by Jody Hedlund
She crept up behind him and hesitated only a moment before laying the blanket she’d brought with her across his back and shoulders. He didn’t move, and for a moment she wondered if he was so exhausted that he’d fallen asleep. At a deep ragged intake of his breath, she realized he wasn’t asleep. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought maybe the sound had been a sob.
At the thought of this strong and kind man diving under the water and searching for a lost orphan all day, a sob welled up in her own chest. She’d watched Drew hour after hour over the past days. She’d seen his tenderness and his compassion for each of the children shine through in every moment he spent with them. He was tireless in his efforts to love them and endless in his drive to give them a better life.
Andrew Brady was a good man. A man she was proud to know.
She wrapped the blanket more securely around his shoulders, careful of the tender spot on his arm where he’d been wounded by Ned’s father. When he released another shuddering breath, she pushed aside reason and held the warm blanket tighter until she’d wound her arms across his chest and was hugging him from the back.
She tried to keep her embrace somewhat proper and impersonal, but at the chill emanating from his body, she couldn’t resist leaning into him, pressing her body against his back, and laying her face in his damp hair.
The ache in her throat tightened, and several hot tears slipped on to her cheeks. She felt his coldness, his pain, his frustration, and his disappointment in the tightness of his muscles and in the rigidness of his spine. She wished there was something more she could do to ease his pain, but she knew of nothing but being here for him, holding him, and somehow trying to reassure him she cared about how he was feeling.
Squeezing him tighter, she pressed a kiss against his head and then moved her hands to his upper arms. Above the blanket, she rubbed his biceps, wanting to warm him up. But when he stiffened beneath her touch, she wondered if perhaps she’d overstepped what was proper. She started to pull away, but his hands reached out and captured hers. He tugged her hands to his chest, forcing her to lean her body against him once more. “Don’t go.” His whisper was hoarse.
She laid her head into his hair again. She told herself she’d comfort any of the children this way, that Drew was only a friend, her partner, a hurting man who needed someone to care.
But when his arms folded over hers, she closed her eyes and relished the solid feel of his body much more than she should. She held him that way for an endless moment. She didn’t want to let go, but she was sure he’d think she was being improper if she held on too much longer. So she kissed his head again and untangled her arms from around him.
This time he released her. But as she started to straighten, he pivoted in his chair, snaked an arm around her waist, and dragged her down onto his lap. Before she could resist, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face into her hair. Although she was still wearing the dress she’d changed into that morning, she’d already uncoiled and brushed her hair so that it hung down her shoulders in long thick waves.
“Please, Marianne,” he said, his voice close to her ear, “I need you. Stay.”
She nodded, keenly aware of their proximity, of the fact that she was on his lap with his wet arms around her. They would be setting a poor example if any of the children happened upon them. And yet he was clearly hurting.
I need you. The words tumbled around inside her mind. When had anyone ever needed her? Even after Elise had left for Illinois and had put her in charge, Sophie hadn’t looked to her for leadership or help or even comfort the same way she had Elise.
Olivia and Nicholas hadn’t needed her either. They’d always wanted Sophie. Truthfully, Reinhold had needed her even less. He was so strong and independent. She’d been the one who’d needed him.
But here, now, in this moment, Drew needed her. She put aside her reservations, melted into his embrace, and rested her head against his, drawing in a shaky breath at the pleasure of knowing she was important to someone else. For a while he just held her, and she was content to listen to his heartbeat gradually slow its pace.
“I’m to blame for losing George,” he finally said.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,” she replied, pulling back so she could see his face. In the dark, his features were shadowed but still as handsome and winsome as always. “I was the one in charge of watching the children when he ran off.”
“But I shouldn’t have left you to watch them all by yourself,” he whispered. “At the very least I should have listened to your concerns about keeping them from running off in all directions.”
Even though she’d been chastising herself all day for not doing a better job of keeping track of the children, she also realized the impossibility of the task. “Even if we both do our best, the job of supervising thirty-one children is challenging—especially children who are used to doing what they want whenever they want.”
“I don’t know.” His voice was laced with self-doubt.
She lifted her hands to either side of his face, trapping him, and forcing him to look at her. “Andrew Brady, you are the best leader these children could ask for. You’re a special, special man, and their lives will be blessed for having known you.”
She couldn’t see his reaction, but she could feel him tremble slightly at her words. When he cupped her cheeks in return, she almost smiled. But before she could move, his mouth descended to hers. The heat and pressure of his lips against hers was so unexpected she lost her breath. When he moved, he gave her no choice but to move against him in return.
She quickly grew heady and breathless. She’d never kissed a man before, not even Reinhold, although she’d dreamed about it plenty of times. Never had she imagined a kiss would be like this.
When his hand slid up into her hair and tangled there, a warning in her heart told her to be careful. His lips broke from hers and found her neck. At the first touch, she closed her eyes, feeling as though she might swoon with the pleasure of his lips grazing her skin.
But the depth of the moment frightened her. What did this mean? This emotional draw to him—where would it lead? Was she only heading for trouble once again? She’d already brought enough upon herself with her past sins. She needed to be cautious. “Drew?” she whispered.
His lips stilled. For a moment he didn’t move. Then he pulled back with a moan. “I’m sorry, Marianne. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
“It’s all right,” she said as she extricated herself from his lap. She hated that he was apologizing, didn’t want him to be sorry for kissing her. She wanted him to like it and relish it as much as she had.
“You were just trying to be nice,” he rushed, “and I took advantage of the situation—”
“No, we were both caught up in the moment. That’s all.” He’d been grieving and had been emotional. He’d needed someone to comfort him, and she’d been there. He probably would have done the same to any other woman who’d come to him in the middle of the night, wrapped him in a blanket, and then thrown her arms around him. Maybe she’d led him on. After all, she’d kissed his head when she was hugging him. If that wasn’t an invitation, she didn’t know what was.
He shook his head and ran both hands through his damp hair, clearly frustrated with himself.
“Come on,” she said, reaching for one of his hands. She had to salvage the situation for them both. “We’re tired. Let’s each go to bed and we’ll forget this . . . this moment between us ever happened.”
He allowed her to help him to his feet. “Then you’re not mad at me?”
“It’s hard to be mad at you for anything.”
He was silent as he trailed her to the stairs. At the top, his fingers connected with hers, and her heart flipped at the soft touch. “Thank you,” he whispered.
The contact was as brief as his words. When he entered the boys’ room, she realized she’d never be able to forget about their moment together, nor did she want to.
Chapter 10
&
nbsp; Reinhold’s chest churned with the ferocity of a summer storm. From the way the dark clouds towered on the horizon, he guessed the weather was about to match his mood.
He halted the horses and wagon in front of the general store but didn’t move, not wanting to go in. He’d probably have a letter from his mother or aunt begging him to send home more money. And this time he wouldn’t have any. Not even a penny. Not after Higgins had stolen his savings. Not after he’d agreed to pay Mrs. Turner to replace the broken dishes.
After finishing the potato planting, he’d attempted to figure out another way he could earn extra income. He’d gone over every possibility including doing construction work in the evenings after completing his farm work. But the Turner farm was several miles out of town, and he didn’t think Mr. Turner would let him ride one of the horses to another job. Walking to town and back wouldn’t be feasible. Besides, Mr. Turner would find more work for him around the farm if he mentioned he wanted an additional job.
Even now the back of the wagon was filled with the new fence posts Mr. Turner had ordered. When Reinhold returned to the farm, he’d have the task of fixing the fence around the pigpen. The spring piglets still kept getting loose, and no amount of repairing the old posts had worked to keep them contained. Of course, Higgins had weaseled out of the job, citing his inability to do any building compared to Reinhold’s expertise.
Reinhold exhaled his exasperation with Higgins and prayed somehow God would bring about justice. He had the suspicion it wouldn’t happen without divine intervention.
He jumped down from the wagon and rubbed a hand along the horse’s flank, patting her and letting her know he appreciated her faithful help before brushing a hand over the muzzle of the other horse. He’d never had the chance to care for horses in New York City, though he’d always admired them from a distance. It wasn’t until Mr. Turner hired him that he’d had the opportunity to learn more about the magnificent creatures. It was just one more thing he’d come to love about working on the farm.
He hitched the team to the post in front of the store and then lumbered up the plank steps. At the door, he hesitated. The tempest inside warned him not to go in and certainly not to check for mail. But at the sight of Lucinda at the counter, he knew he had no choice but to help her carry out the few bundles she’d purchased.
A bell on the door tinkled as he entered, and the waft of coffee beans, coal oil, and pickled eggs welcomed him. Wilson’s General Store contained just about any amenity the small farming community of Mayfield needed, and the shelves lining the walls were filled to overflowing with everything from ribbons and thread to gardening tools. Barrels, crates, and piles of goods filled every nook and cranny, making walking through the store difficult for all but the thinnest of people, like Lucinda.
“There he is, even as we speak,” said Mr. Wilson, who finished tying string around Lucinda’s last package.
“Good morning,” Reinhold said to the proprietor.
“Miss Turner was just finishing her shopping, and I can tell she’s anxious to get home and start on her newest sewing project.” Mr. Wilson snipped the string with his scissors and pushed the package toward Lucinda.
The young woman towered above the proprietor, who was as short and round as Lucinda was tall and thin. She glanced sideways at Reinhold, giving him a glimpse of the embarrassment creeping into her face before she ducked her head.
“She has enough material here to sew shirts for an entire army of men.” Mr. Wilson chuckled, and his protruding belly bounced up and down, wiggling like a bowl of custard.
Lucinda’s face melded into a deep crimson, and she scooped up her packages. In her haste, several toppled to the floor. She bent to retrieve them but only managed to drop everything.
Reinhold rushed to the counter to rescue her from her clumsiness. He supposed that was why Mrs. Turner always insisted he accompany Lucinda into town. The girl was liable to run herself over if left to her own devices.
Before he could assist her, Mr. Wilson shoved a paper in front of his face. “Told Miss Turner to tell her pa we’ve got another trainload of orphans coming through here tomorrow.”
Reinhold had no choice but to take a look at the sheet Mr. Wilson was holding. It was an announcement concerning the arrival of children from New York City, who all needed homes with good families here in Illinois.
“Supposed to come in this morning,” Mr. Wilson said. He rubbed a hand over his bald head, polishing the already-shiny skin there. “But I got a telegram last night saying they’ve been delayed a day.”
Reinhold scanned the newsprint: “All children received under the care of the Association are of special promise in intelligence and health, and are in age from two years to fifteen years, and are free to those receiving them, on ninety days trial, unless a special contract is otherwise made.”
Special promise in intelligence and health? Reinhold almost laughed at the exaggeration. The orphans gathered from the alleys and doorways of New York City were scrawny, disease- and lice-ridden, and most probably hadn’t attended school.
“I know Cal Turner talked about getting himself a couple of orphans.” Mr. Wilson laid the advertisement on the countertop. “He’s got you and that other fellow now, but you can let him know anyway in case he wants more help.”
“He said he can’t afford any more help right now.”
“Well, these here boys are for free.” Mr. Wilson then spread another piece of paper out on the counter. At the top it read, Terms on Which Boys Are Placed in Homes.
Reinhold read the first paragraph: “Boys fifteen years old are expected to work until they are eighteen for their board and clothes. At the end of that time, they are at liberty to make their own arrangements. Boys between twelve and fifteen are expected to work for their board and clothes until they are eighteen, but they must be sent to school a part of each year, and after that it is expected that they receive wages.”
Such an arrangement didn’t seem fair. If the boys were working long days, wouldn’t they deserve to have paid wages every bit as much as he did?
“’Course, now I don’t know how many of the big boys will be left by the time the train reaches us tomorrow,” Mr. Wilson said. “I heard the older ones are usually the first to be taken since they can be the most useful and productive.”
“I thought the orphans would become part of families and be treated like sons and daughters.”
“Oh, they do become part of families,” Mr. Wilson said. “But they’ve got to work just like the rest of us. None of us can survive out here without lots of hard work.”
The muscles in Reinhold’s back and shoulders still burned from his days of planting potatoes. He knew about hard work. But at least he was getting paid.
Lucinda had picked up all her packages and now stood trying to balance them with one under each arm, one under her chin, and several more stacked in her hands. Reinhold reached to relieve her of her burdens. She relinquished several with a shy smile.
“Anyhow, let Cal know we’re meeting tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock sharp to distribute the orphans to anyone who wants one.”
“The children are given to anyone?”
“Absolutely. I’m one of the men on the placing-out committee in Mayfield, and we’re looking for people who might be willing. Seems like we have more children needing homes than families willing to take them in. ’Course, lots of families around here are struggling to feed the mouths they already have and can’t afford to take on one more.”
Reinhold nodded, although there was an unsettled ache inside him at the realization that his own younger siblings very well could have been on one of those trains when he’d been without work last fall. What if they had been? The thought of his brothers or sisters being sent to live with just anyone wasn’t right. What if they ended up with a woman like Mrs. Turner who belittled and beat them?
He started toward the door.
“Hold on there, sonny,” Mr. Wilson called after him. “You don’t wa
nt to leave without your letter, now, do you?”
Reinhold stopped. Lucinda bumped into him from behind and whispered a flurry of apologies.
He wanted to tell Mr. Wilson to hold the letter, that he’d get it next time he came to town, but his sense of responsibility to his family was too strong to ignore. He sighed and retraced his steps to the counter.
Mr. Wilson disappeared into his office and returned a moment later with an envelope. His aunt’s handwriting was on the front this time. Lately she’d been the one writing to him, her complaints getting worse with every letter—mostly complaints about his mother’s debilitating anxiety and how she wasn’t doing enough to provide for or assist with the children.
Helplessness seeped through him every time he read the letters. There was nothing he could do to make life better—at least until he had his own place and could afford to pay for his family to move west and live with him. All the more reason he needed to earn back what Higgins had stolen from him.
“Why don’t you read it now,” Mr. Wilson suggested, eyeing the letter, “then post your response right away like you usually do?”
It hadn’t taken Reinhold long after moving to Mayfield to learn that Mr. Wilson was the best source of information in the community. He knew something about everything and everyone, mainly because he made it a point to stick his nose into everyone’s business.
“I won’t be able to send a letter home today,” Reinhold said, folding his aunt’s letter and stuffing it into his trouser pocket. He hefted Lucinda’s packages and started back toward the door. The truth was, even if he’d wanted to reply, he couldn’t afford a stamp.
“If you say so,” Mr. Wilson said, his voice ringing with disappointment at not being able to hear the contents of Reinhold’s letter. “Just make sure you tell Cal about the train of orphans coming in tomorrow. The meeting starts—”
Reinhold couldn’t make himself answer and instead let the door close behind him, cutting off the proprietor’s last instructions. Within moments he’d loaded Lucinda’s parcels into the back and helped her up onto the wagon bench.
