by Delia Parr
Praise God, she was going home!
Ten
Glancing down at the little girl she carried on one hip, Ruth smiled, noting that Lily had a wardrobe far finer than Ruth had ever owned. Lily looked like an angel this afternoon. Her pale blue frock was just a shade lighter than her eyes. The dainty embroidered daffodil that rested in the fabric right over her heart was nearly identical in color to the ringlets that framed her pudgy little cheeks, although most of her hair was hidden by a sweet little straw bonnet with butter yellow ribbons tied beneath her chin.
For once, the little imp was even acting like an angel while Ruth carried her up Water Street to complete a number of errands. Instead of constantly squirming and trying to climb down, Lily sat contentedly, chattering her usual gibberish while she played with the trim on the collar of Ruth’s gown.
Ruth caught a glimpse of the two tiny white scars on her wrist, and her smile deepened. Lily had not bitten her again, either, which was a relief since she did not know if she would ever have the courage to put Phanaby’s advice into practice and bite Lily back.
When they reached Main Street, she set Lily down onto the planked sidewalk. “Hold still a moment,” she urged and tugged at the hem of Lily’s frock until it fell neatly again in gentle folds that reached the top of the toddler’s shoes. “Now remember, you mustn’t let go of my hand,” she cautioned and folded her hand gently, but firmly, around Lily’s tiny hand.
Lily looked up at her and smiled broadly enough to add a charming dimple to each cheek. “Lily good.”
Ruth chuckled. “Yes, Lily is a good little girl,” she replied, hoping this little charmer would remain on her best behavior until they got back home again. Ruth was careful to keep her strides short, and they made slow but steady progress together without Lily trying to yank free to toddle off on her own.
Unlike earlier in the day, Main Street was now noisy and bustling with activity at midmorning. In between wagons loaded with swamp moss and cedar headed east toward Dock Street, where their cargo would be loaded onto packet ships, she could see groups of shoppers hustling in and out of stores on either side of the street.
She nodded and waved to several women, along with their children, she had met at Sunday services and chuckled when Lily raised her free hand to wave, too. She was grateful none of the women stopped or crossed the street to chat, because she honestly could not remember any of their names.
When a farmer drove his cart so fast the wheels kicked up a cloud of dust, Ruth stopped and brushed herself off and watched with amusement while Lily imitated her actions. In all truth, ever since Phanaby had shown her the headlines in those newspapers a few hours ago, Ruth had been too overjoyed to mind much of anything, and she was actually looking forward to reading the entire articles after she put Lily down for her afternoon nap.
She did not tense when the stagecoach passed by, because she no longer had to worry that some traveler passing through the village might recognize her or that a reporter who was looking for her had just arrived. She did not mind stopping twice to re-tie the laces on Lily’s shoes. She did not even cringe when she thought about running into Jake Spencer later when she went back to retrieve her shawl while Lily was napping.
For one very simple reason: The world around her was filled with joy that made her feel safe and secure again because her father had been acquitted. No one could possibly have any interest in her whereabouts now, and she knew it was only a matter of days before she would be going home.
“Home! Home!” Lily cried as she tugged and tugged on Ruth’s hand, urging her to turn around. “Home!”
Unaware that she must have spoken some of her thoughts out loud, Ruth stopped in front of the butcher’s shop and bent her knees to be at eye level with the little girl. “We’re not going home yet. We have lots of errands to do, remember?” she said as she tucked an escaped curl back beneath the bonnet.
“Home,” Lily whispered. “P’ease home.”
The toddler’s eyes darkened and pooled with tears, reminding Ruth of a summer sky that suddenly threatened rain. She wiped away the single tear that escaped and patted Lily’s cheek. This little girl could not say more than a few intelligible words. If she could put words to the anguish that glistened in her eyes, Ruth had the distinct feeling she would tell Ruth that she wanted to go back to the only home she had ever known, too.
For the first time since she had taken charge of this little girl, Ruth also realized they shared another bond, a secret hidden from everyone else who lived here in the village. Both Ruth and Lily had lost their mothers at a very young age, and although Ruth did not remember the events surrounding her mother’s death, she knew what it was like to be confused by the deep void in her life.
“We’ll find you a new home soon, baby girl. I promise,” Ruth whispered. Now that he was free again, she was certain her father would contact someone within his network of believers who would adopt Lily. She was sorely tempted to write to him and suggest the Garners, but she did not know how they would explain the fact that Ruth had abandoned the child to them.
More important, she had promised her father that she would not contact him under any circumstances, and she would not break that promise to him. Not now. Not when everything was unfolding exactly as he had told her it would.
“Patience, patience,” she murmured, hoisting the distressed child to her hip. “Let’s see if Mrs. Sloan has any lemon sticks for you at the general store today, shall we?”
Rewarded with a smile, Ruth hugged the little girl close to her until a sharp nudge in the middle of her back caught her by such surprise she pitched forward. Instinctively, she wrapped her arms tightly around the toddler and took several small but frantic steps before she finally had her feet planted and Lily firmly on her hip again.
She swirled about, prepared to soundly berate whomever or whatever had bumped into her. Lily’s squeals of delight at being tossed about, however, sweetened Ruth’s annoyance before she even got a glimpse of the two elderly women standing directly in front of her. She did not recognize either of these women, but the look of shock on their faces was unmistakable.
Neither of the two plainly dressed women stood any taller than Ruth, but they carried enough girth between them to make it nearly impossible for anyone to pass by them without leaving the sidewalk and using the roadway.
The woman on the right, who wore the droopiest bonnet Ruth had ever seen, took the tattered umbrella hanging from one arm and poked her companion on the leg. “See what you did? You almost knocked over that fragile young thing and her baby.”
“I did no such thing. You walked right into her,” her companion replied and nudged her friend with her elbow before turning her attention to Ruth without bothering to push the spectacles hanging on the tip of her nose back into place. “I’m Widow Gertie Jones, and I hope you’ll forgive my cousin for bumping you—”
“I’m Widow Lorelei Jones,” her cousin blurted. “Our fathers were brothers. That’s why we’re cousins.”
“We married brothers, too, which is why we have the same last name.”
Lorelie glared at Gertie before looking back at Ruth again. “Which is neither here nor there at the moment, I suppose, but the fact of the matter is that I most surely did not walk into you and that sweet little piece of heaven you’ve got on your hip,” she insisted. “My cousin did, and since she won’t take responsibility for nearly knocking you off your feet and properly apologize, then I’ll just have to do it for her, exactly like I’ve done for the past fifty-four years. She’s terribly sorry, aren’t you, Gertie,” she said, without bothering to look at her cousin.
“I am sorry that you were so busy gossiping, you weren’t paying a whit of attention to what you were doing, Lorelei. Otherwise you’d realize that you were the one who bumped into … What did you say your name was?” she asked, flitting her conversation away from her cousin and directing it to Ruth.
“She hasn’t had the opportunity to tell us her name, Gertie, and I
daresay the last thing the poor girl has on her mind right now is a proper introduction. And I wasn’t gossiping at all. I was simply repeating what I read in the Galaxy about that minister who killed that poor degenerate soul and got away with it. It’s a pity the good people of New York City couldn’t find a jury willing to do its duty and send that man straight to the gallows instead of putting him back on the street so he can carve up another woman.”
“I thought you said it was the Sun, but I could be mistaken. Not that it matters. All the newspapers said the same thing, more or less. Now, if you ask me—”
“Ruth. I’m Widow Ruth Malloy, and this is my daughter, Lily,” Ruth blurted to keep both of them from saying anything else against her father.
Lily, for her part, seemed thoroughly mesmerized by the whole encounter and sat quietly on Ruth’s hip, with her head leaning against Ruth’s shoulder and her gaze shifting from one woman to another as each spoke.
Two faces lit with recognition. Two pairs of eyes shimmered with pity, but it was Gertie who spoke first this time. “We’d heard you’d come to live with the Garners. We lost our husbands, too, but we were both quite a bit older than you are.”
“I was forty-seven and Gertie was fifty-one. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two,” she replied.
“We heard all about how your poor husband, Mark, died from that sudden illness and you had to close his stationery store in the city and how you lost everything and had to move here with your little baby to live with relatives you barely knew.” Gertie held her spectacles farther up on her nose and clucked her lips. “You’re a sweet baby, aren’t you, Lily?”
Lorelei shook her head. “Matthew. Her husband’s name wasn’t Mark. It was Matthew.”
“Actually, it was Martin,” Ruth offered. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few errands to run, and I need to get home in time to help with dinner.” She turned and hurried off before either of the women started another convoluted conversation about who had bumped into her.
Ruth hurried into the butcher store, ordered the chicken Phanaby planned to roast tomorrow to celebrate news of Rev. Livingstone’s acquittal, and went across the street to the general store. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the single-room establishment, and she walked past the two men sitting next to each other on stools, who were in the midst of a seemingly good-natured discussion.
Relieved that there were no other customers in the store, Ruth approached Mrs. Sloan, who was folding and refolding a single length of plaid fabric. After setting Lily down on the counter well beyond reach of anything, she put her hand on the child’s lap to keep her from falling off. “When you’re finished, would you please get these things for us?” she asked, laying the list Phanaby had made on the counter, along with a small canvas bag she had folded up in her pocket. “And I’d like a lemon stick for Lily, too,” she added, which had Lily clapping and grinning from ear to ear. “Mine! Mine!”
Mrs. Sloan dropped the fabric onto the counter and pushed it toward Ruth. “I’m more than finished. In fact, you can have this piece for half price. I don’t even want it in my shop. While you make up your mind, I’m going to get what you need and hide the scissors so Mr. Sloan won’t be able to cut another length of fabric again,” she snapped. She then yanked a lemon stick out of a glass jar, handed it to Lily, and charged away, scissors and list and canvas bag in hand.
Ruth fingered the fabric, considering whether there would be enough to make a pretty apron for Phanaby, while the conversation behind her heated up into an argument. Voices rose, making it impossible for her not to overhear the two men and to realize they were arguing about her father.
“He killed her! Sure as I’m sitting here, he killed her, but the jury didn’t have the gumption to send that fiend to the gallows.”
“He’s a minister!”
A snort. “He’s a man, just like you and me, ’cept we don’t visit brothels late at night like he did. You can bet Reverend Haines wouldn’t do any such thing.”
A chuckle. “Reverend Haines wouldn’t be too happy if he heard you even talkin’ about placin’ a bet.”
Cringing, Ruth tapped her foot impatiently. Just when she wondered how much longer she could hold silent, Mrs. Sloan burst through the curtain carrying the canvas bag, which was now filled. “Everything Phanaby wanted is inside. You’re taking the fabric, too?”
“I am. Thank you,” Ruth replied, grateful that Mrs. Sloan’s voice was loud enough to distract her from the men’s conversation. Working quickly, she set Lily on her feet so she could finish her lemon stick before Ruth ended up with a gown that was as sticky as Lily’s was becoming. She took Lily by her free hand, slid the handle of the bag over her wrist, and headed for the door.
Unfortunately, she had to walk even slower with the toddler to make certain she did not trip, and the men continued their argument without even acknowledging her or lowering their voices.
“They don’t have a body, and until they find a body, I’ll never believe he killed her.”
“They’ll find it, and when they do, there won’t be a jury this side of heaven that won’t convict him.”
Confused by the turn of their argument, she hurried Lily along as fast as she dared.
“Did you read the same newspapers that I did? They’re not even sure the girl’s dead. She could be hiding out somewhere, and now that her father’s been set free, she’s bound to show up again.”
“And there’ll be a sketch of her on every newspaper the day she does. I hope she knows she’s got a lot of explaining to do, especially if they find out she was hiding the evidence that would have convicted her father.”
It was then Ruth realized they were talking about her.
Jake waited until midnight and slipped through the darkened village with only a meager sliver of moonlight to guide him. Once he reached the end of Dock Street, he climbed into a dinghy and rowed toward the ship anchored offshore.
The river was smooth tonight, with barely a wave, making his journey quick and easy. He boarded the ship, discussed the letter he had written to his brother with Capt. Grant, and returned to shore, fully satisfied that the man who had sent him here would deliver the letter as he had promised.
After returning the dinghy back where he had found it, he retraced his steps and worked his way back to the village. On a whim, he turned down the alley that ran behind several buildings at this end of Water Street and stopped when he reached the apothecary. All of the windows on the second floor, where the Widow Malloy lived with the family who had taken her in, were dark.
Somewhere behind one of those windows, the woman he had finally met today was sleeping. She was completely unaware that by this time tomorrow night, Clifford would already have acted on Jake’s letter. Within days, he would send a reply that would either confirm that Martin Malloy had indeed operated a stationery story in the city before he died, leaving a widow and a young daughter who were now living with the Garners, or that Ruth Malloy was actually Ruth Livingstone.
He drew in a long breath, turned, and made his way back to his cabin, convinced that one way or another, his own future was also tied to the answers his brother would send back to him.
Eleven
“Don’t touch that!”
Startled, Ruth dropped the miniature wooden chest back onto the dresser in the Garners’ bedroom and whirled about.
Phanaby charged into the bedroom. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snapped as she grabbed the wooden chest and held it close to her.
Cheeks burning, Ruth took several steps back from the dresser, perplexed by Phanaby’s strident attitude. “I-I was just trying to dust your room before I put Lily to bed for her afternoon nap,” she managed, although she was unable to keep some of the tears that had welled from trickling free.
Phanaby closed her eyes for a moment and drew several long breaths before meeting Ruth’s teary gaze. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell or frighten you,” she said. “
It’s just that this chest holds a lot of sentimental meaning. I don’t want anything to happen to it,” she whispered as she placed it gently back on top of the dresser.
Mindful of Phanaby’s treasured vase, which Lily had broken, Ruth swiped at her tears. “I understand. I’m sorry. I had no idea—”
“No, please. I’m the one who should apologize. I-I overreacted,” Phanaby insisted and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’ve been nursing a headache all day, but that’s no excuse for the way I talked to you. Forgive me.” She took hold of Ruth’s hand.
Ruth managed a smile and squeezed Phanaby’s hand. “Forgiven.”
“Thank you. On top of taking care of Lily, you already do far too much around here as it is. Perhaps it might be best if you left cleaning our room to me,” Phanaby urged.
“Of course. Speaking of Lily, I should probably get her settled down for her nap. A nap would probably help with your headache, too.”
“You may be right. Come,” Phanaby said as she urged Ruth out of the room. “I’d like to get a kiss from that little one before you put her to bed.”
A short time later, Ruth laid Lily down in the bottom of the trundle bed and tucked a light blanket around her. “Sleep tight,” she whispered and pressed a kiss to Lily’s forehead.
Lily scrambled out from beneath the blanket and popped onto all fours before Ruth had taken a single step to leave. “Lily play!”
“Lily sleep,” Ruth said gently, but firmly. “You can play when you wake up.”
Rocking back and forth, Lily burst into exaggerated tears that Ruth had learned to recognize as a sign that the child was simply overtired. Rather than trying to reason with the single-minded toddler, she sat down on the edge of the bottom mattress, laid Lily down again, and covered her with the blanket. “That’s a good babe,” she whispered, and hummed softly, rubbing the small of her back until the toddler stopped crying and drifted off to asleep.
