Laina stormed from the room. It took her several deep breaths and five minutes of pacing the hallway before she calmed down enough to join Elizabeth for their trip to the nursery.
“I’m afraid the girls are already napping, madam.” Anna Hammerfield glanced toward the open door a short distance from the rocker where she had been sitting doing needlework when Elizabeth and Laina entered the nursery. Soft, sleepy baby sounds emanated occasionally from the dimly lit interior of the adjoining bedroom. The nanny smiled. “But Master James is still awake.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Thank you, Anna.” She turned back to face Laina. “We’ll come back to see Sarah and Mary later, after dinner.” A soft, beautiful smile spread across her face. “For now, we’ll visit your new nephew.” She stepped through the open door and led the way across the small room to the crib against the far wall.
Laina caught her breath. “Oh, Elizabeth, he’s beautiful!” She smiled at the baby staring up at her and reached down to touch one small, perfect hand. “How do you do, James Justin Randolph? I’m your aunt Laina. And I’m very happy to meet you at last.”
The baby gurgled, gave her a toothless smile and waved his hands in the air. Laina’s heart hurt. So many emotions assailed her she couldn’t begin to sort them out—except two. Hunger and anger. Those two she recognized. She knew them well. They appeared every time she saw a mother and child. She took a deep breath and forced them back into the dark, empty place inside her.
“Would you like to hold him?”
“May I?” She couldn’t keep the longing out of her voice.
“Of course you may.” Elizabeth lifted her son, kissed his soft cheek, then tucked a blanket about him and placed him in Laina’s arms. “He likes to be rocked. The chair’s over there.” She nodded toward the corner. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. I have to speak with Anna.” She turned and walked out of the room.
Laina stared after her. What a thoughtful, caring, unselfish person Elizabeth was. How could she ever have thought her interested only in Justin’s money? She shook her head at the sudden flood of memories, then looked down at the baby in her arms. “You have a wonderful, wonderful mama and papa, James Justin. And a very foolish aunt.”
The baby gurgled an answer. Laina laughed, hugged him close and walked to the chair. The silky feel of his cheek against hers was more precious than anything she’d ever known. The sweet baby smell of him was priceless. She brushed her fingers through his soft, downy, dark curls and began to rock.
I was remembering in regard to your circumstances. I intend to do something about them…. The first step is to pray for guidance.
Laina tried, unsuccessfully, to close out Justin’s words, but the baby’s warm breath on her neck brought hope fluttering to life in her heart at thought of them. It drowned a moment later in an onrush of bitterness. Why shouldn’t Justin believe in prayer? He had his miracle.
Thaddeous Allen glanced at the youngster on the buggy seat beside him. The too-small, tattered clothes the boy wore provided little protection against the cold March air and not even the carriage robe was sufficient to warm him. He was shivering so hard it was a wonder his bones were still connected one to the other. “You might be warmer if you crouch down on the floor in front of the seat, Sam. You’ll be out of the wind down there.”
The boy shot him a look full of fear and distrust. “I’m not cold.”
The blatant lie wrenched at Thad’s heart. “You have my word, Sam—I won’t hand you over to the law.”
The boy gave him a curt nod and continued to stare straight ahead, jaw set. Thad let it go. Sam was going to stay where he could watch every move and change of direction the buggy made. His fear of the law was greater than his physical discomfort. And who could blame him? Since the orphans’ asylum had burned in January, the authorities had become harsh in their treatment of vagrant children, to deter them from stealing, now that they had no means of removing them from the streets.
A pang of concern shot through Thad. He’d given the boy his word he’d find a good home for him—it was the only way he could keep him from jumping out of Dan Pierson’s haymow and likely breaking every undernourished bone in his body when he’d been caught stealing eggs. But who would take him in?
Thad watched as the boy shifted his thin body and buried his scratched, filthy hands deeper beneath the lap rug. The Bauers? No, Martha had developed that cough. Thad frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that cough. And Martha had started losing weight. It was probably consumption. No, he couldn’t take the boy there. Where, then?
Thad frowned and sifted through his patients in his mind as he tugged on the reins to turn the horse onto Arch Street. Arthur and Betsy Monroe? The names brought a shot of hope surging through him. Arthur had told him only last month that Betsy was unhappy with no one to do for since their last boy had left home. Yes! They would be perfect.
Thad slanted another look at the youngster and shook his head. The boy was so filthy you couldn’t even tell the color of his hair, and Betsy was a stickler for cleanliness. Lord, let Betsy see this boy as You see him. Let her look on him with her heart, Lord, and not with her natural eyes. Let both Arthur and Betsy see right through the dirt and grime and downright surliness to the frightened child beneath and take him into their home and hearts. Amen.
“Look at you—skinny as a willow whip and covered with dirt and the good Lord alone knows what else! And those clothes—there’s no savin’ those clothes. Too small, anyway.”
She was going to keep him! Thad bit back a smile as Betsy Monroe put her hands on her hips and studied the small boy standing like a lump of stone in the center of her kitchen.
“Still, I reckon there ain’t nothin’ wrong with you some good food, some of Ben’s old clothes and a hot bath won’t put to rights.”
The boy jerked as if a whip had been laid to his flesh. “I heard about them bath things, an’ I ain’t gettin’ in no water!” The words spit from Sam’s mouth. He shot a panicked look at the outside door, and Thad casually stepped in front of it. The boy glared at him and swept his gaze the other way—toward the home’s interior. Arthur stood squarely in that doorway. Sam’s hands clenched into small fists. His chin jutted forward. “I ain’t gettin’ in no water—an’ you cain’t make me!”
Betsy nodded. “I ain’t figurin’ to. That’s your choice, Sam. Course, nobody sets to my table or sleeps in this house that ain’t respectable clean.” She stepped over to the woodstove and lifted the lid from a large iron pot. The rich, tantalizing aroma of a pot roast filled the kitchen. She picked up a long fork and poked around inside the pot. The smell increased. “Ah, nice and tender!” She smiled at her husband. “Lots of rich gravy for you to sop your bread in.”
Sam’s stomach growled. His Adam’s apple slid up and down his skinny throat as he swallowed hard.
Thad didn’t blame him. His own stomach was reminding him he hadn’t had time to eat today. He bit back a grin and watched in open admiration as the plump woman continued her exquisite form of blackmail.
Betsy turned her back on the boy and opened the pierced tin door of a pine cupboard. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted out. She pulled out a loaf, sliced it into thick slabs, then carried it and a small brown crock to the table.
“We’d be pleased if you’d stay and take supper with us, Dr. Allen. It’s been a space since you’ve visited.
