Levi said impatiently. “What business could she possibly have here?”
“She would not say, but insisted on speaking with you personally. Shall I…”
Levi waved him away and went inside, rolling down the sleeves of his white shirt as he retrieved his jacket from the hall tree in his office. “Show her to the Great Hall,” he said as he ran his fingers through his copper brown straight hair.
“Very good, sir,” Hans murmured, but his words came with little approval. “May I remind you, sir, that your train…”
“I know my schedule. This won’t take long.”
“Very good, sir.”
Levi listened to the tap of his butler’s leather heels crossing the marble foyer to take up his post at the massive double front door. By now she should have reached them and yet neither the bell nor the door knocker sounded. Had she changed her mind?
He crossed his office and peered outside. No sign of her retreating. Assuming she was standing on the front steps, perhaps gathering her courage, he could simply walk around to the front of the house and encounter her there. But for reasons he did not take the time to fathom, it seemed important that this woman—this stranger—enter his house, see the proof of all that he had accomplished, marvel at the beauty of his self-made world in spite of her religion’s stand against anything deemed ostentatious.
And even as the chime of the front doorbell resonated throughout the house, Levi thought not so much of the present, but of a time when he was not so different from this plain-living woman who now stood at his door.
Just by coming to the winter home of the circus impresario, Hannah had probably violated several of the unwritten laws of the Ordnung followed by people of her faith. In the first place, the minute the gatekeeper had turned his back to make the call to the mansion, she had slipped past him and started her walk up the long drive. Surely that was wrong. But she had to see the only man capable of finding her son.
All the way up the drive, she kept her eyes on the ground half expecting to hear the gatekeeper running to catch up with her as she followed the pristine, white-shell path until it curved in front of the massive house itself. Only then did she glance up and her breath caught. The house soared three stories into the cloudless blue sky, its roof lined with curved terra-cotta tiles sparkling in the late-morning sun. Curved iron balconies hung from large arched windows on the second and third stories, and everywhere the facade of the house had been festooned with ornate carvings, colorful tiles and stone figures that were as frightening as they were fascinating.
Hannah dropped her gaze and started up the front stairs, avoiding the detailed iron railing that lined either side of the wide stairway and refusing to be tempted to admire the tiered fountain where water splashed like music. Even the stairs were a rainbow of colorful marble in pink and purple and pale green. She supposed that for a man like Levi Harmon—a showman known for his extravaganzas and exotic menagerie of animals from around the world—a little purple marble was to be expected. She sucked in her breath, straightened her spine and prepared to knock.
But the massive wood door was covered by a gate, a barricade in filigreed iron that boasted twin medallions or perhaps coats of arms where she might have expected the obvious door handle to be located. Perturbed more than amused at this need for such material grandeur, Hannah took a step back and studied the house. Determined not to be daunted in her mission, she made a detailed study of the entrance. After all, the man entertained guests, did he not? Surely those people had to at some point enter and exit the house.
The doorbell was housed in the uplifted hand of a bronze sculpture of a circus clown located to the right of the door. Hannah took a deep breath, uttered a short prayer begging God’s forgiveness for any misdemeanor she might be committing and pressed the button. When she heard a series of muffled bells gong inside the grand house, she locked her knees rigidly to keep them from shaking and waited for the doors to open.
“Good morning, Mrs. Goodloe,” a man dressed in a black suit intoned as he swung open the inside door, and then opened the wrought-iron screen for her. “Please come in. Mr. Harmon is just completing some business. He asks that you wait for him in here.”
The small man of indeterminate age led the way across a space that by itself was larger than any house she’d ever seen. Hannah avoided glancing at her surroundings, but could not miss the large curved stairway that wound its way up to the top of the house, or the gilt-framed paintings that lined the walls.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” the man was saying as he led her down three shallow steps into a room easily twice the size of the space they had just left. He indicated one of four dark blue, tufted-velvet sofas. “Mr. Harmon will be with you shortly.”
“Is that…” Hannah stared across the room at a wall of polished brass pipes in a range of sizes and the large wooden piece in front of them.
“The Butterfield pipe organ? Indeed,” the man reported with obvious pride. “Mr. Harmon purchased that when they demolished the old Butterfield Theatre in London. He had it taken apart, labeled, then shipped here to be reassembled. It makes the most wondrous sound.”
“I see.” She had no idea what he was talking about. She had simply been taken aback to see an enormous pipe organ in a private home.
“Actually, the organ was Mr. Harmon’s gift to me, ma’am.” And then as if reminding himself that he was not to offer such information, he cleared his throat. “May I offer you a cool glass of water, ma’am?”
She had walked the five miles from her father-in-law’s house near the celery fields down Fruitville Street, and then along the bay to the Harmon estate. But she had not come on a social call. “No, thank you,” she replied as she perched on the edge of one of the sofas and folded her hands primly in her lap.
Seconds later, the silence surrounding her told her that she was alone. If she liked she could walk around the grand room, touch the furnishings, peer at the many framed pictures that lined the tops of tables and even satisfy her curiosity to know what the bay might look like seen through one of the multi-colored panes of glass in the sets of double doors that lined one wall. But an Amish person was never truly alone. One was always in the presence of God and as such, one was always expected to consider actions carefully.
Hannah focused on her folded hands and considered the rashness of her action in coming here. But what other choice did she have? Caleb was missing and she had every reason to believe that he had run away. Oh, she had been foolish to think that taking him to the circus grounds the day before would somehow dampen his romantic ideal of what circus life was like. She had thought that once the boy saw the reality of the dirt and stench and hard work that lay behind the brightly colored posters, he would appreciate the security and comfort of the life he had. She had even thought of promising him a visit to his cousins in Ohio over the summer as a way of stemming his wanderlust. But when she had gone to his room to rouse him for school this morning, he hadn’t been there and his bed had not been slept in.
She laced her fingers more tightly together and forced herself to steady her breathing. She would find Caleb even if she put herself in danger of being shunned to do it.
“Mrs. Goodloe?”
She’d heard no step on the hard, stone floor and yet when she looked up, Levi Harmon was standing at the entrance to the oversized room. He was a tall man, easily topping six feet. He looked down at her with eyes the color of the rich hot chocolate her mother used to make. “I understand there is a business matter we need to discuss,” he added as he came down the shallow stairs,
