That certainly hadn’t been what she’d almost said.
“My brain is so clogged.” Patricia continued wiping her nose. “I can’t be held accountable for anything I say.” She took a quick glance at Mercy, then wilted against the wall as if she were a melodramatic actress about to swoon. “I’m going to bed now.” She glanced at Timothy, but he did nothing but nod.
She left in a huff.
Timothy pushed himself out of his chair. “Seems I have children to attend.” He stopped in the doorway, tapping his fingers against the wood frame before turning back to look at her. “If you haven’t noticed, not every man is as lucky as Lowe, blessed with a wife he can respect. If you fault me for needing to get away from the mess of a woman she is sometimes . . . you know as well as I do that Lowe won’t keep me on staff if you tell him where I find my solace. He’s too holier-than-thou when it comes to those tramps.”
Oh, how she wished he’d chosen to stay silent, for then she might have hoped he felt remorse.
“If you snitch, we’ll be homeless—perhaps even jobless, considering the bank president tends to think as Lowe does.”
She shook her head at him. “You can always get a different job. They’re replaceable—marriages aren’t.”
“I could, but as for your remaining under my roof, if you take this away from me . . .” He gave her a long look, then took his leave.
Mercy stood with her eyes closed for a good long while, her heart beating sluggishly. So there was no hope he’d resign peacefully.
But she had to do what was right—for Timothy’s good, for everyone’s.
She stood looking out the window until she saw her brother throw a ball to Owen, an action that would’ve made her smile only weeks ago. His refusal to do what was best for these children and even his own family was his fault, not hers.
Mercy left the library and walked through the mansion in search of Nicholas. She should’ve asked Franklin where he was before he’d left.
In the kitchen, Cook was busy stirring pots, her dark curls plastered to her neck, damp with sweat.
“Have you seen Franklin?”
Her spoon clattered on the stove, but Cook picked it back up and put a hand to her heart. “He’s looking for Jimmy.” She wiped her glistening, pale forehead. Was the whole mansion coming down with sickness?
“What about Mr. Lowe?”
“In the nursery, as far as I know.” She turned her back and started whipping whatever it was she had in a pot.
Mercy watched for a second, but since Cook was energetic enough to whisk like that, perhaps she wasn’t sick.
Mercy headed for the second floor, praying she wouldn’t come across anybody on her way there. She didn’t have the energy to engage in small talk.
In the nursery, Nicholas was flat on his back in the middle of the large rug. His son wiggled above him, cradled in his hands as he dipped the little boy back and forth. “Here comes Jake the bumblebee. Swooooooping down to—”
“Excuse me.”
Nicholas looked over at her as if he’d been caught raiding the cookie jar, but he left Jake giggling high above him.
She cleared her throat but hesitated. Her next words would irrevocably affect her own life and many others’. But keeping the truth to herself wouldn’t fix the problem. “Can I talk to you?”
Nicholas rocked up into a sitting position, depositing Jake in his lap. “Of course.”
She came in and slumped against the wall. “My brother . . .” Oh, there just wasn’t an easy way to say this. She moved to sit in the rocker. “I saw him heading into a saloon about a month ago when I was helping Caroline.”
Nicholas stilled, and his eyes dulled.
“He claimed he only drank occasionally, that it didn’t affect him. But then he came home drunk the same night you returned from your business trip. Told me it was his first and last time. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept that from you, but I really wanted to believe he wouldn’t do it again.” She fidgeted in hopes of finding a comfy spot on the seat, but perhaps there was no possibility of getting comfortable now. “But there’s more.” She took a deep breath. “Since Katelyn’s sick, Caroline asked me to take medicine to Lily White’s family yesterday. When I did, I found my brother’s cuff link beside the bed.”
Nicholas’s expression turned pensive. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. Any number of men could have similar cuff links.”
“Unfortunately, no.” If only she had that hope to cling to. “Not only is the cuff link a rather unique one, but I returned it to my brother last night, telling him where I found it. He simply thanked me for returning it. He didn’t deny he’d lost it there. And just now, he told me to keep my mouth shut about him visiting her.”
After about half a minute of looking off into space, Nicholas gently set Jake down beside him and swept a pile of blocks up against his son’s chubby legs. “I suppose you know what this means?”
“Yes.” Her voice came out whisper thin. “My brother is not fit to be in charge of these children.”
Nicholas got up and put a hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for you and Patricia, but yes, if Timothy doesn’t deny it, and you said Caroline saw him at the saloon as well . . .”
She nodded.
“Then yes, I can’t keep him in my employ, not when these kids need to know that not all men are like those they encounter in the red-light district. I’d had some concerns about him, but I’d been so busy with paperwork and dealing with the people the fire displaced that I’ve been preoccupied.”
“Excuse me.” Cook poked her head into the room with a frown. She stepped across the threshold, put a platter of cookies on the bureau, and wrung her hands. “I’m sorry to overhear, but I feel I should apologize for keeping some things to myself.”
Mercy’s heart plummeted. How many people already knew about how her brother was disgracing his family?
Nicholas took his hand from Mercy’s shoulder. “Go on.”
“It’s just that . . .” Cook bit her lip. “I’ve seen some suspicious things, but I’ve kept them to myself since you and your wife seem to be such good judges of character. I’ve never worked with such an upstanding staff, and . . .” She glanced at Mercy for a second before dropping her gaze to the ground. “Since Mr. McClain is Mercy’s kin, well, I didn’t want to say anything unless I knew for certain. Wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. I’d suspected Mr. McClain might be drinking, but I didn’t know about the rest. But in regard to Mr. Firebrook—”
Nicholas’s brows furrowed. “Aaron?”
Cook nodded, and Mercy’s heart sank even deeper.
No.
She fisted her hand in her lap.
Please, don’t let her have anything bad to say about Aaron.
Cook closed her eyes as if gathering her thoughts. “I just went to check on Mr. Firebrook, since he hadn’t come to breakfast. There’s a lot of sick people today.” She pushed back the curls lying damp on her forehead.
“Are you ill as well, Miss Jamison?” Nicholas must have noticed how shaky and pale Cook looked.
“I’m not coming down with anything, no. Just worrying about my great aunt. She’s not much longer for this world. I was hoping you’d allow me a few days off to see her one last time.”
“I could have someone cover for you for a few days, Miss Jamison.”
Cook let out a stuttered sigh. “Thank you.”
He gave her a short nod, but he screwed up his lips. “But what’s this about Mr. Firebrook?”
Mercy held her breath and clamped onto the rocker’s arm. Surely he wasn’t acting in a way that would make Cook think he was doing something amiss like her brother was.
Cook looked down at her hands. “I hadn’t seen him all day. And last night, well, he was acting suspicious. When I went out to his cabin, I . . .” She scrunched her face up tight, then gave a little nod and a rush of words flew out. “I found a lot of missing things in his parlor.”
“M
issing things?” Nicholas looked away just long enough to grab the lint Jake was about to stuff in his mouth.
“Yes. The fancy copper kettle I thought I’d misplaced is in his cabin, along with the painting Mrs. Wisely wanted last night, and a jumble of other stuff all piled up.”
Mercy’s hand had somehow found her throat. Why would Aaron have those things? “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying, me and some of the staff have noticed things disappearing, and I can’t deny what I’ve seen with my own eyes.” She shook her head. “Mr. Firebrook is stealing from the orphanage.”
“I don’t believe it,” Mercy whispered. Aaron would have no reason to steal things. He wanted to teach. He wanted to make up for past wrongs. He wanted to become a better man.
Nicholas shook his head and picked up Jake. “I’ll need to see this for myself.” He marched out of the room.
Mercy somehow made her feet follow him into the hallway, though each step felt as if her soles were made of lead.
Aaron could not be two-faced, not after she’d just stood up for him at the board meeting.
But why would there be stolen property in his cabin?
Somehow little Jake seemed to sense something was amiss and stopped chattering, popped his thumb into his mouth, and laid his head on his father’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Miss McClain.” Cook came up beside her, her pale lips twitching, her brow creased with tension. “I know how you’d come to like him.”
Like him? She loved him.
Cook veered off for the basement as Mercy followed Nicholas out through the front door he held open for her. Their silent walk to Aaron’s cottage seemed to take forever, yet they got there all too quickly.
Nicholas knocked on the door and turned the knob. “Aaron?” The cabin was dark, but light spilled in with them, illuminating table, chairs, and a loveseat stacked with items as if the parlor were a storeroom. The water lily painting Mrs. Wisely had asked about last night lay against the loveseat’s arm.
A wave of cold, not unlike the first shivers of a fever, swept through her, except she wasn’t sick.
When she had asked Aaron about the painting last night, he’d said he’d look for it, but here it was.
She stepped in behind Nicholas and took in the silverware and knickknacks scattered about.
And Mrs. Wisely’s grandmother’s tortoiseshell combs.
Why did Aaron have all this stuff out here? And where was he?
Nicholas picked up a candlestick she’d seen many times in the mansion’s foyer. She’d noticed it had disappeared a few days ago, but she’d assumed Caroline or Sadie had moved it. She’d not given its disappearance a thought past that.
Nicholas put the candlestick down and forged into the bedroom, turning on the lamp.
But she couldn’t follow. No matter what he found there, it didn’t change the evidence piled up in front of her.
But why?
Just an hour ago, she’d refused to believe Mr. Carter when he’d insinuated Aaron was duping her to win the math position, though doing so could’ve helped him get the job. But stealing wouldn’t help him become a teacher or help any children.
But what if teaching hadn’t ever been his true goal?
Surely it had been, considering all the work he’d put into Jimmy.
Except Jimmy was missing too.
She sniffed. Once Aaron returned, he’d have a good explanation for this—he had to.
Nicholas came out of the bedroom, shaking his head. “We need to find Aaron so he can explain.”
She nodded, rubbing her arm in a lonely hug.
Oh please, God, don’t let my judgment be off so badly. I mean, I know I had no idea what my brother was up to, but he’s never been that good to me. But Aaron . . .
Nicholas gestured for her to walk out in front of him, and he shut the door behind them, producing a soft click. But it felt more like a final thud.
What if Aaron didn’t have a good reason for that stuff to be in his cabin? Or what if he never returned? Never before had he left his job unfinished without letting someone know where he was going.
Up ahead, a rider had stopped at the mansion’s door and dismounted.
Hopefully the man wouldn’t stick around wanting to talk. She wasn’t sure her voice would work well enough to acknowledge anyone right now.
Cook answered his knock. The man dipped his head and handed her something before turning to mount his horse and ride off.
Nicholas gave a small wave to the rider as he passed, but the man only tipped his hat and continued on. Nicholas watched him head down the hill. “Do you know who that was?”
She shook her head.
Cook was just about to back into the mansion when Nicholas called out, “Is that message for me?”
She froze, pressing a folded piece of paper against her chest, her eyes wide and her face nearly as white as cream.
Nicholas put speed into his step and reached out to steady the woman. “Are you certain you’re feeling all right?”
“No. I’m not.” She folded up the paper into a tiny square, her hands trembling. “It’s a message . . . from my cousin. Aunt Freda asked for me by name, but . . . she likely won’t survive long enough to see me.”
“You don’t know until you try.” Nicholas gave her arm a slight shake. “Go as soon as you can pack.”
“Thank you.” Cook rushed back into the mansion.
Mercy hung back as Nicholas followed Cook inside.
How soon until she’d be packing up herself? Even if Timothy and Patricia would allow her to come with them after being fired, she just couldn’t.
She could ask to stay on until the Lowes hired new directors, but if Aaron wasn’t who she believed him to be, if she didn’t need to wait around for him to declare himself . . .
No, he’d be back. Within the day. With a good explanation.
Surely. Surely he would.
33
Stumbling forward in the morning light, Aaron approached the run-down house where he hoped to find Zachary, or at least someone who’d actually seen Jimmy. He was done with wild-goose chases.
He stopped walking to yawn, thankful to be back in Teaville. Yesterday and the night before he’d run from one vague clue to another, one town to the next. He’d barely let himself sleep last night, but he’d needed it since he’d not slept the night before.
His borrowed horse’s gait had been lazy and slow this morning, and he’d almost fallen asleep several times. He should’ve had another cup of coffee before leaving the hotel, but the place was dank and smelled of mildew, and he’d been eager to return to see if Nicholas had found out anything, especially after a lodger he’d eaten breakfast with yesterday had said he’d purchased something from a man in Teaville who matched Zachary’s description two weeks ago, and he’d mentioned the young man had sported a black eye.
Hopefully he’d find Jimmy’s alleged brother here. Once he’d figured out Jimmy had no brother, he’d started to get somewhere.
Though after two nights and a day of running around like a decapitated chicken, time was now his foe. If Zachary wasn’t here, he was out of ideas. Hopefully Nicholas had already pieced together Zachary or Jimmy’s whereabouts using the information he’d sent with a man he’d met who had agreed to stop at the mansion on his way home.
Was it too much to hope Jimmy had disappeared on his own, being the disobedient boy he always was, and had returned to the mansion unharmed?
A dog barked as he approached the half-painted, two-story house, and the porch’s slats creaked below him. He winced when one cracked beneath his full weight, and he gingerly made his way to the dog-scratched white door and knocked.
They might be upset with him coming so early, but he was not in the mood to wait a few hours to be sure everyone was awake. He needed a new set of clothes, a nap, a—
“What do you want?” A woman’s groggy voice called from behind the door.
To know that Jimmy was all right. But afte
r two nights, he was only hoping to find him. “I’m looking for Zachary.”
“What do you want with him?”
His heart leapt, the jolt of hope as good as stout coffee. “I’m trying to locate a mutual acquaintance.”
A woman with a rough face and a terrifying scowl opened the door, though the chain kept them separated. “Who?”
“Jimmy.”
She blinked her sleep-filled eyes. “What’ve they done?”
Plenty probably, but their crimes could be dealt with later. “I don’t know that they’ve done anything, but I think Jimmy’s in trouble, and I need to find him.”
“You the police?” Her eyes narrowed, and a boy of about seven squished in front of her flannel wrapper to get a look at the stranger. His hair was a mess, but he looked as if he could be kin to the young man Aaron had punched in the cellar.
“I’m not the police.”
The door shut.
Had she actually wanted the police?
“Zach!” Her rusty holler leaked through the house as if it were a sieve. “Wake up! Someone wants you!”
An answering shout filled with curses made Aaron cringe and glance at the houses stacked down the block. Hopefully they weren’t waking the entire street.
There was a door slam, and then things went quiet.
Several minutes later after much thumping, the front door opened again, this time wide. Zachary’s scowl was made less menacing by the wrinkle indentations across his cheek. “What do you want?”
The woman he assumed was Zachary’s mother came up behind the young man, her hand clasping her wrapper closed. “Ask your question and be done with it.”
“Do you know where Jimmy’s mother lives?”
Zachary shrugged. “Don’t know a Jimmy.”
“Then we’re done here.” The woman came forward to shut the door. “He doesn’t know him.”
Aaron put his foot forward to keep the door from closing. “Not so fast. I’ve seen him with Jimmy.”
A Chance at Forever Page 28
