A Chance at Forever

by Melissa Jagears

  Out cold. She couldn’t just leave him out here for the servants to find in the morning. And she certainly hadn’t the strength to drag him upstairs.

  She marched back into the kitchen, filled a glass with water, and returned to throw it in Timothy’s face.

  He sputtered. “What?” He waved his hands about his head as if warding off a swarm of bees.

  “Shhhh!” She hoped the water cleared his head better than the coffee. “It’s time for you to head to bed before anyone else comes by.”

  He rubbed both his hands down his face and flicked the water from his hair. “You didn’t have to throw water on me.”

  “And you shouldn’t have come home drunk.”

  He sighed as if annoyed, but got up. “You’re being ridiculous.”

  She kept her lips pressed tight to keep from arguing more, lest he decide to argue all the way through the mansion. She followed him upstairs, holding her breath as they passed through the hallway, not daring to breathe freely until he was shut behind his own door.

  She trudged to her room and slumped onto the bed. What chance had they of not being kicked out within the month if Timothy couldn’t get ahold of himself? Even if Nicholas hadn’t come home unexpectedly, they could’ve been caught by any number of people.

  But he’d said this was his first time drunk, and he’d not do it again.

  She’d given Aaron a chance; should she not give her brother one?

  And yet, Timothy hadn’t seemed the least bit sorry. Hopefully he’d feel remorse come morning.

  Strange to find herself wishing he was more like Aaron.

  Lydia was right. The Aaron she knew now wouldn’t do anything to hurt anyone if he could help it, and if he did, he’d feel the guilt deeply and apologize repeatedly.

  He had indeed changed, and she could no longer act as if he hadn’t.

  Slipping down off the edge of the bed, she kneeled to petition God to change Timothy just as significantly.

  22

  Aaron lugged another crate of glass vases and knickknacks from the Sorensons’ wagon, hefted it onto his shoulder, and headed inside the mansion to put it with the other auction donations. He’d been carting things up to the third floor all morning, and when he finished that, there were tables and chairs to bring up and set pieces to build for the Shakespeare scenes Max and some of his friends were going to perform. He’d be busy for days. Perhaps that’s why Nicholas hadn’t fired him for fighting yet—they needed his help too much right now to let go of a strong back.

  If they were letting him stay so he’d have time enough to get information out of Jimmy, they shouldn’t bother. He’d tried a couple of times to talk to the boy, to figure out what he’d misinterpreted and what the man he’d beaten up was actually making him do, but Jimmy refused to talk. Though he still rolled his eyes and sneered plenty.

  Aaron glanced at Mercy talking to her sister-in-law near the music room but made himself look away as he headed for the stairs. He’d at least expected a reprimand from Nicholas—a garnishment, something. He certainly wouldn’t complain about the work, since he wanted the auction to be a success, but when would the ax fall?

  He stomped up the last of the stairs, set down his crate, and followed Franklin down for more.

  “Aaron?” Nicholas looked up at him from the bottom of the staircase.

  Despite his heart already beating hard from all the hauling and stair climbing, his heart found a way to go faster. “Yes, sir?”

  Nicholas beckoned him to follow and headed for his office.

  Aaron tried hard to keep his feet from dragging down the staircase. When he stepped off the last stair, he headed across the foyer, keeping his head down so he couldn’t see if Mercy was watching him. Surely she knew why Nicholas was calling him to the office. Would her eyes be filled with pity or vindication?

  He didn’t want to know.

  Nicholas entered the office first and walked to his desk.

  Aaron slid in and closed the door behind him. “Sir?”

  “I want you to take this upstairs for the auction.” He put a hand atop a fancy globe on a wooden stand by his desk. “I’ve been meaning to take it up, but I keep forgetting, and my lawyer just brought me another stack of paperwork.” He picked the globe up and set it in front of him. “It’s not exactly heavy, just awkward.”

  The globe? He exhaled loudly. “Was that all you wanted?”

  Nicholas cocked an eyebrow. “Yes. Was there something else you needed to discuss?”

  Need? Not exactly, but extricating the pins and needles he was on would be nice. “Has Mercy spoken to you about . . . anything unusual after you returned?”

  “No.” Nicholas drew up taller. “Is there something I need to know?”

  Aaron shook his head. His boss probably should know, but he’d not do anything stupid before the auction. He didn’t want to make things harder on the staff right now. If this auction was a success, he might feel as if he’d done something worthwhile here before being asked to leave.

  “Unless you mean Mercy telling me this morning that she had no objections to me starting the paperwork for you to adopt Owen. I wouldn’t call that unusual though, since I had no doubt she would agree at some point. It’s clear you aren’t who you once were.”

  He blinked. She’d decided to let him have Owen . . . this morning? Surely that wasn’t right. “When did she tell you this?”

  “Did she not tell you?” He made a tsking noise. “I guess I just ruined her surprise.”

  Aaron shook his head but kept his mouth shut to keep from uttering nonsense. A surprise was an understatement.

  Nicholas moved back to his desk. “Of course, I’d like to know if you intend to keep him with you in the gardener’s cottage or plan to move elsewhere, and when you plan to assume the boy’s care—those sorts of things. But we can talk about that later.”

  Aaron’s mouth felt numb, but he forced himself to ask again. “I’m sorry, but are you certain she told you this morning?”

  “Yes.” Nicholas stopped gathering up papers. “Has something recently come up that will keep you from adopting Owen?”

  He’d figured beating up Jimmy’s brother a week ago would’ve done that. But if she’d told him only this morning . . . something wasn’t making sense. “Uh . . . no, sir.”

  “As I said, we can talk through details and paperwork later.” Nicholas pointed toward the globe. “Don’t forget that.”

  His feet moved forward, though his brain was foggy. “Can I continue on as gardener if I don’t get the teaching position?” Would Mercy change her mind about keeping him from that? He’d pretty much given up the hope of teaching in Teaville, but what if . . . ?

  “Figured you might want to. The transition for Owen might not be as difficult that way, and you’ll have no problem keeping him well fed, since Cook will see to that.” He smiled. “But yes, you’re welcome to raise your son in the gardener’s cottage.”

  His son. Though he’d set out to convince Mercy to allow him to have Owen, he’d not let himself think that far.

  A son, with no wife to help him. What had Iris been thinking?

  Perhaps he needed to stop asking people what they wanted him to do to earn their forgiveness. Who knew what other crazy things he might find himself obligated to do. If Iris hadn’t realized how completely insane it was to ask the man who’d tormented her to raise her son, who knew what his other victims might come up with.

  Nicholas was staring at him.

  Aaron rubbed his hands on his trousers. “Thank you, sir. I’d like time to think that over.” Though Owen would appreciate Cook’s cooking over his, staying in the cottage meant he’d be living right next to Mercy. Would he feel as if she were judging his every parenting decision? And yet she’d decided last week’s round of fisticuffs with Jimmy’s brother wasn’t a reason to keep Owen from him.

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you, there are some easels in the pump room. I saw the women carrying up paintings and thought they might li
ke to use them for display.”

  Aaron hefted the globe. “All right. I’ll get them.”

  Nicholas was already back to work, so Aaron walked out the door and halfway down the hall before he realized he was going the wrong way. He turned back for the stairwell, but Mercy had just slipped inside.

  He stopped. What would he say to her?

  He should thank her, though he was more inclined to ask what was wrong with her. Why had she told Nicholas she agreed to Owen’s adoption when her belief that he shouldn’t be anywhere near children had been justified by the fight last week?

  But he couldn’t talk to her in a stairwell with a huge globe between them. He set it against the wall. If he got the easels, he wouldn’t be following on her heels. He headed toward the basement stairs.

  Today’s goal of staying busy and out of Mercy’s way had gone out the window.

  Should he tell her she’d made a mistake?

  Because she had.

  But if he didn’t take Owen, he’d feel as if he’d failed the boy and Iris both.

  Dodging Franklin and Max carrying a settee through the entryway, Aaron slipped into the servants’ stairwell and headed to the basement.

  The long room behind the basement stairs was filled with all sorts of things stacked along the walls, but where were the easels? He walked the length of the room, hoping to spot them before he had to start digging around.

  The door slammed above him, and a baby’s fussing accompanied a shuffling set of footsteps. Caroline must be headed down to put the baby to sleep.

  Thank you, God, for not giving me Owen as a baby. I’m not sure how I’ll do raising him, but I’d have been lost with what to do with an infant.

  Katelyn cried louder, and Caroline shushed her.

  Maybe if he stayed on as gardener, he and Caroline could help each other. Being single with a child couldn’t be easy. Perhaps he could offer to help her if she’d help him—though what he could possibly do to help her he didn’t know.

  Ah, the easels. He pulled three of them out from behind some sort of cart. He’d have to wash them before taking them to the third floor.

  The servants’ door above the pump room slammed again, and this time, the footsteps were louder and quicker.

  “Caroline!” a man’s voice called, the thick accent belonging to Henri.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  Aaron picked up the easels and headed for the doorway. Maybe Henri would take them up so he could get the globe.

  “I’ve been trying to get you alone for days now so I can ask you to marry me, but you won’t stand still.”

  Aaron froze. This was definitely not a conversation to interrupt. He took a step back into the pump room to keep from being seen.

  Hopefully she’d say yes and they’d move on, never to know he’d overheard.

  “What?” Caroline’s incredulous tone must’ve surprised the baby, since she quit fussing.

  “You asked me to help you figure out a way to raise Katelyn without burdening the Lowes, and I can’t think of a better way than for us—”

  “No,” Caroline answered.

  Aaron winced and held his breath.

  “I know you don’t want much to do with me, but the marriage can be . . . convenient, if you so wish. That way, you can care for the baby without needing to worry about—”

  “I wouldn’t want you to marry someone you care nothing for just because you feel guilty about what I said to you last year. It’s not your fault my sister went into prostitution in some misguided attempt to give me a chance with you.”

  Aaron closed his eyes. He shouldn’t be privy to this conversation, but part of him couldn’t help but be curious.

  “But you said—”

  “Please.” Caroline’s voice had grown misty. “I didn’t tell you about how Moira saved me from the life she now leads to guilt you into caring for me. I know you don’t feel anything for me—”

  “I don’t feel guilt in regard to you.” Henri’s voice lowered in intensity. “Do you really think no man would want to protect or help you? All you’ve done and all you’ve sacrificed for those no one else cares about hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

  “That may be true, but I know men. They want attractive women. And any man who once pursued my sister could not be attracted to me.”

  “Look at me, Caroline.” Henri’s footsteps echoed in the hallway. “Am I at all attractive? Even when we were young I wasn’t much to look at, and now I’m older and fatter. What I can’t understand is what you saw in me back then.”

  “You were nice to me.” Caroline’s voice choked, and she shushed the baby, even though Katelyn’s grousing had subsided, perhaps mesmerized by the insistent voices. “You didn’t pay me much mind, but you were never mean when I got in the way, and you weren’t unseemly like the other men who came to see my sister. And you seemed to genuinely care for her, which was admirable compared to the others.”

  She sniffed. “And then years later, I saw you helping Nick assist the red-light women.”

  “You liked me even then?”

  “No. I mean . . . I was over you by then, but that doesn’t mean I couldn’t still admire you.”

  A thick silence descended for a moment, and Aaron tensed to keep from moving, in case the slightest movement would echo against the concrete walls.

  “Did Nick ever . . .” Henri cleared his throat. “Did he tell you why we aren’t friends anymore?”

  “I’m not privy to his personal affairs, but I’d guessed it’s because he’s too religious.”

  “No. I mean . . . he is. But that’s not why we’re no longer friends. It’s because I wasn’t helping the women out of compassion, like you and Nick do. I was doing it for selfish reasons. . . .” Henri muttered something Aaron couldn’t hear.

  Aaron put his head against the concrete wall, wanting to pray for them to be done so he wouldn’t feel like a cad for eavesdropping, but it seemed they needed this conversation too much for him to disrupt it. He just hoped he’d not sneeze or something.

  “I’m afraid to say too much because . . .” Henri’s voice warbled. “Well, my proposal still stands. I want to help you live as you please, to allow you to focus on the baby, to want for nothing. You came to me asking for a job, and this is the job, to be a mother and homemaker. And maybe come to care for me a little, to see if your old feelings for me could return. I’ll do the earning money part.”

  “Why would you be willing to change your life for us?”

  Aaron held his breath. Come on, Henri, just tell her. The man’s voice was too breathy and uneven to mask his true feelings. No man talked to a woman like that if he felt nothing for her.

  “If you’re willing to have me, I’d be gaining quite a bit, actually—a wife I don’t deserve and a family to keep the loneliness at bay. I might have to give up some things, yes, but at some time a man has to grow up, right? I’ve thought this through, Caroline. I’ve even begun to hope for it. I could do some good, make up for the past, be worth something to somebody, and I . . .”

  The basement turned quiet, and Aaron held his breath. Had they moved away, or had they heard him and realized they weren’t alone?

  His heart thumped loudly in his ears, and the shallow breaths he allowed himself to take sounded like a rush of wind. But at least he didn’t hear footsteps coming toward him.

  “I don’t know, Henri. I don’t know.” And then soft, shuffling footsteps receded down the hallway.

  “Please,” Henri called after her. “Please think about it.” The tone of his voice revealed his heartbreak from being turned down. It was subtle, but it was there.

  “All right.” Caroline’s voice was far enough away that her words were almost too soft to hear. And then a door shut.

  A spell of silence, and then a man’s heavy footsteps started up the stairs.

  Aaron allowed himself to breathe again.

  It’d probably be best to wait a minute or two in case either of them saw him leave and
realized he’d been close enough to overhear.

  What had come between the two of them to alienate them so? Something terrible Henri did in the past, obviously. And yet he still had the courage to tell Caroline he was in love with her. Well, not in words, but if Aaron could hear it in the man’s voice, then surely Caroline had to have an inkling.

  If Jimmy and Robert could see he wanted to kiss Mercy, surely Mercy at least realized he didn’t hate her anymore, not that he’d ever hated her. He’d only hated himself for not being able to be like her.

  What if he explained his past to Mercy? She’d overheard him reliving his memories the night in the cellar, so she must have some idea. She might be horrified to learn the details, and it might not help her understand why he’d once treated her so poorly, but at least she would know why he’d gone temporarily mad that night.

  And yet she hadn’t told Nicholas what happened. If he’d beaten that young man up a month ago, she most certainly would have.

  He had to know. If she could see him at his worst and somehow think he was still worth something . . .

  He picked up the easels, and after a glance into the hallway to be sure no one would see him leave the pump room, he headed out as nonchalantly as possible.

  Yet his heart tripped all over itself. He hoped his feet wouldn’t follow in kind as he made his way upstairs.

  He’d never told anyone his story—except for the reverend in California. But if he was going to tell someone else, it should be Mercy, the girl who’d borne the brunt of his anger in years past, the woman who evidently saw something redeemable in him when he’d thought he’d lost all hope of redemption.

  23

  Aaron thumped up the last of the stairs with the newly cleaned easels and forged into the busy third-floor ballroom, where the moral-society ladies were arranging things for Friday’s auction.

  Mercy was still working on the west side of the room, as she had been when he’d brought up the globe earlier, but now she was alone. Which meant he might be able to talk to her.