“What did you want, sweetheart?”
It was time. Her heart banged against her rib cage. Somehow in the dark Micah had maneuvered her to a sitting position so that her back rested against her cloak, which he had folded into a cushion to place between her and the cold stone wall. He had also removed all the pins from her hair. No matter that he was cold and tired and hurting and afraid. Still he protected her, nurtured her—understood her.
Loved her.
She found herself combing her fingers through the tangled mass of hair streaming down her back and shoulders, fashioning a braid as though the prosaic task emboldened her resolve.
She might be a wilting wallflower after all.
Impatient, she tossed the half-braided hair over her shoulder. “You want to know what I wanted? I wanted your faith in the goodness of God. I wanted to hug the way I felt when you were with me as though the feelings were my favorite doll. I wanted…you.” She stammered the confession but, as always, once the flow began it took on a life all its own. “From the very first time you looked at me, on my wedding day, you saw…me. Not just a gawky redhead with too many freckles, wearing a thirty-year-old gown that made her look like a moldy cupcake.”
“Would you be terribly disillusioned if I told you there’s a vindictive part of me that would like nothing better than to stuff every member of that family into the back of a Black Maria and send them to Second District Prison for what they did to you?”
“I should have been strong enough to believe my own family, not my husband’s. No, don’t say anything else, don’t hold my hand right now.” A watery laugh escaped. “I want to remember that I found the courage all on my own, when I say words I’ve never spoken to another man.”
“All right.” His voice was awash in tenderness.
“I thought I’d forgotten you. Then, in Richmond, that day in my parlor? The first time you touched me, I knew I would never be the same again. I was so afraid, of so many things, but most of all, I was afraid you would sense how very much I wanted you to hold me. To comfort me. To protect me in all the ways I used to believe a man shows that he cares for a woman. Ways my husband never did, but you have from the moment you put your arm around my shoulders so carefully. I’ve soaked up your love, and never offered mine in return.”
“Don’t, sweetheart. You don’t have to say anything more. I can wait. Jocelyn? Do you understand? I can wait.”
“Well, I can’t,” she snapped out, edgy in her awkwardness. “Micah, I never loved Chadwick as my husband, but—” God? What if he doesn’t believe me? “—I love you. I do. Do you believe me?”
“And why wouldn’t I, when I’ve seen it shining from your eyes every time you look at me, from the glow that lights up your face whenever I walk into the room.” His fingertips found her face in the dark and lovingly stroked her cheeks, her chin. “And the virago who rescued me from the pit, with only her courage and a whiffletree bolt? How could I not believe how much that incredible woman loves me?”
“Oh.”
He stirred, then she felt his breath and the softest of kisses fluttered against each eye. “Someday you’ll have to tell me that story. But I think there’s something else you need to tell me first. Something that’s been eating you alive for years.”
“Yes.” She was never more grateful for darkness than now, when she was about to break a vow forced upon her by her husband on her wedding night, with the one man who more than anyone else on earth had earned the right to know. Yet she didn’t quite know how to turn the key in a lock rusted over with shame. “Did you ever wonder why after being married over five years, Chadwick and I never had children?”
“Yes, I wondered.” He gave her cheek a final pat, then settled on the lumpy mattress beside her, far enough away that they weren’t touching, close enough to reassure her of his presence. “I even made some discreet inquiries. You’ve had a rough time of it, haven’t you?”
“Everyone blamed me. They said I was barren, that I wasn’t even a woman—It doesn’t matter now.”
“I think it matters very much, because you believed them. I don’t. Why did you never have a child, Jocelyn? Go ahead, say it. Remember, nothing you reveal will surprise or shock me.”
A laugh bubbled up, then all of a sudden harsh sobs ripped through Jocelyn like the gash that had ripped open her leg—deep, wrenching cries that stole her breath. She couldn’t see, she couldn’t breathe, and the panic clawed her insides. “I…can’t…breathe….”
“Shh. I’m here, love. I’m here. Let it out, that’s it, just let all the hurt and anger and pain come out. You’ve held on to it for too long….”
She heard his voice, the deep bass tones lapping over her in gentle waves, felt the calm stroke of his hand, rubbing her arm, up and down, up and down so that gradually the frantic beat of her heart slowed, the racking sobs dwindled. A clean trickle of breath seeped into her lungs, then another, until shame no longer whirled like sharp knives around her.
“I never had a child, because Chadwick and I never—” She had to clear her throat, and when Micah pressed the bottle of water into her shaking hands she gulped it down, almost choking because she needed to say the words, needed to get the confession done. “We never sh-shared a bed. He was…he was—Micah, Chadwick preferred to spend his time…with other men. Oh, God forgive me. I promised I’d never tell. I promised.”
“Sweetheart, you’ve done nothing wrong. Nothing. I’d guessed, some weeks ago, about Chadwick. And the truth can’t hurt him now.”
“How can you love me? I wasn’t enough of a woman to help him. He told me that, over and over again. I was his wife, but I couldn’t help him. Now I’ve betrayed him, I revealed his secret. It was a secret, Micah.”
“It was a secret he had no right to inflict upon you, Jocelyn. As for your not being enough of a woman…” She could hear the throttled anger in his voice, but the hand stroking her arm with such tenderness never faltered. “That was a desperate lie foisted upon an innocent young girl, because he was a desperate man with no other place to go. His family never knew, I take it?”
“No. I was so full of shame, and there was nobody else to go to, nobody I could trust.”
“That’s why he killed himself, isn’t it?”
“Yes. He left a note, apologizing for ruining my life. He asked me to keep his secret so that his family wouldn’t be dishonored, and told me he’d put money in a bank in Scotland for me. He left instructions and promised I should be c-comfortable the rest of my life. But he told me to keep that a secret, as well, especially from his family. I think he was afraid of what they might do. I’ve been living off the interest.” Her throat was hot, and the wracking episode left her drained, emptied out, until all that was left was a hollow shell. “I never needed the largesse of the Binghams, or the Brocks. B-But I might have been wrong. Because I think Chadwick may have stolen that money—from Portia.”
She felt the shock ripple through Micah, though he only made an encouraging noise in his throat. “If I find out it’s true, I’ll have to think what to do. I don’t know…he stole it for me, not for himself. Micah, he wasn’t an evil man, no matter what he did. Just…a tortured one.”
“I’d never brand him as ‘evil,’ sweetheart. But ultimately he was a selfish man, living his way of life at your expense, then taking his own, leaving you to face the consequences alone.”
“I was far more unhappy living a lie with him, than I was living it after he died. I was a woman of independent means, beholden to nobody, because of those funds. Now—” she gulped noisily “—Katya might have more money than I do, if we discover that those funds were stolen.”
“Let’s not worry about those funds right now,” he said, very gently.
“You’re right, of course. ‘Sufficient unto the day?’ Isn’t it interesting? I haven’t read the Bible in years, yet lately all the verses I learned as a girl keep popping into my mind.” She was babbling, and with a watery sniffle gushed out the rest. “Even though he prob
ably stole from his own aunt—and, you may as well know, I find a certain ironic justice in that, considering what Portia really is—but even knowing those funds are probably tainted, I can’t be angry at Chadwick any longer. I don’t want you to be, either….”
“Mmm. Well, while we’re confessing, I’ll share that I do feel sorry for him, for the struggles he must have faced. But you’ll have to give me a while to forgive him for how the choices he made affected the young woman he had publicly vowed to love. To honor.”
Moving like an arthritic old woman, Jocelyn carefully shifted her aching leg. Without a word Micah eased closer, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Only then did she feel the last of the tension relinquish its choke hold, and a murmuring sigh slipped out as she rested her head against the comforting bulk of his chest. “Part of the reason I turned my back on God was because I couldn’t forgive Chadwick. I was so angry, for so long. I felt cheated, and betrayed. It poisoned my mind. It took years for me to realize that he, too, must have felt betrayed. He needed understanding, but—I wasn’t able to offer it. So I couldn’t forgive myself, either.”
She paused, gathering strength from the springlike rebirth God had breathed into her since she’d become reacquainted with Micah. “I suppose I knew forgiveness was the only way to heal. It doesn’t matter whether you feel like it, or that you don’t know how to go about it, or that the other person doesn’t deserve it. You still have to be willing to try. Until now, I didn’t care enough to make the effort. I wasn’t a very nice person, Micah.” She felt the growl in his chest, and hastily explained, “But I’m better now. I’m…trying to listen to God. He forgives us, doesn’t He? Even for what seems to be unforgivable?”
“We’ll discuss your ‘niceness’ later. But you’re right, about the forgiveness part. Asking for it’s the hard part. Or maybe…it’s believing you’ve received it. I’ll have to chew over that one myself.” He hugged her. “See? I don’t claim to have all the answers any longer.”
He sounded so comfortable with his own flawed humanity that Jocelyn found the courage to say, “If I hadn’t married Chadwick, we never would have met. And you wouldn’t have an inside informer to help solve this case.”
“Well, when you put it like that…”
Drowsy and almost at peace, Jocelyn closed her eyes and drifted into sleep, the steady rhythm of Micah’s heartbeat beneath her ear.
Heinrich returned sometime later, rousing Micah from the light doze he’d allowed himself. His arm was stiff because he hadn’t moved it, not wanting to disturb Jocelyn’s slumber. Compared to the suffering he’d endured while tied to that chair, holding the woman he loved was pure pleasure. Now, as the boy lit the candle and carefully placed it in a hollow space where one of the stones in the wall had fallen out, Micah eased away from her side. She murmured a little, but didn’t awaken as he lowered her into a more comfortable reclining position.
“We go soon,” Heinrich whispered. “Before light. Moeder has readied a bed, for the lady. And…I brought a cart, so you don’t have to carry her.”
“The police?”
“Still there. But the one on the corner is leaning against a telegraph pole. He is asleep.”
“Will you stay here, with Mrs. Tremayne, while I go have a quick look around myself? Mostly I just want to stretch my legs,” he added quickly, and Heinrich’s small face lost the defensiveness. “I’ll be back soon. Say, fifteen minutes? If Mrs. Tremayne should wake, would you reassure her? If you talk with her like you and I have talked, I’d appreciate it.” Watching the dark eyes in the candlelight, Micah offered his hand. “Agreed?” he asked, and after a moment the boy reluctantly thrust his hand out.
By his rough calculation, only fourteen minutes had elapsed by the time he reconnoitered the three-block landscape, verifying Heinrich’s report. A waning moon in the now-cloudless sky shone on the policemen’s ominous silhouettes. The one slacker continued to drowse against the telegraph pole. The others walked their beat, swinging their billy clubs with each step. Twice carriages rolled by on the street they’d have to cross to reach Riverside; in the distance Micah could hear the rattle and clatter of the Ninth Avenue El.
He returned to the cellar in thoughtful silence.
“Did you cover the hole?” Heinrich instantly demanded, not waiting for the answer as he shot up the steps to see for himself.
Smiling a little, Micah settled onto the floor beside Jocelyn; Heinrich returned, lit the candle and wriggled around Micah to Jocelyn’s side.
“Would you like some broth?” he asked her, his gaze openly adoring. “Chef François is the best in all of New York.”
“Thank you, Heinrich. I believe I would.” As he went to fetch it, she looked up at Micah with anxious eyes. “Is it safe for us to move? He warned me about the policemen.”
“What do you think, Heinrich?” Micah asked, as the boy offered Jocelyn the jar of beef broth, keeping his back to Micah.
The small body visibly relaxed. “We need to go while the policeman sleeps, I think.”
“I agree.” Micah exchanged a warm glance with Jocelyn. “Then as soon as Mrs. Tremayne finishes her broth, we’ll head out.” He watched her expression soften as she thanked Heinrich for the soup, watched her praise without patronizing his courage and ingenuity.
And the thought seared into Micah’s heart: this woman was meant to be a mother.
He loved her with every fiber of his being. But Micah didn’t know if he possessed the courage to wait in fearful agony for nine months, wondering if he would be forced to watch her life bleed away, or be told that his baby was not strong enough to live.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jocelyn remembered the journey as a series of wild fluctuations between nerve-shredding silences and noises that rattled her brain. The silent, moonlit night had become their enemy. Every creak of the crude, two-wheeled cart echoed like cannon shot, and Micah’s labored breaths hurt her almost as much as the pain in her leg. When they reached the shelter of the last building, her heart sank. The magnitude of their escape route lay before them in a wide swath of deserted avenue, with a lone figure plainly visible, propped against a telegraph pole.
Micah carefully lowered the handles, then straightened and flexed his shoulders before turning to lean over Jocelyn. “All right?” he mouthed, and she nodded.
Heinrich sidled up, his face a dirt-smeared oval with a jutting chin. “If the policeman sees you, I will…will—”
Micah’s hand curved over one narrow shoulder. “Divert him?” Heinrich nodded, and Jocelyn watched in bemused silence as Micah affectionately tugged the boy’s cap down over his eyes. “Take care of yourself, sprout. I’ll do my part.”
“Two blocks straight ahead, wait just inside Riverside Park, remember? I will meet you there.”
Before she could stop the gesture Jocelyn reached out, her fingers closing around an arm skinny as a broomstick handle. “Heinrich? Please be careful.”
He replied with the rude sound she deserved. “They won’t catch me. I will be there. Do not worry, Missus.”
And he disappeared into the night.
Hands braced on either side of the cart, Micah brought his face next to Jocelyn’s. “I love you,” he breathed. “This next stretch is probably going to hurt even more. Hold on, firefly.”
Before she could respond, he picked up the handles. When the sleeping policemen lurched upright, shouting as he pelted into the vacant lot behind them, Micah pulled the cart out of the shadows.
Halfway across the street, the policeman’s whistle blew.
Teeth rattling, Jocelyn clamped her hands over the sides of the cart, bracing herself to help Micah the only way she could. Fiery darts of pain exploded throughout her body. She ignored them. Over the noise of the cart and Micah’s labored pants, she heard more shouts from somewhere in the stygian depths of the abandoned shantytown.
Nobody ran toward her and Micah. Nobody ordered them to halt, or surrounded them and brandished their billy clubs in thei
r faces.
When they reached the other side of the street, Micah did not slow down or stop. To the north, hulking shapes of half-finished mansions loomed above a stretch of flat land and scrubby trees. Jocelyn heard the mournful wail of a ship steaming along the Hudson, the distant ululation of a train whistle. Dizzy from the pain, nauseated from the cart’s merciless jostling, she fixed her gaze on Micah’s straining silhouette, and prayed.
An interminable span of time later, all motion and noise abruptly ceased. Jocelyn forced her frozen fingers to relinquish their death grip on the rough sides of the cart. She would have spoken, but her mouth was too dry.
Slowly, Micah lowered the cart handles, then stood, hands dangling at his sides, head bowed, shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Beyond him the river flowed silvery-black beneath a star-splattered western sky.
And there, dashing toward them in the starlight, skinny arms waving in triumphant circles, was Heinrich.
When he reached them, Jocelyn watched with tears filling her eyes as Micah lifted the boy completely off his feet, then gathered him into a ferocious hug. For a brief instant, Heinrich dangled motionless, then his arms wrapped around Micah’s neck, and he laid his head on Micah’s shoulder.
Dawn was tiptoeing across the eastern horizon when they reached the shanty where Heinrich lived with his mother and four-year-old sister, Elfie.
“Moeder, they are here!” He scampered ahead to greet the woman who appeared in the doorway. She held up a hand lamp, which allowed Micah to maneuver the cart around a variety of objects Jocelyn once would have considered trash, to the entrance of what was now her home.
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