Love's First Bloom (27 page)

Phanaby squeezed her hand. “We don’t know for certain how serious any of them are, but we do have hope now that his work will live on and that young women and their children, like you and Lily, will find homes where they can be accepted and grow stronger in their faith.”

Ruth swallowed the lump in her throat and managed a smile, in spite of the tears what welled in her eyes. “This is all good news, then,” she whispered, knowing how pleased her father would be to know that his work would continue, despite his passing.

“Not quite,” Elias said.

“Robert Farrell told us he’s planning to spend the next week or two in Forked River looking for Ruth Livingstone,” Phanaby said, her gaze troubled.

Ruth tried to focus on what Elias and Phanaby were trying to tell her. “But you said he was nothing but a nuisance during your trip.”

“He wouldn’t tell us why he thought she might be in the area,” Elias said, “but his presence there, given the nature of the meeting we attended, was particularly troubling and made it all the more imperative for us to be very careful not to arouse his suspicions.”

“But you said he was nothing but a nuisance during your trip,” Ruth repeated.

“He was,” Elias insisted. “It was only after we arrived and were disembarking that he told us the purpose for his journey there. And in all truth, I believe it was divine intervention that put him on the same stagecoach that we took to Forked River. It gave us fair warning that the press is not going to let go of the tragedy Reverend Livingstone endured during his last days any time soon, although I don’t think we need to worry about Mr. Farrell returning to the area again.”

“You don’t?” Ruth said.

He chuckled. “Within a matter of days he’s going to get a lead on Ruth Livingstone from one of our friends, which will send Farrell scurrying to Boston. Others there should keep him occupied for a spell before they send him elsewhere following another false lead.”

“If other newspaper reporters are like Mr. Farrell, we can expect them to be just as determined and unprincipled,” Phanaby offered. “We can’t keep tabs on all of them.”

“We discussed that very issue at our meeting,” Elias countered, keeping his gaze on Ruth. “The longer the newspapers continue to focus on the scandal surrounding the Reverend’s acquittal and promote the absurd idea that his daughter is somehow hiding evidence of his guilt, the more careful we all have to be. Unfortunately, it also means that the ministers who are considering taking over the ministry may lose interest. Without a leader, the network we belong to will quickly unravel, and frankly I fear it already has begun to do just that.”

A sharp pain sliced through Ruth’s chest, making it nearly impossible for her to breathe. “Is finding his daughter really that important?”

He snorted. “To the newspapers? I’m afraid there’s no stopping them. I’m afraid the more they hawk their nonsense about the reverend’s guilt and his daughter’s complicity in the matter, the more the public demands to know about her and her whereabouts. And the more newspapers they sell, the more profit they make. That only makes it all the more difficult for us to find a new leader.”

“What about the network? Does everyone involved think it’s necessary to find her, too?” Ruth asked.

“I don’t think so,” Phanaby replied. “We’re all agreed that the dear girl has fled to someone within the network who is protecting her, and whoever it is will pay dearly if Farrell, or any reporter, for that matter, finds her living with them, because their names will no doubt appear in the newspaper articles. We don’t know who they might be, partly because we can’t be exactly sure that we know everyone Reverend Livingstone recruited to help him.”

Elias nodded. “And partly because he kept his life with his daughter so completely separate from his ministry. I don’t know anyone within the network who has actually met her, although I’ve heard that several might have seen her years ago, as a child.”

“He knew that since his work was so controversial, it was likely his name would eventually be associated with some kind of scandal his detractors would promote,” Phanaby added. “He loved his daughter very much and wanted to protect her at all costs, which is why he never had her participate in his work in any way.”

Ruth shook her head. As much as she wanted to accept what they had just told her, she simply could not and did not believe that either one of them knew her father well enough to be trusted with his private feelings or motivations. “How can you be so certain of what he thought or how he felt about his daughter?” she asked, looking from Phanaby to Elias, hoping for nothing but the full truth from them.

Phanaby paused and looked at her husband for a long moment before she said, “I’m certain because he told me himself.”

Ruth’s eyes widened and her heart started to pound in her chest. “H-he told you? You actually met him?”

Phanaby’s eyes filled with tears, but she kept her gaze locked on her husband, who was looking at her with complete tenderness. “I met Reverend Livingstone nearly fifteen years ago when he visited the brothel where I had been working for a number of months. He helped me to find my faith again and sent me to live with an older couple in western Pennsylvania. They also welcomed me into their hearts when I later married their son. So you see, Ruth, I’m a Prodigal Daughter, one of Reverend Livingstone’s daughters-in-faith, just like you are.”

Stunned, Ruth could scarcely breathe, but the looks of devotion and love that passed between the couple who had welcomed her into their home only reinforced what she had known in her heart of hearts all along: Her father had truly loved her.

The only thought that troubled her now was whether she had the right to put the life that Elias and Phanaby had created for themselves in this village at risk by remaining here with them, or if she should contact Capt. Grant to see if he could help her find somewhere else to live.

Twenty-Eight

Jake left his cabin at first light on the Fourth of July, but he was in no mood to celebrate the nation’s birthday. Not when he was no closer now than he was a month ago to claiming his own independence from the mistakes he had made two years ago.

Since Farrell had arrived in the village, Jake had spent every waking moment facing one frustration after another. He had received not one but three letters from Clifford. The most recent letter, which he received only days ago, contained a final ultimatum: Finish the story on Ruth Livingstone, with undeniable proof of her identity, along with whatever incriminating information she had hidden about her father, and report back to New York City by the end of July, or sign the documents relinquishing his interest in the
Galaxy
. Clifford had the audacity to send the papers along with his letter, almost as if Jake’s failure was guaranteed.

Jake walked to the river and stared down at the water. It would not surprise him if Farrell showed up and ruined the festivities today. He’d need to keep a sharp lookout for the reporter, not to mention any other reporters who might appear to take advantage of the fact that everyone for miles would be in the village for the daylong celebration.

He turned to look at Ruth’s garden, which was nearly in full bloom now, and caught the subtle fragrances in the air. For nearly a month now she had been coming to her garden every day, and he often ventured outside to talk with her. If she came in late afternoon, she would frequently bring Lily with her to play in the safe area he had fenced off while Ruth weeded or thinned the garden.

He flexed his thumb and clenched his fist. That little blueeyed minx had turned out to be a charmer, and if he was not careful, he could easily lose his heart to two females, instead of just one.

“Another time. Another place. But not now,” he vowed and refused to consider the possibility that it might be too late because they already threatened to steal his heart.

He squared his shoulders. Listening to his heart, instead of his head, had cost him his career once before. He could not afford to make that mistake again any more than he could understand how he could redeem his reputation as a reporter, destroying the life she had created for herself here, and yet love her.

Stymied, he started down the sandy path to implement his battle plan for the day: Either get Elias Garner to finally commit to a day to have him replace the shelves in the storeroom, or wheedle an invitation from Phanaby Garner to come to supper within the next week. Jake had even made a special gift for Ruth, which he planned to give her tonight, and hoped it would go a long way toward getting even closer to her.

Either way, he would manage to get upstairs to the family’s living quarters, find a way to search for that wooden chest, examine its contents to see if there was anything of value for his story, write the story, and then get back to New York City well ahead of his new deadline.

He stopped walking and gazed at the village stretched before him. If he failed to redeem himself by learning and printing the whole truth about Rev. Livingstone’s daughter and the evidence she was hiding that had thwarted justice for Rosalie Peale, he had no future at all.

Unfortunately, Ruth had stopped reading the newspapers, which was about the only tidbit of information related to his secret investigation that he had been able to glean from her lately. He had not been able to engage her in any discussions of the news that might give him some additional clues, if not answers, related to a number of important issues. He needed to understand her motives for hiding in this particular village and her actual relationship to Lily, if indeed there was one. If not, he needed to correctly identify Lily, her parents, and the reason why they had given her to Ruth.

His only hope to do that was to pray that the nature of the celebration today would give him the opportunity to bait her into a heated discussion.

Confident that his redemption was still within reach, he closed his eyes for a moment, hoping God would forgive him for neglecting his prayers lately. Then he resumed his march and crossed the bridge that led to the village, as well as his destiny.

Red, white, and blue banners draped every storefront, the makeshift stage that closed Main Street in front of the bank, and an assortment of tables set up for dinner near the bridge. The American flag was flying everywhere, and ladies wore patriotic ribbons in their bonnets or pinned to their gowns.

By midmorning, after the militia had performed their traditional maneuvers and the ceremonies on Main Street had begun, Jake had successfully completed the first component of his battle plans for the day: He had found Ruth and she had agreed to spend some time with him.

Against his better judgment, however, he was standing next to Ruth now near the front of the stage where the band had assembled. He had little Lily perched on his shoulders so she would not be crushed by the crowd of villagers that surrounded them. Being this close to the stage would make it easier for her to see, but he was not as convinced as Ruth had been that the little girl would tolerate the noise of the music.

Long speeches followed a reading of the Declaration of Independence and the Preamble to the United States Constitution by local schoolchildren, and Lily was growing fidgety. He breathed a sigh of relief when Mayor George Washington Pendleton finally concluded the last speech of the day.

“ … and so my friends and fellow citizens, I remind you all that our battle for liberty continues to this very day. Do not take your freedoms for granted. Embrace your responsibilities as good citizens. And be ever vigilant. Rise up and speak out against those who threaten your freedoms, so that truth and honor and justice, in the name of freedom, shall prevail for all the future generations who will call this chosen land their home. God bless you all, and God bless America!”

“Perfect,” he murmured, certain that he could use this part of the mayor’s speech to engage Ruth in a discussion like the one they’d had shortly after he arrived.

When the crowd roared, muskets fired into the air, and the band blared into full play, Lily began wailing, yanking hard on his hair, and kicking at his chest. He handed his cane to Ruth and lifted the child down and into his arms. He tried to hand her to Ruth, but Lily wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face against the base of his throat.