Youthful giggles and whispers met him before he reached the upstairs family room, coaxing a grin.
Pierce’s wife peeked up from her embroidery and smiled. “Woody.”
“Good evening, Beth.”
“Uncle Woody!” Lizzy and Laura abandoned a pile of puzzle pieces in the center of the floor and rushed him from both sides, leaving their baby brother to crawl after them. The scene warmed his heart and brought a twinge of envy as it had every Friday night for the past four years.
Pierce sat up from his place on the couch and folded his newspaper. “Girls. Give the man room to breathe.”
After hugging the blond darlings pulling at his clothes, Woody made a show of “finding” lemon drops for each of them, then fell into the velvet-covered chair opposite Pierce. The girls popped the sweets into their mouths and skipped back to their puzzle before the fireplace.
“Would you like tea?” Beth scooped up little Gerald before he could gum the toe of Woody’s boot. “Cook kept a plate in the warmer for you. Everything all right?”
Taking his “nephew” from her, he settled the lad on his knee. “Just a few delays. I’m sorry I didn’t send word. I would take tea, thank you, but ask her to pack the dinner for later, please.”
He couldn’t eat right now with the question he wanted to ask Pierce weighing on his stomach. Besides, one never knew when a pretty foreigner might need his supper.
Upon Beth’s exit, Pierce crossed his ankles and pinned him with a stare. “A few delays? You haven’t missed our Friday dinners in a year at least. Nothing bad happened, I hope.”
“Nope.” Fishing the loan payment from his hip pocket, he transferred the bills to Pierce’s hand. “Nothing bad. On the contrary … I met a girl.”
As if waiting for a slap on the back and a “gotcha,” Pierce squinted.
Gerald squirmed in Woody’s hold, and when bouncing didn’t suffice, Woody propped his boot on his knee and set the boy in the triangle he’d created. After several failed escape maneuvers, the Lilliputian grinned and squealed at the game. “I well-nigh ran her over.”
Pierce’s foot thumped the floor.
“Who’d you run over, Uncle Woody?” Lizzy asked, backlit by the fire.
“A lady in town, sweetheart. Don’t worry, she’s fine now.” He hoped. She had limped back into her snuggery of an apartment. He’d have helped more, had propriety allowed.
Pierce frowned. “You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
“Who was she? Did she involve the authorities?”
“No, nothing like that. She was a foreigner. Polish-speaking. I think she was bruised from the fall, but she didn’t complain.” In his line of work, he encountered many a socialite, prude, and fishwife. He’d braced for an outrage. Instead, she peered up at him with those kitten eyes … How could he not offer aid at that point? And when she’d expressed her thanks in deep-throated Polish … What a beautiful reward.
Gerald gnawed Woody’s knuckle with his slippery little mouth, then made a face and looked toward the door—wishing his mother would return with tastier fare, no doubt.
The lad’s sweet round cheeks and fuzzy head made Woody wonder, not for the first time, what his own child would look like if he had one. It was the atmosphere in this home—unlike anything he’d known growing up—that birthed a longing in a man for all things sweet and tender.
Pierce traced the bridge of his nose with one finger. “Maybe she was too afraid to complain. You’re a bit of a dark wolf, you know.”
Dark wolf? Really? “I hope not. I offered her free conveyance for a week.”
Pierce’s finger stilled.
Under the heat climbing his face, Woody cleared his throat once, twice, then untangled Gerald’s fingers from his boot laces. His friend had never seen him show interest in a lady, and no wonder. If anyone had a right to avoid the altar, he did. His parents’ miserable marriage ruined thoughts of wedlock for him … until he got to know Pierce and the sweet moments his family afforded him. Yes, he might consider matrimony now, a family of his own. A virtuous match might lend credibility for his orphanage idea. Except, none of the young ladies at church shared his passion for helping the hopeless.
A thin, determined face came to mind.
He first spotted Miss Lipski a week ago comforting a street child with a scraped knee. Every time he’d passed her since, her blond hair and resolute green eyes turned his head. More than that, something about her reminded him of Molly. Made him want to look out for her, help her. Perhaps because both women shared the same watchful bearing of housemaids.
After returning with tea, Beth retrieved her son, now standing with his hands buried in Woody’s hair, then quieted the runt’s fussing with a few crumbs of cookie. “What did I miss? You gentlemen look awfully suspicious.”
Woody took an eternal sip of tea.
The twitch in Pierce’s mustache didn’t bode well. “Woody’s getting married.”
While Beth’s eyes tripled in size, hot tea suctioned into Woody’s lungs. He grabbed a napkin off the tea tray and coughed until Pierce pounded his back. Unsure if he’d rather enter the next life by choking or a beating, Woody waived the attention and managed a long pull of air.
Gerald frowned at him like he’d stolen the last cookie. Had the girls not fallen asleep on the floor, they might have jumped into the excitement.
Finally, Pierce sobered and recounted the tale to Beth, who speared Woody with a shrewd grin. “Was she pretty? Has she met your boys?”
“Yes. And yes.” Woody chanced another draw of tea and swallowed. “I was on my way to deliver food when we had the accident.”
“How are they?” Beth hugged Gerald tighter.
“Musty was shirtless again. I’m not sure if a bully steals his clothes or if he’s figured out he can sell them for food.” On his right, the fire crackled in the hearth. Were the boys warm enough? Unlikely. “They didn’t know what to think of Miss Lipski. The ones who remember their mothers looked ready to weep. The small ones stared at her like she was some type of fairy.”
Palming Molly’s ring through his shirt, Woody remembered his purpose for coming.
Two years ago, he spotted Freckles and Oliver digging through the city trash heaps and offered to buy the boys a meal, never imagining he’d become so involved with so many children. But Molly’s memory urged him on. Figuring they’d scatter if he reported their needs to the authorities, he doled out food often and helped some get jobs at Pierce’s textile mill where they’d earn fair wages.
The more he provided for the boys, the more he cared, and they in turn accepted him into their close-knit pack as the big brother they never had. Still, they needed so much more. “The street’s no place to grow up. The oldest boys are hardening to any kindness. They need homes, real families.”
Beth’s eyes glistened, and Pierce rested his cup against his mouth.
“I’m wondering …” Woody ground his palms together. Asking for help from a wealthy person still went against his grain. Lord, we’ve discussed this, and time’s ticking. Help me now. “What if I got backing to start an orphanage? There’s one on Bleeker Street, I know, but it’s filled to overflowing. Besides, some people won’t take in immigrant children, not knowing their language or background.”
Slowly, Pierce placed his empty cup on the tray. “I’ve had that thought. Worthy cause. I’ve too many volatile investments to give serious ongoing support, but a donation in my name may help. Have you tried the church?”
Woody gave a hesitant nod. “I’ve talked to Pastor Bridges. He liked the idea. But …” When Pierce eyed Woody in the astute way he’d learned both to love and hate, a sigh pressed for release. “He suggested I make amends with my own … kin before thinking of running an orphanage.”
“Hmm … I know you’ve thought long on this, but I’d have to agree with him. As a matter of ethics, I can’t comfortably support the project until your pastor does.”
Might have known. Woody grunted. “That
door closed to me long ago. I don’t foresee it opening anytime soon.”
The silence stretched long and awkward. Pierce and the pastor would want the best for him in their own way, but they didn’t know Woody’s parents like he did. He stood with an old-man groan and gripped his friend’s hand. “Thank you for listening, Pierce. I enjoyed the tea, Beth.”
As he chucked Gerald under the chin and left with his warm supper, Woody couldn’t shake the weight in his chest. If Pierce wouldn’t support him, he’d have to proceed on his own. The boys would fare better over the summer, though, which gave him time to work on a plan.
Perhaps this was his cue to begin building a solid reputation in his pastor’s eyes, settle down. Secure a wife.
Chapter Two
Where would you like to go on this fine Saturday morning?” Woody asked in well-pronounced Polish, helping Ella onto his wagon. Someone had been practicing.
She situated her wire hoops and ruffled skirt while forming an easily translated reply. Where else in this country might she find a rich husband? “What sights are there to see in Newark? Free ones.”
Despite his ducking around the front of the horse, she sensed his amusement.
Heat rose in her cheeks. He needn’t know the other requirement: frequented by wealthy, single gentlemen, preferably handsome and kind. Doubtful he’d drive her if he did.
“There’s an old cathedral on Broad Street.” He climbed beside her and adjusted his coat. “Draws visitors from all over to gaze at its beauty. Granted, a building of ninety years isn’t old compared to your European”—he struggled with the word—“castles … ones I’ve seen in paintings, I mean. But it’s one of the oldest structures here.”
Ella shrugged her consent. A tourist attraction was a tourist attraction, and if she was to obey Mama’s instructions to provide for her family, she must go where the men were. Though dwelling on that thought hadn’t helped much when Woody showed up at her door a few minutes ago with a picnic basket full of bread, cheese, sausages, and pickled beets—a barter from one of his clients, he said—and insisted on sharing the lunch later on. Now the spicy-buttery aroma tormented her for skipping breakfast again.
“Nice dress, by the way. Your employer has good taste. That … purple color becomes you.” His squinted amusement bordered on smugness. Must he remind her she was but a servant putting on airs?
Her chin came up.
As they rattled along, shopkeepers greeted him and ladies followed him with their eyes.
When his shoulder brushed hers, Ella chuffed and made extra space on the seat between them. He might be helpful, well liked, and have ravishing good looks, but her sister Ina’s life out-valued twenty handsome faces. He did make a striking figure, though, more a king enthroned than a cart driver. Silly thought. When were draymen ever regal?
“This is where you ask if I attend the grand old cathedral.” He stared straight ahead, though his mouth curved.
Her traitorous cheeks warmed. “Oh?”
“Yes. And I answer, ‘No. Sundays, I worship with a small congregation near the livery.’”
Was he flirting? Americans … Under normal circumstances, the shyness Ina teased Ella about would take over and save her from any intelligent response.
But no. Questions bobbed to mind pell-mell:
Did he attend church out of duty, or truly know God and talk to Him each day?
Was he a student of the scriptures?
Did he have access to a copy of the Bible?
Despite her curiosity, she pinched her mouth shut. She’d give her back teeth if he’d stop studying her like a freshly unearthed potato. Extra attention she did not need, from him or any passersby.
Ojej!—Oh dear! Might Mistress Theodore or one of Ella’s fellow servants spot her here?—then she’d truly be in the rice. She shrank in her seat and fussed with her shiny sleeve buttons.
“How long have I attended there, you ask?” He leaned in a fraction, that smirk still in place as the wind assaulted his hat. “Why, it is three years now.”
Biting her lip against his humor, she studied the passing buildings. If he was content conversing solo, could it hurt to listen?
“My friend Franklin Pierce found me in … much need of God’s love,” he said. “He also found the crack in my armor—a deep love for learning. I agreed to study the Bible with him, but when the Book told me my attempts to make up for my sins were … rotten in God’s eyes, I grew angry.”
Self-awareness tightened his smile and his ears reddened. “Many things I didn’t understand. How could my good deeds be thought bad? How could the blood of Jesus Christ ‘wash’ me from sin when blood only stains?
“Somewhere between Pierce’s kindness and prayers, I quit fighting and knew only one thing—I wanted a new life. I wanted to feel … clean again. So I gave myself to God—good, bad … All the other. Today, I can’t think of life without Him.”
His gaze held hers for a moment, the candor there quaking something inside her, stirring a desire to share her own story. Grappling new respect for his sincerity, she contemplated his profile as he slowed the wagon at an intersection then guided the horse in a turn.
“Are you a woman of faith, Miss Ella?” he asked above the hum of the passing marketplace.
When she found her voice, Ella relayed in simple terms her own salvation when as a young girl she’d gone to the local chapel to learn to read. The old bishop, an earnest student of the scriptures, taught her how Jesus’ sacrifice paid for her sins and that, because He didn’t stay dead but rose from the grave, she could repent, have her sins forgiven, and heaven for her future home.
“Thank you for telling me.” He regarded her a moment. “You could join me for worship tomorrow. I’d be happy to drive you.”
Longing to agree—she’d not settled on a church in America yet—she gave a noncommittal answer instead. Somehow their mutual faith and the common ground it created roused guilt about today’s mission.
At Ella’s request, Woody pulled up several yards from the old church. He held Ella’s trembling hand as she climbed down, then he stored away his hat. On solid cobblestones, she fluffed her tiered skirt and smoothed her hair, taking in the cathedral’s stoic grandeur. Would a rich man first stroll the gardens behind the church or start inside like others were doing?
Glancing sideways, she caught Woody’s stare, and her heartbeats thickened. Having him along while she hunted a husband was proving a tad counterproductive. Yes, she should be grateful he agreed to drive her around Newark on his day off. But what would he say if he discovered her plans?
Why his opinion mattered in the least was a question for another time, when those warm brown eyes turned elsewhere.
He clipped an anchor of sorts onto his horse’s bridle and chocked the wheels of his cart. “You sure this isn’t too far? I could have driven you closer.”
And have everyone see her ride up in a delivery wagon? No, thank you. She breathed the spring wind, appreciating the cherry trees shedding pink blossoms along the walk. This day was made for wooing. “I prefer to take the air. It’s a beautiful day.”
Woody fell into step alongside, his hands clasped behind his back. “I look forward to viewing the cathedral inside.”
Ella’s steps slowed. He was coming with her? “You’ve never been here?”
After striding ahead, Woody turned back and shrugged while the breeze took liberties with his hair. “Are there no interesting things in Austrian-Poland you’ve never seen, though you lived close by?”
Come to think of it, he was right. The fearsome, snowcapped mountains that rose behind Baron Zimmer’s estate had beckoned to her all her life, but she never once ventured to explore them.
“We often overlook the things nearest us,” he said, taking the walk’s street-traffic side.
True. She determined then and there to not overlook any wealthy gentlemen in her husband search. If she paid attention, Lord willing, she’d find a courteous man of strong integrity, honorable and true
, a man of faith.
Kind to needy children.
When she lengthened her pace to catch Woody, the stares they received climbing the steps together screamed a new dilemma. How did one attract a wealthy gentleman with another man—a common deliveryman what’s more—at her side?
In a split-second decision, Ella held her thumbs for good luck and entered the cathedral’s arched doorway alone.
Her progress slowed, however, as her eyes adjusted to the dim interior light. She’d stepped into another world, a world smelling of moist stone, tallow, and old parchment. The arched ceiling curved down into a balcony, while stained glass and a many-piped organ at the front drew her past several visitors—unfortunately, none of them young gentlemen.
Despite the surrounding beauty, her hopes fell. If she lingered a few minutes, might a likely target present himself?
She slid onto the front pew and stared at the ornate altar and accoutrements. Each carving and piece of ironwork—the best to be had—bespoke the crafter’s devotion.
Was it wrong to seek the best, to grasp at it with all her might?
The faithful old bishop in her homeland taught her Jesus Christ already did the earning and the paying for her sins. But physical blessings? Provisions for her family? Wasn’t she supposed to achieve those on her own, through the work of her hands and the strength God gave her? As the old saying went, if you pray for potatoes, you’d better have a hoe in your hand.
But securing a rich husband might bring unwelcome consequences as well. What if her husband wanted only heirs, not a lifelong love? Ania, her older sister, married for love. Something in Ella rebelled at being denied the same privilege.
Lord, why have you not spared us the hunger, the harsh taskmaster in Baron Zimmer, my brother’s death?
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 22