“I’ll return to the mansion and think about what else I can do too.”
“Until then, Miss O’Conner.”
A moment later, Henri crossed in front of their horse, his hat pulled down far enough that Mercy couldn’t see his eyes, but his jaw was tense. His steps were quick as he made his way to the other side of the street and started walking in the direction they’d come.
Caroline hefted herself back into the wagon, and Mercy lifted the baby toward her.
“No.” Caroline held out her hand and grabbed the reins instead. “You keep her.” And then she called for the horse to go.
Mercy squirmed a bit, but keeping her thoughts to herself just wouldn’t do. “I know you didn’t mean for me to overhear, but I hope you don’t let your inability to do things as well as you once did drive you from the orphanage. Though you’re right that Katelyn is your kin and responsibility, she is the abandoned child of a prostitute, and that clearly is the type of children the Lowes are trying to help. Whether she’s your niece or not, I’m sure they’re happy to support you. Patricia and I could—”
“It’s more than that.” Caroline sighed and fiddled with the reins. “For years I pushed my sister and other prostitutes to leave the district, get a good job, and keep their family together. Yet none of them could plop themselves on a rich man’s doorstep and demand to be paid to take care of their own children.”
Caroline turned the horse and slowed to a walk. “I’ve been so adamant that these women could have a better life if they just wanted it badly enough, but I didn’t stop to really consider how nearly impossible that task was. Henri once told me I was wasting my time with my sister, that she wasn’t worth the effort, and I vehemently disagreed, despite how every choice she made backed him up. I kept insisting that she turn her life around, but how can I continue to advise these women to do so if I can’t do it myself? And I don’t even have the social stigma they have to contend with.”
Mercy stared into Katelyn’s sweet sleeping face.
Caroline, the Lowes, and even the previous orphanage directors had all tried to help children and women out of the district, but they’d run up against seemingly insurmountable resistance. Perhaps the only hope for these women was what Aaron had suggested—convincing the men who made the district profitable that what they were doing was wrong, one man at a time.
The whole problem was sinful hearts, plain and simple. From the men who took advantage of the pleasures of the district, to the disdain and apathy of those who never stepped in to minister to those ensnared within it.
But what could she do to persuade anyone to change their conduct when Aaron, who’d been known for his awful behavior, had done more to soften Jimmy than she had? How could she change the hearts of strangers when her own brother wouldn’t listen to her about how his clandestine trips into the district could ruin their family’s livelihood and reputation?
The only tool she had was prayer, and if that was so, why didn’t she use it more often?
17
With his rake, Aaron dug the last of the old leaves from under the hedges running along the mansion’s back porch. The birds in a bush near the conservatory flew off in a tizzy when Mercy came out the back door. He froze so as not to draw attention to himself. Not only because he still felt silly without his beard but because she’d clearly been uncomfortable around him since he’d kissed her. He didn’t want to make things worse, so he’d tried to stay out of her way.
She scanned the garden, and when the dust he’d stirred up made him sniff, she headed straight for him, stopping just on the other side of the railing.
She’d been looking for him? “Good afternoon, Miss McClain.”
She didn’t return the greeting, but given the way she wriggled her lips, she wanted to say something.
He looked away, hoping she hadn’t noticed him staring at her mouth and wouldn’t assume he wanted to kiss her again. Which he did, but, well, she didn’t need to know.
“When we moved back to Teaville . . .” She looked off into the distance. “I’m sure it will come as no surprise I was happy to find you’d left town, but . . . well, I was just wondering, what took you to California?”
He stopped and leaned against his rake. She’d been thinking about him? In ways other than how to avoid him?
She looked back at him. “It’s rather far.”
“Yes, that was my intent. The west coast was farther than the east, so I went that way.”
“Why?”
He went back to raking so he didn’t have to look at her. He still struggled with the guilt he harbored for how he’d once treated her, but that, mixed with the pull of attraction and the desire to be worthy of her now, made it difficult to know how to talk to her. “Remember the day you told me you and your brother decided against returning to Teaville because I’d be here? Well, I know how that feels. I had my own tormentor I never wanted to see again.”
“I see.” She looked down at the ground again, fiddling with the sleeve that was pinned back on her arm, seemingly in no hurry to go anywhere.
Was it possible that kissing her hadn’t ruined his chance with her? If it didn’t, he’d have to go slow. Like with Jimmy, pushing for everything to change at once only made him more resistant. . . . Except Jimmy wasn’t there anymore. He sighed. Had taking him to Mr. Ragsdale’s been the right thing to do? It’d been four days since the boy had left, and as far as he knew, Mercy had yet to check on him.
He’d been uneasy about the decision, but what business did a lowly gardener have telling the richest man in Teaville what to do with his charity cases?
Maybe Mercy could show him where Mr. Ragsdale lived and they could take turns visiting. Hopefully he’d see Jimmy at church so he could let the boy know he cared about what was happening to him.
Though Mercy still stood quietly by the railing, he forced himself back to work. What could he say to figure out if he had a chance with her without scaring her off? Telling her she looked beautiful bathed in the afternoon sunlight would be too forward; telling her he waited for glimpses of her all day long would be as well.
He glanced up and found her watching him. “Uh . . .” He cleared his throat. The hair framing her face made her look as soft and dreamy as the Monet painting in the Lowes’ parlor. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”
Her eyebrows rose. “I do this to my hair every day. It’s the only thing I can do with it.”
“Well, it’s nice.” Perhaps that compliment had been too subtle, considering her reaction was a rebuttal and not a smile. “Shows you’re practical.”
“Practical? Well, I guess it’s that.” She rolled her eyes.
“If you don’t like it, why don’t you do something fancier?”
“Can’t.” She lifted her bad arm a fraction, and he closed his eyes and groaned. How did he always bring up her missing hand in one way or another? She probably thought that was all he paid attention to.
She sighed. “My mother used to do my hair up fancy on Sundays, but that was years ago.”
He almost suggested having Patricia do it, but she’d likely complain that Mercy had the audacity to ask.
He certainly wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to run his fingers through Mercy’s wispy blond hair, pile it atop her head, kiss her exposed neck . . .
He blew out a breath and set down his rake. Time to head toward the well and splash himself with cold water. “Excuse me, I . . .”
Mercy was no longer looking at him but off into the distance, her cheeks drained of color, her body rigid.
He’d never actually seen someone go pale before. “Are you all right?” He turned to look where she was looking. Nothing unusual except for the plume of smoke he’d noted earlier, about a half mile away at the southern edge of town.
“That fire.” Her voice came out raspy. “It’s coming from Mr. Ragsdale’s place.” She picked up her skirts and ran down the steps. “We’ve got to get the firefighters.”
“Now, wait a minut
e.” He jogged to catch up as she headed toward the carriage house. “There’s plenty of people burning leaves right now. I’ve seen smoke from fires scattered all over for the past few weeks.”
She slowed but didn’t stop. “After how we forced Jimmy to go, who knows what he might do.” She picked up her pace as she hurried past his cabin.
“Mr. Parker’s not here. He drove Mr. Lowe to Caney.” He came up beside her, matching her frenzied pace. “What do you want to do?”
“Check on Jimmy. If the fire’s serious, get the firefighters.”
“Then I’ll go with you.” She was likely worrying over nothing, but he hitched Buttercup to the buggy, and Mercy hopped in immediately and perched on the edge of her seat. Minutes later he urged the pony into a run down the driveway—or at least as fast of a run as Buttercup could manage with her stocky legs.
As they got closer to Mr. Ragsdale’s property, they saw that the smoke’s origin was clearly coming from a haystack aflame in the pasture. He urged Buttercup to go faster, for the fire was creeping straight for the barn through the dead grasses. Jimmy was rubbing out the small flames struggling upwind with his boots, but the fire crawling to the east was an inferno. Two men were throwing buckets of water, one at the wall of flames, the other dousing the barn walls.
He handed Mercy the reins. “Get the firefighters in case we can’t stop this.” When the pony slowed, Aaron hopped down and ran to the men. “Do you have brooms?”
The older man he assumed to be Mr. Ragsdale stopped, his breath coming in gasps. “I didn’t expect it to get away from us so quickly. There are brooms in the house.”
The farmer could find them more quickly than he could. “Bring us as many as you have.”
Mr. Ragsdale handed him his empty bucket and ran off. The other man continued to lob water at the barn.
Aaron filled the pail from one of the troughs, then searched for another bucket they could use. He’d helped burn fields a few times as a young man—why anyone had let a headstrong boy like him help, he didn’t know, but he supposed it was for cases such as this.
Though he’d dealt with one fire gone wild, this one was further out of control. He rushed inside the barn, his heart already beating up into his throat. After dumping the contents of a small feeding bin, he ran back outside to fill it with water. He walked behind the wall of fire as quickly as he could without sloshing too much.
Mr. Ragsdale came back with two brooms and handed one to Aaron. They both dipped the ends in the water, forged closer to the heat, and swatted the fire down—one from each side, working toward the middle. The heat made Aaron’s skin tighten, and a few times he had to back off since he felt hot enough to combust.
Aaron’s broom started to smolder, so he wet it again, then dragged the feeder forward and dunked his head in the water. He returned to swatting out the fire, ignoring the tightness in his lungs. They only had maybe thirty yards until the fire hit the barn.
The minutes passed like hours as they beat upon the grass-eating fire. Finally, only a few feet shy of the barn, the last of the flames were tall but few. The man on the other side of the fire stopped lobbing buckets of water onto the barn and targeted the fire itself. Aaron smacked the largest of the flames with his broom, thankful the water from the bucket dampened the fire enough for him to get in and bat at the flames without burning off his eyebrows.
A few minutes later, Mr. Ragsdale smacked the last of the flames and Aaron rubbed out the smoldering grasses with his boot.
Mr. Ragsdale leaned heavily on his broom and let out a long exhale. His face was a mess of sweat and blackened ash.
Holding on to his sides as he worked to catch his breath, Aaron turned to see how Jimmy was faring. The boy had stamped out the fire spreading upwind but just stood staring at the haystack blazing away.
The man with the bucket came over and clapped a hand onto Mr. Ragsdale’s shoulder. “Glad that’s over.”
“Yes, thanks for helping, Wyatt.”
Wyatt blew out a breath and with his hands on his hips looked out over the blackened field to the burning haystack. “Since it’s under control, I better get back to my farm. I don’t think I shut the gate before I left.” He took in a deep breath, still struggling to talk. “Might have to search for some cows.”
Once the younger man started off across the field, Mr. Ragsdale turned to Aaron. “I don’t know who you are, but I thank you. Name’s Bill Ragsdale.” He dropped his broom and walked over to shake Aaron’s hand. His handshake was less than robust, but the man was clearly winded.
Not that Aaron wasn’t out of breath himself. “Aaron Firebrook. I work at the orphanage.” He wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve. “Miss McClain saw the fire and wanted to check on you. She was afraid Jimmy might’ve had something to do with it.”
Bill’s face grew hard. “That’s about it exactly.”
Really? He’d thought she’d been paranoid. “What did he do?”
“I don’t know, but he certainly wasn’t doing anything to stop the fire until I came out to see what was burning.” The man threw out his hand forcefully. “He was just sitting there watching the fire head toward the barn. Didn’t alert me, didn’t go for a bucket, nothing.” Mr. Ragsdale shook his head, his expression growing harder under his ash-streaked face. “He started stamping out the fire after I showed him what to do. But even then he didn’t seem too eager.”
“Maybe he panicked.” He was once a lot like Jimmy—irresponsible, haughty, ignorant. But to intentionally set fire to someone’s property?
Would he have torched his uncle’s place if he’d thought of it? His uncle certainly would’ve deserved that and much more.
He shook his head. No. He might have threatened it, but he’d never have done it.
“Considering the other things Jimmy’s done the last four days, I don’t think it’s him being too stupid to know what to do. He’s failed to feed and water the animals after being reminded plenty, he’s let the chickens out of their coop more often than not, he’s broken implements, he’s left the good ones out to rust in the rain, and now he’s set a fire.” Bill gestured toward the haystack still ablaze. “Intentional or not, I can’t keep him. I could work with him if he was simply undisciplined, but if the boy’s going to try to destroy my livelihood . . .” The man’s voice died off and he sniffed. “It’s all I got left.”
“I understand.” Plenty of people had given up on him when he’d hit Jimmy’s age. At least Jimmy had somewhere to go, and since Mr. Ragsdale wasn’t his kin, it likely wouldn’t hurt too much to be kicked out—though Jimmy would surely act as if it didn’t hurt whatsoever.
If he’d set this fire intentionally though, maybe the Lowes wouldn’t want him back. “I’ll tell Jimmy to pack his things.”
“No.” Mr. Ragsdale held up his hand. “I’ll get his things. I don’t trust him inside unless I’m hovering over his shoulder. Caught him swiping half dollars from my coin box.”
“All right.” Though things were far from all right. Once Mr. Ragsdale started for his house, Aaron marched over to Jimmy, who was still scowling at the haystack.
The boy caught a glimpse of him coming and quickly looked the other way. His jaw was tight and his shoulders tense, yet the closer Aaron got, the more apparent it was that Jimmy was shaking. Was he still feeling the rush of staring down danger and subduing it, or was he afraid of how he’d be punished?
Aaron’s boot snapped a stick, and Jimmy turned toward him, shaking his head. “I didn’t do it.”
His stomach sank. He most likely did, then. If Jimmy was worse than he’d been as a child, was he kidding himself to think he could help the boy? “I’m not sure anyone will believe you. You realize Mr. Ragsdale has the right to press charges?”
Jimmy stared blankly at the fire, one arm across his chest, clamped onto his shoulder. “I tried to stop it.”
If there was any truth in what the boy said, calling him a liar would not win the boy’s trust. “Regardless, you’ve been
enough trouble that Mr. Ragsdale isn’t willing to keep you.”
“Where am I going now?” His bloodshot eyes blinked rapidly. From irritants, or was he on the verge of tears?
Aaron took a moment to suck some oxygen into his starving lungs. “The orphanage, as far as I know.”
The boy nodded rapidly as if happy with that answer.
But Jimmy had never seemed happy there. Aaron’s fists clenched and his heartbeat swelled again. Had Bill Ragsdale been treating him so poorly Jimmy wanted to get away that badly?
Aaron closed his eyes and focused on breathing again. He shouldn’t react to the assumption he’d just leapt to—though it was easy to do after knowing “upstanding citizens” who’d been monsters behind closed doors. “Why would you want to leave here so badly you’d attempt to burn down a man’s property?”
“I said, I didn’t do it.” Jimmy stomped and then hissed as if he’d hurt himself.
With such an adamant foot stamp, perhaps he hadn’t set the fire. And yet, something was off.
“Mr. Ragsdale might be all right.” Jimmy shrugged, his cheek twitching. “But I can’t stay.”
Well, at least Jimmy wasn’t setting fires because Mr. Ragsdale had treated him poorly. He blew out a breath. “Why couldn’t you have at least tried to get along?”
“Because I don’t want to, all right?” The boy’s uncharacteristic anxiety transformed back into his usual hardness.
“Why’d you light the fire?”
“I didn’t! He . . . uh . . .” He scanned the ground around him as if looking for an excuse. “Well, I . . . I was smoking. Mr. Ragsdale told me I couldn’t, and it just happened. Nothing I could do about it.”
“You were smoking by the haystack?”
His lip twitched on one side. “Yeah.”
Smoking was certainly one of Jimmy’s vices, but unless he’d dozed off, he could’ve kept a smoldering fire from getting out of hand. “That’s it?”
The boy’s gaze stayed riveted to the ground where the fire’s flickering flames danced as spectral shadows.
A Chance at Forever Page 15
