“Of course. You’re a beautiful woman, Meredith.”
“Then why haven’t you tried to kiss me? We’ve been dating for a while now, and all you’ve done is kiss my cheek.”
Why hadn’t he? The answer to that was complicated. Residual loyalty to Selene perhaps, combined with indecision as to how serious he was about their relationship. He didn’t want to give Meredith any false impressions until he was certain about their future. “I guess I was taking things slowly.”
“What if I don’t want to go slowly?” She peeked up through her long lashes. “What if I’d like to go much faster?”
Darius blinked at her bold declaration, his collar suddenly seeming too tight again.
“I’m twenty-one, Darius, and my parents are serious about me making a good match.” She gave a shrug. “I’m afraid if you don’t make your intentions known soon, Daddy will marry me off to one of his other acquaintances.”
Darius frowned. “Why the rush?”
Meredith hesitated, then sighed. “It’s because of my sister. Sissy’s turning eighteen in a few months, and Mama is planning her debut.”
“Debut?”
“Her coming out to society. Introducing her to all the eligible men.”
“Oh.” He still didn’t see the problem.
“As the oldest daughter, I’m supposed to be married, or at least engaged, by then. Otherwise it’s an embarrassment to me and my family.”
“That’s . . .” Ridiculous. But he couldn’t say that without offending her. “I don’t know what to say. Our traditions don’t include such a ceremony.”
She clutched his arm. “If you care about me at all, won’t you consider asking Daddy for my hand? I . . . admire you very much, Darius. You’re the one I want for a husband.” She pulled his face close and kissed him again.
This time he let himself explore the sensations that washed over him. The softness of her lips, the brush of her fingers over his cheek, the way her lush figure felt in his arms. It had been a long time since he’d held a woman, and the feelings rushed back in an explosion of need.
Before things got too heated, he pulled back and attempted to get his heart rate under control. There was definite chemistry between them, which boded well for a future together. Really, what was he waiting for?
The answer hit him square in the chest. Sofia.
“I’d like you to get to know my daughter first, Meredith. After all, if we marry, you’ll play a big part in Sofia’s life.”
Meredith’s lips turned up. “I’d love to. She seems like such a sweet child. It will be an honor to be her stepmother.”
She was saying and doing all the right things. So why were silent alarm bells ringing in his head?
“Very well. I’ll speak to your father this evening and make my intentions known. If your parents agree, we can be engaged before your sister’s party.”
She gave a little squeal and clapped her hands. “I’m so happy, Darius. I promise I’ll make you a good wife.” Then she paused, her lashes fluttering. “Would you mind if we make it official tonight? It would mean the world to me.”
He stared at her, trying to decipher her true motive. If he’d sensed the least bit of smugness or conceit in her request, he would have refused outright. But the hint of vulnerability in her eyes crumbled his reserve. “I suppose a few more weeks won’t change anything.” He took her hand. “Meredith, will you be my wife and Sofia’s stepmother?”
Actual tears formed in her eyes. “Yes, Darius. I would love to.”
Because she expected it, he pulled her close and kissed her again. A seal of the promise he’d just made to her.
Then, forcing away any lingering doubts, he smiled down at her. This upcoming marriage would secure his future and, most importantly, Sofia’s. His daughter would go to the best schools and enjoy every opportunity in life. Darius would never have to worry that she might be exposed to the type of prejudice that he and Selene had suffered. Prejudice that had ultimately caused Selene’s death.
He gazed up at the clear skies overhead, his thoughts turning to his late wife. I hope you approve, Selene. We’ll never have to worry about our little one again.
10
Olivia and Margaret strolled along the sidewalk, heading back to the house. Even though it was still early in the day, the heat had already started to climb. It would be hot and sticky by the afternoon. All the more reason Olivia tried to take her walks in the coolness of the morning.
Olivia scanned the buildings as they walked. It was a lovely neighborhood, right on the border of the commercial district, with residences on the other side. The only thing that marred the street was the empty lot to the left of Bennington Place. Ruth told her that someone had bought her former neighbor’s place some years back and had torn the house down, but nothing had been done since. She imagined the new owner must have run into financial difficulties and couldn’t afford to rebuild. A shame for such a nice property to sit idle.
Perhaps if the maternity home did well enough to warrant expansion, one day they might be in a position to purchase the lot and build there themselves.
Just another one of her daydreams.
Olivia smiled as she walked, breathing in the fragrant air. She enjoyed her daily outings and did her best to get the residents to join her, knowing how beneficial exercise would be for their pregnancy. Even in the reformatory, the inmates had been encouraged to walk the perimeter of the yard during their thirty minutes of daily activity. That half hour was the only time they’d had any semblance of freedom, when they could speak to one another without worry of censure. Her thoughts flew to Joannie with a pang of guilt. Olivia hadn’t been back to see her since she’d learned the awful news about Mabel. She really needed to make time to go back and visit, to remind her friend that she wasn’t alone.
“I think Patricia is starting to feel better,” Margaret said as they turned a corner. “Her appetite has certainly improved.”
“I noticed that too.” Olivia glanced over at her companion.
Margaret had started to blossom herself, coming out of her shell more around Olivia and Ruth. The fact that she would even venture out in public was a huge achievement in Olivia’s opinion.
“How about Nancy?” she asked, taking advantage of Margaret’s willingness to talk. “Has she opened up to any of you?”
“Not really. She keeps to herself mostly, but she’ll come around in time. Like I did.” Margaret gave a shy smile that brightened her eyes. With the morning sun illuminating her clear skin and freckles, she appeared even younger than her eighteen years.
A wave of affection rose in Olivia’s chest as she wound her arm through Margaret’s. “I’m glad you feel comfortable with us. That was one of our main goals in starting Bennington Place. We want our residents to truly feel at home.”
“You’re doing a wonderful job of that.”
Shouting from up ahead drew Olivia’s attention. Across the street, their neighbor Mr. Simmons stood on the curb, gesturing toward a woman pacing in front of Ruth’s gate. Olivia quickened her steps toward them, while Margaret hung back.
“We don’t want your kind around here,” Mr. Simmons shouted. “Go back where you belong.”
The woman came to a stop, gripping the bag in her hand. She was dressed in a red skirt and long black jacket, an outfit much too warm for the weather. A mixture of emotions played over her heavily made-up features, and she looked ready to bolt.
“Can I help you?” Olivia asked as she approached. A glance at the woman’s waistline told Olivia that the woman was definitely expecting.
“No, thank you.” She retreated a few steps.
Olivia slowly came closer, noting that Margaret had already moved past them and headed inside, leaving the gate open behind her.
“I told you this would happen,” Mr. Simmons continued to rant. “First lousy immigrants, now women of ill repute.”
Olivia whirled to face the obnoxious man. She’d put up with his snide remarks before, b
ut she would not allow him to harass anyone else. “That’s enough, Mr. Simmons. You need to mind your own business.”
“This neighborhood is my business, and I don’t appreciate a bunch of loose women living here.”
Blood thundered in Olivia’s ears. How dare he talk to them like that? Using all her self-control, she bit back a string of Italian insults, knowing that stooping to his level would only fuel his hatred. Instead, she turned her back on the horrible man.
“I’m terribly sorry about that,” she said to the woman. “My name is Olivia Rosetti. I help run the maternity home. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?”
The hardness in the woman’s dark eyes eased a bit. She pursed her painted red lips and shook her head. “I do not know. Maybe dis was not a good idea.” Her words were laced with a distinct French-Canadian accent.
“Please don’t allow that rude man to sway you. Come inside and see what the residence is like. If you don’t care for it, all it will cost is a few minutes of your time.”
Indecision played across the woman’s features.
Olivia took the opportunity to look over her shoulder, relieved to note that the old man had trudged back onto his porch.
“All right,” the woman finally said. “I will take that cup of tea.”
“Wonderful.” Olivia led her up to the front door. “Please come in.”
Because Margaret and some of the other residents were in the parlor, Olivia ushered the woman to the sunroom, where they could have more privacy. Ruth was out at an appointment, or Olivia would have invited her to join them. She asked the woman to have a seat and then went to the kitchen to see about the tea.
On her way back, Olivia hesitated in the hall, sensing the need for caution with the woman inside. She’d seen several prostitutes while at the Mercer, and though none of the other inmates were allowed to interact with them, Olivia knew enough to recognize a woman in that profession. Mr. Simmons’s accusation might very well be true. The thought gave Olivia pause, but this woman deserved the same consideration as any other potential resident.
Lord, please help me to treat her fairly, without judgment, and to do what’s best for her and her child.
On an exhale, Olivia summoned up her friendliest expression and entered the room. “Mrs. Neale will bring our tea in a moment.” She took a seat on the sofa, silently blessing the warming rays that made the room so cheerful. “May I ask your name?”
The woman sat rigidly on her chair. “Cherise.” She lifted her chin as if to challenge Olivia to say anything about it.
“What a lovely name.” Olivia smiled and folded her hands in her lap. “How can we help you, Cherise?”
A beat of silence ensued while the woman seemed to consider her words. “As you probably noticed, I am having a baby in about two or three months.”
“And you need a place to stay until then?”
“Yes.” The terse reply accompanied a hard stare. “But I need to know what would be expected if I come here.”
Cherise’s tough exterior didn’t fool Olivia. The woman’s trembling hands hinted at the fear beneath her bravado.
“Nothing would be expected other than helping with a few chores where you’re able.”
Cherise rolled her eyes. “What about going to church and atoning for my sins?”
Olivia kept her tone even. “We’re always happy if our residents choose to attend services with us, but it’s not a requirement. There’s no judgment here, Cherise. Our goal at Bennington Place is to keep you healthy, ensure a safe delivery for your child, and assist you in making decisions for the future. In other words, we’re here to support you in any way we can.”
Cherise frowned. “You are so young. How can you know about such matters?”
Olivia considered her answer, then decided honesty was the best policy. “I may be young, but I was once in your shoes. My family disowned me, and if Ruth hadn’t taken me in, I don’t know where I would be today.” She withheld the part about being incarcerated. Olivia chose to share her experience at the reformatory only with people she trusted absolutely.
One perfectly lined brow rose. “You have a baby?”
Olivia sucked in a breath. The mere mention of Matteo still had the power to shatter her.
Just then Mrs. Neale arrived with the tea. Glad for the distraction, Olivia thanked her and rose to pour the drinks, amazed that her hands remained steady.
Once Cherise had taken a few sips of her tea, Olivia felt ready to continue the conversation. “You asked about my baby,” she said. “I was forced to give my son up for adoption. Something I wouldn’t wish on anyone.” She held Cherise’s gaze. “I believe every mother should have the right to decide whether or not she will keep her child. It’s one of the reasons Ruth and I started Bennington Place.”
“Je comprends. I see.” Cherise set her cup aside. “To be fair, you should know what I do for a living.”
Olivia held up a hand. “We only need to know if you are in any danger. Or if your profession might bring danger here.”
“I do not think so. I worked as long as I could until I could no longer hide my condition. Then my . . . boss threw me out. He will not try to find me.”
“Do you have any family?” Olivia asked gently.
“Non.” Her mouth flattened into a hard red line.
There was a story there, Olivia was certain.
“Very well. Would you like to see our rooms?”
Cherise hesitated. “How many other women are here?”
“We have three so far. You will be the fourth.”
“Will I have to share a room?”
“For now, no. Eventually when we get more residents, you might have to.”
Relief eased the tension in her face. “And you do not require payment?”
“No.” Olivia smiled. “We only ask that you are respectful of everyone else and do your part to keep the house clean.”
“The others, they will not object to someone of my . . . profession being here?”
Olivia wished she could answer with any degree of certainty. But so far, the women had been very accepting of each other without being nosy about one another’s backgrounds.
“Everyone here has a story, Cherise. Some girls are open about their circumstances, some are not. We have a policy that none of our guests are to treat one another disrespectfully. So, unless you wish to tell them, they can only speculate.” She paused to soften her voice. “Though it might not hurt to wash off a little of your makeup.”
The woman’s shoulders stiffened, but she nodded. “I can do that.”
“Good.” Olivia rose. “Let’s get you settled upstairs. Welcome to Bennington Place, Cherise.”
11
Olivia sat at the big oak desk in the office she now shared with Ruth and pored over the figures in front of her. For once she was grateful for her experience in keeping her parents’ books at the store, which allowed her to understand the intricacies of expenses versus income. The trouble was, she also knew when things weren’t going well. Biting her lip, she redid her calculations, then huffed out a loud breath.
In the red again.
Wincing, she recalled her optimistic words to Mr. Reed at the gala about not requiring their venture to make a profit. But they at least needed to break even. Somehow they would have to find a way to obtain more donations, or else drastically reduce their expenses. Maybe tonight she and Ruth could find time to sit down and go over each item, line by line.
The doorbell chimed. Olivia waited to see if one of the girls would answer.
Most of the women were too nervous to answer the door, in case it was someone they didn’t wish to see, like an angry partner or family member. Remaining invisible was a top priority for most of them, which was something Olivia wanted to work toward changing. No matter their circumstances, they were all children of God, deserving of compassion and forgiveness.
A second bell sounded.
It could be another woman in need of shelter. The thou
ght of missing a potential resident spurred Olivia forward as she headed down the hall and opened the door.
Darius Reed stood on the stoop, a grin on his handsome face. “Good afternoon, Miss Rosetti. I’ve come to take you up on your challenge.”
She bit back her annoyance and schooled her features into a cool mask. “What challenge is that?”
“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already?” He stepped inside onto the mat. “As I recall, you encouraged me to set aside my preconceived notions and view your enterprise with an open mind.” He doffed his hat. “So here I am.”
Oh no. What had she gotten herself into? Olivia never dreamt he would take her literally. She studied him for a moment, frowning. “You could have telephoned first.”
“And you could have said no.”
She bit her lip. All the residents were upstairs at the moment. She supposed it wouldn’t hurt to try and make Mr. Reed understand their goal in starting Bennington Place. Perhaps then he’d stop his campaign to discourage potential investors and to convince Ruth to sell. “Since you’re here, I guess I could show you around the main level.”
“Sounds like a good place to start.” He hung his hat on a hook in the front hall.
Olivia gestured to the door on the right. “You’ve seen the parlor. This is our main gathering area. We have tea here in the evenings and listen to the radio or do needlework. Some of us are knitting socks for the soldiers.” It seemed everyone knew someone away at war.
Mr. Reed’s presence filled the room as he scanned the interior. “Very nice. Did you help decorate?” He ran a finger over the wooden mantel.
“No. This is the original décor. All we did was add some more seating and a few side tables.”
He turned the full force of his blue eyes on her. “Did Mrs. Bennington have to make many renovations? I heard about some construction work going on before the official opening.”
Olivia tensed. Was he fishing for information to use against them? “We had a bit of work done upstairs.” She clasped her hands in front of her as she walked the perimeter of the room. “Ruth added a second, larger bathroom and reconfigured the bedrooms to accommodate more residents.”
A Haven for Her Heart Page 9