Mail Order Devastation (Montana Mail Order Brides, Book 4) Page 11

  He stopped three doors down and entered the door of what Mollie knew to be a purveyor of fine men’s suits. She couldn’t very well follow him in. It was true, she could go in on the excuse of needing some small extravagance for Noah, but she would attract more attention than she wanted.

  Then inspiration struck. She whirled about and walked the opposite way, past Sanders’ Mercantile. She noticed the grand carriage parked just past the mercantile, which she recognized as Mr. Deming’s. I’ll walk ahead, and make sure I’m at the cross street where I lost him the last time. Then I can follow him to his home. It’s perfect!

  The only problem was…how fast should she walk? Was he in the shop getting measured for a new suit, or just to pick up a finished one? Did he have more shopping to do, or somewhere else to be? Alright, perhaps the plan isn’t perfect, but it’s the best one I’ve got.

  She settled on a normal pace, hoping she wasn’t making the wrong choice. If she got to the intersection too soon, she’d just circle the block. There was a slight risk she’d miss him, but she couldn’t imagine just sitting there in the cold. Sooner or later a man would come by asking if she needed help.

  At least I don’t look like a servant now, she thought, glancing down at the green wool skirt that peeked out from beneath the heavy, well-cut black coat, which Noah had urged her to purchase. She had five new dresses now, which seemed like such an extravagance. She had resisted Lettie’s insistence on a new wardrobe, until Noah had joined in, insisting that she “deserved” it. Then Lettie had later mentioned that she’d embarrass Noah if she showed up at his shop again in her worn dress, as she did on her first visit to the shop. So Mollie had purchased the new dresses, along with the new coat and a few other “necessities”, as Lettie put it.

  The dress and coat would never be mistaken for top quality, or as a symbol of wealth, but was suitable for a shopkeeper’s wife, and were undoubtedly the finest garments Mollie had ever owned. Although it had been hard for Mollie, spending so much money on herself, she was glad for it as she strolled down the sidewalk—there was little chance someone would mistake her for a vagrant or thief, and telephone the police station to report her for loitering. Still…she didn’t want to take a chance by standing in front of a home for longer than necessary.

  She neared the intersection several minutes later, slowing her pace. She glanced behind, but the only vehicle approaching was a wagon. She walked even slower. When she got to the cross street, she put her basket down and down and took off her gloves, tucking them under her arm while she pretended to adjust her hat, pinning and repinning it multiple times. Then she took a long time putting her gloves back on.

  Wagons and buggies passed, but she paid them no mind. There were no sleighs out, as the streets had worn away the few inches of snow, leaving muddy ruts which had frozen hard into place.

  At last, when she could stall no longer, she picked up her basket and prepared to cross the street. A glance over her shoulder startled her—there he was!

  The elegant black carriage overtook her, turning right, just in front of her. She turned as well, walking briskly, and making note of the street as the carriage slowed two blocks down, and turned left. She picked up her pace as the carriage disappeared around the corner. By the time she reached that corner, the carriage was nearly a block down, slowing and turning right into a drive. She couldn’t tell exactly which house, but there was a hedge just beyond the carriage…which she watched disappear between two houses in the distance.

  One foot slid, and she almost lost her balance and fell on the ice. She needed to watch her footing, or she’d be stranded with a sprained ankle on the sidewalk. Her chest felt tight as she struggled to breathe against her restrictive new corset, the icy air stinging her lungs. Her breath was visible, coming in misty puffs, and she wished she had remembered the new scarf, which matched her new wool bonnet.

  As she approached the area where the carriage had disappeared, she examined the driveways of the two suspected homes. There! The next house had a hedge just past its driveway. She looked up, examining the home of what she assumed must be the Demings.

  Nell’s home.

  No! Not Nell’s home. She lives here right now, but it’s not her home. Her home is with me. She struggled to breathe, and blinked back hot tears. Every instinct had her at the ready to rush headlong into the home, demanding her precious baby. She couldn’t bear a single moment more apart, now that she knew where her dear Nell was. Mere yards away, her daughter awaited.

  But no. She couldn’t do that—it would lead to certain disappointment. It must be handled properly. The Demings had to understand her plight, or else they wouldn’t understand just why Nell belonged with a former kitchen maid instead of a rich couple like themselves. She couldn’t ask Noah to fund a legal battle—it was too much to ask of any man, especially on top of asking him to become the father to another man’s baby. No, she had to appeal to the Demings’ sense of honor, and avoid the risk of turning to the court system.

  She swallowed over the lump in her throat, then forced her feet—which felt like lead blocks—to move one after another, carrying her forward.

  Chapter 16

  Mollie closed the short, wrought iron gate behind her, then made her way up the neatly-shoveled brick walk. She climbed the set of curved brick steps which led up to the massive mahogany doors, then twisted the ornate key-like knob of the doorbell. Beyond the door, she could hear its shrill ring.

  She set her market basket down, and waited.

  A moment later, an older man in a sharply-pressed black suit answered the door. “May I help you?”

  “I…I…I’d like to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Deming, please.”

  The balding man took in her appearance in one swift sweep of the eyes, and puckered his lips in a subtle expression of dismissal. “And who are you?”

  “I’m Mollie. Mollie Quinn—I mean, Mollie Jamison.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Which is it—Quinn or Jamison?”

  “Jamison, now.” She felt her legs tremble, and she prayed that her knees wouldn’t give out. “I recently married.”

  “Thank you for that important information.” His expression didn’t change, but the tone was politely belligerent. “And the Demings know you from…?”

  “We haven’t had the pleasure of meeting, but we are connected through someone very dear to them. Tell them I’m from Boston.”

  He remained skeptical. “I believe Mr. and Mrs. Deming are indisposed at the moment, but I’ll check. May I bring them your calling card?”

  “I…” She knew of such formalities, but the formal practice was not one that the neighbors and friends from her old neighborhood took part in. They had all known each other well, and would have scoffed at such a waste of time—everyone answered their own doors, and if a child answered, your presence would be announced with a yell of your name, followed by a chastening by the parent. “I’m afraid I left my card case at home.”

  “Of course.” His tone indicated he knew the truth. He hesitated, looking beyond Mollie, as if to size up the outdoor climate. “Very well, come in.”

  She stepped inside, and the butler shut the door behind her.

  “Wait here,” he stated, firmly, his eyes boring into her. “I’ll find out if Mr. and Mrs. Deming are at home.”

  Mollie knew very well that Mr. Deming was at home, and suspected that the man knew it as well, but she nodded, succumbing to the whims of the great household.

  He walked past the grand staircase, through the central hallway that Mollie knew would lead to the back of the house leaving Mollie feeling alone and small in the large foyer.

  To her left, a large grandfather clock ticked the time away. The ticking echoed off the high ceilings and polished tile floor, and was the only sound she could hear over her own heartbeat and rapid breathing. She looked around, talking in the embossed wallpaper, the large oil paintings, the gold-leafed crown molding. In the corner, a high-backed chair finished in tufted burgundy velvet look
ed inviting—Mollie’s feet ached in her shoes—but she didn’t dare incite the wrath of the rigid butler. After the Farnsworth house, she knew too well how domineering some butlers could be.

  A few moments later, she was surprised to see Mr. Deming appear. He didn’t walk with the same near-aristocratic air as the born-and-bred Brahmin family that she’d worked for in Boston. But he still held the air of a man of wealth and privilege. His dark hair was fixed neatly into place with a generous amount of hair oil, and his mustache was trimmed to perfection. He had shed his black coat and hat, and wore only a dark grey suit, with sharp creases pressed into the trouser legs.

  “I’m told I have a visitor from Boston?” His tone was curiously amused, but as he got closer, she could see his confusion, tinged with disappointment. “Forgive me, but I don’t think I recognize you. Have we met before?”

  “No, Mr. Deming, I haven’t had the pleasure. But I’ve heard a lot about you. And we have a close connection.”

  He nodded, but his expression was doubtful. “As Jefferson said. And what might that be?”

  Mollie glanced beyond him. “Is Mrs. Deming joining us? It would be easier to explain it with her here, I think.” She didn’t want to have to go through the whole embarrassing ordeal twice. And she wanted to see Nell, desperately.

  He shook his head. “She’s unable to join us at the moment. What can I do for you, Mrs. Jamison?”

  “I…” her heart beat against her ribcage, and she swallowed with great difficulty. Her tongue felt like dry, cracked leather. “I’m Nell’s mother.”

  He blinked.

  The clock ticked on in the silence of the hall.

  Is he going to throw me out? Or pretend he doesn’t have Nell? Could Mrs. Deming have taken Nell back to Boston? A million thoughts sped through her brain in the blink of an eye—hundreds of possibilities of disaster.

  Instead, he raised an eyebrow, and spoke. “Nell? I’m sorry; I don’t think I’m acquainted with anyone named Nell. And you’re a bit young to be the mother of anyone I associate with.” He laughed then, amused at what he must have thought was some kind of mistake on Mollie’s part. Then the laughter died away, the smile wiped from his face as it took on a mask of shock.

  And he knew.

  “Do you mean Cordelia? Dear God, are you Cordelia’s mother? The Irish servant girl, from Boston? That’s not possible. She’s dead.”

  Cordelia. Cordelia? The room began to swim before her eyes. “You…you changed her name?” She felt a hand on her elbow.

  “Please, come sit down in the drawing room. Jefferson?” he called over his shoulder. “Bring us some tea.”

  “Yes, sir.” The man had appeared, responded, and disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  “Her name is Nell,” Mollie mumbled as she felt herself guided into the wide doorway to the right, and to a nearby settee.

  What kind of a name is Cordelia? Not a name she would have considered in a million years. It hit her, then, just how different Nell’s life had been in the intervening months since she’d been stolen. Will she even recognize me? Or will my face be that of a stranger to her? The possibility had never occurred to her.

  “There, there. It seems you’ve had a shock. Jefferson will be here with some tea in just a moment.” He sat beside her on the settee.

  “I’m sorry. I just…I didn’t expect…”

  “My dear, I’m afraid there’s been some kind of misunderstanding. Our daughter couldn’t possibly be the daughter you’re looking for. The mother of our daughter died.”

  “No, I didn’t. I’m alive and well, as you can see. There was a…a misunderstanding. You see—”

  “How did you find us?” he interrupted. “The nuns assured us the details of the adoption would be confidential. In fact, they don’t even know we’re in Montana, as far as I know.”

  Mollie didn’t want to cause trouble for the nuns, and even less so for the kitchen maid who had disclosed the Demings’ location. “It’s no one’s fault—I stole a look at the ledger when Sister was out of the room. And I learned of your trip here from…a neighbor of yours.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that, probably questioning the notion of any of his neighbors conversing at all with a disgraced kitchen maid, much less divulging his whereabouts to her.

  “And you traveled all this way…by yourself?”

  She nodded.

  “Why?” His tone was suspicious.

  Mollie took a deep breath. “I don’t want to cause you any difficulty, Mr. Deming, but I think you’ll understand, once you hear the entire story, why I had to come. Nell was stolen from me—”

  “She most certainly was not!” he snapped. “How dare you imply such a thing? That adoption was legal. I had my attorney go over the papers, and we went through the proper channels—”

  “No, no, you don’t understand. I’m not implying that you did anything wrong. In fact, you and Mrs. Deming are victims every bit as much as I am.”

  “Are you implying that the Sisters—?”

  She shook her head. “No, they were in the dark as well. It was my mother who was the perpetrator. She took my daughter from me, without my knowledge, and without my consent, and brought her to the orphan asylum.”

  “That’s not possible. The nuns wouldn’t have put Cordelia up for adoption if the guardianship of the child was in question.”

  “I’m not sure why they didn’t check into it more deeply. My mother claimed that I died shortly after giving birth. She can be very convincing when she wants to get her way. The nuns didn’t require a death certificate, because Ma told them we were a poor farm family, and I was buried on the farm. She claimed to have six children, and she said she couldn’t care for Nell. None of that was true. We are a city family of four, and I was never ill for a single day—she merely stole Nell away while I was out looking for a new job. I don’t know why the nuns didn’t wait to adopt her until they had a death certificate or some kind of legal documentation that my mother had guardianship over Nell. Perhaps they’re overwhelmed and overcrowded, and cut corners in order to avoid another mouth to feed. I couldn’t say.”

  “Where were you all this time? How could you let your daughter be taken?”

  Mollie winced as if she’d been slapped. “I was taking care of my daughter—every day, all day long! That day was the first time I’d left Nell alone with my mother for more than an hour. I was trying to find a job. I’d lost my position as soon as…”

  “As soon as your employer discovered you were carrying a bastard child?”

  “How dare you?” she snapped. “I may have made a mistake—I know that—but a beautiful little girl came out of it. I regret my actions, but I don’t regret Nell!”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to point out your sins. It was inappropriate. But…I ask again, why are you here?”

  “Why do you think I’m here, Mr. Deming? I’ve no desire to cause you and your wife pain, but don’t you see? Nell was stolen from me. My baby was kidnapped! My own mother disposed of her grandchild as if she was nothing more than an old, unwanted toy!”

  “Don’t you think your mother was only looking out for your best interests? And your daughter’s? How could you have taken care of her, when you were a disgraced kitchen maid who probably never would have secured a position in a decent house again?”

  “That doesn’t matter. It wasn’t her decision to make. It wasn’t her child to give away!” Tears blurred Mollie’s vision, and it took every ounce of control she had to maintain her composure.

  “I understand that.” Deming held up a hand, as if to calm her. “And I know you love her. But don’t you think, despite the wrongness of the manner she did it, that your mother did what was best for Cordelia in the end?”

  “Her name is Nell!”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you. We changed her name because…well…we wanted her to fit in. To feel as if she belonged. A child named Nell…well, it’s an Irish name. It wouldn’t exactly make her a popular child at
a prestigious private school among wealthy Protestant girls someday, now, would it?”

  Mollie’s heart ached, imagining her daughter—Irish Catholic by blood—surrounded day in and day out by people who had no ethnic or religious connection. Would she ever even know she was descended from Irishmen? But she had to rein in her emotions, no matter how hard it hurt, or she would get nowhere.

  “No, I’m the one who should be sorry,” she sighed. “I’m sure you have her best interests at heart. You wouldn’t have taken her in if you didn’t. But you have to understand the truth of the situation—my mother didn’t have Nell’s best interests at heart. She only wanted to be freed from the shame and burden of a grandchild who came outside of wedlock. She didn’t even give me to opportunity to find somewhere else to live…some other arrangement. I just came home from searching for a job, to find an empty bassinet. I was devastated, and I have been for months. I’m not a whole person without her, Mr. Deming. I barely have the strength to go on. Only my love for Nell has kept me going.”

  “Why show up now? Ten months later?”

  “It took me over a week to find you. By then, you had left Boston.”

  “Yes, my mother took ill just about the same time we adopted Cor…the baby. Vera didn’t want to travel so far—she was worried it would be bad for the baby—but it really seemed like it was going to be the end for mother. And though she’s held on with more vigor than anyone anticipated, every time she rallies, a week later she’s weak and on the verge of failing. She could go at any time.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that.”

  “Thank you. But I still don’t understand why you’re here, after all this time.”

  “I didn’t…I didn’t have the finances to make such a journey. Not until now.”

  “And I expect that you’re hoping to just show up and take Cordelia with you?” He leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. His compassion dried up in a moment, and he looked at her with hard, dark eyes. “If you can't afford a simple train ticket, how on earth did you think you could support a child?”