“I’m married now. My husband is a successful shop owner here in Helena. We can provide everything she needs.”
“And your husband has no qualms about publicly accepting a bastard child into his home?”
Mollie bristled, her hand itching to slap the man’s face for saying such a thing. But she restrained herself. “My husband is a good man. Of course, it’s not the ideal situation for a man in his position. But he’s not cold-hearted.”
Mr. Deming barked out a rough laugh. “I take that to mean you haven’t told him yet. So he could throw you both out, then, couldn’t he?”
Mollie blushed, gritting her teeth in anger and humiliation. She hadn’t expected the man to see through her so easily. “He’s not that kind of a man.”
“Oh, I think you underestimate a man’s generosity versus his concern for his own personal and professional welfare. But let’s say he accepts you after he finds out your little secret—because I can see on your face, it is a secret.” He leaned forward. “Cordelia has been with us for ten months. Ten months. More than three times as long as she spent with you. You’re a stranger to her. You’re nothing! She’s an infant, she won’t even remember you. You expect my wife to hand over the daughter that she loves to a stranger who may or may not be able to take care of her? Cordelia has the best of everything here. The best food, the best medical care, the finest clothes, a grand house, servants at her beck and call, and in the future, she’ll have tutors and the finest education a young lady could ask for. And what do you offer?”
“I offer her true mother! Her own flesh and blood. A place she truly belongs, without having to hide who she is, or change her name!”
“You offer her, at best, a modest home, a false father who will resent her for the rest of her life, and a mother who didn’t have the moral backbone to keep her legs together until marriage!”
“How dare you!” Mollie stood, fists clenched and vibrating with anger. His vulgarity incensed her as much as his accusation. “I made a mistake. One mistake! One time! Men do it all the time, and their secret is kept because there is no outward sign of their sin. Women are just supposed to accept that men can do what they want, as often as they want, and they are still good candidates for marriage. They are still worthy members of society! But women are ‘ruined’? It is hypocrisy!”
“It is the way of the world, like it or not. You made your bed, and now you must lie in it. Don’t make Cordelia wallow in it with you.”
“Her name is Nell!”
“Not anymore. It is Cordelia. Whatever she once was, wherever or whomever she came from, it has no bearing on who she is today or who she’ll be in the future. She is Cordelia Evelyn Deming, now and forever! Nothing you say or do will ever change that. I’m sorry for your pain, but we will not be surrendering our daughter to you.”
“I have legal rights. The adoption cannot possibly stand up in court.”
“Very well. Launch a suit against me. My team of attorneys will mount a vigorous defense. Your husband—if he’s even willing to fight the battle for you—will be drained of his resources in a month. And I’ll have the resources to fight indefinitely. Please, Mrs. Jamison. I urge you, don’t force me to do that to him. No good can come of it. Don’t do that to him, don’t do it to yourself, and most of all, don’t do it to your daughter. If you truly love her, you’ll want what’s best for her.”
“What’s best for her is to be with her mother, where she belongs!”
“What is this really about? You can’t have had any reasonable expectation of appearing at my door, and having me hand my daughter over to you, just because you gave birth to her ten months ago, did you?” He flashed an appraising eye over her. “No. Unless you’re mad, you couldn’t possibly have believed that. I suspect you found out your daughter was adopted by a wealthy family, and now you want a piece of the pie. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“I want nothing from you, but my daughter.”
“My daughter is going nowhere. And you’ll never see a penny from us.”
“I don’t want a thing from you. I want my daughter!”
Mr. Deming sighed, standing. “I can see this will get us nowhere. I’d like you to leave, now.”
“No! Not until I see Nell.”
“Mrs. Jamison, I don’t think you understand. You’re not going to see Nell. Not now. Not ever.”
The horror of his words ripped through her. “You can’t mean that! Even if you won’t give her back to me, surely you couldn’t be so cruel as to never let her see her mother!”
“She has a mother. Vera is her mother. You are nothing but the biological machine that brought the child into existence. You are nothing to her. Not anymore.”
“She’ll resent you. Someday she’ll find out, and resent that you didn’t even let me see her.”
“Daughters resent many of their parents’ choices. This will be far down the list of things that matter to her.”
“Please.” Tears stung Mollie’s eyes. “Just let me see her. I don’t even have to hold her. I want to, desperately, but I’ll settle for just seeing her—”
“Absolutely not. You’ve made your intention clear. And I have no intention of you ever getting near the girl. You won’t get the chance to steal my wife’s daughter away.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I came here to appeal to your sense of justice, not to—”
“Sense of justice?” He laughed. “My wife and I adopted Cordelia. We took her in as one of our own. We have gone to great expense to feed her, clothe her, and care for her, for ten months. Ten months! And where have you been? If you really loved her, you’d have done whatever it took to be here long ago. In ten months, you could have walked to Montana if you truly desired it! Don’t tell me you care for this child. You want her for your own selfish reasons. If you cared about her, you’d let her live the best life she could, even if it wasn’t with you!”
“Money doesn’t guarantee the best life! Love does. Family does. You can’t buy any of that.”
“Your mother stole your child away, and dumped her in an orphan asylum, like refuse. I’d say that’s a family that Cordelia can do without.”
“Please, just let me—”
“Enough. I’m tired of this. It’s time that you left,” he snapped. “Now.”
“Let’s go, miss.” The voice from behind startled her.
She whirled to see the prune-faced butler in the door. In a flash, Mr. Deming was striding out of the room, leaving her alone with his sharp-eyed servant. She took a step to follow the man, but the butler barred her way.
“Now, don’t do anything you’ll regret. Mr. Deming has been more than patient with you. Don’t make me summon the authorities.”
Mollie’s eyes darted about in desperation. She could probably force her way past the old butler, but Mr. Deming was a tall man, surely far stronger than she was. He’d never let her get near Nell…and she’d get lost in the large house long before she could find Nell’s location.
No, Mollie had to come up with a better plan. If the Demings wouldn’t give Nell back, she’d have to find another way—and her success depended on careful planning. She couldn’t rush headlong into this, and lose her one chance to get her daughter back.
“Fine,” she snapped. “I’ll go.”
Jefferson followed her out, keeping himself positioned between her and the rest of the house. He let her open the door herself, and waited until she was out on the front doorstep.
“Your basket.” He pointed to the market basket waiting by her feet.
She picked it up, glaring at him resentfully.
“Don’t come back, Miss. It will only be trouble for you, if you do.”
Then he shut the door firmly in her face.
Chapter 17
Mollie cried the whole way home, and sobbed, curled up on her bed, for an hour. Only the knowledge that Noah would be home in a few hours, expecting a hot meal, impelled her from the bed. She wanted to give up, to forsake the world and huddle in bed, wal
lowing in her emptiness and misery.
But she couldn’t. She didn’t have the luxury of time. If she wanted Nell back, she couldn’t give up hope. She couldn’t waste a minute. Noah was an integral part in her plan—whatever that plan might end up being—to get Nell back. If she alienated him now, then there truly would be no hope.
She let the tears flow all afternoon, as she put away her shopping purchases, baked the rolls, added seasoning to the stew, and whipped up a carrot cake. Then, to keep herself busy, she scrubbed the kitchen floor until she thought she’d wear the linseed oil finish right off. It didn’t matter that the floor was already spotless…anything to keep herself busy.
At five o’clock, she freshened up, fixing her messy hair, drying her tears, and washing her face with cold water. From that moment on, she could not let a single tear fall. She would paste a smile on her face and be the good, happy wife that Noah expected. Hopefully he wouldn’t notice the puffiness under her eyes.
She stood waiting by the door for him, pacing. Every time her thoughts turned to Nell, she instead began going through her list of recipes in her mind, trying to imagine what he’d like. Or she would mentally go over the list of things she could still do to make their home cozier. Or what she could plant in the garden. She kept her mind busy at every moment, because she knew if she didn’t, the carefully composed exterior she wanted to present would crack into pieces.
At long last she heard the sound of feet scuffing and crunching up the icy walk. A moment later the door opened. She greeted Noah with a wide smile.
“I’m so glad you’re home! How was your day?” She took his coat and hat as he shed them, hanging them on the coatrack.
“Good. But long. I couldn’t wait to get back to you.” He took her in his arms and kissed her. “I love running my shop, but I miss you terribly all day. I know I said I want you to spend your time here, keeping the house and getting everything done that you want to, before children start coming along…but I truly miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
“Sometimes I think I should have you at the shop with me, as some of the other shopkeepers have their wives with them.”
Mollie’s heart stopped. If he expected her to work at the shop, she’d never have a moment to spare. “But…I’d just get underfoot. You said you don’t have quite enough business to hire on an extra clerk. That means there wouldn’t be anything for me to do all day.”
“Oh, we could find something for you.”
“I’d drive your mother crazy. You know she likes things a certain way.”
He nodded slowly. “She does, it’s true. But maybe it’s time she cut back to three days a week anyway.”
“No! I mean…she’d be lost without something to do. Isn’t that what you said? I think she’s already at a loss, without having you to cook for. If she had an extra three days a week with nothing to do, the poor woman would go mad!”
He chuckled, hugging her to him. Then he kissed the top of her head. “You’re right, of course. Mother would have my head. I’m just being selfish. I want you with me all the time.”
“My dear, you’d tire of me quickly. I think there should be a little mystery between a man and a wife. If we were together all day, what would we talk about at dinner?”
“I hope we haven’t run out of things to talk about already! I feel close to you despite having only been married a few weeks, it’s true, but there’s still so much more I want to learn about you. For example, I haven’t dragged out of you any embarrassing stories from your youth, or discovered your favorite meal, or learned any of your deepest, darkest secrets…”
Her cheeks heated, and she pulled away, averting her gaze. “Fortunately we have all the time in the world to discover such things about one another. Now, you must be famished. Let’s eat dinner before it gets cold.”
He walked ahead of her into the kitchen, for which she was very grateful. She didn’t want him to see how much he’d startled her. The very mention of her darkest secrets sent her thoughts flying to her daughter, who was living a privileged life less than half a mile away…and who she was despairing of ever seeing again
Chapter 18
Friday, February 27, 1891
Mollie had been watching the family come and go all week. She’d found a little niche in the hedge near the back alley, wedged between the end of the brick wall that ran along the alley, and the place where the hedge—which ran alongside the driveway all the way to the back of the lot—ended. From there, she could remain largely unobserved for hours at a time.
As she suspected, the wealthy families in the neighborhood always used their front driveways, and only the servants came and went by the narrow dirt alleys between the residential streets. If she timed it right, coming after the servants had arrived, and leaving before the midday meal, she could watch the Deming family’s activities undetected for most of the morning.
The hedge and wall provided a great deal of protection from the bitter winds, and there was even a large rock in that very place that she could sit on—which was probably the reason for the wall and hedge not meeting up completely. She brought along a folded blanket to sit upon, to keep her dress clean and prevent her body heat from leaching out into the rock. She dressed warmly in many layers, and though it got uncomfortably cold, she managed to endure.
Unfortunately, because of the cold weather, the entire family didn’t venture out often. But once she had managed to catch a glimpse of Nell. She was entirely changed—her hair had grown out from fuzzy tufts of baby hair to thin strawberry blonde curls. Her face was round and rosy—and oh, how very big she’d become! Mollie’s heart ached, thinking of those precious months that she’d missed, and would never get back. She couldn’t bear the thought of another month more passing. She had to get her child back.
A quick glimpse was all she had gotten. Nell was wrapped tight in layers of clothes and blankets, carried by someone Mollie didn’t recognize. At first she thought the brunette woman holding Nell was Mrs. Deming, but the woman’s clothing quickly gave her away—she must be some kind of upper staff, probably a nanny. A blonde woman followed behind, head down against the wind, as they made their way from the house to the awaiting carriage. At last came Mr. Deming, holding the elbow of a thin, pale, dark-haired woman. That must be Mrs. Deming, Mollie thought.
The carriage driver helped the women alight, closing the carriage door after Mr. Deming had climbed in, and a minute later they were rattling down the brick driveway toward the street. Mollie wasn’t sure how long they would be gone, and wondered if it was worth waiting to see if they’d be back within the hour. Before she could decide, a rear door opened—smaller one that was off to the side—and Jefferson, the disdainful butler, appeared. Mollie chastised herself for not leaving when she’d had the chance. She’d be discovered for sure!
But instead of leaving by the alley, Jefferson walked around the home and left via the driveway. He must have been attending to an errand or some business, and had taken advantage of the family’s absence and used the front drive. But he won’t use the front door, Mollie thought, amused at his fastidiousness for rules.
She breathed a sigh of relief. Then it struck her—no one was at home! She’d watched for enough days to know that there wasn’t a full-time maid. She suspected a maid must come in the afternoons—the house was too large to have no maid on staff, but Mollie hadn’t seen one in any of her morning excursions, and she couldn’t risk staying into the afternoon to know who came and went during those hours.
Do I dare? she thought, her heart racing. But her feet had her moving before her mind even made the decision. She pushed past the hedge and stole across the large yard, darting around a small landscaped garden area. Skulking along the house, she tried the handle of the door Jefferson had departed from—it was unlocked! Does that mean he’ll be coming right back? She hesitated, imagining him catching her in the act. It was a great risk, but she knew it was one she’d take, no matter what.
She slipped
inside, shutting it behind her. The house was quiet—so quiet that she could just barely hear the ticking of the giant grandfather clock in the foyer at the front of the house. She wandered through the back hall, passing the scullery and kitchen, and on through to the front portion of the house. Finding herself in the large foyer, she turned to her right, toward the room that stood opposite of the drawing room she herself had been in previously.
She found that it was some kind of sitting room or parlor. One wall was filled entirely with books, and there were comfortable wing back chairs sitting before a fireplace. She passed through, going through a door at the far end into a smaller room. That room had two walls made up entirely of windows extending from the ceiling almost to the floor. A fire still burned in the fireplace, and to the left of the fireplace, Mollie spied a wooden rocking horse. To the right, a large basket was filled with toys. Along the settee, dolls of every variety sat frozen in their neatly-arranged positions. There were hand-sewn dolls and porcelain dolls, and each had blue eyes with hair of brown or blonde or black. But no red hair. No green eyes. No adorable painted-on freckles marred their perfect complexions.
There wasn’t an Irish-looking doll among them.
Somehow that broke Mollie’s heart even more. Though Nell herself didn’t look particularly Irish, it bothered Mollie to know that the Demings were erasing any hint of Nell’s Irish ancestry from her environment. Nell should know where she comes from, she thought.
She bent to run her hand over the satiny-smooth wood of the rocking horse, which had been buffed and polished to a lovely sheen. She sat here. My baby sat here on this rocking horse, in this house, in this room. She’s played with these toys and laughed and giggled, and I wasn’t here for a single moment of it.
Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Page 12