by Jody Hedlund
She pushed away from his chest. He resisted for only a moment before releasing his hold on her. She stepped back, and the chill of the room immediately engulfed her. “You can’t give up yet,” she said past the ache in her throat.
He cocked his head, his eyes warm and hungry. He reached out for her as though he meant to pull her back into his arms and kiss her again.
No! she cautioned herself. You have to make this sacrifice for him. For the greater good of all the people he’ll one day be able to help.
Even as she took a step back and slipped out of his grasp, his fingers grazed her arms. “You have to win the challenge, Thornton.”
Shadows then moved back into his expression. “I can’t. It’s over.”
“It’s not over,” she insisted. “You can’t let it be over.”
His shoulders slumped and he shook his head.
“If you care about the people of this town, for people like me, for my sisters, for women like Fanny, for the construction workers and farmers and the many other laborers who depend upon you, then you have to win.”
He didn’t move. Instead he stared at her, giving her a glimpse into his dark, brooding eyes as he weighed her words, sifting through the implications of what she was proposing.
“Your competition isn’t just about beating Bradford or proving something to your father. It’s about you moving into a position where you can use your leadership for good.”
“I understand what you’re saying, but the contest is over in just one month. There’s not enough time to repair everything the fire damaged and destroyed. And to continue building the rest of what the town needs . . .”
“We can find a way.”
Thornton walked to the window, raked his hand through his hair, and sighed wearily. “I’ve used up almost all my funds, Elise. Either I can buy the supplies to build or I can pay the workers. I can’t do both. Not until I find a new source of revenue.”
“You can’t give up. Not when you’re so close.”
When he nodded slowly, she gave a sigh of relief. Surely he could figure out something. He was smart enough to face the challenge.
He continued staring out the window. The sky was dark, the town quiet. After the busy night, she suspected most people would be late in rising. “Maybe I’ll go back east this week instead of next,” he said quietly. “I could work on convincing my father’s lawyer to give me a loan.”
Elise didn’t understand the financial workings that went into building a town like Quincy and had no additional advice to offer, except one. “While you’re there, you need to announce your engagement to Rosalind.” The name came out stilted, as if her lips were conspiring against uttering the name.
His head snapped up, and he spun to face her. His eyes were wide with disbelief. “You’re jesting with me, aren’t you?”
She wished she were. She wished this was one of those times of witty banter that she loved engaging in with him. Unfortunately, she was entirely serious even though her heart cried out against it. “You have to marry her in order to win. You know you do.”
“I don’t love her.”
“You’ll learn to.” She forced the words out. “If you give yourself the chance.”
“No. Not when I love you.”
At his declaration, all but her wildly racing heart came to a standstill. Had he just told her he loved her? He surely couldn’t mean it. How could he?
Before she realized it, he was already halfway across the room, striding toward her with a determination that made her stomach flutter. Something told her he was planning to pull her into his arms and kiss her again. If she let him, she wouldn’t be able to let go of him. Maybe ever.
She grabbed the nearest chair and dragged it in front of her. “Wait.” Her voice wobbled.
The chair and perhaps the hesitation in her voice stopped him. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood on the opposite side of the chair, his face drawn and his eyes tortured. “Elise,” he whispered hoarsely, “don’t do this.”
She couldn’t pretend she didn’t know what he was talking about. He cared about her. And she cared for him. They’d just shared a kiss that had expressed the depth of their emotions. Yet that was all it could be. A kiss. A moment in time. Nothing more.
“We could make it work,” he started.
She shook her head and cut him off. “Bradford said your father is pleased with your choice in Rosalind. And we both know I’m not the kind of woman your father would want for you.”
“It doesn’t matter what he wants.”
“Yes, it does.”
Thornton jammed both hands into his hair and stared up at the ceiling, frustration evident in every sooty crease of his face.
“When you’re done building Quincy, you’ll return east. You’ll have a life there, working for your father’s company and making a difference in the lives of those you hire, treating them like real people. You’ll need a woman in your life who understands your world and wants to be a part of it, and that’s not me.”
He didn’t respond, but the muscles in his jaw twitched, and she knew he was listening to her.
“I want to live here. I love being away from the filth and danger and busyness of New York City. I love running the dining room. I feel freer here than I have since I lost my parents. And I hope I can bring my sisters out here so they can experience this freedom too.”
He finally looked at her. His eyes were glassy with a pain so sharp, it pinned her in place. He didn’t offer any objections, which told her with sinking clarity he’d already had this debate with himself in the past and had come to the same conclusion.
While she should be relieved at his acceptance of her wisdom, her chest ached anyway. Maybe she’d wanted him to fight just a little harder for her, for them, even if it wouldn’t lead anywhere.
“When I go back, I’ll look for your sisters.” His words came out choked.
“Thank you.”
He nodded. “And when I find them, I’ll put them on the first train headed west.”
She shook her head. “I can’t pay you right now, and I won’t be in debt to you any more than I already am.”
“Blast it all, Elise,” he said, knocking the chair before spinning and striding away. “Let me do this, all right? I want to do it.”
The anguish in his voice halted her further protest. He returned to the window and stared outside once again.
She hated that she’d had to cause him pain, but in the end, their separation would be for the best, wouldn’t it? If it soothed him to do this one last thing for her, how could she say no?
“I’d be grateful to you,” she said softly. It would only make her love him even more. But she couldn’t tell him that.
He nodded, and somehow she could see that was all he wanted to say. Their conversation was over. And so was their relationship.
She had to leave before she broke down, lost all determination, and threw herself into his arms. With a resolve that used up the last of her strength, she crossed to the kitchen and left him behind.
Chapter 20
Marianne pushed open the front door of the tenement and was assaulted with the sourness of urine mingled with the ever-present odor of fish and sauerkraut. Though the cold December temperatures had diminished the stench, it was still there, embedded in the floorboards and walls of the building itself. If the stench was bad, the gloom of the place was worse. Even on a rare sunny winter day, the light didn’t penetrate the hallways or rooms. The colorless gray was a constant companion at each turn.
Every time she entered, she sighed with despondency. She missed living at the mission. It hadn’t been perfect, but at least it was a clean, joyful, peaceful home in which to live.
Marianne plodded down the stairway, dodging piles of refuse strewn here and there. Maybe she shouldn’t have run away without consulting Miss Pendleton. That thought occurred to her nearly every time she entered the tenement.
After overhearing Miss Pendleton and Reverend Bedell
’s conversation about having to close the mission, she’d simply panicked, especially when they discussed separating her from Sophie and Olivia and Nicholas. She didn’t want to take any chances, and so she left, but maybe she should have spoken with Miss Pendleton about her options.
Marianne reached the cellar landing and started down the dark hallway toward the apartment. Her stomach churned with nervousness as it did every time she had to go inside. How much longer would she be able to get away with her lie?
Her footsteps slowed as she neared the door. Although her eyes were dry now, they seldom were anymore. She’d cried so many tears in recent weeks that she was sure by now she’d have none left.
Only an hour ago, she’d cried again when she reached the front of the line for the charity group providing winter coats, only to find there were none left. She’d waited for three hours in a cold flurry of snow and drizzle, hoping to get something for Olivia and Nicholas. The infants had two ragged outfits and were outgrowing both. To return to them empty-handed had been more than Marianne could bear.
With her hand poised on the doorknob, the silence was too loud. The back of her neck prickled with a sense that something wasn’t right. Part of her wanted to turn around and run away. She didn’t want to face Mrs. Weiss with her shaking hands and constant questions. Her eyes never ceased darting about, full of accusation and censure every time they landed upon Marianne.
“I’m going to marry Reinhold,” Marianne whispered. “He’ll send for me any day now.” But the words rang hollow. She’d written to him weeks ago. He should have responded by now. He still will respond, she admonished herself. Once he knows of my love, once he realizes I want to be with him, he’ll find a way for that to happen.
It was why she’d resorted to the lie. Because she’d hoped it to be true soon enough. And because she’d had no other place to go, no other option for keeping Sophie and the children together.
When she left the mission with everyone in the early morning hours, she’d planned to go to Uncle and beg him to take her back. She’d hoped he would have some compassion. She prayed he’d do it for Mutti’s sake. But when they arrived in Kleindeutschland and knocked on his apartment door, a stranger had answered and explained that Hermann and Gertie had moved. The stranger didn’t know where but thought he remembered Uncle mentioning western New York.
After the door had slammed closed on her only option, she’d wept silent tears in the hallway, not knowing what to do or where to turn. She was overwhelmed at the thought of having to live on the streets again, especially with the days growing colder and the nights longer. All she’d been able to think about was Elise and how angry her older sister would be if she didn’t find some place safe for them to live. Elise had trusted her to take care of the others, had believed in her, had charged her with doing whatever she could to keep everyone together. And she didn’t want to let her sister down.
When she stepped outside the tenement building and saw one of Reinhold’s brothers talking with Sophie, the idea for the lie had taken root.
Peter, so much like Reinhold, had wanted to help them, had led the way himself to the basement apartment where the rest of his family now lived. Peter’s face and hands were blackened from the ink of the papers he sold every morning, but he had a loaf of bread, still warm. He told them he mostly lived on the streets and came home only to deliver money and food to his family.
At ten, it was a pitiful existence for a young boy. But he didn’t seem upset about it, only resigned.
Upon seeing the door to the Weisses’ new home, Marianne acted on impulse. She was desperate and didn’t know what else to do. She even tried to convince herself that God had ordained the meeting with Peter for the very purpose of bringing her closer to Reinhold.
“It’s true,” she said again, trying to squelch the guilt inside that threatened to choke her. “It will all work out in the end.”
Part of her wanted to write to Elise and tell her everything that had happened. But another part of her was too embarrassed to respond to Elise’s letters. She’d decided the less Elise knew for now, the better. Once she had a plan in place with Reinhold, she’d write to Elise and share the good news.
With a deep breath, she turned the knob and opened the door. The squalor of the room greeted her as it did each time she entered. The rancid odor of the chamber pot, the musty dampness, the stink of bedding and clothes having gone too long without laundering.
The tiny one-room apartment was unlit except for the narrow window at ground level that looked upon a dark alley. Oil for the lantern was a luxury they couldn’t afford. So even though the window was cracked and dusty, at least it afforded some light so they weren’t in complete blackness.
Marianne closed the door softly behind her and glanced around, trying to discover who was home at this midafternoon hour. Thankfully, Sophie had been attending public school with Reinhold’s two sisters, Silke and Verina. At school, the children could get out of the dank hovel and into a warm building. They were given a free meal, which helped to ease the constant gnaw of hunger, although not for Sophie, who somehow managed to find a way to bring most of her portion home each day to give to Olivia and Nicholas.
Marianne guessed the food was the only reason Sophie went. Of course, Sophie had also made Marianne swear to keeping an eye on the two little ones while she was gone. Every day, before leaving for school, Sophie rather belligerently forced Marianne to promise and wouldn’t leave until she did.
“Olivia, Nicholas,” Marianne whispered into the dark room. Usually the two scampered out to greet her after she returned home from running errands. Thankfully, they were quiet and good little children who occupied themselves well under the circumstances. While Marianne sometimes wondered if she should bring the two with her when she needed to go out, she consoled herself that Mrs. Weiss was present in body, even if she wasn’t always there in mind. Sadly, though Olivia wasn’t quite three years old, she had the maturity of a child much older.
“I’ve been waiting for your return.” Tante Brunhilde spoke in German from the chair beneath the window where she sat with the mending in her lap. Tante was Mrs. Weiss’s sister, and Reinhold had taken care of both widows and families for many years. Apparently, Tante had been the one blessed with all the strength in the family, both physically and mentally.
Again the back of Marianne’s neck pricked with unease. Her eyes, adjusting to the darkness, swept around the room again, searching for Olivia and Nicholas in their usual spots under the table or the bed. Instead of finding them, she was surprised to see Mrs. Weiss sitting up on the edge of the bed, a shawl drawn about her frail shoulders. Her hair had turned white since Reinhold had left. She didn’t bother to brush or plait it anymore, even though Marianne asked her every morning if she could help her with it.
“Mrs. Weiss . . .” Marianne stepped past the stove they rarely used because they couldn’t pay the rising cost of coal to fuel it. “Would you like to go out with me for a walk this afternoon? The rain has finally stopped.” The woman needed to get out of the apartment. She hadn’t left it in weeks, not even to attend church. Marianne was afraid that Mrs. Weiss would simply waste away to nothing.
The woman shook her head and raised a shaking hand as though to stop Marianne’s approach. “You lied.” The words were a croak.
Marianne froze. “I don’t understand.” But she did. She understood exactly what Mrs. Weiss was saying.
“Peter brought us a letter from Reinhold,” Tante Brunhilde said in German. She’d never learned how to speak English, not even a few words.
Marianne clasped her hands together to keep them from trembling.
“He said the baby isn’t his.” Tante’s voice was low and forbidding.
Marianne closed her eyes and tried to think. What should she do? Should she insist or should she admit the truth? She felt sick to her stomach, like she might vomit right there in the middle of the apartment.
She should have known her ruse wouldn’t last for l
ong. She didn’t know much about being pregnant, but she suspected she’d likely be showing by now if indeed she had been with child.
“You’re nothing but a whore,” Tante said in a harsh whisper.
“No!” Marianne cried, jolted out of her stupor. “It’s true, I’m not carrying Reinhold’s baby. I’m not pregnant at all. I only said it because I needed a place to live.”
Tante shook her head. “You’re a liar and a whore.”
“I’ve never been with a man—”
“Go! We don’t want to see the likes of you again.”
Marianne grabbed on to the table to keep from sinking to her knees. “Please. You have to believe me.”
“That’s what comes from having worked among them at that mission. They ruined you.”
Desperation roiled inside Marianne. “I love Reinhold. I’m going to marry him just as soon as he sends for me.” She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t written back to her. What if he’d never received her letter? She had to believe that. The alternative, that he didn’t want her and had ignored her letter, was too unbearable to entertain.
If only she were already married to him.
Tante Brunhilde let her mending fall into her lap and pulled a letter out of her apron pocket. She didn’t unfold it, but instead shook it at Marianne. “I don’t know whose child you’re carrying, and I don’t care. You will pack your belongings and leave this apartment immediately.”
“Hilde,” Mrs. Weiss said, her raspy whisper filled with distress. “Reinhold said not to cast her out—”
“I don’t care what he said,” Tante retorted, stuffing Reinhold’s letter back into her pocket. “I won’t have my children or my nieces and nephews living with and being influenced by a tainted woman.”
“I’m not a—a—” Marianne couldn’t get the lurid word out. “I’m not what you’re accusing me of.”
“After lying to us all these weeks, why should we believe you?” Tante sat up straighter in her chair, peering at Marianne as though she were a beetle to be squashed.
