A Love So True

by Melissa Jagears

  “Have you not tried to find him?”

  “He’d once mentioned mining in California, so for years, I wrote big towns along the west coast asking for lists of people in boardinghouses and hotels. Every time I had money for a stamp, I’d inquire after James, but never got a response. A few years ago, I gave up. I didn’t have the money to hire someone to find out what happened to him, and letters were getting me nowhere. But recently, I did borrow money to hire an investigator, but there have been no leads.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Don’t be. Despite messing up my life forever, I’m glad I got married.”

  He rubbed his ear. “You’re glad?” And here he’d thought James’s whereabouts was what barred them from each other, not any love she still felt for her scoundrel of a husband.

  “Yes. For nearly two years, I railed at God, blaming Him for not saving me from myself. But then I realized I was upset with God because He hadn’t patched up my mistakes, despite me never giving Him my loyalty to begin with. During those dark days, I realized how desperately I needed Him and truly gave Him my life.”

  Thankfully God had gotten her attention, but what a price. “So then why’d you keep your marriage a secret after that?”

  “Pride.” She sniffed. “And it could hurt Daddy. We weren’t rich, so there was nothing he could do to help me. Then when our church in Topeka split, it was hard enough for him to find a job when both factions were upset with him. His references weren’t the best, so I just couldn’t add to his problems. A spinster daughter wasn’t the weighty baggage an abandoned or divorced one would be whenever new churches were deciding on calling him. Besides, I’d already acted as if nothing had happened for two years, and it was easier to continue.” She shrugged.

  He couldn’t have done it. “How were you able to keep up such a lie?”

  “I never lied.” She snapped her head up. “I just never told anyone what happened.”

  “So you didn’t tell the truth?”

  “I didn’t reveal a secret. Please don’t argue semantics with me. It’s not as if I haven’t been in turmoil over it for nine years—especially lately.” Her lips quivered as she pressed them tightly together—whether in an effort to keep from railing at him or to keep from crying, he couldn’t tell.

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “After nine years, not a single court in Kansas would deny you a divorce by abandonment.”

  She stared at his hand holding hers but didn’t pull away. “I’ve thought about it occasionally, but I still can’t do it without knowing for certain what happened to him. What if James is alive and something really awful did happen? What if he was captured by Indians or forced to work in the bowels of some mine? And while there, scared that every day would be his last, he begged God for a second chance—to be free to come home to me and be the husband he ought to be?”

  He shook his head, not wanting to sympathize with her husband, but knowing what he’d want Evelyn to do if it were him. But truly, nine years had passed. “I’d say you are highly optimistic.”

  “Stranger stories are told every day.”

  “True.” He couldn’t deny it, though sad ones like what he was going through tonight seemed much more common.

  “And if I divorced James without knowing what happened, solely to pursue another man, what kind of vow could I promise to keep with my new husband?” She got up and turned her back to the mansion, her face dripping silent tears. “Right now, my heart is falling apart, my father’s unwell, and I may very well lose my job at the orphanage, but I have to cling to the hope that God cares for me, that He only says no because He intends better for me. And yet, why has He left me in the dark? Why did He . . .” She held out her hand toward him but shook her head and looked away.

  Why hadn’t God let her know what happened to James this whole time? Why hadn’t He stifled his feelings for Evelyn since He knew this was her secret all along?

  God could have stopped his heart—it sure had stopped now.

  David stared at the ground between his feet. He wasn’t sure he had enough faith right now to believe God was telling them no because He intended to give them better. What could be better than a future with Evelyn? “You said you’ve hired a private investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe I could hire a better one.”

  She shook her head. “Nicholas is taking care of the expense. I’m sure he chose the best man he could find.”

  “And what has he found out?”

  “Nothing so far.” She let out a shaky sigh. “I’m not sure how long Nicholas will be willing to pay the man if he can’t find any clues whatsoever.”

  His knees bobbed in nervous indecision. The investigator could give her good news, like that she was a widow. He scrunched his eyes up tight. He would not wish for a man’s death! He shot up and paced. An investigator could just as easily return with no information, and she would be in limbo forever—and as much as he wanted to be with her, he’d not force a woman to go against her convictions for his pleasure.

  Well, he’d come for an answer, and he’d gotten one. Given her current situation, there was no reason to stay in Teaville. “I plan to return to Kansas City shortly. My father will be selling the factory here.”

  “What about the ladies you hired?” She bit her lip between her teeth.

  Of course, she’d be more worried about their future than her own. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

  No! He wouldn’t let himself love her, or rather he wouldn’t let himself think in that direction anymore. Unless God worked some sort of miracle, there was no future for them. And he couldn’t even pray for her to get out of her marriage without going against everything he believed in.

  “I won’t leave until I can figure out arrangements for them.” Since he was likely going to be incapable of thinking about anything much besides his broken heart, he wasn’t sure how quickly that would happen. “But I won’t stay longer than necessary.”

  She sniffed. “I suppose I’ll never see you again?”

  His insides clenched. Why hold on to hope? “Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.” He wasn’t sure how his heart could feel more ill than it did now, but if he was to have any hope of moving on—as he absolutely had to—he had to take the truth of God’s Word to heart and try his best to avoid becoming more attached to her. “Depends on God and how our lives go, I suppose. But I’ll pray you get an answer, because—” He cleared his throat to cover the fact that he’d almost told a married woman he loved her. That was an emotion he had no business expressing or feeding any longer.

  He’d been right when he said her secret wouldn’t make him love her any less.

  But it had certainly made it so he couldn’t love her any more.

  “One last hug from a friend?” The tears rolling down her face were his undoing.

  He brought her close, trying not to notice how good she felt in his arms. He pressed her tightly against him until he was worried he might break her. After one last sniff of her hair, he set her back. They stared at each other for a moment or two.

  He couldn’t tell her he loved her, but maybe she’d see it in his eyes, feel it in the pressure of his hands.

  If he didn’t leave soon, he’d steal a kiss—something he had no business even thinking about, for stealing it would be. “Good-bye,” he choked.

  He’d never thought he could hate a word so much.

  After brushing away a tear falling down her cheek, he forced himself to let go of her hands and leave his heart behind.

  33

  David was late, but he didn’t care. The buzz of factory work surrounded him while he took the balcony stairs to his office slower than molasses on a cold winter’s morning. He stopped in the middle of the stairs and fished his coffee flask from his satchel before continuing up. If only they could make coffee in the office. He was going to need a lot of it.

  He looked blankly out over the sea of workers as he took a drink. He ou
ght to check in with his foremen, like he did most every morning, but things looked like they were running well enough.

  Thankfully the whirl of machines and voices helped drown out the thoughts he was trying to repress. He’d done enough thinking about Evelyn last night. He’d begged God to fill his life with something else instead of Evelyn but had refused to ask Him why things had happened as they had, because he couldn’t imagine how any answer would satisfy.

  After screwing the lid back on, he forced himself up the rest of the stairs—to do what, he had no idea. He could probably pull himself together enough to prevent a catastrophe—maybe. But he wasn’t likely to get much done. The business projections he needed to graph would likely turn into sketches of Evelyn.

  He shook himself before entering the outer office, widening his eyes to look more alert. He didn’t want the men questioning him on why he looked as if he hadn’t slept all night. But if any of them dared, he’d send him out for more coffee. He took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and marched in.

  Mr. Elliot didn’t even look up from his desk. But Mr. Pennysworth had the gall to look at him sympathetically after just one glance.

  He must look terrible to warrant that look.

  “Sir?” Mr. Pennysworth came around his desk. “Are you—?”

  David handed him his flask. “Could you get me more coffee?”

  The man frowned at the silver cylinder, clearly not relishing doing something outside of his normal duties. “All right. But perhaps you should know—”

  “Just coffee, black. Buy me another flask. Fill that one too.” He moved past him and escaped into his office.

  Except he’d chosen the worst escape route in the history of the world. “Father, what are you doing here? Weren’t you going to the natatorium again?”

  Behind David’s desk, Father was pacing with a piece of paper wadded tight in one hand. “You’re late.”

  Normally his heart would sink at the thought of enduring another lecture about his shortcomings, but it had already bottomed out. “What’s the matter now?” He crossed over to the chair reserved for clients and sank into it, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling.

  “This!” With jerky motions, Father uncrumpled the paper in his hand and pulled down his reading glasses. “James Blickey, Ira Crull, Barry Kenshaw, Adam Barrow, Alfred Baymount, Oliver Morgan, Harold Schmidt—”

  “What about them?” He recognized two as workers assigned to Foreman Kerry, and one was the head janitor. A few others sounded familiar, though he couldn’t put any faces to the names.

  “They’ve all quit. Twenty-six men so far this morning. And you weren’t even here.”

  “Twenty-six?” A broken heart was one powerful sedative, for his heart didn’t even accelerate over the likely demise of this business. Though why would they all quit in one day? He’d been doing so well, everyone seemed to be happy with his leadership. . . . “What did you do, Father?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” He crumpled the list again and plopped down in David’s chair. “How am I going to sell this place if we’re having a mutiny?”

  “Let me figure out what happened.” He wasn’t going to let Father blame everything on him without a shred of evidence. “Excuse me.”

  He shoved himself out of the chair, passed through the outer office, and looked for Mr. Kerry in the sea of workers. There were definitely gaps about the place, but as he’d noted earlier, things seemed to be running smoothly. But what had prompted twenty-six men to quit the same day?

  Mr. Kerry was hefting a pallet of jars onto a cart in the southeast corner.

  David descended and looked around as he made his way to his most competent foreman. A few men looked at him with raised eyebrows or narrowed eyes, but most stayed focused on their work. Despite the crowd looking thinner, nothing seemed to be backed up or running amiss. How had Mr. Burns done such a terrible job running this place considering the quality of the leadership and the ethic of the workers? “Mr. Kerry?”

  The man stopped before picking up another pallet. “Yes, sir?”

  He gestured for him to follow and walked out a side door.

  Standing in the alley, he waited for Mr. Kerry to wipe his brow.

  “Can you tell me why so many men have quit this morning? Mr. Crull and Mr. Blickey work with you, I believe.”

  “Yes, and I lost O’Rourke, Whitehead, and Button as well.”

  “Why?”

  “Frankly, sir. They’re up in arms about you hiring prostitutes.”

  He closed his eyes. How did anyone find out about that already? “They don’t work here when anyone else does. No one lost their jobs because of them.”

  “They say they don’t want to be touching what those women are touching—the principle of the thing.”

  “The principle of the thing?” Did they not realize that whether at a hotel or on a streetcar, they touched things people of all shapes and sizes touched?

  “I’m sorry, sir. I’m afraid you’ll lose a few more over the week. Some are still stewing.” He looked down at his shoes for a moment, his hands clasped behind his back, but then he looked up again. “However, I don’t think it’s truly because the women are prostitutes, but rather because some of these men ‘know’ them. Their presence is like salt in a guilty conscience. Having them in the building and getting paid for decent work makes the women feel real.”

  “When have they not been real?”

  “I once was a stupid young man.” Mr. Kerry’s voice lowered and he didn’t quite look David in the eye. “One day, I saw what a man could do to a woman he thought unworthy of being treated as a human . . . and let’s just say, when a man starts to sympathize with those affected by his vices, he can’t enjoy them anymore—not unless he has no heart whatsoever.” Mr. Kerry played with his wedding band. “But even so, if you want to keep from losing any more workers, it’d be best to get rid of the women.”

  Doing anything that would drive away good workers was a foolhardy business move—but if he turned the women out, what could they possibly do besides return to the district? Runyan wasn’t willing to hire them for shoe repair until there was a women’s home built.

  “If I may say something more, sir?”

  David shrugged.

  “I admire the spirit behind what you’re trying to do, but it might be too much too soon.”

  It would certainly be easier to stop trying. But Mr. Kerry would not be the one who had to tell Kathleen and Bethany that it was too soon to help them. “When will it ever be the time to help desperate women if not now?”

  The man lowered his gaze. “Good luck, then.”

  “Continue on, Mr. Kerry. If someone wants to quit, send them up.” He left his foreman and marched through his workers without even looking at them. Which ones were grumbling? Were any on his side? Some had to be since not everyone had walked out.

  But he supposed he’d asked for it. Evelyn and the Lowes had stressed anonymity would be key to helping the women have a chance to start a new life, and how could that be achieved in the same town they’d worked? He should have figured that out sooner, if he’d only stopped to recall how every businessman besides Nicholas balked at the idea of hiring the women in any capacity.

  Father was still pacing when he returned to the office.

  Might as well cut straight to the lecture. He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “They quit because of me.”

  Father said nothing, only stood there waiting.

  “I hired two women to clean the factory at night. They are former prostitutes looking to reform. Evidently some men cannot bear to touch a doorknob one of these women might have cleaned, and they decided to quit.”

  Father moved his mouth as if trying to find words that weren’t curses. “Of all the things—” He hit the wall with the side of his fist. “Son, I can’t even . . .” He turned and glared at him. “I’m going to tell Fred MacDonald he can have the place for the price he offered yesterday before he finds out. Right after I fir
e your harlots.”

  So he’d already found a buyer? The quicker they could get out of this town, the better. “All right, then.”

  Father’s head jerked. “All right?”

  He held up both hands in surrender. “Do what you wish with the factory. You’ll have no fight from me.”

  Father just stood there blinking. “Truly?”

  “Yes.” Perhaps he was about to actually make Father happy for once. “I’ll pack for Kansas City and talk to Marianne.”

  “Just like that?”

  What else was he to do? “Yes, just like that.”

  “I thought there was a woman you were interested in here.”

  A woman he was interested in. It sounded so normal, so mundane. The one time he’d seriously pursued a love interest, he’d chosen so badly—no, there was nothing about Evelyn that was bad . . . just unfortunate. His throat grew warm and tight, but he swallowed hard against the feeling, raised his chin, and met his father’s gaze evenly. “I was mistaken.”

  “Then good.” He turned to grab his coat off the hook. “I’ll take care of this mess. You go home to Marianne.”

  Right, go home. But he couldn’t until he saved those women somehow. “Let me be the one to tell the women they’ve lost their jobs.”

  “You’ll be better at that anyway.” Father buttoned his suit coat. “Before you leave, I need to tell you about the Mondale account. You can get to work negotiating that once you get home.”

  Yes, because after this disaster, the first thing he wanted to do was jump into business negotiations. But if he’d ever been worried about having job security, it seemed he had to worry no more. This whole thing had gone bust, yet Father wasn’t even threatening to disown him.

  It was a small blessing, and at the moment, he wasn’t about to complain about the scraps he got.