“An idea, huh?” Judah reached for the crutches leaning against the wall next to his bed. “If I’m to get home anytime soon, I’m going to have to become proficient on these things.”
They spent the next two hours traversing the distance from one end of the hospital to the other. They stopped to talk to the other patients, dispensing hope and laughter as they went. By the time Jeremiah took his leave, he and his friend were laughing with the abandonment of young boys.
He still had no idea how to keep his promise to Judah, but he prayed God would show him a way.
Chapter 2
Visiting the hospital every day got more difficult as Mississippi River traffic increased. It seemed the growing number of boats appearing at the dock fueled the demand for goods instead of quenching it. And the few steamboats that traveled down and up the river so speedily could not handle all the demand. Every boat was filled, from the most rustic canoe to oceangoing schooners and brigantines. Trading was brisk and lucrative for everyone involved, but work filled almost every waking hour for Jeremiah and his uncle.
The shadows lengthened in the narrow streets, signaling the end to another day. Jeremiah locked the front door and leaned against it wearily.
“Eh, neveu, you are too young to be so tired.” Uncle Emile stepped away from his desk. He was a short man, with a much darker head of hair and complexion than his nephew. He reminded Jeremiah very much of his father, who had died years ago during an outbreak of typhus. The same outbreak that took Jeremiah’s mother. It had swept through New Orleans more than a decade ago, sparing neither the rich nor the poor. Then the following year, Tante Jeanne had died in childbirth along with the baby boy who would have been Uncle Emile’s heir. Now there were only the two of them. The devastating losses they had faced had made them closer than many fathers and sons.
“It’s been a busy week,” Jeremiah stated the obvious. “Why don’t you go upstairs and see what Marguerite has prepared for our dinner? The smells from up there have been making my mouth water for the past hour. I will put away the ledger and make sure we are ready for an early start tomorrow.”
When Jeremiah finally climbed the stairs, his stomach was growling loudly enough to make someone think a bear was outside. He took his usual place at the dining table, at Uncle Emile’s right hand.
Marguerite, the diminutive woman who cooked and cleaned for them, fussed with the soup tureen, ladling a fragrant stew onto his plate. “It’s about time you got here, petit.” She put a hand on her hip and frowned. “I was beginning to think you did not like la cuisine I have prepared.”
Jeremiah let his mouth drop in surprise. “Have I ever not liked what you cook, tante?” He used the term of endearment even though Marguerite was not his aunt. From time to time he had even thought Uncle Emile might propose to her, but he never did. Would his uncle ever recover from the loss of his wife and child? It was a request he often took to the Lord, but so far, no result had been forthcoming.
Marguerite slapped him on the back with her serving cloth. “This is very true. You have a good appetite, not like your oncle who only picks at his food.”
Uncle Emile huffed and patted his flat stomach. “I eat more than enough. I think you just want to fatten me up like a cow to be slaughtered.”
All three of them laughed. It was a discussion often repeated at the dinner table. Marguerite shook her head and left them to their dinner. Uncle Emile blessed the food and tucked his napkin into the collar of his shirt.
Jeremiah tasted the savory stew, relishing the spicy blend of seafood and fresh vegetables. “Delicious.”
“Yes, Marguerite has outdone herself.” Uncle Emile picked up a plate of corn bread and passed it to Jeremiah.
The clock on the wall, an import from Germany, ticked loudly as the two men ate in companionable silence. Marguerite came back to remove the stew and serve a rich torte for dessert. Then she offered coffee, a rich, dark blend that complimented the sweet cake.
When they had both satisfied their hunger, Jeremiah and Uncle Emile retired to the parlor.
“You seem preoccupied tonight, Jeremiah. Is there something on your mind?”
Wondering how to express the general feeling of dissatisfaction that had been dogging him for the past week, Jeremiah sighed.
“I know.” Uncle Emile clapped his knee and laughed. “Only a woman can bring such a sigh, neveu. Who is she? Why have I not heard of her?”
“Oh no, Uncle, it’s not that at all.” Jeremiah could feel his cheeks flush. “I just feel…I don’t know…pointless, I guess.”
His uncle steepled his hands under his chin. “Ah, I see.” A frown drew his eyebrows together. “No, I do not see. You have a challenging job, an important one in my business, and more money than you care to spend. What is there to make you feel so aimless?”
Jeremiah nodded. “You’re right, of course. I have many reasons to be thankful. God is faithful. He has filled my life with blessings.”
“By the time I was your age, I already knew that I wanted to be a business magnate. Even as a young boy in Quebec City, I dreamed of marrying a special girl, bringing her to New Orleans, and running a successful enterprise.”
“And you’ve accomplished all of that.”
Uncle Emile closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “My only disappointment is that my beloved Jeanne did not live long enough to enjoy all this.” He opened his eyes then and smiled at Jeremiah. “But le bon Dieu still arranged to give me a beloved son.”
“Thank you, Uncle Emile.” Jeremiah reached out a hand and gripped his relative’s blunt fingers. “You’ve been wonderful to me.”
“But…” Uncle Emile sighed and pulled his hand away. “It is not enough.”
The words fell between them like boulders.
Jeremiah’s stomach clenched. He didn’t want to hurt his uncle, but the pull to do something more with his life was strong. He had prayed many times about the desire to break away from his uncle’s business. New Orleans was an exciting place to live, filled with people from all walks of life, from different countries and different backgrounds. Many opportunities existed to help others here, but no matter what Jeremiah involved himself in, it was not enough. He wanted to do more. “I’ve been praying about this and looking for what God wants me to do, and I think I have an idea.”
Uncle Emile sat back in his chair. “I don’t know if I want to find out about this grand idea of yours, but I suppose I have no choice.”
“That’s not true.” Jeremiah pushed back from the table. He had no wish to bring pain to the man who had raised him. He would continue looking until he found a way to follow God’s calling without hurting his uncle. “I can keep my own counsel.”
“Sit down.” The older man did not raise his voice, but the command was obvious from his brisk tone. “I want to hear your ideas.”
Jeremiah complied. He took a moment to pray for the right words to explain his dream to his relative. It was crucial to him to have Uncle Emile’s blessing.
“You know how hard it was when Maman and Papa died. I…I was so lost.” He swallowed hard. This explanation was more difficult than he had imagined it would be, but perhaps the only way to convince his uncle was to show his vulnerability. “Until you brought me to your home, I thought I would have to live on the streets.”
“I would never have let that happen.”
“I know that, Uncle Emile, and I will always be grateful. Please believe that. But not every child has a loving uncle to raise him. Some of those children do end up on the streets. Some of them starve, while others die of disease. Most often, the ones who do not perish become criminals. They are forced into hopelessness through no fault of their own. They become pickpockets and thieves—angry and lost because no one has offered them shelter or love.”
He glanced up to see his uncle’s reaction. The older man’s face seemed to have become a mask. It was wiped clean of any emotion. What was he thinking? Was he offended by Jeremiah’s desire to walk away fr
om the family business? Would he support his nephew’s desire? Or quash it?
Silence filled the room once again, like a third presence.
Jeremiah wished he had not been so honest, but the desire to explain his dream had been growing for months now.
“You wish to work with the Ursuline nuns at the orphan asylum?” The frown had returned to his uncle’s face.
“No. I have no wish to interfere with the work of the Catholic Church, but the need is greater than even the nuns can meet.” Jeremiah swallowed hard. “I want to establish a place—a home. I would like for it to be a large house in the country. That way, I could offer a safe haven to dozens of orphans. My dream is to offer them a refuge where the children can run and play and learn about the love of their heavenly Father.”
“I see. So you are planning to leave New Orleans?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far with my plans. But most of the land here is either fields for planters or swamps.”
“You told me you have promised to help your friend return to Natchez, n’est-ce pas?”
Now it was Jeremiah’s turn to frown. What did helping Judah have to do with any of this? “That trip will be only a matter of a few days if we can procure seats on one of the steamships going north.”
Uncle Emile pushed his chair back from the table. He walked toward the fireplace, unlit at this time of year, and stood with his back to Jeremiah.
The silence returned.
Jeremiah picked up the linen napkin he had laid next to his plate earlier and twisted it in his hands. He wanted to say more, but something stopped him.
After a few moments, his uncle turned back to him. “I have an idea.”
Jeremiah looked up at the man who had been a father to him for the majority of his life. Were the lines on his forehead deeper than they had been earlier? Was he hurting because Jeremiah had shared his dream, or was he just in deep thought?
“I have been thinking for some time of opening a new office up the river, but I do not have the time to explore for the best location and trustworthy employees. Perhaps you should plan to make your trip to Natchez more extended. Although the port may be similar to the area around New Orleans, who knows? If the area seems to have promise, perhaps you can build this house you dream of at the same time you establish a new office for our business. If trade continues to increase as I foresee, you should have more than enough money to build this orphanage and hire half the town of Natchez to watch over the children.”
Jeremiah’s heart soared. Why hadn’t he thought of this solution already? “Uncle Emile, you are brilliant.” Jeremiah stood and walked over to where his uncle stood, placing an arm around the shorter man’s shoulders. “I can take Judah home, find land to build on, and not feel like I am deserting you. This is perfect. I can see the house now, big and comfortable and overlooking the river. You will have to come and stay with me as soon as it is built.” Jeremiah grinned at his uncle. “I wish I had told you sooner.”
“Let this be a lesson to you, neveu.”
Jeremiah knew his uncle well enough to know he was having a hard time keeping a smile from his face.
His uncle shook a finger at him. “Just because I am old does not mean I am senile. I still have a few good ideas left.”
“You are the smartest man I know.”
Emile inclined his head toward the door. “Go on, now. You have many plans to make if you are to accomplish your dreams.”
Chapter 3
Jemma opened the door a few inches and slipped into the parlor. “Mr. McKinley has arrived, madam.” Alexandra’s mother waved a handkerchief toward her daughter. In the six weeks since Papa’s funeral, Mama had retreated further and further into a world of silence.
Alexandra sighed and wondered how she had become the one to make all the decisions. “Show him in, Jemma.”
“Yes, miss.”
As Jemma left the room, Alexandra couldn’t help but wonder if this slave who had been a part of their household for as long as she could remember would still be with them given a chance to leave. Everyone else had deserted them.
Jemma quickly returned with the attorney, who had sent them a note requesting a meeting. He was about Papa’s age, but the similarity stopped there. Where Papa had been somewhat rotund with a clean-shaven face, Mr. McKinley was tall and fit. He sported a neat mustache that matched his brown hair. He seemed to fill the room with his presence. From the shine on his square-toed shoes to his well-pressed suit, everything about the man screamed money. He walked to the table that took up one corner of the parlor and placed a large portfolio on it before turning and bowing to both of them. “I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Lewis, Miss Lewis.”
Mama pressed her handkerchief to her face, leaving Alexandra to acknowledge the man.
“Thank you, Mr. McKinley.” The phrase was not as hard to voice now that a little time had passed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Papa spoke highly of you.”
“Thank you.”
“We were a bit surprised at your note requesting a meeting.” Alexandra softened her voice to make sure he would not take her comment as displeasure. “We would always be delighted to welcome you into our home.”
“Yes.” Mama’s face reappeared for a moment. “Have you come to tell us the latest news of town? We do not hear any gossip these days.”
The attorney looked a bit surprised at her mother’s question, but he apparently found it impossible to disappoint her. “I did hear of a wedding last week of one of the town’s most eligible bachelors. Nothing fancy, mind you. It was apparently a simple affair out in the country at the bride’s home. Perhaps you know the couple—Asher Landon and Rebekah Taylor?”
Alexandra could feel the blood drain from her face. “Yes…I do know them.” She pasted a smile on her face, but her heart, already torn from the scandal surrounding her father, shattered into a million tiny pieces. Everything fell into place. Asher had not attended the funeral or visited them because he’d been too busy courting his old sweetheart. He had toyed with her heart, led her on. Well, she hoped Rebekah would make him utterly miserable. A flash of guilt pierced her. Asher was an honorable man. She had been the one trying to draw his affections away from the woman he’d known all his life. But after all, Alexandra convinced herself, Asher would have been better off choosing her for a wife. She could have done more for his career in a month than that pale, simplistic woman could do in a year. “How nice for them.”
“Yes, well…” Mr. McKinley cleared his throat. He must have realized his choice of topic was not a good one. “I am afraid the reason for my visit is not as pleasant.” He stopped again. “I am sorry, but I have some rather bad news to share with you ladies.”
Mama looked up, her hazel eyes damp. “Whatever do you mean, sir?”
“The news I have for you ladies is not going to help you recover from your grief.”
Alexandra’s heart started to pound. She didn’t know how much more she could take. “Perhaps you should sit down, sir, and tell us this news. No matter how hard it is, we must know the truth.”
Mr. McKinley nodded and took a seat in one of the chairs facing the settee. “I have paid all the bills your creditors have presented to me over the past three months, but I regret to tell you that I will not be able to do so any longer.”
“Why is that, sir?” Alexandra was somewhat surprised by her aggressiveness. A year ago she never would have dreamed of questioning the family solicitor. But now she had little choice. “Are you retiring?”
He rubbed his mustache with one finger. “No, of course not.”
“Have we done something to offend you?”
“No. I was shocked at the news of your father’s doings, but I have never thought the worse of you ladies.”
“Exactly what is the problem then?”
“To put it bluntly, miss, there is no money.”
Her mother gasped and sank back, covering her whole face with her handkerchief and moaning.
“Mama,
I think you should consider retiring. I can meet with Mr. McKinley and talk about our situation. I’m certain we can work something out.” Alexandra stood up and walked across the room to pull the rope that would summon Jemma.
When the slave arrived, Alexandra directed her to escort her mother upstairs and return with refreshments as soon as possible. The woman nodded and coaxed her mother up from the settee, cooing and murmuring to her as she helped her from the room.
After they departed, Alexandra took a deep breath. “I apologize, Mr. McKinley. Mama is not herself these days. Now, where were we?”
“I was telling you that the small amount of money your father deposited with me before…before he died…has been exhausted. Unless a large sum is available that I am not aware of, the two of you are near poverty.”
Alexandra closed her eyes. When would the difficulties stop? She wanted to scream her frustration. She was barely a grown woman. Why must all this fall in her lap? What had happened to the easy life she had once enjoyed? Was it gone forever? Would things improve?
She looked at the stylish furniture she and her mother had selected for their home. She didn’t want to give up everything. It was too hard to think of losing all of the things that made them comfortable.
Perhaps there was another way. It wouldn’t be easy, but it might be less painful than giving up everything. “Could we sell this house? Perhaps we can buy or even lease a smaller one. If we are careful with our expenses, we should be able to get by.”
Mr. McKinley shook his head, his eyes sorrowful. “Your father mortgaged the house.”
“What?”
“Your father borrowed against the value of the house. I have to assume he was trying to amass money for some special purpose. But whatever his goal, I am afraid it will remain out of reach for his loved ones. You simply do not have sufficient money for the two of you to survive by yourselves.”
Mississippi Brides Page 2
