A Love So True

by Melissa Jagears

  She could tell he expected her to keep talking, but would he be disheartened to hear that Mr. Greer and each man afterward had thought David’s sponsorship of her women’s home was laughable?

  She couldn’t have David back out.

  His gaze traveled to her dress yet again, his mouth puckered with serious perusal rather than admiration.

  Though she was happy there was no male interest in David’s eyes, she still squirmed. She closed the parasol and put it in front of her. As puny of a shield as it was, it did get his gaze to come back up to hers.

  “You know, you should wear an outfit this nice when you go soliciting for your women’s home. You came to me in a plain yellow dress with black dots, but it didn’t . . .” He spun one of his hands around as if he could flip the word he was looking for out of the air. “It didn’t get me to take you seriously. Whenever I’m in the middle of a business deal, I wear my best. If the other man is dressed casually, I subconsciously think he’s not taking the risk to my assets as seriously as he should. I’m not saying that’s right—but seeing you now, I think that might have helped me take you more seriously. It also gives the illusion you’re not desperate for money since you have enough of your own to wear such an ensemble.”

  “Well then, at least I chose appropriately today, for I am out looking for supporters.”

  “You are?”

  Why did he say that as if he were surprised? “Yes. Mr. Greer was my first appointment. I just had one with Mr. Morris, and I’m on my way to see Mr. Beauchamp again.” He hadn’t agreed to anything at their first meeting, but he hadn’t outright dismissed her either.

  Hopefully, as with David, time’s passing and seeing her commitment to this venture would change Mr. Beauchamp’s mind.

  And since Mr. Beauchamp and Nicholas used to be good friends, perhaps he’d be willing to support her mission in an effort to bridge whatever had torn the two men apart. This time, she’d hint that supporting this endeavor might be the ointment their friendship needed to start healing.

  David ran a hand through his hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “About what?”

  “That you were trying to get supporters today.”

  “You wanted to know?”

  “I thought you believed my support would convince others.”

  “I did.” She twirled the handle of her parasol in her hand. “I told them of your support for the women’s home, but unfortunately it has yet to get me anywhere.”

  “But that’s not what I said.”

  “It’s not?” What had she gotten wrong?

  “I told you I’d support you. Don’t you think if I came with you to your appointments—to petition the men myself—it might help?”

  Of course a man pleading on behalf of her project would hold more sway. “But what if it doesn’t? Without Mr. Lowe’s money, nothing will happen.”

  “That’s not true. I’ll still try to find a job for any woman who wants one, whether they live in the home you’ll build or not. As long as they aren’t living in the red-light district anymore. And I’ll still sponsor a weekly meal, if not for the women, then for the children. Surely they’d appreciate another meal during the week. For now, maybe you could send food home with them, since I said I’d sponsor a whole day.”

  Her throat closed on her, and she had to look away from him. Had she ever expected to meet a man more generous than Nicholas? “Why are you doing this?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re not doing this just because you feel sorry for me, are you? You did tell me earlier you couldn’t help.”

  “So if I was doing this just for you, you’d turn down my help?” The confusion in his voice made her look back at him.

  “No.” Of course she wouldn’t turn down help for people who needed it so desperately. “I . . . I just want to be sure your focus is on the right thing.”

  “Why would you think it wasn’t?”

  Perhaps she was reading too much into this. Maybe he was just a real gentleman. Maybe he had no affinity for her above any other woman.

  It would be easier to keep her heart from fluttering if he wasn’t so focused on her. And she really needed to keep her heart from fluttering again. “It’s just that no one else has been willing to help me—not even those who’ve admitted that what I’m doing is a step in the right direction—so I just wanted to make sure you were . . . committed to this project, even if I was no longer involved. I wouldn’t want your support to disappear if I did.”

  He stiffened. “I’ll pretend that the compliment I gave you earlier wasn’t paid back with an unflattering assumption about me.”

  She grimaced and dropped her gaze to the ground. “I’m sorry.” He was right, that sounded horrid. But if he knew how much she was growing to admire him, well, she couldn’t stir up any romantic interest he might have.

  David shifted his weight uneasily. “My father, of course, would be the sort of person you accused me of being—someone who only does something if it benefits him—and I’ll admit I’m not entirely excited about informing him that I’ve chosen to support your ministry. Which is why I haven’t offered to help with anything more. Until my father officially hands the business to me, I’m not able to make unilateral decisions. Please don’t tell anyone this, but my father intends to sell the factory. If that happens, I’ll return to Kansas City. But if he’s adamant our business have no connection to your cause, I’ll support you with my own funds.”

  They intended to sell the factory? She took a step back and looked at the pavement between them.

  She’d known he was returning to Kansas City, but she hadn’t imagined he’d sell the factory. Once he did, Nicholas wouldn’t consider David’s support to be that of a local businessman. She was right back to where she’d started. She still needed two sponsors. Because what were the chances David would convince whoever bought the business from him to keep the women he hired if no one else in town would touch them?

  She sucked in her lower lip and looked back up at him. “How long are you going to be here again?” If he was willing to help her drum up supporters, she’d better get to it. They didn’t need to know he’d be leaving Teaville behind completely.

  David was fiddling with his fingers. “I don’t know. Father is likely having fits over how long I’m staying, but I’m sort of digging in my heels.”

  She had wanted him to move away, right? So why was her heart sagging?

  Because of the likelihood that the women’s home would never be, of course. She’d had acquaintances move away many times before. David’s leaving would be nothing different—could be nothing different.

  “But if I can get you another supporter, then we’ll get the ball rolling with Mr. Lowe. He doesn’t seem like a man who would start a project and not see it through. So we just need to get him started.”

  “No, I need two more supporters. I couldn’t tell Nicholas you would be supporting him long term. I know your help is temporary and not what he asked for.”

  “My returning to Kansas City won’t keep me from sponsoring a weekly group of meals—I can do that from afar.”

  “But it will keep you from hiring women.”

  “True. Though there is a possibility I could convince Father to keep the factory. And if we do sell, if I’ve already hired the women, I’ll work to convince the buyer to keep them. Depends on—”

  “I can’t count on what might happen, so I still need two more business owners.” She pulled out her timepiece. “I’m afraid Mr. Beauchamp is expecting me.”

  “Will you let me come with you?”

  She tucked her timepiece away and nodded. If David had no set plans for departure, she’d better use his influence while he was still on board.

  She couldn’t let this setback derail her—otherwise what could she possibly say to encourage the women who would one day come to her for help? Their attempt to get back into good society would be far harder than convincing two men to monetarily support
her women’s home.

  And she didn’t want to think about why it hurt so much to know that, in the future, David’s support would be from afar.

  18

  Evelyn stopped in front of the five-story flour mill wedged among the other factories lining the railroad tracks. The words Beauchamp Mills were stenciled in big black letters above the door of the red-brick building’s office entrance. David rushed up the concrete stairs ahead of her to hold open the door.

  She took in a deep breath. This was her last real possibility to get an important businessman to support her women’s home. If she failed, she’d personally be fine, but how could she live comfortably while other women were trapped in untold horrors and despair?

  Behind the front desk, Mr. Allen looked up from his paperwork. The middle-aged man pushed his spectacles up to the bridge of his nose. “Ah, Miss Wisely, I was wondering if you’d forgotten your appointment.”

  “No.” She smiled at the man who’d been a part of the group of elders who’d called her father to Teaville’s Freewill Church, then turned to gesture toward David. “I hope Mr. Kingsman will be allowed to join me. He’s involved in the business I’m here to discuss with Mr. Beauchamp.”

  “I can’t imagine it’d be a problem.”

  “Good.”

  Of course, Mr. Allen didn’t know what she was here for, but he needed to know David was with her for business purposes and not . . . for other reasons. Mr. Allen wasn’t exactly the best at minding his own business. If gossips were hens, he was their rooster.

  She followed Mr. Allen toward Mr. Beauchamp’s office. They stepped inside, and the bright sunlight from the large windows overlooking the train tracks toward town made her squint a little. There wasn’t much to look at out the window—just a strip of grassy field separating this factory from the big, ugly brick factory to the north. This view was only slightly better than if Mr. Beauchamp had chosen a southern office, since he’d have nothing but the flour mill’s large, weathered concrete tower to look at that way.

  The stocky Frenchman stood up from behind a rather ostentatious desk for a mill owner. He smiled at her for a second, but his eyes skipped straight over to David. “Do come in.”

  She took a seat in a plain ladder-back chair, and David headed for Mr. Beauchamp, shaking hands with him across his cluttered desk. “Pleased to meet you. I’m David Kingsman.”

  “Henri Beauchamp. I didn’t expect two visitors.”

  “I convinced Miss Wisely to bring me along, hoping to help her gain your aid.”

  “Gain my aid? Is this about the women’s home again?” He frowned over at Evelyn. “Did you not understand my answer last time?” Thankfully his voice wasn’t angry but confused.

  “When I first approached Mr. Kingsman, he told me he couldn’t help with my women’s home either, but after some time, he changed his mind. I was hoping he might persuade you to do the same.”

  Mr. Beauchamp’s plump form went rigid, and though he kept an easygoing expression on his face, his eyes dulled. He turned to David. “I’m afraid the lady’s hopes are too high. I don’t see any way I could be persuaded.”

  David took a seat, and Henri, likely confused by the fact that David didn’t look at all as if the man had just shut him down, slowly lowered himself back into his big office chair.

  David put an ankle of one leg across his knee and draped an arm over the back of his chair. “Did Miss Wisely mention that supporting a women’s home doesn’t mean you have to commit to a lot of money? There are other ways to help. She only needs a few men to support her endeavor, for Mr. Lowe has agreed to finance the rest.”

  “He will indeed be the main financier,” Evelyn confirmed. “He just wants to be sure he has town support before proceeding. I know you two were once close, and perhaps joining him for a good cause could bridge the gap between you.”

  “Mr. Lowe doesn’t need my support to do any good thing. I suggest you keep nagging him until he caves and helps, as he probably already wants to.” Mr. Beauchamp settled back in his seat. “But if he’s truly hesitant, then I don’t want any part of it.”

  She could have bitten her tongue out. Was there any way to cover for that misstep? “You were familiar with the problem he had with the former prostitutes he kept hidden in his mansion, yes?”

  “I became aware of it when everyone else did.”

  Was there an edge of bitterness in his voice? “And do you know his housekeeper, Miss O’Conner?”

  “Yes.” His voice seemed slightly more interested.

  “Well, she’ll be helping me with the women’s home. If you don’t want to support it for me, I’d ask you to support it for her. You see, her sister—”

  “Is a two-faced, devious strumpet.”

  Evelyn’s lips moved, but her voice had fled, so she shut her mouth. How should she respond to that quick and angry put-down? Considering the venom in his voice, telling him Caroline and Moira’s story wouldn’t gain his sympathy.

  “I’m afraid some of the women you want to help deserve exactly what they get.” Mr. Beauchamp stood and folded his arms across his expansive chest. “I have another appointment.”

  She didn’t bother to look at the clock, knowing full well they hadn’t been in there five minutes, let alone the fifteen she was scheduled for. “Well, thank you for allowing me to come again. If you do change your mind, let us know.” Which wouldn’t happen, of course, but saying it made her feel as if all hope wasn’t lost.

  David helped her from her seat, and after a quick glance over his shoulder, he silently led her out.

  On the mill’s porch, she held onto the railing with a firm grip as she went down the stairs. Oh, to be home so she could sink into a cushioned chair, take off her shoes, and call it a day. But she had to walk there first.

  “Where do we go next?” David’s expectant expression was dulled by the lack of sparkle in his eyes.

  “You don’t think that was enough rejection for one day?” She let go of the railing and opened her parasol since the earlier dark clouds had thinned and moved north, skirting town completely. At least something about this day had turned sunshiny.

  “If you’re done, perhaps you could give me a list of men to talk to. I’ve got nothing to do until dinnertime. That’s why I crossed your path. A walk about town sounded better than sitting in my room at the boardinghouse.”

  “Mr. Beauchamp was my last person to see. I’ve been to all the businessmen in town twice. And they were about as movable as he. I did get Mr. Lowe’s lawyer to promise aid, but not the kind Mr. Lowe would count as support for the women’s home.”

  “This town is fairly large. I can’t believe you’ve been to every butcher, baker, and candlestick maker.”

  His reference to the nursery rhyme made her want to smile, but her heart was too heavy. “A butcher is not going to support a women’s home in any capacity that would move Mr. Lowe. A few dollars here and there won’t be enough. I need a real showing of support.” Trickles of money could never be counted on. How long had she been trying to grow her own bank account and gotten nowhere?

  “But what about the small business owners you know from church? If you could get each to pledge a little, along with prayer support, perhaps Mr. Lowe would consider a group as worthy as one.”

  “Two of the big businessmen I approached were from my church. They told me ‘sometimes business is just business.’”

  He pulled a pad of paper from under his suit coat and handed it to her. “Write their names down. Even if all I get from them is prayer support, that might be all we need. Because if we can get enough people praying, perhaps we won’t have to get Mr. Lowe any support at all. God could simply spur him forward without anyone’s help.”

  Would it work? It wouldn’t hurt to try. She grabbed his pad of paper without looking up at him and pulled the little pencil out of her chatelaine. Why was he being so nice to her? No, not to her. They’d had that conversation on the way here. He seemed to be genuinely interested in helping
women like Scott’s mother. Which was somehow worse. Or better. She wasn’t sure which, because her heart was aching to like him. No, she already liked him. A stupid tear blurred her vision, and she furtively wiped it away.

  How had she not thought to ask for prayer support as she’d gone along? Did she not have enough faith that God wanted this women’s home to exist?

  But what was more depressing was knowing David would leave one day. A man who cared about spiritual things, who supported her even when she was a mess, who was annoyingly, absolutely perfect.

  The type of man she’d hoped would come alongside her one day.

  But had never come.

  Until now. And it was too late.

  Or was it?

  “Why are you looking so glum again? Don’t give up hope yet.”

  There might be some hope for the women’s home, but not for her dreams. Well, there was a possibility of hope, but she’d kept herself from wishing for it.

  But maybe she ought to do as the lawyer had recommended and find out where she legally stood—if she could humble herself and ask for the money to do so, that is. Because if there was any possibility . . .

  She took a glance at David, who smiled the second she looked at him, making her stupid heart flutter. “All right.” She looked back down and quickly scribbled out a few names. “These are men from my church who own a business of some sort. If you mention your connection to me, they should listen to what you have to say.”

  She made a quick mental note of the sun and knew she didn’t have much time before she was expected back at the orphanage. “I’ve got to see someone before I return home. Will I see you at church tomorrow?”