Dawn of the Golden Promise by BJ Hoff Read Free Book Online Page B

with the news about the baby, he had insinuated he didn’t necessarily believe he was the child’s father. Now, in even stronger language, he reminded her of the same doubts, scratching his signature with almost vicious finality.
    Opening the safe behind his desk, he withdrew a stack of bills. He counted out five hundred dollars, hesitated, then added five hundred more.

    When Quinn O’Shea came looking for him later that afternoon, Evan was in the backyard, giving Teddy a horsey-back ride. The other boys were playing tag.
    â€œMr. Whittaker, could you please come to the front door, sir?”
    Evan straightened, and Teddy increased his stranglehold about his neck. “Easy, son,” he choked out. “N-not so tight.”
    He smiled at the young Irish girl. “What is it, Quinn?”
    She hesitated. “There’s a boy out front who insists on speaking with you, sir. Would you like me to take Teddy upstairs?”
    Evan moved so she could free the toddler’s grasp on him. “Why d-don’t you just watch him and the other b-boys until I come back, if you don’t mind.”
    On his way into the house, Evan reflected on their good fortune in finding Quinn O’Shea. She had been a godsend to them all. Not only was she an extraordinarily efficient housekeeper—the girl was a marvelous cook and household manager—but she was also quite good with the children. Best of all, she had somehow moved smoothly and unobtrusively into their family life, taking on more and more responsibilities, but in a quiet, unassuming manner that left Nora’s dignity and sense of self-worth intact.
    No longer did Nora look upon Quinn as an intrusion, Evan thought. Nor did she appear to be quite as frustrated by her own frailty these days. Again, he suspected that Quinn’s tactful way of leaving the small, less wearying household tasks to Nora while she went about the more arduous jobs was at least partly responsible for Nora’s acceptance.
    Nora liked the girl, that much was obvious, and Quinn had taken to Nora with surprising warmth. Even though she maintained a certain aloofness with others, including Evan, the girl seemed to shed much of her reserve around Nora.
    The front door was ajar, and Evan stepped into the open doorway. On the porch stood a small boy in a tattered shirt and raggedy short pants. A bundle tied to the end of a stick swung from one thin shoulder.
    Evan cleared his throat, and the boy turned around, revealing caramel-colored skin stretched tightly over a small oval face. Two of the darkest eyes Evan had ever seen peered up at him. The boy looked as if he had not eaten a solid meal for weeks.
    â€œYou wanted to see m-me, young man?” Evan said.
    The boy nodded. “Name’s Oscar,” he said without preamble. “Are you Mistah Whittaker?”
    Evan guessed the slow drawl to be that of the deep South. The boy would appear to be a mulatto. He was a little fellow, no more than five or six years surely. And none too clean. “I am Mr. Whittaker, that’s correct.”
    â€œYou take little nigra boys here?”
    Surprised, Evan hesitated. “Well, son…”
    â€œI ain’t all nigra, you understand,” the child said. “My daddy was a white man.”
    â€œYes…well, ah, where are your parents…Oscar?”
    Evan noted the sharp, thin shoulders, the even sharper elbows. Not a spare pinch of flesh on him anywhere, poor lad.
    â€œMy mammy’s dead,” the boy replied matter-of-factly. “My daddy went away on a sailing ship. He didn’t like us, I s’pose.” He paused, then gestured to the bundle on the stick. “I brung my stuff.”
    Evan darted a look at the bundle.
    â€œCan I stay?” the boy asked, his dark eyes fixed on Evan’s.
    Evan expelled a long breath. “D-don’t you have anyone to take you in, son? Family? Friends?”
    The boy shook his head. “Nope. I