27
IN THE DAYS that followed, Dessa kept herself busier than ever in a vain attempt to forget her most recent mistake. Through Mariadela, she’d arranged to provide several restaurants with a variety of pies and muffins to sell to their patrons. She also provided a steady supply of cookies to Mariadela’s store, where they were becoming increasingly popular.
Unfortunately, creating baked goods she could concoct in her sleep did little to make the days pass quickly—days she was tempted to count until Mr. Hawkins’s dinner party. As much as she’d tried ignoring the unbidden feelings developing for him, she knew she couldn’t.
Still, she couldn’t help but call herself foolish for not fighting harder to banish her thoughts of him, let alone allowing herself the hope of spending time in his company. The struggle reminded Dessa that as much as she wanted to follow in Sophie’s footsteps, she did not have the same gift of undivided focus on God and the task He’d assigned her. She truly did still hope to earn a man’s love someday. Not just any man’s. Henry Hawkins’s.
But how, if she could not be honest about her past? Mr. Hawkins, I hope you don’t think me forward, but there is something you ought to know about me. . . . Mr. Hawkins, I hope I’m not misunderstanding your intentions, but there really is something I ought to share. . . . Mr. Hawkins . . .
Oh! Nothing sounded right. How could she admit that although Sophie Pierson had rescued her from public ruin, that ruin was nothing less than secretly complete?
But she was the first to tell women like Remee that God had forgiven them of anything in their past. Wasn’t the same true for Dessa?
And so, even while her mind still cried caution, she fought less and less those dreams of getting to know Henry Hawkins better. He’d already provided the next occasion to do so.
Mariadela supplied an answer to the one dilemma Dessa faced in having accepted his invitation. She eagerly offered the loan of a ready-made gown hanging on a mannequin at the store, a copy of a gown designed in Paris. Lacy sleeves of cream satin displayed swirls of beaded black circles, completed by delicate black striping along the bodice that cascaded down the full skirt all the way to the floor. It was a gown Dessa had noticed when Mariadela first hung it for show—never imagining she would one day alter it to fit herself.
Those alterations were nearly complete, but today she had an order for a half-dozen pies. Finishing the gown would have to wait.
“Miss Caldwell!” The sound came from the backyard, through the open door from the porch. “Miss Caldwell!”
Dessa welcomed the interruption to her thoughts. She set aside the lemon cream that she would add to the four pie shells cooling on the table and went to the back door, spotting Nadette and calling her in.
“Would you like a couple of cookies? I have two different kinds ready for delivery to the store. Gingersnap and shortbread. I can offer you some milk, too—”
“Miss Caldwell! Stop!” Nadette waved both hands in front of her frantically. “I can’t think of food right now. You promised to help me, remember?” She looked over Dessa’s shoulder at the empty kitchen as if to be sure they were alone. “Liling’s sister, ya know? You’ll still help, won’t ya?”
Now it was Dessa’s turn to glance nervously over her shoulder, even though she knew both Remee and Jane were in the dining room, sewing table linens.
“Yes, I remember. What I don’t understand is why you want to help so much, Nadette. I thought you approved of working girls?”
“If they’re paid! They don’t pay Liling, and they ain’t gonna pay her sister nothin’ neither. It ain’t fair, is all. Ya ain’t changed yer mind, have ya?”
“No.” Her hesitation to get involved in a culture she knew nothing about wasn’t enough to stop this wrong if she could. “Just so long as you understand I’m getting involved to save her from prostitution. Not so she can branch out on her own to make money.”
“She ought to be the one to make that choice, don’t ya think? ’Stead a bein’ forced?”
Dessa nodded, although if she succeeded, the girl wouldn’t ever have to make such a choice. “Has she arrived?”
“They got word she’s on the train comin’ in today.” She blew a disgusted puff of air through her thin lips. “With a escort to keep her intact, if ya know what I mean. It’s like keepin’ a man bound for the noose healthy enough to climb the steps to the rope. The sale of her first time is set for tomorrow. You know how much money they’re gonna make offa her? And she won’t see a cent, not a red cent! So Liling wants to sneak her away right off—tonight. I’ll bring ’em both here, but I don’t know what time. It’ll be in the middle of the night, though. Ya sure no one else’ll tell? I don’t trust that Miss Remee no more. Nobody can know she’s here, Miss Caldwell. Nobody.”
“She’ll be safe here, Nadette. I promise you that.”
Nadette nodded. “Okay, then. Tonight.” She started to turn away, but stopped. “Can ya be out here, on the porch? All night, so you can let us in? I don’t wanna have to throw stones at yer window in case somebody sees us. Never know who’ll be out around here while the sun’s still down. Can ya be waitin’ for us?”
“Yes. I’ll be right here on the porch. All night, if necessary.”
“Henry?”
He looked up from the papers on his desk, papers he must pretend had held his attention. He hadn’t produced more than fifteen minutes of work in the entire hour since he’d arrived in his office. The fact that it was not only Miss Caldwell but a worn edition of a Bible left behind by his father that had held his attention was something he wasn’t ready to share—even with Tobias, who was likely to welcome either subject.
Going to church these past couple of weeks had stirred something in Henry he hadn’t felt in years. All this time he’d been convinced his business success had been undeserved. Striving to alleviate his guilt, paying back the money—none of that had worked.
But if Reverend Sempkins was right, forgiveness was as undeserved as Henry’s success had been. He was just beginning to realize that was what made it a gift.
Henry sat back in his chair as Tobias entered.
“I wonder if we could talk for a few minutes?”
“If it’s about the Fieldhurst inheritance case, we can’t release the funds to that overeager nephew until all the paperwork has been—”
“No, no,” said Tobias as he took one of the chairs opposite Henry. He was frowning even though recently the man had been as giddy as a child. Henry guessed his uncle felt quite proud of himself lately—ever since Henry’s feelings for Miss Caldwell had become too obvious to miss. If going to church hadn’t given him away, defending Miss Caldwell to the donors had sealed it. “It’s personal. About my sister. Your mother.”
He skipped a breath. “Is she well?” He’d made it clear long ago that he did not want to talk about his mother, so something must be wrong for his uncle to break that rule.
“She’s fine, fine.”
“And the store? She’s still having that family—what was their name? Owen?—run things for her?”
“It’s all fine, Henry.” A hint of impatience clouded those few words.
“Then what is it?” Henry matched Tobias’s curtness. He knew he was the worst sort of son—an absent one—something he didn’t appreciate being reminded of.
“I’ve invited her to your investors’ dinner.” Pulling a piece of paper from his pocket, he held it up. It had been folded, like a letter. “And she’s accepted.”
Henry’s heart thumped against his chest wall, not fast, just hard. Surprisingly, the notion of seeing his mother again produced less dread than anticipation. His absence from her wasn’t for lack of love; he wanted to see her.
And yet, what would he say when he did? Would he tell her why he’d stayed away all these years? Didn’t she have a right to know?
But knowing . . . that might be worse than simply having a neglectful son.
With thoughts too heavy to sort, he looked down again at his desk as if he would return to work. Though he spared a glance, he could not make his gaze meet his uncle’s. “Thank you, Tobias.”
Tobias’s bushy brows shot up his forehead. “What’s that you say?”
If Henry’s spirits weren’t so torn he might have laughed at Tobias’s obvious shock. “I said, ‘Thank you.’”