Love on the Mend (11 page)

He gently ran his hand over the lump at the back of the far side of her skull. The swelling had gone down a little. A good sign. He knew he just had to be patient and let God heal any swelling on the inside that he couldn’t see, but he longed to have her open her eyes again and renew her vow not to leave him.

Leaning forward, he brushed his lips over her forehead. “I love you, Mollie.” He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of her hair, her skin.

“I love you, too.”

Jacob started. His eyes flew open. Mollie blinked at him, her beautiful dark hazel eyes glowing with a clarity that sent relief surging through his chest. She was going to recover.

“I love you, Jacob Sadler,” she repeated. Then her lips curved into a smile so sweet it made his teeth ache. “And if you promise to help me pick blackberries for Adam once my head stops pounding, I’ll promise not to climb any more trees once we’re married.”

Jacob grinned. “Deal.” He bent down and touched his lips to hers to seal their pledge. The gentle contact sent waves of triumph gushing through his veins.

She loved him, and she’d just vowed to be his wife. True, it had been a rather unorthodox proposal, since he’d thought her unconscious at the time. But she’d agreed, and he aimed to hold her to it.

As he dropped tender kisses on her eyebrows and forehead and drew a line of them down to her jaw, he silently made vows of his own. Vows to protect her, to cherish her, to give her the family she’d never had: in-laws who would adore her—Darius and Nicole Thornton
would welcome Mollie with open arms, of that he had no doubt; children of their own to nurture and love; and an uncle they would share a life with, free of bitterness or grudges. He owed that much to Mollie. Shoot, he owed it to himself. But perhaps most of all, he owed it to God who’d found a way to mend the broken pieces of his life and taught him to love again.

Keep reading for a special sample of
A Worthy Pursuit
by Karen Witemeyer.

Excerpt from
A Worthy Pursuit

Prologue

F
EBRUARY
1891
A
USTIN
, T
EXAS
S
ULLIVAN
’
S
A
CADEMY
FOR
E
XCEPTIONAL
Y
OUTHS

“I’m closing the school, Miss Atherton, and that’s my final word on the subject.” Dr. Keith Sullivan closed the attendance ledger on his desk with an ominous snap and pushed to his feet, forcing Charlotte to stand, as well. “I’ve sent wires to all the students’ parents, informing them of the closure and offering to reimburse a percentage of the tuition to compensate them for the inconvenience of ending the school term earlier than expected.”

A reimbursement of funds? From the man who’d refused to purchase a single new text in the last five years? It was all Charlotte could do to keep her jaw from coming unhinged. There must be another source of income—one large enough to overshadow the loss of tuition. Dr. Sullivan charged exorbitant fees for his exclusive school. Only the most noteworthy students were accepted into the small academy—unless, of course, a particularly wealthy family sought entry for one of their children. In that case, a well-placed donation seemed to make up for any lack in giftedness. Charlotte could only imagine how large a donation would have to be to convince him to close the school entirely.

Backing out of the way as her employer strode around his desk, Charlotte fiddled with the cameo at her neck, then marched after him. “What of Stephen Farley? His parents are in Europe. They couldn’t possibly collect him before we close the doors. And John Chang is an orphan here on scholarship. He has no place to go.”

She paid the Chinese boy’s tuition herself out of her monthly stipend and had for the last three years. She’d fought to get him into the school after one of the women from St. Peter’s Foundling Home had brought him to her attention. John had been only four at the
time, but when he’d climbed onto the worn bench of the secondhand piano in the orphanage parlor and flawlessly picked out every note of Fanny Crosby’s “Safe in the Arms of Jesus,” she’d known she had to tutor the boy. God had bestowed a rare gift on the child and placed him in her path for a reason. She couldn’t have him torn away from her now.

“Arrangements have been made for them to board at St. Peter’s.”

Charlotte fought down the protest tearing at her throat. Stephen wouldn’t last a day there with his penchant for finding trouble. And John. Dear heaven. The boy had been picked on mercilessly by the other children because of his foreign heritage, even as a toddler. He’d been so traumatized, he hadn’t spoken a word for months after coming to the academy. He was still much too withdrawn for Charlotte’s liking. No telling how far the boy would retreat into himself if he were forced to return to St. Peter’s.

And what of Lily? Ice shards speared Charlotte’s heart as a new, more sinister possibility cast its shadow over Dr. Sullivan’s bizarre behavior.

“Miss Dorchester will stay with me, of course,” Charlotte asserted, any other contingency being untenable.

Dr. Sullivan pivoted to face her. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Atherton. You are headmistress, not mother, to these children, regardless of that piece of paper Rebekah Dorchester had you sign. Lily will return to her grandfather where she belongs. He plans to be here in the morning to collect her. You,” he said with a suddenly beneficent smile that did nothing to thaw the ice impaling her chest, “will surely find a new position in record time. Here.” He pulled a paper from a thin stack of folders in his arms. “I’ve taken the liberty of putting together a list of potential employers for you. These are some of the finest female academies in the country.”

Charlotte took the paper from his hand and willed her own hand not to quiver. “Chicago. Boston. Charleston.” Her eyes continued down the list. “All so far away.”

Dr. Sullivan beamed at her. “You are a brilliant music instructor, Miss Atherton, and have proven yourself quite capable at administration, as well. I’ve already sent glowing letters of recommendation to each of these institutions. Any of them would be lucky to have you.”

But none of them would accept her if she had a child in tow.

Charlotte glanced up from the page to meet her employer’s eyes—not a difficult task since the man stood an inch below her in height. Neither was it difficult to read the guilt behind his smile. The list of prestigious schools, letters of recommendation, unnecessary compliments—all appeasements for his conscience. He knew how unlikely the staff were to find replacement positions mid-term, just as he knew how wrong it was to turn his back on the pupils he’d promised to educate. Yet he was closing the school anyway. Closing the school and narrowing her options so that she had no choice but to give Lily Dorchester into her grandfather’s keeping if she wished to retain a teaching position.

Well, he might think he’d herded her like a heifer into a chute, but if she’d learned one thing in her twenty-eight years, she’d learned that even when backed into a corner, one always had a choice.
Always.

After Dr. Sullivan nodded to her in that condescending way of his that always made her skin itch—as if she hadn’t a brain for herself and would be lost without a man to give her guidance—he swung the office door wide and gestured for her to exit. Biting her tongue, Charlotte passed through the doorway and silently resolved to toss his list of schools into the belly of her stove the moment she returned to her room. Her career could be sacrificed easily enough. Protecting Lily took precedence.

With the dark of night cloaking the halls of the school, Charlotte placed her two carpet bags outside her door and gave a final glance over her room. The rug lay properly aligned with the angle of the floorboards. No stray papers across the desk. No wrinkles in the coverlet atop the bed. All as it should be. She gave a little nod of approval, a nod that would have to serve as good-bye, as well, for she would not be returning. She’d been at the academy for seven years—five as music instructor, two as headmistress. A tiny part of her ached for the loss of the familiar, the safe. Yet she had no time for sentimental attachment. She’d made a promise—a promise she intended to keep, no matter the cost.

Straightening her shoulders, Charlotte turned her back and pulled the door closed, clicking the latch silently into place. Then, careful to stay on the balls of her feet so her heels wouldn’t click against the wooden floor, she made her way to the staircase that led to the boys’
dormitory. She crept up the stairs and then down the hall, easing open the door to the sleeping chamber.

“Stephen,” she whispered into the darkness, her eyes not yet adjusted to the full-black of the attic room.

“Here, Miss Lottie.”

Charlotte sucked in a startled breath. Heavens, the boy was practically on top of her. How could she not see him? She pivoted her head in the direction of the sound and squinted until she made out two small shadows a few steps from her elbow.

“John’s with me.”

A telltale rattle had Charlotte gritting her teeth. “Stephen,” she scolded in a hushed tone as she ushered the boys into the hall and closed the door, “you were supposed to leave that paraphernalia behind.”

“I only brought the essentials, Miss Lottie. I swear. Just like you said.” The boy clutched the sack to his chest and glared up at her. One would think he carried gold coins in that bag, not a collection of gears, bolts, and baling wire. “I can’t leave them behind. Miss Greenbriar will throw them in the garbage.”

Where they undoubtedly belonged. Nevertheless, Charlotte couldn’t deny the boy his treasures. With absentee parents who couldn’t be bothered to visit or even write, heaven knew the boy had little enough to call his own.

“All right. But keep them quiet. We can’t afford to wake any of the staff.”

Some of the rigidity left his shoulders, and he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Satisfied, she pivoted to face the door to the girls’ dormitory on the opposite side, yet her feet refused to cross the hall.

Drat it all. She hated second thoughts. Horrible, impractical things. It wasn’t as if she were stealing the children, after all. She was protecting them. So why did she suddenly feel like a villain? Charlotte huffed out an impatient breath. This is what came of sneaking about at night. It made perfectly innocent activities furtive and played havoc with her carefully laid plans.

Unable to break free of her misgivings, she took hold of both boys’ arms, then hunkered down in front of them. Stephen looked down at her, a frown tugging on the corners of his mouth.

“Whatcha waitin’ for, Miss Lottie? We gotta get Lily. Mr. Dobson’s waitin’ on us.”

“I’m not sure that taking the two of you with me is right. Perhaps St. Peter’s is the better option. The safer option.”

John slipped his hand into hers and squeezed with a desperate strength. “Stay with you.”

It tore her heart out to think of leaving him behind, but if Dorchester somehow discovered where she’d taken Lily . . .

Stephen crossed his arms and glared down at her. “I’m not stupid, Miss Lottie. I know something’s up or you wouldn’t be sneaking us out in the middle of the night. But I’m tellin’ you right now that if you take me to that orphanage, I’ll run away. I’m nearly twelve, plenty old enough to find work as a stable hand or errand boy for one of the local shops. But I’d rather stay with you and the little ones. Lily and John need a big brother to look out for them.”

“But your parents—”

“My folks don’t care two figs about me, never have,” Stephen scoffed, shrugging as if such an admission were as insignificant a disappointment as not getting a second helping of pudding after supper. “Only reason I’m here is ’cause they love bragging to their friends about their son being at a school for exceptional youths, even if the only thing exceptional about me is my father’s bank account. I know I’m not as special as Lily or John or most of the others, but when you gave me that book about Thomas Edison and Samuel Morse, I realized that maybe if I learned enough, I could grow up to do something important like one of those inventors. That’s why I need to stay with you, Miss Lottie. You’re the only one who believes I’m worth the trouble.”

Without a hint of a second thought, Charlotte pulled Stephen into her arms and hugged him tight as she blinked away the moisture gathering in her eyes. “You
are
gifted, Stephen. Don’t you ever doubt it. Lily has her books, John has the piano, but you understand mechanical things in a way that boggles my mind.” She released him and stood, brushing away the wrinkles from her gored skirt along with the last of her misgivings. “I suppose we’ll just have to write your parents to let them know where you are after we get settled. We can’t allow your education to lag just because Dr. Sullivan closed his school, now, can we?”