“Ice hockey?”
Martin shot him another flinty stare. “I don’t have any skates. I play on the road.”
“Ah, I see. That sounds fun.”
Mrs. Linder brought two cups over to the table. “Here you go, fellows.”
Garrett picked up one of them. “Thank you. This looks delicious.” He took a quick sip that practically scalded his tongue and sucked in a breath. “They don’t call it hot cocoa for nothing.”
Martin snorted and leaned over to blow on the surface of his cup.
Mrs. Linder turned off the stove, poured the remaining liquid from the pot into a chipped teacup, then took a seat beside Martin.
“Mr. Wilder,” she said. “Would you excuse us, please? I’d like to talk to Martin in private.”
“Certainly. Nice to meet you, Martin. Maybe we’ll throw a ball around one day.”
Why had he said that when he doubted the opportunity would ever arise?
Back in his tiny office, Garrett found it difficult to concentrate on the numbers in front of him, since his mind kept wandering to Mrs. Linder and Martin. The two seemed quite familiar with each other. What sort of history did they share?
Something about Martin tugged at Garrett, and as he mulled over the possible reason, he realized the boy reminded him of Nelson, his childhood friend. Martin bore the same haunted look Nelson had worn when he first came to live with Garrett’s neighbors on the next farm over. Gradually, thanks to Mr. and Mrs. O’Neill’s patience with the boy, Nelson had learned to relax and understand that he was truly safe. The last Garrett had heard, Nelson had come back to help his adoptive father run the farm after the death of Mrs. O’Neill. Garrett hoped that Martin would be as lucky as Nelson and someday find a permanent home.
About twenty minutes passed before Garrett heard Mrs. Linder’s voice.
“Do you have a jacket, Martin?”
“No, ma’am.”
“That’s all right. We’ll find one for you. Let me see if Mr. Wilder would like to accompany us.”
Footsteps sounded outside his door and Mrs. Linder peered inside. “I’m taking Martin over to the shelter now. I thought it might be a good opportunity to give you a tour.”
Garrett closed the ledger and rose. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
Mrs. Linder stepped inside and lowered her voice. “Martin isn’t happy about going back. I’ll need a quick word with the matron when we get there to make sure she treats him with sensitivity.”
Garrett barely kept the surprise from his face. Surely tighter discipline was warranted, not sensitivity. But now was not the time to begin voicing his opinion. Not when he didn’t fully understand the dynamics involved. “Whatever I can do to help, let me know.”
A relieved look came over her face, and she flashed him a warm smile. “Thank you. That poor child has been through so much. I want to make this transition as smooth as possible.”
“Then smooth is what we’ll aim for.” Garrett grabbed his overcoat from the hook. “Lead on.”
4
In the hallway, Jane stopped to put on her coat, since the overcast skies indicated it might rain. She had hoped to give Mrs. Shaughnessy more than five minutes’ notice before she brought Mr. Wilder over for the first time, so the matron could have the house and the children in tip-top form. But it made sense for him to come with them now.
Jane reached for her satchel and allowed the tension to ease out of her shoulders. Despite all the commotion over Martin, she’d managed to telephone Mama while Melanie was seeing to the boy and was relieved to find her mother in better spirits. Even so, Jane was thankful that she’d asked their neighbor to check on Mama, as she had the previous day. Mrs. Peters was quite familiar with her mother’s condition, and Jane trusted her to know if the situation called for Jane to come home.
“The children’s shelter is just a short walk around the block,” she said as they waited for Martin and Melanie.
“It’s certainly handy having the shelter so close by.” Mr. Wilder had donned his fedora and trench coat, then waited for Jane by the door.
“It is indeed. I usually go over at least once a week to speak with the matron, check on things, and visit the children.”
His dark brows rose. “Really? Is that part of your job as directress?”
Heat rose in Jane’s cheeks. “That’s a matter of interpretation. Mr. Mills’s view was that the shelter was best run by Mrs. Shaughnessy. He preferred to concentrate on the child protective services. But since I’d already established a good rapport with the children and staff at the shelter, I decided to remain as involved as possible, without sacrificing any other aspect of my job. So even if it’s on my lunch, I make time to visit them.”
Just then, Melanie emerged from the reception area, one hand on Martin’s shoulder. He was wearing a brown knitted sweater, one of several they kept on hand for just such an emergency. It would be fine for the short walk to the shelter, where they would have to find more clothes for him until they could retrieve his few belongings from the McElroys.
“Thank you, Melanie,” Jane said. “We should be back in half an hour or so.” Jane took Martin’s hand. “All right. Let’s go get you settled, young man.”
She led the way outside and along the sidewalk. The cool autumn air was a nice change from the stuffiness inside, chasing away the beginnings of a headache. Jane inhaled deeply. Somewhere a fireplace was going, the lingering smell of smoke scenting the air.
They walked in silence for several minutes until Jane felt the need to break the ice between the two males. Clearly Martin did not trust Mr. Wilder, and the man wasn’t doing much to change Martin’s view.
“I was a caseworker with the agency for several years,” she said to Mr. Wilder, “which is where I met Martin. Isn’t that right, Martin?”
The boy nodded, but his eyes remained glued to the ground.
“You must be very familiar with the children, then,” Mr. Wilder said.
“I am. I try to learn something about each one and spend time talking to them individually.”
Mr. Wilder slowed his long strides to match hers and Martin’s. “I’m glad you’ll be able to introduce me. A stranger appearing out of nowhere might make them uncomfortable.”
“That’s very perceptive of you. Have you had much experience with children, Mr. Wilder?”
He glanced over at her. “If that’s your subtle way of asking if I have any children of my own, the answer is no. But I do have a niece and two nephews, so I know a bit about kids.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Jane hastened to clarify. “But your familiarity with children could prove helpful in this job.”
“I also know a little about the foster care system. When I was growing up, our neighbors were foster parents for several children, one of whom became my best friend.” He lowered his voice. “Nelson told me a few sad stories of some of the places he’d lived before he came to our neighbor’s farm.”
She nodded. “There are many unfortunate cases, which is why we do frequent inspections and why we try to make the shelter a welcoming place.”
Martin gave a slight snort, which Jane pointedly ignored.
They rounded the corner, and the ivy-covered building came into view.
“This home used to belong to a former president of the Children’s Aid, Mr. John MacDonald,” Jane said. “The agency bought it after his death in 1928.”
“It’s beautiful.” Mr. Wilder stopped to gaze up at the high rooftop and the rows of shuttered windows. “Looks spacious.”
“It is. Even though the children share the bedrooms, they each have their own space. There’s a dining room, a living room, and a common area that’s used as a classroom and activity room. But most of the children attend a neighborhood school.”
“Is there a yard in back?”
“A small one, yes. There’s also a park several blocks away. The staff makes sure the children get lots of fresh air and exercise.” She walked up the few stairs to the fro
nt door, tugging Martin along with her. “Come in and I’ll introduce you to the matron.”
Mrs. Shaughnessy was waiting in the front hallway for them. She was a short, plump woman with a homey sense about her that the children responded to quite well. Yet, at the same time, she managed to uphold strict discipline in the shelter, so that everything ran smoothly.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Shaughnessy.”
“Good afternoon, Jane.” The woman smiled, then turned to Martin. “Hello, Martin. I trust your stay with us will be more successful this time around.”
The boy didn’t respond.
Jane tapped his shoulder. “Martin, it’s polite to answer when Mrs. Shaughnessy speaks to you.”
Martin quickly straightened his posture. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you, ma’am.”
Jane turned to the man behind her. “Mrs. Shaughnessy, this is Mr. Wilder.”
The woman bobbed her head. “How do you do, sir? I wish we’d had more notice of your arrival. We would have had the children all assembled and waiting. Most of them are out at school right now, but the younger ones are upstairs in the playroom.”
Mr. Wilder removed his hat. “No need to worry, Mrs. Shaughnessy. I’d prefer to see them in their natural state anyway.” He walked down the hall, scanning the area as he went.
A trickle of annoyance crept through Jane’s system. Politeness dictated that he should wait for the matron to invite him in for a tour.
Jane hurried after him. “Before we show you around, Mr. Wilder, I have something to discuss with Mrs. Shaughnessy. Martin, will you take Mr. Wilder and wait in the parlor, please?”
“Yes, Mrs. Linder.” He pointed to a doorway across the hall. “It’s in here.”
With little recourse, Mr. Wilder nodded. “Thank you, Martin.”
They went into the main living area, which housed several couches, a fireplace, a wooden table and chairs, and a piano. Mrs. Shaughnessy liked to play music in the evenings and even attempted to teach the children to play a few simple songs.
“We won’t be long,” Jane said. “Make yourself comfortable.” Then she took Mrs. Shaughnessy by the arm and guided her down the hall. They entered Mrs. Shaughnessy’s cozy office, formerly Mr. MacDonald’s study, and took a seat by the hearth.
“I presume this is about Martin,” Mrs. Shaughnessy said once she’d situated herself. “Or is it Mr. Wilder who’s got you in a flap?”
Jane huffed out a breath. “Both. A child being dumped off like unwanted goods is not the best impression to make on Mr. Wilder. Especially on his first day here.”
“It’s unfortunate but not your fault, dear.” Mrs. Shaughnessy gave her a sympathetic look.
Jane unfastened her coat. “I only hope we can find a better fit for Martin this time around.”
“That doesn’t seem likely with the shortage of families available.” Mrs. Shaughnessy’s ample chest rose with her sigh. “What are we to do with Martin until then? He clearly doesn’t want to be back here.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t do well in group settings. He acts up to get the attention he doesn’t even realize he’s seeking. I’ll have to double my efforts to see if we have any families who might take him.” Jane shifted on her seat. “In the meantime, we need to make sure the other children treat Martin better than they have in the past. No more bullying or mean-spirited teasing. It will only set off his temper.” She paused. “Could one of the older girls take him under their wing? Perhaps Rachel or Bettina? That way he’d have someone looking out for him while giving him the attention he needs.”
“That might work. I’ll speak to the girls when they get back from school.” The matron shook her head. “It’s a shame that an older couple couldn’t adopt Martin. I think he’d thrive with one-on-one attention.”
“So do I. Unfortunately, the agency has fairly rigid criteria on adopting.” Jane rose from the armchair. “If only this dreadful war would end. Maybe then we’d have more families willing to give these children the homes they deserve.”
“From your lips to God’s ears, my dear.”
Jane hurried back to the living room, praying Mr. Wilder and Martin were both in one piece. The harsh plunking of piano keys met her ears as she entered.
Mr. Wilder sat on one of the sofas, a pained expression on his face.
“I see you’re in dire need of some piano lessons, Martin,” Jane said with a light laugh. “Should I let Mrs. Shaughnessy know?”
The boy glared at her, likely miffed that his attempt to annoy Mr. Wilder hadn’t worked.
Jane turned to the man, who had risen from his seat. “Would you care to see the dining room and the kitchen before we go upstairs?”
“I’d prefer to start where the children are, if you don’t mind.”
“Very well.”
They walked out into the hallway, where Mrs. Shaughnessy hovered by the telephone stand.
Before Jane could explain their intentions, Mr. Wilder started up the wide central staircase.
Jane laid a comforting hand on the matron’s shoulder and spoke as quietly as she could. “Try not to worry, Mrs. Shaughnessy. Remember, he’s here to help the agency, not make matters worse. I’d better go up before he startles the children. Come along, Martin.”
She hurried up the stairs as fast as her high heels and slim-fitting skirt would allow, with Martin right behind. Jane caught up to Garrett at the far end of the corridor, where he stood peering into the playroom. As she approached, he moved aside to let her by.
She clasped Martin’s hand in hers and entered the room. Most of the children were seated on the floor with various toys scattered around them. The small tables contained tidy piles of paper and a basket of pencils. Jane nodded to Miss Channing, one of the shelter’s aides, who sat at a desk in the corner.
“Children,” Jane said in a loud voice. “May I have your attention for a moment, please?”
The laughter and murmurs stopped as the children all looked up.
“Good afternoon, everyone.”
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Linder,” a chorus of voices sounded.
“I’m here to introduce you to two people. Some of you may remember Martin Smith.” She put her hands on the boy’s shoulders and gently guided him forward. “He’s going to be staying here with you again for a while. I hope you’ll make him feel welcome.”
One of the girls, Denise Turner, stood up. “Hi, Martin. You can sit with me if you’d like.”
Jane felt the muscles in Martin’s shoulders relax a bit. Thank goodness for little Denise, who despite getting into her own share of trouble, had a generous heart and a lovable spirit.
“And this gentleman beside me is Mr. Wilder. He’ll be working with us for a few weeks to study how we run things at the Children’s Aid. I trust you will be cooperative and polite if he asks you any questions.”
“Hello, children.” Garrett stepped forward, a wide smile on his face as he pulled a small bag from his pocket. “If you’ll come forward, I have a treat for each of you.”
Squeals of delight rang out as the children scrambled into line.
Frowning, Jane leaned forward to see what exactly he intended to give out. Her stomach dropped. Peppermint candies? Mrs. Shaughnessy would have a fit. Candy was forbidden contraband, except on the rarest of occasions, because visits to the dentist were less than desirable. But Jane couldn’t say anything now or she would undermine Garrett’s position.
“Can I have two candies, Mr. Wilder?” Bobby asked. “One for my sister when she gets back from school?” Bobby hopped up and down beside the toy box. A red-and-blue-striped ball slipped from his fingers and rolled across the floor, unheeded.
“Me too, Mr. Wilder,” Denise said. “I have a . . . brother.”
Jane was about to step in and chastise the girl for fibbing, but Garrett held up a hand.
“Sorry, one candy each,” he said firmly. “I’ll leave the bag with Mrs. Shaughnessy. She can give them out to the other children when they return from school.”
“Do they?” Both brows rose. “That sounds like fun, but I’ll be busy in the office tomorrow. Perhaps another time.”
Jane stepped forward. “Say good-bye to Mr. Wilder, children.” She forced a note of authority into her voice and glanced at Miss Channing, who had remained seated the whole time. Jane made a note to discuss her performance with Mrs. Shaughnessy the next time they met. The young woman seemed a trifle too reserved to be in charge of the children who required a firm hand. However, they couldn’t really afford to lose even one worker.
“Thank you, Miss Channing. Forgive us for interrupting your playtime.” Jane gave Mr. Wilder a pointed look and headed out into the hall.
“Am I correct in thinking you’re annoyed with me, Mrs. Linder?” A hint of amusement laced the man’s voice as he followed her.
She huffed out a breath. “You really should have asked about the candies before handing them out. Certain rules must be respected. Not to mention that disrupting their routine is not conducive to—”
He laid a hand on her arm. “I only wanted to put the children at ease. Surely one little peppermint won’t hurt.”
She clamped her mouth shut, while attempting to ignore the heat from his hand filtering through her sleeve. With effort, she forced her muscles to relax. “If you’re ready, I’ll show you the rest of the shelter.”
“I’d appreciate that.” He gave her a quick smile.
She forced her attention away from his appealing dimples and focused on giving him a tour of the upper floors. She’d been around good-looking men before. Why did this one fluster her so much?
Before they returned to the main level, she checked on Martin in the playroom. Little Denise sat beside him at one of the desks, a game board in front of them.
“Looks like Martin’s made a friend.” Mr. Wilder’s low voice sounded by her ear.
A tingle traveled down her spine, and she moved a step away. “If anyone can befriend Martin, it’s Denise.”
“She does seem to be a charmer. Reminds me a little of my niece, Amanda.”
To Find Her Place Page 4