A Worthy Heart Page 18

  Fighting waves of exhaustion, Aurora slumped onto the side of the bed and bowed her head. “Dear God, send Your healing graces to these precious children. Use me as Your instrument to help them recover. In Your name I pray.”

  “Amen.”

  Sudden realization broke through her haze of weariness, propelling her up from the thin mattress. “Gabe, you shouldn’t be here.”

  He stood at the foot of the bed like a guardian angel. The concern shining from his eyes made Aurora want to break down and weep.

  She tried to grab his arm and move him toward the door, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “I’m not going anywhere, Aurora. Put me to work. I’m sure I can do something to help.”

  The relief that spilled through Aurora shamed her. Surely she should be made of sterner stuff if she were to work the long hours required to become a nurse. During the night, Aurora hadn’t allowed any weariness or fear to show, but now the toll hit her full force.

  She must have swayed, for Gabe wrapped an arm around her waist. “Easy now. Are you feeling okay?”

  “I’m just tired.”

  He swiped the wisps of hair from her forehead and laid his hand there. “You don’t have a fever, do you? We can’t have you getting sick.”

  She could only shake her head, her throat had become so tight.

  As if sensing her fragile emotions, Gabe squeezed her hand. “I’ll go check in with Rylan while you find me a job to do.”

  He flashed her a smile that stole the air from her lungs.

  “Thank you, Gabe.”

  “My pleasure, cailín alainn.” He winked and set off down the hall.

  She had no idea what it meant, but his endearing tone warmed her heart.

  When Dr. Reardon came in several minutes later, Aurora still had not recovered her equilibrium.

  “Miss Hastings, are you well? You look . . .” He halted, as though realizing there was no good way to finish.

  Aurora had to pull herself together. She might be a pampered rich girl, but she was determined to prove she could handle her duties. “I’m fine. Let’s check on the children.”

  Gabe returned just as the doctor was finishing with Johnnie.

  Dr. Reardon removed his stethoscope, a scowl on his face. “What is he doing here?”

  “Gabe came to help however he can,” Aurora explained hastily.

  The grim set to Dr. Reardon’s mouth gave evidence of his displeasure. “May I speak with you both in the hall?”

  “Of course.”

  He moved outside the room, likely so the children wouldn’t hear his diagnosis. From his serious expression, Aurora feared the news would not be good. She and Gabe followed him out and closed the door.

  Dr. Reardon didn’t waste any time. “I’m afraid this has all the appearance of typhoid fever. I’m going to take some more blood and urine samples to have analyzed. We’ll need stool samples, as well. In the meantime, we need to determine a possible cause. The likely sources of typhoid are a contaminated water supply or food tainted by a carrier.” He tapped a finger on his hand as he spoke. “I’ll need the water supply here tested. Until it is ruled out as a cause, water must be boiled before use. Proper hand-washing is of utmost importance. And all waste must be handled as per my instructions.” He glanced at Gabe. “Until the outbreak is identified and contained, I am recommending a quarantine.”

  Aurora knew her dismay must show on her face. “What is the incubation period, Doctor?”

  “It averages from seven to fourteen days.” Dr. Reardon folded his stethoscope and stuffed it in the pocket of his white coat. “I’ll need a list of everyone who has been in the building over the past two weeks. In particular, anyone who may have eaten the food prepared here during that time.”

  Fatigue made Aurora’s knees tremble. “I’ll ask Rylan for help with that.”

  “Who is the cook here?”

  Aurora shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  Gabe stepped forward. “Mrs. Norton is the head cook. Miss Mary Brown was recently hired as an assistant. But apparently she left during the night,” he said. “I stopped in the kitchen earlier, and unfortunately I believe Mrs. Norton has taken ill herself.”

  “Oh, dear.” Aurora swiped the back of her hand across her forehead and attempted to pull her thoughts together. The situation seemed to be rapidly spinning out of control.

  Gabe put a hand to her back, its warmth steadying her. “I’ll help Rylan compile a list of any people who might have been exposed,” he said.

  Dr. Reardon nodded. “Good. Miss Hastings, I’d appreciate your assistance to take further blood samples.”

  “Of course.” Aurora straightened her shoulders, but Gabe kept his arm about her.

  He stared at the doctor. “Don’t forget to check on Mrs. Norton, as well.”

  Dr. Reardon stiffened, and for a brief moment, Aurora sensed a strange tension between the two men.

  After several seconds, Dr. Reardon took a step back. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery. After you, Miss Hastings.”

  As Aurora followed the doctor into the sickroom, she wearily wondered if she’d be required to cook the meals now, as well.

  18

  THE TRAIN RIDE BACK TO MANHATTAN chugged by in a blur. Adam’s tortured mind could do nothing but replay the events of the day over and over again. Try as he might, he could not erase the look of torment on his mother’s face, nor the coldness on his father’s.

  Correction—not his father’s.

  Adam followed the line of exiting passengers through the train station and out into the dark night. A blast of rain-soaked air hit him full in the face. When had it started to storm?

  Too late, he pulled up his collar, but not before a stream of cold water sluiced down his neck and back. Adam shivered and kept on walking. If only the rain could wash away the shame of his birth.

  But nothing could do that.

  Everything he knew about himself—about his life—had been a lie. His birth certificate was a lie, his father was a lie, his position in the family was a lie. No wonder he’d always felt separate from his family, like a ship moored in the wrong port. His brothers and sisters were a product of the love that existed between their parents. He was the result of a criminal act perpetrated against his mother. His conception had marred what should have been the happiest time of her life, when she married the man she loved. Instead of coming to James as a chaste girl, she’d been a fallen woman, carrying a terrible secret, bearing the sin George Drake had perpetrated.

  How could his mother have kept him? Why hadn’t she left him on the doorstep of an orphanage, as Jolene had, and continued on with her life—without the constant reminder of her violation? He would never understand that.

  Now totally drenched, Adam arrived at John’s church and headed to the back door, but once there, he couldn’t face going in. Not even to his lowly cot in the basement. The long walk from the station had not drained the terrible anger pulsing within him. He needed physical labor to release it. Ignoring the rain, he stalked over to the pile of wood in the corner of the yard and retrieved the axe from the work shed. Heedless of the elements, Adam drove the axe over and over into the log until his shoulders ached—but even that violent action could not dispel his torment.

  “Adam, is everything all right?”

  Above the roar of the wind and slash of rain, John’s concerned voice penetrated the haze of Adam’s turmoil. Adam swiped the water from his eyes with the back of his free hand. “No, John. Everything’s all wrong.”

  Sheltered by a black umbrella, John crossed the yard. “Come inside and we’ll talk. You need to get dry.”

  The axe in Adam’s hand shuddered. Looking down, he realized his whole body was shaking. He dropped the tool, which landed with a quiet thud on the ground, and silently followed John through the rear door of the church.

  John closed the umbrella and led Adam to his tiny office on the main floor, where a fire glowed in the corner woodstove. “I was working on my sermon,
” he explained. He pulled a chair close to the hearth and gestured for Adam to sit.

  Adam sank onto the seat and held his hands out to the warmth, barely conscious of the puddles pooling on the floor beneath him.

  John reappeared moments later with two towels and a shirt. He handed a towel to Adam and laid the other on the ground to soak up the water.

  “Here’s a spare shirt. I’ll fetch some coffee from the kitchen.”

  John removed his own soggy cap and jacket, hung them on a hook behind the door, then left the room.

  Adam rubbed the towel over his hair and face, then tore off his wet jacket and shirt. Now shivering violently, he scrubbed his chest and arms and tugged on the dry shirt John had left for him. Adam slumped on the chair, staring into the mesmerizing flames, almost incapable of moving.

  John returned with the coffee minutes later. He handed Adam the mug, pulled a blanket from the back of an armchair, and draped it around Adam’s back.

  The warmth from the cup seeped into Adam’s cold fingers. He sipped the liquid, grateful for the heat that spread from his throat to his stomach.

  John pulled up a chair beside him. “You’ll be lucky if you don’t catch pneumonia. What possessed you to chop wood in such weather?”

  What indeed.

  “It was either that or drown my sorrows in whiskey. Chopping wood seemed the better option.”

  Concern shone from John’s brown eyes as he watched him. “I can tell something has upset you greatly.”

  Adam inhaled and slowly let out a resigned breath. “I finally learned the truth about my father. And it was worse than I ever imagined.”

  John didn’t blink. “It might do you good to talk about it.”

  The muscles in Adam’s shoulders seized. What would John think of him now? Would he still be as accepting of him, knowing his dishonorable origin? Adam toyed with hiding the news but quickly discarded the idea. John deserved his honesty.

  As succinctly as possible, Adam relayed the sordid tale of his conception. When he finished, John remained silent, staring into the fire. From past experience, Adam knew the man was praying for God’s wisdom to guide his words.

  “I’m so sorry, Adam. This must have been a terrible shock. Though it does explain a lot about James’s attitude toward you.”

  “I suppose it’s good to know that I didn’t imagine his resentment. Still, it doesn’t make up for my miserable childhood.”

  “No. It will take a lot of prayer and a forgiving heart. But I have confidence in you, Adam. I don’t doubt for one minute that in time you’ll be able to overcome this blow.”

  Adam raked a hand over his beard. “I’m not so sure, John. Right now I’m so full of anger . . . I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to face my parents again.”

  “Who are you angry at?”

  Adam stilled. “The man who did such a despicable thing to my mother, for one.”

  “Who else?”

  “I’m angry at James for the way he treated me. It wasn’t my fault I resembled my father.”

  “Of course not.” He paused. “Still, I’d like you to consider one thing, if possible.”

  Adam knew from past dealings with John that these seemingly banal requests usually ended with Adam feeling he was somehow in the wrong.

  “How would you feel if the woman you loved was violated in such a manner and found herself with child? Do you think you could do what James did? Marry her and raise the child as your own?”

  Adam jerked from his seat, his mind filled with images of Neill Fitzgerald abusing Maggie in such a manner, of her growing large with Neill’s unwanted child. Would Adam be able to forgo his anger and accept Maggie carrying Neill’s offspring?

  He stalked to the small window behind John’s sparse desk and peered out at the deluge falling on the darkened ground. “I don’t know if I could, John.”

  “It must be hard to imagine. You’ve probably never experienced the self-sacrificing type of love that thinks only of another’s welfare.” A warm hand came to rest on Adam’s shoulder. “The kind of love God has for each one of us.”

  Adam let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a sob and then rested his forehead against the cold pane of glass. “What kind of love could God have for a man who would do something so horrendous to a woman?”

  “We are all sinners to one degree or another. God doesn’t love one of us more than another. We are all precious in His eyes, no matter how many times we fall under the weight of sin.” John squeezed Adam’s shoulders and gently led him back to his seat. “What’s important is how we seek His forgiveness, how we pick ourselves up and carry on again.”

  Adam closed his eyes against the storm of emotions flowing through his body. How would he pick himself up after this? Could he even begin to unravel the events of his life, knowing what he did now?

  “You need time, my friend. Time to pray. Time to process this information and discern God’s will for your life. I’m a firm believer that nothing happens by chance. There is a purpose in this that only time will reveal. Surrender your anger and sorrow to the Lord, and let Him help heal your wounds.”

  Adam remained silent, glad his friend didn’t seem to expect a response.

  John bent to stir the embers in the stove and closed the iron door. “Feel free to sleep here tonight if it’s warmer. It tends to be damp in the basement.” John moved toward him. “I’ll be praying for you, Adam. Remember the verse I always quote. ‘All things work together for good to them that love God, who are called according to His purpose.’”

  A reluctant smile tugged at Adam’s mouth. “I remember.” He looked John in the eye. “Thank you, my friend. You got me through prison. I hope you’ll get me through this crisis, as well.”

  John thumped him on the back. “I’ll do my best or die trying. Now get some sleep. Things are bound to appear better in the morning.”

  But as Adam dragged his blankets and pillow from the cot in the basement up to John’s warm office, he doubted anything would be different come the morrow.

  The next morning, after tidying John’s office and moving his belongings back to the basement, Adam dragged his bone-weary body outside to the shed. In the damp morning air, he surveyed the strewn pieces of wood he’d hacked the night before, lying like fallen soldiers on the battlefield. In his rage, he’d damaged some wood he might have crafted into decent furnishings. Now in the cool light of dawn, he cleared the evidence of his destruction.

  With a few salvaged logs in tow, he opened the shed and stepped inside, drinking in the soothing scent of hewn wood. When he bent to place the pieces in a corner bin, an uneasy feeling niggled his subconscious. Upon closer inspection, he discovered several of his creations were missing. A small cabinet, a stool, and two chairs, to be exact. Thankfully the cedar chest and the cradle remained where Adam had left them. Why would anyone take a few pieces and leave the two best behind?

  He raked a hand through his hair, still damp from his morning ablutions, and decided he’d ask John for permission to start locking the shed. Couldn’t be too careful, especially with flammable material like varnish that could start a fire in the wrong hands.

  Adam returned to the woodpile and stacked the remaining pieces for use in the woodstove and fireplace. Later, when the McNabbs were busy with their day, Adam would deliver the wood to the rectory. He straightened and wiped the dirt from his hands, not surprised to see John crossing the grass. Likely checking to see that Adam hadn’t done something crazy overnight.

  “Good morning, Adam. Did you manage to get any sleep?” As usual, John was freshly shaved, his brown hair combed back from his face. Unlike Adam’s wrinkled clothing, John’s shirt and pants were crisply ironed.

  “A little.”

  “Good. I have a matter to discuss with you. Are you up for a walk?”

  Adam tried hard not to scowl at his friend’s good cheer. “As long as it won’t take too long. I have work at the orphanage today.”

  “Won’t take long at all
.” John nodded as Adam fell in step beside him.

  They made their way in silence, save for John’s jaunty whistle, until they turned onto 14th Street, where several shops lined both sides of the road.

  Adam blew out an exasperated breath, his patience worn thin. “What are we doing here, John?”

  “There’s something I want you to see.” With a maddening smile, John stopped in front of an empty property sandwiched between a general store and a haberdashery. From the thick grime on the windows, it was evident the business had been closed for some time. A crooked sign, decorated with an anvil and tongs, hung over the door.

  “You want to show me an old blacksmith’s shop?”

  “Correct.” Undaunted, John pulled a key from his pants pocket and fit it into the door. After a few hard tugs, the door creaked open.

  Reluctantly, Adam followed John inside, brushing cobwebs from his head as they passed through the opening. The interior proved as grim as the exterior, empty now except for a long counter against the left wall, a set of wooden shelves behind it, and a stone hearth where the smithy must have heated his tools.

  “What’s this about? Does someone need work done in here?” Perhaps one of John’s parishioners had a job for him, after all. He studied the area more closely. With a good cleaning and a polishing of the wood, the place showed promise.

  John turned to face Adam, hands on his hips. “As a matter of fact, yes. I’m thinking of opening a store.”

  Adam frowned. This seemed strangely out of character for his friend. “Aren’t you busy enough with your church and your work at the prison? When would you have time to run a store, as well?”

  “I won’t be running it. I’ll be a silent partner and leave the day-to-day operation to the store manager.”

  Goosebumps of awareness traveled up Adam’s back. “What type of store are you opening?”