“No.” She put her hand to her throbbing forehead.
“Thank you.” His voice was whisper soft, sincere.
“For what?” She’d fought him all afternoon and still wasn’t sure about the way he’d forced her to come. But she was glad she’d been there to help the children escape such a horrific life.
He’d been right. She needed to see how the poor and destitute lived—all types of poor and destitute.
His hand rubbed the worn cushion seat beside him. “I wouldn’t have convinced Pepper of my honorable intentions if you hadn’t been there.”
“You’d have eventually hit on Queenie’s name. That turned the girl faster than having my support.”
“But you telling her that you trusted me—”
She held up a hand. “I only said I trusted you wouldn’t do anything to harm us.”
He stared at her as their wagon rattled over a few potholes. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
She swallowed and turned away from his intense hazel eyes. “You might care for these people who need you, but do you have any love for those who disagree with you?”
He sputtered and leaned forward, closer. “Are you saying that just because I think your quilting project’s ridiculous, I somehow hate you?”
“I’m saying it because of how you’re going about ‘helping.’ Have you ever considered you may be harming people with your high-handedness? Truth be told, you seem to enjoy making me as uncomfortable as possible. If I’d refused to go to Annie’s, you said you’d no longer fulfill my wishes. But these people would still need that help whether I came or not. You’re preaching God’s love for the least of these, but only if it’s done your way.”
He shook his head vehemently. “Would you have come with me today if I’d told you where we were going?”
She leaned her head on her hand, staring out the window at the buildings passing by. “No. But don’t you see? Those children . . .” Lydia rubbed her temples. “They needed help, true. But the rules of etiquette—the rules that warn me against having anything to do with women of ill repute because of how they might lead me astray—the wisdom of such restrictions is demonstrated by those children and by what they were about to do. That Pepper would hand over her little sister to . . . to . . .”
“But you and the ladies in your moral society are grown women.” He scooted to the front of his seat. “You’re mature enough to see the wrong of it. Pepper hasn’t been instructed any better.”
She swallowed against the warmth behind her eyes at the very thought of what Pepper had almost done to herself and her sister. “God says we aren’t supposed to have anything to do with corrupt people for a reason.”
“In the church, Lydia, corrupt people in the church. How can we bring the Good News to the world if we stay away from sinners? Rather we’re supposed to avoid those who claim to be Christian yet blatantly sin and refuse to repent. If we cloistered ourselves away from those who sin and sin frequently, those who need Christ, then we’d never leave the church’s four walls. And even there we can’t get away from those who sin.”
His eyes burned into her own. “Lydia.” He waved his hand. “They’re all under judgment out there. How will they come under grace if no one tells them they can have it?”
She rubbed at her temples again. She couldn’t argue that, but he wasn’t completely in the right either. “Yet you separate yourself from the church. That’s definitely not what the Bible teaches.”
He broke eye contact and fidgeted, his seat creaking. “Most Christians I know would make places like the red-light district worse, since holier-than-thous expect those people to clean themselves up before being allowed to hear of God’s love. If sinners could stop sinning without help, why do they need a Savior? Christians still mess up, yet we expect prostitutes, drunks, and ensnared men to stop sinning all on their own? If Thick Lips Annie cleaned herself up, would you dine with her? Would the church invite her to Bible study? Who’s going to hire her? You?”
She chewed her fingernail and studied his shadowy figure. She couldn’t work with him anymore. He made her feel incapable of doing anything good unless he thought it up for her. The Littles and her father already found her wanting. Why keep another person in her life who disparaged her unless she meekly complied with everything he said?
Sebastian wanted to use her to gain voters. Father wanted to use her to secure his future. Nicholas wanted to use her to further his agenda.
They were all much the same, though Nicholas’s maneuverings did end up benefiting more than just himself. “You thought you knew what I’d do without asking, so you strong-armed me into doing as you wished. Then you’re angered when I dare offer up a counterpoint to your methods. You wave off the moral society’s attempts to help reform the lost because you don’t like how we do it. Why not try to behave civilly and talk to us like we’re rational creatures?”
The coach slowed in front of her house and turned down the alleyway. She braced herself for the stop. “I don’t agree with everything you do, which seems to be something you can’t handle.” She’d been giddy over how much money she’d get to help him distribute, but it was clear now she had no say at all. What was the point of continuing? “I’m sure you see that our continuing to work together is not a good idea.”
The carriage stopped, and they sat in cold silence.
When she couldn’t take it anymore, she nodded toward Nicholas as she slid toward the exit. “Good day.”
Nicholas opened the door for her. “I’ll send you word when the library books arrive. Hopefully it’ll be no more than two weeks. We can meet then to discuss how to proceed with the library.”
She tripped down the stairs.
When she got her footing, she looked back up at Nicholas. “You still want me to work for you at the library? I thought declining to go on your escapades meant the deal was off.”
He sighed. “You’re right that needs don’t disappear even if you do. And so, even if you no longer wish to be involved, I’ll start the library, and the position is yours if you want it.”
She’d just said working together would be untenable . . . but he’d not be at the library every hour, questioning her judgment, her morals, her heart.
He exited the coach and put out his hand as if he intended to touch her, but dropped it just shy of doing so. His hands clenched tightly at his sides. “If your future plans don’t work out, I want you to have an income. A woman with means can stay out of trouble. Besides, you’re perfect for the job.”
Though the library position would fit her talents and interests nicely, working in his library would mean her future would be forever entangled with his. Did she have the fortitude to endure his high-handedness forever?
She clasped her hands together. “I’ll think about it.” She’d have to pray before committing.
But one thing she did know, she wouldn’t sit at home and do nothing just because Nicholas wouldn’t be dragging her around town anymore in his run-down vehicles. He wasn’t the only one who could help those poor kids.
19
Lydia tromped into the police station, and an officer behind the front desk lifted his head for a second and nodded toward a line of chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.” Then he went back to writing.
Settling herself onto the hard chair, she willed herself not to think of Nicholas, not to replay anything they’d said to each other yesterday, because examining it now would only make her madder. But as the minutes ticked by . . .
What had he meant by saying the librarian job would keep her out of trouble? Was he referencing Queenie’s statement that some women choose prostitution because they’re penniless?
She straightened and scowled. How dare he believe she’d be so morally weak!
Those ladies had to have been morally weak from the beginning to choose to become some man’s lover for monetary gain.
Monetary gain.
Sheets of burning ice enfolded her entire body.
Choosin
g to be with a man for monetary gain.
Her hands shook as the parallel popped into her brain.
No, she planned to marry. The institution of marriage itself made what she planned to do perfectly acceptable. For centuries, families married off their daughters to increase their wealth. Even people in the Bible married without love.
Planning her life around a job that could fall through at any time was what was foolish. She wasn’t even sure she could work with Nicholas on a permanent basis. Her best bet was still marriage.
Blowing out a breath, she conjured up an image of herself in the wedding gown she planned to sew. A creamy blue dress to match her eyes, with black accents to highlight her hair—a gown she’d wear later to fancy town gatherings.
But instead of seeing herself in that gown on a campaign platform beside Sebastian, the image of her with Nicholas in the gardens behind his red-roofed white mansion popped up. And no matter how hard she tried to imagine Sebastian holding her hand, gazing down into her eyes lovingly, his brown eyes kept morphing into Nicholas’s gold-flecked hazel ones. How would it feel to have him look at her with approval, the intensity of his gaze pinned on her not because he was finding fault, but because—
“Miss?”
She jumped at the officer’s bellow. Placing a cool hand on her cheek, she hoped she wasn’t as red as she felt. “I’m sorry?”
What was she thinking? She didn’t like Nicholas. At all.
“I’m ready for you now.”
She stood, though she’d rather have stepped outside for a minute to cool off. “I need to report some children in need of assistance.”
“Your children?”
“Goodness, no.” She took a seat in the chair in front of his desk. How to tell him about the children without giving away her whereabouts yesterday? She might not like Nicholas, but he was filling needs no one else did. He’d planned to go back to Queenie’s to pick up Pepper and her siblings, but what if Pepper changed her mind about going with him? Queenie hadn’t enough room for three children, let alone the resources to care for them for very long. But Lydia couldn’t tell the officer Nicholas’s intentions. She didn’t want to ruin his work, even if he hadn’t sworn her to secrecy. “They are the children of . . . uh . . . They came to my attention through some poor woman who . . . works for a family friend.”
“Do you not attend a church that can assist them?”
She picked at her skirt. Nicholas didn’t think the church would help, and it miffed her that he was likely right. “I think they need more assistance, within the law and all. They’ve been abandoned.”
“I see.” He pulled out his paper and picked up his pen.
“They were left in the care of a drunkard. They’re so thin I doubt they’ve ever had enough to eat. The youngest is lethargic and doesn’t speak, and the eldest girl seems to think her only hope of feeding her siblings is to . . .” She breathed out, hoping to cool the heat in her cheeks. “. . . is to find work at a house of ill repute.”
One of his eyebrows shot up. “And where do these children live?”
“On Twelfth and Willow, I believe. They’re currently at the house of a woman named Queenie, though I don’t know for how long.”
The man pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “How old is this girl?”
“Perhaps fourteen? I really don’t know.”
“And living in that section of town, I assume her mother is a sporting woman?”
Lydia swallowed and pulled at her high collar. “I don’t know the woman, but I’ve heard that it’s so, and that she’s left them.”
“Well, the children of a prostitute don’t know much different.” He shrugged. “The girl was bound to turn in that direction.”
“But she intends to take her nine-year-old sister to work with her.” She leaned forward and pointed at the pen he’d laid on the desk. “You need to do something about innocent children so neglected and hungry they’re embarking on a very, very evil path. I know the town wants to remove the red-light district since it’s in clear violation of the law, but to do that, you must stop the influx of people, mere children, entering this unsightly business.”
“Ma’am, I know you mean well.” He turned down the corners of his mouth with a poor attempt at sympathy. “But you being who you are, well, you don’t understand these people. They’re—”
“I understand that there is a little boy and two girls in need of police guidance and protection.”
“But it’s not in our—”
“I’m a friend of the Littles.” She thumped the desk with her fist. “As you know, Sebastian Little is running his campaign on the platform of joining together to rid our state of this evil.”
He shook his head, evidently unimpressed.
Wasn’t Sebastian’s father his boss, or at least his superior?
Yet he didn’t pick up his pen.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “How would it look if I told the mayor his future daughter-in-law came to you for help but you did nothing?”
Though he seemed more interested in assessing her than starting his report, he dragged his writing utensil off the desk, flipped open a pad of paper, and sat back in his chair. “So you’re the one marrying Sebastian?”
She forced herself not to shrug. It seemed the Littles’ name had been the only thing that had gotten him to move. “We expect to marry, yes.”
“All right.” He started to write.
Though it seemed the admission had caused him to start doing his job, she almost wished she could take back the words. They weren’t engaged yet, but admitting it would happen soon made her feel as if she were handing the officer the keys to lock her up in one of his cells.
She rattled off everything she knew about the children. “So you’ll see to this?”
“I’ll write down your concerns in the record book, and then we’ll see to it when we can.”
When they could? How could abandoned, starving children not be a priority? Looking at his indifferent face made her droop. It looked like the law wouldn’t do much, but the church had to—despite what Nicholas said about them. Surely the children’s story would stir the hearts of Christ followers. “Thank you, I suppose. I’ll have the Littles check on your progress.”
He shrugged. “Sure.”
Walking out of the precinct, she turned in the direction of the parsonage.
The way Mrs. Little viewed the streetwalkers, she’d probably shoot down any suggestion for the moral society to help the children. And Mr. Little seemed to have little interest in her ideas.
But surely the pastor and his wife would help immediately once they heard. Didn’t Nicholas say something about the Wiselys being good people? And she knew that was true.
Bernadette answered her knock with a weary smile, or maybe a grimace? “Come in, Lydia. I’m afraid Evelyn’s not here.”
She shrugged. “I’m actually here to see you.”
“Oh? What brings you by?”
“Trouble.”
Bernadette’s expression lost all happy pretense and tightened into a look of pain. “I hope everything’s all right at home.”
Not exactly, but that was neither here nor there. “I’m not the one in trouble.”
“I’m glad of that—not that I’m glad there’s trouble.” Rubbing at the spot above her temple, Bernadette sighed. “Well, come in and have tea.”
Lydia reached out, feeling the tense muscles in the woman’s arm. “Are you ill?”
“I don’t feel my best, haven’t for a while. I’m having terrible headaches that I can’t shake, and they seem to be getting worse. But, please, come in.”
“Why haven’t you shared how you feel at prayer meetings?”
She sat down at the table and poured two cups of tea. No steam rose from the liquid. “It’s hard to complain as a pastor’s wife. I always feel as if I have to be this model of Christian womanhood.” She dropped some sugar in her drink and swirled her tea hypnotically slow with a spoon.
&nb
sp; “We all have weaknesses.” Lydia sipped the lukewarm peppermint tea and set it back on its saucer. “Surely we’d extend grace to you if we expect it for ourselves.”
“We’ll find out soon enough.” Bernadette looked through her at some distant spot.
Lydia frowned. Bernadette might have asked her to come in, but was that only because she believed she should as a pastor’s wife? She certainly didn’t look well. “Maybe I should leave.”
“As long as you don’t need something from me, you can keep me company for a bit—though I’m not exactly good company right now.”
Lydia stared at her tea, which smelled slightly medicinal. “Um . . .” She had indeed come for something, but surely Bernadette would want to know about Pepper and her siblings. “I just learned about some children needing help. You’re the most sacrificial woman I know, and your husband always praises your servant’s heart.”
“Yes.” She didn’t sound happy about the compliment.
“These children have been abandoned, and I figured you could help me find them some food, maybe a home . . .” She trailed off at the troubled look in Bernadette’s eyes. Something more than just pain.
Bernadette tipped her head back to stare at the ceiling. “You’re testing me right out of the gate, aren’t you? And with one that’s not so easy.”
Lydia’s eyes sought the same corner, though she knew she wouldn’t see God there.
“I can’t help you.” Bernadette sighed and frowned. “You’ll have to find someone else.”
“You can’t help starving children?” What hope had she if Bernadette wasn’t willing to help? The pastor’s wife had filled Lydia’s belly countless times over the years after the older woman realized how often Lydia and her mother lived on one meal a day. “I can’t believe there could be anything God could ask of you that would be more worthy.”
“I didn’t say helping needy children wasn’t worthy. But you’ll need to shoulder the task yourself. . . . I won’t be volunteering for anything anymore.”
“No more volunteering?” Lydia’s mouth hung open. This woman had pushed them to serve. Her husband—the pastor himself—did less charity work than she. Bernadette was a model of virtuous activity. “Why would you quit everything? Are you that sick?”
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