A Haven for Her Heart Read online

  Books by Susan Anne Mason

  COURAGE TO DREAM

  Irish Meadows

  A Worthy Heart

  Love’s Faithful Promise

  A Most Noble Heir

  CANADIAN CROSSINGS

  The Best of Intentions

  The Highest of Hopes

  The Brightest of Dreams

  REDEMPTION’S LIGHT

  A Haven for Her Heart

  © 2020 by Susan A. Mason

  Published by Bethany House Publishers

  11400 Hampshire Avenue South

  Bloomington, Minnesota 55438

  www.bethanyhouse.com

  Bethany House Publishers is a division of

  Baker Publishing Group, Grand Rapids, Michigan

  www.bakerpublishinggroup.com

  Ebook edition created 2020

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—for example, electronic, photocopy, recording—without the prior written permission of the publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  ISBN 978-1-4934-2829-8

  Scripture quotations are from the New Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1989 National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are therefore inevitable. All other characters, however, are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Cover design by Koechel Peterson & Associates, Inc., Minneapolis, Minnesota/Jon Godfredson

  Author is represented by Natasha Kern Literary Agency.

  Contents

  Cover

  Half Title Page

  Books by Susan Anne Mason

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  A Note from the Author

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Ads

  Back Cover

  In memory of Velma Demerson,

  whose real-life story of incarceration

  at the Mercer Reformatory for Women

  inspired Olivia’s journey.

  A Note from the Author

  Dear Reader Friends,

  Writing a book about a maternity home has been on my mind for quite some time. When I originally wrote A Most Noble Heir, I’d envisioned a sequel to Nolan and Hannah’s story, featuring Hannah’s younger sister, Molly, who would open a maternity home—or a home for wayward girls—in Victorian England. However, that book never materialized, and the idea sat on the back burner for quite a while.

  Then, while brainstorming a new series for Bethany House, the idea came up again. Right around this time, I read a disturbing story in the paper about a woman named Velma Demerson, who was arrested in Toronto in the 1930s for being pregnant and unmarried. I kept the newspaper clipping about the harrowing details of her life, and it occurred to me that Olivia Rosetti, my heroine for the first book in the REDEMPTION’S LIGHT series, would need a compelling reason to open such a facility. Velma’s story provided the inspiration for that.

  In the meantime, I learned that Velma had written a book entitled Incorrigible about her experience in the Andrew Mercer Reformatory for Women (or “the Mercer,” for short), and I ordered a copy. It was not an easy book to read at times. The horrors she endured were beyond description, but it captured me so thoroughly that I decided to use her experience as a catalyst for my heroine.

  I wanted you to know this before you read Olivia’s story, which is a little grittier than the usual books I’ve written. But the horrors that Olivia goes through really happened to Velma and to many other incarcerated women. Eventually, the Mercer Reformatory was closed down, but not until 1969—thirty years after Velma’s stay there. It’s hard to imagine such atrocities occurring so recently in our history.

  In her later years, Velma gained the courage to sue the Ontario government for her mistreatment. She continued campaigning for an apology and seeking restitution for all women who had been incarcerated under the same law that had imprisoned her, right up until she passed away in 2019 at the age of ninety-eight.

  That being said, I hope you enjoy Olivia’s journey—how her search for respectability and healing leads her to help other women and how Darius teaches her the value of unconditional love while mirroring God’s love for each one of us. (Of course, Darius’s journey is not without a few bumps of its own!)

  Until next time, my profound appreciation for your support and encouragement!

  Susan

  I have swept away your transgressions

  like a cloud, and your sins like mist;

  return to me, for I have redeemed you.

  ISAIAH 44:22

  Prologue

  Toronto, Ontario, Canada

  November 1939

  Olivia Rosetti turned up the volume on the radio in the empty parlor. Thankfully, her parents had gone out to a church meeting tonight, giving her the rare gift of a few hours alone. With her older brother out for the evening as well, she could listen to the radio on her own for as long as she wished, without Leo and Papà arguing, and Leo getting so angry that he’d snap the machine off. Ever since Leo had failed the army physical due to a heart murmur, he hated all reports of the war. Especially since their brother Tony, one year younger than Leo, had passed all the tests and was headed overseas. Her youngest brother, Salvatore, safely cocooned at the seminary, was likely oblivious to the fact that the world was embroiled in conflict.

  Olivia twisted the dial until the static lessened and the deep voice of the broadcaster boomed through. Surely there would be news of the war at the top of the hour. Not that it would give her any details of her fiancé Rory’s fate. Or Tony’s. But listening to reports of the Canadian troops and their whereabouts helped her feel closer to both of them. In those moments, she could picture Rory in his uniform aboard the deck of a ship, heading to Britain to fight for freedom from Hitler’s tyranny.

  Oh, Rory, why did you have to join the war so soon? If you’d known about my situation, would it have stopped you from going?

  She ran a hand over the slight swell of her abdomen, a sick sense of dread rising through her. Last night, with no options left, she’d finally divulged her secret to her mother, who, despite Olivia’s protests, had immediately told her father. As expected, Enrico Rosetti had not taken the news well at all.

  Olivia’s hand instinctively went to her cheek, still tender from her father’s blow.

  “Did you ever consider how your sins would affect the family? That it could jeopa
rdize your brother’s calling?” he’d shouted, eyes wild. “Taking up with an Irishman was bad enough, but this? You are a disgrace to the Rosetti name.”

  Only her mother’s tearful pleas had stopped Papà’s tirade, half in English, half in Italian. Then, with a last curse word, he’d slammed out of their apartment over the store and stomped down the stairs, off to drown his sorrows with his comrades. Olivia prayed he hadn’t told them the reason why he was drinking that night.

  Static from the radio crackled over the room. Olivia fiddled with the tuner, attempting to get a clearer signal.

  “Eight people were killed and sixty-two injured in Munich last night in a failed attempt to assassinate Adolf Hitler. The German leader, who had been speaking only moments before the bomb went off, was unharmed.”

  She twisted her fingers together at the mere mention of the dictator’s name. Would the war have ended if the assassin had been successful? She breathed a prayer for forgiveness for wishing such a thing. Yet it seemed this one man continued to wreak havoc on the entire world, and she couldn’t really blame someone for trying to eliminate him.

  On some level, Olivia was proud of Rory for wanting to defend his country against such a despot. But on the other hand, she wished he hadn’t been quite so patriotic. Quite so willing to leave her behind.

  A loud knock sounded on the door. Olivia’s heart began to race. Who would be coming here at this hour? Everyone in the neighborhood knew the store was closed, and most of her parents’ friends would be at the church hall. Leo was at the local tavern playing pool with his friends and wouldn’t be home until the wee hours.

  She clutched the threadbare arm of the chair, a shiver of foreboding racing through her. “Who is it?”

  “Toronto Police. Open the door, please.”

  The police? What did they want? Had someone been in an accident?

  Heart in her throat, Olivia smoothed her hair and removed her apron, draping it over the armchair. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the room and opened the door.

  A large man in uniform stood on the landing. “Are you Miss Olivia Rosetti?”

  “Y-yes.”

  A flicker of emotion passed over his granite features. “I’m here to inform you that you are under arrest.”

  “Arrest? For what?” Her hand flew to her throat. Was this a joke? There had to be some sort of mistake.

  “You are charged under the Female Refuges Act with being incorrigible. I’m afraid you’re going to have to come with me.”

  “What does that mean? I don’t understand. . . .” Her legs trembled so hard beneath her pleated skirt that she grasped the hall table for support.

  A glimmer of sympathy shone in the man’s eyes. “Your father has taken out a warrant against you. He claims that you are unmarried, under the age of twenty-one, and . . .” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping her slender form. “. . . with child.”

  Heat flooded her face, but she held her head high. “That may be undesirable, but surely it’s not a crime.”

  “I’m afraid it is. Granted, it’s not a law I’ve had to enforce very often, but when a complaint is made, we must act.”

  Her mind spun, still unable to grasp what the officer was telling her. “My fiancé left for the war, otherwise we would already be married.” A tiny but desperate fib. “As soon as he comes back, we’ll . . .” She trailed off at the immovable set to the man’s jaw.

  “I’ll give you a minute to get ready. Then I have to take you down to the police station.”

  1

  April 1941

  Freedom. Open spaces without any horrid, confining bars.

  Olivia had craved this luxury for almost eighteen months, yet now that she was finally released from prison, the reality fell far short of what she’d imagined.

  Her blue plaid work dress and navy cardigan hung loose, offering little warmth against the chilly spring air as she trudged along King Street, carrying her near-empty handbag. With each block she traveled, her sense of panic increased.

  Freedom, it turned out, came with a whole new set of problems, proving she wasn’t really free at all.

  Instead, she was homeless, penniless, and friendless. Where could she go? Did she dare darken her parents’ doorstep? Without even enough money for bus fare, it could take an hour to reach her family’s store on foot. If she did, and she was able to get her mother alone, would Mamma help her? Or would obedience to Papà keep her from aiding her only daughter?

  Olivia’s steps faltered. Unused to walking for so long at a time, her feet screamed in protest. Blisters burned on her toes and heels. Her shoulders sagged forward, as if unwilling to bear the burden of her problems. But with little choice, she forced herself to plod on.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t continue, a familiar street sign appeared above her. Kensington Avenue. A few blocks farther west and she’d reach Rosetti’s Market. Her stomach growled and curled in on itself, the gruel she’d eaten for her last meal at the Mercer Reformatory long since burned off. The little extra weight she’d put on during her pregnancy had been stripped away by long hours of laboring at the sewing machines in the reformatory factory. That, along with the meager food rations, had left her much thinner than before her incarceration.

  Olivia approached the storefront with caution, her steps slowing as conflicting emotions swirled within her. How she’d dreamt of this moment every day during her confinement, of returning to the sights and sounds of the store. The vision of Mamma in her apron at the front counter, laughing at the chatter of the Italian ladies as they chose their vegetables. The smell of overripe fruit on sale at the front aisle. The clang of the cash register opening and closing. She’d missed everything about her home, her mother most of all. In a family of men, she and Mamma were kindred spirits, always sharing a secret smile, a knowing wink.

  But a nagging worry dimmed the excitement of Olivia’s homecoming. Would Papà allow her to come back? Surely she’d paid for her sins and had earned admittance back into the family. But deep down, part of her railed against asking for aid from the man who’d caused her suffering in the first place.

  Forgiveness, preached so easily from the tongue of the prison chaplain, sat hard on her unwilling spirit.

  But if humility granted her a place to lay her head while awaiting Rory’s return, then she would swallow her pride and bide her time. Once this dreadful war was over and her fiancé came home, maybe then she could put the past eighteen months of misery behind her. Her hand rested on her flat abdomen, and the perpetual ache in her chest intensified. Would that even be possible after all she’d lost?

  A lone figure stepped out onto the sidewalk beside the crates of apples and oranges and began to sweep the dirt from the entrance.

  Mamma!

  Her heart leapt at the sight of her mother’s kerchief and apron, head bent in concentration on her task. Unbidden tears burned Olivia’s eyes. How she’d missed Mamma’s comforting touch while she was locked away these many months, treated worse than a caged animal in a laboratory. How she’d longed for her mother’s love, her words of encouragement, her home-cooked food that cured every ill or worry.

  Olivia’s steps quickened, a smile tugging her lips upward. “Mamma,” she cried, emotion strangling her voice.

  Her mother looked up. The broom dropped to the ground as she rushed toward Olivia and clasped her in a tight embrace.

  “Oh, mia preziosa ragazza.”

  The whispered words of endearment washed over her soul like a balm. After kissing Olivia’s cheeks, her mother wiped her eyes with her apron.

  “You are too thin,” Mamma clucked as she held her by the shoulders. “You need to eat.”

  As if in answer, Olivia’s stomach growled. She laughed at her mother’s raised eyebrows.

  “I am hungry, Mamma. Is there anything left from the noon meal?”

  “Sì. There’s some soup and—” Mamma stopped, a sudden frown wrinkling her brow. “We must not let your father find you here. Come around to the back
.”

  Olivia straightened, her gut giving a painful lurch. So Papà had not forgiven her, just as she’d suspected.

  Mamma grabbed her arm, and they slipped like thieves down the side alley to the rear entrance into the storeroom. Bypassing the storage bins, they climbed the narrow staircase up to their apartment. Mamma moved swiftly into the kitchen, opening the icebox to remove a large cast-iron pot. Olivia’s mouth watered just thinking of the delicious meal it might contain. Minestrone soup, perhaps?

  A large loaf of bread sat on the cutting board on the counter. Olivia hesitated, then hunger overcame her reticence, and she reached for the knife to cut a thick slab. After slathering on a layer of butter, she took a large bite. Never had anything tasted so good.

  Mamma ladled the soup into a bowl. “It’s cool now, but it will fill your belly.”

  “Cold is fine, Mamma.”

  Olivia pulled out a chair at the table, the same green tablecloth she remembered still in place. She gulped down several spoonfuls of the soup, relishing the burst of flavors she’d almost forgotten existed. Prison fare had been bland at best. She swallowed, glancing around her old home. It seemed like forever since she’d been here, yet nothing had changed. The same worn sofa and armchair. The same radio on the rickety table in the corner.

  Down the narrow hall, all appeared unchanged as well. The door to their parents’ room was closed as usual. Neither she nor her brothers ever dared venture in there without an invitation. The door to Leo’s room sat slightly ajar. And her door, the first one visible, was also closed. Would Mamma have left Olivia’s room exactly as it had been before she’d been banished?

  “I do not think he will allow you to return.” Her mother’s soft voice was filled with regret. Sorrow clouded her dark eyes, now etched with many more worry lines than two years ago.

  Before this horrible war had started.

  Before Olivia had made the worst mistake of her life.

  “I want to come home, Mamma. What can I do to make it so?”

  Mamma shook her head and turned away to return the soup pot to the icebox.