Page 2 of Juliet's Touch

“Ye go on in and visit Mrs. Paulson. She’s been waiting for ye.” Flynn held the door for Eric.

Mrs. Paulson greeted him with a warm smile. “I made biscuits. You sit down and eat up.”

Eric climbed onto his chair, which was higher than the others, so that he could reach his plate. This was the table where he, Flynn, Mrs. Paulson, and Imogene, the maid, ate their meals. Sometimes, his mother sat with him. Other times, she ate in the fancy dining parlor with Auntie and the other ladies.

Mrs. Paulson placed two biscuits and a cup of milk in front of him and then returned to her kitchen chores. He gobbled up every last bite and drank every sip of milk. According to everyone at The Pink Petal, he had a healthy appetite and was growing big and strong.

“Momma is taking me to the park tomorrow,” Eric said.

Mrs. Paulson put down her towel and sat beside him. “What a lovely day you will have.” Using the pad of her thumb, she wiped Eric’s mouth.

Now that he was almost five, he tried not to make a mess, but sometimes he still got food and drink on his face.

“You are a good boy. I know your momma loves you very much.” Mrs. Paulson stood. “Come on. I’ll walk you to yourchamber. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner you can wake up and go to the park.”

Eric scooted his bottom to the edge of the chair and dropped his feet onto the floor. “I’m old enough to walk by myself now.” He stood tall, showing Mrs. Paulson just how old and capable he was.

She looked him over from head to toe, and her smile grew. “Of course, you are. You go on. I’ll see you in the morning. I’ll make you a big bowl of porridge with sugar.” She squeezed him. “Good night. Sleep well.”

“Thank you for the biscuits,” Eric said as he pushed as hard as he could on the door. He couldn’t wait until the day he was as big and strong as Flynn, because then he wouldn’t have to use his entire body to move doors that were as sturdy as fat trees.

Wall sconces lit the way as Eric took his time meandering, occasionally stopping to hop up, then down a few stairs. He climbed a million stairs, or at least a thousand, to his room in the attic, then halted. Surely, now that he was old enough to walk himself to his chamber, he was old enough to protect the ladies like Flynn did. He turned around, descended the stairs, and took the back way to his mother’s chamber.

Upon hearing a loud commotion, Eric’s heartbeat galloped as fast as a racehorse. He dashed toward the sound, then stopped short. Three wailing girls had their arms wrapped around each other, Imogene was curled into a ball, sobbing, and Auntie’s palm was pressed to her mouth.

“The bloke is nowhere to be found,” Flynn told Auntie. “Bloody strangled her, he did. What in the devil are we gonna tell the wee lad? Christ Almighty.” Flynn howled at the ceiling.

Fear skittered up Eric’s back. He dashed toward them. “Where is my momma?” He tried to push through the group to get to her door.

Flynn caught him. “No, laddie. Ye can’t go in there.”

Eric pounded his fists on Flynn’s hard chest. “Let go of me. My momma needs me.”

Flynn wrapped his arms around him as Auntie stroked his cheek and whispered soft words. A waterfall cascaded down Eric’s cheeks as he continued to fight and scream.

He might have cried for hours; he couldn’t be sure because time distorted into a nightmarish blur. Once he was calm, Auntie was there, soothing him with comforting words as tears glistened in her eyes. She didn’t have to say a word, because deep in his heart he knew that there would never again be sweet ices at the park with Momma.