“Fifteen.”
“What’s that?”
“It burned down fifteen years ago.”
The man squinted at him. “You seem quite certain.”
“I am.” He looked back at the building, his muscles tensing as memories of that horrific night intruded into his thoughts. Flames everywhere. Smoke and heat. His father carrying him out, depositing him on the sidewalk, telling him to stay there. Jonathan clinging to his father’s arm, begging him not to go back inside.
“You wouldn’t be the young Rowe lad, would you?”
Jonathan’s manners kicked in. He extended his hand. “Yes, sir. Jonathan Rowe.”
“Ronald Barber.” He pumped Jonathan’s hand. “It’s good to see you again, son. Always wondered how you made out after that terrible night.”
So, this man had likely been there. How many others had witnessed the spectacle? Jonathan wished he could remember more, but only trauma stood out in his mind.
“My aunt took me in,” he said. “She owns a dress shop over in Wheatley.”
“Ah. I’m glad you didn’t end up in a workhouse.” He peered at Jonathan. “What brings you by now after all this time?”
“Attempting to make peace with the past.” Jonathan stuffed his hands in his pockets. Why had he expected that some remnant of his home might still be here? Something that would bring him the closure he craved?
“I’ll never forget that night.” Mr. Barber ran a hand over his jaw. “I had to hold you back to keep you from following your father inside.”
Jonathan frowned, struggling to recall that particular detail. He vaguely remembered someone grabbing him from behind as he screamed for his dad, but he’d had no idea who it was.
“Felt so bad for your father. He had an impossible decision to make: stay out here and keep his son safe, or go back into the inferno for his wife. I’ll never forget the tortured look he gave me before he went in.” Mr. Barber shook his head. “In the end, neither choice would have ended well.”
The lump in Jonathan’s throat swelled. “At least we would have had each other. I wouldn’t have been alone.”
Mr. Barber took a thoughtful puff on his pipe and blew out the smoke. “Lord knows I love my children, but if it had been my Effie inside, I’d have moved heaven and earth to get to her.” He glanced at Jonathan. “Could you hang back and let your wife burn to death without doing everything in your power to save her?”
Jonathan pressed his lips into a hard line, his fists clenched at his side. What would he do if Emma were ever trapped in a burning building? Play it safe and wait for the fire brigade, or rush into the flames to get to her? The air seeped from his lungs as the hard truth dawned. Even with his fear of fire, if it were Emma, he knew he could never sit back and do nothing. He would risk everything, face any demon to save her. Just as his father had.
For the first time, Jonathan was able to view his father’s actions through the eyes of an adult and not an orphaned boy.
He dashed the back of his hand across his eyes. “You’re right, Mr. Barber. If the woman I loved was in jeopardy, I’d have done the same thing.”
Mr. Barber squeezed Jonathan’s shoulder. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t rip your father’s heart out to leave you.”
“I know.” And for the first time, Jonathan really did. Perhaps he could finally make peace with the fact that he’d been left an orphan. Finally forgive his father for leaving him.
“Care to come inside for a few minutes?” The man’s kindly eyes studied him. “I’d love to share some stories with you about your father and how he got his business off the ground.”
Jonathan looked at his pocket watch. He had time to spare before he needed to go.
His chest expanded with a pull of fresh air. “Thank you, Mr. Barber. I’d like that very much.”
Randall leaned on the wall of the back patio, watching the sky change from gold to pink, the setting sun casting fanciful shadows over the lawn. Even the beauty of a summer sunset couldn’t lift his mood tonight.
After twenty-two years, his worst fears had come true. His sordid past had returned to haunt him, effectively ruining his future in politics. All because the child he’d forsaken years ago had wanted to find him.
It would be easy to place all the blame on Emmaline for the downfall of his career, but to be fair, she’d come here in good faith to forge a relationship with him. How was she to know the secrets he’d kept hidden all these years? He’d been a fool to think they’d never be discovered. If he’d been less of a coward, he would have told her—and his family—the truth from the very beginning. Maybe then he could have avoided the ensuing disaster.
He drew in another lungful of smoke from his cigar, let it linger for a second, then expelled an opaque cloud that hung in the air before dissipating. Even this activity brought him no pleasure tonight, no easing of his tension. The fact that Harcourt had declined to join him for their usual after-dinner ritual spoke volumes about the man’s disappointment with him. No one had wanted Randall to succeed in politics more than his father-in-law, likely because Harcourt’s own political aspirations had never come to fruition.
The back door opened and familiar footsteps crossed the patio.
Vera came up beside him and laid a hand on his sleeve. “You’re very pensive this evening, darling. Is everything all right?”
He turned to look at his wife. “What do you think? I’m the subject of the city’s latest gossip mills. I’ve disappointed everyone I know, including you.”
She sighed. “I’ll admit I was angry when this all blew up at the rally. But I understand why you would keep such a secret. It’s a scandal today. I can only imagine how much worse it would have been twenty years ago.”
Bitterness coated his tongue. “Enough to make my own mother disown me.”
“I’m so sorry, Randall.” She squeezed his arm. “But this will die down. Another year from now it will be old news, and if conditions appear favorable then, you could try your bid for mayor again.”
His lips twitched. “Thank you for your support, as always, my dear.”
She laid her head against his shoulder. “For the record, I’m also sorry about Emmaline. Although I can’t say I’m sorry she’s gone. She created nothing but chaos.”
The tip of his cigar glowed red in the waning daylight. He tossed it down on the patio stones and crushed it underfoot. “Again, it was my fault. I held back from truly embracing her, from allowing her to get too close, because I knew the secret would come out eventually.” He sighed. “I should have been upfront with her right from the beginning—and with you. Perhaps then we could have avoided this whole mess.”
“No use dwelling on what might have been. We must focus on going forward now.”
A slight cough sounded from behind them. Randall turned to see Corinne approaching with a hesitant smile. At least this daughter didn’t seem to hate him.
“Papa. Mama. Could I speak to you both for a minute?”
“Certainly, darling.” Vera motioned for her to join them.
Corinne came up beside them at the stone wall. “I have something I’d like to tell you.”
For a moment, a jolt of panic hit Randall’s midsection. He prayed his daughter hadn’t done something foolish, like gotten herself pregnant. If so, he might have to murder Will Munroe. He would not allow history to repeat itself.
“What is it?” Vera asked. “You sound serious.”
“I’ve made a decision that I hope you’ll be pleased about.” She looked directly at Randall. “You in particular, Papa.”
“Go on.”
She clasped her hands together as though nervous. “I’d like to go to college after all.” She hesitated. “I want to become a teacher.”
Randall drew in a breath. Finally, a bit of good news.
“A teacher?” Vera asked, her voice thin. “What made you suddenly decide this?”
“Emma was the one who first suggested it. When I was helping her with Marianne’s thera
py, she remarked how good I was with her, how patient, and that I might make a good teacher. It was just a passing comment, but it got me thinking. Then I started tutoring Will’s younger sister.”
“When did this happen?” Randall frowned. How had he missed so much that was going on with his family?
“A few weeks ago. The point is that I really enjoyed helping someone learn. And Will seemed to think I had a knack for it too.” She gave a tremulous smile. “So I’d like to look into courses at the university, if that’s all right with you both.”
Vera remained unusually silent, which likely meant she wasn’t thrilled about Corinne’s choice to pursue a career instead of look for an eligible husband. It was another issue she and Randall had disagreed upon regarding their children.
Randall dropped a kiss on the top of his daughter’s head. “You know that I want you to further your education, so I’m thrilled about this. I’d be happy to take you to register.”
“Thank you, Papa.” She beamed up at him.
“But don’t you want to get married, Corinne?” Vera said at last.
“Of course I do, Mama. That leads me to my next topic.” A slight gust of wind came up, and Corinne rubbed her arms. Then she straightened to her full height. “I intend to marry Will Munroe once we’ve both finished our schooling.”
“Will? But he’s not—” Vera clamped her mouth shut.
Randall knew exactly what his wife had been about to say—that Will wasn’t of the right social standing. That he was only taking courses as he could afford them, and thus it would take a long time to complete his degree. That Corinne would be an old maid by then.
Randall laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “No need to panic, Vera.” He turned his focus to Corinne. “As you know, I think the world of Will,” he began. “And I told him when he came to see me that once he’s finished his degree and gets a better position, we will revisit his . . . suitability at that time.”
Vera’s shoulders relaxed under his fingers.
However, Corinne’s chin jutted out in a way that they both knew too well. “I didn’t ask for permission, Papa,” she said. “I will marry Will one day, as long as he still wants me. In the meantime, we will be courting—unofficially.” She looked from him to her mother. “I love him, Mama. And he loves me. Maybe that will change over the next few years, I don’t know. But we intend to see where it takes us.”
Vera moved to sit on one of the patio chairs, running her pearls through her fingers as she did when agitated.
“Is Will in support of your intended career?” Randall asked carefully. He’d already alienated one daughter. He didn’t want to risk losing another.
“He is.”
“I see.” Randall scratched his chin. “In that case, as long as you are always well chaperoned or see each other in public places, I will accept your decision.”
A tentative smile bloomed. “Really, Papa?”
He nodded. “I’ve noticed a new maturity about you lately. It’s time I trust you to make some decisions for yourself.”
She leaned in to hug him. “That means a lot, Papa. Thank you.” She drew back. “There’s one more thing.”
Vera threw up her hands. “What now?”
“It’s about Marianne.”
His wife stiffened as though preparing for a blow.
“I intend to keep helping her with her therapy, as Emma did.” Corinne went to lay a hand on her mother’s arm. “I think we owe it to Marianne to help her get out of that chair one day.”
Vera bit her lip.
“It’s time, Mama. Time to let go of your fear. Marianne is strong. She can do this. And we have to support her. Emma showed me that.”
Vera reached out for Corinne’s hand and, without a word, nodded.
Randall cleared his throat. “You’re right again, Corinne. I’ve let fear control too many aspects of my life. It’s time to change that.”
His wife and daughter looked up at him with such trust and admiration that his chest swelled.
Despite the turmoil Emmaline’s arrival had caused, it seemed he and his family had much to thank her for as well. In the short time she’d been with them, she’d forced them to take a hard look at their lives and brought about some needed transformations. Because of her, Randall’s career may have suffered a setback, but his family would reap the benefit of his renewed commitment to them and to their future.
He prayed Emma would find happiness back in England, and that one day, God willing, their paths would cross again.
Maybe then he could make up for all his mistakes.
CHAPTER 36
Emma entered the front door of Peter’s Apothecary, her grandad’s old shop, and stopped short, letting the door bang shut behind her. Despite her eagerness to find Jonathan, to beg his forgiveness and hopefully start to heal the wounds she’d inflicted, she couldn’t pass her childhood home without going inside.
The very doorway beckoned her to enter. To remember. To grieve her loss anew.
But instead of anything remotely familiar, a multitude of foreign sights and smells assaulted her, overwhelming her with the harsh reality that Grandad was truly gone. Not only him, but every shred of evidence that he’d ever run a watch repair shop here.
Tears burned at the back of her eyes. Slowly, she edged farther into the store, trying to picture how it used to look. Now, with its counters filled with jars and ointments, she could almost believe she was in the wrong place. Only Grandad’s old wall sconces and the same creaky floorboards told her she wasn’t mistaken.
Fighting a lump in her throat, she walked past a man examining an item under a glass magnifier and headed directly to the back room. Maybe there she would find some trace of her grandfather, even if only the lingering smell of his favorite pipe tobacco. The room, however, was filled with jars of herbs and liniments that lined a long table against one wall. She scanned the space until she spied a familiar item in the corner. Her chest tightened. Grandad’s old desk still sat in the same spot. In an almost numb state, she crossed the space and ran her fingers over the scarred surface, a thousand memories hurtling back. She and Grandad working together, him fixing clock springs, her filling out the ledger, the two of them trading stories of their day.
“Hey, what are you doing back here? This area’s off limits.”
Emma whirled around to see a man in a white coat charging toward her. “I’m sorry, I—” She swallowed, unable to continue. “Excuse me.” Ducking her head, she scurried by him, through the main shop, and out the front door. She leaned against the stone wall and attempted to regulate her breathing against the wave of grief that swamped her.
Had she made a terrible mistake coming back here? To a place where she no longer belonged? A place so foreign she could barely reconcile herself to its former appearance?
She took several deep breaths and moved away from the stones. Resolutely, she forced herself to think about Jonathan, the true reason she’d returned. She needed to find him and make amends. Figure out where they would go from here.
On shaking legs, she proceeded next door to the dress shop. Once again, she paused at the door, her heart pulsing in her throat for a different reason this time. Would Jonathan be inside, or had he moved to Oxford already? Her stomach churned more now than during the sea voyage home. As Emma reached for the door, she froze, her gaze falling on a sign in the corner of the window.
For Sale? There had to be some sort of mistake. This dress shop was Trudy’s life. She would never sell it.
Emma twisted the door handle and pushed inside, all thoughts of Jonathan banished for the moment. As she had in the apothecary shop, she stood and gaped at the difference in the space. Several bare mannequins lined one wall where there had normally been shelves of material. The bins of thread, ribbons, and buttons were empty, save for a smattering of items. A heavy velvet cloth covered the ornate cheval mirror that graced the left side of the store.
From the back, the sound of soft weeping could be heard. Emma
followed the sound to the room where Trudy usually spent most of the day creating her fabulous dresses. Emma pushed the curtain aside and stepped into the room.
Trudy sat at her sewing table, her head in her hands.
Emma moved closer, alarm rising in her. “Aunt Trudy, what’s wrong?”
The woman’s head snapped up. “Emma? Is that you?”
She forced a smile. “Yes, I’ve come back.” Back to a universe where everything was different.
Trudy rose and rushed to gather Emma in a warm hug. “I’m so happy to see you. I thought you were staying in Canada.”
“I changed my mind.” She took the older woman’s hands. “Why are you crying? Is everything all right?” She couldn’t form the words to ask if something had happened to Jonathan.
Trudy returned to her seat and took out a handkerchief to blow her nose. “I had some upsetting news earlier. A prospective buyer for the store changed his mind and rescinded his offer.”
Emma frowned. “But I don’t understand. Why are you selling your store?”
A loud sigh escaped as Trudy fingered the fabric she was sewing. “I’ve made a terrible muddle of the finances.” She shook her head. “It was bad before you left, and I knew Jonathan would feel obliged to stay and help me, so I made sure he didn’t realize how much money I owed.” She folded the material and set it on the table. “I’ve made my peace with losing the shop. But what I can’t live with is knowing I cost Jonathan his dream.”
Emma went still. “What do you mean?” She held her breath, not entirely sure she wanted to hear the rest.
“I used Jonathan’s tuition money to make a loan payment. I reasoned that I could earn the amount back before the tuition was due. But instead I ended up robbing Peter to pay Paul.”
Emma’s blood seemed to slow in her veins. “Are you saying that Jonathan isn’t going to Oxford?”
Trudy raised the handkerchief to her nose. “No. At least not right now.”
“Oh no.” Emma clutched the back of a wooden chair to steady herself. Whenever her guilt had risen to shame her over the way she’d treated Jonathan, she’d comforted herself with the fact that she hadn’t ruined his life, that he was living his dream at Oxford, probably not really missing her much at all.
The Highest of Hopes Page 30