Next, the tough little fireplug Nathaniel went to the Millers, who had two boys close in age. The boy instantly fell into chatter with his new brothers. Again it was a success.
The Highbottoms claimed twelve-year-old Matthew, whose shock of fair hair closely matched that of his new mother. Felicity smiled at Matthew’s delighted grin. His fear was gone, wiped away by the chance to begin anew with two brothers and two sisters.
Again, Daddy and Gabriel had chosen well, but Mr. Coughlin didn’t agree. He stood at the announcement, face beet-red.
“I want that’un.” Coughlin staggered to the front of the church, pointing at poor Matthew.
Daddy stepped between Coughlin and the boy, and Charles Highbottom hurried Matthew down the side aisle.
“Now, Einer.” Daddy clapped Coughlin on the back. “Most people didn’t get their first choice. More than twenty will go home empty-handed.”
“But I’m entitled.”
“Every applicant went through the same selection process,” Daddy consoled, guiding Mr. Coughlin back to a pew. “Have a seat Einer, and wait it out. We still have two boys left.”
Felicity’s gut tightened. The only reason Daddy would tell Coughlin to wait was if he and Gabriel had approved the man’s application. She looked to Luke and Peter, both terrified. They knew it, too. She tried to catch Gabriel’s attention, but he wouldn’t look at her. It was true. They were going to condemn one of those poor boys to a life of pain and misery.
“No,” she squeaked, but it was barely audible.
“Peter, please come forward,” said Daddy.
The male agent reached for Peter’s hand, but the boy refused assistance. With a straightening of his shoulders, he walked to the center, directly in front of Mr. Coughlin, and faced his future with resolve.
No, it couldn’t be.
“We had a hard time agreeing on the best home for young Peter.” Daddy fidgeted, shifting papers around. “We had many fine applications.” He glanced at Gabriel, who shook his head.
Felicity hoped that meant he would stop Daddy, but Gabriel didn’t speak.
“Stop this,” she mouthed, but Gabriel would not look at her.
If he would not act, she must. She rose, but her legs trembled so badly that she sat right back down again. Electricity hummed through the deathly silent room.
Daddy cleared his throat and pushed up his spectacles. The slip of paper in his hand shook. “Hermann and Sophie Grattan.”
“What?” Felicity’s surprise escaped in a single word. She’d expected to hear Mr. Coughlin’s name, but if Peter wasn’t going to Coughlin, then… She looked to Luke, who realized the fate that awaited him. He lowered his gaze and shrank against the chair, making himself as small as possible.
“You can’t,” Felicity gasped. “Gabriel, no.”
But he no longer sat at the table. Gabriel met the Grattans before they reached Peter. “Or, if you’d prefer,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “you could take Luke. He’s younger, and you’d have more years together.”
Peter looked to Luke, who hopefully eyed the Grattans. “Luke’s a good kid.”
Felicity couldn’t stand this anymore. How could Gabriel and Daddy put the boys through this? “Stop this. Stop it now.”
That drew everyone’s attention.
“Felicity,” Daddy growled.
Mrs. Grattan seized the opportunity to claim her prize. “We’d love Peter.”
“Come along, boy,” said Hermann Grattan, taking Peter by the arm. With a final glare at Luke, he added, “We don’t want no foreigners.”
Felicity had heard enough. The slurs he’d cast at Luke yesterday still rang in her ears. He’d insinuated that the boy’s birth somehow made him less than human.
She stood. “He’s no more a foreigner than you are, Mr. Grattan. In fact, he’s less. You were born in Germany. Luke was born here. He’s an American.”
“Felicity,” Daddy warned, but she couldn’t stop now.
“If my opinion had been considered, you wouldn’t be allowed to take any child into your home. If you can’t accept Luke for who he is, you don’t deserve any of these precious children.” She forced herself between Peter and the Grattans. “Go back to Luke, Peter.”
“You have no right.” Mrs. Grattan turned bright red, her jowls quivering as her mouth sought sufficient venom.
“I have every right.” Felicity drew herself to her full height. “Not only am I on the Selection Committee but I’m a Kensington.”
“A Kensington?” Mrs. Grattan screeched, her laughter harsh. “You’re no more a Kensington than I am.”
A collective gasp came from the crowd, but the loudest of all came from a voice Felicity knew well. Mother. “No-o-o.” The strangled cry echoed over the crescendoing hum.
It couldn’t be. Felicity looked from Mother to Mrs. Grattan, who’d gone pale as a bleached sheet. “What do you mean?”
Mrs. Grattan hitched her shoulders. “I mean exactly what I said. You can stop pretending you’re high and mighty, Felicity Kensington, when you’re as much a dirty foreigner as that boy there. You’re no Kensington. You’re just an orphan from who knows where.”
The room swam, as if flooded under several feet of water. Mrs. Grattan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Mother’s eyes bugged out, and her lips trembled. Tell Mrs. Grattan she’s wrong, Felicity silently pleaded, but Mother said nothing. Neither did Daddy. He just wiped his eyes.
“No,” Felicity cried. “Lies, all lies.”
Gabriel reached her side. “Felicity.” He tried to lead her out of the sanctuary.
She jerked away from him. This couldn’t be true. “Daddy?” She reached for the man who’d been an anchor in her life, but he was busy berating Mrs. Grattan.
“Sophie, you broke your promise.”
No. Her head split. The room spun.
It couldn’t be true, but it was. She wasn’t a Kensington.
At that moment, Coughlin figured out how he fit into the puzzle. “I don’t want no foreigner.” He stabbed a finger at the man Felicity thought was her father. “Whatcha tryin’ to pass off on me? Them foreigners ain’t good fer nothin’ but thievin’ and lying.”
Gabriel led the unhappy Mr. Coughlin aside while the agents whisked Luke from the sanctuary. Luke. What would happen to Luke? Would he be sent back on the train? Felicity stumbled after him, but Daddy stopped her.
“Let’s not make a scene, little one.”
She whirled around to see everyone watching her, waiting to see her collapse, but she wouldn’t. She was a Kensington. No she wasn’t, but if she wasn’t Daddy’s daughter, who was she? A foreigner? A street urchin? Is that why Mother ordered her around? It all made sense now—the fine schools and fancy clothes and desperate need to marry her well. Her parents had to make her more than she was and marry her off before the truth came out. And Sally’s snide remark. She knew. Eloise must have told her.
“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Grattan mumbled, shuffling Peter toward the center aisle. “I thought she knew. Everyone knew.” She faced the congregation. “After all these years, I thought they would have told her.”
She began to march Peter from the room, but Gabriel stopped her.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grattan, but Peter will need to come with me. Peter, rejoin the agents in front of the church. I’ll be there shortly.”
Mrs. Grattan protested. “You can’t do that.”
“Let it go, Sophie,” Daddy growled as Peter escaped from the sanctuary.
She visibly shook. “You haven’t heard the last of me, Gabriel Meeks.” With a harrumph, she marched out, head held high.
Felicity wobbled, the last of her strength gone, and her father rushed to support her. “D-Daddy?” Tears strangled the word.
“Come along with the pastor and me.”
Gabriel gently steered her toward the side aisle with Daddy plowing ahead of them. As she passed the five empty chairs where the children had sat, she remembered Luke.
“Gabriel?” She gripped his arm with all her strength. “Don’t let Mr. Coughlin get Luke. Promise me.” This was more important than anything else. She could not let the poor boy endure scorn a hundred times worse than had been directed at her by Mrs. Grattan.
“Don’t worry, Felicity,” Gabriel assured her. “Mr. Coughlin was never going to be given a child.”
“But then why? Why all that with Peter and Luke?”
He sighed. “It’s a long story and one that can wait. You have more important matters to address now.” He squeezed her arm. “Talk to your parents, and listen.”
Her parents? She stared at Daddy’s broad back.
She had no parents.
The church office afforded privacy for this most painful of conversations. Felicity stood in the center of the room, numb. Daddy pulled Gabriel’s chair from behind the desk while Mother sobbed into her handkerchief at Florabelle’s desk.
“Mother?” The word suddenly sounded peculiar.
Eugenia Kensington didn’t lift her eyes.
Daddy pointed to the empty chair, and Felicity tentatively sat. Whatever he had to say would hurt, but she had to know the truth.
“Who am I?”
He took her thin hands in his meaty ones. “You are our daughter.”
“But not by blood.” Her fingers, her legs, even her cheeks had gone cold.
“What’s blood?” Daddy said.
Mother lifted her face from the handkerchief to wail, “I knew this would happen one day. I knew it. You should never have done it, Branford.”
Felicity stared at her mother. “You shouldn’t have adopted me? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I not even adopted?”
“Of course you are.” Daddy turned red. “I’ll show you the papers if you want, but all that legal stuff doesn’t matter.
You’re ours. We’re yours. We raised you as our own and gave you everything you could ever want.”
As their own but not their own.
Again Mother wailed, this time from within the handkerchief.
“Eugenia, stop it. This is our daughter, the joy of our lives. Show a little backbone.”
“B-but now Mr. Blevins will never have her.”
“Maybe he doesn’t deserve her.” Daddy glowered at Mother, who was too busy sobbing to notice.
“And the National Academy,” she cried.
Daddy snorted. “If they won’t take my Felicity, then they won’t get one penny.”
“But how will she ever marry well now?” Mother cried. “Now that everyone knows the truth.”
Felicity’s parents argued the ramifications of the announcement. Why couldn’t one of them hug her and tell her it was all right? Why did it always come back to money and social status?
“Stop it,” she said softly. “Just stop.”
Her words went unheard as the discussion descended into bickering. Mother blamed Daddy for not taking enough precautions. Daddy claimed Mother had pushed for too much. On and on it went until Felicity couldn’t stand it anymore.
She stood. “Excuse me. I need to go to the washroom.”
They barely noticed her departure.
She walked through the now-vacant church. The sanctuary was dark and quiet, bearing no witness to the turmoil that had occurred moments before. In front stood the empty cross.
“Where were You when I needed You?” she said aloud.
Only the whistling of the wind answered.
Empty and lost, she walked out of the church onto the shaded walk. The noon sun blazed, but she didn’t feel its heat. Kensington Drugstore stood across the street, flanked by Kensington Mortuary and Pearlman Actuarial Services. She no longer recognized any of them. The town she’d known her whole life had become foreign.
She wasn’t Felicity Kensington, only daughter of the richest man in Pearlman. All the fancy clothes in the world couldn’t hide the fact that she was a castoff, unwanted and unloved.
She was no one.
Where could she go? Though she instinctively walked home, the moment she saw the stately Federal, she halted. The same trees still lined the sweeping drive. The gardens still smelled as fragrant. The roses still bloomed in a profusion of scarlet and pink, but somehow it had changed. She no longer belonged.
She wiped her eyes for the hundredth time, trying unsuccessfully to stem the tears.
In front of the carriage house, Smithson washed the old Stanley Steamer. Daddy never drove it anymore. Daddy. He wasn’t her father, not really. Whenever he tired of her, he could set her aside like an old motorcar, for they didn’t share one drop of blood.
She bit her lip against the tears.
As blustering as Daddy could be at times, she loved him. He had bounced her on his lap and let her make entries in the ledgers that he later had to erase. He hugged her when she cried. In all her memory, Mother had never held her. When she was little, there’d been nannies and nurses. Later, Mother instructed, but she never just held her. It was all about how to behave, about clothes and being the best, about the rules for ladylike behavior. But what did that matter now? The truth was out.
Felicity turned away from the house, unable to bear the pain of looking at it any longer. Ms. Priss strolled past without stopping, as if even she knew Felicity wasn’t worth the attention.
She stumbled down the hill. She couldn’t go home, and she had nowhere else to go. Mariah was her closest friend, but Felicity couldn’t go to the parsonage, not when Gabriel was there. Oh, what a mix-up that was. For so long she’d disparaged his lower social standing, but now the tables were reversed, and he outranked her.
Her cheeks burned with mortification. No doubt, Robert would laugh over his narrow escape, and the tale would spread throughout Newport until every soul had heard what happened to Felicity Kensington.
She could never show her face again, not even in Pearlman. She’d have to go elsewhere, but where and how? She had no money of her own and no belongings, not even clothes.
Kensington Estates, that beautiful section of Pearlman with its stately homes, meant nothing to her now. She walked away from it into the unknown. At the bottom of the hill, the park bustled with activity. The Renauds celebrated a birthday, and the children laughed and squealed. She longed for just one day filled with such delight, but watching it today proved too painful.
She wandered along the river, hoping to find solitude. At the rapids, a fisherman cast his line, seemingly unaware that the world had tilted on its axis. Through the trees, she could see glimpses of the parsonage’s white fence, lost to her now. How reluctant she’d been to enter the yard the day that Gabriel took in Slinky. Now she would give anything to live within its warm embrace.
Where to go?
Many years ago, when she needed to think things through, she would hide in a little cave upriver. There she would talk to God, and there He always answered. It had been a long time, but maybe He would still listen to her.
She hurried along the path, looking for the spot where she used to climb down the riverbank to the cave. The trees and bushes had grown over the years, obscuring the markers she’d used as a child.
Finally, she found the cave, hiding behind drooping grasses and a tangle of undergrowth. It looked small and inhospitable. A grassy knoll by the river’s edge was better. There she sat and thought until the warmth of the sun made her drowsy, and she nodded off.
When she awoke, she saw the sun had dipped low. Hours must have passed. She rubbed her eyes. Then she heard a rumble of thunder. Dark clouds threatened from the west, obscuring the setting sun. The air smelled of rain. A crack of lightning brought her to her feet. She needed shelter, and the only one in sight was the cave.
She pushed through the undergrowth, though it tore out the hem of her skirt. She stopped to brush off the seeds and bits of dried leaves. Thunder rumbled, long and loud, then, with a crack, lightning struck nearby. She dove through the grasses into the cave just as the first raindrops fell.
The cave was shorter and darker than s
he remembered. She couldn’t stand up nor could she see. After her eyes adjusted, she could make out a stump, or rather a foot-thick segment of tree trunk that would serve as a chair.
She brushed it off and shrieked when a bug darted away. She’d forgotten about the centipedes and earwigs and other creeping insects that lurked in caves. Still, the thunder had grown louder, and there was no place else to get out of the weather.
If only she could have gone to the parsonage. She squeezed her eyes shut. Gabriel could never love her now. It was all well and good to help orphans, but marrying one was another matter altogether. The Sophie Grattans in the congregation would murmur about the inferior wife. Oh, they wouldn’t say it that way. They’d hide their barbs behind complaints over little mistakes or say that he didn’t present the proper figure for a man in his position. But the real cause would be her.
She sucked in her lower lip. Every bit of the life she’d known was gone, shattered into pieces too small to repair. Why hadn’t Daddy told her? If she’d known who she really was, she would have lived differently. She would have treated others better. She would have cultivated friendships. She wouldn’t have looked down on her neighbors. Instead, she’d ruined everything.
She’d have to begin anew, somehow. She’d have to forget Gabriel. For his sake, she’d have to pretend she didn’t love him. She’d have to forget the way his lips pursed when he was deep in thought, forget the little indentation of worry between his eyebrows, forget the way he’d lain prone after trying to catch Slinky and then snorted with laughter when she thought he’d hurt himself, forget the unruly curls and even the rolled-up shirtsleeves.
She missed him. Each memory hurt almost more than she could bear, yet she heaped on more: how he’d caught her when she fainted, the awkwardness when she’d given him Slinky’s leash, how he’d encouraged her to go to veterinary college, how he’d respected her treatment of Slinky, how he’d wanted her on the Selection Committee.
Dear God, help me.
She rocked as the thunder boomed and the lightning flashed, knees hugged to her chest. Where could she go? What could she do?
The Matrimony Plan Page 19