“Nothing. If I hadn’t rescued her, I doubt I would have talked to her very much the whole trip.”
Letty was a sweet enough girl. Pretty, too, but not really Peter’s type. Far too bookish for his tastes, she wasn’t part of his circle of friends. She’d gone to school with Hazel, the only reason she’d been invited in the first place.
“Oh yes.” His uncle shot his son a look. “You two took a walk and got lost, I believe?”
“Miss Jamison got lost,” Peter corrected. “She’d never been to the lake before and wandered off by herself. We all went out looking for her, and I found her.” And he’d been considered quite the hero by the rest of the young ladies as a result.
“I also heard she was hysterical when you brought her back.”
“Well, of course—she was out in the elements by herself for over an hour.” Peter wished his uncle would get to the point. He needed to go to his room and figure out what he was going to do. If he could just get a few minutes to himself … but his uncle’s next words jarred any other thought from his head.
“Her dress was ripped, almost beyond repair.”
Peter frowned. “What are you implying?”
“Father’s not implying anything,” Edward said. “Letty says you took advantage of her.”
“What? No!” That was a line he was always careful to not so much as approach—much less cross—no matter how tempting. The price, a wedding ring, was far too high. “She said she fell before I found her. She told everyone as much.”
“To avoid any embarrassment, I’m sure,” his cousin replied. “But she won’t be able to explain the state she’ll be in within a few months. Not without being married.”
A sick feeling rose in Peter’s gut as he realized he had a bigger problem than simply being penniless. He looked from his uncle to his cousin.
“That can’t be true. Nothing happened,” he said.
“Her doctor has assured me that it is true.”
“I’m not marrying Letty Jamison.”
“Then you may leave this house at once. I’m sure my father would understand my refusing to abide by his last request considering the circumstances.” A gleam appeared in Uncle Randall’s eyes. “And if you think you have friends around here that will take you in, think again. One word of this will close every door in Pittsburgh. Considering your reputation, no one will doubt it for a moment.”
Peter felt all control of his world slipping away. It must have shown on his face, judging by his uncle’s next words.
“Your aunt will help her with the arrangements. Since we are in mourning, the wedding will happen quietly in the parlor in a month’s time. I think you’ll agree we shouldn’t wait any longer—for Miss Jamison’s sake.”
One month later, Peter shrugged reluctantly into a linen shirt and buttoned it, while his valet sorted through his cuff links.
“The mother-of-pearl set will do fine, Jimmy.”
Though surprised, he did as he was told. A knock at the door interrupted them. Setting the links aside, Jimmy walked over to answer it. Peter scowled as he heard him speak a few murmured words. What on earth did Uncle Randall want from him now?
Jimmy returned, a velvet box in his hand and an uneasy look in his eyes. “Your uncle sent this up. He says it’s a gift … for her.”
Peter opened it. A pearl necklace lay inside, and not just any piece of jewelry.
“This belonged to my mother.” He clenched his jaw. His uncle had taken charge of it when he had Peter’s things moved from his spacious room on the floor below to this small, cramped, forgotten room in the garret. “And he expects me to give it to Letty?” He snapped the box shut. “He can go straight to the devil!”
Peter slapped the box down on his desk and snatched up his cuff links. He fumbled with them, trying to put them on. Jimmy quickly came to his aid. Poor Jimmy. He was valet to Edward now, but Peter had insisted the young man be permitted to help him dress one last time. He needed a friend close by on the day he would lose what little freedom still remained to him.
“Thank you, Jimmy. I’m sorry I sounded short.”
“It’s all right, sir,” the young man said as he handed Peter his tie.
“I’m sorry, too, for all this. My cousin can’t be very pleasant to work for.” Peter couldn’t help but smirk as he fashioned a perfect four-in-hand knot. “Although, I have to admit I am pleased every time I see one of your sad knots hanging around his neck.”
Jimmy gave him a self-conscious smile. Tying cravats and ties was the young man’s only failing as a valet, but Peter had never minded.
“And he thought you were the master behind my perfectly formed ties,” he said.
“Yes, sir, thank you for keeping that secret for so long.” He helped Peter into his frock coat and brushed imaginary dust from the shoulders. As Peter made some final adjustments, Jimmy picked up the velvet case. “May I, sir?”
Peter nodded and watched him open the case and look admiringly at the necklace inside. It was the only thing of his mother’s Peter owned. Granddad had given it to him several years ago, and he remembered that moment as the sole time his grandfather ever mentioned her. Even then, it was only to say that she had been a lovely young woman. The sadness in his face and eyes had kept Peter from pressing him for more. Sarah McCord’s death had been tragic; a carriage accident had taken the life of Granddad’s only daughter. Peter’s father divorced and abandoned his mother before his birth, which was why he bore the name McCord.
“If you’ll pardon the cheek, sir, it’s not right for Miss Jamison to have this.” He set it back on the desk then walked to the window and peered out.
Jimmy had been the only one to believe his assertion that nothing had happened between him and Letty. He’d been as outraged at her claim as Peter had, if not more. Peter smiled humorlessly. “Don’t apologize; you’re right. But as much as I agree with you, I don’t think I have much choice in the matter.”
He joined him at the window. A starling flitted from one bush to another in the gardens that lay directly below them. He envied the bird’s freedom. Peter’s every move had been closely monitored for the past month. He felt as if he were being kept in a deep hole, only to be taken out when needed. Almost sick with anger, he turned away from the window and ran frustrated hands through his hair. Spying the velvet case, he opened it and carefully removed the pearls. They shimmered gently in his hands, and the ornate clasp glittered. Bile rose in his throat as he imagined them around Letty’s neck. He glanced at Jimmy.
“Who brought the necklace up here? Jenkins?” His uncle had fired Martin, their old butler, when he and his family came to live at the McCord mansion, and elevated one of the older footmen to his position. Albert Jenkins, a sharp-eyed man, reported Peter’s every move to his uncle.
“No, sir, it was one of the maids. Jenkins is sick as I understand it.”
Opportunity whispered in Peter’s ear. Laying the necklace on the desk, he sat down and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you mind getting me something to drink?”
“Of course, sir. Anything in particular?”
“Something that will get me through the rest of the day.” He looked at him with raised eyebrows, and Jimmy smiled and nodded before leaving the room.
With one fluid motion, Peter pulled out pen and paper, scribbled a note to the valet, and then placed the envelope where only Jimmy would find it. Glancing at himself in the mirror, he traded the frock coat for his sack suit jacket and quickly dispensed with his tie and collar. That was better. He looked a little more working class now. There was only one thing to be done, only one way out, and he intended to take it. He went to the door, down the back stairs, out the servant’s door, and on his way to the section of Pittsburgh that boasted the most pawnshops.
Chapter 2
Ostrander, Delaware County, Ohio September, 1884
Anne Kirby pulled her trunk from the corner where it sat over to her bed and raised the lid. She stared at it for a long moment and then bi
t her lip, trying to set her mind on preparing for her trip. But her wandering thoughts tumbled like jagged rocks in her mind, and a headache began to prick behind her brown eyes. Closing them, she sat on the edge of her bed, not hearing her mother come in.
“Are you all right?”
The lilt of her mother’s German accent and the gentle pressure of her hand on her shoulder startled Anne. She looked up, a smile flickering across her face as she rose. “I’m fine, Ma. I was just … thinking.”
“Why is your trunk out?”
“I thought I might pack a few things.” She walked over to her wardrobe and began taking her things out and laying them on the bed. She felt her mother’s eyes on her as she knelt in front of the trunk. “I’ll need some paper.”
“Anne, you do not leave for a week yet.” She held out her hand to her daughter. “Sit with me for a moment.”
Anne paused then took her hand. They sat on the bed, and her mother brushed a thumb across her cheek.
“I do not like to see you hurt.”
Anne nodded, her gaze directed at her lap. Her mother grasped both her hands and squeezed them.
“I’m sorry Sam McAllister treated you as he did. He shouldn’t have courted you if he had feelings for another. Your pa was ready to go up there and give him a piece of his mind.”
Anne glanced up. “He was? Does he still have a mind to do that?”
“No, Kleine, I convinced him not to go. He promised me he wouldn’t.”
“Good. I would just as soon forget the whole thing.” Her heart pounded with relief. She wished she could forget those months she had taught school in the northern part of the county. Everything had looked so promising at first. She brushed a strand of ginger-colored hair from her eyes before changing the subject. “Ma, don’t you think I’m a little old for you to still call me ‘Kleine’?”
Her ma smiled and gently touched her chin. “Don’t you know no matter how old you are, you will always be my ‘little one’?”
Anne grinned lopsidedly. It was still appropriate, she supposed. She was the shortest one in the family. Even her younger sister, Millie, was an inch or so taller than she.
Her mother cupped her face. “Besides, calling you Kleine always reminds me of that special day.”
“The day you found me,” Anne said.
Her ma nodded and wrapped her arms around her. Barely three at the time, Anne remembered only snatches of what had happened, like the purple flowers she’d hidden behind, and the kindness in Ma’s blue eyes as she coaxed her to come closer. And seeds. Ma had been planting the kitchen garden and convinced her to help. But the gentle memory contrasted sharply with the hard truth. She formed her next words carefully.
“I wish I knew exactly when my birthday is and how old I really am.” Anne pulled away and scrutinized her mother’s face. The barest hint of apprehension slipped across the older woman’s face before a gentle smile settled there.
“I know, Kleine. But your parents were already gone when we found you.” She rose and looked from her daughter to the clothes on her bed. “I suppose we can pack some of your winter things. It will save time later. I’ll get some newspaper.”
While she was gone, Anne carefully folded her skirts and waists. She’d always known she was adopted—everyone in Ostrander knew—but she hadn’t known there was more to it until recently.
Your parents were already gone. …
She winced at the half-truth. For a moment, her clothes faded from sight and clear, precise handwriting flashed before her eyes, words never meant for her to see. Her brows angled, V-shaped, above her eyes, and she squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing her desire to tell Ma what she knew. What good would it do to say something now? Telling her parents she knew the truth would only hurt them and most certainly keep her from carrying out her plans. After all, it was only after Anne made certain concessions that they agreed to let her leave. She wondered if she still wanted to go through with it. No, this has to be done. At least, no one else in Ostrander appeared to know. And if things went as she hoped, they never would. Her thoughts gave her hands urgency, and she reached for the quilt at the end of her bed and folded it. Her mother returned to the room.
“Ah, you’re taking your quilt.” Ma stood beside her. “I remember when I made this for you. You helped me—do you remember?”
“Yes, I remember pricking my fingers so many times I left a drop of blood on it.” She smiled as she lifted a corner of the quilt to reveal the tiny brown dot that never fully washed out.
Her mother carefully laid it over the heavier items already packed in the bottom of the trunk. “We’ll miss your help around here.”
Anne chuckled ruefully. “I’m not that useful. That’s why I became a teacher, remember?”
If her parents hadn’t told her she was adopted, she would have figured it out on her own. Pa and her brother, Jacob, could sow crops in seawater and they would grow. Her ma ran the farmhouse with an efficiency that, according to Pa, would be the envy of any army drill sergeant. And Millie’s needlework had won more first place premiums at the county fair than Anne could count. She, on the other hand, couldn’t sew and burned water, and the last time she had charge of the kitchen garden, everything nearly died.
“You will still be missed, Anne.” Adele, her hands on her hips, looked at her. “Although, I still don’t see why you must leave or why you’re going to work in the library at The Ohio State University. You are a teacher.”
“I wanted a change. And there were no positions available for me in Columbus, at least, not right now.” Anne avoided her gaze and laid a waist into the trunk. “The young lady I’m filling in for is supposed to return in a few months. Maybe by that time—”
“Anne.” Her mother squeezed her arm. “I know what happened with Sam was hard, but why can’t you stay?”
Anne looked down at the things in her chest, the real reason nearly flying from her lips. “Ma, I—” She took a breath. “I need to do this.” She looked up at her mother with pleading eyes.
Her ma wrapped her arms around her. “We will pray for you, kleine, that God will heal your heart to love again.”
“Thank you,” Anne murmured then gently pulled away and walked over to the wardrobe. She made a play of looking for any forgotten items while attempting to swallow the lump in her throat. Her parents had never pushed her to get married, but she sensed they were eager for her to find a match soon. At twenty-one, most young women her age had been married for a few years. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry or that she lacked beaus—she’d simply never found someone she felt she could walk alongside for the rest of her life. She had always trusted God would lead her to that person when the time came and, until a few weeks ago, she thought that person had been Sam McAllister. Now she had to wonder if there really was anyone for her to call her own. Composing herself, she picked up a forgotten shawl.
“I am glad you will not be on your own down in Columbus,” her ma said as she approached. “Your uncle will take good care of you.”
“Yes.” Anne folded the garment. When she first told her ma and pa of her plan to work at the university’s library, they had given her their consent, but only if she lived with Uncle Daniel, a professor at the institution. They simply wouldn’t hear of her living at one of the boardinghouses near the school, even if they did cater exclusively to the female students. At first she thought it would be a problem, but then she realized she would not have to pay for her room and board. That would make saving her money for passage west all the easier. She laid the shawl in the trunk. “That’s all my winter clothing.”
“We can pack the rest later.” Ma closed the lid. “Let’s go see how Millie is doing with dinner.”
They made their way out behind the house to the summer kitchen. Although Anne didn’t cook, she managed to help out by fetching and carrying various things her mother and sister needed.
“I’m rolling out the dough now, Ma,” Millie said as they came in.
“T
he dough for what?” Anne inhaled the fragrant chicken boiling in a large pot on the black cast-iron stove. “Oh Ma, you shouldn’t be going to such trouble.”
“Yes, I should. I couldn’t have you leave without making your favorite dishes.”
“Tonight we’re having chicken pie, green beans, fresh bread, and Ma’s strudel for dessert.” Millie smiled broadly and brushed a strand of her bright blond hair from her face.
Tears caused Anne’s sight to swim for a moment. Blinking them away, she took a basket from the worktable. “I’ll go pick the green beans.”
“I’ve already done it.”
“Is there anything for me to do just now?” Anne asked hopefully.
Ma looked at her and then sighed. “No. You can go on out to the barn.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Ma.”
Anne stepped inside the barn and breathed in the familiar, earthy odor of weathered wood, hay, and straw. It was one of her most favorite places. She missed the days of her childhood when she would follow Pa from the haymow above to the milking stalls down below, helping him and the hired hands tend the livestock. But as she grew older, Pa told her she shouldn’t be hanging around the barn so much. Learning to take care of a home, not animals, was more important, he’d said. She found it a little ironic that the one thing she felt gifted to do on the farm was the one thing that wasn’t proper for her to do. At least Pa had allowed her a little leeway lately. A soft nicker greeted her approach to the horse stalls. A dark head with a graying muzzle appeared, and Anne smiled, drawing from her pocket the carrot she had snitched from one of the feed bins.
“Hello, Scioto,” she said, dropping it into his feed trough, glad that the horse would be coming with her.
Scioto belonged to Uncle Daniel. He leased a house on university grounds, and Pa had been boarding him while the university built a stable on the property. The horse finished the carrot and looked to her for more. She smiled as she scratched his withers, a favorite spot.
“That’s enough for now, boy.” Pa had left his care to her since she came home, and she had become attached to the horse over the past few months. The bay Morgan nuzzled her, and she stroked his neck.
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