A Chance at Forever

by Melissa Jagears

  Had the other man started the fight and Aaron was the one not pressing charges? She’d hardly figured out what was happening before it was over.

  Though she’d felt like running after Aaron, she’d stayed in the cellar to make sure Jimmy was all right.

  He’d had nothing but a bruise to his right cheekbone and a serious case of evasiveness.

  Upon asking why he’d never told them about his brother, Jimmy quickly denied having a real brother. He’d said all street children called each other brother and sister because they very well could be, considering hardly any of them knew who their father was.

  And yet the man who’d rushed past her had been at least twenty years old, and Jimmy had said he wasn’t from the Teaville district.

  Of course, Jimmy had an answer for that too. The man was the older brother of a friend of his at school who lived in the district. They couldn’t get smokes on their own, so Zachary, as Jimmy called him, brought them some.

  At least the mystery of where he got his tobacco was solved.

  But when she’d asked if they should report Zachary for whatever it was he was forcing Jimmy to do, the boy had called her a busybody and stalked off for the mansion. Since then, he’d refused to talk to her at all.

  She’d asked Caroline if she knew who Zachary was, but she had no idea. None of Jimmy’s teachers could guess who Jimmy’s “friend” might be, considering his classmates spent as little time with him as possible.

  It was as if Zachary didn’t exist.

  She glanced at the clock and shook her head. She’d wanted to get this block finished tonight, but it wasn’t meant to be. Stuffing the material into her basket, she headed toward the kitchen for a glass of milk.

  A faint sound slowed her footsteps, and she cupped her ear in an attempt to hear it again.

  A thunk in the kitchen, and the sound of someone grumbling.

  Everyone had turned in for the night, though she hadn’t seen her brother return. Patricia had said he’d come home ill and went to bed immediately. Strange, because her brother rarely holed up when sick—rather he grumped about like a bear.

  A short expletive confirmed her brother was indeed in the kitchen. Had he come down in search of medicine? How like Patricia to send him down himself rather than get up in the middle of the night and risk being seen in her nightcap.

  Mercy turned into the kitchen and frowned at the darkness. Why hadn’t Timothy lit a lamp? She felt along the wall for the knob and turned on the gas light.

  Timothy was draped over the sink.

  “What—?”

  The sound of his retching made her stomach catch.

  She wasn’t much of a nurse, but she couldn’t just let him stand over there alone. She grabbed a towel and headed over. “I’m so sorry you’re sick.” And here she’d thought Patricia had been covering for him being out late again. Ever since Nicholas had left on his business trip, Timothy had gone right back to staying out late.

  Did he think Lydia wouldn’t notice?

  Mercy put her hand on his back and handed him the towel. “What can I get you? Some water, crackers, ginger?”

  “Fried eggs.”

  “Fried eggs?” Surely that wouldn’t sit well on a sick stomach.

  “And coffee.”

  She felt his head to make sure he wasn’t delirious. Clammy but . . .

  He turned to look at her and winced. “Can you turn down the light?”

  The alcohol smell was overwhelming, despite being mixed with smoke and the pungent odor of his getting sick. She pushed away and shook her head at him. “You’re drunk.” How had she not realized that immediately?

  Had Patricia known? Surely she couldn’t have known hours ago when she’d said he’d come home sick, since he hadn’t been here at all. Had Patricia known he was out drinking or only hoping to distract them from noticing how often he’d been gone this week? “I cannot believe you.”

  Timothy grimaced. “Talk quieter, would ya?” He stumbled toward a chair and tried to sit down but almost missed. Thankfully he caught himself before he crashed on the floor. “You gonna make me eggs or not?” he slurred.

  She ground her jaw. “No, because the smell will make someone wonder who’s cooking this late, and they’ll come find you like this. I thought you said one or two drinks didn’t hurt anybody. I thought you weren’t a bad role model for the boys.”

  “It’s not as if they’re awake to see me. And I don’t know how—” He hiccupped and then groaned with a wince. “I don’t know how I got drunk. They must’ve given me something different.” His head swooped to the side as he stared at her through eyes narrowed in pain. “What are you doing up?”

  How dare he use an accusatory tone with her. “I was working on a charity project.”

  He rolled his eyes but winced with the gesture and let his head loll with a groan.

  She took a seat next to him. “You’re going to get us kicked out of here.”

  “Don’t worry.” He waved his hand in front of him in a jerky motion. “I got it under control.”

  Right, he was completely in control. “Do you know the position you’re putting me in?”

  He slapped the table and winced again. “You think I want to feel like this?” He dry heaved, and she tossed a rag toward him, but thankfully his stomach didn’t betray him.

  “You cannot come home like this ever again!”

  He winced at her shout.

  Though she had little sympathy for his headache, she didn’t want to alert the house to his drunken state either. She leaned forward to speak more softly. “If you can’t be what the Lowes need you to be, resign. Because if they have to fire you, not only is there scandal to deal with, but they’ll have to scramble for someone to replace us. They have better things to do.”

  He waved his hand up and down as if he could lower her volume by flapping his hand in the air. “I heard you already. Plenty loud too. Now what about that coffee?”

  She pursed her lips to keep from telling him to make it himself. Considering how wobbly he was, he’d likely drop the percolator and wake the entire household. She pushed away from the table with a huff and went to make him coffee, though drinking it this late at night wouldn’t help him sleep—and that, more than coffee, would likely be best.

  But if coffee would convince him to go upstairs sooner, where he could moan and groan behind closed doors, she’d make him a gallon.

  A sweep of lights illuminated the windows behind her. She stiffened.

  A car at this time of night?

  The only person who’d have a visitor in an automobile would be Nicholas, and he was still on his business trip.

  She set up the percolator and pulled the coffee from the cupboard as quietly as she could, but she’d wait to start brewing until after Franklin or Caroline answered the door, lest the aroma cause them to investigate.

  The front door’s hinges whined—no knock. She held her breath.

  “Welcome home, sir,” Franklin said, his voice muffled by the distance.

  Her breath hitched.

  Nicholas must’ve had Henri drive him home in his sporty little speedster. She threw a glare at her brother to warn him to be silent. His lolling head and glazed eyes indicated he did not realize his boss had come home.

  “You’re a day early.” Franklin’s voice rumbled.

  “Yes.” Nicholas’s voice was louder.

  She froze. Had he moved into the hallway? Her fingers trembled, so she set down the cup she was holding. What if he came into the kitchen instead of heading upstairs directly?

  The sound of something soft dropped on the floor. Then the shuffling of footsteps ceased. “Is my wife still up?”

  Oh, please let him go check.

  “The light in the music room is Miss McClain doing needlework, I believe.” Franklin grunted, likely picking something up—a suitcase, perhaps.

  Oh, why had she turned up the lights so high in the kitchen? If either of them decided to check on her in the music room and fo
und her missing . . .

  “Mrs. Lowe retired with Jake early this evening. He was fussing over his teeth. Miss Rivers put Isabelle to bed.”

  “Thanks. Put these away, would you?” Nicholas audibly yawned, and then footsteps ebbed, followed by the familiar creak of the spiral staircase’s steps.

  Mercy leaned heavily against the counter to keep from melting onto the floor. Seemed she’d have time to sober up Timothy before letting him go upstairs.

  If only Franklin went straight to his room and didn’t come looking . . .

  She went to the switch and turned down the lamp, hoping it was no brighter than the moonlight and wouldn’t catch Franklin’s attention, but she needed to see to make coffee.

  The mansion went still again—except for the man mumbling and groaning at the table behind her.

  “Hush, Timothy, or Nicholas will find you out,” she whispered across the room. She’d thought about telling Nicholas about seeing Timothy in the district, but with the fire, Max and Robert leaving, and the stress between Jimmy and Aaron right now, she couldn’t imagine leaving Lydia to deal with all the orphans and her own two children with only the household staff to help during the day, since Nicholas was gone so much trying to salvage his businesses and tend to his displaced workers.

  But with how things were going, it wouldn’t be long before her brother got himself fired without any admission from her.

  She dumped the coffee grounds in, then went to the table and sat across from him to whisper. “You say you won’t get drunk again, but do you not see why you can’t drink at all anymore? It’s only a matter of ti—”

  Timothy stood up so fast he knocked over his chair and raced to the sink to empty his stomach again.

  She winced with every clatter of the chair and every retch in the sink, waiting for the sound of rushing footsteps coming to expose them.

  After he quieted, she unclamped her hand from the table. Seemed no one had come to check on the noise.

  Oh, how was she going to get through tonight? And why wasn’t this Patricia’s job? She dug through the drawers for another towel and cleaner.

  After wiping Timothy up and taking care of the sink, she poured him coffee and sat across from him, counting the ticks of the clock. She wasn’t about to make eggs. The percolating coffee had emitted enough noises and smells.

  “Mercy?” Nicholas’s voice sounded from down the hallway.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin, and her heart raced.

  Her brother didn’t even move from where he’d slumped atop the table.

  Nicholas would soon discover she wasn’t in the music room, and since she’d left the lights on, he’d assume she’d not gone to bed.

  And then he’d notice the kitchen light.

  21

  Mercy rounded the table and shook her brother’s shoulder. “Get up, Timothy,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  Nicholas’s footfalls sounded far away, but it was only a matter of time before he’d find them.

  Timothy moaned and let his head slump to the other side to sort of look up at her. “No, I’m fine right here.”

  “You are not.” She pulled back his chair, wincing at the scraping sound that would bring Nicholas faster. She glanced about the room. Where to put her brother? She could stuff him in the butler’s pantry, but if he got sick again, he’d be found. Sending him off around the dining room might work . . . if he could be quiet enough to sneak around without alerting Nicholas. Unlikely.

  She shook her head and pulled him to stand. She couldn’t trust her brother to do anything at the moment—or at all, actually.

  “Come on.” She pulled him toward the back door. She didn’t want Aaron to see her brother drunk either, but he was likely already asleep. “You can sit on the stairs. The fresh air might do you good.”

  Timothy tried to wrench himself from her grip but was too weak. “I walked all the way home in the fresh air.”

  “Evidently your skull’s too thick for it to penetrate. Regardless, Nicholas is coming.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?” He stumbled forward and unfortunately grabbed the doorknob on his way out and shut the door hard behind him.

  She pressed her hand against the door’s windowpane to stop its rattling and groaned. What possible excuse could she give for that slam?

  “You’re up late.” Nicholas’s voice made her whirl around.

  “Why, yes. I couldn’t sleep, so I . . . decided to sew on the quilt but got famished.”

  He stared pointedly at the table. “Coffee isn’t going to help much with sleeping or hunger.”

  She took in a shuddery breath. “Well, no, but I figured since I wasn’t sleeping . . .” She forced herself not to shake her head. What had her brother ever done for her that deserved her lying to cover for him?

  He did provide for her. He’d applied for this job to supplement his bank salary precisely because of the burden she was to him. It wasn’t as if he didn’t do anything.

  Nicholas walked to the table and sat. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  Mind? It was the worst thing that could happen right now. “No, of course not.” She forced herself to walk away from the door, thankful he hadn’t asked why she’d been outside. “You want coffee?”

  He shook his head, weary lines tracing his forehead. “No. I’m quite ready to go to sleep. I’ve been traveling most of the day.”

  “Then, why don’t you head upstairs?” And yet, hadn’t he already gone up?

  Something rustled outside, so she cleared her throat and rushed to turn on the faucet and wash for no reason. She took her time, wondering how long she could do so without looking absurd.

  Nicholas leaned back in his chair and stretched, wincing as if sore. “Lydia wasn’t about to let me sleep until I talked to you.”

  Mercy stilled. Had Lydia taken note of Timothy’s absences and informed him? But if they planned on firing them, surely Nicholas would have waited until morning. She slowly turned off the water, listening for noises outside but hearing none. She pulled another towel from the drawer.

  “Lydia’s concerned about you.”

  Me? She stopped drying her hand for a second but then continued. She’d been quiet this past week, yes, but she’d also had children to attend and an eighth of a quilt to piece together with just one hand. That should’ve been enough to cover for any unusual contemplativeness. “I told her she shouldn’t be.”

  “Yes, she said she tried to talk to you several times, but you seemed lost in thought . . . and purposely avoiding Aaron.”

  She nodded. Mostly true, but she wasn’t avoiding Aaron, he was avoiding her.

  “We realize you might not feel comfortable explaining certain . . . things. But if you won’t talk to Lydia about what’s bothering you, she thought maybe—since I’m the one who dismisses staff—you could at least tell me if someone needs to be fired. I don’t need the whole story, but if Aaron has hurt you, I’ll pack him up this instant.”

  Oh goodness, was that what Lydia had assumed was wrong? Though with the way Aaron took pains to avoid her, along with how she’d asked Patricia to watch the children more so she could ask after this Zachary person around town, she could see the jump. “That’s not it.”

  Nicholas sighed in relief, which turned into a yawn. “Could you tell me what’s wrong, then? I’d like to set Lydia at ease so I can get some sleep.”

  His sleepy grin made her want to smile back. If only she didn’t feel like a criminal hiding her brother on the other side of the door. “Aaron’s not my problem.” Timothy was a far bigger problem. “I’ve been trying to figure out something in regard to Jimmy.” She really didn’t have an obligation to tell Nicholas about the incident in the cellar—since Aaron clearly regretted it and this Zachary person wasn’t pressing charges—and yet Jimmy was everyone’s problem. “I, um, was talking to Jimmy and got him to admit someone was bringing him tobacco. He said a young man named Zachary, whose brother is supposedly a classmate of Jimmy’s,
is supplying him, but no one knows who Zachary is.”

  Nicholas rubbed his chin. “Do you have more information than a name?”

  She shook her head. She hadn’t gotten a good look at him when he ran out of the cellar. She’d been more focused on stopping Aaron before he did something else that would drown him in guilt—not that he wasn’t drowning in it anyway. “He’s young, but not so young he’s a child. His little brother supposedly lives in the district, but Jimmy’s teachers say he doesn’t have any friends.”

  And though she completely understood why no one wanted to interact with Jimmy, her heart ached a little at the thought. Would some of his bad behaviors disappear if he had a friend?

  “I don’t know any Zacharys who fit that description. He’s not a child we’ve worked with in the past, but I could ask around.”

  She nodded, though if they found him, what good would it do?

  “Have you considered Jimmy may not have told you the truth? He might have given you a false name to keep you from finding this man.”

  “Yes.” She’d gotten nowhere with any of the information he’d given her.

  “Do you think my talking to him would do any good?”

  She shook her head. If only he knew how confused she was about what she should and shouldn’t do right now. “I think anybody else prying into it would make Jimmy more resistant to talking.” And might even get Aaron into trouble if Nicholas learned of the fight. “Please tell Lydia she has no reason to fret over me.”

  He stood, then yawned. “I’ll try.”

  She breathed a sigh when he turned to leave the kitchen.

  Once his footsteps grew silent, she counted slowly to one hundred before going to the back door. At least Timothy had had the wherewithal to stay silent after the initial noise.

  Oh, how awful it was to be caught between her loyalty to him and their boss.

  She opened the door and found him slumped halfway down the porch steps. “Timothy,” she whispered, but he didn’t move.

  She walked down and prodded him with her foot, but all that moved was his head, lolling from one side to the other. “Timothy.” She shook him harder and got no response but a light moan.