“I know of something short-term. Do you remember Lydia King? Dark-haired girl with light blue eyes, always reading?”
“Yes.” He hadn’t pestered her much since she spent most of her time reading near teachers and was older. He’d made fun of her hand-me-down clothes several times, but he hadn’t put her on his list, for if he had to beg forgiveness of everyone he’d mildly harassed, he’d be busy until the end of time.
They bumped hard over several ruts before Mr. Gray continued. “She married one of the richest men in town, Nicholas Lowe.”
His brows shot up at that. “I’m surprised. I thought she was of humble means.”
“She was, but opposites attract, you know.” Mr. Gray’s smile warmed as he stared into space, making Aaron want to shake him for taking his eyes off the road at the speed they were going.
Hitting a rut brought the man’s attention back to where it belonged. “Anyway, she told Charlie last week that her husband was looking for a math tutor for an orphan at the mansion.” Mr. Gray swerved around a pothole and almost hit a dog.
Aaron gripped his seat tighter.
“I meant to tell one of my colleagues who has tutored in the past, but my mind’s been fuzzy lately. I’m sure my recommendation would get you that job. It’s just one kid though. You’d not make enough to sustain you.”
“That might work.” Surely teaching math to a struggling child would be good experience. “Maybe I could find another job to go with it.”
“Lydia’s husband owns several mills and factories. You might ask him about a job with flexible hours if he wants you to tutor.” They entered the outskirts of town, but Mr. Gray hardly slowed. “Want me to drop you off at one of Nicholas’s properties? I’m not sure where he’ll be, but someone could point you in the right direction.”
Aaron looked at his timepiece, though it was hard to read as the wagon wove through traffic. “But if you’re already late—”
“The lumberyard is on the way.”
“If you can, that’s great—though I can walk, if necessary.”
“Not a problem. Tell Nicholas I’ll vouch for you, and I’m sure he’ll find you something.”
Aaron nodded, a lump in his throat keeping him from responding—and not just because the wagon’s right wheels had just traveled a few feet on the sidewalk instead of the road.
Mr. Gray’s unwavering support was as humbling as Reverend MacDonald’s. Though Mr. Gray had played a part in turning his life around, it was the reverend’s untiring confidence that God could and would heal the wounds of his past that had finally convinced Aaron to choose the right path.
What if that silly old preacher hadn’t taken such an interest in him? He’d gone to California mean enough to scare a snake into tying itself into a knot, yet the reverend had courage enough to sit with him on their lunch breaks at the mine they both worked, despite the verbal barbs Aaron spat his way. Making fun of Reverend MacDonald and his puny little church of ten people had only made the reverend pray for him all the more.
And for some reason, the longer he stuck around, acting as if Aaron was worth more than spit, the more Aaron hoped Reverend MacDonald’s God was as forgiving as the reverend claimed He was.
For though the power to grind others down had given him a devilish sort of exhilaration, in the quiet of night, he’d feared the day a cosmic hand would drop from the sky and smash him into the dirt.
Because he deserved it.
The sawmill’s whine preceded his first glimpse of the lumberyard. The air was thick with sawdust and spring dew, a far cry lighter than the dank, coal dust–laden air that had filled his lungs the day he’d finally humbled himself before God and asked Him to hold back His just punishment and free him from the evil that drove Aaron to hate himself as much as he hated others.
“I still think you’ll be teaching alongside me come fall, but I hope you find something for the summer.” Mr. Gray pulled his horse to a stop.
The second Aaron hopped off the wagon, he jumped out of the way, his toe barely escaping the back wheel as the wagon surged forward. He waved farewell, though Mr. Gray was already racing down the street.
Aaron checked his timepiece and cringed. 8:02. Mr. Gray was late. Hopefully his unsupervised students wouldn’t cause him problems.
Turning, Aaron headed for a door with Lowe’s Lumber stenciled on the front. Inside was a normal-looking office covered with a fine layer of sawdust, except near the open window, where the breeze did the dusting.
A man with an unfortunate whopper of a big nose looked up from his desk and raised an eyebrow. “May I help you?”
It was obvious the secretary hadn’t been a classmate of his, because he would’ve unmercifully made fun of that nose. He glanced at the placard on the man’s desk. “Mr. Black, I presume?”
“Yes.”
“I’m here in hopes of finding Mr. Lowe. Mr. Gray heard he was in need of a math tutor, and I would like to inquire about the job.”
“You’re a teacher?”
“I have the license, and I’d like to be. Just applied at the school, but work there wouldn’t start until next term.”
Mr. Black rose from the desk. “Let me see if he’s got time.”
Aaron’s heart started thumping. “He’s here?”
“Yes, just a second.” Mr. Black crossed over to a door with a frosted window, knocked, and slipped inside.
Aaron looked around for somewhere to sit, but every seat was covered in stacks of papers or sawdust. Considering his hands had turned sweaty, he shouldn’t touch anything or his palms would be caked in seconds.
Mr. Black came back out of the office, holding the door wide open. “Come this way, Mr. . . . ?”
“Firebrook.”
He turned his head toward the interior of the office. “Mr. Firebrook to see you.”
Aaron’s heart rate ratcheted up. Thankfully he was already prepared for an interview. It couldn’t be too much different from yesterday’s, and he couldn’t recall a single person by the name of Nicholas from his years in school. Though his being married to Lydia King could be trouble if she remembered how nasty he’d been to others.
He passed in front of Mr. Black and into the room.
A man who was probably ten years his senior, with a serious brow beneath dark, wavy hair, stood behind a plain desk. His business suit was too nice for an office such as this, but it was the only thing indicating he was as rich as Mr. Gray said.
“Come in, Mr. Firebrook. Please be seated.” He pointed to another out-of-place item in the room, a green upholstered chair with brass buttons.
Aaron refrained from brushing off the seat before lowering himself.
“Mr. Black tells me Harrison sent you here about the tutoring position.” Mr. Lowe settled in behind his desk.
“Yes, he recommended me to the school board for the math position as well. I’m a former pupil of his.”
Mr. Lowe’s smile softened his face. “That man has a way of making pupils into loyal friends.”
“He certainly did of me.”
Mr. Lowe’s quick nod seemed to indicate Mr. Gray’s recommendation really was all he needed.
If only the same had worked on Mercy.
“I have two young men in need of tutoring. How good are you at math?”
Had he not told him he had applied for the school’s math position? “It was my best subject, what I hope to teach.”
“I mean, would higher mathematics be out of your skill set?”
Well, it wasn’t like he was a specialist. He forced himself not to squirm. “I took some higher mathematics, since that’s the subject I enjoy. I can’t say I’m familiar with every branch, but if I have a good textbook, I can usually figure out anything I’ve forgotten or haven’t come across.” He could certainly handle any high school textbook.
“And when could you tutor?”
“Anytime at the moment. I’m in search of a full-time job as well. I’m not looking for anything more than manual labor, so if
you have a position at one of your factories I could take, I could work around those hours.”
“Won’t a second job hinder you from teaching come fall?”
“I might not get the position.” Or rather, definitely wouldn’t, but Mr. Lowe didn’t need to know that. “But I’d like to stay in Teaville either way. So there’s a possibility I’d keep the job. I know that situation isn’t ideal for an employer, but I want to be honest. I’m willing to do anything.”
Mr. Lowe sat back in his chair and tapped his chin. “What about gardening?”
Aaron tried not to wince too hard at that. Tending flowers? “Um, as I said, I’d be willing to do anything, but I can’t promise I’ll be good at gardening. I’ve not grown a thing in my life. I was thinking more like hauling crates or running a saw.”
“My gardener retired on me without notice. It’s the time of year our grounds will start getting out of hand. I haven’t yet had anyone respond to my advertisement. If you get the teaching position, by fall, the yard won’t be in such dire need of attention, and I’ll have more time to find someone else.”
“The timing does sound ideal, but is this position just grounds keeping, or would I be planting flowers too?” He tried not to cringe at the thought of taking care of flowers—if he’d have beaten up a man for possessing a sissified job, gardening would certainly qualify.
“Both.” Mr. Lowe sported a slight grin. “But don’t worry, the gardener left his collection of horticultural books in the cabin. Which, unless you desire to live somewhere else, would be yours to use. My wife can order more books, if you desire.”
A house too? Reading about plants sounded boring, but the likelihood of finding a better setup was practically nil. “Would I only tutor during the school year or throughout the summer as well?”
“Oh, you’ll be too busy with the grounds come summer. I do hire four boys to help when it’s overwhelming. But I only need a tutor until the end of the school year. It’s Max’s last year, and Robert will be leaving with his brother. Though there’s always a possibility I might need a tutor again, depending on the children. Could you tutor for more than just math?”
He nodded. But gardening? Hopefully he could at least keep things alive until the end of the school year. “The timing sounds ideal, so I’m willing.”
Mr. Lowe’s face grew serious.
Aaron rubbed his hands against his slacks. Had he said something wrong?
Mr. Lowe leaned forward. “This position is at the orphanage, and there’s a boy there who’s a handful—to the point I could see him causing you problems. He’s only been with us for four months, but the staff has been having a difficult time . . . getting through to him. His rough past has made him quite rough himself. The ones you’d be tutoring are two of the better-behaved children who’ve come through, but Jimmy is . . . the opposite.”
He couldn’t imagine many children having a rougher childhood than he’d had. Maybe he wouldn’t get the chance to teach in Teaville, but helping a hurting orphan would be just as worthy. “I was not a good child myself, so his antics shouldn’t be anything I can’t handle. Are there stipulations for the use of the gardener’s house? If I do well enough to stay hired past the summer and don’t get the teaching position, are there rules I have to follow to continue living there?”
“As long as you’re the gardener, it’s yours. It’s a two-bedroom cabin, so if you got married it could only handle a small family.”
Got married? That wouldn’t happen.
“The children we help at this orphanage have come from a background of immorality, so I don’t want anything of the kind on my property. I ask that you don’t drink, smoke, or provide the children with such. And the only woman allowed in your cottage is your wife.”
Well, that was direct. “I understand, and I have no problem with those stipulations. I’ll take the job, if you’ll have me.”
Mr. Lowe stood and extended his arm. “Since I trust Mr. Gray’s recommendations, the job is yours—and we’ll see how it goes.”
With free evenings come summer, he could visit the people on his list and hopefully make restitution. If it looked as if he could stay on at the orphanage, he might even withdraw his application for math teacher. Did he dare hope that doing so might make Mercy willing to forgive him?
4
Bending over to pick up a shoe in the middle of the hallway, Mercy frowned at the other one lodged under the entryway table. How many times must she tell Jimmy to put things back where they belonged? He was being willfully disobedient now, knowing he’d not get in trouble since she’d started reserving her strength for battling him over smoking, throwing things, attacking people, and cursing.
She hadn’t realized how badly her desire to avoid confrontations would affect her ability to work at the orphanage.
She got on her knees to fish out the other shoe. If only she could throw this pair away and force him to go without, but his schoolteacher would likely not be thrilled with that sort of discipline.
“What are you doing?” Owen appeared next to her. The five-year-old gave her a crazy look as he stared at her, halfway stuck under the table’s lower shelf.
“Cleaning, as you should be.” She hauled out the shoe and swiped off cobwebs.
“But Jimmy isn’t helping.” His whine grated. “I don’t want to clean by myself.”
It was all she could do to keep from growling. Did she have to stand over Jimmy all day? “Your mess wasn’t that much. You should’ve been done already.”
Owen’s big dimples showed even though he was frowning. Those dimples made it hard to get upset with him—not that she was upset with him often.
“Go upstairs and do your chores, all right? I’ll see what I can do about Jimmy.” Why wasn’t Patricia taking care of this? Hadn’t she been watching them? “Where’s Mrs. McClain?”
Owen shrugged. “She tried to get Jimmy to help, but he ain’t going to do what she says, so she stomped off.”
Jimmy was going to drive them all out of the mansion if they couldn’t figure out how to make him behave.
A knock at the front door sounded, and Mercy shooed Owen upstairs. Another insistent knock made Mercy sigh as she pushed herself off the floor.
Through the tiny beveled panes of Tiffany glass, she could make out the distorted face of Henri Beauchamp.
Likely here to try to see Caroline again. Poor chap. Mercy shook her head and reached for the door handle. When would he finally take the hint that their housekeeper, Caroline O’Conner, wanted nothing to do with him?
She had no idea why though, since Caroline was a servant and this man owned a very successful flour mill—not the usual suitor for one of her station. Surely she hadn’t decided against him because he wasn’t the most handsome man in the world. He was portly, yes, but his auburn stubble and slight accent held some charm.
She opened the door, but her welcoming smile grew stiff.
He stood there, holding tight to a small bundle that could only be a well-wrapped infant. “Miss McClain,” he muttered as he swiftly crossed the threshold.
An infant orphan? She held her breath to keep from sighing. It wasn’t this baby’s fault she was already at her wits’ end.
She held out her arms for the child, pushing away the sad thought of how someone so small would never know his or her mother. “Boy or girl?”
“Girl.” Henri kept a tight hold on the babe, as if afraid she might steal her. “Is Miss O’Conner around?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Somewhere, yes. But she doesn’t care for the orphans. I do.”
He scanned her from head to toe before walking farther into the room, keeping the baby tucked in one arm. “I need Caroline.”
Had he just looked at her arm and thought her incapable of holding a baby? Or was this his newest ploy at trying for the housekeeper’s attention? Either way, not exactly endearing. “I’m sorry, but as I said, Caroline doesn’t take the orphans.”
The door to the basement stairway opened and
Caroline walked in, frowning the second she caught sight of Henri. “I see the front door’s been answered.” She slipped back into the stairwell and started to pull the door closed behind her.
“Stop.” Henri’s shout was more panic than command.
Thankfully Caroline did stop.
“I found Moira.”
Mercy turned as rigid as the housekeeper. He’d found Caroline’s sister? Moira had been missing since winter. Having a prostitute sister had to be hard enough on Caroline’s nerves, but when a woman disappeared from the red-light district, likely nothing good had happened.
Caroline turned slowly, her eyes round with hope, yet her body tense with fear. “Where is she?” She left the basement door ajar, her hands clenched in front of her.
Henri tensed. He raised his clenched fist a little, then brought it back down under the baby as if he were jabbing a knife into his gut. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean, you don’t know?” Caroline fisted her hands beside her. “You found her and let her go?”
“Actually, no. She found me.” Henri’s gaze fixed on the baby’s sleeping face. “She . . . she handed me this.”
Caroline glanced at the baby, who couldn’t have been more than a week or two old. “I don’t understand.”
“Moira said she kept telling you to start a family you could be proud of and leave her be. She hopes you will now, if only to keep your niece from becoming like her mother.”
“What?” Caroline’s face scrunched up.
“The baby. She’s your niece. And she needs you.” Henri held out the infant to Caroline as if the child were an alien being.
She reluctantly took her and blinked with exaggeration while staring at the little wrinkled face. “I can’t take care of a baby.”
A Chance at Forever Page 3