Annie's Stories (27 page)

“I believe I see the errancy in your thinking.”

Stephen swiveled in the pew to better face the man.

“You are trying hard, you said?”

“I think I am. I’m doing all I can.”

“And that is the problem. You are trying to drive your own fate. Give that up. Allow God to steer you, and be confident that he never fails and never leaves you.”

Relief washed over Stephen like a wellspring. If he trusted that God would lead, how could he ever expect failure?

The reverend tapped his open palms on the back of the pew. “Setbacks may happen. You may still make wrong choices, get off the path at times. But with God there is forgiveness and second chances
 
—assurance that, in the end, all will be well.” He lightly tapped Stephen’s chest with his index finger. “Allow him to fill that ache.”

“Thank you.”

The reverend stood and motioned toward the altar, shrugging his shoulders in a questioning gesture.

Stephen nodded, and the two of them knelt before the altar and prayed.

39

K
IRSTEN SAT ON THE SOFA,
a quilt around her shoulders and a cup of Mrs. Hawkins’s special chamomile tea in her hands. “I didn’t know where else to go. I have nowhere to go. I’ve been hiding on your third floor ever since I left the infirmary.”

Annie exchanged glances with Mrs. Hawkins. “The potatoes and turnips.”

“The missing cheese,” Mrs. Hawkins added.

“I did not take much.”

“That’s all right, love.”

Annie held Kirsten’s thin hand. The way the lass moved so lightly on her feet and slipped in and out of rooms oftentimes unnoticed had apparently helped her hide there, right under their noses. “Tell us the story.”

Kirsten sighed. “Every day I asked myself, should I go tell them now? I feared what you would think of me, a German girl, bringing trouble to you. But finally, tonight as I thought about the wedding and how you, Mrs. Hawkins, have welcomed other immigrants with troubles into your home, I tell myself,
ja
.
Ja
, Kirsten, you go tell them. I waited until the party was over and you were loading up Grace’s gifts. Then I came downstairs and slipped the ledger into the lap desk, that secret compartment
you showed us. I thought it would be safe there until the time was right. Even if the Pinkerton caught me, he would not get the ledger, because you, Annie Gallagher, would not betray me if you found it. I know now, but I take a long time to understand this. And with the ledger still hidden, the men who hunt Jonas would not hurt him or me because they would be afraid they would never find it.”

“Oh, Kirsten. We all would have helped you, if only you would have let us.”

Mrs. Hawkins agreed.

Kirsten rubbed the back of her neck. “But the postman was here. I was going to wait for longer, and then I heard you saying you found the ledger.”

The Hawk paced in front of her. “You did the right thing coming here, love.” She slapped the ledger from one hand to the other. “Pity you didn’t give this to the doctor while he was here. He can read the language.”

“Nein!”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t want him to know I am here. If those bad men get this ledger . . . I fear they will kill my brother. It is an accounting of all the ill they have caused, I believe. I could not convince Jonas to listen to me and just forget this.”

“He is worried about you,” Annie said. “I encountered him on the street.”

Her eyes reddened as tears dripped down her face. She wiped them with the heel of her hand. “Jonas and me. We planned to . . . save money and move to the fields . . . uh, the country, a farm. Jonas could not find work. I tell him I do not mind working, but he hated that. We were going to save money, even after he sent me to live here, where I would be safe from the bad men who own the ledger. But then . . .” She caught a sob in her fist. “I lose my job. We cannot get away. I think perhaps
if Jonas does not worry about me and does not have the ledger, he can leave the city and be safe.”

“You should talk to him, love.”

“You do not understand, Mrs. Hawkins, Annie. That ledger. He wrote to me, telling me he mailed it. I do not know why he did that, except to escape those men. His hot temper caused trouble before. I would have burned it, but then I thought perhaps these men could be stopped because of the information it held. But if I gave the ledger to the authorities, what would happen to my brother? I thought if I just hid . . . if he does not have this book . . . then he will move west and find work and be free of all this and then perhaps I could give it to someone. But he is a stubborn one,
ja
? He would not leave. I have seen him from the third-floor window wandering past the house at night.”

Mrs. Hawkins blew out the candle in the window and turned down the gas lamp. “This scheme to take other people’s money. God only knows what makes people do things like that. We will get all this straightened out tomorrow, love. You will return to your old bed. No more sleeping on quilts on that drafty third floor.”

“I understand, so, Kirsten, what ’tis like to feel alone and uncertain,” Annie said.

“I understand too, love. You are an innocent, caring child.” Mrs. Hawkins waved a paper fan in front of her face. “I wish you had confided in us.”

“You are
gut
people, and I did not want to bring this trouble to you.” Tears dripped down Kirsten’s cheeks again. “But I did not know where else to go.”

“This was too big a burden for you to bear alone,” Annie said. “I wonder . . . Kirsten, how can you know your brother is not part of this fraud?”

Anger flashed in her eyes. “I told you he is a
gut
man. Deep
down, people are who they are. And I know who he is. He would try to help me if I was the one in trouble.”

Mrs. Hawkins snapped her fingers. “The police will know what action to take. By the time I summon them, you two can certainly be on a train west, but wouldn’t it be best if you resolved this and did not have to think of it ever again?”

“I do not think some things have this . . . resolution, Mrs. Hawkins. In Germany we learned not all is fair.” Kirsten turned to Annie. “You don’t think your young man will tell anyone, do you?”

“Who?”

“The man you talked about your stories with, the postman.”

Stephen! Annie ran to the hall. “Where is he?”

“I expect he left in all the confusion.” Mrs. Hawkins handed her his mittens. “He even forgot these.”

Annie wondered what he’d do. He had threatened Jonas in the alley, and from what she’d heard, having the US Post Office Department authorities after you was far worse than the law. She had asked Jonas to come to Hawkins House, and now that Kirsten was here, they could work things out. But if Stephen made trouble . . .

“I will go speak to Mr. Adams.” She buttoned her coat.

“Oh, love, it’s late. Why don’t we all just get a good night’s sleep?”

Annie rushed out the door despite the woman’s protests. The trolley had stopped running for the night. So had the train. She had no money to hire a driver. She sat on the front stoop. The Hawk was correct. There was nothing to be done tonight. But if Stephen Adams thought he could wedge his way into this situation just because he was a postman and the ledger had been delivered through the mail . . . well, she would stand up to him the way she hadn’t stood up to Uncle Neil or to that
horrid Magdalene doctor. She tried to have as much courage as the Lion in Oz, hoping she’d acquired it in the manner he had in the story. Not through something that someone awarded her, but through the process of traveling a journey.

She placed her hand into her coat pocket as she studied the dark shadows of a few people moving slowly down the opposite side of the street. Her fingers touched something unfamiliar, something she hadn’t put into her pocket
 
—a small box. Probably a gift for Grace and Owen that Annie had absentmindedly stuck there while gathering up their things.

When she went back in, she glanced briefly at Mrs. Hawkins and Kirsten, who were headed upstairs, and then hung her coat back in the closet, placing the box on the silver mail tray.

40

T
HE DAYLIGHT HOURS
were dwindling as the calendar inched toward the solstice, and now when Stephen readied for work, it was still quite dark. He turned up the wick on the lamp Mrs. Jacobs had lent him. He had mentioned missing his for reading, and she had insisted he take this one. All he had at the moment was the old black family Bible that had been in the box of belongings he’d kept, but that was all he needed just then.

He read from the book of Proverbs:
“Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

He asked God to speak to him through those words.

This is obedience.

Now he understood. God had been speaking to him all along, but Stephen had applied what he’d heard according to his own will. Forgiving his father for his calamitous action had freed Stephen’s heart to lean instead on God’s leading.

As he prepared for his day, Stephen whistled that Irish tune he loved and thought about Annie. Annie with the gorgeous hair. Annie with the big heart. He tried to imagine her surprise when she found the gift in her pocket. Whatever she thought of it, he would be satisfied. She either understood his sincerity
or she did not. God either planned for Stephen to win her heart or he did not.

And she would either approve of his plan to speak to the postmaster about that ledger or she would not. Either way, he would do the right thing, the thing God had impressed upon him to do, and it was a splendid plan, he knew.

Mr. Sturgis was just unlocking his office door when Stephen arrived. “Come in, Adams. I do hope you have something to tell me.”

“I do, sir.”

The man glanced around. “I do not see that Wagner fellow with you.”

“No, but I believe we can work something out that will allow you to have all the information you seek, including the ledger.”

“Ah, that is indeed what I hoped to hear, Adams.”

Annie finally had time to look at the letters Mr. Barrows had given her. She slipped the first one out and began reading.

She put the note down and read another. And then another. By the time she was done, she realized how her father had
affected so many lives. His stories were special and deserved the utmost care, like Mr. Barrows had suggested.

While Annie prepared breakfast, Grace came for Aileen. “I will show Aileen how to ride the trolley and where the landmarks are. I think once I show her, she’ll be fine on her own, Annie.”

“Very well, so. And you say the children like her?”

“They adore her. Having her replace me has eased my heart beyond measure. Those children are dear.”

Aileen came bounding down the stairs. “Am I late?”

“We have time to spare, Aileen. Allow me to greet Mrs. Hawkins before we leave.”

“Where is Kirsten?” Annie asked Aileen.

“Still sleeping. I do think she is relishing the comfort of that bed.”

The Hawk entered from the kitchen door, wearing her gardening boots. “Well, if it isn’t Mrs. McNulty paying us a visit.”

Grace went to her and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for the delightful celebration, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“And why aren’t you with your new husband this morning?”

“He is shopping for a carriage. After I see Aileen safely to the Parkers’, he will meet me there. We are going to Delmonico’s for lunch.”

Mrs. Hawkins clapped her garden-gloved hands. “How perfectly romantic!”

“Oh!” Annie hurried to the hall table and picked up the small box. “I think there was yet one more gift. I seem to have neglected to give it to you.”

Grace cradled it in her palm. “’Tis a wee box, isn’t it?”

The women sat at the table while Grace slipped off the thin yellow ribbon that held it shut. Inside was a cotton cloud. Grace
removed a small piece of paper that stuck to the underside of the lid. She wrinkled her nose and then handed the box to Annie. “’Tis not for me, lass. Was meant for you.”

Annie took the gold paper–covered box and pulled out the cotton. Underneath was a small heart-shaped brooch made of silver filigree with a tiny red enameled heart in the center. The pendant was suspended by a silver bar where the pin was attached. She held it up to the weak morning light. “Where did this come from?”

“Read the note,” Aileen said, impatiently tapping her foot.

The women gasped and aahed.

Annie was stunned. “I truly don’t know why he would give me this.”

“Let me catch you on,” Grace said. “At first, you may remember, I was not keen on Sergeant McNulty’s attentions. Now, I know things are different for you, but perhaps Mr. Adams has had some trouble gaining your favor, so he chose to reveal his feelings in this manner.”

“Perhaps.” Stephen thought she had a good heart. Annie pondered that. What made one’s heart good? She would not trade her friendship with Kirsten for this bribery, if that’s what it was. The words of the Wizard to the Tin Woodman came to mind.

Her heart longed for this man, hoped that he could love her, while her head told her how unlikely that was and how thinking so would only end up in hurt.
Home is the place where people love you.
Aye, having a heart was a painful thing. She slipped
the note back under the cotton, placed the pin back in the box, and then rose from the kitchen table, choosing to stuff away her pondering as easily as she’d hidden away that gift. “I will check on Kirsten.” She kissed Grace and wished Aileen well with her new position. “There will be more work around here for me now,” she kidded Aileen.

Later she came downstairs to find Mrs. Hawkins feeding the cooking stove.

“How is Kirsten?”

“She’s sleeping like a baby.” Annie kept glancing toward the front door. She did not want to miss the postman today. She needed to find out what he had planned.

“I’ll get the teakettle on. We don’t know when Mr. Wagner will arrive, and we should have a chat first, Annie. You did not tell Kirsten you asked him to come?”

“I did not. I followed your wishes.”

“Excellent. We don’t want to risk her running off again.”

“I know we will be busier than squirrels today, cleaning up and all. I don’t mind skipping tea.”

“There is always time for conversation over a cup, love.”

“That may be, but let’s talk now. I need to watch for Mr. Adams.”

“Very well.” She sighed and stared past Annie. “I believe that your desire to help people, as noble as it is, comes from a broken heart, one that you don’t think you will have to try to mend if you keep focusing on others.”

“Broken, is it?”

“Yes. Now I know we all have things in our past that we’d rather leave there. Quite understandable. But there is good as well as bad, and to throw out one need not mean discarding the other, even if they are woven together like jungle vines. You
seldom talk about your life in Ireland, love. It may seem I’m the pot calling the kettle black, seeing as I’ve kept some things to myself as well, but we’ve learned, you and I. Look how long it took for you to talk about your father’s writing desk.”

“I know, but I don’t see why I should dwell on it, Mrs. Hawkins. I’m starting over.”

“I’m pleased that you are, but sometimes visiting the past is the only way to embrace the future, as my Harold used to say.”

“What wonderful deeds you have done, Mrs. Hawkins. You are the one with the truly good heart. Kirsten’s bed in the infirmary
 
—did you purchase that? Dr. Thorp told me wealthy people purchase beds in case they need them someday, and they often allow the poor to have use of their facility.”

She leaned forward. “One day I’ll be feeble and I’ll need extra care. That seemed like prudent use of my Harold’s money, and little Kirsten needed it. God provides. ‘Home is where your treasure is’
 
—something else my Harold used to say. And God’s Word says, ‘For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’”

“Very noble. You’ve a blessed soul, Mrs. Hawkins.”

“These things I’ve done for my God. He is all that is good.”

Goodness. Annie had wondered where it came from. “And is anything good outside of God?”

“He is the source, love. To fully embrace life, to be free, he is the only way.”

Annie had been born in the Magdalene Laundry, and she’d ended up back there despite her father’s warning to leave the O’Shannons as soon as she could. When her father was gone, so was her shield against evil. Aye, she’d gotten away and come to America, but in her heart, she had never left her imprisoned state. The iron gates still squealed across the floor in her mind. The rats still roamed. Danger still lurked because there was no
one to protect her. She might not be in physical danger any longer, thanks to Father Weldon and Mrs. Hawkins, but her soul felt very much in peril. She was still alone. How could a dark heart like that be good? She’d asked God, pleaded really, to allow her to walk in the light. But she wasn’t sure he’d heard.

“I sit in church every Sunday, Mrs. Hawkins. I read my Bible. I have tried to appeal to God, but . . .” She hid her trembling hands by fumbling for a spoon in the kitchen cupboard drawer. “He doesn’t speak to me, Mrs. Hawkins. He must have decided I’m not worth the trouble.”

“What?” The woman came and wrapped her arms around Annie. “God loves you, Annie Gallagher. He made you. You most certainly are worth the trouble. Have you not heard the stories? Read them? He came down from heaven to be with all mankind, and he gave up his life for us on the cross, you included.”

“I have heard the stories. But I do not think they are for me.”

“Not for you? Why would you think that?”

She gritted her teeth and was about to blurt out the truth
 
—that she was a sinner of the worst kind
 
—but the bell at the front door chimed.