The Brightest of Dreams
Page 1
Books by Susan Anne Mason
COURAGE TO DREAM
Irish Meadows
A Worthy Heart
Love’s Faithful Promise
A Most Noble Heir
CANADIAN CROSSINGS
The Best of Intentions
The Highest of Hopes
The Brightest of Dreams
© 2020 by Susan A. Mason
Published by Bethany House Publishers
11400 Hampshire Avenue South
Bloomington, Minnesota 55438
www.bethanyhouse.com
Bethany House Publishers is a division of
Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan
www.bakerpublishinggroup.com
Ebook edition created 2020
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2019949894
ISBN 978-1-4934-2276-0
Scripture quotations are from the King James Version of the Bible.
Scripture quotations marked NIV are from the Holy Bible, New International Version®. NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.™ Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota/Jon Godfredson
Author is represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency.
For all the British Home Children and their descendants who have made their home in Canada. May this story shine a light on the hardships they endured and demonstrate the strength and courage it took to forge a new life here.
Thank you for making Canada an even stronger country!
Contents
Cover
Books by Susan Anne Mason
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
Epilogue
A Note from the Author
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Back Ads
Back Cover
Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight.
Proverbs 3:5–6 NIV
Prologue
DERBYSHIRE, ENGLAND
SPRING 1919
Quinten Aspinall stood in the Earl of Brentwood’s study, awaiting his employer’s imminent return. With any luck, after his daily ride over the estate, his lordship would be in good spirits and more receptive to Quinn’s petition.
Even so, Quinn couldn’t banish the nerves that dampened his palms as he struggled for a calm that had escaped him of late. Would Lord Brentwood understand Quinn’s reasoning and agree to his request, or would his employer deem it necessary to terminate Quinn’s position at Brentwood Manor?
Quinn took in a breath, attempting to focus on his blessings rather than his trials. The war was over. He’d survived. A major accomplishment to say the least. Yet that blessing paled when he thought about the fate that had befallen his family.
Becky, Cecil, and little Harry. Lord, keep them safe—wherever they are.
That simple prayer cemented his commitment to his present course of action. He would do whatever was necessary to find his family and bring them home.
After recovering from his injuries, Quinn never imagined he’d be asking for a leave of absence to travel overseas. But then again, he’d never imagined his mother would place his three younger siblings in an orphanage or that the orphanage would ship them off to another country.
The door creaked open, and Lord Brentwood strode into the room.
Quinn straightened his shoulders and clasped his hands behind his back in the proper servant stance.
“Mr. Aspinall! Davis told me you were here. Home from that blasted war, I see.” The exuberance on Lord Brentwood’s ruddy face matched his tone. He tossed his riding gloves on the desk. “Good to see you again, lad. How are you feeling?”
Quinn reached out to shake his employer’s hand, the old rush of affection rising in his chest. In truth, he’d missed this place and his position as the earl’s personal valet. “I’m happy to report I’ve been given a clean bill of health.”
“Excellent.” His lordship moved to the credenza that housed his favorite spirits. “Does this mean you’re here to reclaim your old job?”
Quinn hesitated, mindful that his answer might alter the man’s jovial mood. “Yes and no, my lord.”
The earl’s hand stilled on the crystal decanter. “That sounds rather cryptic. Care to elaborate?” He poured a hefty splash of brandy into a snifter and carried it over to the massive cherrywood desk, the place where he usually spent each afternoon taking care of business pertaining to the estate.
“I do wish to resume my duties, sir, but . . . perhaps not right away.” Quinn swallowed. “I require a short leave of absence first.”
The earl frowned. “Does this have something to do with your family?”
“It does.” Of course his lordship would figure that much out, since Quinn had always made it clear how much his family meant to him. “I need to make a trip to Canada.”
The earl’s glass halted halfway to his mouth, a curious gleam brightening his eyes. “Canada? Whatever for?”
Memories of Quinn’s visit to the Dr. Barnardo’s Homes for children crowded his mind, threatening to unravel his carefully held control. “Upon my return to London, I went to see my mother.” He swallowed. “I found her living in a workhouse, my younger siblings now in an orphanage.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” The earl’s brow furrowed.
“I then paid a visit to the children’s home, only to learn that my brothers and sister have been shipped off to Canada as indentured workers without my mum’s knowledge.” Growing restless, Quinn wished he had leave to warm himself by the flames in the fireplace. Since his time in the trenches, he couldn’t get used to the constant dampness that seemed to perpetually seep through his bones. “Unfortunately, my mother is in ill health. I fear she’ll not last the summer.”
Visions of his emaciated mother had haunted Quinn for the four years he was away at war. He never imagined her looking even frailer than when he left. But when he’d found her bedridden in a workhouse infirmary upon his return, he knew he had to do something. Quinn suspected guilt played a large part in her listlessness, as though she deserved to die for abandoning her children. If he could find Becky, Cecil, and Harry and bring them home, it might give his mother
a reason to get well. She didn’t deserve this life of hardship solely because her husband had died prematurely.
Heaven only knew Quinn had tried his best to help her over the years, sending almost every shilling he earned back home to care for the family. To find out now that it had all been in vain was beyond excruciating.
“So, you’re asking for a leave to find your siblings?” The earl studied him from behind the enormous desk.
“Yes, my lord.”
“And if I refuse your request?”
Quinn resisted the urge to look away from the man’s direct gaze. “Then I will respectfully have to resign my position. Though it would pain me to do so.”
“It would pain me also.” Lord Brentwood shifted on his chair and leaned forward. “Whereabouts in Canada will you be going?”
“I’m not sure of the exact location. The ship lands in Halifax, Nova Scotia. From there, it will depend on where my brothers and sister were sent. I haven’t been able to discern that information as of yet.” Quinn clenched his hands into fists against his rising agitation. He still couldn’t believe the director of the Dr. Barnardo’s Homes wouldn’t give him any information other than the name of the ship and the landing point in Halifax.
Quinn shoved one hand into his pocket until his fingers met the familiar iron key he carried with him everywhere—the last thing his father had given him before he died. It had been the key to their family home in London, and by giving it to Quinn, his father had effectively bestowed upon him the title of head of household. The cool metal reminded Quinn of the promise he’d made and gave him the boost of courage he needed to continue. “If it’s too much to ask that you hold my position, I’ll certainly respect your decision, sir. But this is something I have to do. I won’t rest until my family is back together again.”
The earl nodded. “A sentiment I understand all too well.” A shadow crossed the man’s features and, for a moment, real anguish flashed in his eyes.
To Quinn’s chagrin, he realized he’d not even inquired about the earl’s family and how they had fared since Quinn left for the war. “I trust Lady Brentwood and Lady Amelia are both well?”
“They are. Thank you for asking.” He paused. “My niece, on the other hand, is a different story.”
“Miss Julia?” Quinn sucked in a breath at the memory of the vivacious girl. She’d come to live with the earl and his family at the age of thirteen, following the sudden death of her parents. After an appropriate time to grieve and become accustomed to her new home, Julia had eventually found solace in the company of her cousin, Amelia, and the squeals of girlish laughter often rang throughout the halls of Brentwood Manor. “I hope nothing dire has happened to her.”
“Not in the way you’re thinking. But bad enough.” The earl pushed up from the desk. “Julia insisted on helping with the war efforts—against my wishes, I might add. She went off to aid the medics with the wounded soldiers, a task no proper young lady should undertake.”
“Having been a wounded soldier myself, I think it a noble undertaking. I know I appreciated any help I received.”
The earl shot him an annoyed glance.
Quinn almost bit his tongue. He would have to get used to keeping his opinions to himself when they were not asked for.
“I had a feeling nothing good would come of it.” His lordship lifted his chin in a manner that meant only one thing. Disapproval. “Right before the war ended, she ran off with one of the Canadian soldiers.”
“Oh. How . . . unfortunate.” Why did the weight of disappointment hit Quinn so hard? It wasn’t as if he could ever have hoped to win the girl’s affections. She would never have looked twice at a servant, except maybe to request a task be done.
“I believe your trip to Canada could prove most fortuitous.” The earl leaned an arm on the back of the chair, a pensive look on his face. “While you’re there, I’d like you to find Julia and bring her home.”
Quinn snapped to attention. “I beg your pardon?”
“Julia’s departure has devastated my wife and daughter. I’ll admit I came down rather hard on the girl, and unfortunately, we parted on bad terms. A circumstance I greatly regret.” He let out a sigh. “I’d go in search of her myself, but I can’t afford time away from the earldom right now. In the aftermath of the war, I’ve lost three of my tenant farmers—two in battle and the other from illness. I simply must rectify the situation, or the future of Brentwood could be in jeopardy.” His lordship came to stand by the fire, his strong profile highlighted by the flames. “Since you’re already headed overseas, I must take advantage of our association and ask for your help.” The earl moved back to his desk and pulled a velvet pouch from one of the drawers. “I’m prepared to give you whatever funds you might require to cover any expenses incurred on my behalf.”
Quinn’s mind reeled. He couldn’t afford to be distracted from his main goal, yet he didn’t wish to refuse his employer, not without a very good reason. “Do you know where she’s living in Canada?”
“The man she left with, Private Samuel McIntyre, hailed from Toronto. That much I was able to discern. It would be the most logical place to start.”
Even with Quinn’s limited knowledge of Canadian geography, he knew enough to realize that Toronto was a far cry from Halifax. But then, it was feasible that his siblings might have been sent somewhere near there. The Barnardo organization had a receiving home in Toronto, and many of the orphans ended up on farms in the province of Ontario. Still, it would take time away from Quinn’s own search to have to look for the earl’s wayward niece.
An uncomfortable idea twisted Quinn’s gut. “Is it possible that Miss Julia might be married to the man by now? I can hardly wrestle her away from her husband.”
“I don’t believe that’s the case.” The earl’s shoulders drooped suddenly. “Amelia admitted several days ago that she recently received a letter from Julia, postmarked from Toronto. She said her cousin sounded rather desperate. That she needed to find a new place to live, but money was an issue, and she didn’t know what to do. Though Amelia was not happy about it, I insisted on seeing the letter.” His brows swooped down. “I hate to think of my niece being in trouble. I want her to know she can come home, though I fear she may not have that impression right now.” He straightened, adjusting the sleeve of his riding jacket. “Finding Julia will no doubt be a challenge, one I’m willing to reward handsomely should you succeed.”
Quinn stared at his employer, the man’s impressive carriage and intelligent gaze confirming that he was every inch a person of title. The earl had given Quinn a position in his household at a time when he’d been quite desperate, and over the years his lordship had promoted him from footman to his personal valet. In truth, Quinn owed the man a great deal. How could he refuse to help him? Besides, if Julia was indeed in dire straits and Quinn could offer her some assistance, then he had to try. “Very well, your lordship. I’ll do my best. But even if I do find Miss Julia, she may not wish to return to England. I won’t force her to board a ship against her will.”
“I understand.” The earl pursed his lips. “Perhaps an added incentive might ensure you do your utmost to persuade her.” He walked toward Quinn, a gleam in his eye. “If you succeed in your endeavor, I will reward you with one of the tenant farms for your own. Free and clear.”
Hot tingles shot straight up Quinn’s spine. His own property? A place where he could reunite his family and fulfill the promise he’d made to his father nine years ago? How could he turn down the chance—no matter how slim—to provide a real home for his mother and siblings?
He squared his shoulders and nodded. “You have my word, sir. I’ll do everything in my power to bring your niece back to you.”
CHAPTER 1
NOVA SCOTIA, CANADA
MAY 28, 1919
Quinten strode along the Halifax sidewalk with determined intent. Today he would obtain the information he needed—even if he had to throttle the stubborn clerk to get it.
He’d just bid farewell to Emmaline and Jonathan, friends he’d made on the long voyage over. During their time at sea, Quinn had spent many hours talking with the pair, though poor Jonathan had been indisposed for a good deal of the trip due to extreme seasickness. Another young woman named Grace had also joined their entourage, and they’d discovered the three of them shared a similar quest. Emmaline had come to Canada in search of her father, and Grace was looking for her sister, a young war widow, in the hopes of bringing her back to England. Grace had left for Toronto the same day the ship docked, while Emma and Jonathan opted to stay in Halifax until he had sufficiently recovered to travel again. This morning, the pair had boarded a train bound for Toronto, and Quinn heartily wished he could have joined them.
If he’d been able to ascertain the whereabouts of even one of his siblings by now, it might have been a possibility. However, an overly zealous clerk in the inspection office stood between Quinn and his next destination. Today, he would not leave without that information.
With a grunt, he opened the heavy door and stepped inside. The Inspection Office, he’d learned, was the first stop for all immigrants. Anyone who failed the medical inspection would be quarantined or, at worst, sent back home.
Inside the room, an acrid smell of smoke and rotting wood lingered. More than a year after a devastating explosion had laid waste to a good part of the harbor, as well as the city itself, the horrific effects remained, and with the windows still boarded up, little fresh air could enter to dissipate the unpleasant odors. The city must have suffered serious financial consequences due to the scope of destruction. Why else would so many buildings still not be repaired?
Quinn glanced at the counter and held back a groan of frustration. The same difficult man sat there, writing in his ledger. Would today be any different from the last four times he had talked to Mr. Churly?
An apt name to be sure.
Despite their previous run-ins, Quinn pasted on a smile, determined to win the man over to his way of thinking. Sooner or later, he was bound to give in.
“Good morning, Mr. Churly.” Quinn removed his hat with a slight bow. “How are you this fine day?”