by Jody Hedlund
“I was engaged once,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
She waited for him to elaborate. But he only stared out the window as though he’d disappeared into another time and place.
“You loved her very much?” she finally dared to ask, more curious about Drew’s past love than she wanted to admit.
Again Drew was silent. But the silence said it all. He’d once loved a woman, and that love had cost him his heart.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His attention flickered back to her. “It’s in the past. And that’s where I prefer to leave it.”
“Then I won’t bring it up again,” she said earnestly.
“Thank you.”
Silence settled in around them. The rocking of the car with the steady clack of the wheels began to lull her until her eyelids felt heavy.
“You should get some sleep.” His voice drifted to her but sounded a dozen miles away.
She nodded and let her eyes close all the way. Her last thoughts before falling asleep were that she wished somehow she could heal Drew’s heartache and make him happy.
Chapter 6
“Don’t go too far from the depot,” Drew instructed the three older boys, who’d already hunkered down in their new coats and pulled their hats low as they strode away from the train platform.
The only one to acknowledge his command was Ned, who glanced over his shoulder and squinted in the bright morning sunlight. “Sure thing, Mr. Brady.” The bruise under the boy’s eye was healing, but the scar across his brow would never go away. Neither would the inner scars, the ones inflicted by a father who thought nothing of taking a leather belt to his son’s face. From the way Ned explained the incident, he’d merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time—sleeping on the floor in a spot that had caused his father to trip and fall over him.
Drew had seen Ned’s face after that particular beating, a gruesome portrait of cuts and bruises, the worst where the belt buckle had cut deeply, requiring two layers of stitches to heal properly.
Drew pressed a hand against his upper arm and winced. The gunshot wound still stung. But better him with the bullet wound than Ned. Hopefully now, Ned would never have to face his father’s drunken abuse again. Drew prayed Ned would finally be free to make a good life for himself.
Some opponents of the Emigration Plan, like the directors of the Juvenile Asylum and the House of Refuge, believed the troublesome juveniles—the most morally degraded types along with beggars, vagrants, and petty thieves—should remain in the asylums so they could be reformed first through a period of institutional incarceration before being placed into families in the West.
Brace had been accused of scattering poison over the country because he persisted in placing children who had not been officially corrected. His opponents had a pessimistic view of human nature and saw the poor as having intrinsic evil character. They believed children of the poor were strongly disposed to be criminals by birth, and they thought the best way to fight against such a tainted nature was by rigid discipline and punishment.
Brace had privately confided in Drew that he thought the controversy stemmed in part from financial considerations. The Juvenile Asylum and House of Refuge were afraid the Emigration Plan would take away their inmates and thus their funding would decrease. After all, the Emigration Plan was much cheaper than institutional care. The statistics from the previous year proved it. It cost the Children’s Aid Society a onetime payment of ten dollars per child to place them with a good Christian family. In contrast, it cost the House of Refuge eighty-five dollars to care for a child in a crowded building rife with disease and unrest.
Drew watched the three boys head down the unpaved street past shops just opening for the day. Brace’s words from a recent article pushed to the forefront of Drew’s mind: “If there is a good family in the West that is willing to take in a poor boy from the city to give him social and Christian instruction, why in God’s name should they not do it? What if the boy is bad? If enough families can be found to serve as reformatory institutions, is it not the best and most practical and economical method of reforming these children?”
“Amen,” Drew breathed. Brace’s declaration had become Drew’s litany of hope whenever he faced a boy as hardened as Liverpool, or as scared as Ned. They deserved a second chance every bit as much as the infants.
Behind him, the shouts and squeals of the younger children filled the air. Marianne had led them to a grassy field to the left of the train depot, where several silos and granaries had been placed in a strategic location close to the tracks. The children were running in the field, which glistened with dew. Several were chasing a white butterfly, while others raced around in circles, their energy finding release after the past day and night spent cooped up inside their train car.
Marianne knelt with some of the girls to examine a patch of purple wildflowers. She smiled at their gasps of delight. When one of the girls slipped her hand into Marianne’s, she pulled the girl into a tender embrace.
Drew couldn’t stop himself from watching her for just a moment longer, appreciating the way she interacted with the children. Although at first yesterday she’d attempted to remain aloof, likely instructed to do so by some of the older agents who were kind but impersonal with the children, he’d noticed her gradually succumbing to her desire to lavish the children with the attention they craved.
By the time he’d had the chance to speak with her last night after the children were asleep, she’d been surrounded by the children. They adored her because she couldn’t hide the fact that she adored them. That love was in her eyes and written on her expressive face.
As she straightened, she glanced in his direction and caught him staring. He supposed the polite thing would have been to look away, to pretend he hadn’t been staring, to save her the discomfort. But he’d never been particularly conventional when it came to women. He’d always liked flirting and had been rather good at it.
He let his lips curve up into a practiced half smile that always worked its magic. Her velvety brown eyes widened and filled with telltale admiration before her impossibly long lashes descended and she angled herself away. Strangely his pulse sped, and he felt flustered in a way he hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Was he reacting to her beauty? Amidst the lush green of the long grass, her light cotton print dress made her look like a delicate flower. Even after sleeping in her clothes all night, she was somehow fresh and especially pretty with her wide hat accentuating her wavy brown hair that was styled in a pretty twist.
Or was he reacting to the closeness he felt after talking with her last night? While he’d sensed she hadn’t shared everything, he empathized with her losses. Maybe he hadn’t lost his family to death, but he’d lost them nonetheless.
Or maybe he was reacting to her because of how she’d looked after she’d fallen asleep. He’d been too tired to return to his original spot—at least that was what he’d told himself. He’d been content to watch the moonlight coming in from the open window highlight her elegant features, which were so peaceful in slumber. He’d relished—perhaps more than he should have—observing her without her being aware.
Or was he reacting to the knowledge she wasn’t engaged? He’d never made a habit of flirting with married or engaged women. He hadn’t appreciated when other men flirted with his fiancée and had gotten into some bloody fights because of it. But now that Marianne had revealed the truth about her status, he could have a little fun now and then, couldn’t he? She wasn’t taken yet. In fact, he had the suspicion this Reinhold of hers didn’t deserve her, not if he hadn’t attempted to write and let her know his whereabouts. He sounded like the type of man who led a woman on, promised her what she wanted to hear, but then eventually moved on regardless of the pain he left in his wake.
Marianne bent to pick a flower, and as she straightened she peeked at him again. At seeing him still staring directly at her, she brought the flower to her nose as t
hough she could hide her reaction. Even so, he saw her smile.
So she liked when he stared at her?
He swaggered forward, unable to keep his grin from inching higher. If she liked him staring, he would oblige her. That would be no trouble at all.
“Time for a few races,” he called to the children. The boys bounded over to him first, shouting their enthusiasm and full of questions as always, but the girls hung back. “Come on, ladies. You too.”
Some of the youngest girls giggled and skipped toward him. But Marianne and the older ones didn’t move, watching him with interest but obviously not planning to take part. He inwardly chuckled, intending to rope Marianne into the fun.
For the first couple of races, he lined up the children and had them compete with one another in a simple footrace. They ran with abandon, letting the cool morning air rush against their faces, their shoes and hems dampening with the dew.
Then he shot a sideways glance at Marianne and the older girls. “Time for the ladies to race.” Marianne shook her head, but he continued, “With another long day on the train, don’t you think the ladies should exercise before we board?”
“Yes, I suppose that’s a good idea.” She started to steer the girls in his direction.
“You too, Miss Neumann.”
Her expression turned indignant. “Surely you jest.”
“Do I look like I’m jesting?” He attempted to make his face serious, except his lips wouldn’t cooperate and twitched into a smile.
She balled her hands on her hips and stared at him as though she were attempting to decipher ancient hieroglyphics.
“Maybe you’re scared because you can’t run.” He waited for her to take the bait.
“I can run just fine,” she said. “Maybe you’re the one who can’t run.”
He grinned. She was responding the way he’d hoped. “Is that a challenge, Miss Neumann? Are you daring me to race you?”
Around him, the excited murmurs and giggles told him he had the orphans on his side.
“Who would like to see me race Miss Neumann?” he called out.
His question was met with a chorus of cheers from the children, who were ecstatic at the possibility of seeing their two adult leaders compete.
Marianne looked from him to the children and back before narrowing her eyes as though she’d figured out his ruse.
He shrugged. “We can’t let the children down, now, can we?”
“True.” She bent and fidgeted underneath her petticoat. It took him a moment to realize she was removing her shoes.
“Are you running barefoot, Miss Neumann?” He wasn’t easily surprised, but this was something entirely new. He’d never met a Southern lady who would bare her feet in the presence of a man. Come to think of it, he’d never met any lady who’d do such a thing.
She dangled a pointy high-heeled shoe from her finger. “I can hardly walk in these without tripping. You don’t expect me to run in them, do you?”
“Very well,” he responded, bending and tugging on the lace of his shoe. “If you must run barefoot, then I will too.”
His news brought another round of cheers from the children. Before he knew it, his shoes were off and damp grass tickled his toes. He stood on an imaginary start line next to Marianne and waited for the oldest boy present to give the shout that would start the race.
“What prize do I get for winning?” He lengthened his leg and stretched his hamstring, making a show of loosening his muscles.
“I don’t think you should wonder what you’ll receive, Mr. Brady,” she said in that sassy tone she sometimes used. “Rather, you should ponder what you’ll be giving me once I beat you fair and square.”
“I suppose you’d like me to allow you a head start?”
She huffed and kicked aside her discarded stockings and shoes.
He chuckled and pretended to finish stretching his other leg. He shook out his arms, then circled his head first one way and then the other while jogging in place. Finally he nodded at the boy. “I’m ready. But I can’t speak for Miss Neumann.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.” Her eyes glinted with something he could only classify as excitement.
He loved that she was being such a good sport about his impromptu challenge. Plump Mrs. Trott wouldn’t have played along with him, not even if someone bribed her with a hundred dollars. Most of the other agents would have frowned on him for his silliness.
But Marianne Neumann . . . she was proving to be unlike most women.
“Ready?” the boy shouted.
Marianne nodded and trained her sights down the field to the finish line, a large oak tree. She chewed at the inside of her cheek nervously. The motion tugged at his gut, and he couldn’t stop himself from admiring her full lips. The dip in the middle of her upper lip was particularly flattering—in a kissable kind of way.
“Go!”
For a moment, he was too busy admiring her to realize the race had begun. Before he realized what was happening, she’d darted forward and left him standing at the start like a big oaf.
Some of the children jumped and screamed at him to run while others whistled and cheered for Marianne. With a surge of energy, he forced his feet forward. So what if she had a slight head start. She’d need it. He was doing the gentlemanly thing by going easy on her. After all, he didn’t want to embarrass her. He simply wanted to claim a prize from her when he won.
At first he ran with a lazy stride. But as Marianne rapidly put distance between them, he watched her in surprise. Her lithe body was light and her legs long beneath her skirts. Her bare feet skimmed the grass, scarcely seeming to touch the ground at all.
As he watched, he realized his mouth was wide open. He snapped it shut and willed his legs to pump faster. Maybe this wouldn’t be such an easy win. His feet pounded the earth, his tender soles unaccustomed to the hardness. He swung his arms and lowered his head in an effort to make up the distance between them. But when he next glanced at her, she was even farther ahead.
The children ran alongside him, calling him to go faster. Their laughter and the glee on their faces warmed his heart. “I’m trying my hardest,” he said. “You have to believe me, I really am.” But even at his best, Marianne reached the oak tree well ahead of him.
As she touched the bark, she turned to gauge where he was. Her face broke into a delighted smile at the sight of him so far behind and now struggling to finish through heaving breaths. A moment later, he reached the oak and had to bend to gasp for air.
The children swarmed around him, patting him on the back and shoulders, but their real admiration was directed toward Marianne. They reached for her, tugged on her skirt, and clamored for her attention.
She made a point of hugging the littlest ones and accepting handshakes from all the others. When the din diminished and Drew’s breathing returned to normal, she held out a hand to him. “My condolences, Mr. Brady. Next time perhaps I’ll need to give you that head start.”
Laughter bubbled up inside him and rolled out.
She smiled innocently, yet the gleam in her eye gave her away. She was enjoying the thrill of her victory.
“It looks like I underestimated you, Miss Neumann,” he said, combing strands of hair back from his forehead.
“Looks like you most certainly did, Mr. Brady.”
“You win the prize.”
“And what prize is that?”
“Anything you want.”
Her brow quirked. “Anything?”
“Absolutely anything.” With the bright sunshine bathing them in its glory, and the coolness of the morning lingering in the air, anything seemed possible. Strangely, he found himself wishing he could do something special for her.
“Why don’t you surprise me?” Her voice held the hint of a challenge.
Pure pleasure surged through him. He not only loved surprises, but he also loved challenges. To be able to combine the two was something he’d anticipate. “Very well, Miss Neumann. You’ll have your
surprise before the day’s end.”
The morning passed quickly, especially because Drew was an endless source of entertainment for the children, as well as for Marianne. He kept the children busy, solving riddles and playing various games, one of which required them to spot certain things either on the train or in passing that began with certain letters of the alphabet.
When they stopped at midday, he carried their box of food off the train and to the shade of a nearby grove of trees, where Marianne knelt and began to slather bread with red jelly just as she’d done for every meal.
Although she was already tired of the simple fare, the children accepted the food she gave them without complaint. During their meal, Drew disappeared. When he returned a short while later, he snuck up behind her and covered her eyes with his hands.
The pressure of his warm touch made her forget about everything else for a moment. She could sense his presence, the strength of his arms, the solidness of his chest.
“I have your prize.” His voice was threaded with excitement.
“So soon?”
“Keep your eyes closed,” he instructed as he assisted her to her feet.
Marianne closed her eyes beneath the blindfold that Drew’s hands formed. “What is it?” she asked as the children giggled.
“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise.” Drew propelled her forward, the pressure of his hands gentle and firm at the same time. Shivers of delight ran up her backbone—from the anticipation of the surprise and not from his touch, she told herself.
Not far away, she could hear the boiler man on the water tower shouting orders to the train crew. He would be positioning the spigot from the water tower over the boiler that carried water necessary for the steam engine to function. In addition to the water, the coal tender would also need refilling.
The frequent stops to refuel and take on new passengers made the trip longer, yet the breaks were a blessing in disguise, allowing the children to get out of the cramped and stifling train car to stretch their legs and release energy.
