What made her think anything would be different somewhere else, somewhere like Chicago? She would still be Joanna Cranston Stewart with the same past and regrets—with the same fears.
To take her mind off her quandary, she turned her attention to the houses along First Street. Although not a wealthy neighborhood, the homes were neat. White, yellow, blue. They adorned the street with a rainbow of color. Several of the facades were plain. Others sported porches and gables decorated with fancy scroll work and arches.
Joanna’s steps slowed as she neared a lovely apricot-colored house with a porch to her front right and a bay window to the left. A rental sign had been propped against one of the interior glass panes. Her heart thumped in a triple-time tempo.
She ambled up the path to the porch and peeked through the window in the door. Then she walked around to explore the outside of the whole house, standing on her toes in order to see through the windows into each vacant room.
After a complete circuit, Joanna climbed the porch steps again, her beaded purse pressed to her chest with both hands. Her gaze traveled over the simple white railing and slender posts. It was a comfortable house with a porch meant for sitting outside and visiting with neighbors.
She started down the path to the street and turned for one last look. A house for friendly people. Not for her.
The sun had dropped to graze the tops of the lofty oaks that dotted nearby yards. She should return to the station or risk missing her train.
“I saw you from my front window.”
Joanna turned to face a plump, middle-aged woman who smiled at her, her ruddy cheeks like mountain apples. “The house is lovely.”
“Belongs to my son. He moved his family to Asheville a short time ago and decided not to sell for now. Are you interested in renting?” She hobbled forward, her gait awkward as she favored her left leg or perhaps her hip. “I’m Greta Samuels from across the way. I reckon I could do you and your groom a good deal on the rent.”
“I’m not married.” Joanna squeezed the material of her purse. “I’m a widow.”
“Bless your heart, honey. You got any young’uns?”
A tiny face filled Joanna’s vision and snatched her breath. “No.”
Mrs. Samuels pointed to the house behind Joanna. “It’s not big—perfect size for a widow woman—clean and sound. Nothin’ to fear.”
Nothing to fear? Why would the woman add that? Fear in one sense or another had haunted Joanna all her life, no matter where she lived.
“All men will disappoint you at some point. Seek God’s mercy and grab hold of His grace, Joanna. Lean on Him through all your trials and fears.”
Her experience over the years had proved the first portion of Ben Greer’s advice sound. After all, where had trusting any man ever gotten her? Any man, but Perry. He’d never disappointed her. Then again, he didn’t know the worst about her, either.
But to trust God? Where had the Almighty been through the darkest times of her life? According to her father, He had washed His holy hands of her.
If that were true, why would Kit and Ben believe so strongly in their redemption and forgiveness? Why would Ben insist she seek God’s mercy if he didn’t think it was possible for her to find it?
Joanna looked west toward her house—now Kit’s house—almost a mile away. Tonight, Liam would move back into the cottage. How could Rose want him again when she’d lived through his drunken tantrums for too long to expect anything different? Was it truly possible that God could redeem men like Liam McCall and Kit Barnes?
“Got good neighbors.” The woman’s smile grew more encouraging with the pronouncement of each of the home’s assets.
“Actually, I was on my way to …” Her voice faded.
The weight of indecision bore down on Joanna. She could board the next train and start over in a place where no one knew her, or she could remain here until assured her friend was safe.
Joanna shut her eyes as if that would help her think more clearly. “Mrs. Samuels, tell me about that good deal on the rent.”
***
For the past four days, Joanna had made do with a secondhand bed, linens, and several other items Mrs. Samuels loaned her until she either bought her own things or decided to purchase another train ticket to Chicago.
In the gray light of early morning, she removed her robe and laid it across the borrowed bed, then grabbed one of the three dresses hanging from metal hooks on the wall. The rest of her clothing remained folded in the trunk she used as a bedside table.
With nothing to do but feed her curiosity, Joanna had spent hours with Ben’s Bible sitting open across her lap. Not knowing where to start in her quest to learn the truth about the God she had grown up fearing, she’d read a random chapter here and another there, alternating between the Old and New Testaments.
Too much of what she read perplexed her. When one passage of scripture proved her father’s version of a judgmental and harsh deity true, another spoke of the loving and forgiving God Ben Greer said he served.
Joanna fastened the buttons running down the front of her dress and propped a hand mirror against the pillow. She did her best to arrange her hair in a neat fashion and pin her hat on straight while craning her neck to see her reflection. Though the weather had been cooler than normal, it was far too warm to add a scarf to hide her face.
She set the mirror on the trunk. What was missing? With hands propped on her hips, Joanna stared at the items on the flat top where she had set an oil lamp, Annie’s drawing, and Ben’s Bible.
Annie’s drawing. Where was it?
She sank to her knees and peered under the bed. There it was, in the middle and out of easy reach—naturally. The paper must have fluttered to the floor in a breeze from the open window.
Joanna crawled closer to the bed and stretched her arm until her fingertips touched the paper. She inched it toward her, then slapped her hand on it and dragged it clear of its hiding place. The sheet had fallen with the artwork facing the floorboards and exposed a letter she’d ignored before—one that bore Clayton’s handwriting but no recipient’s name.
She read the short missive through—once, then a second time. Over and over, her focus returned to the last paragraph. She finally read it out loud to let the words sink in.
“In regard to your inquiry, be assured, your business holdings will profit by the addition of the Stewart Broom Factory. If you are free on Monday, 23 September, I shall take pleasure in meeting with you to discuss the details of a sale.”
Under his signature, at the bottom of the paper, Clayton had dated the letter 17 September, 1889—the day before his death.
Perry never mentioned that his father planned to sell the company. For his sake, she was glad the sale never materialized. If Clayton were still alive, he would be proud of his son’s competency in business.
***
For the second time, Joanna hiked the side streets to her former home. No one knew she remained in town, not even Perry, and she wanted to keep it that way for now.
She concealed herself within the woods on the north side of the property and waited for Rose and Annie to leave the cottage. Seeing them both without a physical sign of suffering would ease her mind … a little.
They emerged from the cottage in Liam’s company and traversed the rear yard to the house. Annie chased Jelly through the grass. At the door to the kitchen, Liam pulled Rose against him and kissed her. Joanna’s empty stomach lurched. When Liam walked away, Rose brushed her hand across her mouth. The subtle motion spoke volumes. Joanna sagged against the trunk of an oak tree. Her friend wasn’t as happy to have her husband back as she’d pretended.
A short time later, Mr. Culbertson arrived with three of his workmen. Liam and two others joined them. She recognized the man with the crooked nose as the one she’d provided a meal the day Kit arrived at Perry’s office. She wished him well in seeking help for his problem.
The contractor pointed to various sections of the structure as he assigned
the jobs to be done to repair and remodel the house. Kit stepped outside holding a cup of coffee. He laughed at whatever Mr. Culbertson said, and her heart seized at the sound.
Joanna backed away and turned to leave. A sense of abandonment washed over her like a storm-fed wave. It threatened to carry her down to despair deeper than a pit in the ocean.
Everyone carried on with their lives. No one missed her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“You look like you’re walking in your sleep.” Ben picked up a board, carried it to the sawhorses spread four feet apart, and cut into the wood.
Kit straightened his shoulders and moved with more speed in a wordless effort to deny the truth. “If Perry shows up again today, grousing and pestering Rose, we may have to put your big foot down on the situation. Better yet, let’s apply it to his posterior and send him packing.”
Ben clicked his tongue with a tsk, tsk, then laughed. “According to those low-hanging clouds, it will rain again today. If he has any sense, he’ll stay home. Depending on where Joanna chose to go, she may not have arrived yet.”
According to Perry, Joanna had promised to send a telegram when she reached her destination. It had been a week, and no one had heard from her. In the meantime, Rose wrung her hands, and Annie whined about missing “Aunt Jo.”
“I don’t understand why she told Annie she was going to Chicago, but she boarded a southbound train.”
“Women are at the top of the list of life’s mysteries, my friend.”
Kit eased closer to Ben and lowered his voice. “I can’t say I blame Perry for being anxious. Over and over, I see that bulging purse filled with the money I paid Joanna for this property. Who knows how much else she added from her bank account. I see visions of her lying beside a railroad track or behind a vacant building, both her savings and her life taken by a violent thief.”
This burden over Joanna’s safety gnawed at Kit. How did he soothe the worry that interfered with his work? Now he understood with better clarity how his brother felt knowing Violet roamed the streets in the middle of the night while delivering sacks of food to the poor. Unlike Hugh, Kit had no way to follow Joanna to protect her.
The apprehension had sent him to Medford’s Ice Cream Parlor twice in the last week. On Saturday, he had taken Annie with him after sensing the child’s desire to escape Liam. Was her nervousness around the man due in part to his neglect of her? He treated her as if she were a stranger living in his house.
Liam’s attitude toward Annie irritated Kit, but what right did he have to say anything about the situation? With Joanna’s departure, he acknowledged the probability he wasn’t the child’s father. After all these years, if Joanna were Annie’s mother, how could she find it easy to leave? Even if Joanna lied to him, Kit’s absence from Annie’s life didn’t place him much higher on a reliability scale than Liam.
Ben stood between the sawhorses, poised to cut the wood into smaller lengths. “We pray for Joanna daily, Kit. It’s all we can do.”
“I suppose.” For once, prayer didn’t seem enough. After less than a half-dozen meetings with her during his weeks in town, Kit felt as though he’d lost a part of himself when she left. How could that be when, before coming here, he had learned to live without her?
After slicing through the board with the hand saw, Ben straightened. “If it’s any consolation, every time I pray for Joanna, I get a sense of peace. I think God has a special plan for that woman’s life.”
Kit shut his eyes. Lord, can you let me in on Your plan and give me that same peace?
“You two fixin’ to waste all day jawin’? It’s gonna rain and we got work to do.”
At the raspy and bad-tempered voice, Kit opened his eyes. A brown stream of tobacco juice splashed in the grass near his shoe.
The struggle for sobriety affected people in various ways. Some, like Donovan, dealt with shakes and nausea. Some hallucinated, suffered from headaches or despondency. For William Rainer’s brother-in-law, it worsened his already vulgar temperament. It was no wonder the streetcar conductor had wanted the man out from under his roof. In the three days since Howard Cox moved into the house, he’d been caught with a jug of a powerful moonshine once and managed to alienate everyone but Liam McCall.
The thought reminded Kit to keep a better eye on Rose’s husband. Two nights ago, he had seen him prowling the property at one a.m. Liam claimed he’d been unable to sleep, not an uncommon problem when a body fought the craving for alcohol, so he couldn’t contradict the man’s excuse. Kit smelled no liquor on Liam and told him to return to the cottage, then went back to his own bed to toss and turn until daylight.
In the back of his mind, Kit continued to hear Joanna’s final words to him. In her absence, he determined to watch over Rose and Annie. It was the least he could do.
If she would inform someone, anyone, of her safe arrival, maybe he would lose this emptiness that overwhelmed him at odd times of the day and night. Maybe he could stop shuffling around the property half asleep and focus on his duty to all the men in his care.
Then again, maybe he’d only miss her more.
***
Joanna searched through the canned goods and staples on the shelves of the general store. The days when Rose and Liam shopped for her were over and to eat meant venturing out in public.
Located on the northeast side of town, Franklin’s Store catered to people who were strangers to her. Still, she tucked her chin in a pointless pretense of invisibility as she added a number of supplies to the basket dangling from her arm.
Despite the dread of leaving her house, she’d gained a sense of satisfaction in doing things for herself. She was learning to face her fear of rude comments and condemnation without the urge to run back to a sanctuary of walls.
Joanna paused to scan the pages of a catalog. During her marriage, she had lived with the decor chosen by the first Mrs. Stewart. Clayton saw no reason to waste money on “frippery” reflecting his second wife’s taste. After he died, the lack of funds kept her from buying furniture, dinnerware patterns, and knick-knacks in her own style.
Several minutes passed while she dreamed of placing an order for the things in the catalog that caught her eye. She saw herself cutting maroon chrysanthemums and pink roses to add to a colorful Majolica jardinière. In her imagination, she set it on a round table in front of the bay window of the house on First Street, then stood back to admire the beauty as the sun shone on the velvety flower petals.
A woman’s cackle behind her broke the spell. In real life, Joanna had no table to display a jardinière. She shut the book and finished her shopping without another thought given to dreams.
She arranged for the delivery of the food and household supplies and paid her bill with money she’d stashed in the secret compartment inside her trunk.
Once she’d decided to rent the house, Joanna snuck back into the bank after seeing David Murray leave. She exchanged two of the hundred dollar notes for much lesser denominations that wouldn’t raise eyebrows when presented to merchants. She still couldn’t bring herself to open another account.
Joanna turned the corner at the next block and breathed a sigh of relief after escaping the store unrecognized.
As she passed a vacant and decrepit building hardly larger than a tool shed, a whimper drifted from one of the broken windows and slowed her steps. She cocked her head to listen. The sound intensified. Drawn to the distress, she crept toward the structure with its rotting gray boards. Her common sense shouted to mind her own business. Her heart responded differently.
Inside the building with its old wood and earthy smell, she almost tripped over a hindrance at her feet. Sitting on the dirt floor with her head and upper body bent forward, the woman’s arms covered wavy hair partially pinned. The remainder hung down her back in damp, tangled strands. Continued sobs wrenched her shoulders.
Joanna reached down and touched her arm. “Excuse me.”
Except for a strangled sniffle, the weeping ceased. With slu
ggish movements, the woman lowered her arms and raised her head. Veins of tears zig-zagged down a puffy face, splotched from crying. Though she looked familiar, Joanna struggled to place where she’d seen her before. “I don’t mean to pry, but may I assist you?”
The spontaneous gesture of a hand rubbing the protruding belly prodded a recollection. What was the woman’s name? “Darcy Baird?”
Darcy nodded and used her hands to push to her feet. She poked greasy, wayward hair behind both ears. Her muddy palms brushed the dampness from her cheeks and left behind pumpkin-colored streaks. “Yes, ma’am. It’s me.”
The day she turned up on Joanna’s doorstep, Darcy had been neat and clean, dressed in a manner that bespoke an upper-middle-class upbringing. After glancing around the dirty space, littered with crates and rubbish, Joanna asked, “What are you doing here?”
“I … I …” The tears in those green-brown eyes revived.
“You never found the work you sought?”
“No, ma’am.” The woman shifted her weight from one foot to the other.
Don’t get involved. Joanna rubbed her hands together. “Where are you staying?”
“Here and there.”
“Here?” Joanna observed the holes in the roof and imagined how the recent rains poured through each one. “You may as well have slept outside.”
Darcy’s chin dipped. “Yes, ma’am.”
Without permitting herself time to reason away her reaction, Joanna slipped her arm around the woman’s waist and steered her out the door toward the street. “Come with me.”
“Where”—Darcy sucked in a shaky breath—“are we going?”
“To my house.”
Darcy started to pull away. “What will people say when they see you with me?”
Sardonic laughter bubbled up from Joanna’s chest. “Nothing they haven’t said at one time or another, I’m sure.”
The two of them traveled the remainder of the way in silence. Joanna stood aside after opening the front door of her house. Darcy peeked in and looked around the empty front room.
A Reluctant Melody - Will she risk losing everything … including her heart? Page 15
