All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  Caution tempered her interest, but interest definitely ignited. Urgently. “Here, in this neighborhood of the Fourth Ward? Raise funds for an alternative to . . . well, to certain kinds of businesses this area of the city is known for?”

  “You’d be surprised how those on the polite edges of the ward claim one thing while doing another. I’m sure we’ll soon have everyone in Denver talking about your Pierson House.”

  “You’re willing to do this just because I won’t go to the opera with you?”

  “Opera is not the point. I simply and honestly want to spend time with you. What better way than to work toward the same goal—together?”

  Dessa continued to eye him. He was eager, all right. And a theater was a viable venue to raise a significant amount of money. But was it proper? She recalled how Remee had described Foster’s Verandah. As respectable as this end of town could get. What did that mean? More importantly, what would it mean to other donors supporting Pierson House?

  But how could she not consider the opportunity, especially in light of losing the Plumsteads’ support? Was it just a coincidence that Mr. Foster should come along on this very day and present her with such an idea? Or was it all in God’s timing? God was known for answering prayers nearly instantly . . . and in unusual ways too.

  Together, she and Mr. Foster might raise enough not just for next month’s payment, but to pay down a good portion of her entire debt to the bank. To Mr. Hawkins. Would Dessa’s impatience to open Pierson House be forgotten if she could pay off the loan without complete dependence upon the regular donors?

  She removed one of her gloves again and extended her hand. “All right, Mr. Foster. Your offer is too generous to refuse. Come inside, won’t you? Perhaps we can start planning right away.”

  21

  ON SUNDAY MORNING, Henry ordered breakfast a full two hours earlier than usual for the only day of the week he did not go to the bank. He then summoned his driver, Fallo.

  “To the City Garden, sir?” Fallo asked as he opened the carriage door. He never called it City Park or Denver Park as others did, but rather what the city hoped it would become one day: a vast garden to attract respectable citizens and discourage those who only wanted to escape the city’s laws.

  “No, Fallo. No walk today, at least not for now.” He handed Fallo a slip of paper with an address scrawled on it, the same slip Henry had been given yesterday afternoon by a man he’d hired to bring him information. It hadn’t taken long to figure out where Reverend Sempkins was the pastor, and just as quickly he had verified that Dessa Caldwell attended there regularly, along with the White family. Henry even knew where they sat.

  As Fallo looked at the address, he uttered a cough no doubt meant to cover a gasp of surprise. Henry settled himself in the carriage without so much as a glance Fallo’s way.

  Henry knew what this meant, this venture into society. What more common way was there to join a community than to attend one of its churches? Every habit he had nurtured since he’d settled in Denver protested this as the wrong thing to do. This sort of action would undoubtedly have people thinking he wanted to get to know them. He’d likely receive more invitations to social events, to dinners. All things his diligently private lifestyle had diminished, despite the brief period of resuscitation Jane’s prank at the bank had created.

  Besides the obvious potential to inconvenience his entire life, he also knew this could be seen as a first step in making known his personal interest in Miss Caldwell. How could anyone see it otherwise? How could she not recognize it for what it was?

  It was insane, this whole idea. Henry very nearly rapped on the carriage ceiling to have Fallo turn around. But instead he gripped the tip of his walking stick as if it were alive and he needed to subdue it.

  The truth was, Henry wanted this chance. Maybe he wanted it more than he wanted to protect himself.

  Only Jane accompanied Dessa to church on Sundays, riding with her in William and Mariadela White’s carriage. Although Dessa had invited Remee and Mr. Dunne as well, they chose to stay at home. She knew Mr. Dunne had a few books in the carriage house that he’d scrounged up somewhere; she’d seen him on that cot, passing the time reading. If only she could get him to read one of her favorite collections of sermons, or the Bible itself.

  Perhaps she ought to stipulate church attendance as a requirement for staying at Pierson House. What harm would it do? It had never occurred to her that someone wouldn’t want to go to church, since it was a highlight of her own week.

  Dessa had planned to speak to Mariadela about Mr. Foster’s offer for a benefit on their way to church that morning, but the opportunity didn’t easily arise. She might have been more determined to bring up the issue, but the truth was Dessa felt as nervous as she was excited about the arrangement. Raising funds in a new way certainly made sense, but would the tactic appeal to Mariadela, who resided outside the Fourth Ward?

  Jane had yet to learn about the plan, but Remee had been in the parlor when Dessa brought Mr. Foster inside. She’d been pleased enough to meet him, though she hadn’t offered more than a nod at his introduction. However, she’d shown quick enthusiasm about partnering with his Verandah. Not only would such an event create much-needed attention for Pierson House; Remee was sure it would bring in a considerable amount of money.

  Not long after taking her place in the pew the White family normally occupied, Dessa joined the congregation in one of her best-loved hymns.

  “’Tis so sweet to trust in Jesus,

  Just to take Him at His word;

  Just to rest upon His promise,

  Just to know ‘Thus saith the Lord.’”

  As usual when Dessa sang, her surroundings soon faded as she relished the words and melody. She closed her eyes after the first chorus, letting the next verse become a prayer that took her spirit to the presence of God. Heart soaring, she wished the moment would last forever.

  Shuffling sounded behind her, calling her attention back to her surroundings. It wasn’t unusual for worshipers to continue arriving even during the first few songs of the service. There were always latecomers, and very often the only seats left were those toward the front, where she and the White family always sat. She ignored the slight noise and continued singing . . . until the voices around her began to fade. Soon she felt as if she were the only one in the pew still worshiping.

  Dessa opened her eyes, looking down the row to see Mariadela’s wide-eyed gaze aimed beyond her. On Dessa’s other side was Jane, but she was looking behind her as well and Dessa couldn’t see around the girl’s poke bonnet. Curious, Dessa turned to see what could possibly be of such interest to have stopped them from singing.

  Mr. Henry Hawkins stood in the pew directly behind Dessa. He looked straight ahead, his entire being stiff, as if he were aware he’d been the cause of the disturbance and wished to avoid further attention. The congregation gradually regained its voice.

  “Jesus, Jesus, how I trust Him!

  How I’ve proved Him o’er and o’er!

  Jesus, Jesus, precious Jesus!

  Oh, for grace to trust Him more!”

  It took a moment for Dessa to join back in, but not before realizing her heart was once again soaring—though not in an entirely spiritual way.

  Henry heard not a word of the service until halfway through the sermon. Before then, he’d stared sightlessly ahead, feeling every bit the fool he was. What was he doing here? Why had he thought, even for a moment, that he could thrust off the shackles of his past?

  But when Reverend Sempkins spoke about a man being different once he had the Spirit of God inside him, Henry couldn’t help but listen. God’s presence was bound to change a man. To the reverend there was no doubt about it.

  God knew Henry needed to change. Other than his servants, the only companions Henry had these past years were guilt and fear. On occasion, Uncle Tobias buffaloed his way past the gates Henry had built, but he was the only one who tried anymore. Henry had not visited his mother, nor h
ad she visited him, in over two years. It was too much to endure their stilted conversations and her pained, searching gazes amid the effort of acting like anything but the stranger he’d come to be. And so he’d stopped visiting altogether, convinced if she knew the truth about her only child she would have nothing to do with him.

  There was no evidence of any personal relationships in Henry’s life. Who, other than Tobias, even called Henry by his first name? A few investors, that was all. It had been so long since he’d heard a woman refer to him as anything other than Mr. Hawkins that he’d forgotten what his name might sound like in a female voice.

  And yet . . . the words from the reverend assured him that God made everything new—made people new. What He did on the cross blotted out the past. The thought—this notion that Christ had paid for Henry’s sin—demanded pondering, something Henry found himself hoping to do.

  No sooner had such thoughts tempted comfort than a new one besieged him: Heavenly forgiveness is one thing; earthly quite another. Someone knew his past. What other meaning could those two notes have had than to carry a threat? How much the author of those notes really knew might be doubtful—but evidently he or she knew enough to be suspicious of Henry and his character.

  He looked around, a renewed sense of panic settling on him. It was too much, this battle inside him. He’d been wrong to assume he could do anything more for society than what he did at the bank.

  The truth was, he had no chance—not at rejoining society, and especially not with a woman like the high-minded Dessa Caldwell. She deserved far better, and he deserved far worse.

  So before the final chord from the last hymn sounded, Henry slipped out of the pew and hurried to the back of the sanctuary, out the door, and to his carriage without saying a word to Fallo, who soon had them carried away from the church.

  When the last chord of “Holy, Holy, Holy” drifted from the organ, Dessa opened her eyes and, with a smile, turned to exit the pew in the hope of catching Mr. Hawkins’s gaze.

  Only to see the spot he’d occupied was vacant.

  Filing from the sanctuary, Dessa fought her disappointment. What had made him leave? And what had made him show up in the first place?

  One glimpse at Jane told Dessa that she, too, had hoped to speak to him. She was peering through the crowd, this way and that, but Dessa could see from the girl’s matching disappointment that he was nowhere to be found.

  “Well, that was a short-lived thrill,” said Mariadela as she took hold of Dessa’s arm to walk toward their carriage. William and Mariadela always went out of their way to pick her up. There was not enough room for the whole family in the carriage and the church was closer to their home, so the children walked, rain or shine.

  Dessa made no pretense not to know Mariadela’s meaning. “You did see him, then. It wasn’t my imagination?”

  “If it was, that imagination spread throughout the entire congregation. Mr. Hawkins in a church! I don’t think that’s something any of us have ever seen.”

  “Then why did he come today, only to arrive late and leave early, with no chance to be welcomed?”

  “Likely for that very reason. He’s never been the social type, as you well know.”

  “But he came!” Jane said, her brows high. She grinned Dessa’s way. “And he sat just behind us, of all the other places he might have taken. I think he meant to join us, only he got shy at the end.”

  No, shy was not a word Dessa would associate with Mr. Hawkins. Taciturn, abrupt, opinionated . . . and kind, too.

  As they settled in the carriage and William directed the rig back toward Pierson House, Henry Hawkins continued to fill Dessa’s mind. How wonderful it would be to have no worries about paying down the loan, if the benefit was as successful as she hoped! She could hardly keep herself from imagining what it would be like to pay off the debt entirely, and far sooner than expected.

  Dessa guessed that Jane thought of Mr. Hawkins as well, from the way the girl’s gaze roamed, perhaps in search of his carriage, as they left the area of the church.

  When at last the White carriage pulled up in front of Pierson House, Mariadela jumped from the rig to follow Dessa and Jane to the porch, telling William she would only be a moment.

  “You realize this is an extraordinary opportunity, don’t you?” Mariadela said.

  Dessa shook her head. “No, I don’t. What do you mean?”

  “There was only one reason Mr. Hawkins came to that particular church today, and why he chose to sit in that particular seat. To see you, and for you to see him.”

  Jane nodded along eagerly, as if her agreement was all that was required to convince Dessa of the truth.

  Dessa’s gaze went from one hopeful face to the other. Did she understand them correctly, that they wanted to see some special sort of . . . friendship . . . develop between her and Mr. Hawkins?

  Even as she felt the blood heating her face, she needed to look away to hide what surely must be a spark of interest all too ready to jump into her eyes.

  “Perhaps he’s been meaning to attend, only . . .”

  But Mariadela was already shaking her head. “You know what you need to do, don’t you? Encourage him to return to church. Invite him to take you.” She glanced William’s way. “Tell Mr. Hawkins my William is tired of leaving so early to pick you up every Sunday, and if Mr. Hawkins plans to return, it would be a great favor if he could bring you in his carriage.” She touched Dessa’s hand. “It wouldn’t be improper because Jane would be with you. And it would reinforce his reason to go to church. All good things. Right?”

  Dessa wanted to nod, to fall easily into Mariadela’s line of thinking. But instead she spared a glance William’s way. “Is he really tired of picking me up? I know it’s out of the way—”

  “Oh, you great goose! I offered that as an excuse for you to talk to Mr. Hawkins about it. William’s never once complained and isn’t likely to, either. He loves you like a sister, or at least like my sister. So you’ll do it? You’ll go to the bank and talk to Mr. Hawkins?”

  Jane was already offering a smile of encouragement, the twinkle in her eye the very picture of what Dessa fought. How could Dessa possibly hesitate if it meant bringing a man to church—a place he might find the best of the society he’d been ignoring? Church was likely the very thing Mr. Hawkins needed, not only to find friendship with others, but with God as well.

  More than that . . . the idea that she had been the reason behind Mr. Hawkins’s extraordinary arrival today had ignited an ember of warmth and hope—so clear and strong even the array of doubts already forming to discourage her weren’t enough to deny what she felt.

  But how could she, with her past, encourage him—or any man—in such a personal way?

  “I—I’ll think about it,” she said; then to both Mariadela’s and Jane’s obvious surprise and disappointment, she turned from them and walked into the house.

  She had all week to figure out the right thing to do. But that might not be the same as what she wanted to do.

  22

  “MISS CALDWELL! Miss Caldwell!”

  Dessa looked up from the sewing project in front of her, hearing her name through the open dining room window. She recognized Nadette’s voice and knew Remee did as well from the half scowl on her face.

  Remee continued with her own sewing. “Why doesn’t that girl come to the door instead of making a scene?”

  Dessa reached the windowsill just before Jane did and held open the curtain. She waved to the girl. “Come inside, Nadette.”

  But Nadette shook her head. “You ain’t told that Miss Remee what I said, didja?”

  “She’s right here, Nadette. I’m sure it’ll be fine if you join us. Come in, won’t you?”

  Although the girl appeared conflicted about what to do, Dessa dropped the curtain and went to the door, along with Jane. She heard Remee follow them from the dining room.

  “What was she saying about me?” Remee asked.

  “She hoped you woul
d put in a good word for her at Miss Leola’s.”

  “Oh, that,” Remee said with disgust. “I told her I would, but it’s no use. Miss Leola won’t take in a ragamuffin. Nadette’s not even alley cat material, let alone fit for a place like Miss Leola’s.”

  “Thank heaven for that,” Dessa said, before pulling open the door. “I don’t think she’ll settle for anything less.”

  Nadette still lingered out front, not even on the porch.

  “Come in, Nadette. Have something to eat, at least,” Dessa added.

  “You got a pie-ano in there yet?” Nadette called.

  “No, but I have some muffins. Would you like one?”

  The girl chewed her bottom lip all the way to the door. Then, inside, she looked around as if she expected the roof to cave in. When her gaze landed on Remee, she crossed her arms and glared. “You didn’t tell Miss Leola about me, didja? I bet you didn’t even forget—you just didn’t wanna do it.”

  “That’s right, Nadette, I didn’t.” There was not a hint of remorse in her voice. “It’s for your own good.”

  “You said ya’d do it, but ya didn’t. I guess you might lie to a customer,” she said with disgust, “but not to another gal in the business.”

  “You’re not in the business,” Remee said.

  “I wanna be!” Nadette pulled at the dress she wore, its pattern marred by stains and its sleeves and hem tattered. “You think I wanna wear castoffs from a Chinaman’s laundry? This is the best they can do for me. It’d be better if I just went around naked. Might make some money that way, anyhow.”

  Dessa put an arm about the girl’s thin shoulders. “We might have something upstairs you can have, Nadette.”

  But Nadette shrugged off the contact. “I’ll make my own way, thanks. I only came because I wanted to tell ya somethin’. ’Bout a girl the Chinamen over in Hop Alley are bringin’ in.”