by Janet Dean
Jake felt heat climb his neck. In a couple sentences, Mildred Uland lumped him together with Senator Squier, discrediting them both. “I’d say I’ve joined in by repairing Callie’s house.”
She raised a palm. “That work you do isn’t what I mean and you know it.”
Jake hated to admit that Mildred was right, even to himself, but he’d managed to stay on the sidelines most of his life.
“Now Lillian and their daughter, Irene, were nothing like the senator. They took an active part in the community.”
“They only had one child?”
Mildred nodded. “Irene was a pretty little thing, petite, not much over five feet tall. Never understood why they’d uproot her with only another year till graduation from high school.”
“Maybe the commute to Indianapolis got old.” He took a swig of coffee.
“He didn’t run for another term.” She frowned. “Bothers me that I have no idea if Lillian and Irene are alive or dead. Guess that makes me nosy.”
“I don’t think so. When someone disappears without a word to anyone, folks want answers.” He met her gaze. “Perhaps something bad happened here that ruined the house for them.”
“Can’t imagine what.” She nibbled on a cookie, thinking. “Reckon I’ll have to accept I’ll never know. A mystery—that’s what it is.” She shook a finger his way. “Kind of like you.” She turned questioning eyes on him. “You’re mighty interested in the Squier family. Why is that?”
He forced a grin. “Making conversation is all. The family means nothing to me,” he said, though he heard the wobble of his reply. He rose. “I’d better get to mucking out Callie’s barn. Thanks for the coffee and cookies.”
“Jake.” Mrs. Uland held out the plate of cookies. “Take these with you.” She walked to the step, Sandy at her heels, and handed them to him. “You’re giving Callie’s house new life. From the bounce in her step, you’re giving it to her, too. Make sure you don’t hurt that girl. She’s had enough heartache.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He doffed his hat. “Thanks for the cookies.”
If what Mildred said was true and Callie cared about him, even a little, he’d better hurry his search and get out of town. He would only bring Callie trouble.
As he strode toward her house, he relived the conversation. He’d said the Squier family meant nothing to him. But if Senator Squier moved his family because Irene got in a family way, that could mean she was his mother. Though he didn’t have evidence to support that conclusion, he couldn’t dislodge the idea from his mind. If she had given birth to him, she no longer lived in Peaceful. Where was Irene Squier now?
Mildred was obviously puzzled about that, too. Thankfully, she’d given Jake a name to go on. He’d see if he could discover why the senator gave up politics. And what had happened to the family. He might have to make a trip to Indianapolis. Whatever it took, he intended to pursue the only lead he had.
One thing he knew. If a senator’s daughter had given birth to him, her family had possessed the material resources to raise him in their home, and a motive to avoid scandal.
Hiding a baby in an orphanage would’ve been a convenient solution to the problem of an illegitimate grandchild. At his sides his hands fisted. Convenient and corrupt.
If Irene gave her baby up to save her father’s career, then the ploy had backfired. Senator Squier hadn’t run for a second term. Why?
Perhaps Jake was making too much of the family’s disappearance. Yet, the fact that they’d left in the middle of the night, and appeared to have dropped out of sight, certainly raised his suspicions. What did all this speculation mean? He might be no closer to the identity of the woman who gave him life than when he first arrived in town. But he wouldn’t know the truth until he investigated this new lead.
Mucking out the barn could wait. He’d head to the depot and buy a ticket for the first train to Indianapolis.
Yanking a leggy weed and tossing it to the ground, Callie wished she could do the same to Jacob. He’d finished trimming Mildred’s bushes hours ago, then said he had an errand to run and left. If that errand involved purchasing supplies, he should’ve been back by now.
Where had he gone?
She sighed. This was yet another example of Jacob’s secrecy. When they’d parted last night, she’d asked Jacob if he was living a lie. He’d laughed off the question as if she’d been joking, but from the disquiet in his eyes, he knew better.
Well, she refused to let that man ruin the joy of today. Soon another unwed mother would arrive. She’d help the newcomer get settled in and see what she could do to make Refuge of Redeeming Love feel like home.
While she waited, Callie took the opportunity to clear dried leaves and weeds from the front flowerbed. Thankfully, the wind had died down. The bonnet she wore protected her face from the late-afternoon sun, warm through the sleeves of her dress.
Across the way, Stripes rose on his haunches and batted at a moth. A dog barked. Most likely, Sandy had treed a squirrel. A robin flew off with strands of dead grass to incorporate in its nest. All around her, Callie saw and heard the signs of life, of renewal—all part of God’s plan. She loved spring.
Though she still had three months before her baby arrived, this bending and stretching was getting difficult. She chuckled, hoping she could get to her feet once she finished. Elise was off visiting her mother while her father cut hair at his shop.
Callie hoped the newcomer—Grace—would fit in. She’d grown accustomed to Elise in the house and Jacob nearby. As time went on, more women would come. Each one would affect the tone.
A sound alerted her to someone’s approach.
A woman, carrying a satchel, her dark hair pulled into a severe bun, wearing a plain skirt and shirtwaist and, from her expression a chip on her shoulder. Her no-nonsense look fit Callie’s image of a spinster schoolmarm more than an unwed mother.
The woman glanced at the newly painted sign Callie had hung that morning alongside the front door. Grace wasn’t as young as Callie first thought, probably older than Callie herself.
“This is the home for unwed mothers.”
“It is.” Callie smiled a welcome. “You must be Grace.”
She gave a cursory nod.
“If you’ll give me a hand up, I’d appreciate it.”
Grace took Callie’s hand and with one fluid motion pulled Callie to her feet.
“Whew, you don’t mess around.” Callie tugged at her skirts.
“Some would say that’s exactly what I did.” Grace’s tone held the biting edge of a well-honed knife.
The smile on Callie’s face faltered. “I’m Callie Mitchell.” She offered her hand, which was ignored. “Welcome to Refuge of Redeeming Love.”
“How much does it cost to stay?”
“I’d ask for help with groceries if you can afford to pay. If not, you’re still welcome. We share the chores.”
Grace nodded, but didn’t look pleased. Callie had an urge to chastise her for that haughty attitude but her conscience walloped her in the stomach. If God blessed His children according to their gratitude, there’d be far fewer rays of sunshine, drops of rain and bites to eat.
“I didn’t catch your last name.”
“I didn’t give it.” Callie waited.
“Grace. I’m not saying more.”
“Are you on the run?”
“Not from the law, if that’s what you mean.”
“From your family?”
“What’s it to you?”
“I own this house. I don’t want trouble, not here or in town. If we fail to keep the reputation of Redeeming Love spotless, I could be forced to close.”
“No one’s looking for me.”
Every trace of disdain in her eyes evaporated, replaced with a raw pain that shut off Callie’s questions. This girl needed someone to care.
“I’ll show you to your room.”
They walked to the house, Grace trailing a few steps behind. Along the way, Callie pointed out
the location of the privy and other outbuildings. Inside, they climbed the stairs without Grace making one comment about her surroundings. A disappointment to Callie, who enjoyed seeing the house appreciated.
Sensing that the girl needed privacy, she led Grace to the back bedroom, the furthest from hers and Elise’s. The space to rest, to cry, to work out whatever had happened to put that baby in her belly and bring her here.
“I hope you’ll find your room comfortable.”
Grace glanced at the double bed topped with a blue and white quilt, the dresser, washstand and armoire. “It’s better than I expected.”
Not exactly praise, but it would do. “Unpack, take a nap if you’d like. Or you might take a walk around the grounds and the house.”
“I could use a nap.”
“How did you get here?”
“Hitched a ride on a wagon. Walked the rest of the way.”
“You must not live far.”
“I won’t be answering questions about where I’m from or who the father of this baby is. If that ain’t acceptable, then say the word. I’ll leave before I muss the sheets.”
At the hostility in her voice, Callie frowned. “Who should I contact if you get sick?”
“No one cares if I live or die.”
Callie folded her arms across her chest. “There are things I’ll need to know.”
“Like what?”
“Like how far along are you in your pregnancy?”
“Six months.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“No.”
“I’ll get you in to see Doctor Wellman.”
“I don’t need no doctor.”
“If you’re worried that you can’t pay, he’s agreed to tend to residents of Redeeming Love whether they can afford a doctor or not.”
She shrugged, as if medical care didn’t matter, one way or another.
“I’d appreciate help preparing dinner. Come to the kitchen around five o’clock. It’s at the back of the house behind the dining room. There’s food to make, the table to set, cleanup after.”
Grace’s eyes turned cold. “I’ve worked as a domestic. I know what needs doing.”
A piece of information Callie would remember. “Well, I’ll leave you to unpack.” She stepped toward the door. “Unless you need something before I go.”
“What I need you can’t give.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well, if not me, then God can provide for your needs.”
“If you’re into preaching, I’m leaving.”
“I don’t preach, Grace. But talking about my faith is who I am. I did before you came and I will after you leave. If that’s not all right with you, maybe you should walk out that door.”
The young woman glanced at her feet. “I need a place to stay,” she said in a subdued voice, without a trace of belligerence.
No matter what the woman claimed, Callie could provide a need—the roof over Grace’s head. “I’m glad to have you.”
Grace turned her back, walked to the window, all but dismissing Callie.
“Well, I’ll be in the parlor. I’ve done all the gardening I care to for one day.”
No response, as if Callie hadn’t spoken. She left the room with the warnings Loretta had raised dancing through her mind. Most likely, Grace wasn’t a lawbreaker. But her cold demeanor left no doubt. She wasn’t interested in building relationships.
What had happened to her?
Well, whatever Grace had experienced, God had brought her here. Time would help. Affection would help. Prayer would help.
Or so Callie hoped. Yet doubts nagged at her. How would Grace’s presence affect the household?
With three pregnant women under one roof, and who knew how many more to come, Callie wondered if she was equal to the task of keeping everyone’s spirits up and trouble down. She’d gotten used to harmony in the house. Harmony she had no idea how to maintain.
She’d never felt more inadequate.
And more like giving Jacob Smith a piece of her mind.
Just when she needed him most, the man was nowhere to be found.
A knot twisted in her stomach. When had she started relying on a drifter?
As Callie made coffee, she glanced out the window. Rays of morning sun bounced off the barn’s tin roof. A glance at the kitchen calendar reminded her of the Peaceful Ladies Club’s Spring Tea later this morning. She’d agreed to bring a buttermilk coffee cake. Mercy, with the confusion of Grace’s arrival yesterday, she’d forgotten the event, much less her contribution.
Donning an apron, Callie’s hands stilled on the sash. This tea would be a perfect opportunity to lift Grace’s spirits. Normally, she’d have obtained permission to bring guests, but all women eighteen years and older were welcome. There would be plenty of refreshments. Two more wouldn’t matter.
Humming to herself, Callie set about the task. She’d use her talent for preparing food to help Grace feel welcome in the community. Along with Elise, they’d have a lovely time. And for a while forget their troubles. And have fun—something their situations may have denied them.
Callie measured flour, baking soda, baking powder and salt into the sifter then squeezed the handle back and forth, back and forth, mixing and refining the ingredients that dusted to the bottom of the crock.
God sifted his people, too, pushing them together to improve the whole. He’d used Grace’s sullen attitude to show Callie that she could handle Grace’s hostility. Without turning to someone exactly wrong for her. Jacob.
The man hadn’t appeared for supper last night. Nor breakfast this morning. What did she care? Hadn’t she learned not to rely on a man?
When Elise and Grace came into the kitchen, Callie talked long and hard to persuade Grace to attend the tea. She’d finally agreed, more to appease Elise, who wanted to go badly.
Finally, they’d dressed and walked the few blocks to the Ladies Club. Callie carried the coffee cake. Elise wore a smile of anticipation. Grace wore that chip on her shoulder.
Inside the front door, a knot of women chatted, oohing and aahing over each other’s goodies.
Mrs. Sunderland noticed them first and stepped forward. “This is a private club.”
Callie leveled a steely glance. “We’ve never turned anyone away, Mrs. Sunderland.”
Coming around beside her, Loretta shot Callie a look of understanding. “I’m sorry, Callie, but we’re not prepared for guests today.”
Not taken in by that nonsense, Callie wanted to say as much, but doing so would only embarrass Grace and Elise more. Though with that scowl on Grace’s face, Callie was surprised anyone dared confront them. Poor Elise looked ready to faint.
Mrs. Sunderland shook her head. “I can’t believe how far you’ll go to pursue your agenda.”
Callie’s mind went blank. “My agenda?”
“Everyone knows you need money to repair and keep up your house. Soliciting funds for unwed mothers is a clever way to look out for your interests, not the community’s.” She swept a hand. “Or these girls. Elise should be home with her parents.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Honor your father and mother is a commandment, yet you’ve aided her rebellion.”
Callie wouldn’t break Elise’s mother’s confidence. But even if she knew that Sarah supported her daughter’s actions, Mrs. Sunderland wouldn’t be moved. She didn’t have a heart.
Tugging Elise along, they headed out the door. Grace shot her a glare. “You’re using us for your own benefit.” She scoffed. “I knew your motives were too good to be true.”
“Grace,” Elise said, taking her arm. “Mrs. Sunderland will say anything to destroy Redeeming Love.”
As they retraced their steps toward home, Callie could barely put one foot in front of the other. What a fool she’d been to expose Grace and Elise to censure. She’d wanted to give hurting women some fun. Her intentions had been good. But everything she’d planned had gone awry. She’d
failed. Yet again. Only this time, Elise and Grace had been affected by the consequences of her bad decisions.
After this, Grace would probably never trust her.
Where would all this lead?
Chapter Fourteen
Jake hadn’t seen Callie since his return from Indianapolis. He hoped his absence hadn’t built another wall between them, but he still wasn’t ready to talk about his mother.
The hours he’d spent at the State Capitol hadn’t produced any solid evidence about his birth mother. He’d talked to several senators. Only one had served in the Senate with Wesley Squier. He’d remembered conversations they’d had about his wife and daughter. Told Jake that Squier had lost his appetite for politics, moved back East to his wife’s hometown, though he couldn’t recall where. He assumed Irene had gone with her parents.
Jake checked records at the courthouse and back issues of newspapers in the city’s library, but found no mention of Wesley Squier, except for his announcement not to run for a fourth term. The article didn’t mention his wife or daughter.
Wherever the family had gone, they apparently hadn’t lived in the area for years. Irene couldn’t have mailed those postcards, which meant he’d been on a wild goose chase.
With his lack of success weighing him down, he slogged toward the barn to get the tools he’d need to repair the water-damaged parlor ceiling.
Across the way, Callie plopped the milking stool and pail down alongside the cow. Soaking up her presence, he brushed off the setback, wanting only to make Callie’s load easier. “Hi,” he said. “Let me do the milking for you.”
At his greeting, Callie jerked up her head.
Her beauty socked him in the gut. He’d missed her, as if he’d been gone for days instead of less than twenty-four hours. His gaze swept over her, then settled on her eyes. Eyes as turbulent as stormy seas and weary, as if she could barely keep her seat.
