Where We Belong

by Lynn Austin

  “We are, to put it bluntly. Our father made some very wise investments before he died, leaving Becky and me with an enormous inheritance. I’ve begun studying the intricacies of banking and finance these past months so I can manage that inheritance wisely, but money won’t be a concern for us for the remainder of our lives.” She gave him a moment to digest her words, but the look of surprise and shock never left his face. “Do you enjoy your job at Cambridge, Edmund? Because if you still want to marry me, you would never have to work again.”

  “I long to marry you, Flora! That’s why I jumped on the very first steamship to America that I could find. It’s why I wanted to go down to the engine room and shovel coal into the boilers myself to make it go faster. I love you more than I ever dreamed I could love someone. But I won’t live off your inheritance like a slacker. And you obviously have a much better mind for handling finances and investments than I do.”

  “You could learn. I did.”

  He moved close to her and held her face between his hands. “You’re such a dear, sweet girl. You have no idea how brilliant you are, do you? Or how hopeless I am when it comes to money.”

  “I can understand if you don’t want to live the life I do. I didn’t want it either, which is why I didn’t marry Thomas Worthington. But the Lord gave Becky and me this inheritance, and I believe that Christ’s words apply to us: To whom much has been given, much will be required. I have an obligation to be a good steward over what’s been entrusted to me.”

  “I admire you so much for that. And I understand why you need to stay here in America. The work you’re doing among the poor sounds amazing.”

  “But . . . ? It sounds like you’re about to tell me why you can’t marry me.”

  “Flora, listen . . . I’m sixteen years older than you. And I’m just a vagabond scholar, the son of a country clergyman—”

  “What difference does that make? Why does your stupid pride have to ruin everything? It was pride that made you send me back to America last summer because you didn’t think you could provide for me. Well, the truth is, I don’t need you or anyone else to provide for me. If we love each other, why can’t we just accept our roles the way they are? You and I aren’t ordinary people, Edmund. Neither one of us follows society’s rules. Why can’t our marriage be unconventional, too?”

  “Are you proposing marriage to me?”

  “I am!” Flora said, stomping her foot. “And you’d better not turn me down, Edmund Merriday, if you know what’s good for you!”

  He laughed and pulled her into his arms. “Then I accept your proposal, darling Flora, on one condition.”

  “And what would that be?” She wasn’t in the mood for any more arguments.

  “I insist on finding a job here in Chicago and earning an honest living, rather than being supported by my wife and doing nothing all day.”

  “What about the book you’re writing with Becky?”

  “That’s hardly a full-time job, and besides, she’ll be much better at writing it than I would be.”

  “Fine! Get up every morning and go work for a living if that’s what makes you happy—you wonderful, ridiculous man! But I’m going to marry you if it’s the last thing I do!” Flora stood on her tiptoes, and they sealed the bargain with a kiss.

  The sound of clapping interrupted them. Rufus, Griffin, Maria Elena, and Mrs. Griffin all stood in the doorway with Becky, watching them—and applauding.

  Flora’s joy seemed boundless and complete—except for one problem. Becky was in love with Edmund, too. After everyone went to bed that night, Flora knocked on her sister’s bedroom door. “May I come in, Becky? I want to talk.” Her sister was sitting up in bed, reading, but she laid the book aside as Flora climbed onto the bed and sat cross-legged, facing her. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for writing to Edmund and paying his fare to get here. I know you love him, too, and yet you did such a brave, unselfish thing—for me. Thank you, with all my heart.”

  “What are sisters for?” Becky attempted a smile, but Flora could tell she was battling tears.

  “What can I do for you in return? I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us, or for there to be heartache in your life whenever you see Edmund. Please, tell me what we should do. Edmund and I can find our own home if that would make things easier, but that isn’t what I want. I want you to live with us, always. Just tell me what would be best and easiest for you. I can only imagine how difficult this must be for you.”

  “It is hard,” Becky said, closing her eyes for a moment. “But the fact that Edmund doesn’t have a clue about my feelings for him makes it a little easier. I’ve had time to adjust, to heal. And I know how deeply he loves you—and you him.” She attempted another smile. “In the end, God has given you a wonderful husband, and me a coauthor and a book to write. It’s more than enough to be thankful for.”

  “But what about our living arrangements? Shall I make plans to move?”

  “Let’s leave things the way they are for now, and take it one day at a time.”

  Flora rose to her knees and hugged Becky tightly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If there’s anything in the world I can ever do for you . . .”

  “Well, I did have one thought,” Becky said as Flora sat back again.

  “Anything!”

  “Since Father isn’t here to walk you down the aisle on your wedding day, would you let me give you away to Edmund?”

  “Yes, why not?” Flora said, laughing. “You’ve never done anything conventional in your life, so why start now?”

  Flora married Edmund a week later. A small gathering of their closest friends and faithful servants helped them celebrate. Any acquaintances of Flora’s from Chicago’s fashionable circles who would have gossiped that Edmund was too old for her, or that he was a foreigner, or that he didn’t have two pennies to rub together, hadn’t been invited. That included the Worthingtons. The widow would have gasped in shock to see Flora getting married in last year’s gown, shorn of all but the simplest frills and lace. Edmund wore the only good suit he had packed, which also happened to be the only good suit he owned. Neither he nor Flora was willing to wait for a tailor to sew him a new one.

  Flora thought she might burst with joy as she linked her arm through Edmund’s and walked from the church with him to begin their new life. She was now Mrs. Edmund Merriday. After hosting a reception in their home so everyone could get to know this wonderful man who brought her so much joy, Flora sailed to England with him for their wedding trip. They spent their nights at an inn in Cambridge and their days exploring the area and packing Edmund’s belongings and books and artifacts to be shipped to Chicago. They hosted another small reception so Edmund could say good-bye to his family and his Cambridge friends and colleagues, then they sailed back to America where they would live with Becky in their childhood home. It had more than enough room for all three of them.

  “Tell me what you wish for, my dear Flora,” Edmund said as they stood at the ship’s rail on a blustery evening at sea. They had wrapped themselves in layers against the cold air and salt spray. Flora had to hang on to her bonnet as the wind threatened to snatch it off her head. Edmund gave up and clutched his hat in his fist, his sandy hair blowing wildly in the wind.

  Flora smiled and said, “This would be so much more romantic if we stood beneath a full moon with clear, starry skies above us.”

  “Yes, but why expect a fairy-tale evening or a peaceful crossing when our life together is certain to be unique in every way?” They were both startled when a rogue wave spilled water over the deck, soaking their shoes. They retreated from the rail and sank, laughing, onto a deck chair, squeezing close together, pulling a blanket over their legs. “But besides moonlight and starlight, my dear Flora, what else do you wish for when we arrive home again? I stand ready to grant your every wish.”

  “I wish for children. Dozens of them, filling our home with their giggles and running feet. I want to read stories to them every night, all o
f the wonderful tales that I enjoyed as a child.”

  “I suppose you’d like to pack them all onto camels and take them with us on our many travels, too?”

  “Absolutely! I can’t wait to share our travels with them, can you? I’m certain they’ll be as curious and fearless as their father is.”

  “And as adorable and resolute as their beautiful mother.”

  “And as bright and adventurous as their aunt Becky. But what do you wish for, Edmund?”

  He sighed and reached for her hand. “Right now, my life is filled with so much joy I wouldn’t dare ask for more. I know we will also experience sorrow in the years ahead. But through it all, I wish for a life filled with meaning and purpose, a life lived for God.”

  How Flora loved this man!

  Chapter 16

  CHICAGO

  1871

  NINETEEN YEARS AGO

  The celebration on a mild Saturday evening in October was a grand one. Six years after her wedding and two days before Edmund’s forty-second birthday, Flora watched in pride as her husband and sister presented copies of their newly released book to their departing dinner guests—longtime friends from church and from Flora’s many charities, as well as colleagues of Edmund’s from Northwestern University in nearby Evanston, where he’d been employed for the past five years. More boxes of the book he and Becky had co-written were stacked in Father’s office, the authors’ names listed on the cover alphabetically: R. Hawes and E. Merriday. Invitations for them to speak were already streaming in.

  “Any idea what all the commotion was about tonight?” Flora asked their butler, Griffin, as he closed the door behind the last of their guests. “It sounded like a good many fire alarm bells were clanging in the distance while we were eating dinner.”

  “They say there’s a big fire on the West Side, near that large grain warehouse. Rufus said the sky was glowing in that direction.”

  “I’m not surprised. Everything is so dry. I can’t recall when it rained last. I trust the fire is under control now?”

  “The firemen have been hard at it all evening, Miss Flora. I haven’t heard any more alarm bells in the last hour, so they must have put it out.”

  Edmund had come over to stand beside Flora and heard the last of their conversation. “Isn’t one of the Sunday schools we support located in a church on the West Side?” he asked.

  “Yes. That’s what has me worried. Maybe Rufus can drive us over there tomorrow so we can see if—”

  “The only place any of us is going tomorrow is to church.” Edmund wrapped his arm around Flora’s shoulder and steered her toward the stairs. “I think our servants deserve a full day off tomorrow after working so hard on this grand celebration for our new book, and that includes Rufus.”

  “He’s right,” Becky said, climbing the stairs behind them. “Even with all the extra help we hired for the party, everyone must be exhausted. I know I am.”

  The wind was strong as they walked to church the next day. It clawed at Flora’s bonnet and blew fine dust into her eyes, making them sting. “This must be ash from last night’s fire,” she said. She stood on tiptoes to brush the fine powder from the shoulders of Edmund’s dark suit before entering the church.

  “It’s a good thing the fire was last night,” he said, “and not on a windy day like today.”

  Worry gnawed at Flora throughout the day of rest. She needed to see if the West Side church still stood, if the children were safe, if the needs of all those families were being taken care of. Shortly before it was time to return for the evening church service, she went in search of Becky to ask if she wanted to go with her to the West Side tomorrow. She found her sister in Father’s office with his chair turned toward the window, staring out of it. “Becky, I wanted to ask you if—” She halted when Becky turned around. She had been crying, something Becky almost never did.

  “Tell me what’s wrong,” Flora said, sitting in one of the chairs in front of her desk.

  “It’s nothing,” Becky said with a wave of dismissal. “Just me being silly, that’s all.”

  “It isn’t silly to feel a little sad now that the work you’ve labored over for the past five years is finished.”

  Becky blinked in surprise. “How did you guess?”

  “Because we know each other so well. I still remember the moment in Bethlehem when you knew you were meant to work on this book with Edmund. I had the same experience when I saw Edmund’s Sunday school in Cambridge.”

  “I know you did. And I can tell you’re worried about last night’s fire on the West Side. I’ll go there with you tomorrow if you want.”

  “Thank you. I do.” One of the new books rested on the desk, and Flora watched as Becky ran her hand over the cover like a mother caressing her child’s face. “You’re wondering what’s next, aren’t you, Becky?” She nodded and slid the book to the side. “We both know there will be more books. And just as God showed you the work He had for you by stranding poor Edmund along the Gaza Road, He will surely show you what’s next if you trust Him and wait.” Becky nodded, too full of emotion to speak. “Come on,” Flora said, rising to her feet. “It’s time to leave for church.”

  That night, the fire bells began sounding another alarm on the way home from the evening service. “I wonder if the fire has started up again from the ashes of the first one,” Edmund said as they undressed for bed. Flora’s worries had retreated during the day, but now they returned in force as the clanging bells sounded in the distance.

  “Those poor people. All the buildings in that part of town are made of wood, you know. They were slapped together haphazardly because the city grew so fast during the war.” She climbed into bed beside her husband, but after tossing for an hour, unable to sleep, she finally rose again and put on her dressing gown.

  “What’s wrong, darling?” Edmund asked with a yawn.

  “I can’t stop thinking of ways to organize a relief effort to help the fire victims. I may as well get up and write some of them down. Those people have so little as it is, the very least I can do is sponsor a fund-raising drive to help them replace things like bedding and household items.”

  “Would you like me to help you come up with ideas?”

  “No, dear man. Go back to sleep. You have to go to work tomorrow.” She went downstairs to the little sitting room at the back of the house and sat down at her table with pen and paper. She had gotten rid of Mrs. Worthington’s useless frills and gewgaws and transformed the room into a comfortable office where she managed the finances and oversaw the trust funds from her and Becky’s inheritance. She worked for more than an hour, choosing two charitable foundations to draw upon, then turned out the gaslights to return to bed. She got as far as the stair landing when she noticed the glow in the sky beyond the huge, arched window. It looked like the sun was about to dawn in a storm-red sky—but the clock in the hallway had just struck midnight. And the sun rose in the east, not in the west. She hurried to her room and shook Edmund awake.

  “Come look at the sky, Edmund. It’s all aglow.” He struggled out of bed and followed her down to the landing, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

  “Good heavens,” he breathed. “The fire must be huge to light up the sky that way! And it doesn’t seem to be confined to the area where last night’s fire was.”

  “I’m not surprised that it’s spreading. Listen to that wind howling. It won’t jump to our side of the river, will it?”

  “I shouldn’t think it could cross the water. But we’d better wake Rebecca and the servants as a precaution. Tell them to get dressed and to start thinking about what to pack in case it gets any worse.”

  They spent half an hour doing that. All the while alarm bells rang in the distance, and the wind wailed outside the house like the furies, rattling the window glass as if trying to come inside. As Flora placed a box filled with important papers in the foyer where they were collecting their valuables, Rebecca emerged from the library with a box of research documents she and Edmund had
used to write their book. “I’m going up to the attic to see if I can see anything from the window,” Becky said. “Do you and Edmund want to join me?”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Flora fetched Edmund, and they climbed up to the attic, carrying a lamp.

  “I remember exploring up here when we were children,” Becky said as they entered the shadowy space.

  “I don’t think anyone has been up here since.” Flora was surprised to see how much discarded furniture and household items and old clothing were piled beneath the cobwebbed rafters. “I see a great deal of items we can donate to the poor when this is over. I’m guessing most of our friends have attics filled with useful things, too.” Her mind spun with ideas as the three of them balanced their way across the rafters and loose floorboards to the west-facing window. The wind shrieked around the gables above their heads. “We can hire wagons and deliverymen to bring all the donations to one of the churches on the West Side. We should ask for food donations, too, and organize hot meals for the people to eat.”

  They reached the window, and Flora dimmed the lamp to peer out. What she saw made her stomach roll in horror. Tongues of flame leapt into the sky in the distance, reaching all the way to the clouds. A sickening, orange-yellow glow lit up the heart of the city. “Dear Lord, help us,” she breathed. Edmund slipped his arm around her shoulders.

  “We’d better keep packing our things,” he said.

  Flora’s heart raced as they hurried down from the attic. What should they pack? Where should they take it all? When she reached the foyer and saw the pile of boxes they’d already accumulated, she had another thought. “Edmund! If the fire reaches the city center, Father’s office will be in danger. All our important business papers and stock certificates and the deeds to his properties are in the office safe.”

  “Is the safe fireproof?”

  “It’s supposed to be . . . but I would hate to put all my trust in it.”