Love's Reckoning (35 page)

 35 

Never think that God's delays are God's denials.

Comte De Buffon

Lately Eden's small office looked and felt more like a jail cell. Sparsely furnished and smelling of disinfectant, it had one saving grace—the sole window overlooking the physic garden below. During the scorching Philadelphia summers, she opened the casement wide, ignoring the buzz of insects, hoping for a welcome breeze. On a good day she was rewarded with the heady smell of herbs and gauzy memories of her York garden, not the wharf with its pungent whirl of oakum and brine.

This afternoon her gaze drifted to the wall clock, slightly askew, and the hospital rules framed and posted by the door.
No profaneness. No spitting on the floor. No running. No removing the foundlings from hospital grounds.
As the clock struck the hour, she took a seat at her desk, thumbing through a stack of paperwork till she found what could no longer be pushed aside—the latest endowment from David Greathouse. Tomorrow she'd present it at the board meeting, pasting on
a pleased smile as her colleagues nodded and expressed their gratitude. Though his patronage nauseated her, the funds were always needed and put to good use.

In the past they'd been able to build a new wing and summer kitchen, a second garden and small chapel. The latter she'd quietly dedicated to Jon, the cornerstone half hidden beneath a willow tree reminiscent of the one that shaded his grave in York. Thankfully only Beatrice had set foot inside the chapel, surveying everything with the cool detachment of a queen granting her subjects a rare visit.

Looking up from the letter of endowment, Eden took a deep breath. Over the years she'd grown used to her brick-and-mortar prison. Within its walls she felt safe. Cocooned. Insulated from the past. But today the sunlight frolicking outside her window seemed to issue a subtle invitation. Pushing down the urge to leave work early and take a carriage to Bartram's Gardens or Solomon's Book Shoppe, she made note of the hour. Half past three.

Time for tea.

Eden rounded a corner, sensitive to the wails of infants echoing down the corridors, eyes drawn to the painting in the tiled foyer of Christ blessing the little children. The enormous oil never failed to move her. Perhaps she simply needed a painting or two to brighten her office, remind her of her mission—or she was in need of a holiday as the board had recently suggested. Aside from a brief illness, she'd not taken time away since she'd first set foot in Philadelphia.

Knocking on the director's door, she was greeted by a woman's familiar voice and saw a tea party already in progress by a far window, Stephen Elliot presiding. Eden felt a start of surprise. The board president—at tea?

“Oh my,” Eden said with a sheepish smile. “Am I intruding? I apologize—”

“Don't fret, Eden. 'Tis only tea, not a board meeting. Stephen has come early to discuss something with me—and thee.” Constance Darby gave her a lingering glance that held a hint of warning.

Be obliging
, the look seemed to say.
Don't be too surprised.

Eden looked from the woman whose counsel she always heeded to the spritely, gray-headed man she so respected, and still felt a prickle of alarm. Stephen Elliot got to his feet, clasping Eden's hands warmly as was his custom, his smile so infectious she found herself smiling back despite her wariness.

“Miss Lee, I simply have an interesting proposal. 'Tis spring, after all, a time to look forward and be thinking of our foundlings' futures.”

“Has there been a change in plans?” she asked. “Are you not going to Boston?”

“No, not Boston. The foundling hospital there is flourishing and has no need of my direction at present. I've another destination in mind.” He pulled out a chair and seated her before resuming his own seat. “A fortnight ago, an old friend from my Dartmouth days sent me a letter. He's one of Pittsburgh's founders and is in need of apprentices. Since we have a great many twelve-year-old-boys at present, I feel his request serves us well. Why don't we apprentice these lads to the tradesmen of Pittsburgh? There are a few girls awaiting placement who could also be of service. There's no rule that says we're to keep them in Philadelphia. And if there was,” he said with a benevolent twinkle in his eyes, “I'd overturn it.”

And well he could, Eden thought, as he was the wealthiest man in the city. Though not a Quaker, Stephen Elliot was a leading philanthropist and had made extensive bequests to
many charitable institutions, including their own. Rarely had he steered them wrong.

“We must get approval from Dr. Rush, of course, and the rest of the board,” Constance added. “But I foresee no problems there.”

“No, it's a capital plan. I wish I'd thought of it myself.” He stirred a heaping spoonful of sugar into his tea, eyes returning to Eden. “So sure was I of everyone's approval, I took the liberty of writing my friend straightaway and confirming our arrival in mid-June.”

Our.
The tiny word sent a chill clear through her. Her fingers brushed the curved handle of her teacup, but she didn't raise it to her lips. “What have I to do with this, Mr. Elliot?”

“You, my dear Miss Lee, are to act as chaperone and accompany the girls. I'll oversee the boys. There won't be more than a dozen children total.”

“But—” The word escaped her lips before she'd put thought behind it. She tried to soften her reluctance with a smile. “I—I've not traveled beyond the outskirts of Philadelphia since coming here. And Fort Pi—Pittsburgh is so far.”

“Precisely,” he said with a smile, “which is why your name kept coming to mind as I was pondering the trip and praying. A change of scene will be good for us all. I'll fund the excursion myself, of course. All expenses will be paid, including a suitable wardrobe for both you and the children.”

No more drab Quaker gray.

She met his eyes, a bit disbelieving. Though the words lodged like splinters inside her, how could she say no? It was this man who had taken her in when she'd first arrived in Philadelphia, a mere foundling herself, lost and bewildered as she'd been. Beatrice had made the introductions after Eden refused to stay in the Greathouses' townhouse. Not once had he or his wife, Harriet, delved into her past. They'd simply
welcomed her with open arms, treating her like a daughter. Never had they asked anything of her.

Till now.

Still, half a dozen empty excuses leapt to mind, none of which had held the slightest appeal till this very moment.
I must attend a reception for President Washington on behalf of the hospital. Accompany Dr. Rush and his wife to Chestnut Street Theater. Be on hand when the hot-air balloon is launched from Robert Morris's garden . . .

“But what of Harriet?” Eden kept her voice even, masking her disquiet. “She almost always accompanies you on these trips.”

“I'm afraid Harriet has promised our niece a debut and is already neck-deep in the social season, starting with the Binghams' ball. You received an invitation, no doubt?”

“Yes, but . . .” It went without saying she wouldn't attend. She shunned society whenever she could, and always had.

“Say you will, Eden.” His eyes—so kind and entreating—held hers. She felt herself give way. “I can think of no one better suited for the trip. The girls adore you—you'll put them at their ease and give them a proper introduction into Pittsburgh society.”

“Society?” The word nearly made her smile. “Surely there's little of that to be had on the frontier.”

“On the contrary, Miss Lee. Pittsburgh just might surprise you.”

Withholding a sigh, Eden took a sip of tea. Now even Constance looked a bit dubious as she passed round a plate of scones. “Aren't circumstances in the West a bit . . . tentative at present? I remember hearing about a brewing rebellion involving not tea and taxes but whiskey and taxes.”

Mr. Elliot gave a decisive shake of his head. “The newspapers paint a torrid picture of Pittsburgh, depicting it as a hotbed of rebellion. Don't believe a word of it. Congress has
reduced the tax on whiskey, and my friend the judge maintains law and order.” He took a letter from his waistcoat and scanned it thoughtfully. “There are several thousand inhabitants in Allegheny County and a number of tradesmen in need of apprentices. Let's see . . . a saddler, a blacksmith, a boatwright, a gunsmith, several merchants . . .”

“Where will thy party be staying?” Constance asked.

“We'll lodge at the Black Bear Hotel, though my old friend has graciously opened his home to us as well.” Passing the paper to her, he took out a pocket calendar. “Travel by stage should take three weeks. Once we arrive, we'll get the children settled and stay on to oversee a smooth transition. I foresee spending the summer in Pittsburgh and returning to Philadelphia by September.”

Eden sat straight-backed in her chair, her mouth dry despite the delicious tea. They were waiting for her to say something—to accept—but the words seemed to stick in her throat.

Mr. Elliot leaned nearer. “Miss Lee, I truly believe you'll enjoy the West—”

“I—nay—” She was on her feet but didn't remember standing, was only cognizant of the closeness of the room, her sudden breathlessness. The past seemed to be pressing in on her all at once from every direction. Just yesterday she'd had a letter from Elspeth. Elspeth! Who'd informed her she was coming to the city to visit after nary a word for years. “Please, I—”

“Eden, are thee unwell?” Constance rose abruptly, reaching out a hand in concern.

With a shake of her head, Eden made it to the hall, mumbling some excuse before fleeing to the physic garden beyond the nearest door. The scent of sun-warmed earth and perennials in their spring infancy surrounded her like old friends, releasing their perfume beneath her feet. Soon the grounds
would burst into full bloom, only she'd not be here to see it. If she went west—nay!

Her mind raced to come up with a suitable replacement. Sinking down atop a stone bench, her skirts swirling around her, she tried to calm her tangled thoughts.

Lord, help . . . please.

When the name finally came, she expelled a relieved breath.

Hannah Penn.