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Authors: Lyn Cote

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BOOK: Blessed Assurance
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“Something like Jane Addams's Hull House?” The young editor looked thoughtful.

“A cross between that and a company town—only a good company town. The workers will be required to report to work clean and in clean clothing to meet new sanitary standards. No children
under the age of twelve will be hired. All children and infants will be left at the nursery and day school while their parents work.” Linc studied the men trying to gauge their reactions.

The
Chronicle
editor asked, “How does she plan to still make a profit with all these new expenses? Lower wages?”

Linc proudly shook his head. “The cleanliness changes would be necessary in themselves since the passage of the Pure Food Act, so money would have to be spent in any case. But she has
doubled
her workers' wages and will still be able to make a healthy profit.” Linc smiled. “She believes the newly designed machinery will increase productivity and keep her cannery in the black.”

The young man admitted, “I'm quite impressed with what you've said, Wagstaff. But why should we hush up the scandal?”

Linc crossed his arms over his chest, sending up one final prayer. “Number one, would you like your doctor calling the paper to tell about your ailments? And which is more likely to make a better story? A near suicide or the reclamation of my scandalous redhead? If you run the suicide story, it will overshadow and weaken the story of Miss Jackson's reclamation, which will give you many more opportunities for copy. Let me remind you, she has lots of factories. And she has plans for them all.”

The
Chronicle
editor rose. “Are you sure this isn't just a set-up to get publicity in all our papers for your
serious
journal?”

Linc shrugged. It stung giving his scoop up to other papers, but Cecilia was worth more.

“Here's my two cents. I don't like Hunt,” Older drawled. “If Wagstaff's heiress is writing for Linc, that makes her one of us.”

The editors absorbed this and left. Linc closed the door after them and turned to face Older. “I can't thank you enough for warning me.” He wrung Older's hand.

“Don't mention it. Bring your redhead in sometime. I'd like to meet her.”

“She'll want to thank you herself. Do you think I convinced them?”

“Time will tell. Either the scandal will run today or it won't.”

 

After the meeting at Older's office, Linc hurried back to Cecilia. He stood at the door to her mother's bedroom. Cecilia drooped beside the bed, holding her still-sleeping mother's hand. Should he warn Cecilia another scandal was brewing?

He strode over the thick carpet to stand behind her. He gently cupped her shoulders with his hands. “Where's Millie?”

“I sent Nana to get some rest,” Cecy whispered, pointing to the cat curled up beside her mother. “See, Mother's kitten came out from underneath the bed.”

She stroked the cat. “I'm hoping the kitten senses everything is okay.” Her voice quavered. “But I'm still afraid my mother won't wake up.” A tiny sob escaped on her last syllable.

Linc stepped around Cecilia and took her mother's pulse. He leaned close to her face and felt her shallow breaths against his cheek. “Your mother is merely sleeping peacefully. When the drug wears off, she will wake up with a slight headache. Her appetite will be dulled.”

“You sound confident.” Hope lit her eyes.

“My stepfather was a doctor, remember?” Her dawning hopefulness tightened his fear for her. Another scandal might come with the evening papers. How would she take it? “Now you're going to get up and go freshen up.”

“No.”

He coaxed her to her feet, reluctantly releasing her hand. “When your mother awakes, she'll feel more reassured if she sees you looking fresh.”

She buried her face into her hands. “It's all my fault.”

He took her into his arms but held himself in check. Everything about her soft form without corset stays against him, her disheveled beauty, tormented him. She needed him, but she was vulnerable now. This was no time to hint at love, especially love he wouldn't act on. Too much separated them—age, wealth, faith. “All this started years before you were born. I blame myself for introducing you to bohemian life—”

“It's not your fault. It's mine.”

He forced her lovely chin up. Her brown eyes pooled with tears. Her lips parted in silent invitation. “Cecilia, for over a year now, I've held on to my guilt over my wife's death.”

Her eyes asked him why he'd brought this up now.

“Our second baby came with complications and was stillborn. When Virginia died just hours later, I wanted to wrap myself around her lifeless body and go down into the grave with her.”

“Linc,” her surprise came as a strained whisper.

Just speaking about Virginia's death brought the scene back to life. A room much like this. A still body in a rumpled bed. Grief twisted around his neck like a hangman's noose. “I know it's unreasonable, but I've blamed myself over and over.” He gripped her by the shoulders. “Let go of the guilt. Just promise that you'll never again repeat the behavior that hurt your mother.”

Her eyes widened. “I'll never take another drink.”

He wrapped his arms around her.
Dear God, keep me strong against temptation.
“We'll fight guilt together.” He allowed himself to experience the joy of holding Cecilia. He brushed her forehead with his lips, then made himself release her. “I'll stay with her till you return.” He pushed her to the door. “Put on your prettiest morning gown for her, so she'll know you are happy to see her.” With many backward glances, she went, closing the door.

Linc eased his tired body onto the stiff-backed chair. A night of shock, worry, and a bare two hours of sleep had left him feeling hollow. An old spiritual, one Susan had sung a million times, played in his mind, “I'm gonna lay down my burden, down by the river side…”

He gazed at the frail, sleeping woman. “Madam, I love your daughter. And I don't know what to do about it.”

In an ivory morning frock, Cecy lingered by her mother's bedside. Just hours earlier, Cecy had teetered on the brink of losing her mother one more time, this time forever. Now as she watched her mother blessedly breathe in, breathe out, she clung to Nana and Linc's reassurances.

The earth beneath Cecy's life had shifted. Aunt Amelia, the one in her family she'd thought she could count on, had secretly despised her. No wonder her mother wouldn't come home while her sister stayed here. In her carefully planned revenge, Auntie would have reaped all the advantages of her former beau's wealth and also the vengeance of standing as Cecy's parent while Cecy's own mother remained hidden away and alone at the sanitarium. Only with Cecy by her side and with Cecy's millions, could Auntie live the high society life she'd evidently wanted, the one she would have lived if she'd married Cecy's father. And her father's hatred of Cecy helped her aunt. Why had her father rejected his only child without a reason? Had he known anything of love?

What do I know of love
?
I love my mother. I love Nana. And little Meg
. Recalling Linc's embrace and kisses from the early morning, she pressed her hot cheeks with her cool hands. If it had been possible, she would've stayed within his arms. With his effortless strength, his calm authority, his clear blue eyes, which saw deep inside her, he'd stood as her friend.
Oh, Linc, stay close. But I can't love you
.

Then her mother's eyes fluttered open. “Cecy?” The lady's voice sounded thready, unbelieving.

Cecy sat on the bed and gathered her frail mother into her arms. “Oh, mother, I thought I might never see you again.”

“I'm sorry.” The lady began to cry weakly.

“No,
I'm
sorry.” Cecy kissed her mother's drawn cheek. “I know
everything and I'll never drink another drop of alcohol. And
you
must promise never to try to leave me again.”

Her mother's soft gray eyes filled with tears.

“I just couldn't face seeing you end up like me.”

“You and I are together at last. Aunt Amelia, father, and grandfather will never hurt us or separate us again.”

“You know the truth?” Her mother whispered with a shaking voice. “Everything?”

Cecy nodded, triumphant. “Yes, Nana told me and I love you more now than ever before and nothing will ever come between us again.”

The lady touched Cecy's hair. “Dearest daughter, my own sweet girl. I prayed for us to be together without secrets, then despaired. Even so, God brought it to pass.”

Though Cecy nodded, she didn't know if God or Linc Wagstaff were responsible. Then a thought stunned her.
Victor Hunt did me a favor
. Hunt's actions had set her free from her aunt by making her flee from the scandal. They had reunited Cecy with her mother, and made Cecy willing to let Linc show her more of the world.
But what would I have done without Linc
?

 

“Thank you for coming.” Linc led Cecilia into the parlor. Why had Linc called her here so urgently? Cecy went to the fireplace and held her icy hands in front of the fire.

Approaching her, Linc took her hands. “I've done everything I could, but there's a chance…”

“What?” Clinging to his strong, warm hands, she wanted to seek protection within his embrace once again. Inwardly, she took a step backward.
I can't depend on Linc. I have to depend on myself.

“The doctor called the city papers this morning and told them about your mother's suicide attempt.” She sagged against him. “Don't despair. The matter was handled better than I'd hoped.”

“How?” Hating her weakness, she took in small breaths.

He settled her into a hearthside chair and faced her from its
hassock. “This morning when left you, Older, the
Bulletin
editor, called the other three city editors to his office to meet with me. I tried to persuade them not to print the story. I told them about your changes at the canneries to show that you have become a new woman.”

She leaned forward, her hands clutched in her lap. “What difference will that make to them?”

“It might be enough to remind them that now you are one of them, a journalist.”

She sat back. “I hadn't thought about that.”

“Anyway the editors handled it much better than I thought they would.” He lifted a stack of papers from the floor beside his chair. He read from the
Examiner
.

Mrs. Florence Jackson, widow of the late San Francisco businessman August P. Jackson, was suddenly taken ill early this morning. Mrs. Jackson had returned from a sanitarium to be with her daughter, Miss Cecilia Jackson, after the recent scandal. It is unfortunate that some groundless rumors have been spread about Mrs. Jackson's illness today.

Evidently, Miss Jackson's experience of forsaking the city's social life has imbued her with a new, more serious purpose in life. She herself has embarked on a new venture into journalism. Read tomorrow's
Examiner
to learn more of her new social progressivism north of Monterey.

“But it didn't say anything about suicide, just rumors,” she objected.

“What if the doctor continues spreading the rumor? Often men don't like having their word called groundless rumors. For that reason alone, I had to bring you here to warn you.”

She rubbed her forehead.
Can't anything ever go right?
” What should I do?” she murmured.

“Perhaps your mother should go back to the sanitarium.”

“No!”

He held up his hand. “If your mother is under the care of physicians at the sanitarium again, her illness will be seen as a relapse related to her previous stay. That should weaken any gossip the doctor might spread.”

She buried her face in her hands. “Is it necessary?”

“It will only be for a few days. I wouldn't urge you to do this unless I thought it were absolutely necessary. Millie should go with her. By the time Florence comes back, your new career as a social progressive will have been launched.” He smiled at her. “This will all be forgotten.”

He made everything sound so reasonable. How could she doubt him? Her emotions seemed all used up. “If you think it's really for the best.” She straightened in her chair. “But I'm going to go ahead with my work on your journal and on changing matters at my factories. Whether San Francisco loves me or hates me, I can't stand by and not change such…evil.”

“Yes, but you must go slow and make well thought out improvements. As a woman, if you make mistakes, others will use them against you—saying you are incompetent to handle such weighty matters. What did your business advisor think of what you've done north of Monterey?”

“He didn't look pleased. Why should I care?”

“If you take time to persuade, things will go smoother. You'll be well thought of. I want you to have the kind of freedom I have. I associate with the intelligentsia as well as the fashionable and humble.”

“I don't believe I will want to associate with society. My aunt is well respected in Boston and we know the truth about her.”

Linc shook his head. “My Aunt Eugenia is well respected in Boston, too. I'm going to send her the first issue of my journal. When she reads what you've done here, all of Boston will hear of it. My aunt may be a snob, but she has spent her life working to lift up the poor.”

“Unlike my aunt.”

Susan slid the pocket door open. “Linc, Del's home.”

Linc stood up and slid the papers onto the side table. “He's in
the kitchen with Kang.” Susan folded her hands over her waist. Linc strode out the doorway.

Cecy had a physical reaction of loss to his leaving her. Her thoughts strayed again to Linc's embrace and kisses this morning.

Susan opened her arms. “Miss Jackson, I have a hug with your name on it.”

Cecy walked into the large woman's arms and rested her head on Susan's cushiony-soft breast. “Oh, Susan, I never want another day like this.”

Susan hugged her. “Some days live on in our memories.” Susan released Cecy. “Meg wants to see you.”

Cecy brightened. “I'll go right up with you.”

“Good. I think I'll just sit down in here and rest some.”

“You're all right, aren't you, Aunt Susan?”

Susan shuffled to the chair nearest the fireplace. “I'm an old woman and those stairs are getting me. Why this San Francisco have to be such an up-and-down place? Everywhere I go, I got to walk either steps or hills. Chicago was nice and flat.”

Cecy chuckled, then felt the wonder of hearing herself. After all that happened today, she could still laugh. Cecy ran out into the hall and up the flight of stairs to Meg's room. Before she could speak, Meg scrambled to her.

“Miss Cecilia, how are you? Your mama's sick.”

Taking Meg's hand, she let the child lead her into the room. “My mother's going to be fine.”

“I'm glad. I wouldn't want you to lose your mama, too.”

Cecy smoothed Meg's dark hair off her sweet, rosy face. This child must favor her mother. This thought caused Cecy a moment of disquiet.
Linc's life with Virginia has nothing to do with me.
“I'm not going to lose her, but she's going to go away for a while for a rest.”

“Aunt Susan needs to rest a lot, too.”

“Oh?” Cecy heard the worry in the child's voice.

“Yes, she has to stop all the time on walks. And she cries, but she says being tired makes her eyes water.” Meg looked up into Cecy's
eyes with a serious face. “Del doesn't live here anymore. I think that makes Susan cry.” Meg looked ready to cry herself.

Recalling Nana's sweet ways, Cecy sat on the rocker and coaxed Meg onto her lap. Holding a child in her arms was a new experience. “You mustn't worry, dear.” How nice to have someone to call “dear.” “Your father will find a way to persuade Del to come home.” If anyone can, Linc would.

“It's because the kids at school called him names because he isn't white like me. People don't like you if you have dark skin. I hate that.”

The child only spoke the truth. Cecy could imagine how cruel the children at school had been. Her mind went back to Clarissa Hunt's phone call. Adults weren't much kinder. “Don't worry, Meg.”

“Aunt Susan says faith is the victory,” Meg said.

“Well, Susan would know more about that than I would.” Then Cecy indulged herself by hugging Meg close, rocking her. How blessed Linc was to have this sweet child as his daughter.

 

Linc watched Del neatly “putting away” a stack of pancakes and a rasher of bacon. Kang poured Del a second glass of milk. Del looked sideways at Linc. “I'm sorry I ran away. That was bad.”

Linc nodded, wondering what was coming next. Had letting the boy see how the other half lived worked?
God, is he ready?
Or had Del just come home, driven by an empty stomach?

“But I like it down on the coast. Nobody picks on me.”

Kang stepped forward and waved a spatula in Del's face. “Nobody pick on you here.”

Linc glanced with surprise at Kang. The houseman hadn't ever come forward with an opinion about the family before. Del looked startled, too.

“You do bad, treat father with disrespect,” Kang accused.

“Linc isn't my father,” Del objected.

“He give you home, food, send to school.”

“I can take care of myself now,” Del blustered.

Linc thought Del's milk “mustache” cost him some credibility,
but Linc kept his peace. Maybe Kang could make Del listen to reason.

“You get mad at school. Kids call you name because you colored. You think you the only one? They call Kang—‘stupid Chinee. Hey, dumb Chinaman.' Kang no run away. Kang work and help family. When father die, he say, ‘Kang take care of mother and sisters. You good son.'” Kang put his hands on his hips. “Even dog know better than you. Dog do good to one who feed him.”

Del stood up. “I don't have to listen to you.”

Kang pointed at the table. “Sit. Eat. You still full of foolishness. Someday you be sorry you show disrespect to father. Someday.”

 

Linc stood by his desk in his office. Electric lights gleamed against the shadows of dusk. Cecilia removed her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her matching cape. “Should we get started?”

“Very well.” With the beautiful redhead in it, his office felt very small. He found it harder to breathe. Moments before he'd been alone—but not at peace. His thoughts had been a snarl of worry about Del, excitement mixed with dread over the launching of his new journal, and of course, Cecilia.

He scanned his cluttered desk and picked up the sheaf of papers. He handed her a pencil, taking care not to touch her elegant fingers. He imagined turning her hand over and kissing her palm.
No.
He said in a businesslike tone, “Lightly circle any mistake you find.”

“Shouldn't I check my own articles?” She glanced up at him.

“No, you're less likely to see your own mistakes. Your mind fixes things automatically before you see them.”

A tap at the outer door interrupted. Linc rose and opened it.

Shocked, Cecy stood. “Fleur? Mr. Bower?”

Fleur took both Cecy's hands in hers. “How've you been?”

Cecy looked to Mr. Bower. “Very well. But, sir, I have been so concerned for you.”

“I'm much better. Please call me Clarence.”

Cecy couldn't take her eyes from Bower who stood a little behind Fleur. The emotions from that awful night rushed back through her.
“I'm sor—”

“Now, it wasn't your fault.” Fleur stepped aside, so Clarence could bow over Cecy's hand. “We know you're completely innocent.”

Linc quickly arranged four chairs into a cozy circle.

BOOK: Blessed Assurance
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