“But why would any man believe a prostitute could know who the father was unless she was more of a . . . mistress?” Sometimes Mercy could only shake her head at the topics not fit for polite society she found herself discussing.
Caroline snorted. “You’re right, she wouldn’t. . . . But if the man takes the baby, he at least believes it could be his.”
Caroline’s sister’s baby . . . Henri.
But would he have truly . . . ? Oh, if her own brother would, then what would stop a single, rich man like Henri—who didn’t even profess to be a Christian—from doing so? The heaviness in her gut was likely only a fraction of the sinking feeling Caroline must have had when she’d put those thoughts together.
Mercy shook her head. “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.”
“I didn’t. Lily mentioned Henri by name.” Caroline’s words came out so rough, her throat had to be hurting.
It wasn’t her own heart breaking, but it felt shattered, nonetheless. “I’m sorry.”
“Yes, well, I should’ve known a man who could stay angry for years over a slight to his ego couldn’t be a truly good man. He doesn’t want me. He wants a free nanny—for life. Excuse me.” She pushed back in her chair, making the legs screech across the kitchen floor. “I’m going to check on Katelyn.” She left without taking one sip of her tea.
Mercy stared at her buttermilk. Did Caroline have the right of it?
Prostitutes weren’t known for being moral—in more ways than one. Lily or Moira could’ve lied.
But Henri had insisted on paying for the baby’s care.
Mercy took a big gulp of buttermilk, then held her head just as Caroline had earlier. How could the men they’d counted on fail them so badly?
31
Mercy stifled a yawn as she listened to the school board members argue about funding. She’d not slept much last night, unable to stop thinking about what she was going to tell Nicholas. Timothy hadn’t outright confessed to her, but he’d said enough that Nicholas could take what she knew and ferret out what happened from there.
After finally getting to sleep, she’d slept too long, not only missing her chance to talk to Nicholas but breakfast as well. She wasn’t the only adult in the mansion responsible for the children, but now she’d have to apologize for her sloth as well as for her brother’s debauchery once she returned home.
She picked up her pencil and underlined the names of the three candidates for the high school math position for the twentieth time. The newest and final name on the list belonged to a Miss Roundtree, a young lady with sparkly blue eyes and a contagious smile. But with the way her voice was all sugar, enthusiasm, and light, she was much better suited for working with young children. She’d talked to the board members interviewing her as if they were no taller than her kneecap and had just learned their ABCs.
Mercy could imagine how Max and Robert would react to being talked to like that—especially since Miss Roundtree had only taken the minimal amount of math required to obtain her teaching license.
“All right, all right.” Mr. Hicks put up his hands, waving them as if he were telling people to sit, though no one had left their seats. “We’re obviously not going to settle the funding problem in one day. We can think things through and talk again next meeting.”
The board president gathered the papers in front of him and then continued. “Let’s finish the hiring. We have Firebrook, Tate, and Roundtree to consider for the math position since Miss Edison pulled her application.”
“I don’t see how Miss Roundtree would fare well in the high school,” Mr. Carter said.
Though Mr. Carter always favored men over women applicants, she had to agree with him in this case.
“And Mrs. Tate.” Mr. Lafferty shook his head. “I don’t think she wants to teach as much as she wants to discipline. She sounded like a dictator.”
Mr. Carter crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his seat as if he were board president. “You can’t deny some of the town children need discipline rather badly.”
“But she’s been fired from two school districts. That’s hard to overlook.”
“That leaves us with Mr. Firebrook.” Mr. Hicks turned to Mercy. “You’re the one who objected to him. Can you elaborate on why you think he’s not fit—at least not more fit than these other two?” He looked at his papers and frowned. “We’ve not received any more applications. Doesn’t mean we won’t, but I’d like detailed reasons on why we shouldn’t hire Mr. Firebrook at this point.”
She took a drink of water before looking up. “I no longer have any objections. I’d give him the job.”
“Now wait a second.” Dr. Freedman turned to Mercy. “You had a strong aversion to him at his interview and pushed us to consider others. Surely Miss Roundtree’s naïveté and Mrs. Tate’s hardness can’t be so off-putting you’ve dismissed your reservations. What was your objection?”
She took another sip of her water, hoping she’d not have to divulge too much, since Dr. Freedman might remember Aaron tormenting his younger siblings. “He’s worked at the mansion with me for nearly two months. I had told Mr. Lowe I wasn’t keen on his being hired, but I have no say in the hiring there, so he gave Mr. Firebrook the job. I’ve now watched him tutor math, both to an exceptional student and a struggling one, and I think he’s done very well.”
“That doesn’t explain your original objection.”
If only Dr. Freedman weren’t so stubbornly thorough. Probably a good quality for a doctor, but not an endearing one at the moment. “I knew him as a child and didn’t have fond memories of him, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“I recognized the Firebrook name.” Dr. Freedman looked at his notes, tapping his fingers on the table. “You say he attended school here?”
“Yes.” Hadn’t Aaron said so at his interview?
“I don’t remember an Aaron Firebrook. I definitely remember a George.” Dr. Freedman’s brows furrowed, as if he saw something concerning.
Her lungs collapsed. There wasn’t anything she could do to keep him from remembering now.
“Can I see his application again?” Dr. Freedman held out his hand for Mr. Hicks’s pile of papers and flipped to the last page. “Does this G in front of his signature stand for George?”
“Yes.” She kept her expression as passionless as possible.
“The boy who bullied anyone and everyone?” He looked up in the air for only a second, then shook his head. “I should’ve figured that out. The beard though . . .” He turned to look at her with narrowed eyes. “You knew he was George but chose not to say anything?”
“As I said, I’ve been around him for months now and believe him to have become a better man.”
“Why didn’t you completely denounce him at his interview?” Dr. Freedman frowned as he looked at the rest of the board. “He was the worst bully I’ve ever met. Not to me personally, but toward my younger brother.” He looked back at Mercy and stared at her missing hand.
She tucked her arm behind the table.
“I’m sure George harassed you mercilessly in school, so why would you say nothing?”
“He . . .” How could she get Dr. Freedman to see what had taken her weeks to realize? “I did plan to tell you after the interview, but when he came to shake our hands, well, that obviously made him remember who I was, but then he . . . he asked that I give him a chance.”
“A chance?” Dr. Freedman’s brows raised. “You alone decided to give him a chance?”
She fiddled with her skirt and couldn’t make herself look up. “I figured we’d find someone better soon enough. Besides, who am I to make judgments about a person I’ve not seen for over a decade?” Though she’d not realized that at first, she should have. “But I’ve been afforded the opportunity to see the type of man he’s become. He truly has changed. He cares about people, about kids, about being a better man.”
“And this is why women are a liability in any sort of official position; they’re swayed by ho
w they feel instead of what they know.” Mr. Carter harrumphed.
“I’m sorry?” She did look up then. Mr. Carter made known his opinion on women being the inferior sex readily and repeatedly, but he was wrong. “My emotion got the best of me back at the interview, when I realized who he was. That’s why I wanted to look for someone else, despite his qualifications. But emotion is not getting the best of me now. I’ve seen with my own eyes he’s become a good man, and I believe with all my heart he’ll be a good teacher.”
Mr. Carter leaned forward. Though he was clear across the room, it seemed as if he were trying to get in her face. “Oh? With all your heart?” His smile turned patronizing. “Did he play paramour? Did he realize you were the obstacle to his goals and woo you into believing he was a swell guy?”
Her muscles tightened.
“If asking for a second chance was all it took to keep you quiet, he probably realized you were easy prey.” He glanced toward her arm behind the table. “A bully can use charm just as easily as force.”
As Mr. Carter would certainly know.
She kept her gaze on him but found it hard to reply. If these men found out Aaron had kissed her, would they agree with Mr. Carter?
And if that’s the first thing Mr. Carter believed Aaron would do, and he’d in fact done so . . . No, it couldn’t be . . . Though with what Timothy and Henri were about, maybe she really was as gullible as Mr. Carter thought her.
“Well?” Mr. Carter’s smirk had grown so big she could likely have smacked it off from across the room.
Even if Aaron had charmed her to get this job, that didn’t negate the fact that he’d done well tutoring Max and Robert and handled Jimmy better than any of the adults at the orphanage. “If you don’t believe my assessment, ask Mr. Lowe. He’s seen Aaron tutor and interact with the children, and he’d not fall victim to whatever charm you suggest Aaron might’ve used on me.” There. If that wasn’t a logical enough answer, she didn’t know what was.
She turned to Dr. Freedman. “Don’t judge him hastily. If a man can’t change, then we’re all doomed. But he has, and I believe he’ll do an excellent job.”
Dr. Freedman’s expression didn’t soften. “I can’t in good conscience hire a man who’s proven to be capable of hurting the vulnerable.”
“It’s time to vote.” Mr. Carter slapped the table, looking across at her. “I say Mrs. Tate.”
Mr. Lafferty smoothed his white beard with his hand in the rhythmical way he always did when contemplating his vote. “Miss Roundtree needs the job since her parents left her with nothing and she has a young brother to care for. And certainly no students would come to harm under her.”
“Though they might not learn much,” Mercy added, though she was fairly certain nothing she could say now would sway them. Dr. Freedman certainly had more influence than she ever would.
“She’s plenty capable of reading the textbook and forming plans.” Dr. Freedman nodded. “I vote Miss Roundtree as well.”
The men down the table all voted, one for Mrs. Tate and the rest for Miss Roundtree.
Perhaps she was indeed emotional and gullible, but she couldn’t vote against Aaron when he’d proven himself—to her at least. “I vote for Mr. Firebrook.”
Mr. Carter rolled his eyes, and Mr. Hicks called an end to the meeting.
The others stood up around her, their chairs scraping against the plank flooring, but she couldn’t make herself leave her seat. She had no one to blame but herself for bringing in these other applicants and causing Aaron to lose the job he’d hoped for—that he was right for.
She couldn’t help the tears brimming in her eyes as she stared at her malformed arm. It had taken her a long time to forgive Aaron.
How long would she have to wait to be forgiven by him?
32
Mercy walked slowly toward the mansion, looking for Aaron but not seeing him. He’d become so much a part of the landscape, she expected to see him every time she was out-of-doors. But how could she face him now, knowing she was responsible for killing his dream?
She couldn’t make up for what she’d done, but she’d ask his forgiveness anyway, just as he’d asked for hers. And he’d likely forgive her far faster than she had him, which would make her feel even worse.
Would he stay at the mansion and garden, or look to teach elsewhere?
Earning the forgiveness of a previous classmate was tied up in his promise to teach, so he’d likely leave. Her heart flipped at the thought.
But what if Mr. Carter was right? What if Aaron left immediately, acting as if he had no romantic attachment to her whatsoever? What if he’d only kissed her in an attempt to get her to sway the school board on his behalf?
If Caroline could be snookered into believing a man’s feelings were genuine, could Mercy be failing to see who Aaron really was? Had his kisses clouded her ability to be level-headed?
No, she believed Aaron’s story—a man wouldn’t bring up details like that about himself unless they were heartbreakingly true.
But if he had only led her along, oh, it would hurt.
He’d become far more than her past nemesis. He’d become the person she thought of in the quiet, the man she admired for trying to reconcile himself to those he’d hurt, a sinner courageous enough to allow God to break and remold him, the man who’d helped her believe that misfits could change with God’s grace and men’s long-suffering.
Oh, which uncomfortable task should she do first? Tell Nicholas about her brother or tell Aaron she’d cost him the job he was perfect for?
She’d find Nicholas. Finding out if Aaron had actual feelings for her or had only charmed her could wait a little longer. Surely no one would blame a woman in love for doing that.
She stopped midstep. In love? She blew out a shaky breath and stared at the ground, swallowing against uncertainty. Could she truly be in love? But how could she not love a man who owned up to his mistakes and tried his hardest to be better every day? Oh, how scary it was to be in love after his motives had been called into question.
Granted, Mr. Carter didn’t know Aaron, but she’d known Timothy her whole life and somehow didn’t know him at all. The same could be true of Aaron.
But Aaron couldn’t be that great of an actor. She’d watched him with each of the boys, seen his raw emotions in the cellar, and heard the warble in his voice when he’d feared he’d never become the man God wanted him to be.
He just had to be the Aaron she’d come to know.
Oh, how she hoped Mr. Carter was wrong. For if Aaron hadn’t changed, what hope was there for Timothy?
She forged inside the mansion and took off her lightweight shawl. She listened for the sound of Franklin’s dress shoes clipping along the polished floor but heard nothing.
The young man was hardly ever remiss in welcoming people to the mansion.
She’d expected to ask him where Nicholas was rather than wander around the property. She needed to tell him about Timothy before her courage and conviction waned.
In the library, instead of Nicholas, she found Timothy reading.
She wavered on the threshold.
Shouldn’t she give Timothy the chance to keep some of his dignity and resign instead of being fired?
Thankful he was alone, she forced herself to step inside the room, which smelled of leather and pages.
Owen’s hoot drew her gaze to the window. Patricia was sitting atop a garden wall, her body hunched, her foot swinging in a bored rhythm as she watched Owen kick a ball to Robert. Jimmy was nowhere to be seen, but that wasn’t a surprise. “May I speak with you?”
Timothy looked up and sighed, then lowered his book.
She supposed that was a yes. “In regard to what I learned about you and Lily White, I think—”
A knock sounded on the doorframe, and Franklin stepped into the library. “Pardon me, but Cook doesn’t want to dish up a plate for Jimmy again unless he’s here. Has Jimmy been found?”
Jimmy hadn’t come to breakf
ast?
Timothy tossed his book onto the table. “No, and if he doesn’t return by dinnertime, he’ll go without that meal as well.”
She glared at her brother. “Don’t tell me you didn’t actually check up on him last night. You promised.”
Timothy huffed. “I told you I’d take care of him. Jimmy only wants attention, and we’ve been giving it to him. Hours of wandering around looking for him, hours of lectures he disregards. Well, maybe a night curled up in the barn or wherever he decided to pout will do him good. Once he realizes we aren’t going to let him lead us on a merry chase any longer, he’ll come out of hiding.”
She clenched her teeth hard to keep from railing at her brother. “Did Aaron or Mr. Lowe agree to this plan?”
“I haven’t a need to talk to either of them. This is my job.” Her brother’s eyes pierced into hers. “Not theirs.”
Patricia stomped into the room past Franklin and let out a frustrated groan that turned into a cough. “All right, it’s your turn to watch the boys.” Patricia’s voice was high-pitched and congested. She snuffled and pulled out a handkerchief. “My head feels worse every minute, and I can’t take them anymore. When I told Robert to stop ripping up grass, he told me I shouldn’t put so much starch in my tatted pantalets!” Her expression was so infused with shock and horror Mercy barely kept her smile hidden.
The amused sparkle in Franklin’s eyes as he turned to leave made it impossible for Mercy to hold in her chuckle, but Patricia was too incensed and congested to notice the laughter or the fact that she’d repeated the insult in Franklin’s presence. “I’m going to burrow myself into bed now. Tell Cook to send up broth for me when she sends some up for Max.”
“What’s wrong with Max?” Had they all caught what Katelyn had?
Patricia wiped her nose. “He started with fever chills early this morning and has been sleeping most of the day. We should’ve never allowed Caroline to help Cook this week while tending to that sick—” She stopped and shook her head, covering what she’d almost said with a sorry excuse for a sneeze. “Baby.”
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