Lovelier than Daylight

by Rosslyn Elliott

  “Please,” Susanna said. “We would like to take the children with us today, to be with their mother, as is right and good for them.”

  “The families awaiting these children are upstanding, moral, and kind,” the matron said. “I have no doubt they will be well cared for in their adoptive homes, with plenty to eat and both mother and father in the house. I do not have that assurance with you, Mrs. Leeds. I am sorry.”

  A cold shiver went right to Susanna’s bones. “Are you saying we may not have the children returned to their mother?” She willed herself to keep her tone moderate. She prayed the lawyer was only right about the mercy of judges, not about the mercy of matrons.

  “You may not. I am sorry. They are scheduled to leave in only two days. And I cannot release them to Mrs. Leeds.”

  Rachel grew so pale she looked as if she might faint.

  Susanna wanted to scream, to beat her head against the wall, but she kept perfectly still and held her tongue by looking at the pattern on the carpet and counting silently. Discretion. Persuasion.

  She heard Johann clear his throat. “Then I must make a suggestion. Miss Hanby and I plan to be married very soon.”

  Susanna looked up at him in astonishment and had to close her mouth. Uncle Will and Aunt Ann swiveled like stick puppets in his direction.

  He was leaning forward in his chair, intent on the matron. “If we were to take the children, we would certainly provide as good a family for them as any of your other candidates.”

  “I’m sorry, sir, but I did not catch your name.”

  They had indeed forgotten to make introductions in the tension of the meeting.

  He stood and gave her a nod that was almost a bow, with perfect manners. “I am Johann Giere, ma’am. My father is Conrad Giere.”

  She looked impressed, even in her strictness. “Conrad Giere, of the South End?”

  “Yes, ma’am. With my work in our family business, the children would lack for nothing.”

  Susanna could hardly breathe, pummeled by contradictory emotions. He dared too much—it was not true—and yet she wanted to throw her arms around him and thank him for the determination with which he stood his ground and fought not to lose her nieces and nephews.

  “You have seen that Miss Hanby is dedicated to their welfare,” he said. “And that she is a virtuous and compassionate woman. And I can produce character references for myself and my family.”

  The matron was silent. She steepled her fingers in her lap and contemplated them, then looked back at Johann. “I will have to see a marriage certificate, or witness the marriage in person. The issue at hand is too vital for mistakes.”

  Susanna’s heart thudded hard and fast. She did not know if she could bring herself to do it—it was a rock and a hard place, and she could not choose. But she would be discreet this time and hold her tongue.

  “That can be arranged.” A slight smile chased Johann’s words, though he did not look at Susanna. Aunt Ann was still wide-eyed across the room, and though Uncle Will had laid a hand on her back, he sat stoically without comment. Rachel had tears rolling down her cheeks. Yes, it must be awful to be told one was morally unfit to raise one’s children. Susanna thought of all the love she had seen Rachel lavish on her children, all the hard labor of diaper cloths and burping, the sleepless nights with no help. Her love for her sister surged through her and obliterated any other feeling. She quietly handed her a handkerchief from her handbag. Rachel let out a shuddering sigh and blotted her face with it.

  “Then, if you’ll excuse me,” the matron said, “I must tend to the affairs of the mission.”

  “Of course. We will plan to see you tomorrow.” Johann was completely assured, the perfect man to convince any suspicious matron of his worth and solidity.

  “Lucy will show you out. Good morning.” The matron turned and paced out into the hallway and up the stairs.

  They all sat and regarded one another, though Rachel would not look up and clutched the handkerchief with a shaking hand.

  “Well, we should take our leave,” Johann said. He crossed in a few steps to Rachel and held out his hand. “Mrs. Leeds.” She looked up and took his assistance to stand, gratitude spilling from her eyes.

  If Susanna had not loved him before that moment, that alone would have been enough—his tender understanding that Rachel needed his respect.

  But the question of whether she loved him was no longer at issue. It was the marriage that loomed over her head like a pot of boiling oil about to tip. The past had proven that when it came to marriage, sentiments were deceptive, principles were not.

  Lord, what should I do?

  She let her uncle and aunt go ahead and followed them out.

  Thirty-Seven

  JOHANN UNLOCKED THE SIDE DOOR OF THE MAENNERCHOR building and stepped back to hold it open for his guests.

  Mrs. Leeds entered the hall first. She looked so young for one who had been through such trouble—hardly older than Susanna, though he knew there must be almost ten years between them, judging from the age and number of her children. She deserved compassion, not additional humiliation. Life and sin had inflicted enough sorrow on her already.

  Mr. and Mrs. Hanby followed, gazing with interest at the dark woods of the foyer, the many coats of arms blazoned on the walls for the towns of Germany. The Maennerchor was renowned all over the state and well supported; there was nothing cheap about Germania Hall, which resembled a small opera house.

  Susanna trailed after all of them, avoiding Johann’s gaze, her beautiful face pensive, hair curling at her brow in the air still humid from yesterday’s rain. What would she say? He could not tell her mood from her averted face. It could be anger or simply shyness. He would have to wait and see.

  “So no one will disturb us here, Mr. Giere?” Mr. Hanby asked. “I thought it was quite the social club.”

  “The mornings are usually quiet. It’s the evenings when the men gather.” Johann gestured toward the stairs. “The meeting rooms are upstairs, if you care to follow me.”

  He passed them and led the way. The first room at the top of the stairs was a library, furnished with leather chairs and a sofa, shelves lined with the dark spines of German, Latin, and English classic works. “Here is a place where you may rest. There is another small salon down the hall, should anyone need to speak—in private.” It was awkward. Should he speak to Susanna alone? Perhaps she would want to speak to her family first.

  “I would like a word with you in private, Mr. Giere,” Mr. Hanby said. “It won’t be long.”

  “Of course, sir.” It was a relief, in a way, to postpone the inevitable moment of decision when Susanna would have to answer. They had run out of time—there could be no more consideration. “We’ll leave the ladies here to browse the shelves if they wish.” With a nod to the three women, he ushered Mr. Hanby out and closed the doors.

  Once inside the salon Susanna’s uncle remained standing, leaning on his cane, one white eyebrow hooked at an inquisitive angle. “Rather a surprising announcement, Mr. Giere.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And was my niece aware that you would be announcing your engagement?”

  “No, sir.” He could feel himself flushing, but did not look away. “She has not agreed to it.”

  “Indeed.” Mr. Hanby gave him an appraising look. “Admirable of you to seize the moment, but extremely unorthodox.”

  “I understand, sir. In the press of the conversation, I was forced to assume that she could still refuse me once we were alone, but if I did not speak then, she and Mrs. Leeds would certainly lose the children.”

  “Your motive was honorable. Shall we be seated?” Mr. Hanby took a few steps to a wing chair set at one corner of a square oriental carpet that dominated the small room.

  Johann took the chair on the opposite diagonal. The decor of this room had a Moroccan flavor—red-and-cream carpet, red divan, gold curtains—which lent the conversation the atmosphere of a meeting with a very imposing sheikh. All
Mr. Hanby needed was a turban. As if Johann was not already trepidatious about the outcome.

  “From what I understood, Mr. Giere, your heart was set on becoming a journalist. Did that change in the last few weeks?”

  “Yes, sir. In some ways.”

  “Ways that allow you to continue working for your father, I presume.”

  “I can write without making it my sole living, sir.”

  “And what led you to that conclusion?”

  “I think it was heaven-sent. I had some qualms about my future, sir. It did not seem right to leave my father, who depends on me to carry on his legacy.”

  “You are his only son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Practically old-fashioned of you to care for such things, in this modern world. What about your own legacy? You don’t wish to leave one in journalism for any sons you may have?”

  “My legacy is not distinct from my father’s. They are joined.”

  “But your father is not the only reason for your change of heart, I gather. Did your feelings for my niece enter into it?” “Yes, sir.” His cheeks were scarlet, he was sure.

  “One of my sons once wished to change his profession for the sake of a woman. For him, it would have been a mistake. Are you not concerned that love may have blinded you to your real calling?”

  “No, sir. I’m more concerned about blind ambition. Love makes men foolish, but ambition makes them cruel. George Leeds demonstrated that well.”

  “I admire your sincerity.”

  “I can do good work as an amateur newsman here in Columbus, where we certainly have no shortage of news. What is there in New York journalism that I could not find here? Only personal gratification and the opportunity for the most noticeable achievement. But that has nothing to do with the quality of the work.”

  “That is true. But will you be miserable working at your father’s business? A miserable man does not make a good husband.”

  “The work there has its own rewards. It’s not my passion, but there’s much camaraderie among the men, and we have known each other my whole life.”

  “Well.” Mr. Hanby stood up. “I was already convinced of your merit, Mr. Giere, and I’m now assured of your motive. But I’m not the only one who needs convincing.”

  “Yes, sir.” Johann stood.

  “Then I suggest you go to her. Time is short.”

  “I agree, sir. And thank you.” He reached out his hand, and Mr. Hanby shook it with a warm, dry clasp. Johann wished his fingers were not cold—it gave away his nerves. But Mr. Hanby just smiled again. “Let’s go find her. She may yet decline your proposal, and that would be her right.”

  “Susanna,” Aunt Ann said. “This is a very unusual situation, to be sure. Would you mind coming with me for just a few minutes? Rachel, if you will excuse us—we’ll return shortly. And you won’t lack for reading material.” She opened the door and slipped out.

  “Where are we going?” Susanna felt as if she should whisper in the long, empty hall with its plush red carpet.

  “We’ll find some nook where we can speak.” Her aunt glided down the hall and Susanna followed. Two doors down they heard the murmur of Uncle Will’s voice, though his words were indistinct.

  At the end of the hall was a set of double doors. Aunt Ann listened for a moment, then turned the knob and peeked in, her white head tilting around the sill. “It’s unoccupied.” She forged on.

  It was a ballroom with a black-and-white marble floor and white-corniced walls. Susanna could picture beautiful gowns swirling around it—she had never seen such a place in person, but only read of it in newspapers.

  “A very large room for a small conversation.” Aunt Ann’s voice echoed across the smooth floor, bouncing back from the walls. “But we have a pressing matter to discuss.” She walked to the wall, where chairs lined the perimeter of the dance floor, and drew one of them around to face another. “Please, come sit.”

  Susanna complied. When they had both taken chairs, their skirts were only inches apart. Susanna took comfort in her aunt’s nearness, especially in the cavernous room.

  “Mr. Giere was not quite accurate in what he said in the Mission, was he?”

  “No. He was . . . improvising.”

  “I suspected as much. Have the two of you ever discussed marriage before?”

  “Yes. And I told him it was impossible.”

  “On what grounds?” Her aunt was mild, a proper lady at all times.

  “Auntie, he works at a brewery and will inherit it.”

  “Yes, the thought had given me pause as well when I realized that he was growing attached to you.”

  “When did you realize that?”

  “The flowers were a rather broad hint.” She smiled.

  The lilies. If they weren’t appropriate then, she couldn’t deny their true meaning now, after the passionate kiss they had shared. Susanna looked at the floor to wait for the surge of emotion to pass. When she lifted her gaze, she was steady again. “But any feelings aside, his profession is immoral.” She could hear tension in her voice. “Surely you think so too, Auntie. You are as ardent in temperance as I am.”

  “I’ve given it hours of reflection, my sweet. You see, in the absence of your parents, I must be a mother to you, and no female relation could ignore her responsibility in this situation.”

  “And you must agree with me.” Susanna realized she was compulsively opening and closing the catch on her handbag. She stopped with a twitch and laid her hands flat in her lap.

  “About the evils of liquor, yes, and so does your uncle, as you know. But I have more years on this earth than you, and so I must weigh the virtues of Mr. Giere against his profession.”

  “What virtue can compensate for the promotion of vice?”

  “He is a man who believes deeply in fulfilling his duty. He is compassionate and generous. He thinks far less of himself and more of others than most men. And he loves children and values family above all but faith. In short, he reminds me quite a bit of your uncle. And that kind of man is a rare find. I didn’t even know the full extent of my blessing when I married Will. It has unfolded over the years, as I’ve seen the marriages of others and how often they are marred by pride and selfishness.”

  “But Uncle Will was a minister, not a maker of intoxicating drinks.” Her protest sounded weak—could her aunt tell how hard it was to resist, when all she wanted to do was marry him?

  “It’s easy to see a ministerial profession as ideal. But Will’s work was the most difficult aspect of our life together. I did not regret it, but it was not easy, all the travel that took him away from me and our eight children. And then there was the bickering, dissension, and sin that can infest communities of worshippers.”

  “But if I married Johann”—she felt a painful twist of her heart—“I would be taking a great risk, don’t you think? Just look at Arthur Pippen, or George.”

  Aunt Ann sighed. “Marriage is probably the riskiest proposition in all of mortal life. I do not argue that this is easy, and you must do as you think best. But I did wish to share the thoughts that have collected in my mind over the past weeks. And I wish to share them”—she looked deeply into Susanna’s eyes—“because I do not want your well-developed reasoning ability to be the enemy of your heart and your happiness.”

  “Oh.” She looked away, confused. Was she that transparent?

  “Would you refuse to marry a man because he owned a gun factory?”

  Susanna fell silent. “But, Auntie, one could argue that guns do good as well as evil. Alcohol does only evil.”

  “That isn’t true, I’m afraid, even though I believe that abstinence is the safest approach. For one thing, God did not give us guns, nor are they mentioned in Scripture. They might be seen as a purely human invention that twists God’s bounty into something wicked.”

  “But God did not give us beer and liquor.”

  “He gave us grapes and barley, and there is much mention of wine in Scripture. It is one o
f the earthly substances that commemorates our Savior. He would not have chosen it for his supper had it been purely evil.”

  “I didn’t expect this from you.” She stood and wandered to the window. It almost felt like a betrayal, to have Aunt Ann make the issue more complex. Where could she turn now? She had hoped for a simple decision as clearly drawn as the squares of the floor. But her aunt had made it much more difficult.

  “Do you love him?”

  She paced around the floor, following the tiles in a rectangle, not wishing to confess it face-to-face. At last, “Yes.”

  “He is a good man, and he cares for you, truly. Do not throw it away without much consideration. You might go far before you meet another like him. I have only met a handful of men in my life with such character as Will and this young man. He will place you first, after God. Few women have that privilege and grace from their husbands. Few men can love like that.”

  Susanna broke out of her rectangle and hurried to the window. It opened on a hinge: she turned the latch and pushed it out, breathing in the outside air. It was no cooler than inside— but it was an excuse to open the window.

  “Susanna”—her aunt had come up behind her and laid her hand on hers where it rested on the window ledge—“marriage is not a trap, not with a good man. You mustn’t let what happened to Rachel rob you of your own joy.”

  Susanna closed her eyes, her brow tense. “Thank you, Auntie. I know you speak out of love.”

  “I’m glad.” Her aunt patted her hand. “Will you pray with me?”

  Susanna nodded, and they bowed their heads. Aunt Ann prayed for a wise choice, whatever that might be, and for Susanna’s peace of mind, and thanked the Lord for his constant protection and care. “Amen,” she finished.

  “Amen,” Susanna forced out. She was so anxious she could hardly speak.

  The door at the end of the room opened, and Johann stepped in.

  Thirty-Eight

  “AM I INTERRUPTING? ” JOHANN ASKED. THE TWO women stood together near the window, where the sunlight fell on Susanna in her pale-yellow dress.