My Heart Belongs in Niagara Falls, New York

by Barratt, Amanda;

  The night when she’d come to him, she’d fully known what she sent him into. He’d thought she’d come because she trusted him above all others, but instead, she’d been bent upon laying a trap for him to walk into like some unwitting rabbit.

  There should have been anger at what she’d done, but he couldn’t summon any. She’d acted out of a sense of value for his life, going far beyond what any other human had ever done for him. She’d done it because she cared, and the utter vastness of her caring fairly undid him. Broke him. Instead of bitterness toward God, he should have transferred it to her in an instant.

  But he didn’t. Maybe he was just plain weary or possibly addled in the head, but a lump swelled in his throat that had nothing to do with animosity.

  Where had she gone? Home to England? She’d written that she was going to help. Did she intend to sell her home and use the money to pay his debt?

  Or had she…gone to the man to whom he owed the debt?

  Lord, let her not have gone to Conway…

  Wherever she’d departed, how could he let her go without pursuing her? At the very least, discovering her whereabouts and welfare. How could he sleep at night, without knowing of her safety? She’d shown herself to be impetuous.

  She’d also shown herself to have a heart that thought firstly of others before herself.

  Both could induce her to take risks. Both could cause her to make choices out of desperation.

  What should I do, Lord? Should I take a cab to Conway’s and demand the man tell me if she’s been there? Should I contact every railway station and see if she took a train? Would the Osbournes know?

  Whichever he chose, he would not do so without feeling peace about the choice. Had his own legs been able to carry him at his former speed, he might’ve been rash. But he’d need a cab, and the more places he instructed the driver to go, the more it would cost him. Not that he wouldn’t surrender all the savings he possessed to find Adele, but since they weren’t plentiful, he’d have to use them wisely.

  Perhaps this was what the Lord meant when He talked about strength being made perfect in weakness. In the past, his strength had always been his first recourse. Now, that was limited. But when one relied solely on the strength one possessed, it was a faulty thing and often failed. When one turned one’s eyes heavenward and looked to God before choosing a path, there was a security to be gained that even the most physically strong lacked.

  Everything in him ached to search for Adele. Fairly screamed, begged, howled, each beat of his heart a refrain of her name, a plea to move heaven and earth to find her.

  Where are you? Forget about rash acts born of misplaced guilt and just come back to me.

  But that was what his own reason told him.

  Instead, he’d listen to the voice of One higher than himself.

  Even if, right now, that voice said “wait.”

  She couldn’t stop shaking. No matter how rough a damper she tried to pull over her fear, it still emerged. Sharp. Raw. And utterly consuming.

  While in the safety of Drew’s apartment, penning the letter, and bidding a whispered goodbye to a sleeping Hope, putting herself at the mercy of Franklin Conway seemed a thing that could be done. But now that she waited in his study, staring at the gigantic, tigerskin rug pinned to one wall, doubts rushed in and raged with a ferocity that threatened to send her flying out the door and away from whatever fate awaited her.

  Do this, she must. The debt was hers not Drew’s, though it had been forced upon him, and she must pay it with whatever assets she possessed. That was all there was to it.

  Velvet drapes smothered the windows. A fire smoldered in the fireplace, casting eerie shadows across the carpet. Though she couldn’t see outside, the clock told her night crept across the sky, turning it from gray to ebony. Night. Darkness.

  The door creaked. Opened. Mr. Conway entered.

  “Adele?” His eyes widened, as if seeing someone longthought dead. And it was no wonder. Wearing the same black dress she’d worn at their last meeting and every day after for the past weeks, hair pulled severely away from her face, save for a few strands that brushed her cheeks, the once prim and polished Adele was nothing more than a vapory ghost.

  “Mr. Conway.” She stood from her chair and crossed to him, holding her head high and regal. He met her halfway and stood, looking down at her.

  “You look weary,” he stated.

  Of course she looked weary. Contrasted against him—tailored velvet smoking jacket, form filled out from sumptuous dinners, groomed hair and mustache, eyes alert due to sleeping in a warm bed with a real mattress. “What’s happened? Why are you not in England?”

  “I never went to England,” she whispered, genuinely grateful for his hands wrapping hers. Whether it was the shock of the day’s events or having not eaten since breakfast or the bile in her throat from what she was about to do, a wave of dizziness left her feet unsteady.

  “Blast it, you look pale. Come and sit down.” He led her to a sofa, and she sank upon it. Once seated, he met her eyes again, startling concern emanating from his. “Where were you if you weren’t in England?”

  “With Drew Dawson.” Saying his name brought a measure of calm. And an assurance that she did right in the course she had charted. “He needed someone to care for him and his sister. He’s been unable to work.”

  A darkness entered Mr. Conway’s gaze. His posture stiffened, as if the mention of Drew erected a wall between them that had been momentarily breached. “You’ve been living at Dawson’s apartment?” He uttered the words as if she’d just given her place of residence as an African jungle.

  “And working too. They needed someone to provide for them and I felt responsible…since it was because of me Mr. Dawson went into the gaming house in pursuit of my brother.”

  Mr. Conway rubbed a finger across his mustache, the thick gold ring on his pinky glinting in the meager light. “I wondered about that.” His tone became more distant. “Then why are you here?”

  She drew in a breath, letting her lungs fill with air, and hopefully, determination. “We were friends once. And I find myself in need of a favor.”

  “What? Dawson’s favors not enough for you?” Harshness edged his tone. But something else lingered there too. Jealousy perhaps? If so, she’d use it to her advantage. After all, in a crucial moment of combat, one utilized every weapon at one’s disposal.

  “I find myself in need of a favor,” she repeated, firming her jaw and her tone. “I wish you to cancel the debt owed by Drew Dawson.” There. It was out in the open.

  And if she’d had the slightest hope that God would listen, she’d have whispered a prayer for success. But God couldn’t possibly honor what she was about to do.

  He loosed a breath. “So that’s it. You’ve a fondness for Dawson and don’t wish him to suffer any of my repercussions, since he can’t pay. Things are becoming clearer now. When you first walked into this room, I thought you might have been here for a different reason.” A queer light glimmered in his eyes. “I see now I was mistaken.”

  “Even you must see there’s no way he can pay that debt. It’s such a vast sum, and he hasn’t a penny to his name.” She wanted to add how horribly wrong it was for him to enforce the debt to begin with but decided against it. She needed Conway’s help, not his withdrawal. Particularly since he didn’t seem inclined to be generous.

  Mr. Conway stared at the rows of gilded books lining the opposite wall. “He doesn’t, does he? So, let’s just say I did clear the debt. Hypothetically speaking of course, since I’m not really inclined to do so. Dawson always struck me as a man who lacked respect for those above him in station. That sort of behavior deserves to be dealt with. But if I did, what would you do for me, Adele?” That look that should have warned her the first time she’d sensed it, hovered across his face as he gazed at her. Telling her she was still an object of his desire. Cheapened, perhaps, by her association with Drew, but one still worth paying something for.

 
“I would be inclined to forget the way you spoke to me at our last meeting and consent to be your wife.” She lifted her chin and pinned him with a look brimful with every ounce of regal substance she possessed, as if to tell him she still possessed enough elegance to work as a valuable asset in his pursuit up the social ladder.

  He chuckled, running a soft and manicured finger along the edge of her cheek. Drew’s hand had rested there, but his touch had brought none of the revulsion coiling within her now. A lifetime of penance would be her lot if she married this man.

  “There will be consequences.”

  Even Caro Aubrey couldn’t have imagined what price those consequences would exact.

  But they were her consequences. Not Drew’s. Pay them, she must.

  “You laugh at me?” Indignation seeped through her words.

  “Yes, I do. When I first met you, I thought I’d have to kiss the ground you walked upon to get you to agree to have me. You, a fine English lady with airs and graces that could take me from socially acceptable to sought after.”

  “Can’t I still? Scandal is like yesterday’s breakfast crumbs. Here one day, replaced the next with another set altogether. We can paint quite the romantic story. I’ve been in England, unable to forget you, and you, me. We reunite.” She let a pause linger, waiting for him to fill it.

  “But you forget one minor point, my dear. Once offended, I’m not easily reconciled.”

  “If you expect me to apologize for the way I handled our last conversation, you are sorely mistaken, sir.” She stood and faced him, swiping a hand across her cheek. It came away streaked with a blackish smudge. Lovely. A former lady who now had the look of a street urchin, begging a man she despised to take her hand in marriage. What a story.

  He sat, ensconced in the depths of the settee, looking up at her. “Your eyes shoot emerald fire when you’re riled. Queens would give fortunes to possess a look like yours and use it to stop armies dead in their tracks. Anyone ever tell you that?” A riveted expression owned his face.

  A sigh slipped from her lips. “You did, once. Or something along those lines.” She reclaimed her seat. Even she couldn’t discern what course this conversation would take. He might send her packing without so much as a “by your leave.” Where would she go? Back to Drew? Of course, she couldn’t. For a multitude of reasons.

  “Not all of your little story is a fabrication. I haven’t been able to forget you.” A softness entered his voice. “I wish I could say I had, but I haven’t. There’s something about you, Adele Linley. A rare, fine something.”

  She said nothing, only gave a small smile. Pretending that she didn’t care if he discussed her like she were a bottle of vintage wine instead of a woman possessing both heart and soul.

  “You know, what you say just might work. I’d be flattered to think you offered because you actually care about me, but I’m not foolish enough to believe that. But I know I could make you care. Once we are wed, you’ll see…” His hand trailed to caress her shoulder, his tone soft and seducing. She did her best not to stiffen, to pretend Drew was touching her, instead of this man. “…how happy I could make you.”

  “So you’ll pay the debt?” She kept her voice measured as his hand snaked downward. The only happiness her life would hold would be knowing Drew was no longer bound, in any way, to Franklin Conway. And perhaps being able to use her newfound finances for the restoration of Linley Park.

  “Your precious Dawson will be free and clear.” He leaned toward her, his gaze on her lips.

  “There’s something else.” She held up a hand, halting him.

  “What now, you little trickster?” He issued a gruff laugh. “More of my money?”

  This time, her smile was genuine. “A thousand dollars.” Half to send to her mother for the most pressing of their expenses. The other half would be delivered anonymously to an apartment on Canal Street that, if she had her way, would soon be occupied by different tenants—while its current occupants would reside somewhere safe, clean, and preferably far, far away.

  “Done. But”—his hands found her shoulders—“I require some payment too.”

  As his mouth descended downward, she closed her eyes and pictured Drew and Hope, laughing and happy in a world of gossamer beauty and ethereal brightness. Finally secure.

  And possessing a freedom she herself would never enjoy.

  “See you tomorrow, Dawson.” Delany, shirt sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing as he hefted the satinwood side table and hauled it across the showroom of Brently’s Fine Furnishings, flashed Drew a white-toothed grin. “We start work at 8:00 a.m. sharp, not a second later.”

  “How’s seven fifty sound for my arrival time? Want to impress Misters Brently and Delany, after all.” Drew ran his fingers along the table’s luxurious finish after Delany set it in the corner in front of the window, adding an appreciative whistle at the quality and craftsmanship of the piece.

  “Aw, get on with you. You’re smudging up the gloss.” Delany scowled, but the twinkle in his eyes confirmed his good humor. And why shouldn’t he, all of them, be in good humor? A momentous day, the final one before the store opened for customers. Tomorrow was a thing to be anticipated. And today to be savored.

  “You still planning on stopping over to check the apartment out?” Drew headed for the door, turning in a half circle to survey the elegant room, picture windows letting in light that slanted over pieces of some of the most beautiful home furnishings Drew had ever clapped eyes on.

  Delany’s only answer was a shrug, as he lifted a cherrywood chair.

  Drew grinned and let himself out into the street, the setting sun drenching everything in warmth and golden hues. Time to go home.

  Home. Not Canal Street but a palace. Though in reality, it was just a decent flat in a middle-class part of town. But Hope called it a palace and her cough was almost gone and both were enough to make Drew smile.

  Conway had written and informed Drew that, after some recalculation, he’d decided there was no need to hold him to any monetary obligation. That alone was enough of a miracle to keep Drew thanking God for the rest of his life.

  Three days later, an envelope had been delivered, containing the astronomical amount of five hundred dollars. No return address, no distinct handwriting. Just plain block lettering on the envelope with his address, a note inside bearing one line.

  For Hope and a better life.

  It had come from Adele. For who else could have sent it? The question remained—where was she and how had she gotten her hands on that kind of money?

  Every day, multiple times, he asked the Lord for direction regarding Adele. And every day, he received the same chafing answer.

  “Wait.”

  He didn’t like it. Everything in him cried out to know where she was and what she had done. But deep within his soul, he sensed the Lord was right. There would come a time for him to take action, but it was not now.

  He’d healed enough to walk without a crutch and had begun to regain his former physical strength. It was a slow, often painful process, but he triumphed in it. In his own achievement and in Hope’s cheers as she watched her brother regain his ability to walk.

  Lord willing, it wouldn’t be long now before it was the other way around. Drew would cheer Hope on as his sister fulfilled her dreams. And then his smile would stretch from here to the Erie Canal.

  After a quick detour, Drew reached the redbrick building. Pulling out his brand-new key, he unlocked the door and let himself in, marveling afresh at the convenience of a first-floor apartment. Hope could go out more often now. And if he didn’t miss his guess, there was a certain Texan particularly keen to take her.

  “Well?” Hope wasted no time in addressing him the moment he stood inside. Aside from in the evenings, they kept the curtains pulled away from the three windows, so when the sun shone, Hope could feel it warming her. Their first room with windows and papered walls and a gleaming wood floor. It was what they had talked of in the orphanage, and it
was truly a glorious thing to behold.

  “You, my fair lady, are looking at the new accountant for one Mr. Simon Brently of Brently’s Fine Furniture.”

  “Really?” Hope squealed, the excitement on her face mirroring his own. “Oh Drew. Isn’t God so good to us?”

  “I start tomorrow and work five days a week. The other two, well, I’m afraid you’ll just have to endure my company around here.” He pulled a face and she laughed.

  “I guess I can manage to tolerate it.”

  “And you know what else?” He pulled his hand out from behind his back, holding out a brown paper parcel. “I found a shop just a couple of blocks from here. Guess what’s inside?”

  “Sweet rolls?” Hope fairly breathed the words.

  Drew nodded. “Sweet rolls, my dear sister. Fresh ones.”

  Tears slid down Hope’s cheeks, mingling with her smile. She shook her head. “What did we ever do to deserve the goodness of our God?”

  Fresh sweet rolls instead of stale. Joy instead of desperation. Love from a God who forgave Drew’s doubts and questioning and heaped blessings in his lap when they were least deserved. “Nothing, Hope. We didn’t do a thing. And that’s the beauty of it.” Emotion clogged his throat. But this was a moment of celebration. So he strode toward the adjoining kitchen, intent on procuring plates and a pot of tea.

  As they savored their treat, sitting in a room of undreamt luxury—though Drew still had his old, lumpy chair—Hope brushed crumbs from her fingers, her expression growing thoughtful. “I wonder if Adele is as happy as we are?” The words echoed his own thoughts, but Hope had the courage to voice them. Because Hope thought of Adele as a friend.

  He’d grown to consider her so much more.

  Drew set down his cup. “I don’t know…I’m sure she will be.” They hadn’t spoken much of Adele’s departure. Hope had been ill and then they’d gotten Conway’s letter, the envelope of money.