Bailey tried to follow the song, but between his jumbled thoughts and Ida’s unsteady grasp on the hymnal, he had to skip the second and third stanzas. Could he put himself in Molly’s shoes? How hard would it be to return to church? He flipped his sister’s braid over her shoulder. He spent a decent chunk of time worrying about his reputation. What would he do if it was forever lost? How would he feel if he’d been denied justice by someone he’d once considered his best friend?
A jarring chord caught his attention. Mrs. Mohle jerked her eyes back to her music, and all heads turned to the rear of the church to see what had startled her.
Molly paused in the aisle. Gripping a Bible and her reticule, she took another tentative step. Her blue-and-yellow-striped gown set her apart, as did her plumed hat. If she’d wanted to sneak in unnoticed, she’d failed miserably. With all eyes on her she shouldered her way to the second row and took her solitary seat.
Typically the fourth stanza was sung with gusto, but the congregation couldn’t get it together. Molly didn’t sing. She remained unmoving, unblinking, staring straight ahead.
Over the din of the piano, Bailey heard quick footsteps coming up the aisle. Ida poked him and pointed. It was Rosa, Weston’s wife. With a confidence borne by overcoming her own scandal, Rosa squeezed between the pews and sat by her friend after giving her a quick squeeze. At her heels was Weston himself, with little Luke tucked in his arms.
Bailey’s throat burned. Good of them to welcome her. Of course, Rosa had stolen Weston right out from under Molly’s nose, so she kinda owed her one. Maybe that’s why she braved the whispers that accompanied her trip down the aisle. Ida waved at someone over his shoulder, and he turned to see Eliza pass with a child on her hip and a husband in her wake. Now, that was out of character. Eliza didn’t brook any foolishness—unless it came from her husband, Jake. And if that weren’t enough, Louise and Deacon made their way down front and joined the others, all trying to cram full skirts and long legs between the pews.
Bailey stole a look at Mayor Sellers. His nose flared and a drip of brown tobacco juice almost escaped his mouth before he sucked it back in. Others would disapprove, as well.
Flanked by his family, Molly’s back lost some of the starch that she’d so painfully borne. No snide comment would reach her if she stayed safely wedged between Rosa and Eliza. The only person more formidable than those ladies was his mother.
He looked at his ma just in time to see her get to her feet. His father had already exited their section and stood aside to let Mary Garner pass. Not her, too. Now, instead of noticing who’d stood up for her, everyone would comment on who did not. Bailey clutched his sister and widened his eyes at his brothers. Tending his sisters would be his excuse to stay put. The pew was already as full as a twenty-piglet sow. No room for him.
They’d better stay put.
But when he looked up, he caught Molly watching him, and from the hurt on her face, she understood his veiled warning to his siblings. Bailey paled. There he sat, the one responsible for Edward’s acquittal, and he couldn’t support her. Do something that two-faced and God would strike him dead, sure as shooting.
Bailey determined to watch for an opportunity to support Molly. He wouldn’t rest until he’d made up for the hurt he’d caused her, but until he could help her without stirring up gossip, he had to focus his attention on others. He’d continue making his visits, and in the meanwhile he’d encourage his family to give Molly the support he couldn’t.
With that resolution, Bailey headed north to the Mohles’ house the next day, following the grassy path until it wound to their place by the schoolhouse. The pounding from the carpentry shop announced that Mr. Mohle had a project underway, but when Bailey saw the mayor and heard the windy he was telling, he waved to Mr. Mohle and continued to the house.
Mrs. Mohle was reclining on a chaise lounge with a book in her hands and an afghan draped across her. When she saw Bailey through the open window, she lowered her feet to the floor.
“No need to get up,” he said. “If you feel like having a visitor, I can let myself in.”
She leaned back and pulled the blanket higher. “Thank you. I must have overexerted myself yesterday.”
He closed the door behind him and took a seat. The smell of clean sawdust graced her tidy parlor. Her finely veined hands, so capable on a piano keyboard, fumbled with an embroidered bookmark. She made a spot for the book next to the potted philodendron on a marble-topped table.
“What brings you out?” Mrs. Mohle asked.
Bailey shrugged. “My evenings are long at the watchman’s quarters. I swim, I fish, but it’s pretty quiet compared to back home with the family.”
“I was at church Sunday, remember?” Mrs. Mohle smiled. “I’m fine.”
“You think I’m here because I’m worried about you? Maybe I want some company . . . or maybe I know that sometimes our physical healing is completed more quickly than our other hurts.” Her downcast eyes were all the confirmation Bailey needed. “How are you really doing, Mrs. Mohle?”
She threaded her fingers through the loops of the blue afghan, studying it as if she were trying to find a loose end to pull and unravel every stitch. “I don’t guess anyone knows what it’s like until they’ve been here. You try not to get your hopes up, but every day you look forward to holding your baby in your arms. You pray for the child’s future and prepare yourself for the hard times, because you know they’ll be worth it.” Her hands stilled. “And then even the hard times are ripped from you. The future vanishes. It’s gone and you wonder where it went. The love you had has nothing to alight on, but you don’t want it to fade. You don’t want it to disappear.”
“I don’t believe love ever disappears.” Bailey swallowed, hoping he wasn’t speaking out of line. “If you believe our good deeds will be rewarded in heaven, then you have to believe our prayers and God-pleasing dreams haven’t perished, either. Those are the works of your heart, and that’s precious in the sight of God. Prophecies will fail and knowledge will vanish, but love endures.”
His words seemed to comfort her, but he had to ask himself if his life demonstrated the truth of them. Had his prayers for Molly gone unanswered? Was his love for her something that could only survive in the heavenly realm?
A silent tear rolled down Mrs. Mohle’s face. “I would’ve been a good mother if I’d had the chance. All the love I felt for these children, all the plans I had . . .” Pink appeared on her pale cheeks. “Sometimes I feel like I’m being punished, but I have to decide that these trials won’t be wasted. I didn’t invite this sorrow into my life, but if it’s here I’m going to use it to drive me closer to God and believe that He allowed it for my benefit.”
Out of the open window Bailey caught sight of the azalea bushes—five of them now. It was a sobering thought that God loved His children thus—using sorrow to draw them nearer and build their dependence on Him. Had God orchestrated Bailey’s situation to burn away his flaws? Without a doubt, Molly had changed since she said good-bye to him on Mrs. Truman’s porch. Could he say with the same certainty that he’d matured, as well?
25
To Do List:
Convince Mother to visit Mrs. Nimenko.
Distribute excess clothing culled from wardrobe.
Wear boots on visits.
Tuesday was visiting day. Molly crunched the cockroach under her slipper without mercy. Another good deed for the day—and not the most repugnant. No, her mother’s condescending concern made her skin crawl more than the bugs. After carrying a basket loaded with day-old bread and wilted greens from house to house and noticing the disappointed looks on the women’s faces, she knew the offering wasn’t what they’d expected. Her family’s finances had not improved, and yet Adele Lovelace still went on as if they were in high cotton.
“No need to thank us. We’re doing our Christian duty—showing charity to those who’ve wandered from the chosen path,” Adele said.
The spark from Mrs. Weems’s cou
ntenance disappeared as she set the food on her wobbly table.
Molly could bear it no longer. “It must be difficult to raise a child on your own. I don’t think I could manage half as well.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Pier—er—Miss Lovelace.”
Finally, someone who could sympathize.
“Precisely my dilemma. At least your husband had the decency to marry you before he left—and to marry only you.”
“Molly!” her mother gasped.
A rueful grin appeared in Mrs. Weems’s tanned face. “I suppose, but he’ll get no thanks from me, not when he sends eight measly dollars a month to make ends meet. If he’s working on the railroad like he says, he should be able to send more my way.”
“Eight dollars a month?” Molly tilted her head. “You’ve got a prospering garden. Maybe you could trade some of your fresh produce for last year’s canned goods at the mercantile and stretch your budget a little further. Let me get some paper and see if we can’t find a way to improve—”
“Molly, that is quite enough. We must be going.” Adele was on her feet, sliding her arm through the wide handle of the basket on the table.
“But Mrs. Weems and I have some ciphering to do. Her funds should be adequate if managed correctly. Then you wouldn’t need to bring our dinner scraps.”
“We are leaving.” Her mother’s mouth trembled as her face grew redder and redder.
“You best listen to your ma.” Mrs. Weems didn’t seem a bit disturbed by Mrs. Lovelace’s disapproval. Molly almost thought her delighted. “But you’re welcome anytime, with or without her.”
Molly reached the door at the same time as her mother, who tried to squeeze through with the sturdy basket.
“Excuse me, Mother,” she gasped.
Adele barged ahead, barely waiting to get a decent distance from the house before turning on Molly. “What pleasure can you possibly derive from equating your situation to that common woman’s?” The feather on top of her hat danced like a cobra.
“Some similarities could be drawn. We were both abandoned by our men.”
“You did not marry a low-class ne’er-do-well. You are not raising a child on your own.”
“But I could be, couldn’t I? And it wouldn’t even be legitimate. Honestly, Mother, I don’t see how you can pretend I’m more fortunate than she. At least she’s married and has some degree of independence. I’m still a prisoner.”
“Stop saying such dreadful things. Illness or none, your father is going to hear about this.”
“Well, you’ll have plenty to tell him, because I’m not finished. My next stop is Mrs. Nimenko’s.”
“You wouldn’t dare. Haven’t you heard what they’re saying about her husband and that Tillerton woman?”
Ignoring her mother’s indignation, Molly traipsed down the grassy path that she hoped led to the Nimenkos’ new farm.
She remembered what the prisoner had said at the deposition about the man visiting Mrs. Tillerton for tawdry reasons. Who else thought the same? Did his wife have her doubts? It was one thing to lose your husband, quite another for the loss to be under ignominious circumstances—as she could testify.
Molly’s approach was announced by scattering chickens and a bawling coonhound. A woman came to the door, followed by a son who was a head higher than her and half the width.
“I didn’t expect callers.” She scrubbed at her hands with her dish towel, her florid cheeks shining with heat from midday baking.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced. I’m Molly Lovelace. My parents own the mill.”
Her mouth tucked up on one side. “You don’t have to live in Prairie Lea long to hear of the Lovelaces. I’m Mrs. Nimenko. Why don’t you come up to the porch? Ivan will bring you a chair.”
“I hope I’m not interrupting.”
“I just set the bread in, so it’s no bother. I think I remember seeing you at the courthouse.” Her mouth grew grim. “Have they caught him?”
“No, ma’am.” Molly smoothed her skirt as she sat in the simple wooden chair. “Honestly, I’m not sure why I’m here. Ever since I heard about your husband, I’ve wondered how you were getting along. Not that there’s much I can offer—besides friendship.”
Gentle lines formed around Mrs. Nimenko’s sad eyes. “Then you’ve come to the right place, Molly Lovelace. I was praying that God would send me a friend.”
The fresh green shoots of prairie hay were almost as tall as the dry stubble that crunched under Bailey’s boots. He would have to hurry to make it to the mill before his noon break was over. Delivering the charity account from the church wouldn’t take long, but he also wanted to spend some time with Ivan Nimenko. The kid was doing a man’s job running the ranch without his pa, and they were so new to the area that not many families had thought to help them.
The ladies on the porch saw him coming. Their voices faded in the breeze as they waited for him to get close enough to greet. If he hadn’t known better, he could’ve sworn the woman with Mrs. Nimenko was Molly, but what would Molly be doing at the Nimenkos’ ranch?
His steps slowed as the scene became clearer. He wasn’t mistaken. Molly gripped her bag but seemed unable to escape.
“Ivan is bringing you a seat, Mr. Garner. Do you have time to visit?” Mrs. Nimenko asked.
It was too late for him to run. His hat was in his hands without any memory of removing it. “No, ma’am. I brought you . . .” Mrs. Nimenko wouldn’t want Molly to know that she received charity. “If you don’t mind I’ll chat with Ivan.”
“I wish you’d honor us with your company first.” She nodded to the chair Ivan placed next to her, across from Molly. “I was telling Miss Lovelace how much I appreciate you. It seems like the rest of the world would rather we disappear until this mess is cleared up, but you haven’t once made us feel unworthy.”
Bailey eased into the chair and dropped his hat by his feet. “No one really believes those rumors, Mrs. Nimenko. Somehow people would rather spread a lie than the truth, but your husband’s reputation will be cleared when it’s all settled.” He risked a glance at Molly. “Besides, I’d be the last person in the world who’d have the right to sit in judgment on someone.” If a statue was still, she was immovable.
“Well, I thank you for spending time with the boy,” Mrs. Nimenko said. “It’s good for him to have an example like you. Not many young men have your wisdom.”
Bailey felt sweat forming on his forehead. He hid his hands between his knees, surprised that Molly didn’t correct her mistaken assessment. “I hate to think of you mourning here alone, Mrs. Nimenko. Would it be all right if I sent some women from our church to visit? They would love to make your acquaintance. My family in particular would be very welcoming.”
Molly inhaled and looped her purse strings around her finger. “He’s telling the truth. He comes from an extraordinary family.”
Bailey’s lungs felt too small for his ribcage. His family had rushed to her side while he hid in the pew.
Molly stood. “I should go, although I do hope you’ll call on me at the parsonage, Mrs. Nimenko.”
“At the parsonage?” Her eyebrows knitted into question marks. “Isn’t that where he lives?”
Bailey choked. He pounded his chest to loosen the vise that refused to release his lungs. “No. I don’t live there,” he gasped. “Not anymore.”
Mrs. Nimenko looked puzzled, but she let it pass. “Well, thank you for coming to see me, Molly. There aren’t many who do. And I’m serious about what I said. I’d be proud to call you my friend.”
Bailey rose as she departed, realizing how much he wished he still had that right.
Lola shot Molly a sympathetic look as she filled her glass of tea. Pretty desperate straits when the maid wouldn’t trade places with you.
“And after she embarrassed me in front of Mrs. Weems, she went to visit that Nimenko woman, the one whose husband was caught at the Tillertons’.” Her mother’s voice rang off the polished surface of the long dining room tab
le. “No telling how she disgraced herself while there.”
“I was thinking about the settlement money, Father.” Molly leaned forward, trying to draw his attention away from her mother’s outraged sensibilities. “It’s not doing anyone any good sitting in the bank. Why don’t I use it to alleviate the concerns—?”
“That money will not be squandered on some unworthy women who didn’t have the sense to marry well. It will be used for investments or to fund the mill if our balances get any lower. Buy a bonnet or some trifle to amuse yourself if you must, but the settlement—”
“A bonnet?” Molly’s jaw dropped. “What’s a bonnet compared to helping our neighbors? That is my money. You have no right.”
“You will not speak to me in that manner, young lady.” Her father smashed his fist against the table, causing the lid on the sugar bowl to rattle.
“Thomas, remember your heart,” Adele said.
“She’d do well to remember,” he said, his voice rising with every syllable. “She’d do well to remember that, according to God, she is not to provoke me to wrath with her disgusting behavior.” His words rang against the pressed-tin ceiling.
“Sir?”
They turned at Lola’s meek interruption to see Bailey standing in the doorway, his hands holding the account ledger tight, his mouth firm.
He’d heard. Molly tucked her feet under her chair. What did it matter? Bailey already knew the worst of her. Her father’s tirade couldn’t hurt his opinion.
“Mr. Lovelace, Mrs. Lovelace.” He walked around the table and took the empty place setting. “Molly.”
So he was acknowledging her now? She’d been invisible at Mrs. Nimenko’s earlier that day. She didn’t return his greeting but peered at the grandfather clock through the parlor doorway. Seven o’clock. Punctual. Molly had learned to wolf down her food so she could return to the parsonage before he arrived every evening. Unfortunately her mother’s hysterics had delayed Lola’s dinner preparation tonight, and there hadn’t been time. Once again, Molly had no one to blame but herself.
Regina Jennings Page 22