by Jody Hedlund
“Reverend,” she began, “I know you’ve been praying for a miracle this week.”
He nodded. He’d spent hours on his knees. Whenever he was in a crisis, prayer was his first and most important task.
“Rather than waiting for a miracle, I felt God prompting me to be one again.” She glanced over her shoulder, and Guy had no doubt she was drawing strength from Ridley.
“I bought the old brewery on Seventh Street.” She lifted her dainty chin as though daring him to defy her.
But he couldn’t speak past his astonishment.
“I have workers coming here tonight to move the sewing supplies over to the new workspace.”
He could only stare at her as a thousand thoughts rained through his mind in a torrential downpour, flooding him with doubt, amazement, excitement, fear, and wonder.
“Of course, the working conditions will be much less than ideal until I can have the place cleaned and renovated,” she continued. “But I don’t want the women to lose a day of work if at all possible. They’re counting on the income. And Mr. Devlin has entrusted us with the work being done in a timely manner.”
Guy grabbed the desk to hold himself up. How had she managed to obtain the old brewery? He knew she was wealthy. That much was obvious from the first day he met her. But apparently she had much more than he’d realized. And how was she able to wrest such a valuable piece of property away from the contractors who’d been vying for the dilapidated building in order to tear it down and build more tenements?
Currently the old brewery was one of the most dangerous sites in lower Manhattan, overrun by thugs and gangs. Even if Christine had indeed purchased the place, how would she be able to clean out all the vermin and vice there? And how would she make the changes necessary to have a workshop?
“The police went in yesterday and forced out all the trespassers,” she said as if reading his concerns. “Officers are there again this morning to provide protection to the men I’ve hired to start the cleanup of the facility.”
Guy sat back down in his chair before his legs gave way. He was being impolite to sit in a lady’s presence, but he was too shocked to do anything else.
She moved away from the doorway and into his office. “Please say something.” Her voice dropped to a distressed whisper.
Only then did he notice the vulnerability in her eyes. For as confident and determined as she appeared, underneath she was frightened and wanted his assurance.
She hadn’t decided to shut him out of her life. At least not yet.
His relief at that realization gave him renewed strength. “Just when I’d believed our plans had come to naught, God has provided a way.”
“These women finally have hope,” she said, nodding. “Have you seen the change in their faces, the joy? The way they hold their heads a little bit higher? After giving them a chance to leave the chains of sin behind, how could I take away that hope? How could I throw them back into the life they loathed?”
“You couldn’t” was his simple reply.
She visibly swallowed hard. “I had to do something, so I had Ridley research all the available buildings in the area. He discovered that the old brewery was owned by a businessman my father had once bailed out of debt.”
“Just like Mr. Devlin?”
“Apparently my father liked having men in his pocket.”
“And I take it Ridley isn’t afraid to ask for a return favor.”
She smiled then, and even though it was small, it was beautiful. “He’s still a smart businessman himself, and I’ve learned a lot from him over the past month.”
“Even so, I’m impressed that you were able to buy the brewery building when so many others were vying for it.”
“I paid the right price is all.”
In the process of saving the women, had Christine reduced her fortune to nothing? God forbid that she end up in their situation, forced into hard labor and needing the charity of others to survive.
As though seeing the worry on his face, her smile widened. “At the moment I’m currently homeless—”
“You sold your home?”
She nodded. But her smile remained.
“What will you do? How will you live?”
“I’ll be just fine. I will always have a steady income from my trust. And Ridley assures me that if everything comes together as planned, our business will turn a profit and eventually I’ll be able to expand. There’s enough room for it.”
“You’ll have enough room for twice the workers.”
“Maybe even triple. And the women have talked about needing safe, clean places to live. I hope to turn the third and fourth floors into a dormitory. I’ll charge the workers a small fee to stay there and another small fee for a hot meal.”
He was genuinely pleased at the way God had worked out the situation for her. “I’m happy for you, Christine. It looks like God has richly blessed your efforts.”
A cloud seemed to pass in front of her eyes. She twisted her reticule and stared down the floor. As the silence stretched between them, he could sense she wanted to say something.
At last she cleared her throat. “I hope the Society’s advisory board will reconsider allowing you to resume your work at the chapel now that I’m moving the workshop.”
Guy leaned back in his chair, not caring that his large frame pressed the old wood to its breaking point. He folded his arms across his chest and tried to decide the best way to answer her.
“Since I’m to blame for all that’s happened,” she added, “I’ll gladly do what I can to help you until you’re reestablished here—”
“Christine,” he said, interrupting her, “you’re not at fault for anything that happened to me.”
“I hold myself entirely responsible.” Her voice was an anguished whisper, and when she looked at him, she revealed eyes that were equally tortured. “And now you’re free to return to your ministry the way it was before I came along and ruined it.”
He stood then, the sudden movement causing his chair to tip backward. It would have fallen to the floor, but in the narrow space it banged against the wall instead. “I am my own man.” He rounded the desk. “And I make my own decisions before God. It’s to Him and Him alone that I hold myself accountable.”
Her eyes widened as he closed the distance between them. “But I coerced you—”
“Christine, you are a beautiful and charming woman. There’s no doubt about that.” He stopped in front of her, having to hold himself back from crushing her in his arms. “You move me like no other woman ever has, but I’m not so shallow or so weak as to blindly follow a pretty woman. I wouldn’t have agreed to the plans if I hadn’t felt God’s approval of the endeavor.”
“Really?” Her lashes fanned upward, revealing her lovely eyes.
“Really. I know it’s time to move on. If God has closed the door of this building, who am I to stand against Him? Especially when He appears to have opened wider and better doors elsewhere?”
Confusion mingled with sadness in her expression. “Then what will you do?”
“I’m not sure.” He glanced at his books, still needing to be packed. “I’m considering various options.”
She nibbled her lip and then spoke in a rush. “Would you consider opening a chapel at the new building?”
As much as he wanted to be with her in this project, he wasn’t wealthy. He was a working-class man and always had been. He didn’t have a trust that would purchase food and pay his landlady for the room he rented. Of course, he didn’t require much. The salary from the Ladies Home Missionary Society hadn’t been large, yet it was enough to sustain him and cover his needs.
At his hesitancy, embarrassment flushed her cheeks and she started to step away. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. I’m making a nuisance of myself again—”
He stopped her with a touch to her hand. He was being presumptuous again. But he had to make sure she understood, that in spite of everything that had happened, he didn’t blame her in an
y way. He laced his fingers through hers and drew her back. He took courage when she didn’t resist. With his other hand he tenderly lifted her chin to gaze into her eyes. “You have never, and could never, be a nuisance to me.”
What had happened to her to make her think so little of herself? He caressed the smooth porcelain of her cheek. “Every second of every minute I’ve spent with you over the past weeks has brought me immense pleasure.”
“I’ve brought you trouble.”
He rubbed his thumb across the delicate arch of her cheekbone, relishing the silkiness of her skin. “God has used you to help me grow. And I thank Him for that. I wish we didn’t have to part ways.”
“Then will you think about opening a new chapel and helping me to run the workshop?”
He hesitated once more, which only caused her to break free and retreat to the door. “Wait, Christine. Could you give me a few days to pray about it?”
She halted.
“Perhaps I just need to have more faith that God will provide for my needs. After all, other missionaries have stepped out in faith, those with much less than me.”
“I shall find a way to provide you a salary,” she said, understanding lightening her features. “I’m willing to pay you myself—”
“I can’t accept your charity.”
She paused and considered his statement for a moment. She had to know she was already giving enough. Besides, he was a man of some pride.
“As I said, Ridley has assured me that eventually we may be able to earn a small profit from the workshop and dormitory,” she said. “But even so, we shall seek sponsors for our endeavors. I have to believe there are good and kindhearted people who would like to help the poor but simply do not know how. We shall appeal to them.”
He nodded. Perhaps it could be done. With the numerous accounts of murders, thefts, and other problems among the burgeoning immigrant communities, the wealthy of New York City were growing more alarmed about the need to stop the spread of crime and poverty. “I could arrange speaking engagements at churches around the city to draw awareness to your ministry.”
“Our ministry.”
He inhaled a deep breath, and a sweet sense of peace settled within him. “Yes, our ministry.”
She smiled, and he whispered a prayer of thanksgiving. He couldn’t hold back a grin any more than he could hold in the relief that God was allowing her to remain in his life—at least for a little while longer.
“Then shall we tell our dear workers to plan on attending chapel tomorrow morning at the new building?” she asked.
“I like that plan.”
“It will still be quite a mess, however.”
“I believe in you. You’re such a capable and determined woman that you can make just about anything happen.”
She nodded and started to turn away. Then she paused. “Guy?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you.” Her absolute sincerity told him she’d been given few compliments in her life.
As the sound of Christine’s footsteps faded with her retreat, he realized that next to the new ministry, the thing he wanted to do most in life was spend every day telling her how special and beautiful and precious she was.
Now if only he could convince her to let him do that.
Chapter 11
Elise pressed her finger to her lips in warning to the others to stay silent as a gang of boys passed by their hiding spot. After almost a full week of living on the streets, her fingers were deplorably dirty, her nails cracked, and her clothes so filthy that she could hardly stand the stench of herself.
But she was too busy trying to keep her small family alive to worry about how clean they were. Their lack of cleanliness was the least of her concerns. The four pairs of frightened, hungry eyes staring at her told her that their problems were growing bigger every day, especially because she suspected that Friedric was searching for them.
No matter what abandoned doorway they slept in or what pile of garbage they buried themselves behind, eventually someone would spot them. And whenever that happened, they had to move on because they didn’t know who to trust to keep their location a secret from Friedric.
“I’m hungry,” Olivia said again. Sophie cupped her hand over the little girl’s mouth. But the tears forming in the wide eyes taunted Elise. The hunger and discomfort of their situation wouldn’t go away no matter how hard they wished it would.
She knew she should be glad that they’d all escaped from the tenement without any trouble. But part of her wondered if she’d done the right thing in leaving. Even with all the dangers of living with Friedric and Uncle, was it safer than living out here?
Once the rowdy group of boys turned the corner of the alley, Elise leaned back against the brick wall with a bone-weary sigh. The four pairs of eyes were still upon her. Waiting. They trusted her to come up with a solution to their problem. But she hadn’t been able to do anything all week but attempt to keep them alive.
She had to do better. But what could she do? They’d spent all the money they’d taken from Uncle’s purse and now they had nothing.
Nicholas was curled up on Sophie’s lap, in her arms. He was growing more listless. Today he’d hardly moved, hadn’t made a sound, not even a whimper of complaint.
“We need to take them to the Orphan Asylum, Sophie,” Elise said. “That will be the best place for them until we find jobs and a place to live. Then we’ll go back and get them.”
Rather than protesting the idea, Sophie finally gave in and nodded this time. The tears that escaped down her cheeks rolled onto Nicholas’s head. Elise guessed that Sophie had come to the same conclusion. That in order to save the infants’ lives, they would have to give them up.
Marianne dug into her skirt pocket and fished out a handkerchief that was already brittle with use. She reached over to dab Sophie’s cheeks. A wadded paper separated from the handkerchief and landed on Nicholas’s head.
Marianne picked it up and lifted her arm to toss it onto the pile of rubbish that hid them, but then stopped. She smoothed out the wad with her cracked and dirty fingers. It was a gospel tract. She stared at it a moment and then looked up sharply. “Elise, this is it.”
Elise wanted to cling to the knowledge that God was still with them. Mutti always had turned to God no matter how desperate their circumstances had grown. But Elise couldn’t keep from wondering if God had abandoned them long before they’d set sail for America.
Marianne held out the rumpled pamphlet to Elise. “This is the answer we’ve been looking for.” For the first time all week, Marianne managed a weak smile.
“We need food and shelter.” Elise didn’t move to take the paper. “Not a gospel lesson.”
“No.” Marianne rose to her knees. “The woman who gave this to us. Do you remember her?”
The visitors had come weeks ago, right after Mutti had died. Elise had been filled with too much anger and grief to pay them much attention.
“The woman said her mother had recently died too,” Marianne continued. “She told us if we ever needed anything, we were to contact her.” Marianne flipped the tract over. There on the back in neat print was a name. “Centre Street Chapel.”
As Marianne’s words began to penetrate the haze in her mind, Elise sat forward. Centre Street. It was several long blocks away. But perhaps under cover of darkness, they could make their way to the chapel. Then in the morning, they could locate the visitor.
“Her name was Miss Pendleton,” Marianne said. “Remember she said that if we ever needed a friend, to come find her there at the chapel.”
At the time, Elise had lumped the woman together with all the other wealthy people she’d ever known. But now she was too desperate and hungry to care about the disparity of their stations in life.
Many hours later, after the streetlights had been lit and the shadows of night provided a disguise, Elise led the others toward Centre Street. Every step was harrowing. The dangers lurking in the dark were every bit as deadly as hung
er and thirst.
A sprinkling of rain had started and had cooled them from the summer heat. But soon the sprinkles had turned into a downpour, thoroughly soaking them. Elise couldn’t breathe normally until they arrived at the brick building with a sign that read Centre Street Chapel, painted on a plank that hung above the door. She rattled the door only to discover it was locked.
“We’ll have to find a place to hide until morning,” she said to Marianne, who was holding a sleeping Nicholas. Elise’s arms ached under the weight of carrying Olivia most of the distance. The little girl was now shaking from the cooler temperature.
“Maybe we can find a place in the alley behind the building,” Marianne said wearily.
Loud, coarse laughter spilled out an open doorway across the street, along with a band of light that reflected on the puddles that had formed on the sidewalks. For so late an hour, the street was alive not only with drunks and roving gangs, but also with homeless children, some of them no older than Olivia.
“Elise, Marianne,” came Sophie’s voice near the front window of the chapel, “come look at this.”
They both stepped closer. Sophie pointed to a paper wedged into the corner of the inside window. On it were words bold and big enough to see even in the dark. “‘Chapel closed until further notice.’”
“No!” Marianne’s cry rose too loudly. Elise clamped a hand over her sister’s mouth to shush her, and Olivia wiggled down until she stood next to Sophie.
Though Marianne’s pained declaration matched the silent cry inside Elise, she held it in and tried to make her mind work. But with the lack of sleep and food, her thinking had grown dull. She was afraid if she wasn’t careful she’d make a mistake and they’d get caught by Friedric or even the police.
With a sigh she rested her head against the cool glass of the window.
“Since the building isn’t in use, maybe we can find a way inside,” Sophie whispered.
