She blew out a breath and sped up before he realized she’d lagged behind.
“Once Gracie left me, I threw myself into wealth’s arms with a vengeance—investing, concocting new business schemes, speculating. Not until she died did I realize I’d never loved my wife more than money. Though by then, my wealth had blossomed.” He pulled a hand out to rake his hair but knocked off his hat instead. He bent to pick it up and smashed it back on, but he didn’t continue walking, so she stopped beside him. “There are so many more people God ought to have given my wealth to.”
Hadn’t she herself been more worried about Sebastian’s money than his love? Yet God had blessed her with a library job anyway—which she didn’t deserve. “God knew what you’d end up spending your money on, so He believed you deserved to have it.”
He smiled, but looked at her pointedly. “No one else thinks I spend my money wisely.”
Lydia squirmed under his glare, wishing they were still walking. “You can’t blame others for not knowing what you do in secret.”
“But should they judge me?”
“No,” she whispered, staring at an icy crack in the sidewalk.
“Don’t think I’m being hard on you.” He lifted her chin. “I know you don’t take exception to my miserly ways anymore.” He gave her a halfhearted smile and let his hand fall. “And you’ve shown me that nursing grudges doesn’t change the behavior of those I resent.”
“If I picked up a dictionary and looked up miser, I doubt the definition would apply to someone who builds a mansion.”
“Only if I enjoy it alone.”
She bit her lip and looked down. Would he hint at needing a family to fill it up? Take her hand and—
“So that’s why I figured I’d use it for ministry.” He started walking again.
Her cheeks heated. Silly girl. She’d told herself countless times her romantic notions about Nicholas were ridiculous, but she evidently couldn’t help herself.
As if Nicholas would propose to a woman far below him in both station and wealth. Marrying Miss Renfroe would make far better sense than choosing her.
He stopped when he realized she wasn’t beside him.
She rushed toward him. She needed to think practically, as he was. “Wouldn’t a hotel or boardinghouse be better suited for taking in women?”
“I never meant to use it to house ex-prostitutes. I built it telling myself I’d sell it—give the profit to the church. Though, honestly, I just built it to make myself feel better. But after my cousin Roxanna came, I thought God was leading me to use it as I have been.”
She frowned and mentally envisioned the people she’d seen around the mansion. “I haven’t met Roxanna.”
“She’s no longer here.”
“But she encouraged you to take in these women?”
“No, she’d shamed our family by going into prostitution, but all I’d been told was that she’d been disowned.” He looked up at the sky as if he could see something behind its layers of wispy clouds illuminated by the waning sunlight. “When some john threatened her life, my family wouldn’t help her. She had to leave South Carolina. But knowing life out west would be much harder in her field of work, she didn’t want to take her son along. I’m the only one who lives beyond the Mississippi, and having heard my wife dallied elsewhere, Roxie hoped I’d take her son as my heir. She didn’t know I was already a widower.”
“So you couldn’t help her?” Considering how he’d taken Robbie into his arms and fought so hard to keep Pepper from taking Angel to a brothel, how could he have refused to take in a child?
“I did help, but not in the way she’d hoped. I asked them to live with me, and they did . . . for a while. I thought to save Roxie from her profession so she could keep her son.” He sighed. “But it looks like I was wrong to believe I could change the world.”
“So she went back to . . . ?”
He huffed, the white cloud of his breath obscuring his face for a second. “No, she became a mail-order bride instead.”
“Really?” She knew some men out west were desperate, but if they were willing to marry a prostitute, wouldn’t there be plenty to choose from out there? “Did the groom know she was a . . . Did he know her history?”
“Amazingly, yes, and I recently got another letter from her. Seems he wasn’t lying about accepting her as she is. She seems truly happy. And he’s even a religious man.”
Why did he act so depressed when he’d just told her a story of hope? “Why do you sound so defeated?” She pulled her hand from her warm pocket and snagged him.
He stopped and frowned down at her hand clutching his arm.
She softened her grip. “Don’t you see? If this religious man came to accept her, then you can change the world, one person at a time.”
He drew away. “Larry didn’t come to accept her because of anything I did. I’ve had three maids return to prostitution, two kill themselves, one who’s currently dying, and now my remaining three are leaving, hoping to survive by pretending to be something they aren’t. Roxanna was my only success—though it wasn’t my idea for her to pursue personal advertisements. Actually, that makes my success rate zero.” He tipped his head back to look at the overcast sky again. “I need to stick with lumber and gas.”
Lydia wanted to smooth the curls hanging over the furrows on his brow, but considering he’d just drawn away from her, she put her hands back in her pockets. “Don’t give up. Even if you don’t succeed at everything, you’ve succeeded at something. Sadie could still be in a brothel right now, but instead she has a chance.”
“Not much of one.”
“It’s still a chance she didn’t have.”
“And you were the one who rescued her, not me.”
“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t have.” A smile split her face. “You see? You’ve had one success—me.”
He slowed, and then turned to look at her. “And what shall I do with you?”
Lydia’s internal temperature shot up with the intent look in his eye. The nuance of his voice hinted at so much more than what he’d said, but it couldn’t mean . . .
Her desires had to be coloring her interpretation. “I’d intended to join Se— ” Her tongue turned to sludge at having to bring up Sebastian right now. “I’d planned on joining the Little’s crusade against the red-light districts, but I’d much rather follow your plans for helping those people. I believe in what you’re doing, even if it makes me uncomfortable sometimes.”
“I appreciate that, but it looks like I won’t need help anymore. My house will soon be empty.”
“Will you sell it then?” If he sold his house, he’d likely not stay in Teaville.
Her heart plummeted into her stomach and a small groan escaped. She wanted him to stay—and yet, she’d be better off if he left and dashed all her romantic hopes before they got worse.
His expression lost its intensity, and he turned his face away from her. “I might if I can’t think of another use for it that the city won’t tax me to the heavens for.”
She watched a buggy drive by on the quiet road. A child’s head popped out of the oilcloth-covered window and promptly disappeared back inside.
What if . . . “What about children?”
His eyebrows raised.
“Like Sadie and Annie’s three.”
“What about them?”
“What if you turned your place into an orphanage?”
“The poor farm in Liberty takes orphans, doesn’t it?”
“Maybe, but will those children receive the understanding there that we could give them here? What about evil-natured men who find out about an orphan with a past like Sadie’s and think to adopt one . . . will the superintendent be careful to let children as hard as Pepper only go to loving homes? Your cousin came to you for this exact reason—to find a safe place for her son.”
Despite her numb toes, Lydia nearly bounced at the rightness of the idea. “Surely giving these children a decent future would be easier than turning pr
ostitutes back into ladies. If you provided them with schooling and proper care outside of the red-light district, even if no one adopted them, they’d have more of a chance at becoming respectable adults. Annie’s children weren’t even considered worth a policeman’s concern.”
His face was a study in concentration. “Maybe . . . but how can I just ignore the women?”
“We start by changing the townsfolk’s hearts with the children, then work back toward the women. We’ll start by getting the city to realize that fining you is ridiculous, and then—”
“Who’d help me with the children?” His eyes weren’t shining like hers probably were. “There could be a great many.”
“Well, I would, of course, but I can’t be there every day. And surely Miss O’Conner?”
“I don’t know. She’s focused on the women, because of her sister.” His voice descended in quick defeat, making her want to shake some hope into him.
She was surprised anything could dishearten him since he always seemed so sure of himself. “Present this matter to the church. They want to help, even if you don’t like their methods. And yes, maybe you couldn’t convince them to talk to a prostitute right now, but force them to grapple with the plight of the children—look how that got me.” The memory of Sadie dressed like a sporting woman crumpled on that alleyway stoop made tears fog her eyes. “If I’d have known children were . . .” Her voice disappeared, her throat too tight to say anything more.
“We’d be taking on the biggest challenge of our lives.” He exhaled, filling the air with a white puffy cloud. “How will I be able to keep up with my businesses and the children if I’m not able to gather enough volunteers? What if people’s opinions never change and your reputation is shredded? And would your heart survive if the children you cared for chose to return to their previous lives? You need to count the risk.”
She swallowed hard and dropped her gaze. “As long as you want my help, you’ll have it.”
39
Flipping to the next page clumsily with her gloved fingers, Lydia couldn’t help but step lightly as she walked home. Not only was A Little Princess promising to be a good story, but she was getting to read a novel the same year it came out! Several crates of new books had been delivered this morning, making it difficult to make her rounds in the coach knowing they awaited her at the library.
And thankfully Nicholas hadn’t told her she had to put books in rotation before reading them.
The sound of an arguing couple down the street only enhanced the tense descriptions going on in little Sara Crewe’s schoolroom. The headmistress would surely turn out to be quite the villain.
But the closer Lydia got to her house, the less the pages’ drama held her attention. And the more she was certain the argument disturbing the neighborhood was her parents’.
Since Mama’s sickness, they’d fought so little—whether from Mama’s weakness or Papa caring enough not to upset her, Lydia didn’t know—but whatever had held them back had broken.
“I can’t believe you’d do this to us!” Mama sounded ready to crack.
“How else could I get money for your medical bills?” Behind the curtains, Papa’s silhouette raised its hands and waved in frustration.
“You’re blaming me for this?”
“Well, you’re the one who encouraged Lydia to think so highly of herself. A woman with smarts only makes more work for a man. And Little was going to take her. Do you know what I had to do to get him to even entertain the notion?”
Lydia pressed closer to the front door, her heart in her throat. What had Papa done, and why did he have to do anything? Did he think no man would have her unless he intervened?
“I don’t want to hear any more. You’ve told me enough.” Mama’s shaky voice killed Lydia’s curiosity and shamed her for listening from outside. Mama wasn’t fit to be fighting with anyone.
“Then fix it, or we’re out on our backsides.” A thump was followed by the brittle sound of rattling china and glass. He’d probably punched a wall. “Talk some sense into Lydia, or I’ll beat it into her.”
Lydia took her hand off the doorknob, her insides shaking. He hadn’t laid a hand on her for quite a while. Why now?
What had Papa expected to gain from her understanding with Sebastian?
Heavy footfalls headed her direction, so she scurried down the stairs and to the side of the house just as Papa blew through the front door. He plowed down the footpath and crashed through the gate.
A block away, Papa turned down an alley toward downtown, and Lydia stepped out of the shadows.
Before forcing herself inside, she relaxed her face—like she used to do when she was little and Mama came to check if she’d slept through one of their many rows.
“I’m home, Mama.” Her voice sounded a touch too bright.
No response. If she hadn’t heard their spat, she’d have assumed Mama was sleeping, though if Mama had fallen asleep so quickly, Lydia had more to worry about than Papa’s rant.
“Mama?” Again no answer. She quit unbuttoning her coat and headed for the cramped parlor.
Her mother lay limp against the worn sofa’s arm, her hands buried in her hair as if she needed to keep her skull from exploding.
Lydia peeled off a glove and pressed her hand against Mama’s forehead. Clammy but not hot. “Do you have a headache? Have you taken your medicine?”
Mama shook her head but quit with a groan. “Medicine won’t help.”
“Then let’s get you to bed.” Lydia snaked her arm under Mama’s.
Despite being no match for Lydia, she attempted to push away. “How could you?” Mama’s hurt whisper sliced through her.
Did Mama believe Papa—that she’d done something wrong? He’d always blamed her for their troubles, most likely because she confronted him more often than was wise.
“Did I forget to help you with something? I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
Her mother’s pained eyelids parted, but only halfway. “Your father risked a lot to get Sebastian to court you, and you broke it off without asking us.”
Lydia wanted to grab her mother’s hand, to comfort where there was obviously pain, but she feared Mama would yank herself free. “I couldn’t love him, Mama.”
“What is this about love?” Mama’s face scrunched as if she smelled something foul. “It only leads to foolish decisions.”
Her throat clogged at her mother’s dismissal of the one thing she now wanted.
“I told you Sebastian would take care of you. And now we have nowhere to go.”
“Papa lost the house?”
Mama nodded. “Missed a loan payment. The bank sent him a letter.”
But Sebastian had said he’d fixed it so this wouldn’t happen. Had she hurt him so badly he used all his lawyer know-how to undo what he’d done just weeks ago?
Mama picked up a customer’s shirtwaist and yanked at a seam, despite clearly being in no condition to work. “You need to get Sebastian to take you back. He could fix this.”
Lydia’s mouth turned dry. She rarely disobeyed her mother, and after the doctor had declared death imminent, she hadn’t done so once. “I can’t.” Nicholas’s face swam before her mind’s eye. “I won’t.”
She might not ever be worthy of Nicholas, but she wouldn’t do anything that would shut her out of his presence forever.
When she was ready to give up dreaming of a knight condescending to love a scullery maid, she’d search for a man to wed that she felt something for. But she wasn’t ready to chuck away her daydream yet—not for Sebastian.
Mama struggled to sit up. “How could you do this to me? I’ll not last a week on the street.” She wheezed and searched for a handkerchief.
Considering her breathing, Mama might not last a week even if she had a handful of servants attending her, the best medicine money could buy, and the comfort of having her daughter under Sebastian’s roof.
Lydia pressed a hand to her mother’s back as she hacked into a sta
ined linen. She then braced Mama’s shoulders as the coughs escalated until her mother almost passed out. “Breathe, Mama.”
When her coughing fit ended, her skin looked grayer. Mama leaned her head back and closed her eyes. “Make amends with Sebastian. It’s the only way.”
“He won’t take me b—”
“Beg, then.” The tense lines in her face relaxed only enough to look stiff. “His father’s calling in his debts. At least buy your father some time and try.”
“I’m sure Mr. Lowe could help.” She cringed after saying that aloud. He’d think her father the kind of charity case that didn’t merit aid. And she’d loathe seeing any of Nicholas’s money in Papa’s hands.
Mama shook her head. “Mr. Lowe gives nothing to no one.”
“He gave me a job.” Recalling the librarian position lifted the gloom. “And some sewing machines to the moral society.” If only she could reveal the other things he did.
“No one’s ever said he isn’t a fair employer. But I can’t do anything worth pay anymore.” She gestured to the pile of garments beside her. “Mrs. Carpenter has been too gracious already. I should’ve finished these five days ago.”
Lydia glanced at the overflowing basket, and then at her full basket waiting on the other side of the rocking chair. She’d have to stay up late and get them both caught up.
She rubbed Mama’s arm. “But even if Papa loses this house, I can afford to get us a small room in a boardinghouse. I bet Mr. Lowe would allow us to rent the library’s second floor for a while. At some point he intends to expand enough to use both floors, but now it’s only used for storage.”
“Is there a kitchen?”
“No, but we’d manage.”
“Your father would never consent to living there.”
“Then Papa can sleep on the street.”
Mama’s eyes flew open. “Hold your tongue.”
With effort, she did. Mama looked like death as it was. Lydia lowered her voice and rubbed Mama’s shoulder. “I’m sure God will make a way if—”
“He did, and you threw it back.”
The pain of her words was as palpable as that of a slap. Mama hadn’t a fever to blame those stinging words on. “Don’t panic, Mama.”
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