by Jenna Kernan
Her mother pulled away in order to capture Emma’s face in her small hands.
“Let me look at you.” Her gaze swept her face and she smiled. She stepped back to study her and Emma felt her ears heat as her mother discovered the swell of her belly and gasped.
She glanced to the street as if expecting someone—a husband perhaps, but seeing no one she tugged Emma inside and closed the door.
“Come, my dear, into the parlor. I am so happy, I think I might faint.”
Emma recalled her mother fainting often in her childhood, particularly when her husband’s temper grew explosive. Emma forced down the resentment.
Her mother was not mad. Emma had a sister.
Sunshine spilled across the dark wood floors and over the faded Persian rug. Her gaze took in the furniture that looked lush and cushioned, far grander than anything she’d seen in years.
Her mother pressed her into a love seat and perched beside her smiling broadly.
“Ann, fetch some water.”
The girl stood gaping a moment longer and then hurried through the door.
“I’m so happy you came at last.”
“I don’t understand. I thought you were still in the sanitarium.”
Her mother’s face mirrored confusion. “What sanitarium?”
“Where you went to get well, after your…”
Her mother gripped her hand as some possibility dawned.
“Did he tell you I was mad?”
Emma nodded, remembering the wild howls coming from her mother’s rooms, the shattering of the water pitcher and bowl and the terrible scraping as she dragged her bed across the floor. A shudder rolled up her spine and she could not suppress it as it rocked her shoulders.
“The man is a demon.” Her mother stroked Emma’s hand. “My letters. Did you get them?”
“What letters?”
Her mother cried then, lifting her hands to cover her eyes. “I knew it. He burned them or kept them. My God, I hate him. He is not fit to burn in hell.”
Emma glanced to Ann, now returning with two glasses of water, walking with slow measured steps as she negotiated the liquid to the table before them. She looked frightened at her mother’s outburst. At last, her mother lifted her head showing bloodshot eyes and skin flushed with emotion.
“I wasn’t mad. I told him I wanted a divorce.”
Emma gasped. Then an inkling of suspicion crept past the shock.
“Why did you howl like a madwoman?”
“He would not let me see you. He would not let me take you. I could not leave you with that man, but I could not stay. I fought him in court, but he won your custody. An unfit mother.” She wept again, the words choked between sobs. “I wrote you every week. I wrote begging him to let you come to me.” She waved a fist at the ceiling and shouted. “What did he do with my letters?”
Emma shook her head as uncertainty rolled in her belly.
“He kept them from you. He told me that if I wanted you, I had to come back and be his wife. Oh God, Emma. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t do it. He wanted Ann, too. When I learned I would have another child, I knew I had to get away. But he took you from me.” Her mother searched Emma’s face. “He told you I was mad?”
Emma nodded. Her mother clasped a hand over her heart as if the pain might kill her.
“What you must think of me. How you must hate me. Dear Lord. I can’t breathe.”
Ann offered the water and her mother drank half in rapid swallows. When Ann reached for the glass, her mother clasped her hand.
“This is Ann, your sister.”
Ann’s eyes looked huge in her small, heart-shaped face.
Emma smiled.
Her mother continued. “This must be such a shock to you. How did you find me?”
“Aunt Alma gave me your address.”
A gasp. “The old witch, I’m amazed she even did that. What did she say, that I live in shame over the divorce? It isn’t true. I’m free from that tyrant.” Her scowl lifted as she met Emma’s gaze. “But you, how have you survived with that ogre?” She wept again.
Emma took the water in her hands and stared at the clear surface. The words spilled out of her like a waterfall. How she had met Jake and how she loved him. How they had traveled together. She kept her promise to Jake, not revealing the purpose of their journey. But she told of how he hated her after he’d learned of the child and how she’d fled her father and made her way alone across the country to visit the mother she thought mad. She did not realize her mother wept or that tears streaked her own cheeks until she stopped, still clutching the water. Then she drained the glass.
Her mother’s fingers moved to rest upon Emma’s knee and squeezed. She shook her head. “What you have endured. But that is all behind you now. You are back where you belong, in the bosom of your family. Ann and I will love you and your child. Never fear. You’re home.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Fall leaves fluttered down outside Emma’s window as she walked with Franny upon her shoulder, pacing back and forth across the room past the lion skin now hanging upon the nursery wall. Gradually her baby quieted and dropped off to sleep.
Tranquility filled her heart.
Her daughter was the piece of Jake that she could cherish. The gift he had given her in love, whether he remembered or not. She lifted little Francisca.
The door cracked open and her mother appeared. She scowled at the lion hide then directed her attention to her daughter and mouthed the word “asleep.” Emma turned to show Franny’s little face and her mother smiled.
Emma placed Francisca in the bassinet and straightened. Her shoulder still clung to the warmth of her child. She stared down at Franny, hoping she would keep her dark hair. Would her eyes change from blue to green to match her father’s?
A stab of regret struck as it always did when she thought of him. Her mother’s arm slipped about her waist, strengthening her.
Her mother had done it—a divorced woman and she had survived, no, she thrived, alone. But Emma was not divorced nor widowed, because Jake had never married her.
Was there anything sadder than giving her whole heart to one who cared not at all? Her fingers brushed her daughter’s fuzzy head. Perhaps Francisca would have better luck in love than her mother or grandmother.
The two women slipped silently from the room. Once in the hall her mother spoke.
“That lion rug will give her nightmares.”
“It will help her be strong.”
Her mother shook her head in disapproval, but said no more, turning instead to another familiar subject.
“I have a meeting of the Moral Reform Society. I hope you’ll come along today.”
“I have to watch Franny.”
Her eyebrow quirked. “An excuse. Ann is old enough to mind her for the hour you’ll be gone.”
“What if she needs feeding?”
Her mother gave her a look that showed she knew her granddaughter’s schedule as well as her mother. Emma lowered her gaze to the narrow hall carpet.
“Time to go out and face the world again.”
Emma met her mother’s confident gaze. Once Emma had longed for such freedom. Now she had it and all it cost was a broken heart. She forced a smile.
“All right then.”
“Good. My friends are so excited to meet you. I could barely keep them away.”
Not her family. No, her mother’s family had washed their hands of their divorcée daughter, with the exception of providing a small allowance, which kept them fed and a roof over their heads. Her mother supplemented that meager living by making and selling hair-care products and scented lotions. Her father’s entrepreneurial spirit grew strong in her. Despite her exile from her family, Emma’s mother had built a solid core of friends who shared her determination to fight society’s views on the rights of women.
Emma admired her. “I’ll be happy to meet them, as well.”
Her mother took her hand, leading her toward the stairs. “There
is life out there and you must live it.”
Emma nodded. “For my daughter’s sake.”
“No, my dear, for your own.”
Yes, that was right. She took a step and then another, away from the nursery and toward the outside world.
Jake could not find Emma’s mother in any sanitarium or any hospital in Baltimore. What was her maiden name? Brady—of the shipping family. He searched the city records and found her birth certificate, but no record of her death. With a sigh of relief, he ventured to the address listed for her parents and found them still in residence.
The stony-faced butler barred the door. “They will not see you.”
Although Jake didn’t plan to shoot the messenger, he did rest a hand upon the butt of his pistol and squint. “Why not?”
His actions caused the man to lose control of the door as he retreated. It also seemed to loosen his tongue.
“They have disowned her.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“You best be or I’m going to shove you on your ass and step over you.” Jake loomed, letting the man feel his presence in the grand white marble entranceway.
“I’ll send for the police,” said the servant, his voice conveying more panic than authority. His eyes shifted as if already planning his escape.
“They won’t get here before I bust open your nose.”
The butler pinched his lips together. Then a look of resignation replaced belligerence. “Miss Lucille divorced her husband and lives with her daughter in the city.”
“Emma?”
“I believe the child’s name is Ann Beverly Brady.”
“What about Emma?”
“I am not aware of her.”
“The address.”
“I cannot…” The man’s protest fell off and he heaved a sigh. “Sixteen South Bond Street, just beyond the flower shops.
“Obliged.” Jake tipped his new hat and stepped outside.
The butler slammed the door.
Jake mounted up and headed into the city. He grimaced at the smell of rotting fish near the harbor. Handcarts clattered over cobblestone making his ears ring. How did anyone sleep in this racket?
Black smoke belched from chimneys sending coal dust drifting down over him in a fine mist. Disgusting. He tasted the infernal stuff at the back of his throat. The sooner he could make his way to Washington and be quit of the East, the better.
Everything looked smaller, darker and dirtier than he remembered. Had the cities changed or had he?
He hadn’t seen this many people in the last year and now they came at him all at once. The woman on the corner selling bread and cheese did a big business. A clerk, in a dark coat and ink stains on his fingers, dropped several coins in the woman’s palm.
Jake’s jaw tightened as he realized that could have been his life.
He was so intent on avoiding stepping on the children that darted before Duchess that he nearly missed Bond Street. Down the wide concourse he went, finding number sixteen.
The house looked neat, with lace curtains and a window box filled with leggy-looking flowers yet untouched by frost. He swung off Duchess and tied her to the hitching post, pausing to give her a pat and loosen her girth. His horse sighed.
What would he tell her mother? All the miles and weeks of travel and he still had no answer. He only knew he must see her.
He tugged at the short blue jacket of the uniform he had not worn for two years. The warmth of the day made the wool too heavy. He’d polished his boots and brass and could not account for why he felt so uncomfortable in his dress blues.
Because you want her mother to like you.
He stepped sharply across the porch, his boot heel rapping on the wood planking, then lifted his gloved hand and knocked on the broad green door.
He made out only a shadow as someone approached. Suddenly he felt he should have brought something, but could not think what.
The door swept open revealing a girl who so closely resembled Emma that his tongue ceased to work. He gaped as she considered him. The color of her honey-blond hair matched Emma’s though she wore it in an elaborate coronet unlike anything Emma had ever concocted. Her eyes were steel-gray, not the smoky color that made his pulse pound. Even so, as she lifted a dark arching eyebrow, a chill descended his spine.
“Yes?”
He cleared his throat and then remembered to remove his broad hat, folding the brim beneath his upper arm. “Is your mother at home?”
She nodded and motioned for him inside. He stepped into a narrow entrance sandwiched between a staircase and a wall. The young woman shut the door.
“Who is calling?”
She seemed to be holding her breath now and he noted she locked her fingers before her, motionless, as if praying.
“I’m Lieutenant Jacob Turner.”
A smile broke across her face and Jake’s heart ached.
“You’re Emma’s sister, aren’t you?” he asked.
She grinned. “Wait here.”
He paced up and down the hall along the thin carpet. Surely the girl did not know of Emma’s situation or she would have shown some grief at the mention of her name.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say she expected him.
“Lieutenant Turner?”
He came about to face the older woman who could only be Emma’s mother. She was smaller than her daughters, much smaller, with pale blond hair now fading to white. Her eyes shone blue-gray and her smile was unfamiliar.
“Mrs. Lancing?”
“Won’t you come in?” She turned and led the way to the parlor motioning to a settee as she perched herself in a chair with spindle legs. “What can I do for you, sir?”
“I’ve come to speak to you about your daughter, Emma.”
Her expression held pleasant calm and his heart sank. She did not know.
“She has been through a great deal on your account.”
His breath halted as he stared.
“She has contacted you?”
The woman inclined her head.
Jake was on his feet. “When?”
“Please sit down, Lieutenant.”
He reined in the urge to shake the woman and eased into the delicate furniture.
“In my opinion, your behavior with my daughter left much to be desired.”
He leaned forward bracing his feet before him to prevent himself from toppling onto the carpet and gripped his knees. His voice came as a mere whisper. “Is she alive?”
She sighed and pressed her lips together. “Emma is upstairs seeing to your daughter.”
One hand slipped from his knee and he lurched forward, catching his weight on one extended hand.
Then he sank to the floor and he rested there, waiting for the explosion of emotion to pass. He trembled as he struggled to draw a breath. He folded his hands and lowered his forehead to them.
“Thank God.”
“Thanks to Emma, apparently. My former husband did not provide her an escort. I know her story, now I would like an accounting from you. For as I see things, there are many reasons why I should show you the door and only two why I should not.”
He could think of no reason for the woman to make him welcome. He crawled back to his seat.
“Why didn’t she come to me?” he asked.
“I believe you know why, unless you do not recall your final conversation with her. Should I refresh your memory?”
Jake could not forget the day the avalanche took Emma. Before that he’d accused her of intentionally getting with child in order to trap him. Her pained expression seemed branded in his memory.
“I remember.”
“Well then, you should not be overly shocked that she sought out her mother, even believing me insane, rather than turning to a brute who clearly did not love her.”
“I do love her.”
“Excuse me if I do not believe you.”
“I want to see her.”
“Y
ou’d be shocked to know how little I care what you want, Lieutenant. Right now my concern is for my daughter. You broke her heart, you know? I see little reason to allow you opportunity to do so again.”
“I’ll marry her.”
Her mother waved a dismissive hand. “A bad marriage is worse than none.”
“Mrs. Lancing, what would you have me do to earn your approval?”
“First you can explain this change of heart. According to Emma, you are resolute in your aversion to the convention of marriage.”
“I was wrong.”
“What led you to this revelation?”
“I had a bad experience once. It made me gun-shy. Now I see my mistake.”
“She mentioned a woman, though she was hazy on the details. Yet, I fail to see how that should permit you to paint all women with the same black brush.”
“It took me some time to reach that same conclusion.”
“Is that where you have been these many months—reaching conclusions?”
“I’ve been searching for her.”
“Commendable, yet this still fails to move me to allow you another opportunity to hurt her.”
“I never will. I’ll provide her a home, I’ll settle down. Anything to have her.”
“She is not an object to be had.”
“You seem set against me. How can I gain your consent?”
“It is not my consent you must gain, sir, but Emma’s.”
“May I see her, please?” If he shouted for her, would she come or flee? The realization that she might have nothing to do with him cut him across the middle like a saber.
“I will tell her you called. Where are you staying?” She stood now signaling an end to their meeting. He rose to protest as the door swung open. Emma gripped the knob.
He took a step forward and she stumbled into the wall. In that moment, he knew he had lost her.
Jake spoke but Emma could not hear past her heart thundering in her ears. How could he be here, filling her mother’s delicate parlor like a grizzly bear in a flower shop?
