Not really. But he would try anyway.
“Who will then?” Challenge sparked in her eyes, her chin lifting. Compared to him, and even Hope, she was a fragile little thing. A reed, broken in one snap. But oh, what strength it would take to break it. For the breaking wouldn’t take place without a fight.
But Canal Street? If ever a place ran roughshod over the fragile, it was here.
“Not you.” He might’ve lost his ability to get around, but his stubborn streak remained as strong as ever.
Adele gave a little huff. “Be reasonable. It won’t be forever. Just long enough for you to get back on your feet.” Here, he cracked a smile. Literally back on his feet, in this case. “I’ll take care of the house in the evenings and work during the day. I’m not sure how much money I can make, but we won’t starve.”
Did she even know how much one had to earn to avoid doing so? But though it went against every instinct he possessed, his desire to argue with her started to crumble.
“But what about the Osbournes? And your mother? Won’t they wonder where you’ve disappeared to?”
A scrap of hesitation entered her eyes. “The Osbournes don’t care about me. And I’ll continue to write to Mother. She’ll know I’m safe.”
“She’ll think you’re at the Osbourne’s.”
Her hands stilled from their twisting in her skirt. She met him, gaze for gaze. “Perhaps. But let me ask you this, do you have any better option?”
She had him there. And he had prayed for a miracle less than an hour before she came, whether by chance or brought here by God. He rather believed the latter. It buoyed his faith to realize God still heard and answered, even after all he’d done.
And it humbled him to have her care. About him, a man who’d never been much to anyone except Hope.
So he’d let her stay and help them. A temporary arrangement, one he vowed to someday repay.
But meanwhile, they’d face this together and, with God’s help, come out stronger and victorious.
“Where’s your stuff?” He wanted to say more, to thank her, but the words dried up in his mouth. Held back, perhaps, by the too-raw emotion that would rise up if he said them.
A smile curved her lips, one that held a remnant of their former camaraderie. “I’m glad you asked. I left them outside, guarded by some man who promised to keep them safe and who introduced himself as Toothless Tom.”
She had much to learn, if she wished to survive in a world apart from Derbyshire and Delaware Avenue. Firstly, she must never place her trust in anyone, least of all benign-looking beggars. Her stupidity in trusting Toothless Tom had cost her two traveling trunks holding all of the possessions she’d brought to America. Tom had suffered, too, accosted by a horde of beggars and riffraff who’d dealt him a blow to the skull and stolen the trunks while she’d been inside, talking with Drew.
So wearing her jet-black mourning dress—the only gown she now possessed—Adele set off the next morning to seek employment.
A chill braced the air, reddening her cheeks and sending her skirts into a windswept flurry. She cast a glance upon Toothless Tom, who huddled on the stairwell like a bundle of rags, giving her a gummy smile. Poor man. It’d been her own fault, trusting him. Though she sensed her naivety wasn’t like morning dew, here one hour, gone the next, but rather like a soaking rain that would take time to dry and dissipate. Undoubtedly, today’s events would do much for the drying process.
The jobs best suited to her were live-in ones, governess, housekeeper, nanny, none of which would suit her purpose of taking care of the apartment in the evenings. Sewing or millinery was her best option, allowing her to leave at night and return to the apartment.
Problem was—neither had been her strong point as a girl. And after her father’s death, such petty matters as embroidering samplers had been forsaken in favor of managing the estate.
Still, perhaps it would suit yet. Following the map Drew had sketched for her, she turned down first one street, then another, heading in the direction of Buffalo’s shopping district. It was a different way to travel, on foot, mingling so freely with humanity. Carriages provided a measure of “aboveness,” eliminating the need to rub elbows with those not of one’s class. But here, on the street with everyone else, life was viewed at an entirely different vantage point. Newsboys hawked papers, their chanting pitched high, rising above the rattle of wheels and buzz of chattering pedestrians.
“Read all about it! McGulliver shoots Grady. Only five cents a paaapeeer!”
If she had five cents—which she didn’t—she’d not have cared to read that issue. Life was difficult enough without delving into others’ misadventures.
A harried mother pushed a perambulator, three other children trailing behind, skipping through the puddles. The eldest little girl, hair ribbon bobbing, grabbed her younger brother’s hand to tug him onward. A smile formed on Adele’s lips. She and Tony had been young like that once, her always pulling him away from trouble, he always heading straight toward it again. Now, he was gone. Never again would she come to his aid, only to watch him return to whatever scrape she’d extricated him from.
And it was all because of her.
Glancing down at the crinkled map, she studied the street signs and tried to pull her thoughts away from anything but the task at hand. She’d need all her energy to accomplish her purpose.
After walking a distance longer, the first shop loomed before her. Madame Rousseau’s Millinery. The brick building with its window displays showcasing the latest fashions, would have, in former days, been a place she’d have frequented herself, debating whether to purchase the green velvet bonnet trimmed in black lace, or the one with the fetching ivory feather atop crushed blue satin. Now, such musings no longer troubled her mind as she approached the door.
The doorbell jangled. Hats of all sizes and varieties adorned various counters and display stands, along with a generous array of trimmings and ribbons. A middle-aged lady, dressed in a plum-colored gown, stood behind the main counter, her salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a severe knot.
“Is there something I can interest you in, miss?” A note of suspicion leeched into the woman’s tone. No doubt, with hair windblown beneath her simple bonnet and hem muddied, Adele didn’t look like a high-priced customer the woman would put much stock in.
“You have very lovely hats.” Adele fingered one, the texture of velvet and lace a reminder of her former life.
“Thank you.” The compliment didn’t seem to soften the woman’s businesslike attitude. “Is there a particular shade you wish to match against one of your gowns?”
She swallowed back the cloying dryness in her throat.
“Not today. I’m here seeking a position. I can sew, and I have a very good eye for matching colors and patterns together.” Was this what the housemaids at Linley Park went through when interviewing for a position? Did their faces flush and their palms perspire and every ounce of them feel as if they were being scrutinized down to the very last detail?
“Have you worked in a shop before?” The woman drummed her fingers atop the counter, lips pursed as if she’d dined on lemons for breakfast.
Adele hesitated. “I’m afraid I haven’t. But I’m willing to learn, and will—”
“I’m sorry. I run a shop, not a training institution. I need girls who already have experience in millinery and sales. Here at Madame Rousseau’s, we cater to the city’s finest and I’ll not have projects bungled by an inexperienced girl who hasn’t even a decent hat atop her own head.”
The woman couldn’t have made herself clearer had she stood on a chair and yelled at the top of her lungs. Adele gulped back her disappointment. It made sense that the woman sought experienced help only. Still, perhaps she could use this encounter to her advantage.
“Do you happen to know of any other establishments that might feel differently? I desperately need work and would be very grateful for any direction you might have.”
The woman’s express
ion softened a bit, as if sensing Adele’s desperation and taking pity on it. “Are you a good seamstress? I can recommend you to a friend of mine, but your stitching must be near to perfect.”
It would be easy to lie and say she was a competent seamstress with stitching so fine that every finished piece was a veritable masterpiece. But doing that would only get her so far. The woman’s friend would likely ask to sample her work and find it wanting.
If only she’d given more thought to such accomplishments when she’d been a girl and had the time to do so. Instead, a novel or a race across the fields on horseback had always tempted her into laying aside needlework.
With a sigh, Adele shook her head. “I’m afraid not.”
“Then there’s no point in trying to find employment as a seamstress. You’d best turn your attention to some other line of work.”
Perhaps the woman might have offered more advice. But the bell above her door jangled and two well-dressed matrons bustled in. The woman greeted them as if they were frequent patrons. Slowly, Adele turned from the counter and left the shop.
The woman was right. She had no business seeking work she was unfit for. But she needed employment. There had to be something she could do. She could learn and perhaps employ a bit more bluffing during her next interview.
Maybe it would be best to find a newspaper and check if there were any advertisements. Heading in the direction she’d come, she focused in on the first newsboy she came to. Cap pulled down over his eyes and a face full of freckles, the boy held out a newspaper, the scent of fresh ink and paper mingling with the rank odor emitting from the lad’s stained shirt.
“Read all about it! Only five cents! Care to buy a paper, miss?” He grinned like an accomplished salesman, revealing a missing front tooth.
Drawing in a breath, she looked down at the boy. It was a cruel world, when little boys who ought to be warming the benches of a grammar school, hawked papers like this one, or swept streets, like the one across the way. Probably some mother depended on this lad’s earnings and what she was about to ask would set the family back five needed cents.
But she had no choice. She hadn’t any money and wouldn’t think of asking Drew. Not when she was there to lift, not add to, their burdens. “May I see the paper?” She held out her hand and spoke in her sweetest tone. The one that Conway had once turned to butter at. “Just for a moment?”
“Not until you pay, miss. That’s the rules.” His jaw firmed with resolution. No doubt this little chap knew the ways of the street and had the mettle to match. Unlike fawning millionaires with ulterior motives hidden beneath their charming smiles.
“I know. And I would pay you, if I had anything to give. I just want to look at one page.”
“McGulliver shoots Grady? It’s a real excitin’ story.” His eyes took on a hopeful look, as if lured by the tale she’d produce the money.
“No.” She shook her head with a regretful smile. “The employment section. I’m looking for a job, and I want to see if there’s anything I can pursue.”
“If you haven’t even five cents, you’ll be needing a job right quick if you’re to have something to eat tonight.” The boy’s tone suggested he was no stranger to such a circumstance.
Adele nodded.
“All right. But be quick and don’t tell no one. Don’t want to get in trouble with the boss.” He passed her the paper with a grubby hand and stood guard over the street while she leafed through the pages. Many advertisements for laborers, even one for a stable hand. Two maids of all work, live in both. She scanned the small black type. The last thing she wanted to do was return to Drew and Hope without securing a job. Their disappointment would be keener than hers, for they both depended upon her to succeed at what neither of them had the ability to do.
Wanted—A woman to clean and prepare a home before new occupants take possession. Decent wages and daytime hours only. For further inquiries, apply to 222 Allen Street.
Memorizing the address, she refolded the paper and handed it to the boy. “Thank you so much. I’m very grateful for your help.” As soon as she earned enough that none of them were in immediate danger, she vowed to look out for the lad and give him his five cents. Not to pay him for the paper but for showing her that the light of kindness could still burn bright, even in working-class Buffalo.
“Did you find something, miss? A job?”
“I hope so. I’ll go there directly and make an inquiry.” Even if her already aching feet protested every step of the way.
He reached out and gave her hand a sympathetic pat, leaving her fingers smudged with newsprint and who knew what else. His eyes radiated concern. “I hope you do, miss. Bein’ hungry and cold…It be a terrible state and one I’d not wish on a lady.”
“Nor on a boy.” She smiled, watching as the little huckster sold papers to a trio of suit-wearing gentlemen.
When he’d finished, he turned back to her, tipping the edge of his raggedy cap with another gap-toothed grin. “Yes, miss. Nor on any of us.”
He could grow accustomed to the way Adele had woven herself into the fabric of their lives. Hearing her gentle footfalls moving throughout the apartment, meeting her gaze across the room as she carried in his breakfast tray. Listening to her laugh quietly with Hope while performing some task for his sister.
Of far more difficulty to accustom himself, reconcile with, was the fatigue that etched shadows around her eyes, how, when their hands brushed, hers were cracked and calloused. Each day she rose with the sun to ready things for the day, before tramping across town to spend the remainder of the hours cleaning, returning at night with the look of one who’d fought a battle and lost.
She wore such a look now, and it drove deep blades of remorse into his heart that he should be the cause of her exhaustion. Because his body was broken and he could not work. No longer the burden-bearer, but the burden-giver.
In the bed on the other side of the room, Hope shifted, moaning in her sleep.
“Can I get you anything else?” Adele’s tone didn’t rise above a whisper. Her hair, formerly never out of place, now hung in a haphazard upsweep, tendrils falling around her cheeks.
“No.” He matched his tone to hers. “Unless you’ve a hale and hearty body on offer.” It was meant as a joke and she smiled, but it was a worn-out gesture as faded as the curtains over the kitchen window.
“I’m afraid, I…” Her words trailed off as she suddenly paled, clutching the edge of the bedside table.
He raised himself up with one arm and grasped her wrist with the other, anchoring her as much as he was able.
Her eyes slid closed.
“Adele?” He tightened his grip. “What’s the matter?”
Her face had taken on an almost ghostly pallor. Drew didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until her eyes opened and he matched her exhale with his own.
“Sorry…I’m just so…tired. I’ll go to bed now.” She released her hold on the table. A few steps. She swayed again.
“Come here.” He infused his tone with firmness, hoping the force of his words would be enough of a catalyst to bring her back to his side. Had he the ability, he’d have crossed to her, swept her into his arms, and carried her to bed himself. But though he could now manage to maneuver his own body throughout the bedroom, there was no way he could support hers.
She managed to return. “Yes, Drew?” Candlelight flickered over her features, illuminating her face in swirling shadows. A face that, though careworn, had not lost the ethereal beauty that had struck him that day on the Maid of the Mist. In this dark and dingy room, it burned brighter than the candle, brighter perhaps for having not vanished in the two weeks she’d shared his home. An ever-constant thing, Adele Linley’s radiance.
He shifted, leaving a space on the mattress. “Rest here.” The words hadn’t sounded dangerous until he voiced them. But the moment they left his mouth, he realized how many interpretations could be ciphered there.
Obviously, her exhausted mind
wasn’t registering proprieties. She sank down on the mattress and curled up beside him, her face a hairbreadth from his shoulder. She hadn’t even removed her shoes, and he well remembered what it was to feel the weight of fatigue pressing so hard upon himself that it was impossible to muster even enough energy to perform the task. Yes, there had been many nights when he’d fallen asleep with boots on. And now this woman, who ought never to know the weight of such weariness, had fallen so low. He’d brought her there.
Letting her rest beside him, instead of on a pallet in the living room, seemed the least he could do.
She lay on her side, facing him, eyes closed, breath falling evenly from gently parted lips. Tangles of hair fell across the gray pillow slip. As if driven by a force other than his rational mind, his fingers brushed the strands. Soft. Like satin or a summer breeze or the mist surrounding the Horseshoe Falls. He drew in a breath.
Her eyes opened. He jerked his hand away, as if burned by scalding liquid.
“Drew?”
“Yes?”
“Do you know what’s so strange?”
That you’re in a Canal Street apartment, lying next to me on a mattress that should have seen the rubbish heap ten years ago? That the tide of life can never be reasoned with? That you’re about two seconds from coming to your senses and realizing where you are, who you are, who I am, and why this entire situation ought never to have come to this point to begin with?
“What?” He angled his face to meet her gaze.
“I haven’t cried yet. Since Tony’s death. Does that not strike you as strange? Do you think it means I have no heart or never truly loved my brother?” A tumult of questions filled her emerald eyes. And she looked to him for answers.
She should know better by now not to look to him for anything.
Still, he couldn’t ignore the way she watched him. The pleading note in her voice, needing an answer to the confusion in her heart. Begging for one, however subtly.
“We all grieve differently. Just as we all live differently and die differently, so do we filter the way we look at loss. The tears will come, Adele. Maybe you haven’t given yourself permission to let them.” His hand reached for hers. She clung to his fingers, and he prayed she found comfort in the little he could give.
My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York Page 19