When light from the window fell across his features, revealing a bruised eye and several cuts, she lost the rest of his sentence. “Oh, Woody.”
He turned, gaze softening. Bits of dried blood clung to his chin, tattling his unsuccessful attempt to wash away last night’s fight and present himself as a gentleman.
Swallowing a wave of compassion, she forced herself to speak. “You don’t have a mirror here, do you? You should see yourself.”
“That charming, huh?” His voice lacked humor.
“That bruise under your eye is terrific. Do you have witch hazel and a cloth?”
He touched his eye. Boots echoing across the room, he pulled open a cabinet and took down the items.
Emboldened by his need, she snagged his arm and steered him to perch on the desk edge. “Let someone care for you for a change.”
“I could see to them.” The way he examined his swollen knuckles did strange things to her heart—brought sympathy for his suffering, pleasure at his caring enough to step in harm’s way for her. Her conscience ached. She should have championed him at the ball after his rescue. Maybe left with him. She couldn’t go back, though.
Strange she so often felt pained and cared for in the same moment when near him. Was that not a common symptom of love?
Love or not, she couldn’t marry him.
She focused on opening the bottle of witch hazel.
“When I heard you cry out, then found Leech with you …” His breath stirred her hair—no lemon drop scent this time. Just Woody. “I wanted to hurt him like I haven’t hurt anyone in a long time.” Serious brown eyes met hers, scanned her face. There was no steeling herself against the fragile warmth there. His leatherworker scent, suggesting gentle strength, invited her to stay this close to him forever, made her wonder how his arms might feel around her.
Hands trembling, she folded and doused the cloth, then helped roll his sleeve up to his forearm. Their fingers brushed. She pulled away, her calluses snagging on his shirt fabric, mocking her chances of being anything but a farm girl. How could she marry Jamieson now, knowing he was as Woody warned? She could justify her actions with the motive of saving Ina all she wanted, but Woody would know she’d compromised her ideals, all for a chance at Leech’s money. She couldn’t face Woody’s disappointment. Not when she’d …
Not when she’d come to love him.
Avoiding his gaze, she swabbed a scrape under his bruise and recounted Mother’s letter. “I permitted Jamieson Leech’s attentions because Ina is coming to America early. I thought if I convinced Leech to marry me, I could support her better.”
Did he flinch from the sting … or the touch of a traitor? Swallowing the threat of tears, she breathed deep into her lungs. Taking his chin in her hand, she dabbed at his cheekbone, all too aware of the roughness scraping her palm and the way he studied her features, her hair.
She refolded the cloth and pressed a clean side to the abrasions on his right hand, but he laced his fingers with hers. His steady regard held her captive. “Ella, how can I make you understand?”
The simple question leeched her breath and raised her defenses. “You can start with ‘Elwood Harrison.’”
Breaking eye contact, he pursed his lips and nodded. Releasing a deep breath but not her hand, he began. “Before I was born, my father, Wesley Harrison, foresaw the War Between the States and sold our Mississippi plantation to buy into the railroad. Father’s investment proved profitable. Very. Profitable. The Harrisons are now among the wealthiest in New York.”
She untangled her fingers from his, unable to reconcile the Woody she knew with this rich, powerful stranger before her. “Then why do you struggle to help the boys, seeking sponsors for the orphanage if you can pay for it yourself? Are you a gambler? A swindler?”
His brows rose and he huffed, touching his chest. “Ella, it’s me, Woody, remember?”
“Elwood,” she interrupted.
“No. Only my mother calls me that.” Propping his hands on his hips again, he leaned back. “Don’t make me a monster. I was disinherited five years ago. I don’t own a penny of my family’s wealth.”
Engulfed in shame, she averted her gaze and moistened her lips. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”
Grasping his necklace through his shirt, Woody rubbed his thumb over the material. “I was never close to my parents. Raised by a governess. Sent to boarding school. When I graduated and came home, I befriended an Irish maid in our house named Molly Gallagher.” His words came slow. “Little slip of a thing, orange hair sticking out in every direction.”
Ella dreaded the end of the tale, for it couldn’t be good.
“With all my school buddies living far away, Molly and I became fast friends. Nothing romantic. I didn’t want a miserable marriage like my parents’. My mother, an ambitious woman, never content …”
Shaking his head, he settled back on his palms, his vest rumpling between each button. His eyes narrowed, pleading with her to understand … something. “Mother disapproved of the friendship—had plans for me to marry a debutante from a powerful family. So when a servant suggested Molly wanted to lure me into elopement, Mother fired Molly without severance. Put her on the street. Worse, she spread the rumor among her society friends.
“Months passed before I received Molly’s letter. Without references, she couldn’t get work …” His mouth closed, pulled to one side. He inhaled and the next words came out in a rush. “She was starving. Sold herself for a piece of bread, started working in a brothel, then took her own life. The letter was a suicide note.”
When his eyes reddened, Ella’s watered as well. A twitch started in his cheek, and his voice grew hoarse. “She wrote to thank me … for being her friend. Sent this ring—her grandmother’s. I made a cad of myself to get back at Mother, shamed my parents until they kicked me out.” He flexed his doctored hand. “On the street for two years, I survived by my fists, using boxing skills I learned at school to fight illegally for money. Then Pierce found me beaten on a curbside. He recognized me as the son of a famous railroad tycoon, took me home, and patched me up like a Good Samaritan. Later, he led me to Christ. No one from my old life speaks to me but Pierce. So I settled here, hoping the state line would provide a buffer for my parents and my past.”
She couldn’t fathom having her parents close, but estranged. “Do you ever go back home, try to visit?”
“Couple times, but Mother would never allow me entrance. Especially not after this …” He lifted his fist. “I’ve resurrected the family scandal. People will remember my behavior, how it reflects on my parents—the last thing I wanted for them … or for the orphanage.” Lacing his fingers on his knee, he gave a bitter laugh. “Furthermore, seems I’ve given my heart to a woman both bent on seeking wealth like my mother and desperate enough to sell herself to the highest bidder, like Molly.”
“Woody, that’s not fair.” Not when his confession chafed her conscience and summoned her affections at once. “It’s not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it? When you’re willing to settle for a scoundrel like Leech?”
“You know my reasons,” she whispered.
“You’re worth so much more than that.”
Tears blurred his strong, familiar frame. “I must consider my family, my sister. I—I don’t even know where I’ll sleep tonight, much less how to support her, too.”
“You’ll stay here.”
She jumped away and dropped the cloth. “What?”
With his fingers circling her wrists, he pulled her back. “I’ll sleep at the boys’ shelter down at the canal, in case they come back for something in the night. I’ve already told the livery hands I might lend the place to you and charged them to look after you.”
Trembling beneath his gentle hold, she blinked at the way his thumb caressed her wrist.
His mouth tilted. “That, or you could marry me.”
The words mule-kicked Ella, and Woody’s grin froze, then faded into something infinitely
more serious. The most somber, handsome, vulnerable, unfair look he’d ever given her.
“I’ve fallen in love with you, Ella.” His voice rasped like fine velvet as he scanned her face, laying bare her vulnerable heart. He caressed her cheek with the backs of his knuckles. With the bridge of his nose. His breath. His lips.
Her eyes slid shut on a sigh, her insides twisting deep and long at the answer she had to give. She put a hand to his shoulder for support, and the words came hoarse. “Woody, you know I can’t.”
Stiffening, he pulled away.
Desperate, her words flowed unchecked. “Not yet. Maybe if you talked to your parents—”
Dragging a hand down his face, Woody stood and laughed. “So you’re only interested if I’m rich.”
“It’s not just about my family, Woody. You talk like wealth is evil, but you refuse to acknowledge the good it can do. Funds to help the boys lie at your fingertips and you in your pride won’t reach for them.”
“I told you, Ella, I tried.”
“In the last year? Month? How can you talk about doing great things for the street children if you won’t cross the state line and apply your own resources to help them? I don’t understand.” She raised her hands. “I don’t understand you Americans!”
Bending low, he gathered a bag from beside the desk, a fat bag with furled maps sticking out the side. After settling his hat on his head, he slung his suit coat over his shoulder and paused at the door. “Double-check the front door at night. The lock’s finicky.”
Chapter Five
Woody mounted the steps to his family home and tapped the door knocker. Pity he couldn’t bring the boys here. They’d love playing hide-and-seek in the cubbyholes he and Molly had discovered.
He tugged her necklace into his palm. Though she was outspoken and Ella reserved, they matched in kindness, honesty, and resilient spirits.
He’d give his life to keep Ella from Molly’s fate.
Thank God he could keep Ella off the street for now, though maybe he couldn’t change her choice to pursue wealth and the certain disaster to follow. As far as the boys were concerned, he could still do so much. Ella was right. He had one last resort, and he intended to use it. He’d be hanged if he let his plans for the orphanage go without a fight.
Letting the ring fall against his heart, he shoved his fists in his pockets. That offhanded proposal had slipped off his tongue so blasted easily. He’d meant to lighten the moment. Had no idea he’d feel the words to his core. The mix of anguish and longing in her features dubbed him the lowest man in New England. Reminded him he had no rights to her when he’d nothing to offer. But in his deepest heart, her rejection still stung.
If his parents could just loan him enough to bring her family to America—
The massive door opened and Steele answered. The old butler schooled his shock into a sedate expression. “You know I’m not to allow you entrance, sir.”
“It’s a matter of life and death.” When a sliver of sympathy entered the man’s tired eyes, Woody blinked against sudden emotion. “Please, Steele.”
The butler’s wrinkles deepened. There was no denying the irony of Elwood Harrison, once-heir to a railroad empire, pleading with a servant. “Very well, sir. Eh. This way, sir.”
Where family portraits once hung from the woodwork, oil paintings and Asian statues now decorated the hall. A vast improvement over the gloomy expressions marked by lonely dinners with strained conversation. For years, he’d felt in everyone’s way, always homesick for the even colder boarding school.
Steele showed Woody to the lower parlor, where he paced the carpets. Strange, being back, less welcome than ever. If a plea for the orphanage didn’t reconcile him with his parents, what would? Who didn’t want to help the hurting and hungry?
As he silently rehearsed his case, arguments hotfooted across his mind.
Steele returned. “Sorry, sir. The lady of the house won’t come down.”
Heart rate sluggish, Woody ran a hand over his hair. “What did Father say?”
“Nothing, sir.”
So that was the way of it.
Woody straightened. So be it. He’d come back every day for a month, a year, if that’s what it took. “Thank you, Steele. I’ll see myself out.”
Passing the stairs cascading from the family rooms, his ears picked up his mother’s strident voice, her Southern-belle accent strong. “You will not see him, Wesley. Remember the shame he put us through! I’ve forced myself to forget we had a son, and I won’t go through that pain again.”
“He’s my son, too, Lavinia. You can’t keep me from him forever. After the debacle at that ball, it’s curious he would show up here at all. I’m eager to hear why.” Father descended the stair, tucking a shirtfront beneath his morning coat.
Trailing him in an elaborate day dress was Mother, pale and taut. “Why can’t we leave things be? He’ll only drag us down—”
“Hello, Father, Mother.”
Father slowed on the steps, his visage unchanged except for his graying hair. Same military bearing, his right sleeve pinned up from the amputation.
When Mother reached the landing, she gasped. “My lands, his face.”
Woody fought the itch to reach for his bruised eye.
“It’s true, then,” Father said, his mustache bunching. “What’ve you done, boy? Exposing yourself, participating in vulgar fisticuffs before all of society. Why can’t you abide our living in peace?”
“I told you this wasn’t a good—”
“Quiet, Lavinia.”
Shame over Woody’s rebellious youth poured through him. If he hadn’t made a rake of himself to avenge Molly, they’d believe him now. Might have had a better marriage without quarrelling over his constant misbehavior.
“I’m here to apologize, Father. Yes, I came to blows with Jamieson Leech at the Theodore ball, but it was in defense of a lady.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Mother murmured.
“With all due respect, Mother, there’s no telling what you heard. Half the gossip circulating is pure falsehood.”
“Watch your tone, boy.”
With his tongue pressed against his teeth, Woody counted to ten. “I wanted to tell you how much I regret the shame I brought upon you in the past. I retaliated … out of hurt. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
Father’s brows rose. He rested his hand behind his back.
“You want something.” Mother squinted.
Pegged, Woody pulled at his ear. “On my first attempts to visit, I admit, I came for financial reasons alone. But I met someone recently who cannot visit her parents. Today, I came hoping we might at least speak on friendly terms again.”
Shifting to his good leg, Father weighed the situation, radiating indecision. Mother’s mouth firmed. “Pretty sentiments won’t get you your father’s money.”
Woody presented his palms. “What else can I say?”
“What’s this talk I’ve heard about you and an orphanage?” Father asked.
With prayers for their understanding, Woody laid out his ideas and their necessity.
After a long silence, Father stepped forward, reluctance etched in the lines around his eyes. “I’m torn, Son. Part of me hopes you’ve changed, wants to help you.” Mother’s face blanched. “Based on your behavior in the past, however, I can’t allow myself to trust you. Until you can enter our home without bringing a trail of scandal, I think it’s best you leave.”
“Father, consider the children. The orphanage is a worthy—”
“Goodbye, Son.”
Back rigid, Woody left with nothing but his integrity, and that he couldn’t prove. They’d never had time for him when he was a youth; why should they now? He’d gone back for Ella, knowing they’d reject him beforehand, but that didn’t lessen the pain of knowing he was unwanted, denied a place to belong.
At the canal, grasshoppers hummed through the tall grasses and birds sang a too-cheery song. With the sun warming his head, Woody leane
d a hand against the boys’ shelter, then smacked the wood with his palm, snatched off his tie. Crumpled the ribbon.
“What are you doing, God?” he asked, anchoring his fist on his thigh. “’Cause I sure can’t see it now. Nothing is right. My parents are a lost cause. Even if the boys return, I can’t provide for them like I want. And Ella …” How had it come to this? Woody massaged the bridge of his nose, eyes watering. “I thought she was the one.”
With a grunt, he blinked. He’d survived rejection before. He’d do it again.
“I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee.”
Woody swallowed hard, stared at nothing in particular. The inaudible words radiated in his mind with pulsing clarity. He must have read them in his Bible a hundred times or more, but did he let them change the way he lived?
“Forgive me, Lord.” Foreboding circumstances didn’t mean God was far off. The Lord was there when Pierce had found him and told him the good news of Jesus. When he received Molly’s letter. When Ella crossed his path.
And here, now.
“The Lord is at hand,” Woody whispered toward the sky. Not far away, but within his reach. When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up. He wasn’t unwanted. He had a Father who’d paid the ultimate price for him.
A quiet conviction overcame Woody, quickening his heartbeats. Though he’d failed to retrieve funds for Ella’s family, though he’d nothing to give her, he could still offer the comfort of these verses, assure her God cared.
But would seeing her again so soon make things harder for her?
Blowing out a deep breath, Woody replaced his tie. No. If the Holy Spirit wanted him to speak to Ella, he’d do so and leave the outcome to God.
What had he told the boys in their last Bible lesson? “Faith is trust in action.”
Well, then. It was time to start living by faith.
At the soot-fogged train station, Ella examined the disembarking passengers for the third day straight.
When Woody met Ina, he’d understand why Ella couldn’t stop fighting for her family.
Thunder clapped, and Ella trembled. Had Ina enjoyed the voyage or taken seasick? Was she any recovered from her usual illness?
Of Rags and Riches Romance Collection Page 25