All in Good Time (6 page)

6

HENRY DIPPED THE RAZOR
back into the washbasin, then finished shaving with a final swipe to his chin. His skin was anything but smooth anymore, as the scrape of the razor attested. So different from the skin of a child, for example. Or a woman.

He pummeled his face with a towel, disgusted by thoughts that refused to go away despite his continual efforts to banish them the moment they arrived. Yes, the do-gooder Tobias had so foolishly lent the bank’s money to undoubtedly possessed soft skin. So did nearly every woman in the world, at least softer than his. So what?

He pretended for a moment not to remember her name, but it was useless. Dessa Caldwell. Was she daft, or just a zealot who clung to some kind of faith—either in God or mankind—to the point of foolhardiness?

Either way, it didn’t matter. If Henry found the slightest reason to think the whole thing a mistake, he would order Tobias to do something he’d expressly forbidden in the past: reverse the entire process and work toward getting the bank’s money back. He might first contact the house’s previous owner and see if it could be handled nicely. If not, Henry would give strict orders to foreclose the minute she was late with a payment. Better to try reselling the property than let it deteriorate in the too-full hands of a woman who would likely be better off elsewhere.

Henry needed to be rid of this business transaction, if only to return his full attention to the bank. Where it belonged.

“The blueberry pie!”

Dessa grabbed the oven door handle, too late remembering how hot to the touch it would be. She pulled back her smarting fingers and waved them in the air to cool, as Mariadela stepped between her and the Monarch oven.

“You’re as nervous as a new bride cooking for the first time.” Mariadela opened the oven door with a towel to protect her own hand, pulling out a perfectly golden pie. She smiled, holding up the triumph in baked goods. “Your guests this afternoon might be bankers, but they’re men first. Judging by my own husband and boys, they’ll eat just about anything.”

Dessa wanted to believe her friend, but recalling the stern look on Mr. Hawkins’s face the day she’d received the happy news about her loan made her wonder if he would be easily pleased. Somehow the thought did nothing to ease her skittishness. She wished she’d had a rested night; being overtired didn’t help her nerves.

“I just want the meal to be a good representation—”

“I know,” the older woman cut in. “A good representation of the Lord’s work.”

Dessa offered Mariadela an apologetic smile. “Have I said that before?”

“Only about twice a day, every day, for the two years I’ve known you.”

The Whites had been among Sophie and Dessa’s first supporters, and Mariadela one of Dessa’s closest friends since losing Sophie. Since then, the Whites had even provided Dessa with a rent-free room above their mercantile—despite the expansion of their store to the second floor. They were likely glad to have the space back for their burgeoning business. That had played no small role in Dessa’s decision to speed along the opening of Pierson House. This was as much a shelter to Dessa as it would be to other women in need.

Mariadela set the pie on the marred wooden table behind them. The table was a donation that could have used a good sanding and a new coat of varnish had Dessa the time. “I didn’t need the reminder of God’s involvement in this place,” Mariadela added, “not since I found out where your loan came from.”

Dessa nodded. “I shouldn’t call it a miracle, but I do. Yet Hawkins National is a bank, after all. That’s part of what they do. Loans to businesses.”

Mariadela’s laugh sounded something between a scoff and genuine amusement. “Not to
this
kind of business. I’ve known Mr. Hawkins since he was my husband’s biggest competitor, when he opened a store fresh out of college from back East. He may be a banker, but he’s a merchant first, through and through. Fair, maybe. But generous? Compassionate? No. If you shake him hard enough, you’ll hear gold coins rattling in that chest of his, not a heartbeat.”

“Perhaps he’s changed.” Dessa didn’t realize until speaking the words that she wanted them to be true.

“If he has changed, it’s because of that Tobias Ridgeway,” Mariadela said as she began to gather the vegetables they would serve. “The man is a saint, and married to a saint as well.” She looked around the kitchen and smiled. “But for whatever reason Mr. Hawkins extended you the loan, he won’t be disappointed. Look at all you’ve done, and in so short a time! You’ve been in only a week and you’ve increased its value already. It’s a home fit for anyone now.”

Dessa looked at the kitchen, with its imperfect but fully functional table, mismatched chairs that were nonetheless made to last, and a variety of cookware, dishes, and cutlery. Not a single piece would have graced even the servants’ quarters of the home in which Dessa had served in St. Louis, but being able to call it all her own made each and every piece lovely.

The house itself had proven as sound as the seller claimed. Working plumbing, solid flooring, steady gas for cooking and lighting. The now-dust-free rooms smelled fresh and clean. Nearly every wall in the house had been painted, thanks to supplies donated from Mariadela’s store and a volunteer workforce from the railroad mission school. There was also a good deal of furniture already in place. Upstairs, besides the bedrooms offering beds and clean linens, was a variety of clothing that had been donated from the church Dessa attended with the White family. Down here, the dining room boasted a somewhat nicer table than the one in the kitchen, along with six chairs that matched. Even the parlor wasn’t empty; it was furnished with a side chair and matching settee, each cast in the French Louis XVI style. The oval stitchery on the seats showed wear, and the gilt wood of the scantily padded arms was scratched, but it hardly mattered to Dessa. Not only had all of it come from generous hearts, hearts directed by no less than God Himself, but last night’s visitor had proven the furniture sturdy.

“All we need are the residents,” Dessa said. Her voice lacked the confidence she normally added but at the moment could not summon.

Mariadela patted her hand. “They’ll come. No need to worry. They’re out there; they just need to know they have an alternative.”

“I was so sure they would come immediately—I’ve distributed flyers and applications everywhere, all along Market and Blake between Nineteenth and Twenty-Third Streets. I know I haven’t gotten to know many in the neighborhood yet, but I’ve seen the number of people who do their business around here. Surely there are some women without a roof over their heads at all. How can anyone prefer no roof to this one?”

“It will only take one of them to be brave enough to leave behind what she knows. Then others will follow. You’ll see.”

How Dessa wanted to believe her, but it was difficult to avoid
the niggling disappointment that her start hadn’t already been as successful as she’d expected. Yet she was more than tireless in her effort. And God’s timing was always perfect, wasn’t it?

Mariadela was right. They would come. It was just a matter of time.

Henry looked out his carriage window, largely ignoring whatever Tobias was saying. From Henry’s first investigation, he remembered their luncheon destination wasn’t far. How well had Miss Caldwell survived this first week living so near the city’s riffraff? With any luck, she would be eager to give back the bank’s money and have this silly venture ended once and for all.

“Henry?”

He was suddenly aware that Tobias had called his name and was looking at him expectantly. “Yes?”

“We’ve arrived.”

Henry’s gloved hands gripped his walking stick as he moved to the carriage door Tobias held open. Jumping onto the pavement, Henry looked around, starting with the house in front of him.

To his surprise, the trim on the brick structure had been painted a clean beige, unremarkable if not for the darker trim at the windowsills. An outward improvement that might help him resell the place.

Not far away was a restaurant with living quarters above, and on the other side of that a single-story tavern, with a sign in the window advertising a pawnbroker on the premises. Likely it wasn’t just a tavern, though they probably did sell drinks. Pawnbrokers went hand in hand with gambling rooms. Not exactly the worst of the businesses to be found within a few blocks, but definitely not intended to meet the needs of polite society.

“This is where you invested the bank’s money.” Henry’s words
were as flat as the roof on a yet-to-be-demolished structure across the street, victim of a fire. A charred sign, which once advertised massages, hung at an odd angle.

“As Miss Caldwell explained,” Tobias began, while Henry took immediate satisfaction in seeing that he looked doubtful too, “she needs to be near the population she wishes to reach.”

“How will staying in this neighborhood free any one of them from what she hopes they will leave behind?”

“A good question, Henry. Let’s ask her, shall we?”

Tobias was already up the half-dozen stairs to the freshly painted threshold.

To Henry’s surprise, it wasn’t Dessa Caldwell who answered. It was Mariadela White, from White’s Mercantile.

“Come in, gentlemen!” she greeted them warmly, far more warmly than Henry would have expected, given their history. He’d never intended to damage White’s business all those years ago by offering his goods at a rate even Henry could barely afford. And it wasn’t generosity, either. It had been good, sound business practice for the plans he’d had in mind.

“Dessa will be down in a moment, but please, come inside. Let me take your hats.”

She did so, setting the items aside on a hook provided next to the door. The room was sparsely furnished—only a settee, a side chair, and a small table holding an oil lamp—but he could see an adjoining dining room that offered a table and more chairs. Nothing yet hung on any of the walls, but like the trim, these walls were recently painted, here a dull but unblemished gray. A carton sat off to the side of the dining room, next to the table. It appeared to be half-full of linens.

“What a pleasant surprise, Mrs. White,” Tobias said as he, like Henry, looked around. “We didn’t expect to see anyone but Miss Caldwell.”

“I’ve been helping her when I can.”

Though Henry said nothing, he recalled she had several children who, almost ten years ago, had been constantly underfoot and into mischief—part of the reason he was sure customers had preferred his quiet establishment just across the street. Likely those same children were valued employees by now.

Before Henry could think of a greeting of his own—one he wasn’t overly eager to extend anyway—the moment was lost in the warm welcome of Dessa Caldwell as she swept into the room from a hallway opposite.

“How happy I am to see both of you! Do you know Mrs. White?”

“Yes, of course,” Henry said, offering her a brief glance. “Though she banks with a competitor.”

Tobias laughed. “Yes, but we won’t give up hope, will we, Henry? It’s always a pleasure to see Mrs. White. Tell me, how are William and the family?”

A few moments of conversation followed, words Henry knew he was bound to forget before too many minutes passed, so he occupied his thoughts elsewhere. He could see the dining room was set for five. Evidently Mrs. White was to stay, which didn’t surprise him, but he wondered who the fifth would be.

“May we show you around, Mr. Hawkins?” Miss Caldwell asked.

Henry turned his full attention on her at last. His memory hadn’t exaggerated her loveliness—if anything she was more so. Her light-brown eyes were merry, her smile comfortable and easy. Her hair, just like the darkly burned gold he’d imagined, looked soft to the touch.

Why had he come? This whole ridiculous loan had been Tobias’s idea. Henry had already counted the money as lost. He should have let Tobias receive this warm welcome on his own.

But then, if he wanted the loan to come to a quick end, he would have to do it himself.

“The furniture has all been donated,” Miss Caldwell said. He noted her voice was somewhat breathless, as if she was nervous. “There are five rooms upstairs. Besides my own, only two are ready, but it won’t be long before we have beds for the rest. Mariadela’s husband is fashioning bed frames already, so we’ll need only mattresses.”