A Chance at Forever

by Melissa Jagears

  How like Nicholas and Lydia to give up their time and beautiful home for others. But Lydia had to be disappointed. She’d moved from the orphanage to keep her young children from the stresses the orphanage could put on a young family, and if any orphan could cause the kind of tension Lydia wanted to avoid, Jimmy could. Mercy doubted Nicholas would act devastated about his business loss, but he had to be.

  She’d do whatever she could to make this move easier. “How long are they going to stay?”

  “I think it’s too soon for them to know, but they talked as if they’ll be here awhile.” He hoisted the larger of the two trunks he’d pulled to the edge of the wagon bed and headed inside.

  She looked at the smaller trunk he’d left behind. A cursive I decorated its top. Must be Isabelle’s. Jake was too young to care where he lived, but poor Isabelle was having her world turned upside down. Hopefully the orphans would be on their best behavior to keep this from being any harder on her than it was.

  Turning, Mercy crouched to put her right shoulder under the trunk, tested its weight, then slid it onto her shoulder, readjusted, and followed Aaron inside.

  He’d walked into the entryway and had turned to hold the door open for Max and Robert on their way out. He frowned when he caught sight of her. “You needn’t tax yourself. I have the boys to help.”

  “I wouldn’t have taken it if I couldn’t handle it.” Her hand was missing, not her brain. Hadn’t he said the other day he knew she didn’t want to be defined by her missing hand? “You don’t need two hands for everything.” He might not call her stumpy anymore, but that didn’t mean he didn’t think it.

  “I apologize, but I would’ve told any woman not to bother.”

  “Seems you miss out on a lot of help, then.” She headed for the elevator, where several trunks were stacked.

  Aaron grunted as he let down his trunk and turned for hers, but she was already beside the table she intended to put it on. She didn’t need him thinking she was too weak to finish what she’d started. Kneeling, she slid it off her shoulder. Unfortunately, one corner caught and made her teeter a little. She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to berate her for the wobble.

  He did nothing but watch.

  Was he not going back for more trunks? It seemed every day he looked at her more intensely. What was he looking for? She straightened, then glanced at her shoulder, where the trunk’s leather band had bit into her flesh, and brushed the dirt off. “Well, let’s get more.”

  He blinked rather hard. “Actually, I don’t think you should . . .”

  So he had been against her bringing in things because of her arm.

  He held out his hand as if he’d heard the accusation. “There’s something you can do that I can’t. One of the Lowes’ staff arrived crying. I don’t know how the lumber mill’s fire could have traumatized the young lady, but she’s up readying the Lowes’ rooms. Someone should check on her.” He gestured with his hand as if measuring a lady at shoulder height. “She has dark blond, wavy hair.”

  “Sadie, maybe? Their housekeeper?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. Figured a strange man was not the best person to ask what was wrong.”

  He cared about what was wrong with a stranger? “All right. I’ll see if I can find her.”

  “Thank you.”

  Thank you? He didn’t even know the girl.

  He headed back outside, walking around Max and Robert coming in with a rocking horse and a basket of toys.

  She shuffled over to the curved staircase. Each step felt like it took an hour to climb. Without a single put-down, Aaron had made her feel awful.

  No, she’d made herself feel awful—because she was being awful. She should be hoping Aaron had changed rather than waiting for him to do something cruel just so she could be . . . right?

  Perhaps Aaron was wrong about her being the best choice to comfort anyone. She was the one getting testy over an imagined slight while he was seeking to settle the tensions in the house.

  She checked the green room and found Sadie dutifully putting fresh linens on the bed, her back turned to the door. A sniffle sounded.

  Mercy tapped softly on the doorjamb. “Are you all right, Sadie?”

  Sadie stiffened, then pulled her apron up to her face for a quick swipe. “Of course, it’s just . . . dust.”

  Hmmm. Sadie had no family in town who could’ve been affected by the fire. Maybe she didn’t want to be sent back to tend the other families since she was loyal to Lydia? “Do you know how long the Lowes intend to stay here?”

  She shook her head and went back to tucking in corners. “I’m sure they’ll be here as long as it takes to find suitable homes for all who need one—even if Mr. Lowe has to build them himself.”

  “Are they leaving staff behind or bringing everyone with them?”

  “Me, Pearl, and F-Franklin are coming.” She flicked a bedsheet with a little more snap than necessary. “The rest are staying.”

  Was Franklin the problem? The butler had seemed sweet on Sadie. Did she not welcome the young man’s advances? “Do you want to return to the other house?”

  “Oh, it doesn’t matter.” Sadie flicked the bedsheet again, despite the fact that it had already settled down nicely.

  Mercy moved closer and tried to use her soft, motherly voice. “It does if you’re unhappy.”

  “I’ll be unhappy either place.”

  Well, at least they’d moved past the excuse of dust causing the redness in her eyes. “Is there something I can do to make it better?”

  She shook her head and fluffed the pillows.

  “Maybe just talk?”

  The young woman stopped overfluffing and sighed. She looked out the window for a second, then took a quick glance toward Mercy. “You the gossiping kind?”

  “No.” She lifted her nub of an arm. “Not exactly thrilled when people talk about me, so I’m not the type to do it myself.”

  Sadie thumped onto the bed and picked at the loose thread on the sheet’s edge. “Franklin asked me to marry him last night.”

  She’d have smiled and offered congratulations, but the girl was entirely too sober.

  Sadie picked at her fingernails. “I had to tell him”—she looked at Mercy for a second before going back to fiddling with her hands—“things about me he didn’t know. Things I figured he wouldn’t like—and he sure didn’t.”

  “I’m sorry.” She had no idea what those things might be, but she hardly knew the girl enough to be a trusted confidante. Perhaps Aaron really would’ve been the best person to speak to Sadie, for he’d likely fear telling a woman his past if he had feelings for her.

  “I’d hoped he’d accept me. He’s been so nice to me lately, and I thought . . .” A little squeak broke her obvious effort not to cry. Sadie brought up her apron again to pat at her face. “I don’t know how I’m going to get through working with him every day, having him look at me as if I’m the worst thing that ever happened to him.” She dissolved into tears.

  Mercy sat on the bed and put her arm around the young woman. “There, there. Time will pass and it’ll get easier. And the mansion’s big enough that you and Franklin can avoid each other, if you wish.” Though she’d certainly crossed paths with Aaron more than she’d thought they would.

  “Not after we return to the house.” Sadie quickly stood and bustled over to the closet, sniffling. She pulled out an armful of sheets. “But no use blubbering when I can’t change anything. Got too much stuff to do.”

  Mercy didn’t stop her. That was probably enough prying for today anyway.

  With Sadie back to preparing the rooms and clearly done talking, Mercy might as well help the men unload, or at least make sure Owen was with Patricia. The boy was fascinated with the infrequently used elevator and would surely get in the way.

  As she walked downstairs, she met her brother on the landing, lugging up a trunk.

  He’d not come home this early since they’d first started living here. With the Lowes
moving in, would her brother get home earlier? “Good afternoon, Timothy. Are you already done with work for the day?”

  He resituated his hold on the trunk and leaned against the stairwell’s wall. “Yes. Mr. Plotman heard of the fire and told me I could have the day off to help.”

  “Do we know any of the families affected?”

  He shook his head.

  No matter—she’d find out who they were from Lydia and organize the moral society to gather essentials for them. Surely the church would take up a collection too. “Have you seen Patricia?”

  “She’s playing checkers with Owen.”

  Good. The most useful thing Patricia could do was keep him out of the way. “I’ll get more trunks, then.”

  Her brother blocked her by moving to the middle of the stair. “We don’t expect you to be hefting trunks.” His scornful chuckle made her face warm.

  Aaron came up behind Timothy. “The more the merrier, I say.”

  He’d heard Timothy laugh at her? Her face heated even more. Aaron was likely only saying that because of how she’d snapped at him earlier.

  “She’ll just be in the way.” Timothy gestured toward Max and Robert behind Aaron. “With those two and the butler, I figure we’ll be stepping over each other already.”

  “I don’t see why she couldn’t—”

  Mercy held up her hand to stop Aaron from fighting Timothy. Her brother might say something harsher if he stayed perturbed. “Thank you, Mr. Firebrook, for . . .” What? Thinking her valuable? Or at least acting as if she was? She stared blankly at his forehead.

  “Would you mind moving, Mercy?” Timothy lifted the trunk a little. “I’d like to set this down.”

  “Oh yes, of course.” She moved to the side. “I guess I’ll see if I can get Jimmy to help. Have you seen him?”

  “No.” Her brother grunted as he hefted his trunk higher. “But I’m sure he’s skulking around somewhere.” He shrugged his free shoulder before climbing past.

  Aaron didn’t follow. Why was he staring at her so intently?

  Surely he couldn’t be feeling bad about her brother mocking her help, but then again, the look in his eye seemed almost pained on her behalf.

  When Robert groaned farther down the stairs, she stepped in front of Aaron to let the young man pass.

  “You know . . .” Aaron’s voice was whisper soft, yet being so close, it seemed to rumble across her skin, holding her captive on the stair. “You shouldn’t let the voices of your past or present define who you are. Let God do that. And He says you’re precious.” His eyes moved in a mesmerizing sort of back-and-forth motion, his pupils large in the dim stairwell. “So think of yourself that way, Mercy.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at such pie-in-the-sky thoughts from a man such as him.

  He just stood there looking at her as if expecting a response. What did he want her to say? That the next time her brother treated her as less than valuable, she’d insist Timothy be more respectful because God said she mattered? “You and I both know I’m not worth much in a man’s world—as my brother, and you quite a few years ago, made clear. God loves me, yes, but I have to live in a world where not everyone does.”

  He cocked his head, leaning back a little. “What happened?”

  She blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “You used to want to be seen as Mercy first, but you’re letting your arm and others’ opinions define you—just like you’re defining me—with something we can’t change about ourselves. But it’s not who we are.”

  She dropped her gaze to the stair between them, and then he left her alone.

  If only she could keep the malformed arm she was born with from affecting her future as easily as he could pretend he didn’t have a terrible past. Did he realize how lucky he was to be able to mask what was undesirable about himself and live as a different person?

  And who was she to thwart him when she’d do the same if given the chance?

  She’d have to reconcile herself to judging him according to how he acted now, no matter how much her emotions would prefer to strip him of the chance to escape his past.

  11

  Mercy headed for the hall tree to collect the mail to save Franklin a trip to the post office.

  Caroline walked in from the basement stairwell, looking more disheveled than usual. “Are you going to the meeting?”

  “Yes. Do you want to come?” The housekeeper had only attended one moral-society meeting that Mercy knew of, but the Lowes encouraged any staff who wanted to go to do so.

  “I can’t. Katelyn took forever to go down.” Caroline pressed the door shut softly, though her room was too far away for anything but a slam to disturb the baby. She shook her head. “I was right. I can’t do my job while caring for a baby and still have time to do anything outside of this place.”

  “Infancy will pass quickly enough. Before you know it, she’ll be in school,” Mercy said. “Besides, Sadie’s here to help.”

  “I’m what?” Sadie walked down the foyer steps, her arms full of linens, looking as exhausted as Caroline. With the Lowes getting settled into the mansion, she’d been working night and day to make sure everything was attended to.

  “You’re having to do both my job and yours—that’s what.” Caroline took the bedsheets from Sadie. “Katelyn should be down for a good two hours. Why don’t you leave this to me and go to the meeting? You and Miss Sorenson seem to be enjoying each other’s company lately.”

  When Sadie came to meetings, Miss Sorenson acted less hoity-toity and more like an amicable young woman—a very good thing.

  “I wouldn’t mind chatting with Stella, but there’s plenty to do right now, and the work will lessen in a few days.” Sadie shrugged and took back the sheets. “I’m all right.”

  Mrs. Lowe came down the stairs, putting on a necklace as she descended. “The work will still be here, Sadie. I know I’m ready for an hour away. Thankfully Jake’s asleep, so I can go without any guilt.” Lydia’s eyelids drooped enough that she’d probably be better served staying home and napping with her son.

  Mercy grabbed her shawl. How spoiled she was to be the only female in this house who’d slept well last night—besides her sister-in-law anyway. Patricia turned in early no matter what was going on.

  Franklin walked around the corner and stopped, looking straight at Sadie.

  Sadie stiffened, then shook her head. “As I said, I’m all right.” She hugged the bedsheets and brushed past Lydia. “Waiting for me will only make you late.” And with that, she ascended the stairs faster than Mercy had ever seen her go.

  She and Lydia might as well hurry out before Aaron showed up to stare too. “Let’s go.” She smiled at Lydia, and they joined arms as they headed outside.

  Up near the carriage house, Aaron was leading out the sturdy pony he used to pull the mowing machine. Seemed he had a sixth sense for being wherever she was lately. She blew out a breath. She’d determined to treat him according to who he was now . . . but how could she get rid of all her leftover emotions? How could she act as if the misery he’d forced upon her during the worst time of her life hadn’t happened?

  She scanned the carriage house as they walked closer. Where was the Lowes’ driver? She pulled out her timepiece and cringed. They were already on the verge of being late.

  Lydia walked up to Aaron and frowned. “Where is Mr. Parker?”

  “He went to get a load of pavers from the quarry.”

  “That’s clear out to the county line. When did he leave?”

  “About thirty minutes ago.”

  Lydia turned to Mercy and sighed. “Seems we aren’t going anywhere.”

  Aaron stepped closer. “Where are you needing to go?”

  “The moral society meets today.” Lydia shrugged. “If I’d known Mr. Parker had left, we could’ve made time to walk.”

  “I’m sorry.” Aaron pulled off his floppy gardening hat and crushed its brim. “I’m the one who asked him to go.”
/>   “Don’t worry yourself over it.” Lydia took Mercy’s arm and started for the mansion. “I suppose we’ll—”

  “No, wait.” Aaron jogged around in front of them. “I can take you.”

  Mercy glanced over her shoulder. Though the carriage was there, the team needed to pull it wasn’t. “I’m afraid you can’t.”

  “Sure I can. The pony can pull the buggy.”

  “A buggy that is meant for two.”

  “Or three.” Aaron passed back behind them. “Come on. I’ll get Buttercup hitched and we’ll go.”

  She certainly wanted to go to the meeting, but she didn’t want to be squished up next to Aaron.

  Lydia’s eyes took on a dancing glimmer that belied the exhaustion weighting her eyelids. “Is that all right with you?”

  Mercy nodded, though she couldn’t imagine why Lydia seemed so happy about his offer. But then, Lydia had no idea how she felt about Aaron—or at least how she used to feel. Or felt now that he was . . . oh, she didn’t know what he was. Too attentive, unsettling . . . everywhere.

  He hitched the animal faster than Mr. Parker could’ve and held out his hand to her.

  She didn’t want to sit in the middle pressed up against him, so she pushed Lydia forward.

  Maybe she’d pushed too hard, since both of them looked at her with narrowed eyes. Her face heated. How could she have been so rude? And to have pushed a high-class woman whose husband paid her family’s salary, no less?

  But thankfully Lydia turned back to smile at Aaron, and he helped her up.

  How was it that lately she was the one feeling like the terribly behaved bully?

  Because bullies refuse to consider others’ feelings.

  Feelings? Aaron Firebrook having feelings seemed as unlikely as a maskless raccoon.

  Or maybe his old behavior had been the mask and this man had been behind it all along?

  Aaron held out his hand to her, his face carefully blank.

  She put her hand in his, and the second she was seated, he let go. She looked back, but he was already gone.

  Sliding to the far edge of the seat, she stared at her hand in her lap. As a child she’d always wished he’d ignore her, but funny how his doing so now made her feel . . . bereft of something.