At the very least, it was worth a try.
Before he could change his mind, Darius turned on his heel and headed toward St. Michael’s, hoping he wasn’t about to make a very big mistake.
Ruth looked around the sunroom at the expectant faces watching her. Calling a meeting on a Sunday morning was out of the ordinary, and an atmosphere of uncertainty permeated the room.
The last time they’d been all together here had been for an evening of fun. Everyone had laughed and sang and drank punch, enjoying the festivities and managing to set aside any thoughts regarding the future of Bennington Place.
But now, as much as Ruth hated to be the bearer of bad news, the residents deserved to be warned. After speaking with Jenny last night and getting her permission to tell the others a bit of her story, Ruth was ready.
“Good morning, ladies. I won’t take too much of your time, but a situation has arisen that we feel you should be aware of.”
A murmur went around the room. Cherise and Margaret each held their babies. Jenny sat somewhat removed from the group, as though her mere presence might taint the rest. Olivia, Monica, Patricia, and Nancy filled out the circle of chairs near the windows. Outside, dark clouds still blocked the sun, casting a gloomy pall over the gathering.
“Is it the finances again?” Cherise asked. “Because the girls and I have been talking and we don’t mind contributing something toward our keep.”
“That’s very generous of you, Cherise. We will discuss business in a minute, but this is a more personal issue. One that concerns our safety.”
“Are the protestors back? I didn’t hear any commotion out there.” Margaret patted little Calvin’s back protectively.
“It’s not the protestors.” Ruth glanced over at Jenny, who stared at the floor. “Jenny’s husband has found out where she’s staying. He showed up here last night, and although Olivia managed to get him to leave, he made it clear he’d be back.”
An uneasy silence followed as the women exchanged worried looks.
“Why the concern? Is he dangerous?” Patricia gave Jenny a pointed stare.
Jenny only shrugged, her gaze darting back to the floor.
“He’s been known to be violent.” Ruth didn’t wish to say anything more. She’d promised Jenny to reveal only what was absolutely necessary, but the women needed to be aware that the man wasn’t to be trifled with. Ruth cleared her throat. “So I’m asking all of you to be extra diligent. Make sure the doors and windows on the main floor are locked at all times. If you hear anyone outside, please alert either myself or Olivia, or simply call the police.”
“I’m sorry to put you in this position,” Jenny whispered. “But I had nowhere else to go. I was afraid he’d hurt the baby.” She laid a protective hand over the swell of her stomach, tears rolling silently down her face.
Olivia went to put an arm around Jenny’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. That’s why we’re here, why Bennington Place exists. To provide a safe place for women who need it.” She looked around at the other residents. “We all need to stick together to protect one another.”
“Olivia’s right. Can we count on all of you?” Ruth raised her brows and looked around the room.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Of course.”
“We’ll do whatever it takes.”
“Excellent.” Ruth gave an approving nod. “Now, to discuss other matters. You mentioned finances, Cherise. Happily, we’ve had a few sizable donations come in, which should be enough to cover our roof repairs. However, the reality remains that we’re barely meeting our day-to-day expenses.”
“I think it’s only fair to pay a modest fee for room and board, especially if we’re working,” Nancy offered.
“Thank you, ladies. Though I wish it wasn’t necessary, your suggestion of some type of payment would be greatly appreciated. A small contribution would go a long way to offset our expenses.” Ruth rose from her seat to walk behind the chairs. “The other issue looming over our heads is the upcoming city council meeting.”
As much as she disliked bringing up the topic, she knew the girls had been worried about the possibility of having to close the home. They deserved full transparency about the matter.
“I’m fairly confident that the council will see the pettiness of Mr. Simmons’s petition and allow us to continue our operation here. However, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that we may have to close. In that event, I plan to find another location for Bennington Place. I have an agent scouting potential sites outside the city limits.”
“That could take months. Where would we go in the meantime?” Monica asked.
Ruth held back a sigh, hating the fear on the girls’ faces. “I’m not sure, but we will figure something out. I promise.”
Several of the girls frowned, and murmurs went around the room.
Cherise got to her feet. “I, for one, will follow wherever you and Olivia go, if you’ll allow me. At least until I can earn enough to move out.”
“I appreciate your loyalty, Cherise.” Ruth smiled, still amazed by the woman’s complete turnaround from streetwalker to churchgoer and staunch supporter of all the women at Bennington Place. “You’re welcome to stay as long as we have the room.”
“Well, I don’t want to move out of the city.” Margaret’s lip wobbled. “It will be too hard to commute to my job, especially if the streetcar doesn’t go that far.”
“I agree.” Monica sighed. “I just hope it doesn’t come down to that.”
Nancy and Patricia both nodded, grim looks on their faces.
Ruth looked at each resident in turn. “I understand if the uncertainty is too much for you and you wish to find different accommodations. Just know you’re all part of our family and will always be welcome.” Ruth cleared her throat. “In the meantime, I ask for your prayers to help us discern the Lord’s will for Bennington Place. And on that note, for those of you who wish to attend church with us this morning, we should be on our way.”
As the women trailed somberly from the room, Olivia came over to give Ruth a warm hug. “I know that was difficult. But I’m sure everything will work out.”
Ruth squeezed Olivia’s hand. “I pray you’re right, my dear, because right now the odds certainly seem stacked against us.”
39
Darius sat in the back pew of St. Michael’s, biding his time until the morning Mass was over. It wasn’t so different from his own church, except they spoke Latin instead of Greek. When he’d realized a service was in progress, he slipped in the rear door, hoping to see if Salvatore was present. From the back of the cathedral, Darius peered at the robed men near the altar, fairly certain that the taller of the priests was indeed Salvatore Rosetti.
At the end of the Mass, after most of the people had filed out, Darius walked down the aisle toward Sal, who stood in his flowing vestments, talking to a parishioner. When the woman moved on, the priest looked up and caught sight of Darius.
“Hello,” he said with a surprised smile. “Mr. Reed, isn’t it?”
“That’s right, but please call me Darius.”
“It’s nice to see you. Is Olivia with you?”
“No, she’s not. I was hoping to talk to you, if you have a few minutes.”
A slightly puzzled expression came over the man’s face, but he nodded. “I have some time now. Follow me.”
His heart beating a tad too fast, Darius trailed the priest through a side door into a hallway that led to some offices. Sal entered one of them and gestured for Darius to take a seat.
The room was dark and somber. A bookcase of religious materials lined one wall, while several framed pictures of saints adorned the other. Darius sat down and waited while Sal got comfortable behind the desk.
“What can I do for you, Darius? I presume this has something to do with my sister.” Though Sal’s smile was friendly enough, his expression remained somewhat guarded. Maybe he could sense Darius’s trepidation.
“It does, yes.” Darius
shifted on the creaky chair, suddenly unsure of his right to be here. “There’s something I need your help with.” He inhaled and let out a breath. “I believe it would bring Olivia some peace of mind to know what became of her son. He’s likely been adopted by now, but if we could only find out how he’s doing . . .” Darius trailed off, the man’s frown not inspiring much confidence.
“From what I understand,” Sal said, “adoption records are sealed. The agency doesn’t usually give out that type of information to anyone.”
“I know they won’t talk to me, but I was hoping that with your connection to the child and with the weight of your profession in your favor, you might be able to get some news about him.” He leaned forward. “I’m certain it would mean the world to Olivia to know that her son is with a good family.”
Sal sat back in his chair, studying Darius. “Did my sister ask you to come here?”
“No, she didn’t.”
“Then may I ask what your intention is in doing this?” The priest’s eyes narrowed.
Darius swallowed, the collar of his shirt suddenly too tight. The Spanish Inquisition couldn’t have been much worse than this. “I simply want to help her heal from the pain of her past, if that’s at all possible.”
“I sense there’s more to it than that. Something more personal, perhaps?” One dark brow rose.
The man was astute, Darius would give him that. “I care very deeply for Olivia. And I know losing her son haunts her. If there’s the slightest chance the boy hasn’t been adopted . . .” He took a breath. “I’d like to marry Olivia and help her get him back.”
Sal’s eyes widened. “Marriage? That’s a big commitment.”
“It is. One I’ve given a great deal of thought about.” Darius squared his shoulders. “I love Olivia very much, but she doesn’t think she’s worthy of my affection. Nothing I’ve said seems to make a difference, so I need to do something to prove how serious I am about wanting a life with her.”
And he was serious, he realized. He would do everything in his power to convince Olivia that they belonged together and that they’d make a wonderful family, if only she could let go of her fears.
“What if the boy has been adopted?”
“As long as I can ease Olivia’s mind in some small way, I’ll be happy.”
“I see.” Sal steepled his fingers together while he appeared to contemplate the situation. “Well,” he said at last, “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to make an inquiry. All they can do is say no.”
A tidal wave of relief crashed through Darius, loosening his tense muscles. “Thank you.”
“I’ll need more information, though. The approximate date of birth and the hospital where he was born.”
“I don’t know the exact date, but I believe it was about a year ago at Toronto General Hospital. They could likely give you more accurate information.” He gave a small shrug. “I doubt they’d refuse a request from a priest.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Why not shoot for the moon while he was at it?
“What’s that?”
“Olivia recently helped deliver a baby whom she grew very fond of. The girl was taken from Bennington Place to the Infants’ Home a few weeks ago after her mother passed away. The authorities were looking for any relatives who might be willing to take her, but if she hasn’t been claimed . . .”
Sal’s brows shot up. “You want to adopt her too?”
Darius rubbed his chin. “I might be getting ahead of myself here, but I’d like to have all the facts before I propose to Olivia officially this time.” He hadn’t really proposed at all, actually. She’d never let him get that far.
Sal waited a beat, then pushed a pen and a pad of paper across the desk. “Write down as much information as you can and a phone number where I can reach you. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll see what I can do.”
Darius grabbed the pen. “Thank you. It means a great deal just to have you try.”
He wrote down everything he could think of that might help the priest with his search, then jotted down his work and home telephone numbers. “I won’t say anything to Olivia until I hear back from you. I wouldn’t want to get her hopes up for nothing.”
Sal rose and extended his hand to Darius. “I’m glad my sister has someone to look out for her.” The wary expression was gone, replaced by what looked like growing respect.
Darius smiled and shook his hand. “And I’m glad she has a brother willing to do the same.”
On the walk home from St. Olaf’s Church, Olivia fought to shake the sense of gloom that enveloped her. After yesterday’s upsetting events, she found herself clinging hard to her faith for some sense of optimism. Only her belief that the Lord was guiding her steps allowed her to keep going.
Ahead on the sidewalk, Ruth and the other women walked in silence, seemingly preoccupied with their thoughts as well. Jenny had been too shaken up to venture out, while Margaret and Cherise had chosen to stay home with the babies.
As if to mirror their dark moods, the day that had started off with sunshine and clear skies had turned a stormy gray. In addition, a strong wind had picked up, blowing threatening clouds across the sky.
“We’d better increase our pace if we want to beat the rain,” Ruth said, pulling the lapels of her light jacket more firmly about her throat. “I wish I’d thought to bring my umbrella.”
“It wouldn’t do much good in this wind.” Monica clamped her hand on her head, fighting to keep her hat from flying off.
They quickened their steps as much as possible with the pregnant women trying to keep up. Monica managed well, while poor Nancy and Patricia lumbered on as best they could. The two girls were due any time now, and Olivia hoped this exercise didn’t send either one of them into early labor.
With the threat of a summer storm, perhaps it was best that the other residents had opted to stay home. At the time, though, Olivia had been more than a little discouraged by the women’s reaction to the morning’s meeting, especially with some of them talking about finding alternate living arrangements.
You’re being silly, Olivia chided herself. Bennington Place had been created as a temporary sanctuary for its residents. No one was ever expected to stay indefinitely. Just because Olivia had grown fond of the girls and their babies didn’t give her the right to judge their decisions.
Olivia’s steps slowed as she came upon the entrance to the park. Unbidden images of Sofia and Darius came rushing to mind with painful clarity. Almost against her will, her gaze traveled down the path to the bench where Darius had kissed her for the first time.
Had it only been yesterday since she’d last seen him? It already felt like months.
She pressed a hand to her chest to soothe the ache there, while her other hand clutched her hat. Fat drops of rain had now started to fall, creating large splotches on the sidewalk. They would soon be drenched if the sky opened up any more.
Across the street, a mother pushed a baby carriage while a young boy ran to keep up with her quick strides. An elderly couple walked behind them, huddled under an umbrella. A little farther up, Mr. Simmons wrestled his trash container onto the porch, then stood glaring at them with his arms crossed.
The rain increased as they approached the house, drenching Olivia’s hair and seeping through her clothing. She hustled forward, head down, attempting to avoid the puddles forming on the sidewalk.
The sudden squeal of tires made her head snap up just in time to see a beat-up automobile careen around the corner, swerving from one side of the street to the other. Her heart seized in her chest. What was wrong with the driver?
Across the road, someone screamed, and a child started to wail. The car barely missed the woman with the carriage before it crossed back over, jumped the curb, and barreled toward them on the sidewalk.
“Look out!” Ruth grabbed Olivia and jerked her toward the hedges.
At the last second, the car swerved by them and smashed
into a lamppost. Steam poured from under the crumpled hood. The driver slouched over the steering wheel, not moving.
The rain pelted harder, sending beads of water down Olivia’s neck. She blinked to clear her vision and followed Ruth over to the car. When they peered in the open window, the distinct odor of liquor wafted out.
Ruth’s face became grim. “Olivia, will you call the police? I believe this man is drunk and may need medical attention.”
Olivia took a closer look. “I think that’s the man who was looking for Jenny last night. He’s still wearing the same shirt.”
“Perhaps you should let Jenny know, then.”
Olivia nodded and headed for the house. Her legs were shaking as she climbed the steps.
The front door opened when she got there, and Margaret and Jenny peered out.
“We heard a loud bang,” Margaret said. “What happened?”
Olivia went inside and stood dripping on the mat, trying to come to grips with how close they’d just come to a terrible accident. Her teeth began to chatter—whether from shock or the rain she didn’t know. “A car smashed into the pole outside. The man appears to be hurt. Could you call the police and an ambulance, please?”
“Right away.” Margaret immediately rushed down the hall.
Olivia turned to the other girl. “Jenny, I’m not certain, but it might be your husband.”
The color left Jenny’s face. With jerky movements, she pulled a coat from the hook on the wall, shoved her arms in, then picked an umbrella from the stand and stepped outside.
Olivia followed her out, the rain pelting her with renewed fury. Already Jenny’s skirt was plastered against her legs as she walked out the gate toward the wrecked car.
Olivia glanced across the street, noting with dismay that a small crowd had gathered, huddled under their umbrellas, with Mr. Simmons at the forefront.
A Haven for Her Heart Page 31
