Love's Fortune (27 page)

But knowing Malachi, he’d find a way.

30

They truly love who show their love.

W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE

Addie took the little maple carving from James’s outstretched hand, delight filling her upturned face. “A cat? Just like the one I’ve been wishing for?” Pets weren’t allowed at the orphanage, but that didn’t stop the children from wanting them.

“Wait, there’s more,” he said, reaching in his waistcoat pocket again.

“Two kittens?” Her mouth formed an O of astonishment before she flung her arms around him. “Oh, if I were all grown up I’d marry you!”

Looking on, the orphanage director smiled. “You’ve a devotee for life, Mr. Sackett. Now come along, Adelaide. Time for afternoon lessons.”

“May I play a tune first?” Returning the wooden figurines to James’s hand for safekeeping, she reached for a small violin on a near table. “Mozart’s ‘Little Star.’”

A few screeches and discordant notes later, she gave him
a curtsey and he applauded. “Miss Ballantyne’s doing, no doubt.”

“I had another lesson yesterday,” she said, taking the cat and kittens back again and hugging the violin to her chest.

Mrs. Sheffield glanced at the open door. “Ah, Mr. Cameron. Adelaide’s violin playing is quite a draw. Won’t you come in?”

Malachi entered, looking like a bear in his heavy greatcoat, hat in hand. “I was hoping to have a word with Mr. Sackett now that the board meeting is over.”

“Of course. If you’ll excuse us, we’ll leave you gentlemen alone.” With a smile, she went out, Addie in her wake.

For the first time he could ever recall, James was sorry his old friend had caught up with him.

“You’re a hard man to pin down, James.”

“The board meeting was a good place to start, Malachi.” He forced a smile, his affability wearing thin. “Now seems a good time to thank you for your endowment.”

“You can thank Rowena Ballantyne. She’s the one who made me aware of the need for a new dining room and dormitory. I’ll be glad to do whatever I can.”

So this had to do with Wren, then. “Thanks to her prompting and your generosity, we’ll be able to build beyond that.” The understatement nicked him. He was still dazed by the donated amount, the largest in the orphanage’s history.

Malachi gestured to some chairs nearest the hearth. “Have a few minutes?”

With a reluctant nod, James took a seat. Malachi’s extraordinary generosity hinged on something, he felt certain. Some new commitment to Wren and the cause she cherished.

Malachi sat down opposite, his gaze roaming the plain paneled walls. “Although the matter of a bride is nearly settled, I’m still in need of a freight agent.”

James shot him an apologetic look, the word
bride
tearing at his forced calm. “I owe you an answer.” He’d delayed long enough, wanting to gauge where Malachi’s ambitions would take him. Since there was little doubt Wren was a part of that picture, James had no recourse but to bow out. “I’m afraid I’m in no position to accept, given the situation I’m in.”

Malachi’s eyes clouded. “The trouble downriver, I take it.”

More Wren
, James couldn’t say, surprised Malachi knew of Madder. Leaning forward, he added a scoop of coal to the waning fire and made no reply.

“You need to leave Pittsburgh, James. Staying on, taking part in the season like you’ve been, makes you too easy a target. When I stopped at the boatyard yesterday, Ealer told me you aren’t in the same place more than five minutes, as you feel you’re being followed.”

“Ealer exaggerates.”

“He’s concerned for you, as I am. I could put you on the next train to Philadelphia once you reach Lancaster. My townhouse is at your disposal in the city. You could lay low for a time and then assume your duties there as freight agent.”

“It’s tempting, I’ll grant you that.”

Malachi rubbed his brow, jaw firming, as if prepared to make some concession. “I’m aware Silas has you busy with Ballantyne interests and has even talked to you of California. It’s a long way around Cape Horn to the West, to safety, but it’s a good offer as it stands.”

“That door is closed.”

“Closed? Why?”

“I believe there’s going to be a fight and I need to stay and enlist.”

Surprise creased his friend’s bearded face. “Would you really go to war?”

“We’re already at war, Malachi.”

“You’d not pay the commutation fee and have someone serve in your stead?”

“And give in to Madder and those like him? Never.” He wouldn’t say he’d already been approached by government officials anticipating the need for pilots of gunboat fleets on the Mississippi. He’d devoted a decade to helping fugitives find freedom. Would he relent in the most important battle of them all? “My responsibilities lie here in Pittsburgh with the Ballantynes and the line.”

Malachi stared at him. “Don’t delude yourself, James.”

“I wouldn’t call loyalty delusional.”

“You well know what I mean. As far as the Ballantyne line goes, even Silas is diversifying. He’s well aware of how matters stand in business, industry. The railroads will soon be the death of the river, as sure as there is a God in Israel. We’re simply too fast, too efficient—”

“Don’t.” The low utterance severed Malachi’s words midsentence. Something inside James broke, went still. “I know what’s coming. And I know what’s to be lost.”

Wren, foremost.

Pulling himself to his feet, he went out.

Christmas was bearing down on them, and Wren’s thoughts and prayers centered on one thing. Her father. All she wanted was for him to come home. Despite the heavy snows and impassable roads farther north, she refused to give up hope, even when Andra scoffed at her.

“I’m afraid the Pennsylvania Railroad is at a standstill, so Mina tells me. No one will be coming or going this Christmas in such weather.”

A foot of fresh snow had fallen since the night of the ball, and Wren resisted the urge to pull on her mittens and go outside. With Andra fussing she would catch cold, Wren, sheepskin around her shoulders, contented herself with the view from the cupola. Unbidden, the winter landscape brought to mind a dozen cherished things. The humble tang of woodsmoke. Roiling kettles of hot cider. The brittle snap of branches on long walks through the woods.

Her heart squeezed tight. She had lost her beloved home, but she still had her memories. They couldn’t be bought or sold or bartered. They stayed locked inside her, as warm and enduring as the winter was fleeting and chill.

Her gaze glanced off the distant rooftops of Cameron House and River Hill. But it was the Monongahela House to the west she sought, the skyline smudged with soot and smoke.

Her heated words with James the night of the ball spun round her head in an unforgiving circle. She’d only meant to speak on Izannah’s behalf, wake him up to her cousin’s feelings for him. But she’d gone too far and come upon a wall. James’s attentions had shrunk to a word or two the rest of the evening, and once again he’d taken his own coach at evening’s end, securing an outrider to see them home in his stead.

“Mr. James is in a high temper,” Mim had murmured at his departure. Her questioning eyes sought Wren’s as if seeking explanation, but Wren was too miserable to reply.

In the hours since, she’d considered penning him a note, holding on to half a hope he would come by and she could mend that too-honest moment. Perhaps he was still mourning Georgiana. Perhaps he didn’t care for Izannah as she cared for him. Lately Wren had sensed an unusual restlessness in
Izannah, a preoccupation that left Wren wondering. Might she be growing weary of waiting for James? Wanting an engagement or some sign of his affection? Perhaps they’d had a lovers’ quarrel. Wren didn’t dare ask. Love was a chancy endeavor, best left to two hearts and the Lord.

She leaned forward, her warm breath misting the icy glass. A lone rider cut a dark streak across the snow to the west of New Hope. Who would be out on such a
rumballiach
day, as Papa liked to say? Standing, she bumped her head against the cupola’s hanging lantern, setting it swinging in her haste.

Dusk was closing in, making it difficult to determine just who raced up the drive, slinging snow beneath the horse’s hooves. When recognition finally stirred, Wren’s pulse picked up in rhythm.

George Ealer, come to tell of James.

Between the thickness of the study door and George Ealer’s emotional stuttering, Wren could only grasp the barest details.
Accident. Mercy Hospital. Yesterday.
Listening, she pushed past all protocol and entered the study without knocking. Ealer’s slim, boyish back was to her as he stood before Grandfather, hat twisted in his hands. Grandmother sat by the fire, a tangle of knitting in her lap. Wren went to her, upended by the alarm on her face.

“Once James is stable, he needs to come here. Till then a guard needs to be posted outside his hospital room.” Grandfather leaned forward, his leather chair creaking as he took up a pen. “I’ll send word to Dr. Moss that James is to be moved as soon as possible, no matter what the patient says.”

Ealer nodded, relief easing his stutter. “Thank you, s-sir. I’ll be by his s-side till then.”

Grandmother gripped Wren’s hand. Squeezed tight. But the gentle gesture was lost as Wren caught sight of Grandfather’s unsteady hands uncapping a bottle of ink. Obviously shaken by the news, he was unmistakably ashen. Still far from well, he pushed himself despite the doctors’ cautions and had been working at his desk since dawn.

“There’s been an accident along the levee,” Grandmother told her in a low tone. “James was crossing Water Street yesterday at dusk when he fell on the ice into a coach’s path.”

“Is he badly hurt?” Her quiet query turned Ealer round.

“Some ribs are broken, perhaps a bone or two.” Grandmother sighed, resuming her knitting with gnarled hands. “The hospital’s sure to be overrun with visitors once the news spreads. Since James knows so many in Pittsburgh, he won’t get a moment’s rest lest he comes here.”

The pat answer failed to satisfy. Wren sank down on the sofa beside her. “But River Hill is closer—”

“I’m afraid River Hill won’t do, dear. Not with all those boys trying to wrestle with James in the condition he’s in. Besides, Ellie’s household needs to return to normal after serving as a hospital to us of late.”