Tory was overcome by Monsieur LeBlanc’s generous spirit. She had never known such an unselfish and giving heart—honest in his dealings, genuinely concerned for his employees’ well-being, and proud that Tory had begun to make a name for herself.
As November passed into December Tory realized that, for the first time in her life, she was happy and content. “This is what you meant, isn’t it Lord?” she prayed. “For I know the thoughts that I think toward you, saith the Lord, thoughts of peace, and not of evil, to give you an expected end. You did not leave me hopeless in Corinth! You made a way out—and prepared this new life for me.”
Tory rejoiced in her situation, convinced that God himself had brought her to this place. “I do not ever wish to take for granted what you have given me, Lord. I see Monsieur LeBlanc and his heart—he enriches all who come into his circle—and I know it is you, living through him.”
Tory’s contemplation ran deeper. “I want to emulate this godly man, Lord. I want my life to count for something more than my own success. Whatever you decide, Lord. I wish to be a testimony of your goodness and mercy.”
DECEMBER ARRIVED AND colder weather with it. Tory, like many of Monsieur LeBlanc’s employees, took the trolley to and from work. She never tired of riding the car across town. She enjoyed the sights of the city—even as the weather turned and more riders employed the trolley as shelter on their daily journeys. True, the cars did become crowded, particularly when winds howled. On such blustery days, the overfilled trolleys required many passengers to bunch together in the center aisle, holding to poles, overhead handles, or the edges of nearby seats.
It was the end of a long week, the second week of the month, and Tory, already fatigued, gripped the overhead strap and swayed to the trolley’s rhythmic ride. Oh, how I am ready for Sunday rest, Lord. I long to worship at our church and spend the afternoon quietly at home. Perhaps I can talk Miss Eugenia into—
The trolley’s sharp turn caught several passengers unprepared, including Tory. She lost her grip and fell backward onto a fellow passenger’s chest.
“I am terribly sorry,” Tory apologized as she found her footing. Well, that was humiliating. she thought.
The gentleman nodded to her, but looked away, seemingly as embarrassed as she.
Tory thought no more of it until another week had passed. She left the shop at a reasonable hour, intending to get off the trolley at a little candy shop to purchase a box of chocolates for Monsieur LeBlanc’s employees. She stepped off the trolley in the center of the road, watched for traffic to clear, and walked briskly across to the cheerful little store.
She perused the many confections offered before deciding on her selections. She had turned toward the front of the store when her eye caught a glimpse of a man peering through the door’s window glass—a glimpse only, because the man withdrew the moment she turned.
Tory blinked, thinking the man had looked familiar.
Was that the man I fell onto last week on the trolley? She blinked slowly. No, I am likely mistaken.
Tory paid the shopkeeper to box up her candies and wrap the box in festive paper. She was eager to catch the next trolley home. How I shall enjoy exchanging these shoes for my soft slippers.
But outside the candy shop, Tory felt a prickle on her skin. She stared around, convinced someone was watching her, but saw no one.
CHRISTMAS CAME AND went—a holy, happy time for Tory. She and the Misses Wright had such fun together. For elderly spinsters, Tory thought them less set in their ways—and a great deal more energetic—than many folks decades younger.
“It is such a pleasure to have a youngster in this house,” Miss Eloise murmured. “We haven’t done much Christmas baking in recent years. Why bother if there is no one to eat it all?”
Tory was more than happy to eat her share and Miss Eloise’s, too.
“And why decorate when there is no one but us to look at it?” Miss Eugenia explained.
“Oh, please, may we have a tree?” Tory begged.
The two sisters grinned and answered together, “Yes!”
After they put up the tree, Tory served tea and they made inroads on the mountain of cookies they had baked and decorated.
“I love Christmas,” Tory sighed.
The sisters looked with fondness on Tory.
“Ah, but we love you, dear Tory. You have made our lives so much brighter,” Miss Eugenia said.
Miss Eloise nodded her agreement. “So much brighter.”
ON TORY’S RETURN TO work after New Year’s Day, she spotted the same man who had been peering at her through the window of the candy shop. He was standing at the corner where she usually got off the trolley. Although he leaned against a lamppost and held an open newspaper before his face, Tory was positive it was the same man. He was the right height and the same coloring—dark-haired, cut short.
Determined to confront the mysterious individual, Tory altered her course toward him. She was close enough to catch the dismay in his eyes—light brown—as he peered over the newspaper and realized she was nearly on him. The man spun away from the lamppost and raced off.
“So, he was following me!”
Now Tory was truly alarmed, and she told the Misses Wright about the man. They, too, expressed concern, but could offer no possible explanation for the man’s unwanted attention.
“We shall have Benson drive you from now on, Tory,” Miss Eloise declared. “One can never be too careful these days—and you have become somewhat of a celebrity, you know, with your picture in the fashion pages of all the newspapers. No, I shall not rest at night thinking someone has developed an unhealthy regard for you. Benson must drive you.”
“Can never be too careful. Benson must drive you henceforth,” confirmed Miss Eugenia.
Benson did drive her for the remainder of the week. He not only drove her to and from Monsieur LeBlanc’s shop but, on Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise’s express orders, he escorted Tory into the shop and called for her at the door each evening. However, although Tory, during the drive to and from work, vigilantly scanned the streets and corners, hoping to glimpse the man again, she saw no sign of him.
“Good riddance,” she sniffed, “whomever you are.”
A WEEK LATER, MONSIEUR LeBlanc called Tory into his office. His expression was grim.
His barely repressed anger unnerved Tory. She had never seen him disturbed in this manner, not even when Miss Champlain had been struck by the speeding motorist.
“Yes, sir?”
“Please sit down, Mademoiselle.”
As Tory sat, a weight settled on her chest. “What is wrong?”
“Rumors, Mademoiselle Tory. Horrible, ghastly rumors.”
Tory’s eyes widened. “W-what rumors?”
“Rumors, I am most regretful to say, ma chère, which concern you. They speak of . . . your past.”
“W-what?” Then Tory could not speak because a churning fear took over.
If word were to get out about my life in Corinth, if the wealthy of the city were to hear that I worked as a whore, Monsieur LeBlanc would be ruined. He cannot employ or promote a tainted woman without tainting himself.
“Who, Monsieur? Who is saying these things?”
“I have not ascertained the source. One rarely can, you know. An old and dear friend of mine, a wealthy dowager—also an émigré from France—came to me privately this morning to tell me. She says the rumors began over the holidays and have spread like what you Americans call ‘wildfire.’”
Tory’s careening thoughts supplied a suspicion. “Could it be that man? The one who was following me?” She quickly scotched her own idea. “No; how could it be? How could anyone in Philadelphia know about my past?”
“I cannot say, mademoiselle. However, we must be prepared to combat such baseless accusations for, according to my friend, they have already taken hold. I shall refute them myself, certainement. You are an honorable, chaste woman. I will attest to it!”
Tory stared at the floor.
“But you know the rumors are not baseless accusations, Monsieur LeBlanc. Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise told you of my past before I met you.”
“You are not culpable for what you were forced to do, mademoiselle, and your behavior in this city has been nothing but praiseworthy. We shall, of course, refute such talk wherever it rises. I shall speak to the staff and—”
Tory’s harsh laugh interrupted him. “Will it matter? No. It will not change the outcome one whit.”
Monsieur LeBlanc sank into his own chair. “Nevertheless, we must try, no? You and I must explain. Surely our most loyal patrons will understand and defend you. And we must pray, Mademoiselle Tory. The wickedness of these stories and their intent to defame you are not of God.”
Tory nodded, but, as the significance of the rumors—the magnitude of their consequences—began to sink in, she gasped, then doubled over. She felt as though she had been kicked in the stomach. The pain! It was like Darrow and Jingo attacking her—their fists punching and striking her, their hands clawing at her, their bodies holding her down, violating her.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Tory scrabbled at her bodice and the neck of her dress, her entire body overwhelmed with panic. She could not catch her breath.
“Mademoiselle Tory? Mademoiselle Tory!”
Tory slid from her chair. She sank, unconscious, onto the floor of Monsieur LeBlanc’s office.
MUCH LATER, WHEN TORY revived and could stand on her own, Monsieur LeBlanc helped her to his automobile and drove her home. He allowed her the silence she craved. When they arrived at the Misses Wrights’ home, Tory left Monsieur’s motorcar and, ignoring the sisters’ questions, walked to her room in silence. She closed and locked the door and remained alone until morning, worrying over all Monsieur LeBlanc had told her.
Nevertheless, we must try. You and I must explain. Surely our most loyal patrons will defend you. And we must pray, Mademoiselle Tory. The wickedness of these stories and their intent to defame you are not of God.
Out of respect for Monsieur’s wishes, Tory returned to work. No smile lit her face; no greeting passed her lips. She nodded to the staff members she encountered on her way to her office. There she waited for Miss Fields to announce her first client of the morning.
Fifteen minutes after Tory’s first scheduled appointment, Miss Fields appeared to whisper that Tory’s client had not arrived nor had the woman called to cancel. Her second appointment, a kindly matron, Mrs. Helmsworthy, arrived early. Miss Fields escorted the solemn-faced woman to one of Tory’s private showrooms, then notified Tory of her arrival.
When Tory entered the showroom, Mrs. Helmsworthy waved Miss Fields away. “I wish a personal word with Miss Washington, if you please.”
Here it is, Tory thought. You must stand tall, Tory. Aloud, she said evenly, “Good morning, Mrs. Helmsworthy.”
The woman hesitated only a moment. “Miss Washington, are you aware of the gossip circulating throughout the city concerning you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, what have you to say for yourself?”
Tory glanced at the floor, then at the woman’s anxious face. She was surprised at what she saw. Why, I believe she is genuinely worried for me.
The older woman’s show of concern touched Tory. It did not, however, deter Tory from speaking facts that would confirm her client’s worst fears.
“Mrs. Helmsworthy, nearly two years ago I accepted an offer of employment not far from Denver. However, when I arrived to take up my post, I discovered that the offer was fraudulent—a lie. Instead of honest work, I was forced into . . . prostitution. Eleven months later, by the grace of God, I escaped from those who held me captive.”
Mrs. Helmsworthy’s mouth tightened. “Held captive? Forced? Forced how?”
“I was beaten. Raped repeatedly by two men. Starved until I complied.”
The woman stumbled backward and dropped into a chair. “No.”
Tory tipped her head to one side. “Sadly, it is the truth. I was told I would be raped and beaten again and again until I submitted to their demands.”
Tory realized her client was crying. Tory looked away, then offered her handkerchief. “I did not choose such an occupation, Mrs. Helmsworthy, and I can do nothing to alter what happened to me.” She shrugged. “I moved here, to Philadelphia, and began a new life—yet now, as I have gained a little success, someone has chosen to whisper into society the details of my past. After all my efforts to live an upright life, this individual has ruined me.”
Mrs. Helmsworthy dabbed at her streaming eyes. “I cannot say . . . how very, very sorry I am, Miss Washington.”
Tory twitched her shoulders. “But you will be taking your custom elsewhere?”
The woman wagged her head. “What else can I do?”
Tory did not answer, but inside, she burned. You could stand up for what is right, rather than bow to what is convenient.
“Shall I see you out, Mrs. Helmsworthy?”
“I . . . yes, thank you.”
Three of Tory’s clients that day either canceled or did not show. To the two clients who did keep their appointments, Tory made the same explanation she had offered Mrs. Helmsworthy. With similar outcomes.
The last client of the day used her appointment to soundly condemn Tory and promise that neither she nor her friends would employ Tory’s services in future.
The client was not interested in Tory’s explanation.
By midday, all of Monsieur LeBlanc’s employees had heard the rumors, so Monsieur took them aside, a few at a time, and shared the facts. In view of Tory’s stony demeanor, however, not one employee spoke to her that day—with the exception of Miss Champlain.
The woman was not unkind, but she was blunt. “I have worked for Monsieur LeBlanc for fifteen years, Miss Washington, through good times and bad. If you were compelled against your will to do . . . those things, as Monsieur insists you were, then I lay no fault at your door for the present public outrage against you.
“You have been good to Monsieur and also kind to me and all Monsieur’s staff, Miss Washington, so I am sorry to be the bearer of an unhappy observation. You see, facts seldom alter public opinion once it is settled—and Monsieur depends upon his good name and upright reputation to remain in business. The reality, then, is that if you do not resign, you shall ruin Monsieur—and not only him, but the rest of us also.
“Monsieur is entirely too devoted to those he loves: He will never ask you to go. However, if you care for him, then you must leave of your own accord—or bear responsibility for the downfall of this house.”
Tory nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Miss Champlain, for helping me to see my duty.”
She sat in the solitude of her office a little longer.
Lord? Why? Why did you allow this to happen?
Chapter 33
Tory wrote a letter of resignation and placed it on Monsieur LeBlanc’s desk when the shop closed in the evening and Benson arrived to drive her home. She again bypassed the Misses Wright and shut herself up in her room.
When she did not appear for dinner, Miss Eloise and Miss Eugenia knocked at her door. When she did not answer, they spoke to Tory through the keyhole.
“Tory, dear? Are you all right?”
“Yes, Tory, dear—are you all right?”
She did not answer.
Three days went by. Each day, the good ladies tried to reach Tory, but she refused to respond or come out to eat.
“She must be out of water by now.”
“No water.”
“She has taken no food.”
“No food.”
“If she does not come down by tomorrow, I shall have Benson force the door.”
“Force the door. Yes.”
“Perhaps we should call Monsieur LeBlanc, first?”
“Oh, yes. Quite right. Call him immediately.”
Their small friend with the giant heart abandoned his clients and came at
once. He and the two sisters cloistered themselves in the parlor for more than an hour. They discussed all options, prayed, and reached a decision.
Monsieur LeBlanc stood outside Tory’s bedroom with Miss Eugenia and Miss Eloise hovering in the hallway. Benson, nearby, awaited the order to break the door’s lock.
“Mademoiselle Tory, ouvre la porte. I must insist: Open the door. I wish to speak to you, and I will not leave until you have heard me,” Monsieur LeBlanc began.
He received no reply, so he added, “I give you but one minute to open to me, Mademoiselle Tory. If you do not open the door to me within that minute, Benson will release it by force.”
After a sustained silence, Tory whispered, “Please go away.”
“Non, Mademoiselle Tory. I will not go. You have but a few seconds remaining before I give Benson leave to break the lock.”
He thought he heard a sigh, then Tory answered, “Send them all away, and I will open the door to you.”
Monsieur LeBlanc whisked the sisters and Benson out of the hall. “Go now. All will be well.”
The Misses Wright and their chauffeur departed.
“They are gone, now, Mademoiselle Tory.”
The door slowly turned on its hinges, and he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. He found the stuffy darkness of the room oppressive. Before greeting Tory, he went to her windows, swept the curtains aside, and threw open a window. A brisk winter breeze soon chased the stagnant air from the room.
“Ah! In the same manner as I have opened a window to cleanse this room from what is old and unhealthy, now you and I must do the same for you, my dear young woman,” Monsieur declared. “Come sit with me, and we shall welcome the breath of God’s Spirit together.”
Tory, however, was uncooperative. The conversation proceeded in short, stilted sentences before it petered to an end.
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