As he entered the gate, Darius paused to admire the majesty of the residence, with its tall gables, redbrick exterior, and shuttered windows. The ivy climbing the sides of the house added to its charm, softening its lines and giving the place a welcoming air. It would be a travesty to destroy such a beautiful home solely to satisfy Mr. Walcott’s desire for an office tower.
He knocked on the door. Moments later, Olivia appeared with Abigail in her arms.
His cheery greeting died on his lips at the tragic look that haunted her features. “Good afternoon, Olivia. Is this a bad time?”
Her lips lifted in a hint of a smile. “It’s fine. Come in.”
He stepped inside, noting she wore a hat that matched her navy skirt and that a baby carriage took up most of the entryway.
“I was just about to take Abigail for a walk. Would you care to join me, or are you here to see Ruth?”
“I’d love a walk if you don’t mind the company. Allow me to lift the carriage down.”
“That would be helpful. Thank you.”
Soon they were headed down the sidewalk. He waited for Olivia to begin the conversation, but today she seemed unusually subdued.
At last, she released a long breath and glanced over at him. “We received some bad news after you left the other day.”
“Oh?” His muscles tensed. Had his boss tried some new trick to discredit the home?
“Dr. Henshaw telephoned to say that Mary passed away that morning.” Her voice quavered.
Immediate visions of the woman’s battered face leapt to mind. The way she’d grasped his arm before collapsing at his feet. Darius ground his back teeth together. Whoever had beaten Mary was responsible for her death as surely as if they’d plunged a knife into her. “That’s terrible. I’m so sorry.”
The first birth that had occurred at the maternity home had ended in a mother’s demise. Olivia and Ruth certainly didn’t deserve this added strife.
“I feel so bad for Abigail. Left all alone without a mother’s love.” Olivia lifted tear-filled eyes shimmering with sorrow.
He laid a hand on the carriage handle to stop it, then gently pulled her against his chest, the need to offer comfort too strong to ignore. Her breath hitched, and her frame trembled before she relaxed against him. Her warmth, combined with the beat of her heart beneath his, sent streaks of electricity through his system. After several seconds, she released a breath and tilted her head to look up at him, her expressive brown eyes filled with longing.
When his gaze fell to her full lips, heat seared across his chest. This courageous woman, who cared for others so deeply, so selflessly, had no one to lean on to give her strength. His head dipped toward her. She needed—no, deserved— someone to comfort her.
Someone to love her.
Love? He froze, every muscle tensing. Where had that thought come from?
Surely he couldn’t be in love with her. This woman, though highly admirable, was not at all right for him and Sofia. The controversial mission Olivia was committed to would never give his daughter the respectability she needed. His thoughts flew to the angry mob protesting the maternity home, throwing rotting food and rocks, their hatred too reminiscent of the crowds that had killed Selene.
And because of that, Darius had no business holding Olivia in his arms.
With an apologetic smile, he reluctantly stepped away from her and resumed walking.
Olivia’s pulse wouldn’t stop racing. For a moment, while Darius held her, she thought he’d been about to kiss her. Her whole being had yearned for the touch of his lips on hers, to feel loved once more, even if only for a few minutes.
But he’d stiffened suddenly and pulled away. Now he walked beside her with his hands clasped behind him, as though resisting the temptation to touch her again.
She pressed her lips together. Foolish daydreams, Olivia. He was just being kind, offering her comfort as a friend would do.
She steered the carriage around the corner and continued on in silence, trying to forget being sheltered in his arms.
Finally, he turned to her. “Does the doctor know the cause of Mary’s death? Was it the beating or complications from childbirth?”
“He’s not sure. He’s ordered a coroner’s report to find out.”
“I can’t help feeling somewhat responsible. Perhaps I should have brought her straight to the hospital.” Lines etched his forehead.
“No, you did the right thing. If she had needed the hospital, Dr. Henshaw would have insisted she go.”
He gave her a warm look. “Thank you for saying that. I only wish I could have done more for her.”
“Me too.”
A couple walked toward them on the sidewalk. The man tipped his hat as they passed, and the woman smiled. It occurred to Olivia that she and Darius must seem like a young couple taking their child for an outing.
If only they knew the truth.
“How is Mrs. Bennington holding up?” Darius asked.
Olivia let out a small sigh. “She’s heartbroken, of course. It’s devastating to have one of the first women we tried to help perish that way. It goes against everything we’re trying to do.”
Darius gave her a pensive look. “I’ve often wondered why she chose to start a venture like this at her age.”
Olivia gripped the handle of the carriage tighter. “Ever since her husband’s death, she’d been floundering with no real direction to her days. I think she was looking for something to give her purpose.”
“What about you, Olivia? How did you get involved?”
Her foot caught the edge of a stone and she almost stumbled. Panicked thoughts pinged around in her head. What story had she and Ruth told everyone at the gala? Something about Olivia being at a low point in her life. Oh, why couldn’t she remember?
What would Darius say if she revealed the ugly truth? That she’d been in jail and given birth to an illegitimate child? She shuddered, picturing the disgust on his face if she did. No, she could not allow that to happen.
She licked her lips and attempted a nonchalant shrug. “I’m sure I told you. Ruth took me in when I was in need of a job and homeless.” Her throat cinched closed until she swallowed hard against the lump forming there. “I was grateful for her help and more than happy to join her endeavor.” Olivia could barely breathe. Would he accept her rather sketchy explanation? She could feel the weight of his stare on her face. Heat crawled up her neck into her cheeks.
“I’m sorry you’ve endured such difficulties,” he said at last. “It sounds like God brought you and Ruth together right at a time when you needed each other.”
“That’s true. Ruth has helped me turn my misfortune into something positive. There’s no greater gift than that.”
They walked on in silence, and when he didn’t pursue the topic any further, she allowed her shoulders to relax. “You never really said why you came by. I assume it wasn’t to take a walk with us.” The clicking of her heels on the sidewalk seemed overly loud on the quiet street.
He shifted slightly away from her. “I wanted to make sure the protestors weren’t still harassing you.” He hesitated. “And I wanted to see how you were doing, of course.”
Warm tingles spread through her chest. Had he really come just to find out how she was? “As you can see, I’m much better.” She touched a finger to the smaller bandage at her hairline. “The stitches are beginning to feel itchy, which is a sign of healing, according to Dr. Henshaw.”
“That’s a good thing, then.” He cast a quick sideways glance at her. “Is Dr. Henshaw treating you now?”
“Unofficially.” She gave a self-conscious laugh. “When he heard about my accident, he insisted on seeing the injury for himself. He agreed that the physician did an excellent job with the stitches. Most of the scar will be hidden by my hair.” She smiled, yet Darius did not smile in return.
Instead, he frowned, staring straight ahead. “Are you . . . that is . . .” He pressed his lips into a tight line as though to keep from
blurting something out.
“Am I what?”
“Are you interested in Dr. Henshaw?”
“You mean romantically?”
He shrugged one shoulder, his complexion reddening.
“Heavens no. What gave you that idea?”
He turned the full force of his blue eyes on her. “Surely you must’ve noticed the man has feelings for you?”
“Dr. Henshaw?” Olivia slowed to a halt.
“It’s not so hard to believe. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
She gripped the carriage handle tighter. “I’m sure you’re mistaken. He’s always acted in a professional manner.”
“So you wouldn’t go out with him if he asked?”
Olivia’s pulse skittered. Why did Darius seem so interested in her answer? “I don’t think that would be prudent.”
A storm of emotion rose in his eyes. “Olivia, I—”
Just then Abigail let out a squawk, apparently protesting the fact that the carriage had stopped moving.
Olivia tore her gaze from his. “We’d better head back before she gets fussy.”
He blinked. “Right. I have to get back to work as well.”
Relieved, yet a little disappointed, she swung the carriage into motion and marched forward at a fast clip. Whatever he’d been about to say, it was probably wiser to avoid the whole conversation.
For both their sakes.
23
After bidding Darius good-bye, Olivia parked the carriage by the porch and lifted the baby out, still oddly flustered by their conversation. For the sake of her sanity, she needed to put the man out of her mind. Because too much time around Darius Reed made her heart long for what it could never have.
As she headed up the stairs, the clang of the gate echoed behind her. Olivia turned to see the midwife barreling up the walkway.
“Hello, Mrs. Dinglemire. Did someone call you?”
“Yes indeed.” The stout woman huffed as she passed Olivia on the stairs. “I believe Miss Margaret’s time is upon us.”
“Already?” Nerves jumped in Olivia’s stomach at the sudden recollection of Mary’s struggles. Margaret must be so scared after learning the other woman’s fate.
She entered the house behind the midwife, the baby on her shoulder.
“Don’t worry about me, Miss Rosetti. I know the way.”
Abigail let out a frustrated cry that echoed through the hall. The poor love was obviously hungry. Olivia had kept her out too long, thanks to Darius Reed and his charms. She headed back to the kitchen, where Mrs. Neale had several large pots steaming on the stove.
The cook looked up with a smile. “Does this wee girl need a bottle?”
“She does indeed. If you’re busy, I can heat it up myself.”
“Nonsense. I’ll have it ready in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. You go and relax in the parlor. I’ll bring it in to you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Neale.” Olivia took the baby into the front room and sat with her in the rocker. The motion would soothe her until the bottle was ready.
Ruth poked her head into the room. “I’ll be upstairs with Mrs. Dinglemire. I want to be close by in case she needs assistance.”
Olivia nodded. “If you need me, just call. Abigail will be ready for her nap after she eats.” But she secretly hoped that her help wouldn’t be needed. The memories of Mary’s struggles were still too fresh in her mind.
“I will. I also want to reassure the other women and make certain they know everything is under control.”
“Good idea. And please tell Margaret I’ll be praying for her.”
Minutes later, Mrs. Neale arrived with the warmed bottle, and Olivia gave in to the pleasure of feeding the little darling. She cherished these quiet moments. Providing Abigail with nourishment, love, and security gave Olivia a great sense of peace. Even waking with her in the middle of the night was no hardship, for it was in those rare moments of tranquility that Olivia felt certain Abigail was a gift from God. A consolation of sorts for the loss of her son. Not that anything could ever make up for that.
Olivia looked forward to hearing from Dr. Henshaw as to whether or not they’d found any of Mary’s relatives. If no one came forward to claim the baby, she would tell him that Abigail could remain at Bennington Place until Olivia could determine what steps were required to make the girl legally hers.
Her heart thumped harder at the thought, and she pressed a kiss to the baby’s soft head. She believed Abigail had come to her for a reason. Olivia had lost her son, and this baby had lost her mamma. What more perfect pairing could there be?
After she laid Abigail in the bassinet for her nap, she retrieved the dry diapers from the clothesline and brought them in to the parlor to fold.
When the doorbell rang, she frowned. That wouldn’t be Darius again, would it?
She opened the door and found a tall, slender woman on the porch. Something about her seemed oddly familiar. It took a moment, but the memory came rushing back with startling clarity. It was Mrs. Linder, the woman from the Children’s Aid Society. The one who’d taken Matteo from her. What was she doing here?
Her heart gave a painful lurch, then just as quickly, a shocking idea occurred to her. Was Mrs. Linder here to tell her that no one wanted to adopt her son and that they were returning him to her?
She swallowed hard and reminded herself to breathe. “Mrs. Linder. What can I do for you?”
The woman’s gaze snapped to her face. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
Oh. Obviously, she wasn’t here to see her. “Um, I’m Olivia Rosetti. We met at Toronto General Hospital.” She paused. “You took my son to the Infants’ Home.”
Recognition, then something resembling compassion, entered her eyes. “I remember you now. How are you doing, Miss Rosetti?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
“May I come in? I’m here to speak to the directress about an orphaned baby residing here.”
Olivia stiffened. What did she want with Abigail? Dr. Henshaw was still trying to find Mary’s relatives, someone capable of taking the child. Why would he have contacted Children’s Aid already?
Pushing her fears aside, Olivia summoned her most professional posture. “Mrs. Bennington is occupied at the moment.” She smiled, not allowing herself to be intimidated by the woman. In fact, Olivia would need Mrs. Linder on her side so that if the time came to adopt Abigail, she’d hopefully have an ally. “I am the co-directress of Bennington Place. You can speak with me.”
The woman’s brows shot skyward under the neatly curled row of bangs. “You’re in charge?”
“Mrs. Bennington and I run the home together. Please, won’t you come in?”
She thought of bringing the woman back to the office but decided it would be best to stay close to Abigail in case she woke. She led Mrs. Linder to the parlor, and they each took an armchair by the fireplace.
Mrs. Linder placed her satchel on the ground, then removed a notebook and pencil. She crossed her legs at the ankles and smoothed her green linen skirt over her knees. “I understand that a woman recently gave birth here and unfortunately passed away a few days later.”
“That’s right. How did you learn about this?”
“Dr. Mark Henshaw called our office to report an orphaned infant. Apparently he’s still attempting to learn the identity of the father and whether the woman had any relatives willing to raise the baby. I decided to come and make the preliminary assessment today since I had another visit in the area.”
Olivia fought to retain her composure, the woman’s official demeanor bringing back a host of unpleasant memories: Olivia begging to hold her son a little longer; Mrs. Linder ignoring her pleas and leaving with Matteo, a cotton blanket over the precious face that Olivia would never see again. She drew in a shaky breath. “What would you like to know?”
“Do you have any information on the birth mother?”
“All we know is that her name is Mary. Before she came to us, someone had beaten her.
We called Dr. Henshaw, who treated her here. In the middle of the night, Mary went into labor. We summoned the midwife, but she deemed the situation too precarious and let Dr. Henshaw handle the birth.”
“I see.” The woman made some notations on the paper.
“After the midwife left to help another patient, Mrs. Bennington and I assisted with the delivery.”
“So, Mary initially survived and the baby was born healthy?”
“Thankfully, yes. Little Abigail is doing well.”
“Abigail?” She frowned. “Who gave the child that name?”
“Her mother. That’s the only thing she told Mrs. Bennington before she took a turn for the worse.”
“Mary never told you her last name or anything about the baby’s father?”
“No. The only thing she said was to not let him have the baby. We never found out who she meant, but we assumed it was the man who’d beaten her.”
“I see.” Mrs. Linder scribbled some more words on the page, then set the notebook aside. “I’d like to see the baby now, if I may. Is she upstairs?”
Olivia’s heart quivered. What if the woman tried to take Abigail away? Olivia would have no real recourse if she did. But wouldn’t there have to be something more official? Paperwork or some type of records? “She’s right over here, napping.” Olivia rose and walked toward the bassinet. “She’ll likely sleep for another hour or so.”
Mrs. Linder went over and looked into the bed. A tender expression softened her features. “She’s beautiful. It appears she’s been well taken care of.”
“I’ve been doing my best.”
“You’ve been caring for her?”
Olivia nodded. “Primarily, yes.”
A Haven for Her Heart Page 18