Of the Blood | ✔️

Fifteen

Honor turns against the blast, his teeth chattering, his shoulders hunched over his ears. "Sissy, I'm cold."

Repositioning his hat and scarf, I shield him between myself and the building. Honor lets out a cough, a bellowing hack from deep inside his chest. It shakes his entire body.

My sigh comes out in a cloud of breath. "Honor, you should go home. You have no business being in this weather."

Amber eyes peer up at me from between his wool hat and scarf. "I'm coming with you."

I wedge him even closer as another gust whistles around us. "I knew this was a bad idea. I should have never agreed to let you go."

"Stop it, sissy!" Honor's voice cracks like a whip. He looks up at me, the top of his head not even reaching my shoulders. "You're not my mother. You can't tell me what to do."

Hurt flashes through my limbs like lightning and I reel back as though I've been slapped. I try not to let him see it. "Go home. Now. We'll discuss this later."

Thomas gives him a gentle nudge. "Listen to your sister, kid. She only wants what's best for you."

Honor and I stare at each other for a long moment before he turns and stomps down the road. A pebble of guilt sinks in my stomach. I hate that I upset him, but it's for his own good. He doesn't need to get sick like Eliza.

"Come on, Victor," Thomas finally says, breaking through the uneasy tension. He hides his chin in his coat. "Let's wait inside. We're going to catch frostbite out here."

"Well ..." Victor wraps his arms around himself as he debates what to do. "Pa did come home this morning. Maybe if we offer to sort through the merchandise, he'll let us stay."

We tuck our gloves in our pockets and follow Victor into the store as a soothing warmth rushes over us. A few men with mouths full of chewing tobacco trade stories around the pot-bellied stove in the corner. They take turns spitting wads of brown scud into a metal spittoon, and don't bother to glance over as we enter.

Mrs. Lloyd is elbow-deep in a crate, pulling out stock her husband purchased on his trip. When she looks up, her eyes narrow. "Oh no, Victor. Not today. We're too busy."

Victor shoots us a quick look. "But Ma, they came to help."

Her thin eyebrows raise in suspicion. Just as she opens her mouth to respond, a deep voice interrupts from behind the counter. "Well, I think that's a marvelous idea."

Mr. Lloyd curves around his wife, cradling a sack of chicken feed in his arms like an infant. When he plops it beneath a table, a cloud of black soot rises from the floor. He fans it away from his face. He's a tall man, with long limbs and a head full of dark hair.

"Willard, this store is no place for a bunch of kids." Mrs. Lloyd fixes us with a glare. "Now, run along. You should be playing outside."

In this weather? I open my mouth to protest, but then clamp it shut. There's no point in arguing with someone who's hell-bent on having the final say.

"Oh, Kitty, stop being such a battle ax! It's colder than a witch's teat out there. Let the kids come in and warm up, for goodness sakes." Mr. Lloyd grins as he smoothes down his slicked back hair. He reaches into a bin and pulls out a fistful of candy, pressing a small golden disk into each of our hands. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth, that's what I always say. We could use the extra help around here. It was a real bitch getting through all that snow and now I'm ready for some sleep."

Mrs. Lloyd gasps. "Willard Lloyd, you'd better watch that mouth of yours!"

He ignores the splayed hands on her hips and the angry creases across her forehead. "I rode half the night in that damned wagon and my buttocks are killing me. I'll tell you what, it'll be a real blessing when that railroad is finally finished and I don't have to make these god-awful trips anymore." He stifles a yawn, the dark circles beneath his eyes proving his point.