Henri watched her until she sat down, his jaw rocking back and forth, then turned back to Caroline. He folded his hands in front of himself and hung his head, his shoulders slumping with the action. “I can’t deny there’s a possibility Katelyn’s my child.”
Caroline’s face went blank.
Mercy winced. Well, that was blunt.
Henri heaved a huge sigh. “Of course I can’t prove she’s mine either. But it is possible, and for that I’m sorry.” He continued to stare at their feet. “I’ve been sorry about that for a long time. Sorry I ever visited Moira, sorry I ever let my hatred build until I wanted to be . . . vindicated. I turned my back on everything I believed in.”
He turned to pace. “I might not have the same convictions Nick does with all his talk of God, but I’d always thought myself a good man, just like you’re a good woman, without all that religion. But then . . . then I went against my own conscience. I broke my own rules. I didn’t need God to tell me I’d sinned, because what I’d done was wrong. Very wrong. I . . . I’ll spare you the details, but we all do wrong, don’t we?”
He gestured wildly about as if indicating the whole world. “But I’ve gone past what even I’d forgive.” He stopped at the edge of the portico and looked out, his back to both of them. “I’ve been struggling with what to do with that sin for almost a year now.”
After a quiet moment, he turned and looked at Caroline, his eyes puffy and red. “Do you remember the day you came to my office with David Kingsman, begging me for that women’s shelter you and Miss Wisely—I mean, you and Mrs. Kingsman—wanted?”
Caroline nodded almost imperceptibly.
“I was angry.”
She nodded emphatically at that.
“I was drowning in guilt, because it wasn’t but a little while before that, that I . . . Well, I’d gone against my convictions and had become the kind of man Nick and you and all the others hated—the type of man who created the need for the red-light district.”
He turned and walked straight back to Caroline. “I’d seen my error and thoroughly despised myself. I only saw her the once and didn’t even know she’d disappeared until you told me. I didn’t really want to find her, but I wanted to prove to you, and myself, that I could be good. While searching for her, I wondered why I’d been so focused on Moira my whole life, when it was you I . . .”
He cleared his throat as though covering over what he’d been about to say. He looked back at Katelyn. “I didn’t actually find Moira. She sent me a letter that told me to come get my child.”
Mercy fidgeted, though she knew he wasn’t staring at her but rather the baby in her arms.
“Of course, knowing what Moira does for a living, I doubted the claim, and yet, it could’ve been true. When she handed me the baby, the slight red sheen of her hair made me think there was a possibility. Moira suggested you raise her, and I agreed. Who could be better to raise her than you? She may or may not be mine, but there’s no doubt she’s your kin, and I figured I’d do whatever I could to help you.”
Caroline wrapped her arms about herself, the first hint of vulnerability she’d displayed since he’d started his speech. “So I’m only worthy of taking care of your mistakes?”
“No! That’s not it.” He reached out as if wanting to take her hands, but since she backed away, he let them fall limply to his side. “That day you came to my office with David knocked sense into me. Your story about how Moira saved you from prostitution and how you’d given up your life to help her contrasted so sharply with my own selfishness. I never really wanted to marry Moira—she’d only hurt my pride. And what was a whack to my ego compared to the evil I’d done to her? But you . . .” He let out a rush of air. “When I thought of who I would want to marry, the only person I could think of was you.”
He held out his hands in front of him as if he could see his sins caked upon his palms. “But I knew my secret. I knew I didn’t deserve you.”
“And you don’t.” Caroline’s voice was hard.
“You’re right. I don’t.” Henri alternately nodded and shook his head, as if resignation and denial wrestled for dominion within him. “But I want you to know, before I had any idea Katelyn existed, I’d thought about you. That’s why I had to talk to you. You’re wrong to think I want to marry you only to hide what I’ve done. I proposed hoping you’d come to at least accept me, if not love me. And when you took that ride with me, I thought I might even have a chance at gaining the real thing.”
Caroline seemed to wake up from the reverie she’d been in. “How could you think our marriage could’ve been the real thing if you kept the possibility of Katelyn being your daughter a secret?”
“I wasn’t going to.” He ran his hands through his hair. “But that sort of information isn’t the kind of thing you bring up the first time the woman you admire finally agrees to take a ride with you.”
“It should’ve at least come up when you offered marriage.”
He breathed heavily. “Yes, but I’d wronged you so badly, and you hadn’t yet warmed up to me, and . . . well, I figured I’d lose you if I brought that up first thing.” He huffed. “I doubted you’d keep me anyway once I told you, but I was hoping to show you my feelings were genuine before you turned me down. Plus, I didn’t want you to feel obligated to marry me in order to keep Katelyn.”
“You don’t want her?” Caroline frowned over at Katelyn, and Mercy froze, as if not moving could keep them from realizing she was still there.
He looked up at the ceiling of the two-story portico. “It’s not that I don’t want her, but if she’s only going to have one parent, she’s better off with you than me.”
Katelyn started fussing in Mercy’s arms, as if she knew she was being talked about. Her cries would escalate if not soothed quickly. Mercy stood to bounce her, wondering if she shouldn’t just quietly slip away and let them talk in private despite Caroline’s insistence she stay.
It was clear by the look on Henri’s face, the anxiety in his pacing, and the way his speech varied between tender and erratic, that he meant everything he said.
Though Mercy had found plenty of reasons to question her discernment skills lately, not trusting anyone, no matter what they said, would be a sad way to live life. Caroline might not want to do anything “emotionally foolish,” but after listening to him, she’d advise Caroline to heed her emotions.
Her friend probably wouldn’t care for that advice.
Henri reached into his pocket. “So here.” He pulled out a key and dangled it between them.
“What’s this?” Caroline made no attempt to reach for it.
“It’s a key to a house, a light blue two-story clapboard on Maple and Second, number two forty-six. It’s yours and Katelyn’s, fully paid, no strings attached.”
Caroline continued to stare at the key. “I-I can’t accept a house.”
Henri straightened to his full height, which was likely only a half inch taller than Caroline’s. “The day after you came to ask me for a job, I started searching for a place. You asked for help, and if you were determined to work, I wanted to make sure you had somewhere to live. It’s in your name. Not even I can take it away from you. You could sell it, rent it—it’s yours.”
He took Caroline’s hand and curled her fingers around the key. “I shouldn’t have kept the baby’s possible origins from you the day I proposed, but I was drowning in hope that I’d be blessed with something I didn’t deserve, and I was scared to lose you. But however you choose to think about what I’ve done, please don’t hate Katelyn because of me. I’ll send you money to support her. Whether she’s mine or not, she’s an orphan in need of support, and the Lowes shouldn’t have to be the only ones in this town doing so. If you need more, just ask and I’ll send it to you. I know you won’t ask for more than you need because you’re that good.”
“I can’t keep a baby who belongs to someone else,” Caroline whispered while shaking her head.
“If you feel that way, I’ll
give up all claim to her. I’d just ask that you’d let me see her once in a while.” He looked down at his hands, which he kept clasping and unclasping. “She doesn’t need to know I might be her father, but . . . when we meet on the street, I’d just ask that you let me ask her how she’s doing in school or what she got for her birthday without hurrying her away from me.”
Caroline dropped her gaze to the key in her hand.
“If you don’t want to speak to me again, I’ll do my best to do nothing more than acknowledge you in situations where it would be rude not to. You can request things for Katelyn through writing without fear of needing to pay me back.”
He lifted the note he’d waved at Mercy in the entryway. “You accused me of only wanting to marry you to hide my mistakes. It was a huge mistake, yes. But I didn’t ask you to marry me because I wanted to cover up for Katelyn. It was because I’d finally gotten up my nerve to ask the woman I love, but don’t deserve, to marry me. I love you, whether Katelyn exists or not.”
He stood silently, and Mercy held her breath as Caroline just stared at the key in her hand.
After an agonizingly slow half minute, he hung his head and backed away. When Caroline didn’t move, he turned and headed for a four-seater Ford Model K parked in the drive.
Caroline didn’t watch him walk away. She just stood staring at the key in her hand. And then a tear fell.
Tucking the baby against her chest, Mercy stood and approached her friend, placing her hand on Caroline’s shoulder. “If you wanted to run after him, I don’t particularly think that would be an emotional mistake. I’ve never seen a man more repentant and sincere.”
Caroline looked up at her, blinking repeatedly, the corners of her mouth twitching.
Mercy gave her a small nod and smiled.
“Wait,” Caroline called, and then she scurried off the porch. “Henri.”
He turned slowly, and a smile both hopeful and heartbreakingly fragile grew on his lips the closer she got.
Caroline nearly tripped into his arms, and he caught her face between his hands. His desperate kiss made Mercy’s heart throb with both a sad and happy ache.
She turned her back on the couple who didn’t need an audience any longer and rocked Katelyn, who still made noises that promised to become full-blown cries if something wasn’t done soon. “Let’s go get you a bottle. Seems your parents could use some time to themselves.”
35
Mercy strolled listlessly through the garden, letting her fingers brush against the wilting roses.
Tomorrow would be one week since the auction.
One week since Aaron had disappeared without a word.
And one week until Robert and Max left for Boston, leaving only Owen at the orphanage until Jimmy or any new orphans showed up.
There wasn’t much for her to do here while waiting on Nicholas and Lydia to find new directors, or while waiting for news of Aaron that would likely wreck her heart.
She couldn’t help but frown up at the mansion as she made her way inside to avoid the rain arriving from the southwest. Though she’d had far happier memories in her childhood home, in this place, she’d gained what she needed to stand up for what was right. She’d also learned how far she still had to grow. Those lessons hadn’t been particularly pleasant, but they were irreplaceable.
It had also been where she’d had her first kiss, and for some reason, the memory of it hadn’t turned sour, despite what sort of man had stolen it from her.
Except her heart still refused to believe Aaron was anything short of good.
Until Aaron was found, she might as well stop trying to force herself into believing he was a criminal. Her brother was as awful as the evidence showed, but Henri, though he’d conceded he’d done wrong, had not meant to hurt anyone, cared how his failure affected others, and was doing what he could to make restitution.
Aaron had seemed exactly like that sort of man.
But whether he returned a thief, returned with a perfectly good explanation, or never returned at all, what good would it do to stay here pining and agonizing?
In all the disasters that had come from her doing what was right lately, God had come through for her in ways she hadn’t expected. He would come through again—but maybe Aaron wouldn’t be a part of it. A sad thought, that, but one that had to be faced.
She found Lydia in the parlor with her arm around Sadie. The young blonde was hunched over, with her hands covering her eyes. Franklin was standing in the back of the room, staring out the window toward the storm clouds rolling in.
Mercy walked in as quietly as she could. “Is Sadie all right?”
The young housekeeper looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes and shrugged.
“Sadie’s trying to convince me she needs to leave for our family’s sake, but that’s ridiculous.” Lydia huffed and jostled the younger woman a little, as if to convince her.
“Why’s that?” Mercy perched on the edge of the rocker, not quite convinced she wouldn’t need to leave to make broth, since the girl looked utterly drained, if not ill.
Sadie looked off to the side, avoiding Mercy’s gaze. “There are whispers about me . . . in town.”
“You were never a prostitute. Not really,” Lydia insisted.
If there’d been enough room on the loveseat, Mercy would have moved to Sadie’s other side and hugged her. Instead, she leaned forward to squeeze her knee. “I’m so sorry.” Especially since there was just as much a chance her brother and Patricia were at fault for the whispers as Mrs. Sorenson. There was no doubt in Mercy’s mind that everyone else who’d heard the distraught girl’s confession would’ve kept it to themselves.
Lydia looked across at Mercy. “I’ve told her I don’t care. If people are going to be that way, then—”
“I can only imagine what they’ll say about your children being under my influence.” Sadie grasped Lydia’s hand and squeezed it hard enough Mercy could see her muscles tremble. “I will do nothing to hurt you, not after you rescued me.”
Mercy shook her head. “Don’t let crazy people decide what you can or can’t do.”
Sadie frowned at Mercy’s arm before looking up at her. “You know as well as I do how cruel children can be. I don’t think it’s absurd to think people will tell their children to shun Isabelle and Jake because of me.”
Mercy couldn’t argue. “Then what are you going to do?”
Sadie glanced at Franklin for a second, then sat up straight and nodded, as if making an official decree. “I’m going to Kansas City to see if the Kingsmans can find me a job, just like they do for the soiled doves the Lowes have convinced to try for a better life.”
“If you fear the rumors, you can’t go alone.” Franklin’s voice was adamant.
“I could go with her,” Mercy said. Seeing Evelyn again would lift her spirits a little. And though she was sure the Lowes would let her stay on until they found a couple to run the orphanage, she’d need another job at some point. If Evelyn and David could find work for reformed prostitutes, surely they could find a position for a crippled woman.
“But why let anyone shame Sadie into going anywhere?” Franklin whipped around. “If you got married right now, the rumors would stop before they gained teeth, and then you could continue working for the Lowes.” Franklin marched over and got down on one knee in front of Sadie. “So why don’t we?”
“Get married?” Sadie shook her head. “If you’re against people shaming me into leaving, you shouldn’t let people shame you into marrying.”
“But they wouldn’t be. I’ve never stopped wanting to marry you. It’s just . . .” He looked down at the floor. “I was wrong. Just like whoever’s spreading rumors about you over something you had no choice in.”
He took a deep breath and grabbed both of her hands. “I’d already planned to try to win back your trust so I could propose again someday. But, well, I can’t bear to think people will believe you’re running away because you’re ashamed of something you shouldn’t be
ashamed of. Not when I could save you. So . . . would you be willing?”
Sadie stared at her lap and sniffed a couple times. “Are you sure? The rumors might not die.”
“More sure than I’ve ever been.” Franklin rubbed his thumb across the back of her hand.
If Sadie would’ve just looked up at his expression, she wouldn’t have had to ask.
“But what about our jobs?”
Lydia shrugged, a big smile on her face. “What about them?”
“Are you all right with married servants?” Sadie looked more sad about the possibility of Lydia turning her out than the thought of fleeing to Kansas City due to rumors.
Mercy cleared her throat. “You’re in need of new orphanage directors, right? Married ones. What about that?”
Sadie’s blue eyes grew wide. “What? We can’t do that. We’re too young.”
“Age and maturity are two different things.” Now it was Mercy’s turn to sit up straight and nod her head regally. “There are people older than you right now trying to spoil your reputation based on little more than a hint of your past.”
“But Franklin doesn’t want to be connected to—”
“Now hold on.” He put up his hand. “If the Lowes offered it, why shouldn’t we take it? Aaron told me a while ago that he figured God would be sad if we reveled in our freedom and turned our backs on those we can understand like no one else.”
Tears pricked Mercy’s eyes. How could Aaron have said such things and not be the man she thought him to be?
Franklin inched closer to Sadie. “We both were rescued by the Lowes and understand the red-light district children better than anyone here. Why wouldn’t we volunteer our lives to make sure they are given what we’ve got?” He looked to Lydia, who was rubbing her chin, her eyes alight.
“I can’t promise anything without talking to Nicholas, but I can’t imagine a more perfect couple to take over.”
Franklin nodded, looking much older than his nineteen years, then turned back to Sadie. “What do you say? Will you forgive me for thinking there was anything about you that made you unsuitable for me?”
A Chance at Forever Page 30