On the up and up. The words convicted Gabriel. He hadn’t been forthright with the sheriff, a man who had acted with integrity today. Mariah jerked her head toward the man. Tell him. Gabriel didn’t need to hear the words to know what she was saying and that she was right.
He swallowed, but his throat had narrowed. Coward. He had to speak up. “I might have seen something the other day.”
Ilsley fixed his steel-gray eyes on him. “Seen what?”
“You said to tell you if I saw or heard anything else suspicious concerning the bootlegging.”
The sheriff propped one foot on a wooden chair, which creaked under his weight. “Fire ahead, Pastor.”
He gulped more tea and began slowly, “It happened near the river, behind the parsonage.” And then Gabriel told the sheriff everything he’d seen that night at the root cellar—everything except who he’d seen there.
The sheriff tapped his boot idly. “Was it moonshine?”
“One of them said whiskey.”
“We know alcohol’s getting into town, but we don’t know how. Did you recognize anyone?”
Gabriel sucked in his breath, but all he could see was Felicity’s face. “It was dark and difficult to see. Clouds blanketed the moon. From what I’ve seen, they choose moonless nights.”
“Hmm, it’s a new moon tomorrow.” Ilsley’s tone suggested what Gabriel had already speculated.
“They might move the liquor then, and we could catch them in the act.”
The sheriff stood. “We could, but you said that one of’em said they’d been found out. Chances are they won’t use the same location again.”
Gabriel felt a rush of relief. “Then it’s too late.”
Sheriff Ilsley patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Pastor. We’ll stake out the spot. If they’re foolish enough to come back there, we’ll get them.”
Gabriel hoped Kensington had the sense not to return to the root cellar, or Felicity’s heart would be smashed along with the bottles of liquor.
Felicity dreaded the reception at the church, but it began better than the mob scene at the train depot. Perhaps being in a church reminded people that they should behave properly. Best of all, Mr. Coughlin wasn’t there.
She sat alone in the front pew, while Daddy prowled the side aisle. Mother refused to go and even tried to talk Felicity into staying home with her.
Gabriel led a few hymns from the pulpit, and then he yielded to the male agent, who described the program in detail. Several people stifled yawns. Everyone watched the empty front pew on the opposite side, waiting for the children to arrive.
Why weren’t they there yet? Felicity appreciated keeping them from the vultures, but eventually they’d have to appear. She glanced at Gabriel, but he was focused on the speaker.
“And now let’s introduce the children,” the agent finally said.
Felicity’s nerves fluttered.
“Don’t be afraid,” she whispered as the door opened and the children began to enter. “I’m right here.” Indeed, if Mr. Coughlin appeared and dared repeat his stunt from the train station, she’d whisk the boy away in an instant.
The crowd shuffled and murmured softly.
The beanpole boy came first, dressed in the same pair of too-short trousers. He warily scanned the crowd, for Coughlin, no doubt.
“Peter is fourteen,” the agent said. “He came to us a year ago after living hand to mouth on the streets for nearly six months. His only living relative, an aunt, had died of dysentery, and he didn’t know where to go, so he did the best he could. Peter is a hard worker and would like a family where he can use his hands. He’s good at fixing things.”
Mrs. Simmons perked up, as well she should, given the family’s motor garage business. After Mr. Simmons’s death and his partner’s retirement last month, only her son Hendrick was left to keep it going. Another hand would doubtless be helpful, but these children weren’t laborers. They needed a home.
The thin, towheaded boy came next, dressed in denim trousers and a yellowed white shirt. He looked just as terrified as earlier.
“Matthew is a bright child, though shy. He’s short for his twelve years but very strong.”
“Why does every child have to be measured in terms of their strength or skill?” Felicity muttered.
“He’s pointing out their advantages,” whispered Mariah, settling in beside her.
“It cheapens them.”
“Perhaps, but the end result is a home.”
“Does the end justify the means?” Felicity said. “Why not just have the families meet the children? That’s what’s supposed to happen.”
While they were talking, the agent introduced Nathaniel, the fireplug of a boy who looked ready to box anyone who came near him. Upon cue, he demonstrated his talent on the mouth organ, and the assembly rewarded his effort with a rousing ovation.
“Luciano,” the agent said as the last boy was led out.
A low murmur rippled through the sanctuary—foreigner, dirty. The insults circled like flies.
“We call him Luke,” the agent continued, “just like the apostle. Yes, his parents came from Italy, but Luke was born right here in the United States.”
“That boy ain’t Italian,” Hermann Grattan grumbled behind her. “He’s half darkie.”
Felicity stiffened at the racial slur. How dare he say such things? She turned and hissed, “Hush.” Of all people. Mr. Grattan came from Germany. He even refused to change his name during the war. He should know better. “Keep your thoughts to yourself.”
She hoped the boy didn’t hear the murmured epithets, but when his little shoulders drooped, she knew he had. She wanted to hug him close and tell him it would be all right, but would it? She scanned the congregation, looking for someone who would accept Luke, and found no one. Tears burned her lids.
Please, someone help Luke.
That someone turned out to be Gabriel. He walked over to Luke and placed his hands on the boy’s shoulders, confirming his worth. Luke looked hopefully at Gabriel, but a single man, even a minister, couldn’t take a child. She’d enforced that rule with Coughlin. It had to hold true for Gabriel also.
Last came Grace, the golden-haired girl, now dressed in a ruffled pinafore. She still clutched the rag doll to her chest, though the thumb had come out of her mouth. Her wide blue eyes made the women sigh. At least half the applicants would name her as their first choice.
Next Mariah guided the applicants forward one at a time, so the children wouldn’t be overwhelmed. Felicity watched each interaction, trying to match applicant to child. Gabriel stood behind the children like a guardian angel. Though he frequently looked out at the crowd, his gaze never fell on her.
Every couple stopped to meet the little girl, Grace. Mrs. Simmons dropped to her knees to talk. Mrs. Shea kissed the girl’s head. Cordelia Butterfield, who’d lost a baby girl last November, wiped away a tear. She would make a good mother, but her husband never cracked a smile. Grace deserved happiness, not a father who couldn’t even smile at her. Mrs. Grattan looked the girl over as if checking for lice. Felicity nearly intervened, but Gabriel hastened Mrs. Grattan along, noting the lateness of the hour. Felicity mouthed a relieved thank-you, but again he didn’t look at her.
As the line dwindled, Felicity glanced nervously at the remainder of the crowd. Thankfully Coughlin still hadn’t appeared. She shuddered to think what he would do to Peter, who stood very straight and very solemn through the entire proceeding. Though the boy put on a tough face, his lip occasionally quivered.
How horrible to stand on display, wondering who would select you or even if anyone would select you. Luke, the bronze-skinned boy, drew little notice from the applicants. Felicity looked at the remaining applicants, hoping someone would approach him. No one did. Like Slinky, he’d been deemed unfit and cast aside. If only she were married, she could take him. He would prosper in the right home, one filled with love and kindness, one like Gabriel’s.
As she watched Ga
briel move between the children, squatting down to talk to the shorter ones, she knew that no man would make a better father.
Gabriel, Gabriel. She’d teetered on the edge of falling in love for so long, but today cemented her feelings. Somehow she’d convince her parents that he was a good and worthy man. As the last of the applicants met the children, she went to him.
“Thank you, Pastor.” The word felt strange on her lips, but not as peculiar as it once had. If their love grew, she might one day be a minister’s wife. Never in all her life would she have believed she’d want that, but as she watched him with the children, she knew without a doubt that she did.
“Ms. Kensington,” he said stiffly, barely glancing her way.
Ms.? Why was he using such formal language? For a moment, she faltered. What was wrong?
“How may I help?” she asked, eager to smooth over whatever was troubling him.
He avoided her gaze. “We need to get the children back to the boardinghouse.”
“Let me lead the way.”
“Thank you for your offer, Ms. Kensington, but we have enough help.” He began ushering the children toward the door. “The committee will meet in the office in a few minutes.”
Was that all? A horrible ache squeezed her chest so tight she could barely breathe.
“Gabriel?” she whispered.
His head jerked, so she knew he heard her, but he continued to herd the children to the side aisle. She followed.
“What’s wrong?” Her ears began to ring, and she gulped for air.
As the last of the children walked through the door, he turned to her. Their eyes met, and she saw in his a deep sadness. For a moment, he lingered in the doorway; then, without a word, he left.
The very air seemed to go with him. She clutched the end of the pew and closed her eyes against the gathering tears.
“Felicity, thank goodness I caught you.” Mother clamped on to her arm. “Mr. Blevins called on your father this morning. I believe he asked permission to see you.”
Felicity’s stomach lurched as she pulled herself from the brink of despair. “Who did what?”
“Robert asked permission to call on you. Your father would naturally have said yes.” Mother’s bloodred lips stretched into a predatory smile. “Our work has paid off.”
Felicity stared at the doorway through which Gabriel had vanished. Every time they got close, something drove them apart. Dread rushed in where despair had just dwelt.
“You’ll be Mrs. Robert Blevins,” Mother crowed.
The words that had so enchanted her weeks before now struck a deadly nerve. She could not marry Robert, not when she loved Gabriel.
“No.” The word bubbled up from the deepest recesses of her heart.
“What do you mean? Of course it will happen. If I’m any judge of character, and you know I’m the best, he’ll propose by summer’s end. Why wouldn’t he? You have wealth and beauty. What else could he want? Come along, dearest. He’s waiting for you.”
“Now?” Everything was whirling out of control.
“Of course now.”
“But I have a meeting. The Selection Committee.” Felicity pulled her arm from Mother’s grasp.
“Oh, that. Your father told me he and Reverend Meeks have already made their decisions. The meeting is just a formality.”
Daddy and Gabriel had already decided without her input? Shock turned to dismay. No wonder Gabriel hadn’t been able to meet her eyes. No wonder he didn’t want her help. They’d gone ahead without her. Her opinion meant nothing.
“But the children,” Felicity cried. “What about the children? I’m a member of the committee. My voice needs to be heard.”
“Goodness, Felicity. Stop blubbering about a ridiculous little committee. Who cares about orphans when Robert Blevins is waiting?”
Robert Blevins was not her future, no matter what Mother and Daddy wanted. Felicity straightened her shoulders. Those children needed her, and she would not abdicate her responsibility. Daddy and Gabriel would listen to her.
Without another look at Mother, she strode to the church office.
Chapter Fourteen
Shadows cloaked the office in darkness, so Felicity pulled open the drapes. The air hung heavy with the scents of typewriter ink and Florabelle’s perfume. Sharpened pencils bristled from a cup on the corner of the secretary’s desk, buttressed by a Bible and a hymnal that subtly warned borrowers to return all borrowed pencils.
Felicity cracked open the window and breathed in the fresh breeze, ripe with a sunburst of summer flowers.
“Darling.” The nasal tenor from behind set her on edge.
“What are you doing here?” She whirled around to see Robert sitting in Gabriel’s chair. “You’re not the pastor.”
The chair creaked as he rose. “Neither are you.” He glided to the door and shut it. The latch clicked with deadly finality. “I trust you’ve heard the news.”
Felicity’s nerves twisted into knots, and she backed against the window. Nothing bad could happen in a church, could it? Gabriel would soon be here, and Daddy must be nearby.
She crossed her arms. “What do you want?”
The tips of Robert’s mustache jerked up. “Is that any way to treat your guy?”
“You’re not my guy. We’ve barely seen each other in the past two weeks.”
“That’s my fault. Too much business, not enough pleasure. Can you forgive me, chickadee?”
“I’m not your chickadee.” She looked out the window, afraid he might see the fear in her eyes. A robin hopped across the ground, cocking its head to one side listening for worms. Could she hear danger in Robert’s voice? She drew her attention back to the room and jumped when she found him just inches away.
“What do you prefer to be called, darling?” He lifted a finger to her hair, and she recoiled.
“Nothing.” She edged toward Florabelle’s desk. “I’m not your darling or your chickadee. I’m plain old Ms. Kensington.”
“Ms. Kensington? Isn’t that a little formal for two people in love?”
“In love? I never told you I loved you.”
“But you did. The picnic basket, the little knapsack, asking me to help on the stained glass window. A man would be a fool not to read those signs.”
“Those were just kindnesses,” she said to cut off the litany of mistakes. “I’m sorry if I misled you, but I never had any feelings for you.”
“Now, now, chickadee.” He clucked his tongue. “It’s too late to play coy.”
“I’m not playing coy. I didn’t care for you then, and I don’t now. Nothing has changed.”
“On the contrary, darling. Everything has.” Robert lifted her hand to his lips.
She yanked it away. “It’s over.”
“Yes, darling, the long wait is over.” If possible, he drew even closer. “Now that your father—”
“Daddy spoke in haste. He didn’t even consult me.” She slipped past him into the only open area, the little spot behind Florabelle’s desk.
Robert positioned himself between the desk and the door, blocking her only escape. “Consult you about what?”
“About giving you permission to court me.”
Robert laughed. “Permission to court? How quaint and old-fashioned. I suppose you go to church suppers and quilting bees, too.”
Felicity flushed. “But Mother said you spoke to Daddy.”
“So I did.” He edged toward her.
She stepped back and ran into the bookcase. “About the airfield project?”
“Not about the airfield project and not about courtship. This is much, much better. I asked for your hand.”
“M-m-my hand?” The room began to spin. “As in marriage?”
“As in engagement,” he crowed, reaching an arm around her waist. “Aren’t you excited, darling?” He closed his eyes and leaned forward to kiss her.
Felicity abandoned every one of Mother’s rules for ladylike behavior. Like a squirrel caught in a roo
m, she frantically looked for escape and without a thought for appearances, crawled over the desk, knocking Florabelle’s precious pencils to the floor.
“Where are you going?” Robert cried, spinning about. “Felicity? Darling?”
She slipped and slid on the rolling pencils, but desperation kept her moving forward. She had to get out of the room now—before Robert caught her, before he trapped her, before her life was ruined. Arms flailing to keep her balance, she stumbled across the room and yanked open the door.
There stood Gabriel, his expression grim. “My congratulations.”
He’d heard every word.
Her mouth went dry. “I-I-It’s—” she stuttered, so desperate to tell him the truth that nothing would come out.
Gabriel nodded stiffly. “You also, Mr. Blevins.”
That pompous fool had come up behind her. Beaming, he pumped Gabriel’s hand. “I’m the lucky one.”
Gabriel smiled wryly. “Yes, you are. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He started to leave but then spotted the disarray inside the office. He looked at her with evident concern. “Is everything all right?”
“Couldn’t be better,” said Robert, squeezing her by the shoulders.
She couldn’t stand it any longer, but neither could she explain. The words just couldn’t get past the ball of anger and humiliation in her throat. Gabriel must think the worst of her.
Gabriel closed the office door. “I’ll take care of this mess later.” He frowned at her. “We’ll meet in the sanctuary.”
The meeting. How could she concentrate for the meeting? Then she remembered what Mother had said. Daddy and Gabriel had already made the decisions. This meeting was just to inform her, to lead her to believe that her opinion counted.
Tears rose as Gabriel walked into the sanctuary. The doors closed softly behind him.
“Alone at last,” Robert said. “I thought he’d never leave.” He ran a red-hot finger across her ear.
She jerked away. Were all men the same, thinking they could have whatever they wanted? Well she was tired of being pushed around. Her opinion did count for something. In the case of Robert, it counted for everything. Mother and Daddy and Robert could not maneuver her into a marriage she did not want.
The Matrimony Plan Page 17