A Sensible Arrangement

by Tracie Peterson

  Mrs. Staples shook her head. “Not good. Especially now. The wealthy have never been inclined to take in poor children—except as servants, of course. The families who would be likely to adopt are now doing without daily provisions for themselves. So many are out of work and can’t feed the folks already reliant upon them. And of course the poor are the ones who brought us most of these youngsters to begin with. They found themselves unable to raise children even when the economy was booming.”

  The woman gave a sigh. “I’m afraid in the very near future, most of the older children will simply be put out from the orphanage in order to have enough money to tend to the younger ones.”

  “Put out . . . where?”

  “On the streets.” Mrs. Staples shook her head again. “It isn’t what any of us want, but there aren’t very many options. We encourage the children to seek out the churches for help. We encourage them to find places where they can work for room and board. Sadly, it’s only going to get worse before it gets better.” She glanced over her shoulder and then back to Marty. “I’d best get in there. Miss Hayden has a difficult time handling the older boys.”

  Marty let the woman go without another comment. Her heart ached at the thought of Adam being turned out of the orphanage. She had no idea what age classified a child as “older,” but surely it wouldn’t be that long before Adam would be on that list.

  Gathering her things, Marty walked to Mr. Brentwood’s office and knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” he called, and Marty opened the door.

  “I was about to leave but wondered if I could speak to you.”

  “Of course,” he replied, standing. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you. I heard today that you will have to release some of the older orphans.”

  He frowned. “I’m sorry to say that is true. Given that our support comes from private funds and donations, I’m afraid we can no longer afford to keep everyone. In order to see to it that the little ones have a minimal amount of care, we have no choice.”

  “I wonder if you could delay long enough for me to contact my sister in Texas. She and her husband own a ranch. They might be able to provide work for some of the children. I know you said that there were several who wanted to work with cattle.”

  He looked at her for a moment and rubbed his chin. “How long would this delay take?”

  “Only as long as it takes to get a telegraph off to Texas and receive an answer,” Marty replied. “A letter would be better, as I could explain in more detail, but I think I can get my sister to understand the situation with a telegram.”

  He nodded. “I don’t know why it couldn’t wait a day or two—maybe a week at most. We haven’t yet spoken to the children.”

  “Good,” Marty said, getting to her feet. “Don’t. I will check with my sister and see what she can offer. Perhaps there will be other ranches in the area who can take on a boy or two.”

  Mr. Brentwood stood. “Mrs. Wythe, you are a saint. I know that God sent you to us in our hour of need. No one else has posed any kind of solution for helping these children—just you.”

  “Well, I don’t know how much of a solution it will prove to be, but I’ll do what I can.”

  As she made her way to her carriage, a heaviness settled on her heart. Marty wanted to make life better for the children, but she was just one woman. What could she do? Save Adam? Wyatt? But what of the others? John and Tim were in their teens, nearly adults. Nettie and Willen were each twelve. Would that be enough to send them from the safety of the orphanage? There didn’t seem to be any reasonable answer. Even if Hannah and Will could take a good number of them—there were hundreds left.

  “Samson, I need to stop by a telegraph office.”

  “Yes’m.” He helped her into the carriage and by the time Marty had settled in, Samson had the horses in motion.

  She mentally composed the message she would send. Numerous orphans to be turned out on the street. Can you take some for ranch work? Need answer immediately. More to follow in letter.

  With the telegram on its way, Marty felt that she had done at least a small thing for the welfare of the orphans. Of course, Hannah and Will might say no. But she doubted it. They were just as concerned about assisting the helpless as she was. Maybe even more. It saddened her to imagine children trying to live on their own, begging passersby for food.

  Upon arriving home, Samson helped Marty from the carriage. He beamed a smile, but it didn’t change Marty’s mood.

  “Thank you, Samson.” She didn’t even try to hide her sorrow.

  “Them children are mighty lucky to have you come there to read to ’em,” Samson said. “Mighty lucky.”

  Marty wanted to contradict him, but thought better of it. Samson was just trying to help. She approached the front door, and Brighton, ever vigilant, opened it before she could even reach the handle.

  “You have company, Mrs. Wythe.”

  “Company?” She looked at the grandfather clock. “I don’t recall having extended an invitation.”

  “No, madam. Mrs. Davies, the dressmaker, arrived unexpectedly. I put her in the formal sitting room.”

  Marty nodded. “Thank you, Brighton.”

  She made her way to Mrs. Davies and could see that the woman looked quite upset. “Mrs. Davies, what a pleasant surprise.”

  As Marty got closer, she could see the woman had been crying. “Whatever is wrong?” she asked.

  “Mrs. Wythe, I’m not usually one to gossip, but truth be told I don’t see it as such since it involves you.”

  Marty’s eyes narrowed. “What involves me?”

  Mrs. Davies dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “The reason I’m here.”

  Taking a seat, Marty hoped her silence would encourage the woman to continue. It was obvious that the older woman didn’t like what she had come to say.

  “It would seem that certain . . . ladies . . . have informed me that they will no longer bring me their business . . . if . . . if . . . I’m also doing business . . .” She couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

  Marty immediately understood. It was her punishment for speaking out at the garden party. “If you’re also doing business with me? Is that it?”

  Mrs. Davies broke into tears anew. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t want to offend you, nor did I want to lose their patronage. There are so many of them . . . and . . . I need the income.”

  “Don’t worry,” Marty said, hoping to ease the woman’s conscience. “I have no need for new gowns anyway.” She smiled. “Would you like refreshments? I could have tea brought in or perhaps a small lunch?”

  “No.” Mrs. Davies got to her feet. “I only stopped by to tell you in person. I felt it was only right. You’ve been a wonderful customer and a good woman. You’ve always treated my staff so well. I’m sorry that it’s come to this.”

  “Please don’t fret over it, Mrs. Davies. Denver’s well-to-do have spoken, and we mustn’t defy them.” She gave a harsh laugh. “Otherwise, we’ll both pay for our indiscretion instead of just me.”

  That evening Marty ate alone in her room. She thought about the troubling day and all she had encountered. The children were still uppermost on her mind, and she wished she would hear back from Hannah. Then a thought came. Even if Hannah and Will would take them, how would she get them to Texas?

  Perhaps Mrs. Morgan could give them all a free train ticket. She calmed a bit. Why not? Why not get the woman to put her money behind her mouth. She’s so anxious that the poor should leave the state—so let her pay to transport the orphans.

  Alice entered the room as silent as a mouse. She came to collect Marty’s tray, but stopped. “You’ve hardly eaten anything. Would you like me to leave it?”

  “No. I’m not hungry. It’s been a difficult week.” She sighed. “You see, I have been ejected from the elite society of Denver’s wealthy matrons. I said some things the other day when we were together, and it didn’t set well.”

  “And t
hat troubles you?”

  “No, not exactly. I think what troubles me is that for the longest time, I actually thought I could be happy in their world. Now I know better. They don’t even approve of my work at the orphanage.”

  “Of course not. They don’t understand it.”

  Marty nodded. “I suppose that’s true enough, but they should. What’s so hard to understand about children needing someone to love them?”

  “For some people,” Alice replied, “love is the one thing they never understand.”

  Chapter 22

  “You’ve had a ranch all this time, and you didn’t tell me?” Jake questioned. “How could you do this? How could you betray my trust like this?”

  Marty felt her blood run cold. “I couldn’t tell you. You would have insisted we move there, and I didn’t want to be a rancher’s wife. Thomas was killed working with cattle—do you suppose I want to be a widow a second time?”

  “You lied to me. You are nothing but a lying, scheming woman. I’ve nothing more to say to you. You ruined my life, Marty. Ruined it and all my dreams.” Jake turned to leave.

  Marty called after him, begging him to come back. “Please don’t leave me—I love you! I can’t lose another husband.” Then all at once the scene began to shift and Jake was in the middle of a cattle pen—with an angry bull charging at him.

  “No!” she screamed over and over. “No, Jake—watch out!”

  “Marty, wake up! Marty!”

  She opened her eyes and realized it had all just been a nightmare. Jake sat beside her on the bed, his hand casually resting on her shoulder. Without thinking, Marty threw herself into his arms. She was so glad to see that he was there—that nothing had changed. He was safe and her secret was, too.

  Sobbing, Marty clung to Jake as though she might be pulled back into the dream should he let go. She drenched his bare chest with her tears.

  “It’s all right, Marty. You’re safe and nothing can hurt you,” he whispered. Stroking her hair, he held her close. “It was just a bad dream. Nobody can harm you. I won’t let them.”

  Marty felt terrible. The entire nightmare was because she’d refused to tell Jake the truth about the ranch. It was time to just face her demons. She pulled back just a bit. “Oh, Jake. I . . . I . . . should tell you . . .”

  “Shhh, there’s no need to go relivin’ the dream. You just take it easy and get yourself calmed down.” His lazy drawl filled the night air and her heart.

  Jake hadn’t bothered to turn the lights on, and Marty couldn’t see the details of his face, but she felt the wonderful warmth of his arms about her. Cheek against his chest, Marty focused on the steady beat of his heart. It comforted her. She could remember a time so long ago when she had laid her head upon Thomas’s chest and listened to his heartbeat.

  I cannot lose another husband. The thought was the same as the words she’d spoken in the dream. The idea of Jake dying sent a shiver through her. The trembling only caused Jake to tighten his hold on her.

  Marty calmed but refused to leave his embrace. She loved this man. She’d told him so in her dream, and now she could admit to herself that it was true. She loved him most dearly, but her lies stood between them. She felt tears come anew. How could she ever make this right?

  “I figure we’ll be all right, Marty. No matter what happens. I’ll take good care of you. Whatever happens, we have each other.”

  Marty raised her head again. She could feel Jake’s warm breath against her face and knew his lips were only a few inches away. She ached for him to kiss her. “I’m glad we have each other,” she whispered, wanting to speak of her love. Instead, she could only bring herself to add, “I need you.”

  Jake said nothing for a moment, and Marty couldn’t help but worry she’d said the wrong thing. He hadn’t pulled away, but neither had he replied. Could it be that her words had made him rethink his feelings for her?

  She felt his hand at the back of her head before realizing that he was guiding her into a gentle kiss. Their lips met and Marty wanted the moment to go on forever. Then as quickly as it had started, Jake put an end to it. He dropped his hold on her and got to his feet.

  “I’m sorry, Marty. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t . . . don’t . . . be.”

  “It wasn’t right. You’ve been so good to honor our arrangement. You’ve demanded nothing of me, and you’ve been content to do all that I’ve asked of you—and this is how I reward you. I’m such a dolt. I was never the kind of man to take advantage of a woman’s emotions, yet here I am. Please forgive me.”

  He stalked from the room, leaving Marty stunned. She wanted to call to him—beg him to return—but something told her it would do little good. She heard him slam her bedroom door closed behind him, then the dressing room doors and the one to his own bedroom followed in rapid pace.

  A part of her wanted to run after him—tell him that he’d done nothing wrong. That she loved him and wanted to be a real wife to him. Another part warned her that it would only serve to ruin everything. They had both gone into this marriage of convenience knowing the truth—at least most of the truth.

  I should have told him about the ranch, and every day that goes by makes it just that much harder to be honest. Oh, God, please help me. I don’t know what to say or do to make this right. I keep thinking if only Hannah will just write to tell me the ranch has been sold or that William has reclaimed it, then it wouldn’t be so bad.

  But wouldn’t that just be another lie?

  She pounded her fists against her pillow. Why do I always choose a lie to get me out of trouble?

  Lies had always come easily to her, and if not lies, then omissions of truth or exaggerations. These had always been Marty’s downfall. She could remember Hannah praying that she not give in to such temptation, but Marty didn’t see it as a truly sinful thing. At least not until now. Now she could see the full implications of this sin. She could see the potential damage and pain it would cause.

  “I want to do the right thing,” she said. “I want to tell Jake the truth.” She buried her face in the pillow. Please, God, show me what’s right and give me the strength to do it.

  Jake leaned out his open bedroom window and drew in deep breaths of night air. How could he have been so stupid? He should never have gone to Marty’s room. He should have just left well enough alone.

  “But she was scared. She was screaming and crying out. What kind of husband would I be to ignore that?”

  The kind of husband I signed on to be.

  He wrestled with his conscience. He should never have married Marty. It wasn’t right that they had pledged faithfulness to each other and to God. Jake had even promised to love Marty. Was this his punishment for such blasphemy?

  “God, I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to lie to you. It seemed reasonable to marry and pledge to love and honor. Without a real wedding it didn’t seem wrong—it felt like just a bunch of words.” He pulled back into his room and buried his face in his hands.

  He tried to figure out how to fix the mess he’d made. It would be best to just come clean and tell Marty the truth. Tell her that he’d fallen in love with her, that he wanted her to be his wife for real. If he just told her the truth, they could work through it. She might get angry about it, but Jake could promise to just love her from afar. Love her until she was ready to love him back.

  “But what if that never comes?”

  He lifted his face and stared across the darkened room. What good was any of this now? He’d thought to make a new life. Thought he could actually endure this life and be happy until he had enough money to return to Texas. Now, even Texas seemed a foolish desire compared to wanting Marty to return his love.

  By six in the morning, dawn was starting to brighten the horizon and Marty gave up trying to sleep. She could still smell Jake’s cologne in her hair. She could still feel his arms around her. The rest of the night she had done battle with her conscience, and now she was completely exhausted. No answers
offered comfort.

  “If I tell him the truth,” she whispered, “he will never come to care for me. I would be effectually ending our marriage.”

  The truth shall make you free.

  The Bible verse seemed to ring like a bell in the air. It was one Hannah had quoted to her on many occasions. That and the commandment about not bearing false witness.

  “But I’m so afraid.” She looked toward the ceiling as if she might see the face of God in the ornate plaster. “I’m afraid that you aren’t listening. I’m afraid I’ve strayed too far and you can’t . . . won’t reach out to me.”

  The truth shall make you free.

  Ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.

  Marty remembered that this was the day Alice and the others would be having their Bible study in the kitchen. She could join them and ask them to pray for her. I’m not strong enough to face this on my own.

  Pulling on her robe, Marty wondered if the women would be offended by her presence. After all, she was the mistress of the house. Maybe they wouldn’t want her to be a part of their gathering.

  She paused at the door and swallowed hard. What if they refused to let her join them? What would she do?

  None of her worries stopped her, however. Marty knew she needed someone to reassure her—to help her with the truth. She made her way down the back stairs, not even trying to be quiet. When she entered the kitchen, Mrs. Standish, Mrs. Landry, and Alice were all anticipating her entry.

  “Are you all right, Mrs. Wythe?” Mrs. Landry asked. “Are you ill?”

  Marty shook her head. “I’m just . . . I’m . . .” She paused to gather her courage. “I wonder if I might join you. I know you don’t approve of the help mingling with their employers, Mrs. Landry, but we are all equal in the sight of the Lord.”

  Alice smiled. “Of course we are, and of course you can join us. We’re studying the life of Abraham.”

  Mrs. Landry got up and retrieved another chair. “Sit right here. You are quite right—spiritually we are equal.”