by Renee Ryan
Satisfied the children were resting peacefully, Bridget pulled the door shut and went in search of Esther Black. The housekeeper told her she could find the older woman in the front parlor.
Bridget stopped in the doorway and waited a moment, watching Esther pour tea into a cup. She looked rested from her own nap, which was exactly what Bridget had hoped. One of her goals had been to relieve this kind woman’s burden, and it appeared she was making progress. Bridget would still consult Flynn, but for now she stepped into the parlor.
“The children are asleep,” she said.
Esther looked up, smiled and then signaled her to take the empty seat across from her. “Join me, please.”
Once Bridget was settled, Esther set a teacup in front of her. “I know I’ve said this countless times since you arrived this morning, but I’m going to say it again. You are a blessing to us, Bridget Murphy, a true blessing.”
Bridget felt her cheeks warm. “Oh, Esther, I’ve had a wonderful day. The children are utterly charming.” A burst of longing shot through her, reminding her how desperately she wanted children of her own. “I’m quite taken with them.”
“And there’s no denying they adore you, as well.” Esther busied herself pouring tea into both cups. She seemed relaxed, but from the furrow on her brow Bridget sensed she had something more to say, perhaps something concerning the children’s mother? Dare she hope it would be this easy to gather the information she wanted?
“I understand,” Esther began, “that you traveled to America on the same ship as Will’s intended.”
Surprised and slightly uncomfortable at the direction of conversation, Bridget clasped her hands tightly together in her lap. “Well, yes, I did.”
“Did you know her, then?” Esther kept her eyes on the tea service. “Would she have been a good mother to the children?”
Something in the other woman’s manner, the way she kept her gaze slightly averted, led Bridget to believe Will’s mother hadn’t been in full agreement with his decision to “hire” a bride.
It would have been nice to have alleviated Esther’s concerns, to have informed her that the woman with which Will had corresponded was worthy of him and the children. Unfortunately Bridget couldn’t say for sure. “I’m afraid I never met her.”
Esther fell silent, evidently taking a moment to process the information. When she continued looking down at the table, Bridget decided to ease the tension in the air and shift the conversation back to the children.
“The twins are very sweet, but they often seem…a bit…” she searched for the proper word “…subdued.”
“It’s been a hard year for them.”
To hear her concerns spoken aloud, in that sad tone, well, her stomach twisted in sorrow.
“I’m sorry.” She reached out to touch Esther’s hand and squeezed gently. “For all of you.”
Acknowledging her sympathy with a slight incline of her head, Esther pulled her hand free and then scooted a plate of scones in Bridget’s direction.
She ignored the pretty pastries. “I assume the children’s mother died a year ago?”
“That’s correct.”
Bridget waited for her to say more but, yet again, Esther didn’t give any further details. Instead she made a grand show of buttering a fresh scone and handing it to Bridget.
Accepting the pastry out of politeness more than hunger, she took a bite. As the buttery goodness melted on her tongue, she wondered all the more what had happened to Will’s wife. Something tragic? Heartbreaking, perhaps? “The children never mention their mother.”
“They don’t remember her.”
How odd, Bridget thought. Although Olivia and Caleb were young, not yet four, most children their age had memories from when they were much younger.
Should she continue questioning Will’s mother? No, Bridget decided. She’d pried enough for one day. Time would reveal the answers she needed.
“Esther, would it be acceptable if I played the piano for the children when they wake from their nap? Maybe I could teach them a song?”
She peered over her shoulder into the other room as she spoke. The gleaming instrument was the finest she’d ever seen. Bridget desperately wanted to test the keys and determine for herself if the sound matched the piano’s exquisite beauty. She loved music and would enjoy sharing her fondness with the children.
Esther’s gaze shifted to the piano. After a moment of silent contemplation, she gave one firm nod. “I think teaching the children to sing a song is a grand idea.”
With such an enthusiastic answer it was a wonder the woman had taken so long to consider her response. What had been behind her initial hesitation? Bridget wondered.
She wouldn’t ask. She’d been nosy enough for one day. Tomorrow morning she would take the children outside to enjoy the fresh air. But today, oh, today, there would be music in this house.
Smiling in satisfaction, Bridget leaned back in her chair and took another bite of her scone.
* * *
With his paperwork complete, Will decided to check on the day’s production. As he made his way to the main floor of the mill, he reflected over all he and his ancestors had accomplished in seventy-five years. When his grandfather had founded the company he’d been an educated man, a doctor by trade, with absolutely no desire to practice medicine. Upon meeting an Irish immigrant, Liam Huntley, a man who’d been an expert in making chocolate, Reginald Black had struck upon the idea of a chocolate mill.
Within a few years the mill became a phenomenal success, even surviving the American Revolution when cocoa beans had been difficult to acquire.
Will’s father had inherited the business upon Reginald’s death. Will had taken over ten years later. In his hands Huntley-Black chocolate was now available all across the country. In order to meet the increasing demand, Will had moved the business to this larger facility five years ago, right after his marriage to Fanny. The conversion had demanded long, sixteen-hour days.
Perhaps Fanny had felt neglected and that was the reason she’d strayed. Perhaps she’d missed her friends and family, as she’d claimed. Or perhaps she’d simply been bored and that had led to her poor decisions.
Will would never know for sure why his wife had sought another man’s affections. Even now, at the thought of the resulting tragedy, anger and guilt burned deep.
Looking back, he wasn’t sure he’d fought hard enough to bring Fanny home. When he’d finally gone to fetch her he’d been too late. Why hadn’t he sought her out sooner?
What did that say about his character?
Will shook away his unsettling thoughts with a swift jerk of his head and focused on his surroundings once more. Still in the grips of a dangerous heat wave, the day had grown uncommonly hot, the interior of the building twice as sweltering.
But despite the heat, the atmosphere inside the mill was congenial. Noise and chatter filled the air, mingling with the sound of grinding millstones crushing the newest shipment of cocoa beans into powder. Farther down the line the powder was heated into a thick syrup. Still farther down, workers poured the syrup into molds to make hard cakes that would eventually be sold under the name Black’s Best Chocolate.
Although the cakes were used for baking or grated into hot milk to make a sweetened beverage, Will was working with his best chocolatiers to create a new product that would contain a higher sugar content. His children, both lovers of sweets, were his inspiration.
At the thought of Caleb and Olivia, Will’s mind wandered to their new nanny. Bridget Murphy. Had she been sent to them straight from heaven?
Will shut his eyes momentarily and prayed. Lord, let it be so.
Focusing once more on his surroundings, he looked around the main floor of operation. The men and women were hard at work. He employed most
of the Irish immigrants who lived in the area and liked to think he treated them fairly. But chocolate making was hot, grueling work, especially in the midst of a heat wave.
Combing a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, he went in search of his foreman, a middle-aged man with strong arms and a ready smile. “Joe. A word.”
“Mr. Black.” Joe stepped away from the millstone and greeted him with his no-nonsense tone and sharp manner. “Any news on the shipment of my nuts?” Joe always called cocoa beans nuts.
“The ship left South America on schedule. If the weather holds it will arrive in Boston Harbor sometime next week.”
Wiping the sweat from his brow with a muscled forearm, Joe let out a relieved puff of air. “Not a moment too soon.”
Will silently agreed. Business was so good they were running out of Joe’s nuts at an alarming rate. “How we doing for today’s production?”
“Ahead of schedule.”
As Will expected. Joseph Ferguson was an excellent, efficient foreman who managed to inspire his workers to new heights of excellence.
Nodding his approval, Will pulled out his watch and checked the time. Four in the afternoon. Early still, but not alarmingly so. “Let’s call it a day. Send everyone home.”
Knowing better than to second-guess the decision, Joe made the announcement.
A loud cheer rose up from the workers.
“Joe, you go on home, too.” He clapped the shorter man on the back. “Enjoy your family.” Advice Will planned to take himself.
“You got it, boss.”
Several workers thanked him personally as he made his way back to his office to retrieve his papers and other belongings. He thanked them in return for their continued hard work.
His gratitude was genuine. Many of the residents of Faith Glen thought of the Irish immigrants as intruders, outsiders. Will saw them as honest, honorable, hard-working people, which had been the primary reason he’d sent to Ireland for a bride.
A cold, ruthless wave of guilt spread through him. Bridget Collins deserved better than what he’d provided her. She’d suffered a terrible ending, death at sea, all because she’d been looking for the better life he’d promised to provide her in America.
Even as he thought of his bride with sadness, his mind steered toward another female immigrant, the one who’d kindly stepped in, if only temporarily, to assist Will and his family while he determined what to do next.
He wondered what Bridget and the children were up to this very minute. Were they playing, laughing, having a good time together?
He quickened his pace, eager to hurry home and see for himself.
* * *
Less than a half hour later, Will stood frozen on the front steps just outside his house, struck immobile by the music wafting past the open windows. Then he noticed the sounds of laughter, and high-pitched, childish joy. He’d forgotten those sounds. For a moment he simply closed his eyes and allowed the music to wash over him.
Then more unwanted memories slammed into him, the kind he’d suppressed for a full year but seemed to be coming at him at an alarming rate these days. When he’d met Fanny at a dinner party in Boston she’d been playing a piano. The owner of a shipping company Will commissioned to import his cocoa beans had invited him to his home, under the guise of discussing business. But Richard Osmond had had another agenda in mind. He’d wanted Will to meet his daughter, Fanny.
Will had been smitten from the start. Fanny had been beautiful, talented, the most refined woman he’d ever met. And she’d played the piano with flair, indicating a passionate, enthusiastic nature.
The attraction had not been one-sided, no matter what Fanny had later claimed. She’d been equally enthralled with Will, and had gone out of her way to win him.
Their courtship had been a blur. They’d attended the opera, the theater and countless parties. Will had found the social whirlwind amusing, primarily because he’d known he was too dedicated to his business and his employees to have continued the extravagant lifestyle beyond that initial burst.
Just like the partygoing, happiness hadn’t lasted long in his marriage either, less than a year. Pain and anger had replaced what Will had thought was love. Shouting had replaced the music in his home. Joy had all but disappeared.
Now, standing on the front stoop, listening to the sound of his children singing and laughing, Will realized how much he’d missed the music.
He wanted to be a part of it now. He prayed the memories, or at least the worst of them, stayed away so he could simply enjoy the moment with his children. And his mother. And, of course, Bridget.
Bracing himself, he twisted the doorknob and shoved inside the house. The music was louder in the entryway, jollier, his children’s laughter happier.
Will swallowed past a lump in his throat.
Not wanting to interrupt just yet, he held perfectly still, listening. He recognized Bridget’s soft, lyrical tone as she led the song. Her voice has been just as sweet in church yesterday. And now his children, with Bridget’s urging, were attempting one of his favorite nursery songs from childhood.
He mouthed the words along with them. How does my Lady’s garden grow? In silver bells, and cockle shells and pretty maids all in a row.
Caleb was pretty shaky of the first part of the song, but he had the last line down. His voice rose to a near shout as he sang, “All in a row!”
The music stopped, only to be replaced by clapping. “Oh, well done,” his mother said with unmistakable glee.
The children giggled in response. “Again,” Caleb demanded. “Let’s sing it again.”
Heart suddenly lighter than he could ever remember, Will wanted to be a part of the fun. He entered the room.
His gaze landed on his mother first. She was sitting in a chair facing the piano, still clapping her hands in enthusiastic approval. She looked remarkably refreshed.
He felt his eyes burn with relief, then quickly looked away.
Thankfully Bridget hadn’t seen him yet, nor had his children. Sitting on either side of her on the piano bench, the twins were hugging her fiercely. Both of their spindly arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
For her part Bridget alternated between kissing their heads and praising their singing. A portion of a long-forgotten verse from Isaiah came to mind. They shall obtain gladness and joy; and sorrow and mourning shall flee away.
Will cleared his throat.
Bridget snapped her head up. Their gazes met and held. Her eyes shone with emotion, and then…
She smiled. Directly at him.
Will felt himself suffocating until he managed to drag in a gasping tug of air.
He’d once thought a woman could only be considered beautiful if her hair was perfectly coiffed and she was clothed in fashionable attire.
But now, now, Will realized he’d been woefully incorrect in that assumption. There was nothing more appealing than the sight of wild, untamed hair escaping from a long, thick braid, and nothing more striking than his children’s arms wrapped around the waist of Bridget Murphy.
The scene was enough to give any man pause, especially a man with Will’s disastrous marital history and determination to avoid a second mistake for his children’s sake. Yet as he continued to stare into Bridget’s pretty eyes he felt a sudden release. For that single, solitary moment in time he was free. Free from the anger and guilt of the past. Free to start over.
Free.
Chapter Eleven
With Will’s intense gaze locked with hers, something very strange and unfamiliar began to swell in Bridget’s stomach. Her lips parted in surprise.
The way Will was looking at her. It—it was so—enthralling.
Her arms automatically tightened around the children. Both squirmed in response,
Caleb more than Olivia, but neither let go of her waist. They clung to her, their little cheeks pressed to her ribs.
Bridget dipped her head and whispered, “Your da is home.”
Squealing with pleasure, they simultaneously jumped off the bench and rushed for their father. They shoved one another, jockeying to be the first one to cross the short distance.
Caleb, the stronger of the two, won the harmless competition.
“Papa.” He vaulted himself against his father’s leg. “You’re home early.”
“Papa, Papa.” Olivia hopped from one foot to the other, raising her voice to be heard over her brother. “Miss Bridget taught us a song.”
With excruciating tenderness in his eyes, Will touched his daughter’s cheek. “I heard.” He lowered to his haunches so his gaze was level with hers. “You sounded wonderful.”
“Miss Bridget said we get to learn another song tomorrow,” Caleb declared. “After we play some games outside.”
“Splendid.” Will’s face broke into a wide grin. The gesture took ten years off his face and made him appear far more relaxed than Bridget had ever seen him.
The man was dangerously handsome, especially when he smiled so tenderly. Captivated, she filled her gaze with his face, his shoulders, his hair. She couldn’t stop staring at him.
Talking over one another, the children told their father about the various adventures of their day.
Reminding them to take turns, Will sat on the ground and allowed them to crawl into his lap.
The children chattered on.
“And then she made us take a nap,” Caleb said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
Will laughed deep in his throat. “I never liked naps, either.”
Olivia tugged frantically on his sleeve. “Papa, Papa. I learned how to braid my dolly’s hair.”
Will nodded solemnly. “A most important skill for a young lady.”
“That’s what Miss Bridget said.”
The three of them looked so happy, and so very different from the sad little family she’d met in the general store two days ago. Was this change due to her influence? Had the Lord brought her to this home, at this precise moment in time, to make a difference for this family, to help them overcome their grief and sorrow?
