All in Good Time (24 page)

Reverend Sempkins nodded. “I do recall those days when one alderman or another tried to shut down the gambling halls. Mr. Foster was the biggest protestor. I suppose having a haven like Pierson House is a reminder of virtue he’d most like forgotten.”

There was a general murmur of agreement with the suspicion, which Mrs. Naracott likely didn’t miss.

“Well,” she said, “I’m willing to overlook what happened this time. If everyone else is.”

So support remained intact for Pierson House, but the benefit was not to be. Dessa was too relieved over having retained the trust of the donors—however shaken—to mourn the loss of whatever added funds a benefit at the Verandah might have brought in. She’d made the first payment on her loan and somehow, even without the Plumsteads’ help, she would make the second and the third and every payment thereafter until the entire debt was freed.

Soon after the meeting ended, Mr. Hawkins escorted Dessa out of the church. If she wasn’t mistaken about the lack of tension on his face, he was relieved to have it over as well.

“I wish to thank you for all you’ve done, Mr. Hawkins,” she said. “Not only for showing your support here today, but arranging to have the posters removed. I am once again—or should I say more deeply—in your debt.”

“It was Reverend Sempkins who made the most difference, I believe. If you’d lost his support after last night’s disaster, I think today’s meeting might have ended differently.”

She swallowed hard at the reminder.

“Now it’s I who should apologize.”

She spared a quick glance. “Why?”

“For even bringing up last night. An evening best forgotten.”

Dessa nodded. “Yes, I agree. I’m trying to do that myself.”

At his carriage, he stopped short while the others boarded with his driver’s assistance. “I wonder, Miss Caldwell,” he said, so low she was sure only she could hear him, “if we might have a word. Privately.”

“Yes, of course.”

With both hands on his walking stick, he leaned slightly forward but looked to the side rather than directly at her face.

“I’d like to reissue the invitation to my dinner party.” His gaze briefly shot to hers, then eluded her again. “Now that you have that evening free.”

Warmth circled her heart, settling in comfortably. “Yes, I’d like that, Mr. Hawkins.” She turned to the waiting carriage but stopped to face him again. “Thank you for everything you’ve done to help me. Considering . . . everything . . . I’m very appreciative.”

“Everything?”

The heat of a blush rose to her cheeks. “Only that you weren’t initially in favor of Pierson House. Your support now means that much more.”

His gaze lingered on her, and she wondered what he was thinking. He always looked so serious that she was afraid she would never be able to guess at his thoughts. Perhaps, despite his support today, he didn’t really believe in her mission. He did, after all, have a vested interest in keeping the donors happy.

But he only tipped his hat her way without another word for or against her assumption of his sympathies. He offered her assistance into his carriage; then after his driver closed them all inside, both Mr. Hawkins and the driver hopped up top to take them back to Pierson House.

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.’”

28

THE SOUND
of crying woke Dessa from a fitful doze. Opening her eyes, it took her a moment to spot the source of those tears. They came from a small figure in the corner of the porch, who sniffed with shaking shoulders as if to hold back yet a deeper torrent of tears.

“Nadette?” Dessa looked around the dimly lit porch. Only half a moon reflected any light tonight, but it took no more than that to see Nadette was alone. “What’s happened?”

“Got caught.” She wiped at her nose with the back of her hand, but more tears followed.

Dessa stood, holding out a hand for the child. Thankfully, Nadette didn’t resist. Dessa led her into the kitchen, where she turned up the gas lighting.

“Nadette!” One look at the girl and Dessa turned her to face her fully. One side of her face was bruised, and there was blood on the hand Dessa held. “What happened to you?”

“Aw, nothin’. Not to me. But to Liling . . . If they guess what we were really tryin’ to do, she’s done for.”

Dessa eyed her closely, turning her face toward the light attached to the wall. “Don’t tell me nothing happened to you. Your face is bleeding.”

“So’s my knee. I fell on some stones back of the China Palace.”

“Let me see.”

Nadette sat in one of the kitchen chairs and pulled up her
ragged skirt. It wasn’t just her knee; the girl had shredded her skin from knee to ankle. Speckles of dirt dimmed the shine of the blood spattered from top to bottom of her shin.

Without a word, Dessa returned to the porch for the large metal tub she and the other residents of Pierson House used for bathing. Filling the tub in the curtained corner of the kitchen was easier than hauling up water to any one of the bedrooms since the water closet upstairs didn’t have hot water.

“I don’t need no bath—”

“Yes, Nadette, you do. And I’m going to throw away that dress you’re wearing while you’re soaking. I’ll find something upstairs, and I won’t take no for an answer.”

Before long Dessa had enough warm water to fill the tub and pulled the curtain to provide the girl with some privacy. “Don’t soak too long, though,” she instructed from the other side of the curtain. “And I want you to come back tomorrow so we can give that leg a salt bath, once the skin has a chance to heal a bit. It’ll help, but would hurt too much tonight. Now give me that dress.”

Nadette handed over the remains of the dress, and Dessa threw it on the porch before hastening upstairs to the charity box. The dress closest to Nadette’s size was a drab shade of brown, but it was a vast improvement over what she’d been wearing.

“Oh, that’s a fine dress, Miss Caldwell!” Nadette called from the bath, once Dessa had draped it over the rope holding up the curtain. A few moments later Dessa heard the girl emerge from the water and dry herself. Nadette soon stepped out from behind the curtain. The gown was too large, the sleeves too long and a bit baggy, but she was modestly covered, cleaner and neater than the way she’d looked before.

“Sit down, and I’ll braid your hair,” Dessa said.

“I been thinkin’,” Nadette said as she plopped onto a chair. “If I can find out where they took her, we can try again tomorrow.”

Dessa wasn’t so sure. “I admire that you want to help, Nadette. But if it’s dangerous, I don’t think you should do anything. Perhaps Liling is the best person to help, on her own.”

Nadette turned her head so quickly Dessa dropped the girl’s braid. “Ya ain’t changed yer mind, have ya? ’Cause I haven’t! And what’s more, I think I’m gonna need
yer
help to get her away.”

Dessa resumed the braiding, ignoring very real and increasing misgivings. She wanted to help; it was no less than her duty. But to get involved in sneaking the girl away . . . That was something she hadn’t intended doing.

“It woulda worked tonight if I’d a had somebody to keep the guy busy who’s watchin’ her. They let Liling in to see her, but soon as they tried to get out, the guy nabbed her. Only good thing is they might not know Liling was going to take her away, really away, and not just back to her room like she said.”

“They didn’t see you, then?”

“Oh yeah, they did. The one who’s guarding Mei Mei’s door scared me right good with all kinds of yelling when I come by. I don’t know what he said, but it weren’t nothin’ I’d like to know, I guess. He looked ’bout to bite me before he hit me. That’s why I ran, and that’s why I fell.”

“Why do you think they’ll move her, if they haven’t guessed what Liling is up to?”

“’Cause they already moved her once, when somebody tried sneakin’ into her room to get at her ahead a time, not two hours after they brought her back from the train. She’s awful pretty. Enough to make them Chinamen crazy.”

Dessa sighed. “If they’re going to illegally import women, why don’t they do it for wives instead of . . . well, instead of this? That’s the trouble—there just aren’t enough respectable Chinese women here. If there were, none of this would be happening.”

Nadette laughed. “Ya think so? Then why are there so many
gals at places like Miss Leola’s? The railroad brought plenty a white families out here from back East, but there’s still men who just want a wife for a night. Them Chinamen ain’t no different.”

So, this child had something to teach Dessa, after all.

“If they ain’t moved her, or if they done that and I find out where, will ya still help? Do more’n just takin’ her in? I can’t get too close, or they’ll think right away somethin’s up. We hafta send in somebody they don’t know. Like you.”

Some small voice inside told Dessa to go to the authorities, to seek help and handle this wisely. But how could a city that turned its back on the obvious ills of prostitution and opium dens, even the wide practice of gambling, possibly be of any help? She already knew there was a shameful lack of concern when it came to whatever went on in the Chinese neighborhood called Hop Alley.

But it was one thing to harbor the girl, quite another to steal her from those who must consider her their property. And yet that very thought quelled some of Dessa’s fears. What was the right thing to do? Let the girl be offered up for the sake of someone’s profit?

“Yes, Nadette. I’ll help.”