Written in the Heart

by Judith Stacy

  On the heels of that success, Delfina brought Caroline to meetings of the Christian Women’s Charity Club and the Ladies Music Circle during the next week. She also went to three teas and a luncheon.

  Delfina decided to have a tea and two luncheons of her own, which Caroline organized. Caroline discreetly got the names of several of Stephen’s business associates from Richard and invited their wives, along with Delfina’s other guests. It couldn’t hurt, she thought.

  If Stephen noticed that Caroline wasn’t working at her paid profession in his office every day, he didn’t mention it. The few times she had ventured inside, both he and Richard had their heads together, deep in a serious discussion. From the fragments of conversation she caught, it concerned Clayton Girard in Johannesburg, not surprisingly.

  But not a night went by that Caroline didn’t consider venturing onto the balcony again. Images of Stephen waiting there in the darkness pulled her toward the French doors of her bedroom. He’d kissed her. Touched her. And they’d talked the comfortable talk of good friends. She didn’t leave her room, though, and wasn’t sure why.

  Returning home from a luncheon, Delfina chattered on and on about what Emily Waterson had just served, what china pattern she’d served from.

  “We certainly can’t make that mistake,” Delfina declared.

  Caroline smiled kindly at Delfina and her small world. Sometimes she worried what would happen to the woman if she were forced to make a serious decision, or was faced with an actual crisis. She shuddered to think.

  The carriage came to a stop in front of the Monterey home and the driver opened the door for them. Although the trolley line that criss-crossed the city ran right down West Adams Boulevard, Stephen insisted his aunt take the carriage when she needed to go out. Caroline had thought it silly at first, but she’d grown accustomed to the driver and the comfort of the carriage.

  Stepping outside, Caroline was surprised to see a wagon sitting in the driveway. Probably red at one time, the paint was faded and peeling now. A team of workhorses was hitched to it. A woman in a gingham dress and straw bonnet sat on the seat, and crowded in the back were eight children. The youngest had his thumb plugged into his mouth, and the oldest was a long-limbed, gangly boy on the verge of manhood.

  The family looked as if they’d been sitting there for a while, all crammed into the wagon. Some of the younger children whined. The afternoon was hot and they all looked wilted.

  “Good afternoon,” Caroline called.

  The woman fingered the coarse fabric of her skirt and smiled shyly. “Good afternoon to you, ma’am. My husband is inside talking with Mr. Monterey. We don’t mean no trouble.”

  “Of course not,” Caroline said, and thought it odd the woman would say such a thing.

  Charles met Caroline in the vestibule, and as Delfina breezed past and up the stairs, Caroline asked, “Charles, who are those people?”

  “A meeting is taking place with Mr. Monterey,” he said.

  “Why weren’t they invited inside?”

  Charles pinched his lips together. “Mr. Monterey didn’t invite them.”

  “How long have they been sitting out there?”

  “Thirty minutes, perhaps.”

  Caroline planted her hand on her hip. “Good gracious, Charles, offer them some refreshment.”

  His lips pinched tighter. “I don’t think Mr. Monterey would approve.”

  “It’s hot out there. Those are children.”

  “But madam, if I could be permitted—”

  “Please, Charles, take them something at once.”

  “As you wish, madam,” Charles said, and disappeared down the hallway.

  Caroline deposited her handbag on the table in the vestibule and went outside again just as Charles reappeared with a tray of frosty lemonades. Eight sets of little hands reached for the glasses, chattering excitedly. The woman accepted hers more cautiously, but drank it down quickly.

  “You kids thank this nice lady, now, you hear?” she said to her children.

  A chorus of thank-yous rose from the rear of the wagon and brought a smile to Caroline’s face.

  “Are you in town on business?” Caroline asked.

  The woman nodded. “My husband is taking care of our business. We brought the kids along ’cause they don’t get to see the city too often.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “We got us a fine place down around Riverside.” The woman smiled proudly. “My husband, he works the land hard. My young ’uns work just as hard.”

  The woman turned her attention to the front door. “Here comes my husband now.”

  A man in worn clothing pulled a battered hat on his head and hurried down the front steps. Stephen stood in the vestibule, blocking the doorway, rigid and tense and glaring at them all.

  In all the time she’d known him, Stephen had kept a tight rein on his emotions. He’d never lost his temper, never raised his voice, even when they’d argued over Joey’s outing. But he was angry now. He was beyond angry.

  He saw the lemonade glasses, then swung his gaze to Caroline, and though she hadn’t thought it possible, his anger deepened. She read it in the swell of his chest, the stiffening of his stance, the squaring of his shoulders.

  Caroline turned back to the woman. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”

  The woman looked at her husband, at Stephen, then back at Caroline.

  “Pickette,” she said. “Mrs. Russell Pickette.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Stephen stalked back into the house. Caroline left Charles to gather the lemonade glasses, and hurried inside after him.

  “Stephen?” she called to his wide back as he strode down the hallway. He heard her—he had to have—but didn’t stop. Caroline picked up her skirt and hurried after him.

  When she reached his office door she found him pacing in front of the windows, staring at the floor, slamming his fist into his open palm. Richard appeared beside her and touched her arm.

  “Don’t, Caroline,” he said. “Stephen’s upset. He needs some time. He needs to be alone.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” She pushed past him into the office. She was halfway into the room when Stephen rounded, stopping her in her tracks. Fierce anger radiated from him and it was directed at her—some of it, anyway. Still, Caroline wasn’t frightened of him.

  “What in blazes did you think you were doing?” Stephen pointed through the house toward the front driveway. “Those people didn’t deserve one ounce of hospitality! Not a cent’s worth! Not of my money!”

  He stomped over to her, towering over her, crowding her. “You had no business interfering. It was none of your concern.”

  Caroline stood very still, not giving an inch. She tilted her face up toward his angry one and said softly, “They were children, Stephen.”

  His anger deflated then, dissipated like hot air from a balloon. His shoulders sagged and he turned away.

  “That’s not the point,” he said. He walked to the window and braced his arms on the sill, staring out.

  “It’s not the lemonade, it’s something else, “ Caroline said. “What is it, Stephen? Who are those people?”

  He pushed his hand through his hair and pulled at his collar, refusing to turn and face her.

  “Nobody,” he finally said. “They’re not important. It’s just business.”

  She walked closer and stood near him at the window. Gazing out at his neat, orderly rear lawn seemed to calm him, the same as when he stared into his curio cabinet of china figurines and music boxes. His anger was still evident in the tight lines of his face, though under control now. But there was something else, too. Something deeper.

  Caroline reached for his arm. At her touch, Stephen jerked away and strode back to his desk. He picked up some papers and looked them over, though she was certain he didn’t see a word that was written there.

  “As I said, Caroline, it’s just business. Nothing you should concern yourself with.”

  �
�Liar.”

  He cut his gaze over to her, opened his mouth, then closed it again, shutting off the words and emotions that threatened to spill out with them.

  Stephen gestured with the papers in his hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

  “You can tell me, you know,” she said gently. “Actually speaking your feelings aloud won’t do irrevocable harm.”

  Stephen turned away, studied the papers in his hand again. “This is a business matter. I have no feelings about it.”

  Here was a battle she wouldn’t win. Not today, anyway.

  “Fine,” Caroline said, and left the office.

  “Stephen’s gone? Gone where?”

  Caroline stood in front of Stephen’s desk, but it was Richard who sat behind it this morning.

  “Downtown. The Bradbury Building,” Richard said. “He’s signing papers for the new warehouse and handling a few other things.”

  “But he’s supposed to be here,” Caroline said. “Mr. Turley said so.”

  Richard sat back in the chair. “What’s going on?”

  She huffed impatiently. The next Monterey event—the one destined to become an annual occurrence—was taking place this afternoon. Stephen was supposed to be home all afternoon, according to Mr. Turley. She’d made sure his schedule was clear so that she could have him make an appearance for the newspaper reporter.

  “There’s another community event,” Caroline explained.

  Richard glanced out the window behind him at the staff busy setting up tables on the back lawn. “Yes, I see something’s going on. I don’t know what’s got into Delfina, but she’s certainly taken hold of things lately.”

  “Unfortunately, it will be for naught if Stephen doesn’t show up,” Caroline said. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  Richard shook his head. “No, not really. I was supposed to handle this, but at the last minute he wanted to do it himself.”

  “He’s still upset about yesterday, isn’t he?” Caroline asked. “Who were those people, Richard? Why did they get him so angry?”

  He rose and gathered up some papers. “You’ll have to discuss that with Stephen, Caroline.”

  “But he won’t talk about it.”

  “I can’t, either,” Richard said. “In the meantime, I’ve got some handwriting samples for you to look at.”

  “Now?”

  Richard grinned. “Jobs can be so inconvenient sometimes, can’t they?”

  Caroline took the papers he held out to her. “What’s this all about?”

  “Stephen was quite impressed when you pointed out who the likely thief was at the warehouse,” Richard said. “He shared that with other businessmen and they’ve asked you to look at some of their employees.”

  “Really?” Surprised, she looked at the papers, then up at Richard again. “Stephen recommended me? Really?”

  “He did.”

  Richard didn’t seem as pleased by it as she was, but Caroline wasn’t about to let this small advancement go unappreciated.

  “How sweet of him,” Caroline said, smiling. “I had no idea he thought so much of my work that he would give me a recommendation to others.”

  Richard grunted and dropped into the chair again, shuffling papers. “If you could get working on those, Stephen would appreciate it.”

  “Of course.”

  “Oh, by the way, Stephen hired a Pinkerton man to keep an eye on Rudy Acres.”

  “The warehouse thief?”

  “Yes. If he’s the one responsible, as you suggested, the agent will catch him in the act and send him off to jail.”

  Caroline faltered. “Jail?”

  “Of course, jail. What did you think we’d do with him?” Richard asked.

  “I—I don’t know….”

  Caroline sat in her chair at her little table in her corner of the office. A man might go to jail. Because of her.

  Looking at handwriting samples, matching up strokes and stems and letter endings to personality traits, was fascinating work. The scope of a living, breathing human being spread out in a few lines of handwriting, just waiting to be deciphered. She’d done it at parties for fun, and as exercises for her tutors in Europe.

  But she’d never sent a man to jail with it before.

  Caroline sorted through the handwriting samples Richard had given her. She arranged her magnifying glasses, took out fresh paper for notes, tested her pencil. But she couldn’t bring herself to begin work.

  “These samples,” she said to Richard. “They’re suspected of stealing also?”

  “You mean the men who wrote them?”

  A lump of something sour rose in Caroline’s throat. “Yes, the men who wrote them.”

  He nodded. “Theft is what Stephen told me.”

  Caroline’s fingers grew damp as she handled the samples. Would she send one of these men to jail, too? Which one? Whose life would she ruin? Whose family would be left without a husband, father, son?

  Richard went back to his work. Caroline couldn’t. She tried, but she couldn’t.

  Finally, she gave up.

  “I really have to check on things for this afternoon’s event,” she said, rising from the table.

  He looked across the desk at her. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she said quickly. “I just…”

  “Just what?”

  Caroline shook her head. “Tell Stephen I’ll get right on them in the morning.”

  She left the samples and the office without a backward look.

  When Stephen stepped into the vestibule, the familiar peace and tranquility of his home overtook him, leaving the heat, the traffic, the noises of the city outside where they belonged. He loved his neat, orderly house, which seemed to shine a little brighter in the past few days and smell a little sweeter. He loved his office, the concise stacks of work on his desk, the supplies arranged just so inside the drawers.

  And even though Charles was nowhere to be seen at the moment—which was odd—that didn’t diminish Stephen’s pleasure at arriving home. He dropped his derby on the table in the vestibule and carried his satchel back to his office.

  Everything had gone smoothly at his attorney’s office today. The warehouse was his, legally, bought and paid for, and he was anxious to share the news with Richard.

  But Richard wasn’t in the office. Stephen dropped his satchel on the desk and thought for a moment, but couldn’t remember anyplace Richard was going. He was supposed to be here. In fact, they were going to spend the afternoon—

  Stephen’s stomach bottomed out, then sprang into his chest. He went to the window. Outside, on his back lawn, were—children. Tiny little children.

  Dozens of them. Running, jumping, tumbling in the grass. Swarming like ants. And they were in his backyard!

  Stephen rushed to the rear entrance of the house and out onto the steps, to be met with laughter, giggling, squeals. Clowns, pony rides, balloons. Tables with red checkered cloths piled with food remains and half-empty glasses.

  “Stephen, dear, there you are.”

  Aunt Delfi levered herself out of a chair at one of the tables and came to greet him.

  “Isn’t this wonderful?” she declared.

  Mouth sagging, he turned to her. “What the—”

  “Caroline and I decided—”

  “Caroline?”

  He spun around until he spotted her near a makeshift wire pen holding a rabbit, a hen, two piglets and a goat. He charged across the yard, dodging children darting across his path.

  “Stephen, you’re here.” She rose from talking to a little girl with blond curls in a plain brown pinafore. “I was afraid you wouldn’t make it.”

  He plastered his hand against his forehead. “What the hell—”

  “Stephen, your language.” Caroline bobbed her eyebrows and tilted her head toward two nuns supervising the pony ride.

  “These are children….”

  Caroline gazed around the yard. “Yes?”

/>   “They’re here. On my lawn. My perfect lawn.”

  “The lawn is still perfect, Stephen. It just has children on it now.”

  “Where the hell did they come from?”

  “Shh!” Caroline grasped his arm. “You’d better come sit down. You don’t look well.”

  She led him to a bench in the shade of an oak.

  “There’re so many of them,” he said.

  “Twelve,” Caroline said.

  “That’s all? Twelve?” He looked again. “No, there’s more. I’m sure of it. Count them again. Some might have slipped in under the fence.”

  He paced for a moment, then Caroline took his arm again and he sat down on the bench.

  “Everything is fine, Stephen,” she said, sitting beside him. “We have plenty of supervision for the children. See? Three nuns—”

  “What the hell do nuns know about children?”

  She patted his arm. “They run the Sacred Heart Orphanage.”

  Stephen stopped and looked out over the yard again. “These are orphans?”

  Caroline nodded.

  “All these children?”

  “Yes, they are.”

  “I didn’t know….” Stephen looked at the children running in his yard again, realizing for the first time that they were all dressed alike. Girls in brown pinafores, boys in brown knee pants and white shirts. “What are they doing here?”

  “It’s another Monterey public image event,” Caroline said. “There’s a reporter and a sketch artist from the newspaper here somewhere.”

  “Aunt Delfi did all of this?” Stephen asked.

  “She’s considering making it an annual event,” Caroline said.

  Stephen rose and slid his hands into his trouser pockets, looking out over the children playing on the lawn.

  “They’re so young,” he said.

  Caroline got up from the bench. “We asked the sisters to bring children who were around the same age as Joey, so he could enjoy the day, too.”

  He spotted Joey across the lawn with three other little boys, having a sword fight with sticks.

  Stephen smiled. “Tommy and I used to do that….”

  “Would you like to go meet the children?” Caroline asked.