A Hope Beyond

by Judith Pella

  35

  Victoria

  “Nanny!” Victoria St. John scurried into the room with all the energy of an active five-year-old. Her animated expression nearly caused Carolina to laugh out loud. Instead, she felt compelled to admonish her young charge.

  “Victoria, you are a young lady, and thus you should conduct yourself as one. Walk, don’t run.” My, but she sounded just like her mother had when scolding her little sisters.

  “But, Nanny, you must come see. Cynthia has babies!”

  Cynthia, the stray cat Victoria had adopted, had been the subject of great speculation these last few weeks. Now the time of questioning was over.

  Carolina smiled. “How many?”

  Victoria danced rings around Carolina, brown curls bobbing. “Cook says there are six, but I only saw four. They are gray and white, just like Cynthia. Oh, do come see!”

  Carolina shook her head. “All right, but then you must wash up for supper. Your papa is due home today.”

  Victoria frowned at this news, and Carolina could scarcely blame the child. Whenever the rare occasion of Blake St. John’s presence took place, Victoria was relegated to the nursery, where she was expected to remain until her father once again took his leave. It had been this way the entire four and a half years Carolina had been in residence. And now, having dealt for long enough with the man’s moody preoccupation and obvious disinterest in his only child, Carolina was determined to speak to him.

  “Will Papa see me this time?” Victoria asked. Her childish longing brought a knot to Carolina’s throat.

  “I do not know,” Carolina said. “But I do plan to speak to him again on the matter.”

  “You do?”

  Victoria’s hopefulness made Carolina feel guilty. It wasn’t that she’d never tried to encourage her employer to take a more active role in the life of his child. She had spoken to him many times of the void he left in Victoria’s life. She had even admonished the man that her own father knew more of Victoria’s daily routine than did he, but St. John remained unmoved.

  “I plan to talk to him,” Carolina finally said, taking Victoria in hand and leading her to the back porch. “But that doesn’t mean it will change a thing. We must be patient with your father, Victoria. He is a good man, but he was very saddened by your mother’s and brother’s deaths.”

  Victoria nodded, knowing full well the circumstances behind her father’s overextended periods of absence. At least she knew them as well as Carolina could explain them. In the years she’d been employed to care for Victoria, Carolina had struggled to make excuses for Blake St. John’s lack of interest in his only child. She found it abominable that the man was seldom in residence, and that when he was home, he insisted on having nothing to do with his precious little girl.

  And she was precious, Carolina thought as they bent over the basket of new kittens. How she loved this little girl! She’d come to see Victoria practically as her own child, and in many ways— the ways which truly counted—she was. It was Carolina who had watched her take her first steps and taught Victoria her first words. It was Carolina who’d sat up through long nights of croup and other assorted childhood ailments, and it was Carolina who comforted Victoria when she was scared and dried her tears when she was sad or hurt. In every way that mattered, Carolina was bonded to Victoria as a mother to a daughter.

  Perhaps the hardest thing she had to deal with was Victoria’s growing number of questions concerning her father and mother. In all her years in the St. John house, Carolina had been told very little concerning either one. Mrs. Graves, the plump, elderly housekeeper, certainly never saw fit to share any information with Carolina. To the best of her ability, Carolina had tried to befriend the woman, but it was almost as if Mrs. Graves saw Carolina as some sort of threat to the peace and sanctity of the home.

  Carolina could still remember the way Mrs. Graves had puffed up indignantly when she had dared to broach the subject of Mrs. St. John’s death.

  “But I only want to explain the matter to Victoria,” Carolina had explained.

  “The child need not know about such morbid matters. Her mother is gone and that’s enough to understand.”

  “But she’s asking me questions for which I have no answers.”

  “Then that’s a sign of ill-breeding. You should take a firmer hand with the child and admonish her to speak only when spoken to.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Carolina had countered. “Children have a right to know of their own parentage.”

  “Bah! Children have no rights at all, except those given them by overindulgent nannies.” With that the matter had been very firmly closed.

  But now Carolina was determined to get some answers. Four and a half years was a long time to walk about in the dark, and unless Blake St. John wanted to risk their amicable relationship, Carolina felt he owed her at least a brief explanation.

  “Now, you wash your hands and face, and I will set our table for supper.”

  “Are you going to stay with me?” Victoria asked hopefully.

  “Of course,” Carolina replied, gently patting the child’s head.

  “Where else did you expect me to go?”

  “Won’t Papa want you to eat with him?”

  “I don’t really know, but if he does I can join him later.”

  Blake St. John arrived home shortly before the evening meal. “The master bids you join him,” Mrs. Graves said solemnly as she placed Victoria’s supper on the small nursery table.

  “I will dine with Victoria first,” Carolina answered. “You may tell Mr. St. John that I will join him in a short while.”

  Mrs. Graves was clearly disturbed by this answer but nevertheless took her leave.

  Carolina refused to hurry Victoria through the meal, and even though dinner was not included for herself, she nibbled at the things she knew Victoria would not eat.

  He summons me like a servant, Carolina thought, and it gave her brief pleasure to defiantly hold her ground by putting him off.

  At twenty-two, Carolina had become a confident and extremely independent woman. She had little worry about her financial status and circumstance. In her years of employment, Carolina had put aside most of her generous pay and, with her father’s help, had managed to purchase stock in the Baltimore and Ohio, as well as invest in her own dreams for the Potomac and Great Falls Railroad. She’d personally felt little of the effects of the national depression. Blake St. John was outrageously wealthy. This she’d learned from Mrs. Dover, who over the years had encouraged Carolina to simply call her Cook. Cook seemed open to bits of gossip now and then, but even she, fearing for her job, refused to ever discuss the former Mrs. St. John. The master of the house had made it quite clear that the matter was never to be addressed.

  Preparing Victoria for bed, Carolina let go of her frustrations and instead concentrated on listening to the child’s prayers. This had been a topic of much controversy in the St. John household, for Carolina insisted on being allowed to give the child a Christian upbringing, while Blake held little regard for such matters. Carolina won out, only because of the frequent absence of Victoria’s father. She yielded to his wishes, however, whenever he saw fit to reside in Baltimore, but her days of placating the morose man were rapidly coming to an end. How dare he impose his grief upon this child! She was but a babe and deserved a father’s love; instead she received his condemnation and anger.

  Seeing Victoria’s eyelids droop in sleepiness, Carolina kissed her on the forehead and made her way to the St. John dining room. The house, her home for all intents and purposes, was always silent. She likened it to a tomb, and at times felt as though she’d been buried alive. Even Victoria was a quiet child for the most part. Her games and playtime were spent in quiet whispers and hushed conversations. In truth, the announcement of Cynthia’s kittens was by far the most excitement the St. John house had seen in months.

  Squaring her shoulders, Carolina paused before the hallway mirror. She touched a hand to her nicely co
ifed hair, thankful that Miriam had taught her the tricks of dressing it out herself. She’d chosen not to bring a maid, and while at times she’d almost relented and sent to Oakbridge for assistance, Carolina was content to care for herself.

  Now, studying her reflection, Carolina wondered what Blake St. John would have to say to her. Theirs was a strange relationship. On one hand it seemed very intimate. She’d observed him grieving over his son’s grave many years earlier. That had been her first encounter with the elusive Mr. St. John. And while they’d exchanged no words at that meeting, something had passed between them that kept his image on her mind. The sorrow in his eyes had been so intense, the pain so raw and fresh, that Carolina felt as though she’d actually touched the inner being of his soul. Then, of course, there had been his rescue of her from Hampton Cabot during the charity ball at the Gadsby Hotel. He’d been softer then, yet the haunted shadows remained in his dark eyes. He was unlike anyone she’d ever known before.

  Licking her lips, Carolina noted her own brown eyes and the fear that seemed to edge her expression. How could she still fear a man whose child she’d cared for since infancy?

  But she did fear him.

  Only now, rather than his hollow-eyed stares and stern expressions she feared the power he held over her. He alone could say whether or not she remained in the household. He alone held the right to separate her from Victoria. She’d painted herself into a dangerous corner, and now, more than ever, Carolina was well aware of her circumstance. She was hopelessly devoted to Victoria. She loved the child as though she were her own daughter, and in turn, Victoria loved her as any child would a mother. In many ways they had clung to each other because there was no one else to cling to. Oakbridge was a world away, and while Carolina had missives from home and brief trips back to visit, she was isolated in a way that left her completely removed from her family. Victoria had become her family.

  She smoothed her high lace collar and turned to face the closed doors of the dining room. But she isn’t mine, Carolina thought to herself and gently touched her hand to the door. She isn’t mine and even if I risk losing her, I must somehow try to unite her with her father.

  Carolina opened the door without so much as a knock. Blake St. John glanced up, his expression sternly fixed, his dark eyes smoldering as they always were.

  “Good evening, Mr. St. John,” she said, feeling the discomfort of his stare.

  He got to his feet in polite recognition. “Miss Adams.”

  She stood rigidly awaiting his command, and seeing this, he seemed to relax a bit. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Thank you.”

  They were both seated, and Carolina was surprised to find Mrs. Graves quickly enter the room with a plate of warm food. Carolina smiled appreciation at the woman, but Mrs. Graves merely stuck her nose in the air and exited the room.

  “I’d expected you earlier,” St. John said, without giving her so much as a glance.

  “Yes, I know. Victoria was just sitting down to her dinner, and I’d promised her that I would stay.”

  He seemed uninterested and this only furthered Carolina’s growing irritation with the man. Surely if she were to speak to him on matters of his daughter, she would have to swallow down her fear. Blake St. John would go on indefinitely running her life if she didn’t find a way to face him and stand fast.

  “Mr. St. John, might I speak to you?”

  He looked rather surprised by her boldness and put down his fork. “By my leave.”

  “Thank you.” Carolina felt the palms of her hands grow moist. “As you know, your daughter is five years old.” She began that way even though she wasn’t truly convinced that he did realize this simple fact. “Victoria is a very intelligent young lady, and she is also very charming and affectionate.”

  “Your point, Miss Adams?”

  Carolina threw caution to the wind. “She needs you in her life, Mr. St. John. She asks after you constantly and desires to know you better.”

  “Is that all?” He resumed eating as though the words had meant nothing.

  Carolina stared at him for a moment. Her temper was barely held in check as she responded. “Isn’t that enough? Is it not enough to know that your own child scarcely knows you? Is it not enough that Victoria longs for a father’s love? Can you not see that such a thing is essential to her well-being?”

  “Does she have enough to eat?”

  “Yes.”

  “Enough clothes to keep her warm?”

  “Yes.”

  “Have you everything else you need to school the child, medicate her when she is ill, manage her affairs when she is not?”

  “Of course,” Carolina answered flatly. “But that is not the point.”

  “I see no other point that is valid to my concern.”

  Carolina slammed her fork down. “Your concern should be her welfare in matters that go beyond her physical needs.”

  St. John stared at her in complete surprise. Carolina swallowed hard. It was the first time she’d dared to stand her ground with her employer, and the very idea of what she was embarking upon caused her to tremble. Victoria needs her father, Carolina reminded herself once again. She needs him possibly more than she even needs me. I can’t be selfish and worry that St. John might dismiss me. Oh, God, she prayed, help me in this matter. Let me say the right things for Victoria’s sake.

  Calming her nerves, Carolina took a long sip of tea before continuing.

  “I have been in your employ for over four years, and in all that time you have scarcely seen your daughter. She longs to know of her mother and brother. Why do you insist upon distancing yourself from the one person you should love above all others?”

  St. John said nothing for several moments. His eyes narrowed angrily, however, and a characteristic tick in his cheek became quite noticeable. Carolina knew she’d overstepped the bounds of propriety.

  She could hear her heart beating in her ears, and her mouth grew horribly dry.

  “Are you quite finished?” he finally asked.

  Carolina looked at him as if considering what she could say to dispel his rage. “I did not mean to be so outspoken,” she admitted.

  “It’s just that you are never here to know for yourself what I see every day.”

  “You forget yourself, Miss Adams. You are the child’s nurse, nothing more. You have no authority to speak to me on matters that do not concern you. If you find this arrangement unacceptable, perhaps you should consider leaving.”

  Something in his haughtiness and blatant disregard for her concerns gave Carolina the boldness to make her next move. Getting to her feet, she slapped her napkin down on the table and moved to the doors. “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I have grown too attached and far too concerned for Victoria’s well-being. Maybe I should go.”

  Before she could flee, however, Blake St. John was on his feet. “Wait!” he exclaimed, the desperation in his tone totally out of character.

  Carolina was halted more out of surprise than obedience. She turned to look up at him, feeling the heat of his stare, knowing that he would say more. To her surprise, he touched her. Lightly, with hesitant hands, he touched her arm and pulled her ever so gently back to the table.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I spoke rashly. Please, sit down and let us be more civil.”

  Carolina was shocked. The mighty Blake St. John was apologizing? And for what? She had been the impudent one. She gazed down at where he held her arm and felt a warm blush on her cheeks.

  As if noting her discomfort, Blake quickly dropped his hold and held out her chair. “Please sit.”

  Carolina did as he bid, more because of her inability to speak than of any desire to further their conversation.

  Blake paced behind her for a moment before finally taking his own seat. “Miss Adams . . .” he began hesitantly. “Miss Adams, you must know that I respect your understanding of Victoria. Please do not consider leaving her.”

  Carolina looked at him with great heavi
ness in her heart. “But you do not understand my love of Victoria. To stay here, to live with the child and see her long for that which she can never have, is heartbreaking. Can’t you understand? You come and go at leisure. You’re gone for weeks, sometimes months, and then suddenly reappear as if to remind her of what she can never have. It’s cruel and heartless, and I hate seeing her so treated.”

  For the first time, Carolina saw Blake St. John appear vulnerable. His stern expression dropped away, and he ran his hands wearily through his ebony hair. “Being heartless and cruel is what I do best, I suppose. I cannot give her what I haven’t got within myself to give.”

  “All she wants is a father to love her,” Carolina replied.

  “Exactly,” Blake said, getting to his feet. He paused, as if trying to decide what he should do. “I implore you to dismiss any thoughts of leaving and . . . I implore you to forget this terrible notion of making me into a father figure for Victoria. I cannot be what you want me to be.” With that he was gone, leaving Carolina to stare at her uneaten plate of food and to ponder the mysteries of what she’d just experienced.

  36

  Joseph’s Visit

  “Miss Adams,” Mrs. Graves spoke in a reserved, almost hesitant manner, “you’ve a visitor.”

  Carolina looked up from the embroidered sampler she was teaching Victoria to sew. “A visitor? But who is it?”

  “Your father, ma’am.”

  Carolina instantly forgot the sewing lesson. “My father? Here?” Her animated voice betrayed her extreme pleasure at this turn of events. “Come, Victoria. Let us go greet my father.”

  Joseph Adams waited in the front sitting room and seemed most genuinely pleased when Carolina bounded into the room and threw herself into his arms. There was no need to stand on formalities, and the warmth shared between them was not lost on Victoria.

  “Me too!” the child exclaimed without reservation and wrapped herself around the man she’d seen on several prior occasions.

  Joseph laughed and exchanged a look over the child’s head with Carolina. She knew he understood. She’d written many times of her frustration with Blake St. John. Joseph well knew of Victoria’s need for a father figure.