Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  “Do you really want to know what I think, Flora?”

  “Yes. Tell me the truth.” But Flora already knew what her sister would say. She squeezed her eyes shut as she waited to hear it.

  “Edmund Merriday is ten times the man Thomas is. And he loves you for yourself, not for your money.”

  “You always think everyone is after our money—Mrs. Worthington, Freddy, and now Thomas.”

  Becky folded her arms across her chest. “You’ll never convince me they’re not.”

  Flora spent the long voyage home thinking about the two men she loved. Was Becky right about the Worthingtons? Were they only interested in her inheritance? Flora couldn’t make herself believe it. In the end, she decided that she would never forget the long, eventful summer with Edmund and harbor a secret joy when she thought of him, but her place was with Thomas in Chicago.

  Thomas showed up at Flora’s home before Mrs. Griffin even had a chance to unpack her steamer trunks. She still wore her wrinkled traveling clothes, her hair pulled back in a messy knot, but she hurried downstairs so she wouldn’t keep him waiting. “How wonderful to see you, Thomas! If I had known you were coming—”

  He pulled her close and kissed her. “I couldn’t wait a moment longer,” he said. Flora inhaled the clean scent of his soap and cologne and thought of Edmund—the rugged, outdoor smell of his khaki clothes, his callused hands, sun-bleached hair, and browned skin. She pulled away from Thomas with alarm.

  “Forgive me, dear Flora,” he said, misunderstanding her reaction. “It’s just that I’ve missed you so.”

  “Let’s go into the morning room. I’ll ask the servants to bring tea . . . or whatever you’d like,” she said, remembering that it was Edmund who drank tea, not Thomas. She held his smooth, well-manicured hand in hers as she led him into the morning room and sat beside him on the settee.

  “I couldn’t wait to tell you how the plans for our wedding have been moving forward while you were away,” he said. “Aunt Priscilla has arranged for a seamstress to sew your gown, and—”

  “But we haven’t even chosen a date, yet.”

  “I’ve chosen several dates for you to pick from. You don’t need to decide right this minute,” he said with a little laugh, but he went on and on about the wedding dinner, the hundreds of invited guests, and all the other arrangements he’d made. Flora felt dizzy. Thomas clearly envisioned a lavish and very expensive affair. After a while the details bored her, and she began daydreaming about Edmund’s Sunday school. She remembered how he’d laughed out loud when she’d told him about working in the uniform factory. She had never told that story to Thomas, but she could easily guess what his horrified reaction would be. His aunt, Mrs. Worthington, had become their unofficial governess—Becky called her their jailor—after that escapade. “What do you think?” Thomas asked, finishing at last. Flora hadn’t been listening for several minutes.

  “Must we have such an elaborate affair?” she asked. “I would feel more comfortable with a simple wedding, with just our families, perhaps. And a simple buffet luncheon.”

  “Our society friends will feel snubbed if they aren’t invited. It might cause a scandal if they think we’re hiding something.”

  “I don’t much care what they think. We have a right to plan our own wedding.”

  Thomas took both of her hands in his. “Don’t be cross, Flora. I’m trying to establish myself in Chicago and build a future here in the business world. An event like our wedding offers the perfect opportunity to build the social connections I’ll need. And speaking of building, I’ve decided where our new home will be. I’ve made inquiries about purchasing the lot and talked with an architect about—”

  “But I love this house. It’s my home. I don’t need any other house.” She thought of the tiny, dusty rooms where Edmund lived, how wonderfully chaotic and inviting they were. She felt panicked at the thought of living in a monstrous new mansion with a library full of books that no one read, room after room of gaudy possessions that someone else had chosen, and shelves full of knickknacks that held no meaning or memories for her. In fact, as she looked around this fussy sitting room created by Mrs. Worthington, her panic soared. She pulled her hand free from Thomas’ and tugged at the neckline of her shirtwaist, unable to breathe.

  “Why not sell your half of this house to your sister?” Thomas asked.

  “Sell it to her?”

  “Yes. We’ll need a much grander home for entertaining. I want to build a ballroom on the third floor for you and fill it with music and dancing—you love to waltz, don’t you? It’s not as if we can’t afford to build a new house. After all, we are very wealthy.”

  Was that greed she saw sparkling in Thomas’ eyes? He certainly had elaborate plans to spend money that wasn’t even his yet. Flora suddenly recalled that every dollar of her inheritance would become Thomas’ once they married. She would forfeit all control. Was this how Thomas would use her wealth, wasting it on lavish living?

  “What’s wrong, Flora?” Thomas rubbed her hand between his. “You aren’t usually this pensive. You must be exhausted from your trip.”

  “No, I’m merely thinking about something . . . I want to tell you about an idea I saw in England. They’ve created schools that child workers can attend on Sundays, their only day off from work, so they can get an education and perhaps a better job. They’re taught reading and arithmetic, but also the gospel. I’ve decided to do the same thing here in Chicago. I want to support local churches in the poorest areas of the city so they’ll have the materials and the teachers they’ll need to set up Sunday schools. Will you help me organize a charity to do that and arrange and distribute the finances? . . . Why are you frowning like that, Thomas?” she asked when he didn’t reply right away.

  “If you start giving away money to those sorts of people, you won’t be able to stop. No matter how much you throw at them, they’ll say it’s never enough.”

  “Thomas! What sorts of people?”

  “People who have no idea how to handle money. They get paid a week’s wages, and the first thing they do is head to the saloon. They have endless numbers of children like litters of puppies, children they can neither afford nor raise properly.”

  “And you know these people, Thomas? Personally know them?”

  “I know what I’m talking about, Flora. You’ve been sheltered all your life—and rightly so.”

  “I know much more than you think. I’ve seen the way these people live, and sometimes I believe they’re much happier than our society friends. I also know how much money I have inherited. I was there when my Father’s will was read. I know that I could easily give away half of it to charity and still be a very wealthy woman.”

  “Give away—?” Thomas looked alarmed.

  “In fact,” she continued, “I understand that my inheritance will remain under my control as long as I remain unmarried. So I truly could give all of it away tomorrow if I wanted to.”

  “Flora, you don’t understand—”

  “I understand that even though we can afford this extravagant wedding that you’re planning for us, it would be a sin to waste so much money when there are people here in Chicago without shoes or food or a roof over their head.”

  “You’re still tired from traveling. You’re allowing your emotions to get the better of you. Why don’t you rest for a few days, and I’m certain you’ll agree that I’m right.” He tried to take her hand again, but she pushed him away.

  “I also understand that we show our love for Jesus when we help the poor. I’m responsible before God for what I do with my inheritance, Thomas.”

  “But you must admit that you need guidance. Be reasonable, Flora. You can’t get carried away.”

  She stood and took a step back. “I can’t marry you, Thomas. I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t sorry. She felt a tidal wave of relief. She knew with certainty that if she married Thomas Worthington, he would dominate every area of her life, just as he was trying to do with their wedding a
nd the big mansion he wanted. She couldn’t allow that to happen. “We disagree on too many fundamental things. I believe God gives us wealth so we can use it to build His kingdom, not our own. I don’t want a lavish wedding or an enormous house with a ballroom. I want to help little girls who have to stand on their feet in a factory all day earning four dollars a week.”

  “Flora, listen . . .”

  “I think you should leave now.”

  “But . . . can’t we talk about this—?”

  “There’s nothing more to say. Good-bye, Thomas. I wish you well.”

  She felt shaky as she walked from the sitting room, leaving Thomas to see himself out. She knew Rebecca was working in their father’s library, unpacking Edmund’s boxes, so she walked in and closed the door behind her. Becky was kneeling on the floor sorting through stacks of notebooks, but she looked up when Flora entered. “Goodness, Flora! You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “Thomas was just here. I-I ended my engagement with him.”

  Becky’s eyes went wide. “Really? Why?”

  “He doesn’t want to support my Sunday school idea. He has nothing but disdain for the poor—no compassion, no tenderness. He wants all my money for himself.” Flora’s knees gave way, and she sank onto one of the chairs in front of the huge desk. “I can’t comprehend such a coldhearted attitude, can you? Especially when we have so much money to spare.”

  Becky stared at her for a long moment. Then she began to laugh. Giddy, boisterous peals of laughter rocked her body, bringing tears to her eyes. Flora didn’t know how she had expected Becky to react, but she hadn’t expected laughter. Becky rose from where she knelt in the middle of the boxes and enveloped Flora in a hug. “Bravo, little sister! I’m so proud of you! That was a huge decision. Are you going to be all right?”

  “I-I think so. I feel . . . reborn!”

  Flora began her charity work the next day. If her sister could learn to speak Arabic and organize mountains of research into a book, Flora could certainly learn about finances and organize a Sunday school. She hired one of the lawyers from her father’s firm to teach her about endowments and investments and dividends and charitable trusts so she could manage her inheritance wisely. “If Thomas and Freddy Worthington can learn about such things, I certainly can, too,” she told Becky. Instead of spending time and money planning an extravagant wedding and building an enormous mansion, Flora worked with three Chicago churches to set up Sunday schools. She even expanded the original idea so that working men and women could also learn to read and write. Along with teaching literacy, the schools taught the gospel.

  Flora turned away a barrage of messages and letters and visits from Thomas and their former society friends, including Widow Worthington—all who pleaded with Flora to change her mind. Thomas promised to set up an annuity for her charity and give her free reign over the funds, but Flora refused. “I’m learning how to manage my own money,” she told Becky. “What makes him think I’d settle for one measly annuity?”

  “Do you regret not marrying Thomas?” Rebecca asked her one Sunday afternoon as they rode home from teaching together.

  Flora smiled and shook her head. “Not even for a minute.”

  Four months later as Christmas approached, Rebecca emerged from Father’s library, which she had taken over with her book project, and found Flora poring over her financial accounts in the sitting room. Rebecca wore her coat and bonnet and was carrying Flora’s winter coat over her arm. “Come for a ride with me,” Becky said.

  “Right now? I’m in the middle of something.”

  “We need a break from our work and some fresh air. I’ve decided we should go on a tiny adventure.”

  Flora wasn’t in the mood for an adventure, and besides, Becky’s adventures were never tiny. But she couldn’t refuse her sister, so she finished adding her sums and rose and put on her coat and gloves. She was a little surprised to see the carriage already waiting outside, but she climbed in beside Becky. They had recently purchased a new carriage to replace the squeaking, rattling one they used to drive to school. They had a new team of horses, too. But it was still Rufus who insisted on driving them everywhere, even though he’d allowed them to hire a young groom named Andrew to help him in the carriage house.

  A sharp wind blew off the lake as the carriage headed north on Michigan Avenue. The trees were bare, and Flora knew the first snowflakes would fall soon. She was wondering how she could make sure Chicago’s poorest children had shoes and warm coats for winter when the carriage made a right-hand turn toward the lake, just before the Rush Street Bridge.

  “Why are we heading toward the train station?” Flora asked. “Don’t tell me you’ve purchased tickets again, because as much as I would love to travel with you, Becky, I can’t drop everything and go this time.”

  “Don’t worry,” she said as they halted in front of the depot. “We aren’t going anywhere. Just humor me and come inside.”

  The commotion inside the echoing station brought back memories of last summer’s trip, especially the train ride through the lush English countryside to Cambridge. Becky towed Flora by the arm as they pushed through the holiday crowds, finally halting on one of the platforms. Steam and smoke and winter air swirled around them. Nothing happened for several minutes as they waited. Then a locomotive whistle shrieked in the distance and a shouting conductor announced that the train rumbling toward them was arriving from New York. Flora got swept up in the excitement as she stood on the platform, watching people emerge from the train, running to greet loved ones, laughing and embracing. Busy porters unloaded trunks and suitcases from distant destinations.

  “Why are we here, Becky? We aren’t expecting guests—” Then she saw him stepping down onto the platform, tall and lanky and sandy-haired and wonderfully disheveled. Flora gripped Becky’s arm to steady herself. “Edmund? . . . Is it really him?” Before Becky could reply, Edmund saw Flora, too, and he dropped his suitcase on the platform and sprinted toward her. The next moment she was in his arms, and he was lifting her from the ground, crushing her to himself. It was a good thing he was holding her, because her knees had gone so weak with joy she might have fallen over. Flora knew it wasn’t proper for an unmarried couple to embrace in public for all the world to see—right on the platform no less! Widow Worthington would have needed smelling salts to revive from such a sight. Flora didn’t care. She hugged Edmund with all her strength until he finally set her on the ground again. Flora turned to Becky to thank her and saw her sister wiping a tear. “Did you arrange this, Becky?”

  “Um . . . I may have mentioned in one of my letters to Edmund that you had ended your engagement to Thomas.”

  “But it was my idea to come,” Edmund said. His eyes were bright with love and tears. “I’m afraid I invited myself. Terribly improper, I know. And I promise to reimburse you for my travel expenses, Rebecca,” he added with a worried look.

  “I’ll deduct it from our first royalty check after our book is published,” she said with a wry smile.

  “What about your job at the library in Cambridge?” Flora asked.

  “I requested a leave of absence in addition to my Christmas holidays, and hopped on the very first ship I could find. I couldn’t let you walk out of my life for a second time.”

  Flora hugged him again, afraid to believe he was real. “Let’s go home, Edmund,” she said. “We have so much to talk about. And I can’t wait to show you the work Becky and I are doing with our three new Sunday schools.”

  Edmund paused to gaze out at Lake Michigan before stepping into the carriage, shielding his eyes from the bright winter sun. “I can’t believe that’s a lake. It’s immense! Like an ocean! One can’t even see the other side of it.”

  Flora wasn’t looking at the lake. She couldn’t take her eyes off Edmund, unable to believe he was really here. “There’s an entire inland-waterway of Great Lakes. I’ll show you a map when we get home.”

  “Everything looks so new here in America,” he said a
s they drove home down Michigan Avenue.

  “It is new. Unlike Cambridge, which is hundreds of years old, Chicago wasn’t even incorporated until 1837.”

  “This must be where the landed gentry live,” he said when they reached their neighborhood. “How many families live in each of these homes?”

  “Just one. And this home is ours,” Flora said as they pulled to a halt.

  “You’re joking.”

  “No, this is where Becky and I live.”

  Edmund seemed unable to move as he stared up at the house. “Oh my . . .”

  “Ours is by no means one of the largest or fanciest homes.”

  “You ladies kept telling me not to worry about finances last summer, but I had no idea you were this rich!”

  “I’ll leave you two to talk,” Becky said as she ducked out of the carriage.

  “I-I don’t believe I can speak . . .” Edmund murmured. “I’m incredulous.”

  “It’s just a house, Edmund. My parents built it. What difference does it make how grand it is?”

  “It was my intention to convince you to marry me and return to England with me, but now that I’ve seen your home, I’m embarrassed to think of asking you to move to my cramped little flat.”

  “Let’s go inside. It’s too cold to sit out here. And Rufus needs to put the carriage away.”

  “You—you have servants, too?” he mumbled as Rufus helped them from the carriage and Griffin opened the door and took Edmund’s coat and suitcase. Flora led Edmund into the little sitting room so he wouldn’t be further overwhelmed, but even that room, decorated to Mrs. Worthington’s taste, would seem pretentious to him. “You must be royalty,” he said as he looked around.

  “Don’t be silly. We don’t have royalty here in America.” Flora gestured for him to sit, but he didn’t move, so she remained standing, as well. “You once said that you loved me, Edmund. Is that still true?”

  He turned his gaze to hers. “Yes. With all my heart. I’ve been living in an agony of moroseness since you left, and I’ve kicked myself a thousand times over for letting you leave. Yet I knew I couldn’t give you the life you deserve. I still can’t. Look at all of this! You must be millionaires!”