by Linda Ford
She saw what held Mrs. Paige’s attention.
A huddled figure stood behind one of the buildings. Grace had seen enough to know the front of these businesses were painted gaudily, but no paint had been wasted to glorify the back. Bare boards, windows stuffed with newspaper, broken furniture stacked against the wall, it was enough to make her shudder.
She couldn’t make out the age or sex of the huddled figure, but she saw the hand uplifted toward the bulk of a man standing on the sagging step, clutching at his shirt front. Grace could feel the desperation in that gesture. The man shook the hand away.
Mrs. Paige snorted.
Grace glanced at her, surprised at the hardness in her expression. Then she turned back to the drama.
The begging form reached up again. Grace thought she heard a cry but knew it was only in her imagination.
Grace shivered as the big man planted his fists on his hips and glowered at the pleading figure before he ducked inside and slammed the door.
The other figure crumpled to the ground.
Mrs. Paige snorted again and turned away.
“Who is that?” Grace kept her eyes on the pathetic bundle on the ground.
“No one you would care to know about.” Mrs. Paige marked the due date in the books and pounded them down on the desk.
“I’m curious that’s all.”
“Don’t bother yourself about the likes of them.”
Grace knew from the way Mrs. Paige drew her lips into a tight line that she would learn nothing from this source. She determined she would find someone to tell her about the scene she’d witnessed. As she told Mrs. Paige, she was curious.
She asked at the post office.
“I make it a point to know nothing about that establishment,” Mrs. Schofield said, her black eyes snapping. “In my opinion, they shouldn’t even be allowed in town.” She closed her mouth and would say no more.
Grace went to Church’s store. She’d decided to be less direct in the hopes of eliciting more information. “I saw something this morning,” she began.
Lou Church leaned forward. She liked to hear about other people.
“You know that place behind the mercantile?”
Lou drew back. “Hummph. Know more than I want to. That’s a fact.”
“It was the strangest thing.”
Again Lou leaned forward, her eyes alight with interest. “What do you mean strange?”
“This big man was shaking his fist at some poor soul. Out in the back alley, mind.” Grace pretended an interest in the display of hankies. “I’ve always liked pansies embroidered on a hankie.”
Lou lifted her nose and sniffed a sound of such pure disdain that Grace stared at her. “Young Maggie Murphy no doubt.” She sniffed again. “I wondered how long it would be before Big Ed threw her into the streets.”
“You sound like you know this Maggie Murphy.” Grace sounded only mildly interested.
“I know of her. Most everyone in town does. Why she came marching into town as bold as you please. Didn’t waste no time trying to find a decent job. No, sir. She found Ed’s place right off, and that’s where she’s been since.”
“Ed’s place? Hmm. What sort of place is that?” She fingered several of the hankies, then turned toward the row of white gloves.
“Why it’s the sort of place that gives a town a bad name, if you know what I mean.”
Grace nodded absently. She was beginning to get the picture of what sort of place Ed ran. “You’re telling me this young Maggie went to work for him?”
Lou tossed her head. “She couldn’t wait to walk into his back room.”
It was on the tip of Grace’s tongue to ask how Lou knew so much about what went on in Ed’s place, but she knew such a question would bring an end to her attempt to gather more information. “Makes me wonder why Ed would throw her out like that.”
“The baby.”
Grace almost dropped the pair of gloves she held. She blinked hard to control her emotions. “A baby,” she cleared her throat. “What baby?”
Lou lifted another tray of gloves from behind the counter. “You might like these. Fine kid leather. All handmade. Just the thing for a fine lady like yourself.”
“They are nice. Soft as down.” She pulled them on and held out her hands to admire them. “I could use a new pair of gloves. I’ll take these.” A small price to pay for having her questions answered. “You were saying about a baby?”
“Miss Maggie Murphy wasn’t as smart as she thought. She got herself in the family way. I understand Ed made her work all along.” She leaned close to whisper. “Can you imagine such a thing?”
Grace shook her head, her eyes wide, silently begging Lou to continue.
Lou nodded. “I heard she had herself a baby girl not three days ago. I expect Ed gave her a chance to get back on her feet before he threw her out.” Lou’s mouth puckered like a pickle. “She won’t be much use to Ed now. Not with a baby and all.”
Grace pressed down the shudder that clawed at her insides. She kept her voice soft, sounding only mildly interested. “What do you suppose will happen to them?”
Lou shrugged as she wrapped the gloves in a flat box and handed them to Grace. “I heard Maggie was sick. Wouldn’t surprise me if she died. For sure no one in this town is going to offer to help her.”
Grace swallowed hard, stilling her insides. “But what about the baby?”
Lou rang in the money Grace handed her and returned the change. “With no one to care for it, what else but it will die too? It’s a mercy really. What kind of future is there for a child born in that situation?”
Grace grabbed up the change and rushed from the store. She threw the parcel on the seat of the car and threw the car into gear, driving home much faster than usual. She couldn’t believe Lou’s words. To think no one would lift a hand to help that poor girl and her child. That poor innocent baby.
She drove into the yard in a whirl of dust and jerked to a halt.
Billy stepped from the barn, a piece of metal rod in his hands. “What’s your hurry?”
Grace sprang from the car. “Do you know who Maggie Murphy is?”
Billy gave her a strange look. “Seems to me I heard the name a time or two.”
“Seems everyone knows about her but me.” At some point during the drive home, Grace’s shock had turned to red-hot anger. “Seems like everyone is judge and jury as well.”
Billy stepped back from her fury. “What are you talking about, Grace?”
She closed the distance between them. “I’m talking about a young girl thrown out on the streets.” She jabbed her finger in his direction. “Or should I say, into the alley.” She jammed her fists on her hips. “The woman—Maggie—I could maybe understand. After all, she made some choices. Maybe she should have to face the consequences. But a baby? Why should the baby be thrown out like a piece of garbage—human garbage? As if she did something wrong.” Her breathing was ragged. “As if some poor little baby can be held responsible for what adults do. Before she was even born, mind. It’s not her fault in the least.”
Billy’s mouth hung open; his eyes wore a startled look. “Grace, I’ve never seen you so worked up.”
She breathed hard. “It’s the injustice of it. Imagine blaming a poor innocent baby.”
His eyes narrowed. “Yes, imagine.” His tone was dry.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m agreeing. How can a baby be blamed for anything? They can’t make any choices.”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Seems to me we’ve had this conversation before.”
She blinked. “We have?”
He nodded. “It seems a young woman I know is suffering from a sense of guilt because of something her sister said that makes her feel like it was her fault their mother died when this young woman was only a baby. Seems to me I’ve asked how a baby could be to blame.”
“You’re meaning me.”
He nodded. “Don’t y
ou see how unfair it is to blame a baby?”
Her heart ticked the seconds as she stared at him without answering. “It makes sense when I say it.”
He chuckled. “But not when I say it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what did you say?”
She shook her head. “There seems a chasm between what I think and what I feel.”
Billy pulled her to his chest. “Poor Gracie, it’s hard having all your misconceptions shattered.”
She clutched his shirtfront, smelling the oil and grease of his morning’s labors and something more—the warm manly smell of him; smells that comforted and held her. “I hate to admit to wrong thinking,” she mumbled against his shirtfront.
He laughed. “I wouldn’t expect you to capitulate too quickly; not my Gracie.”
She thumped his chest. “Are you calling me stupid? Or stubborn?”
“Let’s settle for saying you like to be dedicated to your ideas.”
She laughed, turning her face up to him. “Billy, you always set things straight, don’t you?”
He grinned down at her. “Just call me Mr. Fix-it.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You better not be trying to find out.” He shook her gently.
Her laugh bubbled up from deep inside, a sensation as pleasurable as any she’d felt for a long time. She leaned back in his arms and let her laughter rang out.
He grinned down at her.
10
Billy pushed back from the table. “Great meal, Grace, thanks.”
“It was the best I could do.” She glimpsed the annoyance in his expression. “Glad you liked it.”
“That’s better.” He carried the dishes to the washbasin and poured boiling water over them, adding from the bucket to cool it off.
“I can wash up,” she protested. He often helped with dishes, and it always made her feel guilty.
He gave her a hard look. “I’m not insinuating you aren’t capable of doing it on your own. Maybe I like to share your company.” He plunged his hands into the water. “Or maybe I just want to get the grease out from under my fingernails.”
She laughed. “I knew there was some underlying reason.”
“Actually…” He handed her a plate to dry. “There isn’t. It’s all for you.”
She nodded. Neither of them spoke for a moment.
“It seems like someone should do something to help that young woman.”
“Like what?” He followed her shift of topic so quickly she wondered if his thoughts had been on the same thing.
“I simply don’t know.” She added a plate to the pile of clean ones. “But there must be something.”
“I suppose we could—I don’t know. Maybe I could offer to fly her back to her parents wherever they are.”
“If they’ll have her back.”
“Yes, there’s that, isn’t there?”
“Is there a place that takes unwed mothers?”
“It’s never been a topic I explored.”
“Me, either.”
He shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be any way for us to help.” He finished dishes and turned to face her. “So you’re finally willing to admit that a baby can’t be held responsible for what happens.”
She shook her head. “I know where you’re going with this.”
He grabbed her around the waist. “I’m sure you do. But humor me.” He took her silence for acquiescence. “Isn’t it time you stopped feeling like you’re to blame for your mother’s early death?”
She met his gaze without blinking, while inside, arguments raced through her mind.
“Let’s take it a step further. Can you see you aren’t responsible when things go wrong?”
“I don’t think I am.”
“Really? So whose fault was it when the wind blew down the clothesline?”
“I shouldn’t have loaded it so heavily,” she mumbled.
“Whose fault was it when the wash tub sprung a leak?”
She refused to meet his eyes.
“Who did you blame when Nellie had problems having her baby? Who did you blame when the doctor was out of town?”
She steadfastly refused to look at him. His arguments made her concerns sound silly.
“Grace, who did you blame when the engine on the airplane stalled and you lost our baby?” His low voice twanged with pain.
“I didn’t blame you.”
“No. You blamed yourself and figured you should have to pay. Do you know how much it hurt to watch you doing that?”
She met his pain-laced dark gaze for a moment and then let her gaze skid away. “When you say it like that, it makes my suffering sound childish.”
He grabbed her hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I don’t mean you shouldn’t hurt because of the baby, nor that you shouldn’t suffer. That’s different. Blaming yourself is futile and destructive. It’s as unfair as blaming Maggie Murphy’s infant.”
She searched his eyes, trying to sort out her confused thoughts. Finally she shook her head. “It isn’t that simple.”
“Why not?”
“I can see it’s foolish to blame myself for things I have no control over, but…” Her voice dropped to a strangled whisper. “What about the stupid things I do?”
His face serious, he shook her tenderly. “Grace, you are way too hard on yourself. No one is perfect. We all have to learn as we go along. Often we learn by doing things the wrong way first. That doesn’t make you stupid—only human.”
She let herself drown in his gaze. Slowly she nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll try harder.”
He shook his head. “Stop trying harder. It’s enough to do what you can. And for my sake, have a little fun doing it.”
“I have fun.”
“Seems to me you always end up feeling guilty about it. Sometimes I think you feel you have to take your father’s place. And Irene’s.”
“Whatever do you mean by that?”
He grinned crookedly. “Seems to me you had more fun when you lived at home. As if your father and Irene provided the ‘shoulds’ in your life, leaving you free to enjoy yourself. Now…” He shrugged. “ It seems you’re lost without their control. You try and replace them, and you’re far harder on yourself than they were.” He paused. “And you know as well as I do that they treated you like a fragile child.” His smile grew tender. “You are not a child, and you’re certainly not fragile. Why you are the most self-sufficient, practical, independent woman I have ever been married to.”
The tightness in her throat that promised tears dissolved in laughter. “You are so pitiful sometimes.”
“Ah, but what would you do without me?”
She smiled up at him. “I couldn’t.”
He kissed her thoroughly.
As they prepared for bed, Grace’s mind returned to Maggie Murphy and her child. “I can’t get them out of my mind,” she told Billy.
“I know. Perhaps someone will have already helped them.”
Grace doubted it, but she didn’t say anything more.
The specter of the huddled figure outside the closed door haunted Grace. Long after Billy’s breathing deepened, she lay staring into the darkness. It wasn’t right. Especially for that baby. There had to be something she could do to help. Perhaps there was. Long into the night, she worked out the details of a plan.
Over breakfast the next morning, she broached the subject with Billy.
“I think I know what we can do.”
“About what?”
“About Maggie Murphy and her baby.”
He nodded. “I wondered if you would forget about them. Go ahead. Tell me what you figured out.”
She spent several minutes outlining her plan. He nodded several times and thought about it several minutes before he answered.
“It seems you’ve considered every possibility. Go ahead. Whatever you do has my full support.”
She leaned over and kissed him. “Thank y
ou, Billy.”
“You’ll be needing some money.” He went to the bedroom and returned with a roll of bills. “I hope this is enough.”
For the first time she wondered if she was doing the right thing. “This is most of our money, isn’t it?”
“There’s more where that came from.”
She nodded, stuffing the bills in her handbag. “I’ll get ready right away.”
He waited while she gathered up things she needed, then walked her to the car and kissed her good-bye. “I’m proud of you, Grace,” he whispered.
Her heart too full to speak, she waved as she sped away.
She drove slowly up and down the streets, not really expecting to see anything. Partway down the block, she turned into the alley, slowly going its length. Where would they go? An idea came, and she turned down the alley behind the hotel. Again, nothing.
Grace stopped the car to think. She’d need to find shelter and food. She turned down another alley. At first she couldn’t see any possibilities, but then she saw the leaning shed at the back of the yard. She got out and listened. If she heard anything, it was only a cat meowing. Nevertheless, it wouldn’t hurt to check. She picked her way to the door hanging by one hinge, pushed it open, and peered into the dim interior. She saw the bundle of rags and the pale cheek of the woman and caught her breath. Perhaps she was too late.
She sprang to the limp form. Large, fever-bright eyes turned to her. She bit her lip. This was no woman, simply a young frightened girl who drew back at her approach.
“Don’t be afraid. I’ve come to help.”
The girl moaned.
“Are you Maggie Murphy?”
The girl blinked, and Grace took it for acknowledgment.
“Where is your baby?”
The over-bright eyes looked toward her swaddled arms.
Holding her breath, fearing what she would find, Maggie lifted the covers. The baby lay very still, eyes closed. Maggie waited. The tiny chest fluttered. “She’s still alive,” she murmured. Barely. She must act fast. But how to get this pair into her auto?
“Old Len,” she muttered. “I’ll be right back,” she told Maggie.
Maggie closed her eyes.
Grace sensed the defeat.
“No. I will. I promise.” But there wasn’t time to argue. She dashed for the car and, driving fast, headed for the livery barn.