by Renee Ryan
Surprised at the instant desire to accept Laney’s offer, Hannah forced her mind to focus, to concentrate on the particulars. No matter how appealing she found the prospect of living at Charity House for a while, she didn’t want to make any more hasty decisions. “Can I think about it?”
“Absolutely. For now, let’s get you—”
Laney’s words were interrupted by the pastor’s entrance. “Miss Southerland, could I have a private word with you?”
Hannah spun around. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of Pastor Beau standing in the doorway. His broad shoulders filled every available space. No man had the right to look that tall, that masculine and that in charge when she was so worn-out.
Worse, he looked so much like Tyler that Hannah had to lower her gaze in order to contain the sudden spasm of anger that shot through her. Taking a few slow breaths, she swallowed back her irrational temper and lifted her gaze once again. This time, she saw the sadness, the fierce sorrow he so carefully masked.
He’s lonely was her first thought. But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?
Laney cleared her throat and stepped toward the doorway. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”
And that seemed the most frightening prospect yet. At least with Laney in the room, Hannah had an ally.
Unfortunately, her new friend—the turncoat—deserted her without a backward glance.
Chapter Seven
The moment Laney disappeared down the hallway, the temperature in the kitchen dropped several degrees. As easy as it would be to hold on to her resentment, Hannah decided the time for anger and blame had passed. Now she needed to focus on the next step in the search for Rachel and Tyler.
“What did the marshal have to say?” she asked in what she hoped was a mild tone.
“He’s agreed to help us. He’ll begin making inquiries immediately.” The obvious relief in his eyes was evident in his gaze.
“Good. Good.” Her own sense of relief coated her voice. “How long do you think it will take for us to hear something?”
“Hard to say. A day, a week.” His gaze slid to hers, dark, serious and apologetic now. “Perhaps longer.”
A gasp flew from her lips, and her heart pounded hard against her ribs. “Longer than a week? But we don’t have that much time.”
“I know.”
“There has to be something we can do.” She slammed her fists against her thighs and circled the room again. “I can’t stand this feeling of helplessness.”
The reverend’s patient gaze followed her movements, but he remained in his spot near the door. “It’s hard, I know. We’ll have to pray we get news soon.”
She nodded. Prayer, yes. Always good.
“In the meantime, I have a favor to ask of you.”
Slowing her pace, she glanced at him from over her shoulder. “And what would that be?”
“I’d like you to accept Laney’s offer to move in here.”
The question stopped her in midstride. “You heard that part of our conversation?”
“I did.” He gave her an uncomfortable smile. “Your voices carried as I was making my way down the hallway to find you.”
That seemed possible. Nevertheless, why would he want her to stay at the orphanage instead of the hotel? Unless he thought she needed a babysitter. She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you afraid I’ll set out on my own?”
“I can’t say the thought didn’t cross my mind.” He raised his hand to keep her from speaking over him. “But the real reason is that I don’t wish for you to be alone in a cold hotel room, fretting over something you can’t do anything about.”
“Are you saying you’re worried about me?” Her pulse picked up speed at the notion.
“That’s what I’m saying.”
Hannah simply stared at him. What was she supposed to do with that startling declaration? And more to the point, what was she supposed to do with the jolt of pleasure spreading through her at the prospect that this man was actually concerned about her. Her! A virtual stranger. A woman whose own father had banished her from his home without a moment’s remorse.
Hannah wasn’t usually prone to self-doubt, not lately, anyway. But something about this man, something in the way he threw her off balance with a simple declaration of concern, made her question whether or not she’d truly dealt with the lasting repercussions of her banishment.
That last thought made her bristle.
“I’ll tell you what I told Laney,” she said, keeping a careful lid on her conflicting emotions. “I’ll think about it.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his weight against the doorjamb, looking as though he had all the time in the world. “I’ll wait.”
Hannah frowned at him. “You want me to make my decision now?”
“Within the next few minutes will do.” He wound his wrist in the air between them. “Carry on with your thinking and pacing and whatever else you need to do to settle this in your mind.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Has anybody ever mentioned your phenomenal arrogance?”
His eyes filled with amusement. “At least a dozen people, half of those just today.”
A charming man was bad enough, but a charming O’Toole, Hannah decided, was downright dangerous. “So few?”
He put his unreadable pastor face on and continued to lean against the doorway. He wound his wrist in the air between them again. “Continue considering Laney’s offer.”
“You’re not going to budge from that position until I say yes, are you?”
“Stubbornness is another one of my finer qualities.”
“What about smugness, haughtiness and overconfidence?”
His eyes crinkled around the edges. “Those, too.”
“You win,” she said with a soft, feminine snarl that belied her growing amusement at his absurd attitude. “I’ll check out of the hotel. But just so we’re clear, I’d already decided to make the move before you asked it of me.”
“Of course.”
“Your suggestion carried no weight, none at all.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Did I mention you have an arrogant streak?”
A slow grin spread across his lips. “I seem to remember something along those lines.”
“I stand by my assessment.”
“I expected as much.”
“Are you going to continue staring at me with that pompous smile on your lips?”
“There’s a large possibility.”
She sighed. Why, why, why did he have to be so utterly appealing when she so desperately wanted to hold on to her initial distrust of the man? There was just no winning when it came to combating an O’Toole. “Can we call a truce?”
It was her only hope of maintaining a portion of the control.
“Thought you’d never ask.” He shoved from the doorway and covered her hand with both of his. “To new beginnings.”
His tone was sincere. His gaze was genuine. His grip was gentle. So why did she feel the battle had only just begun?
Because anointed pastor or not, the frustrating man was still an O’Toole through and through.
Several hours later, Hannah was officially a resident of Charity House. Ever the gentleman, Reverend O’Toole had left to care for Jane only after ensuring Hannah had everything she needed. For a moment, just before he’d turned to go, his eyes had held such grief, such painful sorrow, that Hannah had wanted to reach out and comfort him. But when she’d stepped toward him, his eyes had gone glassy and unreadable.
Sighing, Hannah now slipped out the back door for the express purpose of capturing a moment alone with her thoughts. The simple pleasure of the solitude made her smile.
Even curtained in shadows, the mountains stood like sentinels. There was a chill in the air tonight, made raw by the drizzling rain. Rubbing her arms for warmth, Hannah drew in a deep breath. The scent of stirred-up mud and pine reminded her of home.
Her former home, she corrected. She didn’t have
a home anymore.
Hannah shut her eyes and sighed again. Behind her, she could hear the chatter of the children as they filed into the dining room for their evening meal.
Tuning out the voices, Hannah allowed her thoughts to run to Pastor Beau and their odd encounters throughout the day. She recognized the curling in her stomach as confusion. In the matter of a few hours, he’d frustrated her, angered her and then had the nerve to make her laugh.
Oh, he’d woefully misjudged her—at first—but Hannah truly believed he felt remorse over his mistake.
Pressing her palms to the porch railing, she leaned into the night and sniffed the clean air. As her mind cleared and she traced the morning’s events, Hannah realized that she had met the reverend mere seconds after he’d left the bedside of a lowly prostitute who had once been the premiere actress of her day. A woman who had called Patience O’Toole friend, as Hannah did now.
Given those facts, it was no wonder the man had judged her as he had. And if she was going to be completely honest in her thinking, she’d admit he’d had a point. It was no secret that many actresses ended up like Jane. How was Pastor Beau to know that Hannah had a plan for her future?
Her mind settled at last, Hannah pushed away from the railing and nodded to herself.
She would forgive and forget. And, of course, trust.
If Rachel and Tyler were meant to be found, they would be found. In the end, it all boiled down to who was in control.
Oh, Lord, Hannah prayed. I surrender this seemingly impossible task into Your hands. Please bring us news of Rachel and Tyler soon. In the meantime, I pray You protect them both and keep them safe. Let them—
A loud bang of the screen door cut into her prayer. Hannah jumped at the sound and spun quickly around. “Oh.”
Two years of traveling with odd-looking characters prevented her mouth from gaping open. But, truly, standing before her was the strangest apparition Hannah had encountered in quite a while.
“You must be that pretty actress the pastor brought over from town,” said a hard, raspy voice of uncertain gender.
The woman—and yes, it was a grown woman, Hannah assured herself—was very small, rail thin and stood eye to eye with Hannah’s chin. She wore a bright red dress over a pair of what looked like—Hannah narrowed her eyes—men’s denim pants? Her hair was white as snow and shot out in wild waves from every direction. Her age was indeterminate, anywhere from fifty to a hundred.
Hannah estimated closer to a hundred.
If she was casting a play, this woman would be perfect for the role of the nurse in Romeo and Juliet.
Realizing she was gaping after all, Hannah shook her head and said, “Yes, I’m Hannah Southerland. You must be Mavis.”
The answering grin revealed an uneven row of teeth with a few gaps thrown in for added character. “That I am. Marc and Laney adopted me a few months back.”
Playing along, Hannah asked, “How are you settling in? Are you getting along with the other children?”
Mavis let out a cackle that would have been better suited for a character in Macbeth—oh, say, one leaning over a cauldron. And Hannah meant that in the best possible way. “So, tell me, Mavis, what do you do around here?”
“What don’t I do? I’m the official bath mistress, nap-time general and all-around helping hand to forty-some-odd orphans.” She shot a line of spit through the gap between her front teeth. “Give or take a toddler or two.”
“I’m pleased to hear it.”
Leaning forward, Mavis looked to her left, then to her right and back to her left again. “Are we alone?” she asked in a perfect imitation of a stage whisper.
Hannah looked to her left, then to her right and back to her left again. “It appears so.”
Mavis released a slow, happy sigh. “What. A. Day.” She parked her nonexistent behind on a rocking chair and started rifling through one of the pockets on her dress.
Enjoying herself immensely, Hannah sat, as well.
“Them little ones hate their bath time. Don’t mean to complain myself, but that U.S. Marshal’s gonna get an earful from his wife. He’s been telling the kids that playtime is more important than a ‘stinkin’ bath’—his words, not mine.”
Hannah kept a straight face. Barely. “That can’t be helpful.”
“There’s mutiny afoot.” Mavis pointed a scrawny finger at Hannah. “You mark my words, that marshal’s gonna get his. His deputy, too, if it were up to me.”
Annoyance hiked Mavis’s chin up a notch or two, but she continued digging in her pocket.
“Not to sound contentious myself,” Hannah said. “But I always thought children hating baths was pretty universal.”
“Yeah, well, it certainly helps to have someone to blame.” The spark of amusement in the older woman’s eyes told its own story.
But just to be sure.
“Marshal Scott isn’t a troublemaker by nature, is he?”
“No sirree, I love that boy, even if he tells them younguns to run for their very lives when it’s bath time.”
Hannah shared a grin with her new friend. Obviously, Mavis adored the man.
“Aha, there you are.” Mavis pulled out a leather pouch from her pocket. Fingers working quickly, she dumped a generous amount of brown tobacco onto a thin piece of paper and began rolling.
Hannah blinked. “What are you doing?”
“Making myself a paper cigarette,” she said without bothering to look up from her task. “You want one?”
Hannah shook her head. “I don’t smoke.”
Mavis wiggled her eyebrows at her. “Don’t know what you’re missing.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“You know, Miss Hannah,” Mavis said, her eyes focused once more on her work. “I used to tread the old boards in my day.”
This information should have shocked Hannah, but as she further studied the older woman, she saw the flair in her movements, the tendency toward the dramatic in the flourish she used to roll the tobacco. “How long were you on the stage?”
Seconds ticked by before Mavis answered. “Well, I can’t really say I was an actress for long. At least not in the traditional sense. Oh, I’ve played some role or another all my life, but I weren’t no good onstage.”
Hannah doubted that. With her personality alone the woman would have fit in perfectly with any acting troupe, past or present.
“I ended up finding employment in the age-old profession,” Mavis said, her eyes dark with emotion.
“Age-old profession?”
“You know.” She released one side of the paper and gave a vague gesture with her hand. “Like that girl in the Bible that done saved those Jewish spies in Jericho, the one that ended up in Jesus’ lineage.”
Hannah thought a moment. “You mean Rahab?” The prostitute?
“That’s the one.”
Mavis struck a match off the bottom of her shoe, lit the cigarette with a long inhale and then took her time exhaling. “Glad to be done with that nasty work. I like it here better. Who knew I’d love helping with them kids in there?”
Hannah reached out and squeezed Mavis’s hand. “Children have a way of doing that.” And if working at Charity House kept this woman from living a life of sin, what a heaven-sent blessing. As Pastor Beau had said, God’s hand was truly on Charity House.
“Maybe in my small way I can prevent these kids from going down my same road.” Her eyes turned sad, almost haunted. “Maybe I can atone for my—”
“Mavis Elizabeth Tierney,” came a high-pitched, angry female voice from just inside the house. “You drop that death stick right now.”
Mavis heaved a dramatic sigh. “Here comes the spoilsport now,” she whispered behind her cupped hand.
Out walked a very angry, stiff-backed woman. The screen door shut behind her with a bang. Even with her face scrunched into a scowl, the woman was extraordinary. And with her dark hair and blue, blue eyes, she reminded Hannah of a grown-up version of the little girl, Molly.
This must be Katherine, the marshal’s wife, Hannah thought.
“Hand it over, Mavis.” She thrust her hand out between them. “I mean it.”
Mavis treated the woman to a withering glare, which had no effect whatsoever.
The stalemate continued a few more seconds.
“You’re just not tolerant no more, Katherine Scott. Not since you got in the motherly way.” Mavis looked pointedly at the woman’s rounded belly.
Reminiscent of Molly’s mannerisms, Katherine parked fists to hips and narrowed her eyes. “Dr. Shane said you can’t keep smoking those and continue living.” Her frown deepened. “I, for one, won’t stand by and watch you kill yourself.”
Mavis rose, muttering the whole way up. With exaggerated slowness, she took a mutinous drag of the cigarette and then blew out a long, thin stream of smoke.
Katherine snorted in disgust.
Mavis grinned fiercely, but then heaved another big sigh and handed over the incriminating cigarette.
“Thank you,” Katherine said, her shoulders still stiff and unmoving.
“Humph.” With a dramatic flick of her wrist, Mavis whipped her hair over her shoulder and marched back into the house without another word.
Staring at the screen door, Katherine took several deep breaths before throwing the cigarette to the porch floor. She folded her arms across her chest and dug the toe of her shoe over the burning ember. “Honestly. That woman tries my soul.”
Unsure what to say, Hannah rose.
It was Katherine’s turn to sigh before clearing her expression. “You must be Hannah.”
“And you’re Marshal Scott’s wife.”
“I am.” Katherine blinked rapidly, clearly fighting to gain control over her emotions. “I’m sorry you got caught in the middle of that.”
“No, I’m sorry.” Hannah swallowed back a surge of guilt. “I didn’t realize she was under doctor’s orders. I would have tried to stop her.”
Katherine peered at her with troubled eyes. “You didn’t know. But if you ever see her smoking again, I’d appreciate it if you would discourage her.”
