by Jody Hedlund
Pastor Abe had gone out of his way to be helpful even when he had nothing to gain in return. Why would he lie to her about Dexter Dawson?
Violet stretched her legs and then released a squeak—one Zoe had learned signaled hunger. She hefted the babe, switching arms. Even though the wee one was just a wisp of a babe at four months of age, Zoe ached from holding her almost nonstop.
“I need to be going,” Zoe said. “Violet is due for another feeding soon.”
“Do you have enough milk? If not, I’ll make sure to have more sent over.”
“Aye, Pastor, she’s getting her fill and is the happier for it.”
Pastor Abe leaned in and peeked at Violet’s face beneath the blanket. “She looks content. Much more so than the first day Herman brought her in.”
Violet’s lips puckered with another cry, and Zoe shifted the infant’s hand to her mouth, helping her find her thumb to suck. “She’s doing much better. And that’s exactly why I’ll be keeping her.”
Pastor Abe released a long sigh. “You can’t—”
“If Dexter’s willing to have me with the babe, then I’ll marry him. And if he doesn’t want Violet, then I’ll find a husband who does.”
Without waiting for him to argue with her further, she strode away, her boots squishing in the wet grass. She half expected him to follow and continue trying to talk her out of her decision. But when she glanced back at him a moment later, he’d already turned and was walking away in the opposite direction.
A strange sense of disappointment slowed her steps. She wasn’t sure why it should matter that Pastor Abe had given up so easily. That’s what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stop protesting and let her have her way with Violet?
’Course she wouldn’t marry Dexter if he really was a criminal. That wouldn’t give her or Violet the kind of life she wanted. But she’d find someone willing enough to have her and the babe. Surely in this land filled with marriage-hungry men she’d latch on to at least one ready to take a bride of convenience.
“Sorry, miss.” The young fella rose from his chair, buttoning his coat. “I’d marry you today—tonight—but I’m not interested in getting a child in the bargain.”
Zoe swallowed her discouragement. He was the last of the callers, and his response had been typical of all the rest.
He put on his hat and tipped up the brim, his eyes still eager. “If you change your mind, let me know, and I’ll be back here putting a ring on your finger before you can blink.” He paused as though giving her the chance to change her mind right then and there.
She considered telling him he could take his ring and shove it in a pig’s snout. But she’d already spoken enough choice words for one day. And she was weary.
When she didn’t respond, the young man gave a polite nod and then exited. A moment later, the front door of the Marine Barracks closed firmly. The quiet in the hallway confirmed he’d been the final suitor. Zoe stood in the center of the room unable to move, unable to think, unable to do anything but stare at the open doorway.
The darkening sky hinted at evening. The day was coming to a close. And she was still woefully unattached.
Had she been mistaken to insist on keeping Violet?
“She’s awake.” Mrs. Moresby appeared in the doorway, holding the babe and smiling down at her.
With wide eyes, Violet stared at the giant silk butterflies that adorned Mrs. Moresby’s hat. She reached up as though to grab one, and Mrs. Moresby used the opportunity to kiss the babe’s outstretched hand.
“Guess I need a hat like yours.” Zoe shook herself out of her melancholy. “Seems to be working wonders for Violet.”
“I’m the wonder-worker.” The giant of a woman made eyes at the babe.
Zoe smiled in spite of herself. “You’ve been a godsend, Mrs. Moresby—”
“Velva.”
Zoe couldn’t get used to the familiarity of calling the gentlewoman by her given name. It didn’t seem right, even after Mrs. Moresby had shared about her humble past when she’d been a maidservant for a wealthy Victoria family.
Mrs. Moresby seated herself in the chair the young man had just occupied, all the while cooing at Violet.
“Thank you for watching Violet during my meetings.”
“From the sounds of things, you didn’t have any takers?”
“None.”
“That’s a shame. A man couldn’t ask for two prettier girls than you and Violet.”
Zoe lowered herself to the chair opposite Mrs. Moresby and sat on the edge. She reached for the ball of soft white lamb’s wool yarn and her knitting needles that sat in the basket she’d brought with her into the sitting room. She was halfway done with the baby blanket. Was it really worth her effort? Maybe she should have continued knitting mittens for her friends instead.
“Am I making a mistake in keeping Violet?” She voiced the question that had been clamoring louder with each passing rejection.
All her friends at the Marine Barracks had told her to give the babe back to Pastor Abe and let him find a home for the child. They didn’t understand why she wanted Violet. At times, Zoe didn’t understand either, especially when the infant awoke crying at night.
Now with the difficulty in finding a man who would be willing to marry her with Violet, maybe she was asking for the impossible.
Mrs. Moresby sat up and leveled a look at Zoe. “Do you want my honest opinion?”
“’Course.” Zoe braced herself for one more person telling her she needed to let go of the native babe.
“There are a lot of abandoned and unwanted children in this world. And not enough people willing to love and care for them.”
Zoe agreed. She’d experienced that firsthand with her sister’s abandoning Eve.
“If God places within you a desire to take care of helpless and unwanted orphans, then I’d say you can’t ignore His calling.”
“His calling?”
“The good Lord calls us all to serve Him in one way or another. Most of the time we’re too focused on what we want to pay attention to what He’s asking of us.”
Zoe was guilty of that. She’d always believed callings were for ministers or missionaries. But what if God had something special for everyone to do?
“Sometimes we want to know the whole plan and how it will work out before we agree to start,” Mrs. Moresby continued. “But all we can do is take one step at a time, one day at a time, as He leads us along.”
“Then you’re saying I should keep Violet?”
“I’m saying that since you have such deep compassion for this orphan, then you best take care of her for as long as God leads you to do so.”
Zoe reclined in her chair, a strange sense of peace settling over her and chasing away her tension. Aye, she loved babies. And she had deep compassion for orphans. Was it possible God had plans to use her not only for Violet, but for others?
The very thought seemed presumptuous. After all, she was a poor, simple mill worker. She had no way to take care of herself, much less this babe or any other. But maybe Mrs. Moresby was right. Maybe all God required was a willing heart and the trust that He’d work out the rest of the details in His timing and in His way.
A thumping on the front door startled Zoe, and she dropped the half-finished baby blanket into her lap.
Violet released a cry, and Mrs. Moresby’s brows rose. “Are you expecting someone else tonight?”
“That was it. Unless Pastor Abe’s coming to check on Violet.”
Mrs. Moresby sat up straighter. “That Pastor Abe is quite the handsome man.”
“Aye.” Zoe pictured him as he’d looked solemnly reciting from the book of prayers at the funeral. “I can’t argue with you there.”
“Too bad he’s practically engaged to a woman from his home back in Yorkshire.”
Zoe hadn’t realized he was engaged. Part of her fought against the same disappointment she’d experienced when he’d walked away from her after the funeral. But at the same time, she h
ad no reason to feel anything. They’d been thrust together in their quest to save Violet. That was all.
Footsteps in the hallway drew nearer. A knock on the door was followed by Kate holding out a folded note. “A message came for you, Zoe.”
Zoe rose and crossed to the pretty young woman, eyeing the slip of paper. Who was sending her a message? As she took the sheet and opened it to a note, all she saw was Dexter Dawson’s name scrawled at the bottom. She didn’t need to read his message to know what he’d decided.
He’d agreed to marry her in spite of his reservations about Violet.
The question was, did she want to marry him? After Pastor Abe’s warning, she’d tried to gather more information. From the little she was able to discover, Dexter seemed harmless enough and well liked. The constable at the gate wasn’t familiar with the name and said not to let one rumor stop her, since the miners liked to exaggerate their tales.
She smoothed out the sheet and traced Dexter’s name with her finger. What if he was one more step in God’s plans for her? If marrying him would allow her to carry out God’s calling to care for Violet, then how could she turn down his offer?
seven
His duties finished for the day, Abe entered the side door of Christ Church Cathedral, letting his whistle fade to silence out of reverence for God’s house.
Over the past few hectic days in Victoria, he’d allowed himself to get too busy so that he’d neglected his prayer time and casting his cares on the Lord. Now the burdens were weighing him down and churning through him, especially since speaking with Zoe Hart after the funeral service. Even hours later, every time he pictured her talking with Dexter Dawson, his body tensed with the urge to break up their conversation.
He hadn’t noticed Dex after the funeral, hadn’t seen him speaking with Miss Hart until it was too late. But the moment he’d spotted the man, he’d rushed over to her as fast as he could. By the time he’d reached her, Dex had already walked away. Although Abe wasn’t a fighting man, he’d wanted to stride after Dex, shove him, and yell at him to stay away from Miss Hart.
“Exactly why I need to be in your presence, Lord,” he whispered as he moved into the dimly lit side aisle. “I’m weak and sinful and in desperate need of your strength.”
At the sight of a parishioner speaking with Bishop Hills in the narthex, Abe tread quietly so he wouldn’t disturb them. Though he had many prayer spots, this church was one of his favorites. The peace of the cathedral always embraced him, and the quiet reverence soothed his soul.
The colorful stained glass, grand pillars, and high arches brought back memories of his home church in Yorkshire and reminded him of God’s calling, that he hadn’t taken up service to the church merely because he was a younger son without an estate to manage or inheritance to claim. No, he’d taken it up because he’d truly wanted to make a difference in the world, wanted to share God’s love with those who’d lost hope.
“There he is.” Bishop Hills’s articulate voice carried across the nave. “Mr. Merivale, we have just been speaking of you. As a matter of fact, the constable came here hoping to find you.”
The constable? Abe’s stride lengthened, and he veered through the transept toward the two. Did the constable have news of Herman Cox’s whereabouts? Abe had gone to the police headquarters the day Herman had abandoned the baby. He’d returned every day for updates, except for today since he’d been so busy with the funeral and his committee meetings.
“Officer Green.” Abe nodded at the constable. “How is your wife?”
“Weak, but on the mend.” The constable bobbed his head. “The medicine and prayers have been helpful.”
“Then I’ll keep praying.”
“Thank you, Reverend. You’re mighty kind, sir.”
Abe avoided Bishop Hills’s gaze. His superior would admonish Abe once again to focus on his own parishioners in the mountain towns and to stay out of matters that weren’t his concern. He hadn’t approved of Abe asking Doctor Helmcken to visit the ailing Mrs. Green, but as a result of the visit, the kindly doctor had diagnosed and treated her severe influenza. Bishop Hills was of the mind that God had appointed pastors to address spiritual issues, and that Abe was spending too much energy and time on physical needs.
“We are not a charity organization, Mr. Merivale,” Bishop Hills had said at their last meeting. “We are here in the colonies to spread the gospel and build churches. Only the gospel has the power to truly change lives, and it must remain our central focus and priority.”
Abe understood and agreed in the power of the gospel. But he lived with a lingering regret that he hadn’t done more for the file grinders of his Sheffield parish. The hard work of smoothing and shaping and polishing metal was fraught with injuries and illness. If he’d stepped in and addressed the file grinders’ complaints sooner, could he have prevented the tragedy?
Maybe if he’d validated their concerns regarding the poor working conditions and low wages, he might have been able to bring about a peaceful resolution to the tension. Instead, the workers’ discontentment festered, culminating in violence. They’d blown up a house, killing one of their supervisors, his wife, their two children.
The lost lives weighed on him. Since leaving Sheffield, Abe had resolved not to sit back and ignore the tribulations of the people he met. If only Bishop Hills could try to understand. . . .
Someday, when Abe became a bishop, he’d work to understand the men under him better. And he’d certainly advocate for more changes in church policies when needed.
“Officer Green tells me you’re involved in finding the father of an abandoned native baby.” Bishop Hills’s tone was laced with fresh disapproval.
“The miner is one I’ve met riding my circuit, Your Grace,” Abe said hastily. “His wife recently died, and he’s beside himself with grief.”
“But it’s not among your job duties to find homes for unwanted children.” Hands crossed behind his back, Bishop Hills rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet. Shorter than Abe by at least a foot, the bishop still had a way of looking down upon Abe and making him feel like a child.
“My intentions are to minister to the baby’s father so that he will put his hope in the Lord and in so doing be able to provide care for his daughter.”
The constable cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to say Herman Cox won’t be able to do any of that.”
“I’d at least like the chance to talk and pray with him—”
“He’s dead.” Officer Green’s eyes were grave. “I came as soon as we got the news at headquarters. Figured you’d want to know right away.”
“I appreciate that, Constable.” A disquieting worry expanded within Abe’s chest.
“Found cold as ice in his hotel bed over in New Westminster.”
“Does anyone know the cause?”
“Deputy Farthing over in New Westminster ruled out murder. He said there was no evidence of any struggle.”
“What about suicide?” Even as Abe spoke the word, a weight of sadness and fresh guilt fell upon his shoulders so that he slumped deeper into his coat. He should have done more for Herman, should have gone to visit him after his marriage to Rose, shouldn’t have left the hospital the other day without first praying with him.
“Deputy Farthing didn’t rule out suicide,” Officer Green replied. “But he couldn’t find any proof. From all appearances, the man died in his sleep.”
“Looks like his baby is truly an orphan after all.”
Bishop Hills laid a cautioning hand on Abe’s arm. “We are not equipped to handle orphans, Mr. Merivale. You must allow Officer Green to take the infant and do his part.”
“Oh no.” The constable stepped rapidly away. “I can’t take a babe back to headquarters. We aren’t equipped for such a situation either. Not in the least.”
The bishop scowled. “Then surely you can find someone among our community willing to house and care for the infant until a permanent solution is found.”
“We’r
e not an orphanage.”
“Neither are we.” Bishop Hills waved his hand toward the nave as if to make his point.
Abe’s mind whirled with a hundred thoughts in a hundred directions. He didn’t know what to do any more than the constable or bishop. But he did know he had to try to help the child. “Herman wanted me to find a good home for the baby. Perhaps if I spread the word around town, someone will come forward.”
“Mr. Merivale,” the bishop said, “in addition to not being an orphanage, we are also not a foundling placing agency. I forbid you to waste your time and energy any further on this matter, especially since we both know how futile such efforts will be.”
Because the child had a native mother? Abe was sorely tempted to blurt his question. But he bowed his head and silently prayed for the grace to be submissive to his superior as well as for wisdom in how to handle the matter.
“The best solution is for the baby to live within the native community,” the bishop continued. “Officer Green, I suggest you take the child out to the Northerner’s Encampment and leave it there.”
“He cannot simply leave Violet at the Northerner’s Encampment.” Abe’s objection came out more forcefully than he’d intended.
Bishop Hills lifted his brows, his eyes full of censure.
Abe reined in his mounting frustration and continued more calmly. “The Encampment isn’t what it used to be. So few natives are left, and fewer are coming to trade, especially this time of year. Taking the child there would be the same as delivering her to a grave.”
“No need for theatrics, Mr. Merivale. I’m sure someone at the camp will have pity on the orphan.”
“One of the bride-ship women is looking after the child.” For the first time since Zoe Hart had insisted upon caring for Violet, Abe was grateful she’d taken the baby into her charge. “She’s mentioned wanting to keep the child—”
“The child should be placed with someone of its kind. Besides, a single woman isn’t fit to take on the responsibility of raising a child.”