but notice the way her hair tossed itself into silky disarray around her face. “And for your information, I have a permit to burn.”
Jefferson shook his head. He refused to be deterred. Someone had to protect Judith’s wonderful old estate.
“Bennet’s nowhere to be seen. Fat lot of help he’d be.”
She refused to answer him, her full lips pursed tightly. Instead, one grubby fist pointed toward the shed in the corner of the garden. Jefferson saw a man leaning against the side, watching them.
“We’ll manage, Mr. Haddon. You’d better go before you ruin those designer duds completely.”
Jefferson almost choked. The stately old butler Aunt Judith had insisted wear a black pinstripe suit coat and spotless white shirt stood clad in a red flannel shirt and tattered overalls with a filthy felt hat on his silver hair.
Jefferson whirled around to speak to Cassie but she ignored him as she dealt with one of the children’s requests. When the little girl had toddled away, he tried a more conciliatory approach.
“My name is Jefferson,” he told her softly, intrigued by a woman who would don such unsightly clothes to stand in the center of a dirty garden with a pack of homeless kids for a wiener roast in late autumn.
She whirled to face him, having obviously forgotten his presence.
“What?” Her voice was far away, lost in some never land.
“My name is Jefferson.” He told her again, more clearly this time.
That sent her big green eyes searching his for something. He didn’t know exactly what, but evidently she was satisfied. Moments later she moved forward to help Mrs. Bennet set out the food. He thought he heard her clear tones whisper softly through the crisp air.
“Goodbye, Jeff.”
As he watched her walk away with that energetic bounce to her step he was coming to recognize, Jefferson tossed the sound through his mind several times.
Jeff. Jeff, he said to himself. He’d never had a nickname before, not with his father’s strict adherence to family traditions. At boarding school he’d always been Jefferson or Jefferson William.
Jeff.
He liked it. A smile flickered across his sober face. He had never been to a wiener roast, either. Perhaps it was time he broadened his horizons.
