Always (25 page)

“Him.” Ross pounced on the word. “It was a boy.”

Emily couldn’t react at first. A boy. She didn’t like to remember, not now when sometimes whole hours went by without thinking about it. Whole hours, but not whole days. Not yet. Never a whole day because there were always those moments when she extinguished the lamp by her bedside, those moments when the room fell dark and she was left in the quiet and all alone. “Yes,” she replied, “it was a boy.”

“Where is he?”

“What?”

“Where is my son, Emily?”

She was having a difficult time concentrating on his words long enough to understand the questions. No, she didn’t like to remember, but even when she wasn’t remembering, it was with her just the same, as if there had never been a time when it wasn’t. Perhaps that’s why she was so bewildered that Ross should ask where his son was when it should have been self-evident.

Before she knew what was happening, Ross had her by the shoulders, his face only inches from hers. He enunciated each syllable as if it were a dagger pressed to her throat.
“Where is my son?”

“He died.”

The color drained from his face. He let go of her. “What?”

“It was an accident. He was too little. That’s what the doctor said. He should have had more time to grow, but there was the accident, and—” Ross’s look of confusion told her that she wasn’t making any sense.

Turning her back, she took in a long breath. “When I went to stay with Aunt Essie, I wanted to get a job to help with the expenses. She teaches school and does fine, but I didn’t like the idea of depending on anyone for my keep. I tried to get a job, but even in wartime folks aren’t too enthused about hiring a woman who is with child. I ended up volunteering at the soldier’s hospital. At least it kept me busy during the day.”

Ross didn’t say anything, but she could feel his gaze boring into the space between her shoulder blades.

“At the end of each day I walked back to our apartment, but after a few months, it got to be tiring, and so Aunt Essie suggested I take a cab. I thought maybe she was right. I thought it was the best thing for the baby, but that’s not how it turned out. The day of the accident, something spooked the horses just as I was stepping up into the carriage. I lost my balance and fell from the mounting stone.”

Emily’s voice, so even and controlled, finally broke. She tried to fill her lungs with air, but they felt as tight and hard as two blocks of ice. It sounded so trivial
. I lost my balance and fell.
So stupid it was almost laughable. It shouldn’t have been anything, just some bruises. She should have been able to get right up from the street, brush the dust off her skirt, and forget about it. Except that wasn’t how it turned out.

She’d hit the ground belly first and sensed immediately that something was wrong. There was no excruciating pain, just a sudden, sharp twist that caused her to sit up and cradle the infant inside her with both hands. But the baby had begun to move quite vigorously, signaling, she thought, that all was well.

“The fall hurt the baby,” Ross said, breaking into her thoughts.

“Not at first, but by later that night, it brought on my labor.” Her terse explanation did little justice to the memories she kept locked inside.

The coach driver had been effusively apologetic, helping her into the cab and settling her himself. By then, though, she was beginning to cramp, which didn’t seem normal, and it scared her. By the time she reached her aunt’s apartment, there was no doubt that she was in trouble. She was bleeding, and the cramps had become much more painful.

Aunt Essie had sent for the doctor.

Her memories became disjointed and muddled after that. The cramps were in fact the first premature contractions of her womb. Later that night, all the while she labored, the doctor had babbled words like
trauma
and
placenta
and
abruption,
but by then she was too delirious with pain and loss of blood to understand any of it. All she knew was that, in the end, it had added up to a tiny, unmoving bundle in a bloodstained sheet. She’d been able to lift her head to see that much before finally losing consciousness. When she awoke, the tiny bundle was gone, spirited away by order of her attending physician.

Emily gathered what composure she could, then forced herself to face Ross, but his back was to her and his head was bent.

“Ross?”

“You should have told me.”

“But I didn’t know... how.”

“No, no, I can’t accept that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, not sure whether she referred to a past neither of them had the power to change or a belated, confused regret for her own decisions.

After a moment, he lifted his head. “I have to think.”

Emily didn’t know what else to say. She felt drained and numb.

“I have to think,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. He moved to the door, leaving her alone when it slammed closed behind him.

Chapter Eighteen

Reality.
It was a word that Ross was fond of and one that Emily cringed from. Usually, it was because people used it to discourage new ideas or to dwell upon the dark side of life, but after her latest confrontation with Ross, Emily was forced to do some hard thinking. She had shed more than a few long overdue tears, too.

She’d had almost four years to deal with the loss of her baby, but she’d done a very poor job of it. Trying to pretend that she’d accepted it and had moved on was a lie. The guilt was still there, the hurt was still there, and the anger burned brighter than ever.

Looking back, if she had set aside her pride and told Ross that she was pregnant, he would have married her. She never would have been forced to leave town. She never would have tried to board that horse-cab in Baltimore. And their son would be almost four years old now.

Matthew. It was the name she’d chosen for a boy. He might have had her dark hair, Ross’s laughing brown eyes, and a dimple when he smiled. It didn’t matter that his conception had been the cause of her flight from home and that she would never have been able to return. From the very first flutter of life within her womb, she’d wanted that baby. He was a part of her and a part of Ross. She’d already purchased a cradle and begun to fashion tiny garments with her meager sewing talents when she had the accident. Aunt Essie had tactfully removed those items from their apartment soon afterward, and now Emily believed that might have been when she had first started trying to pretend that everything was all right.

This morning, however, as she proceeded down King Street, she was intent upon dealing with another sort of reality, one not nearly so complicated, irreversible, or painful. Her fledgling printing business was doing as well as could be expected, but she wouldn’t be able to make a livable profit for some time yet. She needed to supplement her income. That was where Karl Becker might be able to help.

She stopped and checked the angle of her prim, dark-veiled hat before climbing the front steps to enter the red brick building where Karl worked. She hoped that he hadn’t been merely toying with her the other day when he’d mentioned a job.

She stepped into a dimly lit vestibule with a row of black mailboxes on the wall to her right. Lifting her veil, she noted the brass nameplate that hung above the one marked 2-B.
David Stauffer, Attorney at Law.
Someday, after Karl completed his two-year clerkship and passed an examination to be admitted to the bar, that nameplate might read,
Stauffer & Becker
. After his underprivileged childhood, Emily was glad that Karl had done well with his life.

She had visited here once before to discreetly solicit some print orders from Karl, so she had no trouble locating him. The office he shared with his mentor was a three-room suite furnished with ponderous black walnut furniture, heavy draperies, and tall shelves crammed with leather-bound volumes.

Emily was glad to find Karl alone, perusing one of the bookshelves when she stepped through the door. “Why, Emily Winters!” he exclaimed, turning to greet her with a welcoming grin. “What brings you by today?”

“Business,” she said. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Not at all. I was just doing some research, but that can wait.” He inclined his golden blond head in the direction of his private office. “Would you like to have a seat?”

“Thank you.”

When Emily followed him into the small room, she noticed that the mountain of paperwork on his desk hadn’t diminished one bit since her last visit. It looked to be as thoroughly disorganized as ever.

“Oh, Karl, really. This is abominable.” She tidied a pile of loose papers and files that threatened to spill over the side of his desk. “What do your clients have to say about this catastrophe?”

Demonstrating remarkably quick reflexes for a man with a bad leg, Karl stooped to catch a stray sheet before it could flutter to the floor. “They don’t say much of anything. David handles the real estate and bounty claims. I’ve taken on most of the paperwork for the criminal defense cases. Many of my esteemed clients are quite satisfied if I can manage to keep them out of county jail.”

“You know, you really should try paper fasteners,” Emily suggested.

“Paper fasteners?”

“Yes, they’re the newest thing. Haven’t you seen them advertised? Little metal clips. I use them at the shop to keep my orders together.”

Karl appeared impressed. “Paper fasteners.” He picked a pen from out of the conglomeration atop his desk and moved as if to jot the name down, then stopped and frowned upon finding his pen dry of ink. He scanned his desktop, only to discover that his inkwell was buried, too.

“Never mind,” Emily said, taking a seat and pulling off her black kid gloves. “I’ll try to remember to pick up a box of them for you at the drugstore.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll certainly give them a try.” Shifting his cane to his other hand, he sat in a leather upholstered chair. “So what brings you by today? Trying to drum up more business?”

“Not precisely.”

“What could it be, then? Since you’re not working for the
Herald
anymore, I thought you’d be spending your days down at the shop.”

Emily winced. She’d been fired on Wednesday. Today was Friday. News traveled fast. “So you’ve heard.”

“Everybody’s heard. In fact, this morning I ran into your old friend, um, oh... what was her name, the preacher’s daughter?”

“Melissa Carpenter,” Emily supplied.

Karl snapped his fingers. “Yes! That’s it. Melissa Carpenter.” He paused and looked thoughtful. “You know, I didn’t recognize her right off. She wears her hair different, and she’s thinned out some. I thought her eyes used to be brown, but today they looked more like—”

“You were saying?” Emily was impatient to learn the gossip that was already making its rounds.

“Oh, yes. Well, at any rate, at the vestry meeting just last evening, Malcolm Davenport was apparently quite vocal about what transpired between the two of you. According to him, you accepted his charitable offer of employment, then turned around and stole his print customers right out from under his nose.” Karl grinned and shook a finger at her. “Very naughty, Miss Emily. I’m proud of you.”

She made a wry face. “I don’t suppose he remembered to mention that he sabotaged the
Penn Gazette
before it went out of business, did he?”

“No, I don’t believe Miss Carpenter said he mentioned anything about that.” Karl’s grin faded, and he leaned forward over his desk, suddenly intent. “It
is
still
Miss
Carpenter, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Emily said, “but that’s not why I’m here. Malcolm Davenport is the least of my worries.”

“Oh? Something I can help you with?”

“I need a job.”

“But what about the printing business? Don’t tell me you’re giving up on it so soon?”

“No, not at all, but it’s going to take more time until I can turn enough profit to hire some help. Until then, I need a temporary job to earn some outside income to purchase new inventory and—” She stumbled at the thought of Ross, then cleared her throat to finish. “And to pay back, uh, some loans as well as other expenses.”

“But how are you going to hold down two jobs? Since your secret’s out, you’ll have to open your doors for business, am I right? You can’t be in two places at the same time.”

“That’s true, I can’t, but luckily I’ve got some help.”

“Who?”

“My mother and sister.”

Karl’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh? Then, I take it you’ve finally told your mother what you’ve been up to these past few weeks?”

“I didn’t have much choice. The news was out. She was bound to learn of it from someone. I preferred that someone to be me.”

“Very wise. When the jig is up, it’s always best to come clean and beg forgiveness.”

“Actually, she took it very well. In fact, she didn’t even seem very surprised.”

Karl chuckled. “Perhaps she knows her daughter better than you thought. What did she say?”

“In for a penny, in for a pound.”

“What?”

Emily let out a resigned sigh. “She said that if I was so dead set on trying to make a go of this business that I’ve been working myself ragged and sneaking around like a Confederate spy, then we might as well follow through and see what happens.”

Karl sat back in his seat and interlaced his fingers around his middle. “I always did like your mother.”

“The point is, until my sister’s new baby makes its appearance a few months hence, both she and my mother will be able to help watch the shop during the day. They can take orders and organize deliveries and tally up accounts.” Emily leaned forward and tapped a finger on the desktop for emphasis. “The important thing is, come hell or high water, our doors will be open for business from nine in the morning until five at night. Whether Mr. Davenport knows it or not, he’s going to get a good run for his money.”

Karl laughed heartily. “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead! Now, that’s the spirit!”

Emily gave him a shrewd little smile. “So, what do you say?”

“About what?”