An Unlikely Mother
Page 17
“She and I became friends at the mining camp. It’s only natural I’d be concerned for her.”
“I don’t know why,” Sarah said. “Her family really doesn’t signify. What happened to her was a tragedy, of course, but they don’t have much social standing, do they?”
Flora tried not to sound as discouraged as she’d felt. Sarah had been so harsh with her at the time of the accident, and now that Flora’s standing had risen, Sarah’s nasty words to Flora seemed to be forgotten. What good was working to regain a friendship when she wasn’t sure she wanted that friendship, after all? Worse, as everyone murmured in agreement with Sarah, Flora felt deep shame at the remembrance that once she’d have been right there with them.
“She’s a delightful young lady,” Flora said slowly. “It’s a shame that you haven’t developed a deeper friendship with her. As for one’s significance, I’m learning that perhaps we are...” Flora shook her head. “It’s not a topic for a tea such as this,” she said, reaching for the teapot. “May I get more for anyone else?”
Rose smiled at her as she held up her cup. “Do go on, Flora. Mrs. Jasper Jackson and I were just speaking of the very thing a few days ago. I would so love to hear your thoughts.”
As Flora looked around the room, she realized that while some, such as Sarah, did look perplexed, others appeared genuinely interested in her words.
“Well,” Flora said, after refilling cups that needed it. “One of the things I’ve come to realize, serving in the mission, is that God doesn’t look at our dresses or our names, but at our hearts. I wonder if I’d spent as much time considering the condition of my heart as I did my hairstyle and wardrobe, what my life would be like, instead.”
Taking a deep breath, Flora thought for a moment, then turned to Rose. “But I suppose I do know. In the mining camp, where we had no means for improving our outward appearance, I did spend more time thinking about my heart and my character.”
Smiling, Flora brought her attention back to her mother. “And I do find it much improved. I was very angry with you for agreeing with Father that I should go. I apologize for anything hurtful or unkind that I might have said regarding that issue. Or any other, for that matter.”
With a peace Flora could have only said came from the Lord, she said, “I am truly grateful for the experience, and I can say without hesitation that my life is richer and better for having it.”
Her mother dabbed at the edges of her eyes with a handkerchief, an extraordinary public display of emotion for her. Which meant Flora should leave the subject alone. She’d said her piece, or at least part of it, and it was enough for the time being.
Flora looked back at Rose. “I hope that adds to your own discussions. Your friendship is one of the things that helped me see the value in people I would not have ordinarily sought out. I did not deserve your friendship, but you kindly bestowed it upon me anyway. Thank you.”
Rose smiled and gave a tiny nod, as if she appreciated Flora’s words, but like Flora, knew this wasn’t the appropriate setting for such a discussion.
And so Flora brought the subject back to Ellen. “Which is why I am concerned for my new friend. Ellen showed me measures of kindness and friendship I’ll never forget. That signifies to me greatly, and I have been praying for her recovery, and, I hope, a renewal of our friendship.”
Mrs. Crowley also dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “What a lovely sentiment. I suddenly feel quite ashamed of myself for not inviting Ellen’s mother to tea last week. Nathan has been doing a lot of business with the Fitzgeralds, and he suggested I invite Mrs. Fitzgerald to tea. But...” Mrs. Crowley shook her head. “I suppose I was more concerned with the fact that she always wears those silly hats, and I just couldn’t. And now her poor daughter...”
The woman fanned herself, and many of the others murmured their own shame at having not accepted the Fitzgeralds so readily into their fold, keeping them at the fringes of society, being polite, but not completely befriending them.
Lottie Grant leaned forward. “Ellen is my friend,” she said slowly. “And I know it would encourage her greatly to know of this conversation. She used to tell me that if people would just get to know each other, they would realize just how much in common they had, and they could be friends.”
“She told me the same thing,” Flora said, smiling. “Do you have news of her condition?”
Lottie sighed. “Only that she hasn’t woken up yet. They say the longer she doesn’t wake up, the worse it will be. Fortunately the rest of her injuries appear to be minor.”
“Then we will pray for her to wake up soon,” Mrs. Crowley said, straightening. “And I will pay a call on her mother. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know how many people care about Ellen’s recovery.”
Flora’s chair had a nice view out the window, and though fine lace curtains covered most of it, she could see silhouettes of people walking past. Specifically, George leaving with Pierre, hand in hand as they followed Marie. Though it was none of her concern, she was pleased to notice that Marie wasn’t holding Pierre’s hand, and they didn’t appear a family unit. Silly, since she knew there was nothing between George and Marie, but her heart had a small pang at the thought that someday George would be part of a family of his own. Sooner, rather than later, if all the matchmaking mamas in the room had their say.
Which, by the way conversation had shifted again, seemed to be what everyone was talking about.
George and Pierre disappeared from view, and Flora wished she could somehow call them back. An afternoon at a child’s birthday party, at least with George and Pierre, was infinitely more entertaining than sitting in her mother’s stuffy parlor with all these women. Especially since they’d been invited solely for the purpose of spreading the news about George Bellingham’s arrival, not because they were all genuine friends. Yet every woman in the room held an important role in Leadville society.
What was wrong with her? Wasn’t this exactly what she’d been longing for all this time?
Sarah leaned in to Flora. “You must invite me for tea when you know that Mr. Bellingham will be around. Since you’re not interested in him, you might as well give me a leg up. After all, us unmarried women must stick together.”
She gave a conspiratorial wink, like she hadn’t been offended by Flora’s comments about them being unmarried back at the camp. Like they’d never stopped being friends.
Everything seemed to be completely back to normal in Flora’s world, and yet the sick feeling that had fluttered in her stomach for all these months of being left out had returned.
* * *
George had never been to a French child’s birthday party, but it seemed to him that everything was similar to how any other birthday party he’d attended had been. Except that everyone spoke French, and George sat by himself in a corner as he watched Pierre play with all the other little boys.
“George, this is my father, Jean-Paul.” Marie gestured to an older man.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” George stood and shook the gentleman’s hand. “Thank you for having us.”
“You are looking for the boy’s father?”
George nodded. “Yes. Henri Martin. Do you know him?”
Marie had laughed when he’d asked her, shaking her head.
With a broad grin that reminded George of Marie, Jean-Paul pointed at a man. “That is Henri Martin.”
The man was old, too old to be Pierre’s father. Then Jean-Paul pointed again. “And he is Henri Martin.”
Another man who could not possibly be Pierre’s father. Jean-Paul indicated another man. “And him.”
As Jean-Paul pointed out a few more Henri Martins, George understood why Marie had laughed at his question. In the French community, Henri Martin seemed to be as common a name as John Smith.
Which meant that George’s mission was go
ing to be a lot more difficult than he’d hoped. No wonder people looked at him like he was crazy when he asked about Pierre’s father.
“But if any of them were missing a child, they’d have said so,” Marie said. “I’ve asked everyone. Besides, all the Frenchmen are too smart to work at the Pudgy Boy. It’s the worst mine, with the lowest wages. People only go there until they can find something better.”
Her father murmured in agreement. “We would never let one of our own work in that terrible place. We stick to the other side of the mountain, where the mines and wages are more abundant.”
As many times as George had heard how bad his mine was, it never got easier. Nothing about the mine’s working conditions fit with how his father had always taught him to run a business. His father had believed that you should always take care of your people, even if it cut into profit margins temporarily. Long-term, a happy workforce meant a stable workforce, and in the end, it worked out to the benefit of the company’s health. He’d always heard that people thought his father too generous in how he treated his employees.
So, how did things get to be so bad at the mine?
George nodded at the man. “I understand. And I appreciate you taking the time to talk to me. But Pierre was found near the Pudgy Boy Mine. That’s where his father told him to wait. Something isn’t adding up, and I don’t understand why.”
The older man nodded slowly. “It is a puzzle. I usually meet every Frenchman who comes to town, and I don’t recall meeting a man with a young son.”
Jean-Paul turned to chat with another man, seeming to have forgotten that George was there. George continued watching Pierre. Too bad Flora couldn’t see the little boy playing with the others. She’d tried to get him to play with the children at camp, but they never seemed to get past the language barrier. She would have been so happy to see him finally getting to interact with others.
George sighed. That was the other problem. Trying to figure out what to do about Flora. The trouble with her anger was that he knew he’d been wrong to hide the truth from her. So how did he make it up to her? And how did they move on?
But how could he ask Flora to give up the life she so clearly loved? Even if they were able to work things out, what future did they have?
This party should have been a pleasant diversion, yet all he could think about was Flora. When Shannon had broken things off with him, he’d been able to let go of his thoughts of her quite easily. Perhaps too easily.
“George!” Pierre ran into his arms, and automatically George picked him up.
The little boy chattered at him so fast that despite Flora teaching both of them words to communicate with each other, George couldn’t understand any of it.
One more reason he wished Flora was with them. But Flora belonged in her mother’s fine parlor, not in this old barn, which had been cleaned out enough to host the party. Based on the number of people present, the child’s birthday had merely been an excuse for the gathering.
“He is like your own son,” Jean-Paul said.
George turned to the other man. “Yes, but I would never deprive a man of his child. If Pierre’s father is out there, then we owe it to him to find him.”
“You are a good man,” Jean Paul said, patting him on the back. “If this man wants to be found, we will find him. Come, let me introduce you to Crazy Eddie. He is not French, and can only speak enough to get himself in trouble with the ladies. But he knows more people than I do. If Crazy Eddie can’t find him, then no one can.”
Stumpy had spoken of a man named Crazy Eddie. Finally it felt like they were seeing progress. George tried to put Pierre down, but the little boy remained glued to him. “I come George,” he said.
“You can come.” George gave him a reassuring squeeze and continued holding him as they walked across the room to meet this Crazy Eddie fellow.
When they approached Crazy Eddie, the grizzled man wearing animal skins and looking like he’d earned his name honestly, grinned broadly. “Pipsqueak!”
Pierre buried his head in George’s shoulder.
“Ah, he is still afraid of me. I’ve told him I’m not so scary, but he does not believe me.” Crazy Eddie laughed, a sound that erased any doubt as to how he’d gotten his nickname. And seemed to make little Pierre even more afraid.
But for the first time, they’d made progress.
“You know Pierre?” George asked, rubbing the little boy’s back.
“Ah, yes. I helped him and his father come to Leadville. Someone stole all their money. I saw it happen, and we couldn’t catch the villain. I was already planning on coming to Leadville as a guide for another man. It seemed the least I could do to help the poor man and his son.”
Crazy Eddie looked around, noticing for the first time that Henri was not among them. “But where is this little fellow’s father?”
“That’s what we’re wondering,” George said, and filled him in on the circumstances of finding Pierre and the mystery of Pierre’s father.
“Of course he went to the Pudgy Boy Mine for work,” Crazy Eddie said, smiling broadly and puffing out his chest. “I got him the job. He was nervous that he’d lost some letter he had with his things when he was robbed. Something about a job here. I told him not to worry, I knew people at the Pudgy Boy Mine, and they’d hire him.”
“Why didn’t you bring him to me?” Jean-Paul said. “You know we take care of our own.”
Crazy Eddie shook his head. “I didn’t think of it. He was worried that he had lost his opportunity for a job, and once I mentioned this job, everything was fine. I couldn’t really talk to him, he didn’t speak much English.”
Which still didn’t give him a lot of information, but at least it confirmed that Dougherty was lying about Pierre’s father not working there.
“Who was the other man you brought with Pierre and his father?” George asked.
“Herman Schmidt,” Crazy Eddie said, shaking his head. “Terrible tragedy. He also went to work at the Pudgy Boy Mine. They’d brought him in specifically to help with the explosives. I think they were going to try to tap into another vein. Poor man set the charge wrong, got some of his bits blown off, and now he’s living in a rattrap by State Street, begging for scraps.”
Crazy Eddie shook his head slowly. “I know Onree was pretty torn up about it. He was talking crazy, and I couldn’t understand him. I was going to bring Onree to you, Jean-Paul, just so I could understand him, but he threw his hands in the air the way you people do, and stomped off.”
At least that solved another mystery. Crazy Eddie also called Pierre’s father “Onree,” so at least he knew for sure that the scratched out name matched George’s assumption tying the men together.
Still, it didn’t solve the mystery of what happened to Pierre’s father.
Jean-Paul shook his head and clucked his tongue. “If only you’d brought the man to me. We would have gotten him a better place to work than the Pudgy Boy Mine. I heard about what happened to Herman Schmidt. Terrible tragedy.”
A terrible tragedy, indeed, especially since it had been one more instance where George’s mine had caused devastation in someone else’s life.
George turned to Crazy Eddie. “You know where he is?”
“Oh, no,” Jean-Paul said. “You can’t go to State Street. It’s not safe.”
“Terrible place.” Crazy Eddie nodded. “At least, for a gent like you.”
“I’m no gent, just a miner,” George said.
“And I’m the King of France,” Crazy Eddie said, laughing.
“France has no king!” Jean-Paul crossed his arms and glared at the other man.
Crazy Eddie just laughed.
“Still,” George said. “Could you take me to meet him? He might know something about Pierre’s father. Surely the man wouldn’t have abandoned his son.”
“Enfant précieux,” Jean-Paul said, smiling as he reached out to pinch Pierre’s cheek. “He is a precious child.”
Pierre smiled, but buried his head further into George’s shoulder.
“Enfant précieux,” George repeated, nuzzling the little boy. “You are precious, aren’t you?”
Eyes full of unshed tears, Pierre said, “Mon père.”
His father. The words reminded him of his father, and the poor child was missing his father.
“Tout sera bien,” George said, hoping he remembered correctly what he’d heard Flora say to the little boy.
“Flora,” the little boy said, the dam of tears breaking as they began to fall down his face.
Of course he wanted Flora. Though George loved the little boy and did his best to comfort him, Flora always had the right words.
“Do you want to go home?” George tried remembering the right words but then wondered if it would mean anything to the child. Did Pierre think of Flora’s house as his own? Clearly he still missed his father, so what would home be to Pierre?
George turned to Jean-Paul. “Would you mind asking him if he’d like to return to Flora’s house? I guess he really doesn’t have a home now, does he?”
Sighing as he looked down at the little boy, George could only pray that they were able to find Pierre’s father. To give the child some comfort that George could not.
Jean-Paul leaned in and spoke softly to Pierre. The little boy responded with stilted words between sniffles. They spoke at length for what should have been a simple question. But with each response Pierre gave Jean-Paul, the little boy seemed happier and more content.
Then Jean-Paul looked at George. “He does want to go back to Flora. He says that she rocks him and sings to him the way his mother used to, and it always makes him feel better.”