John’s breath caught. He took the ring from her. The thin band of gold held nothing more than a little ruby chip in the center. As jewelry went, the piece was cheap as could be, but John had given a similar ring to his governess when he was younger than Duncan. He recalled his mother taking him to a jeweler’s, where there had been dozens of such rings with either rubies or sapphires. He’d thought the pinkish red stone fitting for a woman, so he’d chosen one of the ruby ones.
“Where did you get this?” He fought the ridiculously strong urge to curl his fingers and keep the sentimental little piece, even though there was no proof it was the one he’d once given. Undoubtedly hundreds of women owned such rings.
“It’s Anna’s wedding band, it is. Edward Newcomb himself put it on her finger. He said it had belonged in his family for generations. Anna grew afraid her pretty wedding band would slip off because she’d gotten so thin, so we kept it here for safety.” Emily snatched it back. She meticulously put everything back into the bag.
“You’ve given me no real proof, Emily. Newcomb isn’t an uncommon name. I could ride just one day’s direction either way and find a good half dozen Newcombs. A man with a name similar to my brother’s duped your sister. That is a pity, to be sure, but those facts and your so-called evidence aren’t nearly enough to convince me a true and holy marriage exists between my brother, Edward Timothy Newcomb, and Anna.”
Emily’s jaw hardened. “Sir, take yourself out of here.”
John tore his gaze from hers. He glanced over at the pillows. Beneath the covers, Anna’s much-too-thin shoulders continued to jerk with every muffled sob she took. The babe began to cry.
“Now see what you’ve done?” Emily whispered hotly. “Begone!”
“And take this with you!” Duncan swept the basket from the table and shoved it at him. John’s hands automatically closed around the handle. The little boy hadn’t let go of the basket. He put all of his puny weight behind it to force John out. The effort didn’t actually work, but John saw no point in tarrying where he wasn’t wanted. He no more than stepped outside, and the door slammed shut.
Chapter 3
He stood outside the shack and heard Emily’s voice suddenly alter pitch. It went soft and wooing, carrying a gentle comfort only devoted love could produce. “There, now, our Anna. Never you mind that man. No, don’t you mind him at all. We know the truth, and God does, too. That’s what matters. Why, your sweet little son is all upset about his mama crying. Here, let me help the pair of you.”
The baby wailed a minute more, then fell silent. A few moments later, the cries began again. John knew essentially nothing at all regarding babes, but even a fool knew they needed milk. Unless Anna suddenly had sufficient meals, she’d never have enough to suckle her child.
Duncan’s guilty voice carried through the cracks. “Our Em, we didn’t know. We didn’t know he was bad. No, I never would have guessed it at all. You know, we got so excited that we even ate his food.”
“Well, now, you needn’t confess it so shamefully, boy-o. You didn’t know. ‘Twas an honest mistake you made. I’ll still pray God blesses each and every morsel you swallowed. Go on ahead and take your full belly back to bed.”
The boy’s voice carried uncertainty. “I forgot about the eggs he gave us. I boiled them. Want me to pitch them out the door?”
“There’s no use wasting good food.” Emily sighed.
John quietly set the basket down by the door, but as he stepped away, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Rats. They’d take every last crumb. That didn’t matter as much as the fact that he didn’t want to lure the vermin to the shack, so he swept it back up and glowered at the closed door.
It wasn’t his problem. He’d given her a gold coin and didn’t expect repayment. He’d brought food and coal. That was enough. He owed them nothing.
John walked off.
He strode down past the other shanties to a busy street and hailed a passing carriage. Running his shipping business took all of his time and energy. If he didn’t get moving, he’d not complete reviewing the manifests for the shipments due to go out on the next tide. Though his clerk could handle most matters and John trusted him well enough, a few transactions specifically demanded his presence or attention today.
Two hours later, John slammed the Freedom’s log shut. He couldn’t concentrate. The basket of food in the corner nagged at him. Anna’s soft weeping and Duncan’s outrage haunted his conscience. Even if Emily sniped at him like a shrew, her brother and sister seemed nice enough.
He’d left in a temper, trying to convince himself they weren’t his problem; but now that he’d cooled off, John felt differently. A Christian man owed the less fortunate his assistance. He’d never seen anyone more destitute than they. He decided to go back and offer little Duncan a job. Though no bigger than a minnow, the lad could carry messages and empty waste bins. That way they’d have a bit of money coming in, and the sacred O’Brien pride would be spared.
John didn’t have time to go back to the shack, so he sent Franklin to fetch Miss Emily. “Bring her here and don’t take no for an answer. She may fuss, but in the end she’ll relent.” He glanced at the basket and decided it would be best not to send it along as a reminder of the disastrous visit.
“I’ll go at once, sir.”
“Stop on your way to buy them more coal, a hearty meal, and a few quarts of milk. Leave the offering on their table. If they refuse it, point out that they cannot afford this misplaced pride. Regardless of whatever qualms Miss Emily holds, Miss Anna must eat to feed her baby son.”
Franklin nodded somberly. John knew he could trust him to carry out his orders to the letter. Not only that, Franklin was a man of discretion. He’d not make this trip a matter of conjecture or gossip. Satisfied he’d fulfilled his Christian duties, John opened the ship’s log and once again pored over the entries.
Franklin came back later—alone. Though normally rather impassive, he folded his arms across his chest and reported in a vexed tone, “I did some mighty fancy talking to make the small boy let me in. Miss Anna’s lying abed with her newborn. I did not find Miss Emily at home, and when I inquired after her, the lad said she was at work; but before I could ask where, his sister shushed him. She seemed … ashamed.”
“I’m not surprised,” John muttered darkly.
“Neither the lad nor Miss Anna would say another word as to her whereabouts. The men at the docks probably gauged her correctly when they presumed her to be a doxy.”
“She has no business gallivanting around. Her sister and that babe need her help.”
Franklin grimaced. “Deplorable as the place is, I can see why she’d not be eager to spend her day there. At least they’ll have enough coal to stay warm.”
“What about the food?”
“The lad acted a bit stubborn, but I repeated your message. Bone thin, they are. I took gracious plenty and felt like I should have taken triple. The little mother looked down at her babe and told the boy they’d have to accept the food. Hungry though she must be, she instructed him to hold back some for their sister.”
“After you left their abode, did you investigate the neighborhood and interview others to determine Emily’s whereabouts?”
Franklin shrugged. “They’re a closemouthed lot down there. I asked a few folk and might as well have been speaking a different language entirely. They pretended not to understand me or know a thing.”
“You did as well as I could reasonably expect,” John said. “Mayhap Emily will think to contact me when she sees fit to go home.”
“I gave them the message that you want her to pay a visit here.”
John nodded acknowledgment and turned back to his work. The day passed, but Emily never made an appearance. Thoroughly irked by her absence and probable occupation, John went out of his way to swing by Larkspur that evening. Duncan stood with his arms and legs spread in the doorway like a landlocked squid to bar his entrance. “Em said you’re not allowed to t
alk to our Anna.” He glowered. “You made my sister cry.”
John couldn’t very well argue with the truth—especially one as galling as that. He compressed his lips for a moment, then nodded. He looked at the lad. Duncan was a strange mix of belligerence, innocence, and protectiveness. John leaned closer and said in a low tone, “I’m here to offer you a job. Do I speak as a man with you?”
“Em won’t have it.” The lad cast a worried look over his shoulder. “Besides, I have to stay home because Anna and the babe need my help.”
John glanced at the bed. Anna’s face looked white as a sail in the moonlight. He whispered a quick prayer of thanks that she continued to sleep through his visit. The last thing he wanted was to upset her again.
“Duncan, I could pay you a bit in advance now for the labor you’d do later. I’d trust you to work it off.”
The lad’s scrawny fingers curled more tightly around the doorjamb. The unpainted wood had aged and dried until it looked gray as thunderclouds. “My sister wouldn’t like me talking to you. No, she wouldn’t. Last night you tricked me. I thought you were a good man, and I let you in our house. I won’t let you fool me again. Go away.” Behind him the babe let out a tiny squeal. Duncan slipped back inside and shut the door. A scraping sound let John know Duncan slid the small bar latch into the bracket to lock him out.
John walked to the end of Larkspur, then turned back to look at the shanty. The betrayal he’d read on Duncan’s face ate at him. Somehow he’d make amends. Distasteful as it might be, the truth was, he’d have to deal with Emily. John hired a runner to keep watch on the house and fetch him when she finally returned.
Word didn’t come until three thirty the next morning.
Short of sleep and shorter still of temper, John dressed quickly and set out to serve the older O’Brien sister a big slice of his mind. What business did she have leaving an ailing sister, a newborn babe, and a small lad alone all hours of the day and night? He’d wanted a few more hours of sleep himself, but if he didn’t catch her now, who knew when she’d see clear to checking back in with her kin? He reached the dilapidated shack and didn’t even bother to knock.
From being inside, he knew precisely where the bracket and stick were affixed to lock the door. John took the knife from his belt, slipped it between the door and its brittle frame, lifted the latch, and kneed the rough wooden panel.
Hopefully, Anna, Duncan, and the baby would be sleeping. He’d get Emily to come outside to discuss matters with him. It might well be her brother and sister didn’t know how she spent her time, and he’d get more honest information from her away from their hearing.
The door creaked open. He slipped in and shut it behind him right away. Though a large man, he’d learned to move silently long ago. Now that ability stood him in good stead.
After allowing his eyes a moment to readjust to the dark, John noted Duncan slept in a tight huddle on his floor pallet. Though definitely warmer than it had been on his first visit, the shanty remained chilly. Why didn’t I think to have Franklin bring blankets for them, too? John heaved a silent sigh. He should have ordered Franklin to tell them he’d continue to send coal. No doubt they’d rationed it to make it last, just as they had the food.
John’s gaze fell upon the food shelf, and the contents of his warehouses scrolled through his mind. Flour, oats, corn, salt, coffee, molasses, syrup, and sweet potatoes he had aplenty. He’d convince Emily to send Duncan to work at the shipyard, and each payday John would contrive for a supply of those staples to be part of the lad’s earnings. That arrangement ought to salvage the O’Brien pride.
John continued to scan the room. The small lump in the bed had to be Anna. Where was Emily? Had she gone out again?
Disgusted, John decided at least to add a bit of coal to the stove so the fire wouldn’t burn out and force them to awaken to a cold home. He took care to move silently in order to keep from awakening Duncan or the baby. As for Anna—well, he seriously doubted she’d stir at all. After John rounded the table, he stopped dead in his tracks.
Emily sat on the floor with her back to the wall. Her head rested against the side of the bed, her magnificent hair billowing in loose, coppery waves to her hips. Thick auburn lashes lay in crescents on her cheeks, and her lips bowed upward in a charming half smile, making him wonder where her dreams carried her. A bitsy, half-made, white garment rested in her lap. The threaded needle still dangled from the minuscule sleeve, glinting in the dull light of the stove. She’d fallen asleep while trying to do something more for her tiny nephew. That loving task tugged at John’s heart.
The dockhands and Franklin all thought she was a harlot, and her nighttime absence from the shanty confirmed that deduction. As much pride as Emily O’Brien displayed, it probably wounded her something fierce to sell herself; but her love for her siblings undoubtedly drove her to a woman’s most unsavory profession. Faced with no other choice, she’d sacrificed herself for them. What else could she have done? Without a father or older brother to provide for them, Emily had to bring in money. No one would have hired her as a maid or laundress since she was lame and had the rest of her family to tag along.
In the still of the night, standing over her, John decided he’d lift the burden of providing for them from her shoulders so she could revert to a decent manner of living. He’d give her that chance. ‘Twas a sound plan. Christ gave the woman at the well an opportunity to change her life. John would follow the Savior’s example. If he approached this situation with mercy and compassion, she could listen to the Gospel and turn her life back around.
Emily moaned ever so softly in her sleep, and as she shifted, the hem of her ugly brown dress caught on something. Her breath hitched, and she moved her limb a bit. A soggy cloth plopped from her ankle onto the floor.
John choked back a bellow. From the soft glow of the stove, he could see her foot and ankle were blackish violet and hideously swollen. Though he wasn’t a man to gawk at a woman’s limbs, her calf looked far too thin—even before he compared it to her bloated ankle. How could she bear to walk on that?
He leaned forward and looked more closely. ‘Twas a very recent injury. His mouth went dry. She fell at the shipyard. He winced because he couldn’t even recall asking if she’d harmed herself. All this time, I assumed she’d been lame for years; but ’tis a new injury, one that requires pampering so it can heal. How does she bear to walk on it at all?
Just as he began to kneel at her side, she startled awake. A terrified shriek erupted from her, and she tried to strike him.
Chapter 4
Emily! Stop. Stop!” He captured her wrists and gave her a moment to discover his identity and gather her wits; then he slowly released his hold. “I didn’t mean to alarm you.”
“Emily?” Anna whispered in a quavering tone.
“Want me to thump him?” Duncan stood just out of reach and gripped a pan in both hands.
“There’s no need for that, lad,” John said. For all of his intentions to sneak in and hold a whispered conversation, he’d managed to rouse everyone in the home—well, nearly everyone. Though he’d even startled Anna awake, the babe managed to sleep on.
John watched Emily struggle to quell the residual panic. Eyes huge, she stared at him and swallowed hard. Her narrow shoulders heaved with her rapid, deep breaths. Had he awakened with someone hovering over him, he knew he’d have swung to protect himself. Striving to inject a soothing tone into his voice, he reassured her, “Truly you’ve no need to be afraid.”
Duncan scampered around to Emily’s other side and clutched the pan to his scrawny chest. He didn’t seem to be in any hurry to relax his guard. “My Em isn’t ever scared. She’s brave and strong, she is!”
Brave? Yes, he’d agree with that, but unafraid and strong—she was neither of those. Even so, John found Duncan’s faith in his big sister endearing. Whatever her flaws might be, Emily had certainly earned the loyalty and love of her little brother.
Emily. John focused on her and fough
t the temptation to smooth back a springy wisp of hair that fell forward on her much-too-pale cheek. Instead he straightened up, clasped his hands behind his back, and kept his gaze on poor Emily. “All is well, Duncan. I just came to talk to your sister.”
“No, I’ll not let you speak to her—not now, not ever.” Emily looked up at him and resolutely shook her head. “You already said more than enough the last time you came here.”
“I wanted to speak to you,” John clarified, “not Anna.”
Anna looked up at him. Her eyes glistened with tears. “Emily is tired. Go away.”
“I won’t take much of her time.”
“She has only three hours to sleep before she goes back to work,” Anna whispered. “Leave her be. Leave us all alone.”
John looked back at Emily. “Where do you work?”
“Wilkens’s—”
“Silence, Duncan!” Emily ordered.
John’s jaw dropped. “The asylum? You work with those raving lunatics?” Wilkens’s Asylum sprawled across a fenced-in lot just down the street.
Emily’s jaw jutted forward. “’Tis no fault of their own that their minds snapped. You can think of them as wretched or miserable, but they are God’s children just as much as you and I are.”
“They’re not safe!”
“So in your opinion they are undeserving of sound meals, a kind word, or a clean place to live? Christ said, ‘Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, you have done it unto me.’”
He rocked back on his heels. She had a point, but he didn’t cotton to the notion of such a young, vulnerable woman working in that kind of place. Those people could be violent! “What do you do there?”
“Honest work, ’tis, but hard,” Anna whispered from the bed. “Cooking and cleaning. Soon as I get back on my feet, I’ll go back and start cooking again. Em will watch the baby for me during the day; then she’ll only have to work at night to do the cleaning.”
Brides of Virginia Page 3
