Lovelier than Daylight

by Rosslyn Elliott

  She registered his presence with the complete lack of surprise that marked the wake of disaster.

  He stood close enough to her that they could have held hands, though he did not presume such a thing under the circumstances. Together they watched the men pick through the wreckage, trying to salvage what few possessions might remain.

  “All the windows on State Street are broken,” Susanna said.

  She was correct. The buildings around it were damaged. It would cost thousands to repair the stores and homes scarred by the blast.

  “It’s not right,” she said. “It’s evil. I don’t want them in my cause. I didn’t want this.” Her eyes pleaded for forgiveness.

  “You are not to blame,” he said quietly.

  But she hung her head and would not look him in the eye.

  “We should go to your aunt and uncle. There’s nothing more for you to do here.”

  It was true. Mrs. Corbin and her daughter did not want her help, and she could do no more than the men to find any of their goods. They were all soot-blackened, anyway, and most would be beyond rescue.

  “Let’s go.” He held out his arm and she put hers through it, almost reflexively, and fell in step with him.

  Susanna showed him the Hayworth home, an unassuming frame house with neat window boxes of pansies lit by a lamp sconce beside the door. At his knock Mrs. Hanby came to greet them. “Oh, hello, Mr. Giere.” She opened the door and beckoned them in. “The professor has gone out to an emergency meeting. But he told us to make ourselves comfortable. The boys are upstairs lying down. They’re young enough to sleep from pure exhaustion, thank goodness.”

  It must be almost one o’clock in the morning. They headed down the hall and into the sitting room, where Mr. Hanby sat with a Bible in his lap, pale from fatigue.

  “Uncle, you aren’t hurt, are you?” Susanna approached and sat in the chair closest to him.

  “No, dear,” he said.

  “What will happen now?” she asked.

  “We’ll have to go on and do the best we can to help. Given Mrs. Corbin’s sentiments toward our town, they probably will not allow us to give them much assistance. I expect they’ll leave, and I pray God will restore both Mr. Corbin and his daughter to full health eventually.”

  “The Columbus police will come to investigate,” Johann said. “They’ll probably take reports from practically everyone in town, but certainly you, Mr. Hanby.”

  “I will be glad to assist the police,” he said.

  “As will I,” Johann said. “I have some information I hope might help them to apprehend those responsible.”

  He paused. The Hanbys seemed very dispirited, and little wonder at that. “I came here tonight with the intention of discussing something with you tomorrow morning. As it’s already morning and I will have to go back to the city in a few hours, I would like to raise the subject.”

  “Please do,” Mr. Hanby said. His white hair was grayed by soot.

  “It’s about the children.”

  Susanna’s green eyes focused on him, the pall of shock and guilt on her face lifting for a moment. “What is it?”

  “My father has offered to pay George Leeds his blackmail money in order to prevent the children from being sent away.”

  Susanna went very still. Mrs. Hanby’s mouth dropped open. Mr. Hanby listened, though he leaned his head back against the chair.

  “You told him?” Susanna asked.

  “Yes, I hope you don’t mind.”

  “No—that’s generous of him. I don’t know what to think.”

  “He wishes you to consider the fact that once the three youngest children are gone, you will be unlikely to ever retrieve them. Better to give in to a corrupt man’s demands now, as my father has the money and can spare it.”

  Mr. Hanby smiled a little. “A funny thing, to ‘spare’ a sum like that.”

  Johann kept quiet—awkwardness was inevitable in such a strange situation.

  “Your father makes a good argument,” Mr. Hanby said. “But it requires time to consider. And I believe the decision must lie with Susanna.”

  “All I know,” Susanna said, “is that I’d like to see the children right away.”

  The sorrow and worry creased on her forehead tugged at Johann’s heart. He could tell she was thinking about the little girl’s limp form coming out of the remains of the saloon. It haunted him too. “Then come with me, when I go back on the train,” he said. “All three of you.”

  “Will, I think you’re too tired,” Mrs. Hanby said before her husband could answer. “Please stay and rest.”

  Johann had to agree. The older man looked worn to a thin shadow of his usual energetic self.

  “All right,” Mr. Hanby said. “I’ll see if I can help the Corbins in any way while you’re gone.” He closed his eyes.

  “And I’ll escort you to the orphanages,” Johann said to the women.

  “Thank you,” Mrs. Hanby said. Susanna did not respond, but she looked relieved.

  He was so glad to have eased her burden that it took some of the sorrow from his heart, but nothing could erase the pictures that night had painted in his mind. “I will go to the hotel. And at eight o’clock”—he fished his watch out of his pocket—“that is, in seven hours, I will meet you at the train station.” He rose. “Good night. Or good morning, I suppose.” On another day it would have been a gentle witticism, but now it was a simple observation.

  “Until then,” Mrs. Hanby said.

  He left, his footfalls loud on the oak floor in a silence like a house during a wake. Lord, keep death away from this town tonight. He prayed silently for Corbin and his daughter as he closed the door behind him.

  Twenty-Seven

  THE DARK OUTLINE OF THE HARE HOME TOWERED ahead. Susanna took unexpected comfort in Johann’s steady presence at her side, his measured stride. He had stopped only to deliver his article to the Westbote, and then he had escorted them straight here. He was so gentle about it—he didn’t appear to mind at all.

  This time Susanna would find a way to ask Clara for every detail of what had happened when Rachel gave up her children. There had been no time, when they last brought the ham, and part of her shrank from making her niece describe whatever had passed between Rachel and George. But if there was any chance to find Rachel, she must take it. Giving Mr. Giere’s money to George was a last resort, and one she would resist until the last possible moment.

  She held the heavy basket in both hands as Johann knocked. Mrs. Grismer opened the door and scowled out at them. Her expression lightened when she registered Susanna and the basket. “Good morning, Mrs. Hanby and Miss Hanby,” she said. “You’re early.” She looked crafty. “I didn’t expect you for another three days.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Susanna said. “But since we had strawberry pies, we thought we should bring two for the children.” Johann had taken them to the German bakery and purchased the pies to ensure their admission.

  “Very well.” She was gruff, as if relishing her power. “And who are you?” she asked Johann.

  “A friend of the family, just seeing them here safely, ma’am,” he said.

  Susanna thought he seemed very appealing in his humble and polite response, and Mrs. Grismer must have thought so too, for she opened the door. “Come in.”

  “Why, Mrs. Grismer,” her aunt said. “We should offer you a piece of pie first of all. Will you have one with me?” With magnificent aplomb her aunt pretended to enjoy that prospect. Susanna admired her self-control, but she did not feel like giggling at it today as she would have a month ago. She felt empty of laughter. The gunpowder had blasted it out of her like the broken glass on State Street.

  “How kind, Mrs. Hanby.” Mrs. Grismer leered and waddled toward her sitting room.

  Her aunt took the basket and followed.

  “We’ll go visit the children for just a few minutes,” Susanna said, and Mrs. Grismer did not appear to notice, obsessed with the immanent appearance of flaky crust and swee
t red filling.

  Johann offered his arm and she took it shyly. She had done it so often in the last week that it felt natural, as if her place on his arm was no longer alien but a sweet moment of refuge.

  They climbed the stairs together, he holding the banister with one hand, she on his left side.

  “Appalling,” he said under his breath. A surge of warm liking for him made her hold his elbow more closely, and she didn’t care if he felt it. Not many other men would care for the children of strangers and how they might be treated in an orphanage.

  “The three here are indentured to the charity,” she whispered to him. “I don’t know how we’ll get them out, even if George reclaims them.”

  She saw the thought sink in, and he looked reflective.

  “But at least they won’t be sent away,” she added.

  They stepped into the large room with its crumbled plaster and musty odor. Clara did not notice them until they were almost upon her, so absorbed was she in her sewing, peering at the small stitches.

  But when she did, she jumped up and embraced Susanna, clinging tightly around her waist. And this time Wesley and Daniel were both there. In moments, her arms were full of skinny, poorly dressed children. Tears ran down Wesley’s face as he held on without speaking, and Susanna had to take a breath to restrain her own. It was such a relief to see him, after all this time. His reddish-brown hair was long and scraggly around his small neck, his dark eyes almost as shadowed as Daniel’s, though he was taller and seemed sturdier than his brother.

  Johann watched her over their heads. His eyes glistened brighter, then he blinked and looked away, holding his hat over his chest.

  “Come over here by the window. Let me see your faces properly.” She led them to where the sun shed a rectangle of light through the one window at the end of the large room, and Johann followed them. “This is my friend.” She nodded at Johann. “His name is Mr. Giere.”

  Neither he nor the children spoke—introductions and handshakes were for grown-ups and Johann seemed to understand their childish reticence.

  “I’ve brought some more ham.” She passed it out quickly, retrieving the paper bundles from her large pocket as Johann took several from his coat pocket and handed them to her. “But we haven’t much time. I need you to tell me everything that happened when your mother brought you to the Hannah Neil Mission, that first place where the little ones stayed. I’m trying to find her and I need to know everything.”

  “She left us there. She said we would be safe.” Clara unwrapped the ham but left it in her lap untouched.

  “I know this is a sad subject, but, Clara, you must eat even if it makes you sad. We don’t know if the housekeeper will take the food away.”

  Reluctantly, Clara took a bite.

  “What did she mean, that you would be safe?” Susanna asked.

  Wesley swallowed—he had wasted no time in digging into the food. “I think she meant from Father.”

  A chill passed over her even in the musty, close room. “Why, Wesley?”

  He had always been the least intimidated by their father, and had born the bruises for it more than once from being taken to the woodpile. Now his eyes flashed with resentment. “Because he said a couple times when he was drunk that he was going to kill all of us children and that would show her.”

  Susanna heard a sharp intake of breath from Johann behind her, the sound of a man ready to fight. She glanced at him and saw his jaw line harden. But he kept quiet.

  Susanna addressed all three children. “Do you know why she left just then? Did anything unusual happen?”

  “She cried a lot,” Clara said. “At home, and then when she had to leave.”

  “She cried at home because Father hit her,” Wesley said. “When he was drunk.” He said the word with loathing.

  “But she didn’t give you any hint of where she might be going?” Susanna asked.

  “No,” Clara and Wesley both said at once. Daniel stayed quiet, as if the effort of speaking was better left to his brother and sister. His nostrils flared with effort when he took a breath. It hurt her as if it were her own straining lungs. She placed her hand on his shoulder. “Keep eating, Danny.” She left her hand there and he obeyed, soothed by her touch.

  “Don’t worry, I’ll do everything I can to find her.” Now that she had stirred them up, she wanted nothing more than to reassure them before they had to leave. “Tell me what your work is like,” she said to Wesley.

  Though his story of the long hours of labor made her ache inside, at least he and Daniel were not being struck or otherwise abused. She continued to urge them to eat, glancing at the stairs from time to time to be sure Mrs. Grismer was not there.

  Johann asked Clara about the other girls, whether she had any friends. He had the easy manner of a man who is comfortable with young children. While he listened to her, Susanna’s gaze drifted out the window. The street looked gray and faded, even in the morning sunlight, but at least the children had something to watch, if Mrs. Grismer was not around. Down on the street the morning traffic swirled around, men on work errands stepping around slower women carrying baskets or bags. A vendor selling cutlery had parked his wagon by the curb, and the driver of another cart yelled at him to move it out of the alley where he was stuck.

  In the shadowed alcove of a doorway there by the alley a woman stood. She was wearing a hat that shadowed her face, but where the sunlight hit her dress near the hem, it was gray. Susanna could not see her eyes, but it seemed to her that the woman was watching them. The conviction that it was Rachel rushed over her. She beckoned Johann, but when she turned back to the street, the woman had slipped away.

  He looked at her with a question in the slight lift of his brows.

  “We have to go,” she murmured. “I saw someone outside who looks like my sister.” She broke away and picked up the papers that had held the ham, folded them with quick motions, and slid them into her pocket. No evidence of the food must be left. Her movements were quick, as fragmented as her thought. They must leave before that woman disappeared.

  She wished the children good-bye, with assurances of her return as soon as possible. Her steps were quick all the way to the stairs, her skirt swaying around her ankles. She must go see if that woman was still on the street.

  She clattered down the stairs, hearing the soft thump of Johann’s footfalls behind her. It did not matter if Mrs. Grismer saw—not now. She ran out the front door, down the stoop, and around the corner.

  A wagon barely missed her. She pulled back with a startled exclamation, then hurtled across the street. Johann was a step behind her the whole way.

  When she reached the alley, it was vacant. Her heart sank. She was too late.

  “Susanna.” Johann was breathing hard, looking concerned as he paused a few steps away. “That wagon almost hit you.”

  She did not care. She felt her lip trembling.

  He moved closer, laid a gentle hand on her arm, and looked down the alley as if he could summon back the phantom of her sister for her. “It’s all right. We’ve missed her today, but we won’t lose the children.”

  His face was so near to her in profile that she saw his lips part to take a breath. He turned to her, the curve of his lower lip only inches from hers. Something went through her like a thirst, but in every atom of her body, a craving. She did not move.

  “You must promise me you won’t run into streets without looking,” he said.

  She was practically in his arms, both of them motionless, though alarm still lingered in his eyes as she was sure sadness marked hers. They were both breathing fast.

  “You could have been hurt,” he said.

  She said nothing. She should move away. But she wanted to be close to him so keenly that she could only stand there with her face tilted up to his.

  “You must be careful,” he whispered, not taking his gaze from hers. He slipped his hands under her elbows and the warmth of his fingers made her feel faint. He lowered his lips towar
d hers and she closed her eyes, half-afraid, her pulse pounding. The gentle touch of his mouth on hers replaced the fear with an even fiercer longing and she held him to her in a rush of passion and kissed him back. She was aware of nothing but the softness of his lips, the pure bliss of being in his arms. He pressed kisses to her mouth and trailed them down her neck, kissing the tender spot below her ear so she gasped. After a turbulent moment, she heard him draw in a breath. An intense mix of feelings warred on his face as he pulled back, his eyes closed, head down, but he kept one arm around her in a protective clasp.

  Susanna started. What was she doing? A wave of guilt crashed down on her and she pulled away and raced back to the street, though she paused to look both ways this time. As she crossed, she heard the rustle of his coat against his shirt behind her, the light tread of his shoes. The tingling in her lips would not stop—the more she willed it away, the more she thought of his kiss. Stop! Go back to Aunt Ann! This is not the time.

  Aunt Ann was waiting for them in the lobby, with Mrs. Grismer beside her. “Why did you run out?” the housekeeper asked suspiciously.

  “I thought I saw someone I knew.” She tried to make it sound light, like a scatterbrained young woman.

  “I feared she’d be run down in her excitement, and I was almost proven right.” Johann knew just what to say—he was too intelligent to jeopardize their contact with the children. Aunt Ann tossed out a few pleasant sentiments and Mrs. Grismer answered in grunts.

  “You came back for this visit three days early.” Mrs. Grismer ushered them out the front door. “That means you must wait longer the next time. Ten days.”

  Susanna’s temper crawled in twists of heat up her neck. Some people were such petty tyrants when given the slightest bit of power. Why did they seize upon every opportunity to torment those who depended on their whim?

  She stifled her retort. “Yes, ma’am,” she said, humble as a schoolgirl.

  She wished this woman would face a reckoning for her selfishness. But that was the least of her concerns. She went down the stoop of the building and waited for her aunt at the bottom, trying not to meet Johann’s gaze, though she sensed it on her. He made a few congenial comments to the housekeeper— she admired his composure, though she could not summon it herself. She peered around the street and took a few steps back toward the alley. It was still vacant.