“No, she’s telling me she’s hungry.” Another woman came into view. It was the blonde woman Mollie had seen walking alongside the nanny on the way to the carriage one time. The blonde sat down beside the nanny, then lifted Nell into her arms and laid her across her lap. With the swiftness of a practiced hand, she unbuttoned her shirtwaist and put Nell to her breast, pulling a nearby blanket over Nell’s head.
The pain in Mollie’s gut swelled as she watched another woman—not even the adoptive mother—nursing her baby. She remembered the agony of her overfull breasts, which she endured for over a week after Nell had been taken from her, until at last her mother had told her to stuff cabbage leaves in her undergarments to stem the supply of milk that went unused.
It was all Mollie could do not to pound on the window and demand that the stern blonde woman unhand her child.
“She’s not a newborn anymore, Eugenia,” said the nanny. “You just fed her not twenty minutes ago.”
“If she needs me, then she needs me,” snapped the blonde—Eugenia.
“You know Mrs. Deming wants her weaned. She said a year is all a child needs for nursing, and she’s almost that, already.”
“You mind your job, I’ll mind mine.”
“I’m only doing what Mrs. Deming told me to do.”
“As am I.”
The nanny muttered something that Mollie couldn’t hear, as she got up and began picking up some of the stray toys. After a minute or so, Nell began to struggle under the blanket, obviously pushing away, uninterested in feeding. Eugenia clutched her tighter, and Mollie felt as if a scream was about to tear loose, uncontrolled, from her throat, when the nanny stepped in.
“That’s enough. She wants to play.”
“You’re distracting her.” Eugenia stared up at her in defiance.
Nell struggled more, and Mollie thought she heard a whimper. Mollie reached out, her fingertips brushing the glass.
The brunette stuck her fists on her hips, annoyed. “Let her go, now, or I go to Mr. Deming.”
“Fine, Daphne. Have it your way.” She released Nell, who sat up, pushing the blanket off her head.
Daphne removed the blanket and hugged Nell close, while Eugenia stalked from the room, casting a bitter glance back over her shoulder. Daphne began to sing a song in what sounded like French, as she carried Nell over to a basket of toys near the fireplace.
Mollie turned away from the window, sick to her stomach from the scene. The blonde named Eugenia must be the wet nurse. She hadn’t expected it.
Of course they had a wet nurse. She had been a newborn—still nursing—when she was taken. They could have had a special infant formula made up by a doctor, but a rich family like that could probably procure a wet nurse easily.
The idea that a stranger—a servant—was nursing her daughter, instead of Mollie herself, unsettled her to the core. It was such an intimate, loving exchange between a mother and child. Though she was glad that her child was had gotten the nutrition she needed as a young babe, it tore her apart to witness the spectacle. And the way the nurse had been so forceful with Nell! She had to cover her mouth to hold back the sobs.
She wanted to stay longer, to watch Nell play, but she was so rattled, she knew she had to leave, before she alerted someone to her presence. She crept along the house, and waited until she was sure all was clear. Then she darted quietly across the yard. Once in her little hidden spot, she wept silent tears, mourning the months of her daughter’s life that had been stolen from her.
It became harder and harder to tear herself away each day, but she knew after Friday’s row with Noah that she needed to be more careful. Though it seemed hopeless, she still dared to dream that somehow, some way, she would be able to have her daughter again…that she and Nell and Noah could somehow be a family.
She brushed off the pine needles that had embedded themselves into her coat as she passed through the hedge, and checked the alley before stepping out to walk toward home.
It was strange—mere weeks had passed since arriving in Helena, and whenever she imagined a future with Nell, Noah was always a part of it. Not just because she needed him, but more and more, it was because she couldn’t imagine her life without him any more than she could imagine it without Nell.
I only hope that I never have to choose between a future with one, or a future with the other.
Chapter 20
Wednesday, March 4, 1891
Days had passed since Mollie’s last visit to the Deming home. Lettie seemed to be keeping a closer eye on her, and on Monday, Noah had surprised her by coming home to eat lunch, unannounced. Fortunately, she had remained home that day, too depressed to face the possibility of witnessing the wet nurse cradling Nell in her lap. She didn’t dare go out on Tuesday.
But as Wednesday morning dawned, she knew in her heart she couldn’t let another day go by without seeing her baby. Perhaps if I could find a way to get the nanny alone, and share my story, I could get her to help me in some way. It might be a naive thought, but Mollie was ready to grasp at straws—anything to bring Nell back.
But I can’t go on like this—sneaking around. I love Noah too much to be dishonest. Though she’d tried to go out of her way to avoid lying directly, it felt like lying, nonetheless. Mollie had never been one to lie, and she didn’t want to make a habit of it now. She needed to be fully honest with Noah if they were to have any future. And as hard as it would be on her, she knew that if Noah couldn’t accept Nell, then he wasn’t the man for her…whether she got Nell back or not. She could never fully love a man who couldn’t love her daughter.
She’d made up his favorite soup and left it simmering on the back of the stove, and set a covered bowl with sourdough to rise so she could make dinner rolls later. Then all she’d have to do when she got home is bake his favorite lamb chops and whip up another cherry cobbler—which had become his new favorite dessert—and she’d have the stage set for a lovely dinner. She hoped it would put him in a good frame of mind for the revelations she would be making later that night.
When all was prepared, she left the house, huddling against the wind as she made the long walk to the Deming property. After arriving in her usual spot, she waited a while to be sure she was unobserved, then hastened across the yard to resume her spot behind the stand of juniper, at the conservatory window. A fire blazed in the fireplace, and toys were spread out along the floor, but no one was in the room. Perhaps they stopped to eat lunch. Or the nanny was called to another room to see Vera Deming. She waited a few minutes, sure that they would return any moment.
A crunch in the snow startled Mollie, and she looked up.
“What are you doing here?” boomed Mr. Deming. He was an imposing, dark figure, blocking the opening at the front of the house, ten feet in front of her. “I thought I made it clear. You are not welcome here.”
Unable to respond, Mollie stared, wide-eyed in shock. She took a step back. Then another. Then she whirled to run…
…and almost ran right into Jefferson, who waited at the opening near the rear corner of the home.
“Oh no, you don’t,” said the butler, spreading his feet as if readying for a fight. “You don’t get away that easy.”
She turned back to Mr. Deming. She was trapped alongside the house, hemmed in by the closely-planted juniper trees, with Mr. Deming and Jefferson heading her off at each escape point. “Please, I just…”
“Did you think we were so foolish that we wouldn’t see the footprints in the snow?” demanded Mr. Deming as he moved toward her. “That we wouldn’t figure out your scheme?”
She hadn’t even thought of her footprints—the snow was thin and crunchy, and there had been so many prints from the servants. But then, few if any of them led around to the side windows. “M-my scheme?”
“Yes. You’re stalking around my home like a predator, waiting for your chance to steal away Cordelia. It won’t work. You’ve been found out.”
“I never—”
“Don’t
waste my time with protestations,” he waved a hand in front of him. “I’ve been patient enough with you. I’ve tried to have compassion. I should have called the authorities when the wet nurse first found the footprints and saw you skulking away down the alley. I held off, because you’re the girl’s natural mother, and I didn’t want to have to have you dragged off to jail. But you leave me no choice.”
“Jail!” Mollie’s mind reeled. “But—but I didn’t do anything!”
“You’re trespassing,” Jefferson stated, crossing his arms with a gleam in his eye. “I knew you’d be back, so I’ve been watching. Only a matter of time. Saw you before you even got past the hedge.”
That was why the conservatory was left in an untidy state—Jefferson had notified them of her presence, and Mr. Deming must have had Daphne whisk Nell upstairs. He didn’t even want me to have one last look at her!
“Please, Mr. Deming, you don’t understand—”
“No, Mrs. Jamison, you don’t understand. I’m done playing games. You’ve worried my wife sick—she’s terrified that you’ll come knocking at the door with an army of policemen, demanding her child. No matter that I’ve told tried to soothe her by reminding her that’s not how it works, and that you don’t have the wealth or power to work such a feat—she’s terrified, nonetheless. That girl means everything to her, and I won’t have you worrying her one moment longer. You’ve tied my hands, and left me no choice—you will be going to jail.”
“No!” Mollie gasped. She couldn’t be arrested. She couldn’t let Noah find out what she’d been up to—not this way.
Both men advanced, closing in on her. Having no other escape, she pressed through the branches of the junipers, letting the branches rake her face, and making it halfway through before being dragged back by the collar of her coat.
“We aren’t done talking!” Mr. Deming snapped. “You can flee if you want, but then I’ll just direct the authorities to your home…or perhaps your husband’s shop. I wonder how he’d feel, having the police arrive, searching for his new wife. Hmm?”
Mollie stopped struggling. No! She couldn’t let Noah be humiliated that way. It would be bad enough for her to be arrested, but to have the police searching his shop for her? He’d lose all his business for sure. And he shouldn’t have to suffer for her actions.
“Alright,” she muttered. “I’ll stay. Now let me go.”
He released her coat. “Jefferson, please telephone the authorities. Ask them to come in through the alley. This woman has embarrassed our family enough.”
“Yes, sir.” Jefferson nodded and took his leave.
Mollie turned to Mr. Deming. “Can’t you let me hold her, just once?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Please…or at least let me see her. Who knows how long I’ll be in jail? I’m her mother! Please…”
“Vera is her mother. You are a stranger. And let me make myself perfectly clear—if you should ever come near Cordelia, my home, my staff, or my wife, I shall make it my mission in life to ruin both you and your husband—your reputations, your finances, his business—everything. Do you understand?” He towered over her, physically intimidating her to emphasize the severity of his warning.
She nodded, looking down at her shoes.
“Now, Mrs. Jamison, come with me.”
She blinked back the hot tears that threatened to fall, and followed him to the backyard, where he watched over her in angry silence while they awaited the jail wagon.
Chapter 21
Noah finally found a place to park his buggy, barely setting the brake before hopping out and rushing toward the newly built Lewis and Clark County Jail. The castle-like building loomed over the sidewalk, its turret and decorative battlements made more foreboding by the backdrop of a dark, wintry sky.
My wife in jail? How is this possible? The same question had echoed over and over in his head since he’d left the shop. Surely it’s a mistake.
The sheriff had telephoned not five minutes before, explaining that Mollie had been arrested for trespassing. He refused to give any more details over the phone. Noah had ignored his mother’s frantic questions and told her only that he had an urgent matter to attend to, and asked her to stay later than usual, if necessary, to keep the shop open.
He dashed around other pedestrians and ran up the steps, entering the jailhouse.
Inside, there was a police officer behind a long, heavy oak desk, writing in some kind of ledger. He looked up when Noah entered. “Can I help you?”
“Yes, my…I believe my wife is here?”
“Ah, you must be the Jamison fellow. There’s only one woman in here who would have a husband come looking for her,” he laughed. “Yep, she’s here all right. Gotten herself into a bit of trouble.”
Noah wanted to throttle the man, but held himself in check. “I don’t understand—why was she arrested?”
“As I told you on the phone, she trespassed on someone else’s property.”
“But…why?” He was confused—he didn’t understand what she would be doing on someone else’s property, if she wasn’t wanted there.
“Have to ask her yourself.”
“Well, why would anyone want an innocent woman arrested just for setting foot on their property? I know she likes to walk a lot, so maybe she was just crossing someone’s land and didn’t realize it was private. Seems like a stiff penalty for a mistake.”
“Mr. Jamison, she didn’t just cross someone’s land. She was caught peering into someone’s window. And it wasn’t just anyone’s property. It was the wrong person’s property.”
“I don’t follow.”
The man sighed, leaning back and scratching his head under the rim of the stiff, rounded uniform hat. “Look, I really didn’t want to arrest her, Mr. Jamison. I’ve got real criminals to attend to—no sooner do we build this new jail, and the drunks and soiled doves and vigilantes and the murderers want to fill it up. But she was on the property of Alexander Deming—his family owns one of the largest mines in the area. She couldn’t have picked a more imposing member of Helena society to provoke.”
“I’ve heard of the family name, but I’m not familiar with the man himself.”
“Ah, well,” the officer lowered his voice and leaned forward, “he’s been out east for the last few years. Fancies himself the ‘higher society’ in Boston. Came back here this past year since his mother’s gone ill. I guess you don’t read the society column in the Independent Record.” The man laughed. “My wife does. I know more about the high-falutin’ people in Helena than any common man should have to suffer through.”
Boston. Noah’s heart skipped a beat. This all must have something to do with Mollie’s secrecy and odd behavior. His mind raced through a variety of scenarios. Long lost relative? Former employer? An old beau?
Then something clicked into place in his mind. She said she used to work in a grand house in Boston—could this man be her former employer? And if so, why did she seek him out? What is he doing in Helena? Try as he might, he couldn’t remember if Deming was the name of the family Mollie had said she worked for. “You say this Deming fellow has been here how long?”
“Oh, I dunno…somewhere between six months and a year, maybe? He, uh…” the man shifted uncomfortably in his chair, scratching his head again as he checked to make sure no superiors were listening “…he said your wife followed him out here from Boston, and has been harassing him.”
Noah’s gut clenched. “Did he say why?”
The officer shook his head. “No, and I didn’t wanna know, to be honest. Like I said, my wife may like following the lives of high society folk, but me, I keep to myself. I figure, if more people kept their noses out of other people’s business, we’d be a lot less busy down here at the jailhouse. I say, keep yourself to yourself, and you’ll stay out of most trouble—you know what I mean?”
Noah nodded. “My wife…can I see her?”
“Yes.” The officer glanced over his shoulder, and lowered his voic
e to a whisper. “Look, the officer who picked up your wife promised Mr. Deming that he’d make sure your wife got punished right proper—Deming put the fear of God into him, threatening all our jobs, talking about how he’s friends with the mayor and the governor, and all that. But the fact is, your wife doesn’t belong here. Maybe she should have kept herself to herself, and stayed away from the Deming family, but she don’t belong in here. I got real criminals back there, and I only have one ladies’ cell—and I don’t think your wife belongs in there. She’s not in there with other ‘ladies’, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not sure I follow…are you saying she’s with men?” Noah felt panic rising within him.
“No, no, she’s in the women’s cell. There are men back there, but they’re in separate cells, in another area. The women’s cell is in a smaller room at the end of the hall, with a wooden door between. But what I meant is, there’s mostly only one type of woman we get here. See what I’m saying?”
The realization hit him with a sinking feeling. “Women of ill-repute,” Noah murmured. And he recognized just how it would look when he escorted his wife from the jail. If anyone saw him go in alone and come out with Mollie…he shuddered at the thought. Her reputation would be in tatters, and so would his.
“Please, can we get her out of there?”
The officer nodded. “I’ll probably catch hell for it, but yes, I’ll let her go. We wouldn’t normally put her in a cell for this anyway—we’d release her with a warning to stay away, unless she was a madwoman, or guilty of something worse. If anyone complains about her release, I’ll just say there was some kind of miscommunication, and I followed our typical procedure for this type of offense.”
“Thank you. Truly, I’m grateful.”
“I have to finish putting all her information into the record, and then I can let her go. It will just be a few more minutes.”
“Can I see her?”
Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Page 14
