by Jody Hedlund
He slammed the door closed behind him and careened forward. In the darkness of the room, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the open window, he always bumped into furniture. Usually his curses would foul the air, until he made his way to the bedroom where he passed out on the bed.
Elise often held her breath till he’d completed his course through the parlor. But tonight, he veered toward the sofa and their makeshift bed. His heavy boot connected with her spine. Though pain shot through her, she refused to cry out.
“I know you’re awake, Elise,” he slurred in German.
She extricated herself from Sophie and sat up. “Ja,” she said.
“Do you know why I’m home already?”
It wasn’t so much a question as an accusation. But Elise knew he’d expect an answer anyway. Although she didn’t want to respond, she wanted his boot in her spine again even less. “Nein.”
“I’m home because I’m out of money.” Uncle wasn’t a large or strong man, but somehow his drink gave him superhuman strength. With him towering above her, she must play this game or suffer the consequences.
“So you cannot buy any more beer?”
“I always knew you were a smart girl.” He started to chuckle but ended up coughing. When he finally caught his breath, his boot connected with her again, this time her thigh. She considered standing up and moving out of his reach, but to do so would expose Marianne and Sophie, and she’d never do that. In fact, to get to them he’d have to kill her first.
“Since you’re so smart,” he continued, “then you’ll tell me how we’re going to come up with more money.”
She’d already pondered that question numerous times since Mutti had died. None of the options had been viable. The only one that might work was to have Sophie join them in the sewing. But then who would watch the children? While Elise had considered the possibility of taking Olivia and Nicholas to the Orphan Asylum, she wasn’t willing to break Sophie’s heart to do so. She tried to tell herself that the two infants weren’t a burden, that they didn’t require much extra food or expense. But the truth was she couldn’t take care of them indefinitely, not like this.
“I can’t afford to provide charity to you and your sisters any longer,” Uncle said. “And without your mother’s income, that’s what I’m doing.”
“I’ll have Sophie join us.” Her throat closed around the words. But she knew no other way. “She can take Mutti’s place.”
“She won’t be able to earn what your mother could.”
Uncle was right. As women they already made less than the men. She and Marianne each made only $1.60 a week compared to the $3.50 the men earned. It didn’t matter that they were swifter and more skilled than most of the men in the building. Sophie, as an inexperienced child, would make even less.
“It will increase our income until Alexander and Erick return for the winter,” she said.
Uncle cursed his sons’ worthlessness. “Maybe you can get another job.”
Again, she’d already considered the option. But what else could she do?
Uncle spoke as if he’d heard her thoughts. “You can go sell yourself like all the other girls do at the beer halls.”
Marianne gasped and gripped Elise’s nightdress. Elise reached behind her and clasped Marianne’s trembling fingers. She squeezed them, reassuring her sister as much as herself even as her stomach churned at the thought. Then she stood to her feet, fighting her revulsion and anger. “What would my mother, your sister, say if she heard you suggest something like that?”
The words seemed to sober Uncle, and he didn’t speak for a moment. “I’m too nice,” he finally said with a sigh. “That’s my problem. Taking in all my family. Now look where it’s gotten me.”
“We have no money because of your drinking—”
The back of Uncle’s hand caught her in the mouth, causing her lip to split against her teeth. Pain flooded her senses as blood gushed down her chin. Before she could duck, Uncle’s hand connected with her cheek in a slap that knocked her head to the side. “Don’t you ever talk to me that way again, young lady!”
She wanted to shout at him that if he stopped squandering their money and worked hard alongside them, perhaps they could begin to save for a better life. But she lifted her chin even as the blood dribbled off. It would do no good to say any more. If Uncle wouldn’t listen to Mutti’s pleas, he certainly wouldn’t listen to hers.
Behind her, Nicholas began to whimper, but someone quickly silenced the infant. Elise had no doubt everyone was awake now.
“After all I’ve done for you,” Uncle shouted. “After giving you shelter, food, and a job, how dare you repay me with belligerence? I ought to throw you out tonight. Then maybe you won’t be so quick to disrespect me.”
And what about disrespecting me? she almost asked. But she would have no place to go and no one to turn to if Uncle carried through on his threat. She was stuck here. With him. In the pit of hell.
Uncle began to berate her again, but then doubled over with a fit of coughing. With an exasperated wave at her, he stumbled toward the kitchen table. He steadied himself on the back of a chair before staggering into the bedroom. The thud of his body against the mattress was followed by silence.
Only then did Elise allow herself to collapse to the floor. Marianne launched herself against Elise with silent sobs, and Sophie, who was holding both Nicholas and Olivia, sidled against her. Elise drew them all into her arms, muffling their sniffles and crying against her chest.
She kissed the tops of their heads and thanked God they were all still safe and together. But for how long? She squeezed them tight. How long could she keep them safe here at Uncle’s? And how would she protect them if they left?
She swallowed the lump that stuck in her throat. She had to find a way to provide a better life for them. But what could she, a single immigrant woman of nineteen years of age do? How could she provide a better life if both her parents had already failed to do so?
Despair threatened to bring tears, but she forced them back. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t wallow in self-pity. And she certainly wouldn’t give up.
Chapter 5
“You’ve brought what?” Guy Bedell stared down at the delicate face of Christine Pendleton.
“A piano,” she repeated even as she motioned at her coachman, who stood in the doorway. The white-haired man nodded and disappeared outside.
The Sunday service didn’t start for another hour, and normally he used the time beforehand to pray and review his sermon notes in the relative quiet of the chapel. He certainly hadn’t expected to see Miss Pendleton quite this early. Rather than feeling irritated at the interruption to his normal routine, he found his pulse thrumming faster at the sight of her.
After spending last Saturday with her and watching her interact with the immigrants, his admiration had risen to a new level. This week, like the previous, his thoughts kept straying to her. He’d tried to mentally categorize her with the rest of the volunteers, to view her platonically. He thought he’d succeeded, until now, when his body had betrayed him with the quickening.
Her lovely gray-blue eyes peered at him with the same determination and intensity he’d come to expect. “The piano was just sitting in a closet at church. It hasn’t been used in years. So I asked the rector to donate it to the chapel, and he and the deacons readily agreed.”
“That was very kind of them.”
“I thought a piano would allow us to sing during the service.”
“Yes, of course.” Although he’d asked for a piano when he first opened the chapel, he gave up the pursuit mainly because, even if he’d received the donation, he didn’t know anyone who could play it. “There’s just one problem, Miss Pendleton.”
“There’s no problem. I’ve arranged for it to be delivered and tuned within the hour.”
“That’s all very gracious of you, but we don’t have anyone here who can play the piano.”
“Yes, we do.” Her pretty mouth c
urled into the beginning of a smile. He’d learned that she doled out smiles sparingly, and so he gave himself permission to study her face, her dainty chin and nose and the slenderness of her lips. If he were to kiss her, he would have to do so tenderly, otherwise he might crush her.
Her smile faded. “Reverend?” Miss Pendleton’s voice wavered with uncertainty. When he finally turned his attention and thoughts away from her mouth, he realized he’d made a complete fool of himself by staring at her like a schoolboy daydreaming about his first kiss. From the way she was twisting at her reticule, and the slight pink in her cheeks, he could see that he’d embarrassed her. He prayed she hadn’t been able to read his thoughts.
Why in all that was righteous had he been thinking about kissing her anyway? What had overcome him?
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, Miss Pendleton. What were you saying?”
“I was going to tell you that we do have someone who can play the piano.”
“And who is that?”
“Me.”
Before he could respond, her coachman reappeared with four burly men, who were carrying the piano. They grunted and heaved and sweated as they deposited the heavy item near the pulpit. Soon afterward an older man with a long gray beard appeared. Dressed in a well-worn and ill-fitting suit, he sat down on the piano bench and began to tune the instrument.
“Miss Pendleton,” Guy said, running a hand over the glossy light oak of the piano’s frame, “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I do.” She glanced at her coachman. The man didn’t have the build or face of one accustomed to manual labor, but instead had the suaveness and bearing of a gentleman. He gave Miss Pendleton a nod of encouragement. “If you’d like to thank me,” she continued, “you could agree to help me in a new venture I’ve set into motion.”
“And what new venture is that?” Guy appreciated her fine mind, her inquisitiveness, and even the way she challenged his own beliefs.
“You asked if I had any ideas for ways to make a difference here at the chapel.”
“Yes, I did.”
“I didn’t have any ideas until I returned home last week.” She plucked at the edge of her widemouthed sleeve. “I believe God has given me the answer that we’ve been seeking for how we can be of more help to the immigrant women.”
“And the piano is a wonderful idea—”
“I’d like to open a garment shop on the second floor above the chapel.”
His words stalled as his thoughts came to an abrupt halt. A garment shop, as in a sweatshop like the ones they’d visited last weekend together?
From the look of expectancy in her wide eyes and the way she peered up at him with such hope, he knew that was exactly what she had in mind. He forced himself to stifle the immediate rebuttal and swell of disappointment. “Miss Pendleton, I don’t know what to say,” he started with a shaky laugh.
His doubts and hesitancy must have been loud in that nervous chuckle, for her hopeful expression immediately deflated. “Do go on,” he said hurriedly as he silently berated himself for hurting her feelings. “Tell me your thoughts.”
She took a deep breath as though to fortify herself. “The women who come to our chapel have begged us to find them decent employment so they can leave their lives of sin without putting their children at risk of starvation. I believe we can provide them with employment. Here. We can be the contractors, the sweaters who get the precut garments from the manufacturers while they do the sewing.”
The words came out like a well-rehearsed persuasive speech. The only trouble was, no matter how convincing she might be, such a prospect was out of the question. “Most manufacturers already have enough contractors. And even if we could find one who was willing to consider using us, the company wouldn’t want these women working for them. Most have no training or experience.”
He expected her lips to thin with displeasure at his news, but she pressed forward almost as if she’d anticipated his objections. “I’ve already located a manufacturer willing to provide me with the already-cut material for shirts. In fact, this week I spoke with the president of the company and have made him aware of the lack of training of the women. But he’s assured me he’ll provide a seamstress in the beginning who can train the women.”
At her words, his face must have registered his astonishment, because Miss Pendleton continued on eagerly, her eyes lighting to a hazy summer blue with her obvious pleasure. “I’ve agreed to act as the supervisor during the workweek and will make deliveries to and from D. and J. Devlin.”
“What about the deposit?”
“I will make it.”
“Of course.” She could likely do so without any hardship.
“The only drawback is that Mr. Devlin won’t pay commensurate for the garments until he sees their quality equals that of more skilled seamstresses.”
“So that means we won’t be able to pay the women very well?”
“I calculated it and figured out that we can still pay them close to what other seamstresses make.”
“And how is that?”
“As the supervisor, I won’t require a percentage of the profits.”
He stared at her then, not caring that his mouth was hanging open.
“What do you think, Reverend?”
While her plan seemed to grow more possible with every passing second, his initial doubts still swirled like a dust cloud that she couldn’t sweep away. “I like your venture,” he said slowly, “but I’m still not sure that I’m convinced.”
“What are your hesitations?” She stepped closer in her eagerness. But her nearness only caused his thoughts to scatter. What were his objections?
“Well, for one,” he said, fumbling over his words, “I don’t think it’s feasible for you to be the supervisor. That means you’d have to work long hours every day.”
“Only at the beginning,” she countered. “Once our shop is running smoothly and bringing in a steady profit, I’ll appoint one of the women to be supervisor in my place.”
“It would take up so much of your day. It wouldn’t leave time or energy for you to do anything else—to shop, go to parties, attend charity gatherings, visit with friends or entertain callers.” Did she have callers? Certainly a woman as pretty as she had men vying for her attention.
“This is what I want to do with my time.”
“But for how long? What happens when you tire of this project and decide to move on to something else?”
“If this is what God would have me do right now, then I’ll see it to completion until He releases me for other work.”
“You’re amazing.”
He didn’t realize he’d spoken the words aloud and that he was staring at her again, until she averted her eyes, looking down at the floor while clicking her reticule open and shut several times. He was tempted to beat his forehead with his palm for speaking so forthrightly, yet her small smile and the flush in her cheeks stopped him.
She was amazing. He didn’t know of any other woman who would consider sacrificing so much of her time and energy to do this. Certainly none of the other ladies of the Ladies Home Missionary Society would consider such a thing.
The Society . . . His pulse began to race.
She peeked up at him through her long lashes. “Does that mean you’re in agreement?”
Oh, how he wanted to be in agreement. But his heart felt suddenly heavy, as though a chain had been locked around it. “I can see that you’ve thought through all of the details.”
Her expression was steady and unruffled. “But . . . ?”
“But there is one thing you haven’t taken into account, which is perhaps the obstacle that may be insurmountable.”
“‘If God is for us, who can be against us?’”
“The Ladies Home Missionary Society.”
“And why would they oppose this ministry since it won’t require any effort or contributions on their part?”
“Every time I’ve made minor suggestions for changes, they
’ve repeatedly informed me they want the chapel to be a religious association and not a charitable one. They would entirely oppose your venture.”
She shrugged. “Why should it matter what they think?”
“Because they are my patrons and I need their support.”
For the first time since they began the conversation, her countenance sobered and she didn’t have a ready answer. The only sound in the chapel was the repetitive plunking of the piano keys as the tuner worked.
There had been many occasions Guy chafed under the leadership of the Society. But overall, his philosophy had lined up with theirs. He’d viewed his mission as more spiritual than physical. However, after seeing the tenements and the poor immigrants through Miss Pendleton’s fresh eyes, he had to admit his stance was beginning to shift.
“I have evaluated how I might carry forth my plans without your aid, Reverend.” Miss Pendleton’s tone was gentle but determined. “But I’ve come to the conclusion that God has brought us together for this purpose. I can provide the capital, and you can provide the connections with the people. They already love and trust you in a way I could not gain so readily.”
Was this the plan God had for them? He’d been praying, as Miss Pendleton had suggested, that God would give them direction. Was this the answer?
Miss Pendleton nodded as though reading the question in his eyes. “I cannot ask you to endanger your relationship with the Society. Still, I ask you to consider that if I’m willing to step out in faith, that maybe it’s time for you to take the next step as well.”
Her rebuke went straight to his heart. And again, as he had the first time she’d approached him, he felt as if God were using this woman to communicate with him, to convict him of his complacency, and to challenge him to do more.
“You really are amazing,” he said again, not caring that his voice was low and perhaps a little too intimate.
At his words, she sucked in a sharp breath that made her chest rise. She mumbled an excuse about needing to discuss something with the piano tuner. Guy stood unmoving at the pulpit and watched her walk gracefully away and speak kindly to the tuner still at the piano. Guy couldn’t stop himself from staring, even though he was flustered at the thought that he was acting like an untried youth rather than the experienced once-married man he was.