Relief flashed across the woman’s face. “Tell her I’m here if she needs me.”
“I will.”
A feeling of dread rolled in his stomach as he approached Jane’s office, one that intensified when he heard weeping coming through the door. He hesitated. Should he intrude or let her grieve in peace?
But he’d feel terrible if he didn’t at least try to help. He knocked once, then stepped inside and quickly closed the door again.
Jane was hunched over her desk, shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs.
He couldn’t be certain she’d even noticed him entering. He paused for a second, unsure what to do, until the need to offer comfort compelled him to go over and put a tentative arm around her.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. For her to push him away? Yell at him? Order him to get out?
Certainly not for her to turn and bury her face in his shoulder.
Crouched in an awkward position by her chair, he ignored the cramping in his calves and held her while she wept. Whatever the news, it had clearly caused her grief. Was it her husband or her brother?
When she finally pulled away, he handed her his handkerchief. “What’s happened?” he asked softly.
Holding the handkerchief to her mouth, she pointed to her desk. He lifted the crumpled telegram and rose to read it.
We regret to inform you that your son, Corporal Brandon Mitchell, has been listed as Missing in Action and presumed dead. Any new information we receive will be furnished immediately.
Garrett closed his eyes briefly. “I’m so sorry, Jane.” His thoughts flew to Mrs. Mitchell and how this news would affect her. “You probably need to go home.”
She glanced up. “How am I going to tell my mother?”
“Wouldn’t a similar telegram have gone to the house?”
She shook her head. “I made sure they knew to send it here. I didn’t want my mother to ever receive this kind of news alone.” A shudder rippled through her frame. “Poor Brandon. I pray he’s not suffering. Or being tortured in some prisoner-of-war camp.”
“There’s still a chance he could be found unharmed,” he said. “You have to hold on to hope.” But the odds of that outcome were highly unlikely. Everyone knew an MIA designation didn’t usually end well.
She looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “I’m trying. But I know Mama will jump to the worst possible conclusion.” She brushed the tears from her cheeks. “Maybe it would be kinder not to tell her anything. Not until something more definite has been determined.”
As much as he’d like to agree with her, he couldn’t. He remembered hearing about how his own parents had reacted to learning he’d been wounded. Sure, he wanted to spare them from knowing how serious his injuries were, but it wouldn’t have been fair in the long run. They had a right to know the truth. As did Mrs. Mitchell.
“Do you really think it would help? This way, at least she’ll have the chance to pray for him and to be more prepared for any bad news that might arrive.”
Jane let out a long sigh. “I suppose you’re right. I wouldn’t want anyone to keep the news from me. As much as I’d like to, I guess I can’t spare my mother.”
“No, you can’t. But you’ll be there to help her cope.”
She sighed again and blew her nose.
“I can give you a drive home if you’d like,” he offered.
“Thank you.” Her eyes appeared to mist over again.
He nodded. “I’ll give you some time. When you’re ready, just come and find me.” He started toward the door.
“Garrett?”
“Yes?”
“Would you mind telling Melanie and the others for me? I know they’ll be worried, and I don’t think I can face them right now.”
“Of course.” Wishing he could do more for her, he left the room to give her time to compose herself.
He found Melanie in the hall, waiting for him. “How is she? Was it very bad news?”
He drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Fairly bad. Her brother has been declared missing in action.”
“Oh no.” Melanie’s brow crumpled. “I only met Brandon a few times, but he seemed like a good person. Always looking out for their mother.”
Garrett started down the hall toward his office. “At least it wasn’t bad news about Jane’s husband. I suppose that’s some consolation.”
Melanie made a face. “Jane would far rather that jerk was missing than Brandon.” Her eyes went wide, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.
Garrett stiffened. “Why would you say that?”
Melanie bit her bottom lip and wrapped her arms around her middle. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He leaned closer, pinning her with a direct stare. “Why would you call Jane’s husband a jerk? Did he mistreat her? Or cheat on her?”
Melanie’s words had just confirmed the unease he’d felt standing in Mrs. Mitchell’s living room the other day. Something about Jane’s marriage seemed off. Why were there no pictures of her husband at the house or in her office? And why had Mrs. Mitchell seemed surprised when he mentioned the man?
“I’m sorry.” The color rose in Melanie’s face. “It’s not my place to say. You’ll have to ask Jane.”
Then before he could say another word, she fled down the hall.
Pushing through the fog of her sorrow, Jane climbed the stairs to her house, vaguely conscious of Garrett’s car driving away. His calming presence during the drive home had steadied her and allowed her to get her emotions under better control so she could break the unfortunate news to her mother.
Why couldn’t it have been Donald?
That one thought, as gruesome as it was, kept circling her brain. She almost wanted to rail at God for depriving her of her brother, the one decent man in her life and the light of Mama’s existence. Now, the real possibility existed that Brandon would never return, and Jane and Mama would be on their own for the rest of their lives.
Her legs felt like lead as she let herself in the door.
“Jane, is that you?” Mama’s concerned voice came from the living room.
“Yes, Mama.” She removed her overcoat and hung it on the rack.
Taking a deep breath, she entered the room, where her mother was seated in her favorite chair.
Mama looked up, deep lines grooving her forehead. “Why are you home at this hour? Are you ill?”
The room spun around Jane in a sickening circle, forcing her to grasp the back of a chair. Be strong, Jane. Your mother needs you.
She squared her shoulders and moved to sit beside her. “I received some bad news this morning, Mama.”
Her mother dropped the knitting onto her lap. “Did you lose your job?”
“No, Mama. That’s not it.”
“Is it . . . is it Brandon?” The words were a mere whisper, holding a thread of hope that the answer would be no.
Jane pressed her fingers to her trembling lips and nodded. “He’s been declared missing in action.” She would not add the “presumed dead” part. Mama didn’t need to hear that proclamation. Not until it had been proven beyond a shadow of a doubt.
For a moment, her mother sat there in stunned silence, staring at Jane as though she spoke a foreign language. Then her mouth fell open and a keening wail escaped as she crumpled over her knees.
Jane knelt in front of her and rubbed her back. “You mustn’t give up hope, Mama. There’s still a chance he’ll come back to us.”
Lost in her sorrow, Mama appeared not to hear her. “Oh, my beautiful boy. Why, Lord? Why would you take my only son?”
Jane shivered as Donald’s similar rant came back to haunt her. He’d said almost those exact words when she’d miscarried the second time. “My son. Why would God take my son?”
Donald had been inconsolable—so much so that he could offer Jane no comfort in the midst of her own devastating grief. She’d been forced to wallow in her guilt and pain alone, never imagining her life would get worse a few weeks later w
hen Donald walked out on their marriage.
Yet losing Brandon would be worse for her mother because he had been her rock all these years since Papa died.
She wept with her mother, then at last when Mama raised her head, Jane handed her a handkerchief.
“Did they say anything else?” Mama asked.
“Just that they’d let us know if any new information came to light.”
“You mean when they find his body.” More tears trickled down Mama’s wrinkled cheeks. She looked as though she’d aged ten years in ten minutes. “We all know missing in action really means dead.”
There was no point in arguing with her, especially when Jane couldn’t dispute the truth of her statement.
“This has been a terrible shock, Mama. Maybe you should lie down for a while.”
She shook her head. “I want to go to church to pray for Brandon.”
The idea took hold of Jane, certainty growing that church was exactly where they should go. As she helped her mother get ready, Jane remembered Garrett’s parting words.
“Your mother will need you today, Jane. Don’t worry about anything at the office. We can handle it. Take all the time you need.” Garrett’s gaze had held hers, silently communicating his sympathy.
His expression had said more, had meant more to her, than all the verbal platitudes in the world. For the first time, she didn’t worry that he had a hidden agenda or would use her weakness against her.
Perhaps she didn’t need to view Garrett Wilder as her enemy after all.
12
Garrett sat under the dim light of his desk lamp and rubbed his eyes. A glance at the clock on the wall indicated that it was after ten in the evening. No wonder his vison was blurry. He’d been staring at columns of numbers for hours.
Once he’d finished dinner at the boardinghouse, he’d come back to the office, needing the quiet of the empty building to aid in the detailed work he wanted to accomplish.
After the shocking news Jane had received earlier in the week, she’d been leaving the office right at five o’clock each day to go home to her mother. He hated seeing the change in Jane, her shoulders weighted with sorrow, her eyes dimmed. Gradually, though, the shock seemed to be wearing off, which was a blessing, since it could be years before the women ever learned of Brandon’s fate. In the meantime, it would be better to carry on with their lives as best they could.
Another issue had been bothering Garrett since that day. He couldn’t get Melanie’s inadvertent remark about Jane’s husband out of his mind. Though he wanted to trust Jane with every fiber of his being, he couldn’t ignore the fact that he felt like she was hiding something. And that fact alone made it difficult to rule her out as a potential suspect in the missing money.
Especially now that he’d found evidence that seemed to corroborate the board members’ suspicions.
Someone had indeed been changing figures in the ledger and skimming money from the accounts. Granted, he needed a magnifying glass to really see how the numbers had been altered, but Garrett had found several such cases over the last six months of entries where a decimal place had been changed, or a zero had been changed to an eight, or a one had been added in front of a number. Not huge amounts of money, but in the end they all added up.
And Jane’s initials were on every page.
He pinched the bridge of his nose. There was no way to prove if the changes had been made by someone after the fact, or if Jane herself had made them. Was it merely a coincidence that these alterations had begun only after Jane had taken over for Mr. Mills?
Garrett’s stomach ached just thinking about it. But after witnessing the run-down condition of the Mitchell residence and remembering Mrs. Mitchell’s remark about relying on Jane’s salary, it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that Jane could be in some sort of financial trouble and had given in to temptation.
Could this tie in somehow with Melanie’s bad opinion of Jane’s husband? Had he possibly racked up huge debts before he went off to war, leaving Jane to deal with the consequences?
Garrett rubbed the back of his neck. The more he considered his options, the more he concluded that he would have to address this with Jane herself. He could see no other way around it.
Yet the thought of facing her with any type of accusation made the acid rise in his throat.
The only thing that might help him now was prayer.
Lord, help me to discern the true culprit behind these thefts. And give me the words to approach Jane without accusation. Let her see that I’m only seeking the truth. And I ask that if Jane is guilty that I might treat her with the same compassion as you would. Amen.
With his heart not much lighter, Garrett put the ledger away in his top drawer, turned off the lights, and headed home for the night.
This has to be the longest week in history.
Late on Thursday afternoon, Jane opened her office, weariness weighing her down. The arrival of the telegram on Tuesday had only been the start of the bad news.
Mrs. Shaughnessy’s reports on Martin were less than encouraging as he continued to cause problems with the other children at the shelter. Jane had asked Bonnie Dupuis to do the preliminary work in searching for potential foster families for the boy, but so far, she hadn’t come up with anything. It looked like Jane would have to take over his case. After all, she knew Martin’s history better than anyone, and she would be the best judge of a family that might suit him.
She let out a sigh as she set her satchel on the floor. If only there were more hours in the day. This week she’d been working fewer hours than normal, wanting to spend more time with Mama and make certain that stress over Brandon didn’t result in another visit to the hospital.
Once again, Jane struggled with her duty to her mother versus her commitment to her career, and unfortunately, it was becoming evident that her job was suffering. Ever since Garrett Wilder’s arrival, Jane couldn’t seem to get her feet under her. And instead of feeling more confident in the position, she felt as though she were floundering, barely keeping her head above water.
Her meeting this afternoon with the mayor was one more example. It had not gone at all the way she’d hoped. He’d flatly refused to increase the city’s funding for the Children’s Aid, claiming that the downturn in the economy made it necessary to pour more money into helping the unemployment situation as well as other social services. Long lines at the Scott Mission and various other soup kitchens around the city proved the truth of his words, but it didn’t lessen the sting of rejection. Mayor Conboy had gently advised her to focus her efforts on seeking additional funding from private sources. He reminded her of the presentations Mr. Mills liked to make to various philanthropic committees to plead their cause.
Jane was well aware of her boss’s efforts in this regard. He’d achieved great success in the past, convincing the wealthy to part with their coins. If only Jane could follow in his footsteps. But the idea of standing up before rooms full of people begging for money, even for a good cause, made spots dance before her eyes. Not only that, but many of the groups Mr. Mills solicited were men’s groups, and she’d had no luck in getting them to agree to meet with her. The best she’d been able to do was send out a barrage of letters attempting to solicit donations, but her efforts thus far had met with virtually no response.
She pressed her fingers to her temples, wishing she could erase the doubts that kept surfacing. Doubts that she truly had the skills and the stamina to do this job. Was she letting Mr. Mills down with her reticence? Letting the children down by not doing everything in her power to acquire more funding?
A knock interrupted her tortured thoughts.
“Come in.”
Garrett stepped inside. “Do you have a few minutes? There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
At the bleak expression on his face, Jane’s spirits sank even lower. Whatever he had to say, it couldn’t be good. But there was no point in putting it off.
“I can spare some time.�
�
“Thanks.” He made a point of closing the door firmly behind him before taking a seat. He set a book and a notepad on the chair beside him, then let out a long breath before focusing his attention on her. “I’m afraid this is going to be an unpleasant conversation, and I ask for your patience at the outset.”
Tingles of alarm crept up her spine. Surely he didn’t have the power to fire her. No, that would have to be Mr. Fenmore and the board’s decision. But the grimness of Garrett’s features told her it was something equally as serious. She reached for her eyeglasses and slipped them on. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m about to bend the rules a bit.” He ran a hand over his jaw. “But I don’t see a way around it.”
Jane straightened her back against the spokes of her chair. She’d never seen Garrett so serious. “Go on.”
“Despite the short amount of time I’ve been here, I feel you and I have developed a certain level of trust between us. Would you agree?”
“I would,” she said carefully. Her mind flew in all directions, but she couldn’t come up with any reason for this talk.
“What I’m about to say must remain absolutely confidential. The board would not be pleased with what I’m about to tell you.”
Jane’s hands began to shake. She clasped them together on the desktop to disguise their trembling. “I understand.”
“One of the main reasons I was brought in to the Children’s Aid Society,” he said, staring directly into her eyes, “was to find out if someone is skimming money from the accounts.”
Jane blinked, then shook her head. “No, that’s not possible. I go over the books every month and—” She stopped, a cold pit opening up in her stomach. “Are you saying the board suspects me?”
Garrett’s blue gaze remained steady. “Unfortunately, no one is above suspicion. No matter how much I wish it wasn’t the case.”
She fought to stay calm. “Could you elaborate a bit more about these missing funds? I’ve never noticed anything out of the ordinary with the books.” But then again, finances were not her strong suit. If someone wanted to, it would be fairly easy to get something by her. But not by Mr. Warren.
To Find Her Place Page 9