A Moment in Time (9 page)

“We were wondering,” Marty said, glancing at Alice, “if there was anything left behind. Something perhaps that had been hidden away and not sold.”

“Particularly papers,” Alice said, finally finding her voice. Mrs. Ingram seemed so calm and kind that she lost some of her fear. “It’s most important I find my father’s papers—his personal effects.”

“Oh, my dear child, there was a box of personal items. They were upstairs in the attic, tucked back in an alcove.”

Alice looked to Marty with hope of what they might find. “And do you have them still?”

The woman frowned. “I’m sorry. No. I sent them on to a relative whose address was amidst the papers. I didn’t realize you were still in town.”

“A relative?” Alice questioned, feeling her heart sink. “I don’t know of any relatives—not still living.”

The woman shook her head. “I can’t remember the name. It was unusual, but I’m certain the last name was the same as yours.” She thought for a moment and then raised her finger toward the ceiling. “Aha. I have a letter. After I sent the box, the recipient responded to thank me. Oh, wait. I remember now. It was from your mother. I have it still.”

Mrs. Ingram hurried from the room without further ado, leaving Alice to stare openmouthed after her. She felt as if someone had hit her hard in the stomach. Her mother was dead.

“What in the world is going on?” Alice whispered and looked to Marty for encouragement. “My mother is dead. This can’t be.”

“We should know soon enough, Alice. Don’t worry. At least we know now that there were some papers and personal effects that have been sent on to someone. We will find out to whom they were delivered and see about retrieving them.”

Mrs. Ingram was gone for nearly ten minutes before reappearing, waving the letter in hand. “Here it is. I knew I’d kept it. It’s from Ravinia Chesterfield—your mother, I believe.”

Alice nodded slowly and took the letter Mrs. Ingram offered.

“Goodness, but it seems like forever since that letter arrived. You can read it for yourself. Of course, you may have it. I don’t even know why I hung on to it. She wrote me to thank me for the box of things and for telling her about your father’s death. She asks about you and your whereabouts in the letter. Seems your father wouldn’t let her have anything to do with returning home.”

Alice removed the letter from the envelope and began to read.

Dear Mrs. Ingram,

Thank you for informing me about my husband’s demise and sending me his personal papers. We have been estranged now for many years, and much to my heartache, Mr. Chesterfield would not send me word of himself or our daughter, Alice, and neither would he allow for my return. If you know of her whereabouts, I would be much obliged if you would share the information. She is very dear to me, and I hope to be reunited with her.

Sincerely,
Ravinia Chesterfield

Alice handed the paper to Marty. “My mother . . . my mother is alive!”

Marty glanced at the paper and then back to Mrs. Ingram. “When did you receive this letter?”

“Oh my, it’s probably been a year now—maybe not quite. I wrote her back to say that I didn’t know anything about her daughter. I told her that I knew her husband had been murdered and that her daughter had been injured, and I thought . . . well . . . I was almost certain you had died.” The woman gave her an apologetic look. “I do hope I didn’t cause your poor mother undue heartache. Perhaps you can write her yourself and let her know that you’re alive and well.”

Alice felt the room begin to spin. She couldn’t breathe and the world was going black. The last words she heard were Mrs. Ingram’s.

“I’m certain your mother will be delighted to know you are safe.”

“Don’t you think you should write to her?” Marty questioned Alice later that night after everyone had gone to bed.

In the darkness she couldn’t see her friend’s face, but she knew it was no doubt still twisted in an expression of confusion and pain. Poor Alice. The girl had taken quite a shock at the news that her mother was still alive.

“I don’t know.” Alice’s simple statement echoed in the silence of the room.

“Well, it seems to me that there is far more to this than either of us understands. It would seem that your mother wanted to be in touch with you, wanted to see you, but your father—”

“My father loved me!” Alice interrupted. “He was a good father.”

“I . . . I’m sure he was, Alice.” Marty tried to choose her words carefully. “But obviously there were issues, problems that perhaps kept him from being a good husband.”

For several minutes neither said anything. Marty wondered
if she’d overstepped her bounds with the younger woman. Alice was only eighteen and she hardly understood the problems that could exist between a husband and wife. Marty thought of Jake and the issues they were struggling with.

I miss him so
much. How I wish you were here, Jake. I wish
I could tell you about our baby and about my
fears.

“I don’t know what to do,” Alice finally whispered. “It was so hard to accept her leaving and then hearing that she and Simon had died.” She gasped. “Do you suppose my brother is alive, too?”

“Quite possibly,” Marty replied. “How old would he be now?”

“Ten. He probably doesn’t even remember me.”

Alice’s tone was so forlorn that Marty spoke quickly to assure her. “Oh, I’ll bet he remembers you very well. That was only five years ago. I have vivid memories from when I was five.”

Marty waited for Alice to say something more and when she didn’t, Marty decided to make some suggestions. “If you’re worried about it, I could help you by writing to your mother first. I could explain what has happened—even ask her about the gold certificates. We have her address on the envelope of the letter.”

“She lives in Chicago.”

Rolling to her side and pulling her blankets close, Marty considered the matter for a moment. “That’s not that far by train.”

“This is like some kind of nightmare and good dream all in one,” Alice said. “I always prayed that my father was wrong and my mother and brother hadn’t died. Now that I know they are alive, I also know that my father lied to me. He betrayed my trust in him and purposefully lied.”

“He must have thought he was protecting you.”

“From my mother? My little brother?”

Marty tucked her hand under her head. “Alice, why did your mother leave your father?”

“I don’t know. Father always said it was because she wearied of being a faithful wife.”

“Did they fight?”

Alice said nothing for several long minutes. Finally she whispered her reply. “Yes. But never violently. I mean, my father could say some really horrible things, but he always . . . usually . . .” She fell silent as if remembering something important. “Sometimes he apologized afterwards.”

“Sometimes apologies aren’t enough to diminish the pain,” Marty replied and thought of ways she had hurt others or been hurt herself. She had always been taught to forgive, but it was sometimes hard to do so and to heal from the pain. “Do you suppose . . . I mean . . . is it possible he was violent when no one could see him?”

“I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted good things for me, but instead my whole life has been built on a lie. Everyone lied.”

“But your mother said she was stopped from seeing you. That suggests to me that she never wanted to end the relationship. It seems to me that she didn’t lie but was forced out of your life. Maybe she didn’t leave of her own accord.”

“She snuck out in the night and took my brother with her. My father didn’t know about it, because the next day when we learned the truth, he was half crazy with anger and grief. I remember that morning very well.”

“Why didn’t she take you?” Marty asked without thinking.

“That is the question that has haunted me all of my life.
Perhaps it was because my room was upstairs and she was afraid of waking my father. Maybe it was because I was my father’s favorite, and she knew I’d be safe in his care. Or maybe she didn’t love me as much as she did my brother.”

“Or perhaps she feared she couldn’t get away if she took you both. It’s really hard to say what her reasons were, but now you have a chance to find out.”

“I’m not sure I want to know anymore.”

“Alice, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for the shock this is to you. I’m sorry for the bad memories it’s stirred up and the problems it’s created. I want you to know that I am here for you in any way I can be. I will do whatever you need me to do.”

“Thank you. Right now . . . I just want to think on it. I’m sorry, Marty. I can’t talk about this anymore.”

“That’s all right, Alice. I understand.”

And she did. She knew what it was to have a burden so complicated that it couldn’t be shared with another person. But it could be shared with God. Marty hadn’t always thought that to be true, but she did now and started to pray in earnest for her friend.

The next day after Alice left for her job at the diner and the children were settled in with their studies, Marty took the opportunity to speak with Mr. Brentwood in his office.

“Willeen is looking after the classroom,” Marty announced. “I wondered if we might talk a moment.” She knew the twelve-year-old would be able to manage the children should they have any questions, and this would give her a chance to explain Alice’s situation—and maybe her own.

“Of course.” Mr. Brentwood jumped to his feet with a
beaming smile. “I’ve always got time for you. Please come in and have a seat.”

Marty nodded. “I wanted to let you know about yesterday.”

“Your friend in trouble?”

She smiled. “It was Alice, actually. I want to explain it, although I’m not sure Alice would want me to say much about it. I feel you deserve an explanation, however.”

“Go on,” he said, closing the ledger in front of him.

Marty took a chair and settled in. “You know that Alice was wounded the night her father was killed. I believe we told you that much.”

He nodded and sank back into his chair. “I heard her telling the children about it, as well. Such a horrible thing for one to experience.”

“Yes, well, a man has been threatening her ever since. We don’t know the man’s true identity, but he calls himself Mr. Smith.”

“The same Mr. Smith that Rusty spoke of yesterday?”

Marty gave a slow nod. “I wanted to tell you about it then, but we had to hurry in order to . . . well . . . let me back up.”

She did her best to explain the past and all that Smith had put them through. Marty tried to carefully weigh the details in her mind before she spoke. There was no sense in telling him everything.

“So we went to the house where Alice grew up and found a very kind woman living there. She shared with us that she had found a box of personal items in the attic and had mailed them to a woman in Chicago. The woman in Chicago had responded with a letter of thanks, which she gave to Alice yesterday. She was shocked to learn that that woman is her mother—who is alive, or at least was alive a year ago.”

“How shocking it must have been for her,” Mr. Brentwood replied. “I thought she looked unwell when you returned.”

“She’s struggling to know what she should do. I suppose we both are, actually.”

He shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“My husband has written to me. He wants me to join him in Texas. My sister and her husband want that, as well.”

“Alice mentioned as much, but you’re needed here. I couldn’t run the orphanage without your help.” He got up and came around the desk, leaning against it, directly in front of Marty.

She thought for a moment he might take hold of her hands and pressed back further in the chair.

“The children adore you and I know you love them, too.”

“I do,” Marty replied. “Especially little Wyatt and of course the brothers, Sam and Benjamin. They are so needy and in want of love.” Marty stopped short of adding that she knew what that felt like.

As if reading her mind, however, Brentwood confessed his own thoughts. “I think we all are. Orphans suffer such great sorrow in their abandoned lives. When they lose someone precious to them, the loss is overwhelming, and they seek to fill that hole with something or someone who can make it better.”

Marty knew he was speaking of himself. She hadn’t wanted to believe Alice’s comments on Mr. Brentwood’s feelings for her, but it was clear the younger woman had been right. Marty knew she had to be forthright with Brentwood. She had to make certain he knew there were boundaries that had to be observed.

However, before she could speak, he did the unthinkable and knelt beside her chair. “I know this isn’t at all what you
expected, but Mrs. Wythe—Martha—I need you. Since losing my wife, this orphanage has been a daunting task. With you and Miss Chesterfield here, it has taken on new meaning.”

Marty shook her head. “I’m a married woman.”

He nodded. “I know that. I honor that. I’d never try to compromise your union. It’s just that your husband . . . well, he’s deserted you. He chose to leave for Texas.”

“Because he knew he could find work there,” Marty defended. “Mr. Brentwood—”

“Please call me Kenneth.” His tone was pleading as his eyes sought hers. “I promise you that I am not suggesting anything untoward. I would never want to hurt you like that. I care about you and your reputation. I can offer you a good home here and only ask in return that you would remain and help me with the orphans. And be my friend.”

Marty shook her head. “I will always be your friend, Mr. Brentwood, but I’m Jake Wythe’s wife, and we both know that will always come first. Especially given my condition.”

He startled and jumped to his feet. “You’re with child?”

“Yes.” She nodded to emphasize her words.

“He left you here to bear his baby alone?”

“He doesn’t know. I didn’t know for sure until he was already gone. That’s why I can’t stay.”

It was as if in that moment her decision had been made for her. Marty knew the truth of her own words. She couldn’t stay. She needed to be with Jake. Their baby needed its father. Whether Texas claimed another child from her or not, she had no choice.

“I just wanted to let you know what had happened yesterday, and what is going to happen in the near future. Alice and I are going to Texas as soon as my husband sends us the money. I think we both know that it’s for the best.” She got
to her feet. “Now that we’ve spoken here . . . well . . . everything has changed.”

“No, not at all,” Brentwood declared, taking hold of her arm. “I’m sorry for my forward suggestions. I truly know the limits of our relationship. It’s just that you’ve come to mean so much to me. You’ve helped me in so many ways. I swear to you, you’re safe here. You don’t have to flee me. I won’t put myself upon you in a compromising manner.”

Marty patted his hand and pulled away. “I know you won’t. You’re a good and godly man. I don’t say these things because I feel threatened by you. I say them because I love my husband. I want to be with him—even if that means going back to Texas. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the children. It’s almost time for their lunch, and then you’ll need to take over the classroom.”

She walked to the door and paused. Turning there, Marty saw the look of anguish in his expression. “God will make provision for you and the orphanage. He has always done so in the past and will continue to. You just need to trust Him for the answers.”

Alice found Marty rocking Benjamin in the front room when she returned from her shift at the diner. The little boy slept while Marty hummed quietly. She was the picture of radiant motherhood, and Alice couldn’t help but remember her own mother rocking Simon. How she wished she could remember being rocked in her mother’s arms.

“He seems quite at home with you,” Alice whispered.