Sons of an Ancient Glory (53 page)

God's presence surrounds you,
His angels around you,
The light of his love falling soft
On your face…
A heaven above you,
A family to love you,
Sleep, child, in your cradle
of blessing and grace.

O
LD
L
ULLABY

I
t was dark by the time Nora finished nursing Teddy. As she stood waiting for Johanna to light the oil lamp between the changing table and the crib, she tried to shoo Finbar off her skirts.

The wee cat's life seemed to revolve about Johanna and the baby. He liked nothing better than to find them together in the same room—an appreciative audience for his mischief.

After laying the baby on the table for changing, Nora caught Johanna's attention. “Take Finbar out of the room, dear,” she said, signing the words as she spoke. “Otherwise, he'll be trying to jump up on the table with Teddy.”

Johanna scooped up the cat in her arms and left the room. A moment later Aunt Winnie entered. “Here, Nora, let me do that. You go and sit down, dear.”

Invariably, Nora tried to dissuade Evan's meticulously groomed aunt from changing the baby's messy didies—and just as invariably, Aunt Winnie dismissed her protests as utter foolishness.

“How many times have I done this by now? And I haven't swooned yet, have I? Just you sit and rest while I take care of Teddy.” Frowning at Nora, she added, “Perhaps you should
lie
down, dear. You look quite exhausted.”

“Oh, no, I'm perfectly fine,” Nora insisted, sinking down onto the side of the bed as she tried to ignore the weakness that had plagued her all afternoon. “I might be just a bit tired, is all.”

Aunt Winnie darted a glance over her shoulder. “Well, there's nothing for you to do in the kitchen. Daniel is being treated to dinner by that nice Dr. Grafton, so he won't be in tonight. I have everything quite in hand. We can eat as soon as Evan comes, though we really don't know when that will be, do we?”

“He thought he would be late. He said we should go ahead without him, but I'd rather not.” Nora watched the older woman lift Teddy into her arms. “I do hope he doesn't stay in the Five Points after dark,” she went on. “That frightful place. But he's so worried for the little boy, there's no telling what he'll do if he can't find him.”

“Well, he was going to ask one of the policemen for help, so I'm sure he'll be quite safe,” said Aunt Winnie. She smiled down at Teddy squirming in her arms. “
This
little man seems restless tonight. You don't think he's caught cold?”

Nora attempted to shake off the old familiar lethargy stealing over her. “I hope it's not my milk. Evan says I fret too much about everyone. I do worry about
him
, I confess. He's so very busy of late, and his lungs aren't all that strong. And Johanna—she troubles me as well. She's so unhappy.” Her eyes went to Teddy. “Some say worry can turn a mother's milk.”

Aunt Winnie's eyes were kind, her voice gentle. “I don't pretend to know much about babies, dear. But perhaps you should take Dr. Grafton's advice and begin to wean Teddy. It might be better for both of you.”

Nora gave a reluctant nod. “Perhaps. It's just that he's my last one, don't you see. It might be that I'm altogether selfish, but I find myself wanting to keep the closeness between us as long as possible.”

Evan's aunt put Teddy down in his crib and soothed his whimpers of protest. At last he quieted and, with a tiny sigh, lay studying his surroundings.

“I don't think you're being selfish at all,” said Aunt Winnie, coming to sit beside Nora on the bed. “I've never been a mother, but I think I understand what you mean. Still, dear, if it would be best for Teddy—and for your health—then perhaps it's time.”

She took Nora's hand. “Try not to worry about Evan. I'm sure he'll be home soon. As for Johanna”—she glanced toward the door—”I doubt that anything but time will help her very much. She's still grieving, I'm afraid.”

“You've seen her resistance to Teddy?”

Aunt Winnie nodded. “Yes, and it's heartbreaking. But grief can't be rushed, Nora. You know that as well as I do. Some of us simply take longer to heal. Goodness knows, that poor child has suffered enough loss in her young life to destroy a weaker spirit. I really do believe she'll be all right, in time.”

“I hope so. I had thought Teddy might make a difference, but I'm beginning to wonder. I know she cares about him—you can
see
the longing in her eyes! You can sense her wanting to touch him, to pick him up—it breaks my heart to watch! I've prayed and prayed for her, but she's still frightened…and in such pain.”

Evan's aunt gave an understanding nod. “No doubt the child
is
frightened,” she agreed. “Frightened that she might somehow hurt Teddy. Poor dear—she's still blaming herself for what happened to her brother,” she said with a sigh. Getting to her feet, she took Nora gently by the shoulders. “Johanna will be all right. She just needs time. And you, dear heart, need to rest. I want you to lie down now,” she said, gently pressing Nora back onto the bed and pulling the comforter over her legs. “Just for a little while. And no arguments.”

“But Teddy—”

“Teddy will more than likely be fast asleep in no time. But Johanna and I will keep an eye on him, never fear.”

Feeling too lightheaded and weak to protest, Nora sank back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She was only vaguely aware when Johanna came back into the room and sat down in the chair beside the crib.

In the kitchen, Winifred made a last, unnecessary inspection of the ham and cornbread. Reassured…again…that all was well, she permitted herself a smile of satisfaction.

She hoped the Lord would forgive her a certain amount of pride where her cooking was concerned. For years, she hadn't been allowed near a kitchen. She had outlived two husbands, both men of means, whose estates had been glutted with servants. Until the death of Neville, her second husband, her culinary abilities had consisted of pouring tea and passing scones.

In the midst of her second widowhood, however, Winifred decided she had had quite enough of being helpless. To the outrage of Neville's family, she departed the drafty, creaking country house and took rooms in London, where she proceeded to teach herself the womanly arts of cooking and keeping house. She now managed both with a certain flair, if she did say so herself.

She had already determined that after she and Lewis were married—the thought brought a smile—she wouldn't allow herself to slip back into uselessness. He had Ginger and plenty of other servants, of course, but she intended to play an active part in managing the household.

Going to the sink, she began to wash up the dishes she had used in preparing the meal, smiling ruefully as the hot, soapy water reddened her hands. She doubted that she'd ever feel any particular domestic satisfaction about washing dishes.

Her thoughts returned to Lewis—a frequent occurrence these days—and it struck her that she might suggest he lend one of his own servants to Nora and Evan, at least temporarily. More and more she saw the need for Nora to have help on a daily basis, certainly more help than Winifred herself could provide.

For a moment she stood, unmoving, her hands still submerged in hot water. Lately, every thought of Nora seemed to bring an accompanying heaviness of heart and a dark shadow of fear. Something was very wrong with Nora; Winifred was sure of it. She thought Evan suspected as much, too, but was doing everything he could to deny it, poor lamb. How could he do otherwise, devoted as he was to her? Nora was his life.

She bit her lip and gave a long sigh, then went on sudsing the bowl in her hands. She wondered if Nora knew about Evan's appointment with Dr. Grafton today. She rather doubted it. Evan would keep his silence rather than worry her.

The fact that the doctor had asked to speak with him was frightening. Surely it hinted at something serious.

How would they ever manage if Nora was indeed, as Winifred had begun to suspect, seriously ill? They would
have
to get domestic help then, perhaps someone to live in. There would be medical bills, perhaps hospital costs.

They had Evan's salary, of course, and she was sure Lewis would increase it in an instant. But Winifred knew from her experience with Neville that a lingering illness most often demanded exorbitant sums of money. Even for the wealthy, prolonged illness could be a terrible drain on finances.

Johanna's uncle in Ireland sent a generous living allowance for her each month, but there was still little Teddy to provide for—and the matter of an education for Daniel John, who hoped to become a physician.

Winifred stood, unmoving, her hands still plunged beneath the dishwater. For some time now, she had been formulating a plan that would ease things considerably for Evan. She'd been uncertain as to how to go about it, for Evan was terribly independent, but she thought she had finally found the answer.

Evan's savings in London were as good as lost to him. In order to prevent that terrible employer of his—Roger Gilpin—from learning his whereabouts, he had found it necessary to forfeit his bank account and leave all his personal belongings behind when he came to the States.

But Winifred had plenty of money, more than she'd ever spend, even if she lived to be a doddering old fool. Besides, as Lewis Farmington's wife, she wouldn't exactly be indigent.

She smiled to herself. Lewis's shrewd financial advice was largely responsible for the investments that were even now fattening her bank account. At least, she thought wryly, no one could accuse her of marrying the man for his money. Of all the reasons she could think of for falling in love with Lewis Farmington, money did not even make the list.

Oh, she
did
hope she would hear from Jeremy Cole soon! If he'd managed to do what she asked, it could make a wonderful difference for Evan and Nora, especially now. She had great faith in Jeremy; there was no more clever solicitor in London. More to the point, however, he had been a good friend to Winifred for years.

Emptying the dishwater, she dried her hands. Jeremy was clever all right, but she could hardly expect him to break the law on her account. Still, if there were any way under God's heaven to free Evan's savings without that awful Roger Gilpin finding out, she knew Jeremy would figure a way to manage it.

She had given him strict instructions that no one—absolutely no one—must ever learn of Evan's whereabouts. And that, of course, was what complicated the whole affair.

Winifred had deliberately kept Evan in the dark about her attempts on his behalf. If Jeremy were successful, it would be a delightful surprise for her troubled nephew. If Jeremy failed, then she intended to transfer a sum from her own funds into an account in Evan's name.

Either way, Evan must be allowed to believe that it was
his
money. She had already stipulated in her newly drawn will—with Lewis's approval—that Evan receive her entire estate. If he happened to receive a share of it while she was still alive, so much the better—she would enjoy watching him use it.

When the dishes were done, she went into the small adjoining dining room to check the place settings and candles. Just inside the door, she stopped. The trouble-making cat—Finbar, of all the presumptuous names!—was perched on Evan's empty chair, eyeing the table.

Winifred flew at him with a hiss, flapping her apron. He leaped screeching from the chair and bolted from the room.

Shaking her head, she dusted off the chair with her hand. She continued to be appalled that Evan, otherwise such a sensible man, actually tolerated that bothersome little creature inside the house. There was no accounting for the way the entire family put up with the cat's mischief.

After straightening the tablecloth, Winifred went to the window and looked out. It was dark outside, but with enough moonlight that she could make out the distant outline of the park. Arms folded, she hugged her body, shuddering. She could scarcely bear the sight of the place, a bleak reminder of Little Tom's untimely death.

In the daylight, she actually avoided looking out this particular window, which faced the park. It was enough to live with the effects of tragedy without being constantly reminded of it. Yet the sorrowful eyes of poor, tragic Johanna never quite allowed anyone to forget what had happened last spring.