A Chance at Forever

by Melissa Jagears

  Mercy’s eyebrows went up, but she still stood beside Mr. Lowe’s desk with her arms crossed over her middle.

  “I, of course, thought only a woman out of her mind would ask that, but I never got an answer to the letter I sent back. Today, I found out she lived in the district and that she died last month.”

  Mr. Lowe sucked in air through his teeth.

  “And that her boy is Owen.” He stepped forward, opened the letter, and laid it in front of Mr. Lowe with a trembling hand. “Since Iris is dead, I’d like to fulfill her wish and look after the boy.”

  “You want to adopt him?” Mercy’s tone was shrill.

  He kept his face as placid as possible. This couldn’t be easy for her, considering what she thought of him. It wasn’t even easy for him to believe he was capable of guiding a young life. He knew how not to raise a child, but would that be enough?

  But if God had changed Saul, a man who’d killed Christians, into the most influential saint of all, He could surely help Aaron figure out how to parent. He took in a big breath. “I do.”

  Mr. Lowe took the note, but Mercy started pacing, shaking her head. “You can’t have him. We only give children to couples who’ve proven themselves, who are of good character and morals, who have experience raising children—”

  “That’s if there are no other claims, Mercy.” Mr. Lowe’s baritone interrupted her pacing. “And Owen was indeed Iris’s boy. I’d not forget her name since it was so unusual.”

  Mercy fisted her hand and turned back toward Aaron. “You can’t tell us you’d be better at raising him than an experienced mother and father.”

  He wanted to reach out and calm her, but touching her would likely only heighten her indignation. “I agree. A mother and father are best, but no one’s banging down the door to adopt these children. I’ll treat him well.”

  Mercy whirled toward their boss and leaned over his desk. “Didn’t you hear Aaron say Iris couldn’t be in her right mind to ask him such a thing? Aaron bullied Owen’s mother, and I told you how he tormented me. So what would keep him from bullying Owen?”

  She’d told Mr. Lowe how he’d treated her? Yet he hadn’t fired him? He’d figured she’d kept his past a secret from Mr. Lowe for whatever reason she’d decided to keep it from the school board.

  Mr. Lowe put up his hand. “Now, Mercy—”

  “Excuse me.” Aaron came up beside her. “I understand her misgivings. So, what if the boy remains under your guardianship until Miss McClain feels I’ve earned her trust in regard to how I will treat him?”

  Mercy turned to look at him, frowning as if confused.

  She might refuse to accept his apologies, but if he could get her to agree to this adoption, he would count her forgiveness as earned.

  Mr. Lowe shook his head. “Her permission isn’t needed. Besides, what happens if she never agrees? I can’t hold on to the boy forever.”

  “We’ll revisit that in, say, half a year?”

  Mercy eyes went wide. “You’d wait six months?”

  “Unless it’s detrimental to Owen.” If only he could take her hand and squeeze some trust into her. If only someone would take his hand and squeeze some confidence into him. “I could wait longer, if necessary, but only if you’re still worried about my fitness as a guardian, not because the past is clouding your judgment. Can you be fair?”

  Her face scrunched. She couldn’t just announce she intended to be unfair, could she?

  He turned back to Lowe. “Besides, I’d imagine it would be best for the boy to get to know me, hopefully even choose me on his own, to help him adjust.” He wouldn’t mind time to adjust himself.

  “You have any problems with that, Mercy?” Lowe handed Aaron his letter.

  “It’s certainly more than I’d thought he’d . . .” She shrugged and turned her face away from both of them. “As you said, I’m not actually able to stop anything.”

  Lowe looked at her sympathetically. “He’s got a point about letting Owen get to know his new guardian. Some of our past adoptions could’ve gone smoother if that had been possible.”

  “Right,” she whispered.

  Aaron put the note back in his breast pocket. “I’ll do my best by him.” Hopefully that would be enough, but surely he could give him better than what he’d had.

  Mercy just shook her head, gave him a look, and left.

  The silence was stark, but he took in a deep breath and gave his boss a nod. “Thank you, Mr. Lowe.” Whatever this man saw in him, he was glad someone was giving him a chance.

  “Good luck,” his boss said, his eyes sparkling for some reason.

  What could Lowe find entertaining about this situation?

  “Excuse me.” Aaron turned to follow Mercy out the door, in hopes she hadn’t already disappeared.

  She hadn’t gotten far—only halfway to the music room.

  He picked up his pace so he didn’t have to yell. “I’m sorry if I messed up your meeting with Mr. Lowe. I’m finished.”

  She turned, her eyes piercing. “Are you going to withdraw your application from the school board?”

  He scratched his head. “I figured I didn’t have much chance of getting the job, but no.”

  “Why not?”

  Why was she worried about that if she had the power to keep him from being hired? “That list of people I plan to ask for forgiveness? Well, it’s quite the list. Do you remember Fred Hopper? When I asked what I could do to earn his forgiveness, he told me I should teach so I could learn to sympathize with children. I thought the idea absurd at first, but after I thought about it awhile, it didn’t seem like such a bad idea. After all, I could be around to protect students from bullies like me. I might even be able to get through to bullies because I could understand them.”

  “And Owen?” She fidgeted as if she wanted to scream at him, but her question had been little more than a whisper.

  “He’s certainly in need of help.” He stepped closer, glad she seemed willing to hear him out. “I know this will probably sound unbelievable, but when I was bullying people, I was very aware of what my victims wanted most. I just chose to use that knowledge against them. Whereas now, I want to use that knowledge for good.”

  She crossed her arms, looking him straight in the eyes, her throat working. “So what did I want most?”

  His heart fluttered. Seemed he’d know right now whether or not he did indeed have the ability to read people. “You didn’t want people defining you by your missing hand. You wanted to be thought of as Mercy first.”

  “And so you called me stumpy every day because . . . ?”

  “Because I knew it would make you unhappy.” What a horrible person he’d been.

  Somehow she had the ability to keep looking at him. “And why was that your goal?”

  Thankfully he hadn’t been as readable as she was, for he’d rather no one find out the reason behind everything he’d done. “Because if I couldn’t be happy, I didn’t want anyone else to be.”

  “But you were more than unhappy. You were . . .”

  “Evil?”

  She cringed. “I’m not sure I’d call too many people evil, but you were definitely rotten, mean, and heartless.”

  He nodded and looked down. “Heartless is a good word for it, but not because I didn’t have a heart, but because it was too painful to use at the time.” He looked up at her. “But I want to use it now. Will you give me a chance?”

  “Once again, Mr. Lowe is giving you one whether I would or not, but . . .” She licked her lips and sighed. “I’ll try to be fair.”

  “Thank you.” It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something. “I’m grateful for your mercy.”

  She gave him a sad smile and then turned away.

  But his lungs expanded with optimism. God had made him a new creature in Christ, but he’d never held out much hope that anyone from his past would believe it—maybe he had a chance at having one person see he had indeed changed.

  Please, God, don’t fail me
now. Not with Owen as my charge.

  And if there’s anything I can do to make Mercy happy, help me figure that out as well.

  8

  The mansion was too quiet. Or maybe it just seemed so after the lively discussions and laughter Mercy had enjoyed at this week’s moral-society meeting. She hung her shawl on the entryway hall tree and listened for the sounds of children.

  She headed down the hallway to look for her sister-in-law. No one was in the music room or parlor.

  In the kitchen, Cook hummed as she rolled out a pastry crust.

  “Do you know where everyone is?”

  Smudging flour across her chubby face, Cook tucked a stray curl back into her cap. “I don’t.” She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands. “But I can help you look.”

  “Oh no, that’s all right.” Mercy held out her hand to stop her.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, but thank you.” Not only did their new cook volunteer to help with things that weren’t her responsibility, but Mercy had never eaten so well. She’d once thought Nicholas was incapable of hiring anyone but the best people in the world, but then he’d hired Aaron . . . and, well, her sister-in-law was likely not the best hiring decision he’d made either. Where was she?

  Through the conservatory windows, she saw Max reading atop one of the garden’s stone walls. Down at the far end of the lawn, Robert was helping Owen climb a tree.

  Jimmy was nowhere to be seen. Where would Patricia be if she wasn’t with the three who tolerated her? If she were with Jimmy, their arguing would’ve clued Mercy in to their whereabouts by now.

  She walked upstairs and found no one in the boys’ room, but it was evident by the overflowing trash and nightclothes thrown about that Jimmy hadn’t done his chores.

  She knocked on her brother’s bedroom door. “Patricia?”

  “Come in.”

  She walked in and frowned at her sister-in-law lying in bed. “Are you all right?”

  Patricia sighed and rolled over. “Just tired. Told the kids to leave me in peace.”

  She could understand the need for peace, but Patricia should at least be watching them rather than expecting the staff to do so. “Where’s Jimmy?”

  “As long as he isn’t near me right now, I don’t care.” Patricia draped her arm over her eyes. “The names he called me this afternoon I shall not repeat!”

  “I’m sorry. I know what kind of mouth he has.” She’d been much more prepared for his unkindness than Patricia.

  “I’d thought it’d be fun to raise these children since it seems we’ll never have any of our own, but ugh!” She flopped her arm back down on the bed. “I hope we get a different batch soon.”

  A batch? That was how Patricia viewed the orphans? Was Timothy gone so much lately because he didn’t want to be around them either?

  Mercy didn’t want to leave the orphanage, but if her brother and his wife treated these children as they treated her—as nothing more than a hardship to be borne—perhaps new directors would be best. “If this isn’t what you’d hoped for, why not tell Timothy you’d prefer to go back to the way things were?”

  “No, it’s just . . .” Patricia fiddled with the pillow’s ruffled edge, staring out the window. “I need to rest.” She tucked the pillow under her head and closed her eyes. “I have a headache.”

  Mercy scanned Patricia’s face, somehow doubting a woman with a headache could look that serene, then left, careful to keep the noise of the door’s closing no louder than a soft click.

  Downstairs in the library, Jimmy was sprawled on the leather couch, one leg hiked over the arm, as he snacked on crackers while reading.

  “How many times have we told you not to eat anywhere but the dining room and kitchen?”

  Jimmy only glanced at her before popping the rest of the cracker into his mouth.

  Mercy crossed her arms. “You need to take the crackers back to the kitchen, then go upstairs and clean your room as you’ve been told.”

  “Can’t.” He turned a page of a book with a flower embossed on its cover. If he could read books for Aaron, he could certainly pick up.

  Mercy gritted her teeth. Oftentimes, she tried not to push Jimmy—he was erratic, mean-spirited, and hurtful when backed into a corner—but the more she let things slide, the more likely she’d lose control. . . . Maybe she already had.

  She had to regain power. “I told you to clean your room. You can return to your reading afterward.”

  Jimmy didn’t even look at her, just turned a page.

  “Jimmy.” The deep voice behind Mercy startled them both.

  Aaron stood in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the doorframe. “Miss McClain told you to go upstairs and pick up. You will obey.”

  “I’m busy.” Jimmy glared at Aaron as if he were stupid and waved his book in the air.

  Aaron walked into the room and stopped beside her. “Robert and Max don’t get hours at the glass factory unless their schoolwork and chores are finished. If you can’t do so, you won’t get paid for work either.”

  Jimmy’s lips and jaw moved as if he were gathering up a whole bunch of words to spit, but then he just looked back down at his book.

  “Jimmy,” Aaron’s voice growled low.

  The boy gave him a side look, then tossed the book. “Fine.” He stood and marched past them and out the door.

  Mercy blinked as she watched him disappear. That was the quickest Jimmy had ever obeyed. Aaron had been here less than two weeks and he’d accomplished that? Was it because he was male and possessed the intimidating height and girth he’d once used to force children to bend to his will, or had she simply flattered herself into thinking she was better at disciplining these children than Patricia and her brother were?

  Aaron was looking at her as if she should be . . . pitied?

  She ducked her head. Pity from him felt worse than his taunts. “Excuse me. I’m going to make sure he does as he was told.”

  “Mercy, I’m sorry. I was only trying to—”

  She held up her hand as she passed him. “Go garden. I’ll attend to my own job.” Which she was evidently worse at than a man who’d once been the bane of all children.

  Once she got to the boys’ room, she walked in and found it empty. So maybe Aaron wasn’t better at this than she was. He might intimidate Jimmy enough to get him to pretend to obey, but the boy wouldn’t actually follow through.

  With a strange lightness in her step, she headed down the hallway to find Jimmy. The door to her room was slightly ajar, and she pushed it open to find him standing near her chest of drawers. “What are you doing in here?”

  He turned slowly, holding up one of her ear baubles, his face a sea of indifference. “I found this in the mess on my floor.” He dropped it into her open jewelry box.

  The confident puff in her chest deflated. He’d actually gone straight to cleaning his room? She frowned at the simple pearl-drop earring she’d not worn for some time, though she’d lent them to Patricia weeks ago. “Thank you. But you know the rules. You’re not allowed in our rooms.”

  “So you’re going to carp on me for doing something good?” He slammed the jewelry box lid. “Why bother doing what you want if it isn’t enough? Might as well be bad if I still get in trouble.” He pushed past her.

  Oh, why was this so hard? “Jimmy,” she called as he stormed down the hallway. “Thank you for returning the earring.”

  He just shrugged and kept stomping toward the boys’ room.

  Once he disappeared, she went into her room and slumped onto the bed. If only she could feign a headache like Patricia or disappear for a few hours like her brother. What good was she if she couldn’t get Jimmy to do a simple chore that Aaron had gotten him to do in two minutes?

  Having Aaron take over seemed more promising for the children’s upbringing than any of the McClains staying. Though Aaron would need a wife to do so, since Nicholas insisted a couple be in charge of the orphans.

  She’d onc
e believed no woman would ever want to marry George Aaron Firebrook. But some woman probably would, and he’d probably even make her happy.

  She cradled her arm.

  Seemed a little unfair God would gift Aaron with that sort of happiness and not her.

  9

  “You want me to cut all of this?” Aaron pulled back the thorny stem of a rosebush, his knees damp from kneeling in the moist soil.

  “Yes, and this one too.” Jimmy pointed to another spot at the bottom of the plant. “The entire branch.”

  Aaron inspected the stem he was holding. “But it still has a rose.”

  “It’s dying.”

  “But it’s still pretty.” Maybe wilted, but still a brilliant red.

  Jimmy huffed. “If you aren’t going to do what I say, then why’d you hire me?”

  He had indeed hired a thirteen-year-old to tell him what to do with the flowers. But the boy was suggesting he take off nearly a third of a blooming plant. “If you’re wrong, it’s on my head.”

  “Then give me the dollar you owe me, and I’ll give you back your books. I don’t care.”

  Aaron wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. He’d seen Jimmy reading the books, so surely he wasn’t making things up. And the boy did care, no matter what he said, because no kid like him would do this unless he cared—for the money anyway.

  If he shut Jimmy down, the boy would likely never listen to him again. The orphanage staff would probably prefer he get Jimmy to act more civilized than guarantee a spectacular show of flowers.