A Haven for Her Heart

by Susan Anne Mason

  Walcott’s mouth twisted into a grim line. “If you refuse to do this, then you leave me no choice but to terminate your position.”

  Darius stared at the man he’d once considered a mentor. “That’s all our association means to you? One disagreement and I’m out?” A twist of disappointment tightened his chest. He’d thought their relationship stronger than that. One based on trust and mutual respect.

  Apparently he was wrong.

  “It’s more than a simple disagreement, Darius. I thought you were a team player, someone I could count on to get the deals done. But if you’re going to always let ethics get in the way, you’re in the wrong business, my friend.” He pointed a finger at him. “Think long and hard about this. You have until tomorrow to start canvassing those neighbors.”

  Darius let the waves of hurt and anger roll over him. He’d expected this confrontation would happen at some point, but it still irked him that Mr. Walcott couldn’t see past his own greed to recognize the inappropriateness of his actions. “I don’t need more time to think about it,” he said. “Consider this my official resignation. I’ll have a letter on your desk first thing tomorrow.”

  Walcott blinked, then his expression turned thunderous. “I never took you for a fool, Reed. Seems I was wrong about you after all.” Then he strode out of the office and slammed the door so hard that the frosted glass rattled.

  On a loud exhale, Darius sat down and dropped his head into his hands. Had he just thrown away his whole future? He had Sofia and his parents to think about. And without a stable source of income, he’d have nothing to offer Olivia. No way of passing the requirements to adopt Abigail, if that ever became a possibility.

  I need your help, Lord. I’ve made a mess of everything. Please show me a way to make things right.

  Walking into St. James Park, Olivia marveled at the hidden beauty tucked away in this corner of the city. A sea of multicolored flowers flanked the walkways that led to a central stone fountain and a gazebo in the distance. Huge trees that were just beginning to change color provided shade for multiple seating areas. Olivia scanned the park for her brother. More than likely she’d beat him here since she was early for their meeting.

  She found an empty bench and sat gingerly on the edge, her purse on her lap. She’d donned her best dress and hat, wanting to make sure she looked respectable when in a priest’s company. She’d thought it better to meet out in the open, rather than in a restaurant or at the rectory, where her presence might cause too many questions.

  The autumn sun warmed her shoulders as she waited, yet it did nothing to settle her nerves at having to confront Sal. He’d seemed puzzled when she asked him to meet her here, but she’d explained that she had something she wanted to discuss face-to-face.

  “Livvy.” Sal’s booming voice reached her before she saw him approaching.

  “Hello, Sal.” She hesitated, not sure of the protocol of greeting a priest who happened to be her sibling.

  But he lifted her into a warm hug, easing her nerves. “It’s good to see you. You look lovely.”

  “Thank you.”

  He wasn’t wearing his clerical collar today, which made their meeting less conspicuous, allowing her to relax.

  “So, what’s on your mind?” Sal asked. “Is this about your visit to the store? Mamma told me how Mrs. Ceruti caused a scene.”

  Olivia squared her shoulders. “No. It’s about your visit to the Children’s Aid office.”

  A pained expression crossed his face, and he regarded her with guilt-ridden eyes. “How did you find out about that?”

  “One of the caseworkers told me when I went to try and find out some information about Matteo. Apparently we had the same idea.” She tilted her head. “But why would you go without telling me?”

  A beat of silence followed. “It wasn’t my idea,” he said at last. Two lines formed between his brows. “Darius Reed came to see me. He asked me to make the inquiry, thinking I’d have a better chance at getting an answer. He wanted you to have peace of mind about your son’s well-being.”

  Her heart kick-started at the mere mention of Darius’s name. He was behind this? After everything she’d done to push him away, he was still trying to help?

  “It was a waste of time, though,” Sal said. “The lady wouldn’t tell me anything. I’m sorry.”

  She nodded. “I know.”

  “How about you? Did you have any luck?”

  Olivia hesitated, remembering Mrs. Linder’s words about keeping the matter confidential. “Only that Matteo’s with a good family. They couldn’t tell me much more than that.”

  They sat in silence for several moments, watching people pass by on the sidewalk.

  “Did it help, Liv?” he finally asked.

  She took in a breath and slowly released it. “It still hurts a lot. I doubt that will ever change. But knowing he’s in a loving home is some consolation, at least.”

  He laid a hand on her arm. “I’m glad. And I hope you’re not angry with me.”

  “No. You were only trying to help.” She frowned. “I just can’t understand why Darius did this.”

  Sal’s lips twitched into a smile. “I think it’s pretty obvious. The man’s in love with you.”

  Heat scorched Olivia’s cheeks, and she swallowed against the sudden rush of emotion. How could he still love her after everything he knew about her?

  “He seems like a decent guy, Liv. Is there some reason you won’t marry him?”

  She stared at him. “He told you he wanted to marry me?”

  “He did. He also said you didn’t believe you deserved to be loved.”

  A shaft of pain spiked through her chest, radiating down to her toes. She bit her lip and stared out at the happy people coming and going through the park. “It’s not about me,” she finally said. “Darius deserves someone better. I’d only bring shame to his family.”

  Sal remained silent for several minutes. “Do you remember one of Mamma’s favorite verses? ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us.’ God wouldn’t want you to remain a prisoner of your shame, Olivia. You are His beloved child, forgiven and redeemed. Be brave enough to claim the happiness He has in store for you.”

  Her throat tightened as Sal’s words found their mark. He made it sound so easy. “Do you really think I’m worthy of Darius and his daughter?”

  “Of course I do. But what really matters is how Darius feels.” His voice gentled. “If he knows everything about you and loves you anyway, isn’t that your answer?”

  Tears burned her eyes. It was true. Darius knew all her shortcomings, every one of her flaws, and despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles to their relationship, he still held out hope. He’d even tried to find Matteo for her when he had nothing to gain by it. His love was evident in his words and deeds, but could she really accept it? Was that what God wanted her to do?

  She drew in a ragged breath. “Thank you, Sal. Your support means a lot to me.”

  “That’s what big brothers are for.” He pulled her into a hug. “And don’t worry about Mamma and Papà. They’ll come around eventually.”

  She heaved a great sigh. “From your lips to God’s ears.”

  With a somewhat lighter heart, she bid her brother good-bye and began the walk home. Sal had given her a lot to think about. Could she really cast off her mantle of shame and accept that she was worthy of love? If she believed the residents of Bennington Place deserved happiness, couldn’t she allow herself the same grace?

  Perhaps once the council meeting was over and the fate of Bennington Place had been decided, she could figure out whether she was truly brave enough to take her brother’s advice and face Darius again.

  42

  On the morning of September sixteenth, Olivia held Ruth’s arm as they climbed the stairs to city hall. Nerves rioted through Olivia’s stomach, and she prayed she could hold on to her composure during her planned speech. Only the assurance that God was with her
gave her the courage to do this at all.

  They entered the building and followed the signs that led to the council chambers. Olivia tried not to let the official atmosphere overwhelm her as she stepped inside the impressive assembly room. A raised platform dominated the front area with three throne-like seats. Below the platform were tables and chairs, presumably for the council members. The rest of the room was filled with public seating, along with an upper viewing gallery overhead. Many people had already filled the room, a fact that made butterflies take flight in Olivia’s stomach.

  Sensing her trepidation, Ruth patted her arm. “Don’t let any of this worry you, my dear. Remember, we have God’s army on our side.”

  “I’m trying my best.” Olivia managed a weak smile, if only to reassure her friend.

  They found seats close to the wooden railing that separated the council area from the public and sat down. Olivia scanned the room, hoping to catch sight of any friendly faces. Cherise and Patricia hadn’t been ready to come with them but had promised they would arrive in time to give their statements.

  From across the aisle, Margaret waved at them. Olivia smiled and waved back, one layer of tension receding. At least someone other than Ruth would clap after she spoke.

  On the far side of the room, Mr. Simmons stood in conversation with several men in suits, likely the business owners from their neighborhood. Ruth’s lawyer had explained that when the time came, Mr. Simmons would speak first, then others would be allowed to present opposing opinions.

  Olivia turned in her seat, discreetly searching the far corners of the room. Would Darius or his boss be here? It would make sense that Mr. Walcott would wish to attend, if only to learn the fate of the maternity home firsthand. She’d thought Darius might as well. Yet there was no sign of the handsome face that haunted her dreams. She released a soft breath, disappointment leaking from her pores. Perhaps it was just as well. She would need a clear head with no unnecessary distractions while giving her short speech.

  Soon the room was called to order as Mayor Conboy and the council members filed in to take their seats.

  Olivia found it hard to concentrate on the initial portion of the meeting as it droned on in formal language, but she perked up immediately when the floor opened to concerns from the public. Mr. Simmons came forward to present his signed petition of five hundred and sixty-two signatures and gave a heated speech about the undesirable facility that had opened across the street from him. After he finished, he invited several local businessmen to speak.

  “This maternity home is a disgrace.” Mr. Weiss, a butcher, peered over his glasses at the councilors. “How can I expect to keep my customers with those type of women invading our neighborhood?”

  A parade of other businessmen followed, each pronouncing their distaste for Bennington Place and how it was bringing down their property value. Then a few women got up to speak, citing the danger to their children.

  “Why, just a few weeks ago,” one lady said, “a drunken man almost ran my baby carriage down before he crashed into a lamppost. Turns out he was related to one of the women in the maternity home. We can’t have derelicts ruining our neighborhood.”

  Olivia cringed but did her best to block out their negative words and focus on her own speech.

  Finally, the chairman asked for anyone who wished to speak in favor of the maternity home. Ruth squeezed Olivia’s hand and rose. The impressive woman held her head high as she crossed to a microphone stand.

  “Good morning, Your Worship, esteemed council members. My name is Ruth Bennington, and I am a co-founder of the Bennington Place Maternity Home. We are a small private facility that can house up to twelve women and infants. We employ a doctor from Toronto General Hospital and an accredited midwife to attend to our residents. For the most part, we exist quietly and peacefully. Other than the unfortunate car accident, the only interruption to our community was a recent riot incited by an inflammatory newspaper article. These rabble-rousers, led by our neighbor Mr. Simmons, not only caused damage to my property but injured my partner, Miss Rosetti, which resulted in seventeen stitches to her head.”

  A murmur went through the crowd behind them. Olivia couldn’t tell whether the tone was sympathetic or not.

  Ruth cleared her throat. “Some of you may wonder why a woman of my years would decide to open a maternity home.”

  Olivia’s muscles tightened as she moved to the edge of her chair. Ruth was about to take a huge risk, putting her good name and reputation on the line. How would these people handle her confession?

  “Fifty-four years ago,” Ruth said slowly, “I was pregnant and unmarried. With no resources at my disposal, I was shipped off to a distant relative, where I gave birth to a daughter whom I gave up for adoption. Yet I was one of the lucky ones who managed to go on and make an excellent life for myself, mostly due to my dear late husband, Henry.” She paused. “When I met Miss Rosetti last spring, she shared her own story with me and spoke of her desire to open a maternity home. It struck a chord deep inside me, and I knew this was the path God wanted me to follow.” Ruth glanced over at Olivia. “At this time, I invite Miss Rosetti to come forward and give her own testimony.”

  Quiet shrouded the council chambers as Olivia rose on unsteady legs to approach the microphone. Her palms were clammy, and perspiration dampened her dress. When she unfolded the piece of paper containing the words she had written, her hands shook hard enough to rattle the sheet.

  Dear Lord, give me the courage to see this through.

  “Thank you, Ruth,” she said. “My name is Olivia Rosetti, and I am the other co-founder of Bennington Place.” She stared straight ahead at the wall above the mayor’s chair. If she made eye contact with anyone, she might lose her nerve. “This maternity home came into existence as a result of a deeply personal experience. Not long ago, I found myself in trouble with nowhere to turn. My fiancé had already left to join the war when I found out I was expecting.” She swallowed. “Upon learning of my condition, my father disowned me and had me sent to the Mercer Reformatory for Women, a place where unspeakable atrocities occur every day. Where women are treated worse than laboratory rats.” She wet her dry lips, her hands shaking even harder. “After giving birth, I got to hold my son for only a few minutes before he was taken from me and put up for adoption against my wishes—a fact that haunts me to this day. A mother should have some say about what happens to her child, shouldn’t she?” She blinked hard to keep tears from forming. She would not break down in front of these men. Instead, she forced herself to make eye contact with the council members, one by one. “Unwed mothers are not criminals. We are people who have made an unfortunate mistake, but we still deserve compassion and the right to make good decisions for our futures.”

  Some of the councilors were nodding their heads, while others stared at the tabletop, not looking at her. Olivia heard a few sniffles behind her and someone blowing their nose.

  She looked down at her notes and forged on. “My ordeal is what led me to envision a residence such as Bennington Place. We provide shelter for women in crisis, without judgment or condemnation. We help them with their pregnancies and provide options for their futures. All we want is the right to remain open and to be of service to those in need, as God has mandated. I hope you’ll allow us to continue our work. Thank you very much for your time.”

  A weak smattering of applause broke out as Olivia stepped away from the microphone, her heart still thundering in her ears. With a hand to her stomach, she sank back onto her chair.

  “Marvelous job.” Ruth patted her knee.

  Judging from the lack of enthusiasm, Olivia wasn’t at all sure. When the buzzing in her brain eased, she focused back on the proceedings. Margaret had come forward and was praising Bennington Place for everything it had done for her and little Calvin. Then Cherise and Patricia each gave a brief account of their experience at the home. As per Ruth’s advice, Cherise wisely avoided any mention of her former profession, since it certainly would no
t aid their cause.

  Dr. Henshaw and Mrs. Dinglemire both came forward as well to offer their expert testimony on the value of Bennington Place in the community.

  As each person spoke, Olivia studied the eighteen council members. A few of the men nodded and wore sympathetic expressions, while the majority stared with stone-faced countenances. Her stomach twisted. This did not look good at all.

  Olivia wished that Mrs. Linder could have been here, since her testimony might have held more weight. But the woman’s busy schedule hadn’t allowed it.

  “Any additional speakers?” the chairman asked after the women had finished.

  Olivia glanced nervously over her shoulder. Would any of the other residents come forward?

  “Yes, sir. I’d like to say a few words.”

  Olivia’s mouth fell open, her heart jumping into her throat. Tingles shot up her spine at the sight of Darius striding to the front of the room, her brother Sal right behind him.

  What on earth were they doing here together?

  Darius adjusted his tie as he approached the microphone and cleared his throat. From the corner of his eye, he was aware of Olivia’s shocked reaction, but he couldn’t dwell on that now.

  Judging from the council members’ weak response to the women’s speeches, he needed to make this the best pitch of his life. One that would sway more than half of the men seated before him to vote against Mr. Simmons’s petition.

  “Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Darius Reed. Up until recently, I worked for Walcott Industries, a property management firm in the city. I was tasked by my boss to acquire the Bennington property, which meant I found myself inside the maternity home on several occasions. At first, I believed the facility was not only unnecessary, but if it did exist, it should be located on the outskirts of town, away from respectable society.”

  Murmurs of agreement rose from the audience.

  “However, I soon learned how wrong I was. Bennington Place is exactly where it should be, where the people who need help can find it. I happened to be there on the day that a severely battered woman arrived at their doorstep. It was a wonder she made it there at all, but she certainly wouldn’t have if the home hadn’t been accessible. Sadly, after giving birth, the woman passed away. Yet, if it hadn’t been for the quick work of the Bennington Place staff, the baby wouldn’t have survived either.”