Mrs. Linder’s brow creased. “I must caution you, Miss Rosetti, not to get too attached. One way or another, this child will soon be leaving your care, either to go with a relative or to the Infants’ Home.”
Olivia stiffened. She hadn’t had any intention of getting into the matter of adoption this soon, but it seemed her hand had been forced. “Tell me, Mrs. Linder, what if we knew someone willing to adopt the baby? Could a stay at the Infants’ Home be avoided?”
“It’s possible, but the couple in question would have to go through the proper channels. They would have to register with Children’s Aid and pass all the criteria to be eligible for adoption.”
Olivia’s spirits sank. She had no idea there would be so much involved. “What sort of criteria is required?”
“Well, we would start by interviewing both the husband and wife to make sure they had the appropriate qualities for parenthood. We’d learn about the husband’s profession and how much income he earns, and we’d investigate the potential home to make sure it was an appropriate setting in which to raise a child.”
The blood seemed to drain from Olivia’s head, leaving her slightly dizzy. “That sounds like a complicated process.” She hesitated. “I don’t suppose there would ever be a case where an . . . unmarried person could adopt a child?”
Mrs. Linder shook her head, her eyes shining with sympathy. “Highly unlikely. Unless the person was one of Mary’s relatives—a sister, perhaps. That might be the only exception. I’m afraid we don’t allow single people to adopt.”
Just like that, Olivia’s dreams came crashing to the ground like a kite that had lost the wind and landed in a heap. Why had she even asked the question? If she hadn’t, she’d still have a thread of hope to cling to.
Seemingly unaware of Olivia’s turmoil, Mrs. Linder crossed the room to retrieve her notebook and satchel. She drew out a card and handed it to Olivia. “Here’s my number. I’ll be in touch once I hear back from Dr. Henshaw. Then we can make arrangements to bring the baby to her new home.”
Darius stalked down the sidewalk toward his office building, the soles of his shoes smacking the cement with each step. How had he let his conversation with Olivia get so off track? He hadn’t intended to bring up Dr. Henshaw and his obvious feelings for Olivia. Doing so had made her uncomfortable. He’d seen it in the way she’d gone from making pleasant conversation to being guarded and practically racing the carriage back to the house.
To make matters worse, his unexpected hug had confused her. He could tell by the flash of uncertainty that had crossed her features when he let her go.
It was clear he needed to get his thoughts and emotions under control. And until he could do that, it would be best if he avoided Bennington Place altogether. He shoved his hat more firmly on his head and increased his pace.
“Darius.”
He came to a halt outside the entrance to his office building and looked around.
“Over here.” The whispered words sounded frantic.
Meredith stood just beyond the lobby door, mostly hidden by one of the large potted trees that flanked the building entrance. What was she doing here? If she’d come to try to convince him to change his mind about marrying her, she was wasting her time.
“Meredith, why are you hiding behind that tree?”
“Shh. Keep your voice down.” She ducked back. “I don’t want anyone to see me. Meet me at the coffee shop across the street. I need to speak to you.”
He frowned, then looked at his watch. He had a bit of time before the scheduled meeting with her father. “Fine. I’ll get us a table.”
With a grunt, he set off to the café across the street. This day was not going the way he’d planned at all.
Five minutes later, Darius took a sip of strong coffee and drummed his fingers on the somewhat sticky tabletop that the waitress had wiped haphazardly with a rag. What was keeping Meredith? And what could she possibly want? He was meeting with Horace Cheeseman in less than an hour. Was it a coincidence that the man’s daughter had waylaid him now?
A waitress passed by, leaving the scent of apples and cinnamon in her wake. The bell jangled on the door as more patrons entered.
“Sorry. I had to wait until the coast was clear.” Meredith slipped into the booth across from him. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me.” Her features were pinched, and shadows hugged her eyes.
“What do you want, Meredith? I don’t have much time.”
“I know you’re meeting with Daddy today. That’s why I had to see you. I need your help.”
He peered more closely at her. Clad in a brown dress and plain hat, she looked different today, more subdued somehow. He imagined her world had been turned upside down if she’d told her family the reason Darius had ended their engagement. The possibility existed that she’d lied, made up some excuse blaming him for their parting. He hoped she hadn’t done so, because if she had, he would be forced to tell Mr. Cheeseman the truth in order to uphold both his and Walcott Industries’ good reputation.
“I haven’t changed my mind about marrying you, Meredith.” He needed to establish that fact right away.
Her gaze slid to the cup of coffee he’d ordered for her. “I figured as much.”
“Then what help do you need? If you expect me to lie to your father—”
“That’s not it. I need you to get Daddy to change his mind about something.”
Wariness crept through his system. “About what?”
She bit her lip, her eyes darting to the next booth, as though assessing whether anyone was listening. She leaned closer. “I told Mama and Daddy about . . . my situation. I had no choice, really. They would have found out soon enough.”
“How did they take the news?” Though her deception still stung, Darius wasn’t made of stone. He could appreciate the difficult position she was in.
“Not well.” Her generous mouth, today bare of any color, turned down at the corners. “Daddy is furious with Jerry for shirking his responsibility. He’s determined to hunt him down and force him to face the consequences.”
“As well he should.” Yet Meredith didn’t seem pleased with the notion. “That’s good news, isn’t it? I assume you still have feelings for him if you . . .”
“It doesn’t matter. Even if Daddy finds Jerry, he won’t marry me. He’s made that perfectly clear. Which is why I was so desperate to find someone else.” She let out a sigh. “I owe you an apology for that, by the way. It was unforgivably selfish of me.”
A measure of guilt convicted him, and he lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “You’re not the only one who was selfish,” he admitted. “I had my own reasons for wanting to marry you. Being part of the Cheeseman family would have been beneficial for Sofia and me.”
The clatter of dishes being cleared from the next table competed with the hum of conversation.
“Thank you for saying that.” Meredith stirred her coffee, not looking at him. “I knew you weren’t madly in love with me, so I wondered why you went along with the rushed wedding so easily.”
His muscles relaxed somewhat. At least she wasn’t bent on revenge or trying to pin the pregnancy on him. “So what is it you need me to talk your father out of?”
Moisture welled in her blue eyes. “He’s sending me to stay with relatives in Saskatchewan until the baby is born.”
From her agonized expression, she clearly felt it was a fate worse than death.
“Isn’t that a good thing? It would spare you from the gossipmongers around here.”
She shook her head. “I could never survive there. His cousin lives on a farm in the middle of nowhere. It’s a three-hour car ride to the nearest town. And they expect me to help out with chores until the baby comes.” She reached across to grasp his hand, her eyes pleading with him. “You have to convince Daddy this is a terrible idea.”
Darius stared at her. How would he accomplish that? It wasn’t as if he had an alternate solution. . . .
Or did he?
Slowly, an idea dawned, and he straightened on the bench seat. “Meredith, I have the perfect place for you.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a maternity home here in the city run by two women who have made it their mission to help others in your situation.”
“A maternity home?”
“Yes.” He became more enthused with the idea. Ruth and Olivia would welcome her with open arms. And Meredith would love the grand old house much better than a rustic farm on the prairies. It was the ideal solution. “Bennington Place is beautiful. They have a midwife and a doctor on staff. They’ll help you decide what’s best for you and for the baby when it arrives.”
Indecision played over her features, but then she shook her head. “Daddy won’t agree. And frankly, I don’t think I’d feel comfortable either.”
He squeezed her fingers. “I assure you, the women are very discreet.”
She bit her lip and looked out the window at the steady stream of pedestrians passing by.
“What if I suggest it to your father and see how he reacts?”
“You could try, but I doubt it will do much good.” She rose abruptly. “This was probably a bad idea. I doubt anyone can change Daddy’s mind. Not even you.” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I really must go.”
He jumped up, fished a bill from his pocket to leave beside his barely touched cup, and ran out after her. But by the time he reached the sidewalk, she’d vanished. And if he didn’t want to miss his meeting with Mr. Cheeseman, he had no time to go looking for her.
He blew out a breath. Lord, please watch over Meredith and help her make the best decision for her and her child.
24
Ruth closed Margaret’s door with a soft click, then made her way down the carpeted corridor to the main staircase. As per Mrs. Dinglemire’s request, Ruth was checking on Margaret and her new son every few hours until the midwife could return later that day. Thankfully, Margaret was resting comfortably, with her baby beside her in a bassinet. Though he’d arrived several weeks early according to the original due date, the babe seemed healthy enough, weighing just over seven pounds. Mrs. Dinglemire pronounced him fit, claiming that Margaret’s doctor had likely made an error in the due date.
Not that it mattered, as long as mother and child were doing well. Unlike poor Mary.
As Ruth descended the stairs, her lips formed an automatic prayer for Margaret and her son as well as for little Abigail. But the prayer brought to mind another worry. Something was definitely wrong with Olivia. Since yesterday, she’d been distracted, barely even acknowledging the birth of Margaret’s son. The two girls had grown quite close these last few weeks, or so she’d thought, and Ruth had expected Olivia to be very involved with Margaret’s delivery. But she hadn’t even gone in to see the new baby yet.
Ruth looked into the parlor, surprised to find only Cherise and Patricia seated on the sofa. Patricia was continuing her attempts to teach Cherise how to knit a blanket. Ruth had to admire how Cherise had adapted to her new environment, wearing more conservative clothing and forgoing her usual cosmetics. She was extremely respectful of the house rules, and she’d taken to Patricia like a sister, though two women more dissimilar would be hard to find.
“Has anyone seen Olivia?” Ruth asked.
Patricia looked up. “Not since breakfast.”
“She wasn’t herself this morning,” Cherise said. “Ever since that woman came by yesterday, Olivia’s been de mauvaise humeur.”
“Translation, please.” Patricia set the wool on her lap.
“She’s been unhappy. Moody.”
“Yes, I noticed that too.”
Ruth frowned. “What woman came by yesterday?”
“I don’t know, but she left her card.” Patricia pointed to the coffee table.
Ruth snatched it up. Mrs. Jane Linder, Toronto Children’s Aid Society. Her stomach sank. “Oh dear. This might have something to do with Abigail. No wonder Olivia’s unhappy.” She put the card in her skirt pocket. “Mrs. Linder is the lady who will be coming to speak to you girls soon about your options for your babies’ futures.”
Cherise’s thin brows puckered. “I do not need to talk to anyone. I know I am keeping my bébé.” Her dark eyes flashed. “She will not take it away.”
Ruth sensed the girl’s fear and softened her voice. “Mrs. Linder only wants to make sure you girls can provide for an infant without a husband or any extended family to help out. As old-fashioned as that sounds, it’s hard for a woman on her own to work and care for a child.” She paused. “In fact, that’s something Olivia and I are considering, whether to expand our home to include babysitting for infants while the mothers work.” She squared her shoulders. “But that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, I must talk to Mrs. Neale and then find Olivia—”
The doorbell rang.
“That’s probably Mrs. Dinglemire here to check on Margaret.” Ruth hurried to the front door so the woman wouldn’t ring a second time. With two sleeping babies, the bell now seemed overly loud.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Dinglemire. Instead, Reverend Dixon stood on the porch, wearing his clerical collar as he did for official visits. Yet his brow was furrowed, his usual cheerful demeanor notably absent.
“Reverend, this is a surprise. Do come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennington.” The pastor stepped inside and removed his hat.
“What brings you by?”
Giggles erupted from the parlor, followed by the murmur of conversation.
Reverend Dixon glanced at the doorway. “Might we speak in private?”
From his somber expression, Ruth doubted it could be good news. She suppressed a sigh. It was going to be one of those days. “Certainly. Come back to my office.” She looked into the parlor again. “Ladies, if Mrs. Dinglemire arrives, please let her in. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
As she took her chair behind the desk and waited for the minister to choose a seat, she steeled herself for whatever he had to say.
“I’ve been meaning to come by and see how things are going with this new endeavor of yours,” he said.
The thread of skepticism in his voice put Ruth on alert. She didn’t get the sense that he was here to offer his assistance.
“Things are going well so far.” She wouldn’t mention that they were severely short of funds, or that the first woman to give birth at Bennington Place had died, or that her co-directress might have become too attached to an orphaned baby. “We have five women in residence and two infants, as of yesterday.” She forced a smile. “As word of our facility spreads, I’m sure we’ll be able to help many more women.”
A slight breeze blew in from the open window, ruffling some papers on the desk.
“As you know,” Reverend Dixon said, “I have recommended your home to a couple of women.”
“Yes, and we’re most grateful for your support.”
“However, some disturbing information has come to my attention. . . .” He trailed off, his gaze faltering.
“If you’re referring to that nasty article in the newspaper—which has no basis in reality, I might add—then you’re worrying for nothing.”
“It’s not just the article.” His bushy brows dipped together. “One of our parishioners has been collecting signatures on a petition to have Bennington Place closed down. He says that he’s personally seen several . . . ah, questionable women come into the house.”
Ruth ground her teeth together. It had to be Mr. Simmons. What did that troublemaker do, sit and watch their house all day with a spyglass? She huffed out a breath. “Our mission is to help women in trouble, Reverend. That doesn’t mean we get to judge whether or not they are worthy of assistance. These are exactly the people who need our compassion and caring the most.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Do you turn people away from the church if they don’t meet your standards?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then why should we?” She leaned over the desk. “We don�
�t interrogate our residents. If they choose to confide their circumstances to us, then we listen and treat each case individually, with the respect and compassion they deserve. As long as a woman agrees to follow our house rules, we don’t turn anyone away.”
“I see your point,” he conceded. “However, I also understand the concerns of the people in this neighborhood. They fear that Bennington Place is attracting undesirable types. The mothers of young children are worried for their youngsters’ safety. And the businesses on the next block worry that potential customers might be put off as well.”
Ruth closed her eyes briefly. It seemed no argument would sway the man. “What is it you want me to do, Reverend?”
The man’s pale eyes met hers. “I’ve been asked by our parish council, some of whom are city aldermen, to respectfully request that you consider moving your maternity home to the outskirts of the city, somewhere less densely populated. It would be better for everyone involved.”
Anger flared in Ruth’s chest. “Do they think I can just pick up my house and move it wherever I wish?”
“Of course not, but you could sell this house and buy another in a more appropriate area. Or you could keep the house and lease a more suitable property for the maternity home.”
“You make it sound like a trip to the market to choose a cut of beef. It’s not that simple. This is my family home, and I don’t wish to move anywhere else. Besides, we need the visibility this location affords.”
A beam of light from the window illuminated the large silver cross around his neck. He rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner, appearing to search for another argument to persuade her.
Ruth tilted her head. “You were so supportive of our goal at the outset, Reverend. What happened to change your mind?”
He let out a sigh. “It’s complicated, Mrs. Bennington.”
“Really?” She folded her arms. “Then why don’t you explain it to me.”
The man shifted his considerable weight on the chair. “Several of my more affluent parishioners have threatened to switch parishes if I don’t do my utmost to gain your cooperation. I’m sure you realize what this could mean for St. Olaf’s if our major financial backing was eliminated.” He gave her a pointed look.
A Haven for Her Heart Page 19