How quickly she had forgotten her mission. The promise of love appeared and she’d completely forgotten about her desire to help the poor of Chicago. How selfish of her. If getting the one thing she desired most in the world meant giving up her God given passion, she’d have to surrender her desire. No matter how much letting go of James would hurt, she’d do it. Perhaps that was the sacrifice required for all the mistakes she’d made alone the way.
“Wait.” Ellen pushed out of his embrace. “I … I can’t marry you.”
He slid on the bench, and then tipped her chin to face him. “You don’t wish to marry me?”
“No, you mistake me. I want to marry you. I do, that’s why this is so difficult.” A tear trickled down the side of her face. Why must this be so difficult?
He caught it with his thumb. “Then what prevents you?” His voice remained soft.
“I made a vow. I promised God.”
It would have been better if he had tried to hide his laugh, but he didn’t. When he composed himself, James brushed her hair off her face. “Tell me, half-pint, did you suddenly decide to become a nun?”
She rewarded that with a hard pinch to his wrist. “You’re a rat.”
He yelped.
“After everything we’ve seen here, I want to help the poor. I can’t marry you if you don’t feel the same way.”
“And you believe I’d inhibit a God-given desire? Foolish girl, come here.” He pulled her into his arms. His chin rested on her head as his breath warmed the side of her face. “As long as you’re beside me in this life, that’s all that matters. I couldn’t care less what you do with our money. Someday I’ll own the bank. We’ll always live as comfortably as we wish to. I have plans to open more branches, and when I do, I’ll bring home a higher profit. Even then, as long as we have a roof above our heads, I don’t care if you give away every other penny.”
Ellen wrapped her arms around him and placed her ear over his heart again. “We’ll have to hire help for our household. I made a friend in town. I’d like to see if she’ll move with us. But you’d have to give her a good wage.”
“Of course.” He kissed the sensitive patch of skin behind her ear.
Tingles raced down her spine and she shivered against him.
A soft laugh rumbled in his chest. “We’ll probably be in danger of treating our staff too well and making them into extended family for our children.” He kissed down her jaw.
She sighed. “I like the sound of that.” And hopefully, so would Iana.
“Since your mother and Asa are moving west, how would you feel if I purchased your childhood home?”
“It makes sense. It’s the one place we’ve both always felt was home.” Ellen nuzzled his neck.
“Let’s get married as quickly as our families will allow.”
“I’m hoping they’ll say tomorrow isn’t too soon. I want it to happen before some big catastrophe rips us apart again.” Ellen closed her eyes.
“Nothing will ever take me from your side again.” His voice carried a fierceness she liked.
The carriage rocked like a cradle. James tucked his arm around her again and she nestled closer. Despite everything Ellen had encountered in Chicago and all the mistakes she’d made, she’d finally found the home she’d been searching for all along.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Chicago, Present Day
Whitney trailed her fingertips over Lewis’s letter. Such a dignified signature, she should have known he was trustworthy.
He hadn’t killed Ellen and James. More than that, Lewis sacrificed his reputation to protect his country.
Her father might have skipped out on her life. Her mother continued to be more interested in men than knowing her daughter. But neither of them mattered. Not at the moment.
Her roots—her DNA—was good.
She could have screamed for joy—although such outbursts were generally frowned upon in places of research.
A small postscript along the edge caught her attention.
Whatever you do, live. God has given you one life and has called you to be who He made you. This is my route. Find yours and walk in the knowledge that you are fearfully and wonderfully made.
Warmth flooded her chest.
Fearfully and wonderfully made, could that be? Even if everyone in her past had turned out to be evil. It would be difficult to believe she wasn’t somehow tainted. But her great-great-grandfather’s words—penned some hundred years ago—settled like a balm over the hurting places in her heart.
With great care, she folded the page and slipped it behind the photo. She tried to snap the back of the frame into place.
“Sorry I doubted you,” Whitney whispered as she set the photograph back into the box.
She moved to secure the lid but spotted a small album in the corner that she’d missed earlier. Yellow pages rustled as she withdrew the scrapbook. Dust puffed.
With a small squeal, she opened the cover. Each page depicted a snapshot of James and Ellen—their story continued.
The first showed them on what must have been their wedding day. Ellen wore a white dress, James an old-style suite and hat. They both attempted to wear serious faces, but anyone could notice the line of laughter that must have erupted a moment after the photograph. Thankfully, not even one photo depicted her ancestors in the stick-straight pose found in most black and white photography. Each moment of time showed flaws, as it should. Maybe a greater amount of people smiled in those days and the history books just didn’t include those ones.
More photographs followed—of a house, of Ellen and James standing with children, and the couple posing together as they aged.
So they’d done it. Married. Found true happiness.
But had they succeeded in their other endeavors?
Did James take over the bank and start new branches? And Ellen, had she convinced Iana to move to Wheaton and work in her house? Did they ever return to Chicago? Hopefully, but she might never find out.
A clock on the wall ticked loudly. She glanced at the time, surprised that she’d gotten lost in history for the past two hours.
Whitney reached into her messenger bag and pulled out her phone. Three missed calls, two from Nate, and one from Gran. Neither of them left a message, which was typical.
Leaving the room, Whitney flipped off the lights and closed the door. She walked into the main portion of the History Speaks exhibit and Gloria smiled.
“Did you find what you were searching for?”
“I think so.” But maybe she could find more under the name Kent.
Gloria stopped typing. “If not, you’re welcome to come back at any time.”
“Thank, I’ll do that.” Whitney snagged a business card off the desk before leaving.
On her way down the stairs she punched the speed dial number for Gran. Whitney paused on the sidewalk. A giant hydrangea bush bobbed in the evening air. Flowers piled like giant dollops of pink and red froth.
The line rang twice before Gran answered. “Hello.”
“Gran—it’s Whitney. You called?” She tapped the unlock button on the keychain. The car chirped and flashed its lights.
“This’ll have to be quick. I only have a few minutes before Seacrest’s show starts.”
“Did you need something?”
“Where are you?”
She balanced the phone between her chin and shoulder. “I’m in Wheaton.”
“All the way out there! Whatever for?”
“I was researching Lewis.” Whitney climbed into the SUV and stuck her keys into the ignition. “Oh Gran! Lewis didn’t kill them.”
“Didn’t kill who?”
“Ellen and James.”
“Oh course he didn’t. What utter nonsense. I met them both when I was a child. Great Uncle James was always taunting poor Ellen. Most of our Kent relations live in Wisconsin, last I heard.”
Whitney could have growled. “Why didn’t you tell me? This whole time I thought the worst about Lewis.”
>
“You never asked.”
She shared the information she’d discovered at History Speaks, as well as the bits of the story Nate and her gleaned over the past few weeks.
Gran let loose a whistle. “Secret Service, well, I’ll be. Why didn’t I ever think of that?”
“I wish I could find out more about his mission. What was he doing, you know? I want to believe that whatever he did, he was successful.”
“Then keep researching. And when you’re done, I think you should write a book clearing our family name. That’ll shut the lips of that reporter.” Gran’s voice rose over the sound of a television.
“I don’t think Secret Service files are exactly searchable for the public.”
Gran harrumphed. “I’m sure Nate could help you.”
“About Nate—”
“Yes, about Nate. He called here a while ago, frantically looking for you. He said you weren’t answering your phone.”
Whitney sighed as she pulled onto the highway. She tipped her rearview mirror to block the blinding rays from the sunset. It would be best to come out with it and tell Gran Nate’s story.
When she finished, Gran cleared her throat. “That’s all?”
“All? Felony isn’t a little thing. That means he’s probably spent time in jail. Gran, I’m not like mom, I don’t hang out with guys with records.”
“You misjudged Lewis. Who’s to say you haven’t misjudged Nate?”
She tightened her hold on the steering wheel. “Because he’s the one who told me about his felonies.”
“All right. Go on and tell me what do you feel when you think about him.”
“I don’t know.”
“Well, think fast. You’re making me miss Seacrest and he’s got that bright smile today.”
“Honestly, I still can’t believe it. The man that I’ve gotten to know over the past month could never do those things. I keep thinking that it either has to be some colossal joke or he really turned his life around since that happened. And if he did, then who am I to hold it against him? What do you think?”
“I think you don’t need me. Sounds like you’re on the right track.”
Whitney thanked her grandmother, then hung up. She fished in her purse for her sunglasses.
She tried to picture Nate dressed in a black, leather coat, hanging around the corner of the school building. In her mind, he called to children and pulled baggies of white powder from his pockets. She shook her head. Just like a picture of Ellen and James making somber faces didn’t work, the image of Nate dealing drugs didn’t fit either.
He couldn’t have done those things.
What had he warned her about Lewis?
You still don’t know his reasons for doing what he did. You can’t judge him without knowing his motives, and that’s something you may never find out.
And she’d told him there was never a right reason to do something wrong.
Pressing the call-back function on her phone she dialed his number. It went straight to voicemail. “Nate, hey, it’s Whitney. I’m sorry I ran off this morning. I should have given you a chance to explain yourself. I want to talk. Call me back. Even if it’s late.”
When she started to hang up the call waiting beeped.
She clicked over. “Nate?”
The person on the other end grunted. “No, it’s Owen.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t check the caller ID.”
“Are you already dating that other guy?”
“No. I didn’t leave because of him.” He didn’t need to know that she and Nate weren’t even speaking right now. Or that with one kiss Nate had knocked a year’s worth of Owen’s affections out of the ballpark.
“Whitney, listen, I know I’ve made mistakes. I’ve let this election take control of my life. Please say you’ll give me another chance. I promise, if you hang in there with me, it’ll be worth it in the end. I’ll make it worth it.”
She took a deep breath. “Like I said, you’re a good man, and you deserve someone who can offer you the support you need right now. I’m not that girl. I know now I could never be her.” Lewis’s words filtered into her mind. “We’re not meant to walk the same path.”
“I really care about you. We can work this out.”
It would be so easy to say yes, to start dating Owen again. Stable, confidence, established, and committed. He was everything she’d always thought she wanted.
But, even with the trouble brewing between them, she ached for Nate’s easy smile.
“It’s over between us. For good. I’m entering the city limits right now, I have to let you go—cell phone ban and all.”
“Technically, the cell phone ban is statewide while driving.”
“Thanks Mr. Politician.”
“I’m not giving up on us yet.” Owen sighed. “You’ll see.”
She didn’t offer a response. Just said goodbye and turned her phone off.
Whitney took the exit near the Historical Foundation. If she couldn’t reach Nate on the phone, she knew where to see him in person. He volunteered until eight on Fridays.
Traffic queued bumper-to-bumper down North Avenue. Clouds rolled across the sky to tuck the sun into bed. She tossed the Pilot into Park and ran across the Foundation’s parking lot. Offering a quick wave to the front desk attendant who knew her by name, Whitney hurried upstairs and burst into the research area.
As she tried to catch her breath, she scanned the room for Nate. He wasn’t at the desk or with any of the patrons. A man near the bookshelves caught her eye and smiled but he lacked the dimples, pierced eyebrow, and shaggy hair she searched for. Maybe she’d find Nate in the backroom archives.
Rita straightened papers on the main desk. “He’s not here, you know.”
“Oh, um, I know.” Whitney fumbled with a book from a nearby shelf. “I just wanted to do a bit of research.”
Rita followed her to a desk. “It’s not how you think it is.”
“What’s not?” She fanned out the pages of the book which depicted the history of Polish immigrants in Chicago. Rita would see right through the ruse.
The curator rested a hand on her hip. “Did I ever tell you that I’m raising my grandchildren? My oldest grandson—Dylan—he’s been a handful these last few years. I was so thankful when Nate took over his small group at church. Dylan started thinking more seriously about his faith. He wanted to become a man like Nate was.”
Whitney closed the book. “But then Nate got arrested for the drug charges. That must have really affected Dylan.”
Rita eased the book from Whitney’s grasp. “You bet it did. Nate saved his life that day.”
“Saved his—”
“And for that matter, Nate fulfilled his community service hours weeks ago.”
“Weeks ago?”
Her eyes blazed. “I didn’t stutter.”
Whitney slipped the strap of her messenger bag back over her shoulder. “I need to go.”
Back seated in the Honda, Whitney didn’t know what direction to head in. She’d never been to Nate’s apartment—had never even thought to ask him where he lived.
She pulled out her phone again and called him but it went straight to voicemail again. Going to Gran’s would guarantee a lecture, so she headed back to her apartment. At least she had his email address. A nice apology note would make a good start.
A light in the downstairs hallway flickered. Grease and the aroma of ethnic food assaulted her nose. Whitney rolled her eyes. Someday she’d live somewhere nicer.
She climbed the stairs, but as she reached the top, she halted. “Nate?”
He sat on the floor, leaning against her doorway.
She’d been gone for hours. How long had he been there waiting?
Nate bounded to his feet and looped his hands into his pockets, his shoulders hunched. “I know you don’t want to talk to me, but I couldn’t let our conversation end the way it did. If you don’t want to hear me out, I understand. I’ll leave. But I had to try.”
/>
Whitney dug her nails into the strap on her messenger bag. “I’ve been trying to call you.”
“My phone died hours ago.” He shrugged.
“Have you been here this whole time?” She took a step closer.
“Long enough to have pizza delivered.” He jutted his chin to indicate the box on the ground. “Whitney.” He took a tentative half-step in her direction. “I know you’re angry, but I promised I’d always come for you.”
“How can you do that?” She dropped her hands to her side. “Be so kind when I was so rude to you this morning.”
He frowned. “I’m not kind. I haven’t been honest with you. But I can explain—”
She held up her hands. “You don’t have to. Really. I was in the wrong earlier. Your character speaks for itself. You’re not the man who sold drugs to school kids anymore. God changed you, I can see that.”
Nate raked his hand through his sheepdog hair. “But that’s just it. I never sold drugs. I’d never even seen any until that night.” His soft gaze willed her to believe.
“Wait … you said you had a charge, something about having drugs close to a school?”
“About a year ago I took over what the youth pastor at our church called the ‘rough group’ of high school students. The ones who had siblings involved in gangs, who were flunking out of classes, and who lost their virginity at age thirteen. You know the type.”
He started to speak with his hands. “But to me, they weren’t a type, they were just kids who needed to know that God loved them as-is. So I tried to do the same. I let them tell me their problems without changing how I treated them. Finally it worked, and two of the boys, Dylan and Jerome, wanted to commit their lives to Christ.”
Whitney reached for Nate’s hand. “That’s wonderful.”
His palm was warm, sweaty from the nerves. She laced her fingers through his and offered a reassuring squeeze, encouraging him to continue.
Nate looked her in the eyes. “I told them that if they were serious they had to make some changes to the way they were living. They both decided to give up doing drugs. To prove that they were serious I had them meet me at the school and hand over all the contraband that they had. I wanted it out of their possession, you know?” He sighed like telling the story cost him something. “When the cops pulled up behind us, I didn’t know what to do.”
Searching for Home (Spies of Chicago Book 1) Page 27
