The Firebrand (18 page)

Mrs. Mackey, splendidly dressed as always in a mustard-colored morning dress and matching bonnet, sucked her tongue in disapproval. "But they are such...such awful little stories. Sentimental and simplistic. Don't you see it as your mission to uplift and enlighten the hearts and minds of readers?"

"Of course," Lucy said. "And that's why I would never presume to determine what a woman should or shouldn't read." Some booksellers considered themselves too high-minded to stock such popular offerings; they saw themselves as gatekeepers of literary taste and roundly censored books of which they did not approve. But not Lucy. She understood all too well the dangers of censorship, banning books or sitting in judgment of someone's reading choices.

Smiling in her most professional manner, she took one of the small books from the shelf and held it out to Mrs. Mackey. This one was called
The Hostage,
or
Isle Royale Paradise
by a lady author no one had ever heard of. "Have you ever read one?"

The bird feathers on her bonnet trembled indignantly. "Certainly not. Nor have I read anything remotely like it."

"Then," Lucy said with a wry smile, "you are well-qualified to criticize them." "Well, I—it's just that they are just so...so
preposterous,"
Mrs. Mackey

insisted. "Why would I waste my time reading something so preposterous?"

Lucy pressed the book into her hand. "There's a reason these books are so popular. People like them. They like the drama and the sentiment. Take this book, Mrs. Mackey. If you don't like it, bring it back."

She hesitated, then accepted the garishly illustrated paperbound volume. "Very well. I suppose there's no harm in taking a peek."

Lucy caught Willa Jean's eye and gave her a wink. Perhaps Mrs. Mackey would turn into a loyal devotee of the genre, which meant more frequent visits to the bookstore.

Though she enthusiastically sold the cheap, popular novels, Lucy didn't understand them herself. Who on earth could believe such an outlandish plot as a bride taken hostage to an island paradise, and who could admire a woman who spent a whole book pining away for a man? But she had to admit, no matter what trials and perils the perfect blond beauty went through, she always reached a moment of blissful triumph in the end. Perhaps that was the appeal, the notion that out of the ashes of despair could come a grand passion and a shining new hope.

Lucy spent the rest of the day tending shop as usual, trying to convince herself that all would be well. She normally joined in the weekly reading circle, particularly when the theme was as compelling as this week's topic of the upcoming Centennial march, to be led by Victoria Woodhull herself. Mrs. McNelis came in to purchase her monthly copy of
The Voting Woman,
but when she wanted to discuss the July Fourth event, Lucy was too preoccupied to give it her full energies. Today, it was all she could do to remember how to add a column of sums. After lunch, she simply gave up, letting Willa Jean handle the trade while she tried not to go absolutely mad with worry and apprehension.

Maggie was still oblivious to the turmoil surrounding her. Lucy's mother had promised to go on as if everything was normal, helping the little girl through her morning lessons and taking her to play in the park after lunch. Soon, however, Lucy would have to break the news to Maggie.

Standing behind the tradesman's counter, Lucy pretended to organize a stack of papers. In reality, she brooded upon her most recent meeting with Barry Lynch. On her behalf, he'd consulted a judge, and the news hadn't been good. The law preferred the rights of the natural parents over the adoptive ones, and of course it favored the rights of a man over a woman. That was no surprise. The fact that Lucy had saved a helpless child and provided a safe and happy home for Maggie would arouse the court's sympathy and admiration, but a ruling in Lucy's favor was a longshot. Her best hope was to negotiate privately with the parents.

The notion daunted Lucy. She couldn't even negotiate a bank loan with Randolph Higgins.

Near closing time, Patience Washington bustled in, her robes billowing with the summer wind and her face sober and fierce with concern. She greeted her sister, then turned her attention to Lucy. ' T just got your message, child, and came right over," she said.

Lucy motioned her into the tiny office cubicle behind the desk. Publishers' broadsheets and book review journals lay scattered in untidy but well-organized

heaps. On the wall was a newfangled bell system for calling up to the apartment. There was just enough room for Lucy and Patience to sit together.

"I went to see him," she said without preamble. "I told Mr. Higgins about his daughter."

"Oh, blessed day." Patience beamed. "I knew you would."

Lucy told her about Mr. Higgins's stunned reaction, the furious suspicion followed by such wonder and gratitude that even recounting the tale, she felt an uncomfortable prickle in her throat. She described the rolling lawns of the neighborhood, the lake beach, the sad stone angel monument to Christine, the stern grandmama who had kept Maggie's tooth, and most of all her concern about the absent wife, the former Mrs. Higgins.

"She divorced him," Lucy said in a scandalized voice. "Left him when he could barely rise from his bed."

"I thought you believed a woman is entitled to divorce her husband at will." "Of course I do, but not when it involves my child's parents." She stopped,

wondering at the irony of her own child having other parents.

"Do you think he treated her bad, maybe beat her?"

Lucy considered the tall, brooding man who was master of the cold, tree-shaded mansion. "I cannot imagine him mistreating anyone. He is so...careful and controlled. So very gentle with Maggie. He was gardening when we arrived. I showed him the photographs of her growing up and he—" She remembered the reverent way he'd held the blanket to his face and handled the pictures. Even in his frustration over missing his daughter's life, he had never given way to rage.

"Mr. Higgins thinks Maggie's life is unsettled and strange. She lacks a proper nurse or governess, she lives over a shop..." His words haunted Lucy and undermined her confidence. She pulled in a long, apprehensive breath of air. "Patience, it is just as I feared. Simply knowing Maggie is alive and well is not enough for Mr. Higgins. He wants her back."

Patience folded her hands and stared down at the desk. "We didn't expect anything else, honey."

"It's more than that." Lucy felt a fresh wave of panic. Every instinct a mother could have leaped up in denial inside her. "He wants more than the occasional visit. He intends to take her away."

Patience's head snapped up. "Land of mercy. Child, I don't know what to say."

"Please." Lucy reached across the desk and grasped the hard-knuckled dark hands that had always touched her with kindness. She gazed pleadingly into eyes that had looked upon her with wisdom and affection since they were girls together. "You have to know what to do."

"Nobody knows that."

"Mr. Lynch consulted Judge Roth on my behalf to see if I have any legal recourse whatsoever."

"And do you?"

"Not likely." Lucy nearly choked on the words. "He thought perhaps I might be entitled to some manner of compensation for my troubles, but that is all." She let loose with a sharp, humorless laugh. "How much is a mother to be paid for loving a child? A thousand dollars? Ten thousand? Six million? How can you put a price on such a thing?"

"What does your heart tell you to do?" asked Patience.

"Run," Lucy answered instantly. "As fast and as far as I can, to a place where he will never find us."

"Girl, that's not your heart speaking. That's instinct. You got to ask yourself what your life would be like, always running, always looking over your shoulder. You'd never feel safe. Is that any sort of a life for a child?"

"I know you're right, Patience. I can't flee. My whole world is here. The Firebrand, my mother, our customers." She gave the preacher's hands a squeeze before letting them go. "My friends and my church. Without that, life would not be worth a copper penny."

"So...?"

"So I suppose I must fight Randolph Higgins on any grounds possible." She shut her burning eyes; she hadn't slept a wink the night before. "I would fight to the death to keep Maggie."

Patience was silent for so long that Lucy dragged her eyes open. Patience had a tender, thoughtful expression on her handsome face; she waited with an abiding forbearance that made her name so fitting.

"What?" Lucy demanded.

"You better think about what Maggie's going to go through during this here fight of yours." She stood slowly, her lumbering movements a distant echo of the toil and abuse she'd endured growing up poorer than poor until the Hathaways had taken her and her sister in.

"Is that all you have to say?" Lucy asked.

"Good Book's got something to say. First Book of Kings, chapter three, girl.

See if the Lord will show you the way."

The moment she was gone, Lucy raced to the bookcase in the shop containing religious and spiritual titles and took out a heavy King James. Ignoring Willa Jean's probing stare, Lucy opened the book to the chapter and verse Patience had cited.

She was painfully familiar with the story. Two women laid claim to the same infant. To figure out the identity of the true mother, King Solomon commanded that the baby be cut in half and distributed in equal parts to the two mothers. One woman instantly shrieked out a protest and begged the king to give the child to her rival. In that moment, the king knew the protesting woman was the infant's mother because no true mother would sacrifice her child for the sake of her own

selfish needs.

Lucy replaced the Bible on the shelf. The message was clear. If she chose to put up a fight, the casualty would be Maggie.

She walked to the shop window, her footsteps clicking on the scrubbed plank floor. Standing at the window, she viewed the park across the way, where her mother sat with her knitting in her lap and Maggie played a disorganized round of baseball with a group of neighborhood boys. A powerful wave of love nearly sent Lucy to her knees, but she stood firm.

She knew what she had to do.

Based on the scandalous reputation of The Firebrand, Rand half expected to encounter chanting, wild-eyed Amazons on the sidewalk outside the establishment. Instead the little shop appeared to be a rather ordinary, even pleasant-looking place. Situated amid a row of merchants' shops on the west side of Gantry Street, it faced a stand of sycamores on the opposite verge, which bordered a small city park. The brick front facade framed a picture window he knew had been wildly expensive. But in her loan papers, Lucy Hathaway had written that the outward appearance of her establishment was a critical factor in its success, and in building its false front she'd spared no expense.

Typical woman, he thought. More concerned with appearance than substance. And clearly, judging by the cryptic message he'd received from her, enamored of high drama.

She had summoned him by telegraph messenger. Everyone, even the janitor at the bank, knew Randolph Higgins did not enjoy correspondence by telegraph, yet apparently Miss Hathaway was a dedicated user of the newfangled system, sending young men dressed like organ grinders' monkeys out to deliver her messages.

Miss Hathaway desires that you call at her shop at ten o'clock in the morning
__

It had the tone of a royal summons. From anyone else in the world, Rand would ignore it as the self-important imperative of a bank client, but this was different. This was Lucy. This was the person Christine called "Mama."

He forced himself to sit still while his driver fitted the brake blocks in front of the wheels of the coach, though he did crane his neck around, looking for his daughter.

His daughter. Alive and well. To a man who had never before dared to believe

in miracles, this had made a believer of him.

The hard part was the waiting, the holding back. Only minutes after Lucy and Christine had left his house, he'd summoned a team of solicitors from the best law firm in the city. Since it was a Sunday, he'd gathered them from their family dinners and rounds of golf. After recovering from their initial amazement, the lawyers had advised him to progress methodically through the steps of reclaiming his child. One legal misstep, and he could lose her again. They did assure him, however, that he would get her back. What judge in the city would dare to question the rights of a natural parent, particularly a man of Randolph Higgins's status?

What about the fact that his wife had divorced him? He'd been forced to ask it.

The lawyers were not worried about that. Besides, they pointed out, when she learned of Christine's survival, Diana would surely come rushing back to him.

And surely, thought Rand morosely, the moon would fall out of the sky.

Still, miracles did happen, and Christine was proof of that. The task ahead was to find the best and fairest way to bring her back into his life. That imperative, more than any lawyer's advice, governed his impulses now. The child was about to undergo a big change in her way of life, and he wanted to make the transition as smooth as possible.

But as he thought of Lucy Hathaway, he could not imagine anything going smoothly. The woman was a human cyclone, ripping through his life and leaving chaos in her wake. But she'd saved Christine. She'd raised a happy, healthy child. For that, he owed her a debt beyond counting.

Holding a black leather case stuffed with hastily prepared legal briefs, he took out his pocket watch, thumbing open the gold dome of the cover. He was five minutes early. He flipped the watch shut and put it into the shallow pocket of his waistcoat, remembering the day he'd received it. His father, Bradwell Higgins, had given it to him on the occasion of his engagement to Diana Layton, the most sought-after debutante in Philadelphia. Rand remembered his father's approval and his own feeling that for once he'd done something right.

His father was notoriously difficult to please. Grandmother Higgins had always said it was because of Rand's mother. Her name hadn't been spoken aloud by any Higgins since Rand was ten years old.