Annie's Stories (30 page)

43

A
NNIE WENT STRAIGHT HOME,
telling Stephen they would talk later. When she arrived at Hawkins House, she was not sure how to break the news to Mrs. Hawkins. It was good news, but so incredible she didn’t know where to start. The front door was locked. She let herself in with the skeleton key Mrs. Hawkins insisted she always keep in her pocket purse.

“Hello? Anyone home?”

She heard only the ticking of the mantel clock. A note on the silver tray in the hall told her Mrs. Hawkins had gone to deliver invitations for the next meeting of the Benevolents.

After hanging up her cloak, she climbed the stairs to the third level. Sun filtered through the repaired window, and specks of dust danced like wee fairies. She had enough money to purchase her own building now and wouldn’t need to renovate Mrs. Hawkins’s third floor. She sat on an old steamer trunk and opened the paper Mr. Barrows had given her.

I do hope you understand. I do not want my dear lass Annie to grow up so privileged that she doesn’t appreciate the simple life God has given us. I don’t want her to have to conceal the truth about who her father is, so I have not told her about our arrangement. But neither do I want her to be a pauper. So in writing under this name I will keep my anonymity.

Now, to the explanation of why I have chosen the name Luther Redmond. What caused my dear wife and I to be separated was prejudice due to different religious backgrounds. Therefore, to represent the fact that we are all God’s children, I chose Luther in reference to Martin Luther, the father of Protestantism. Redmond is the name of a Catholic bishop from the sixteenth century. Redmond O’Gallagher was bishop of Killala and perhaps an ancestor of mine, something the O’Shannon family would be surprised to learn. I thought it fitting to marry the religions through this pseudonym.

The seal is in fact one belonging to Martin Luther. I have added initials and a bishop’s staff, and there you have it. The official mark of the author Luther Redmond.

Marty Gallagher

aka Luther Redmond

Annie rubbed her hand over her father’s handwriting. She might not agree with his hiding this part of his life from her, but she forgave him. He did what he deemed best. And he had indeed made sure she wasn’t a pauper.

She glanced around the chilly attic. Her father had not
wanted wealth to corrupt her, and she’d seen in New York how money had done that to people. The funds she would soon have did not somehow feel hers. A school with many books would be a great legacy, but what was it if she could not share it? The power of story is meant for all.

A scene from
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
played in her mind, one she had been thinking of earlier. Glinda the Good Witch told Dorothy she had always been able to get back home, using her silver shoes.

How often do we think we are lacking what we need when it has been with us all the while?
If Annie had fully understood what power she could have been calling on all along
 
—the power of God
 
—she could have avoided the long, lonely, dark trek she’d traveled up until she felt God’s light shining on her face at her bedroom window.

She would not buy a building. She would not leave Hawkins House.

“Are you home, love?”

“I’m up here, Mrs. Hawkins.”

Annie scrambled down the steps and met the woman on the second-floor landing.

“What were you doing up there, love?”

“Oh, Mrs. Hawkins. My father has left me a fortune.”

The woman grabbed Annie’s hands. “How wonderful. You can see all your dreams come true.”

“When is the meeting of the Benevolents?”

“Two o’clock.”

“Good. I have much to say.”

Dr. Thorp cleared his throat. “Let it be known that on this day
 
—add the date, George
 
—the Benevolents admitted Miss Annie Gallagher to their ranks.”

George Parker scribbled in a diary as the doctor spoke.

Dr. Thorp held up a finger. “And due to the recommendation of Mr. Stephen Adams, Hawkins House will employ a new housekeeper by the name of Minnie Draper.”

“Who?” Annie asked.

The Hawk waved her fingers in Annie’s direction. “A former coworker of Mr. Adams’s. He says she lost her job, and he believes her to be a hardworking Christian woman. This will help free you for your work, Annie.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

The doctor grunted. “Now, I believe there is just one more order of business to attend to.”

Annie raised her hand.

“Just a moment, Miss Gallagher.” The doctor pointed toward the door. “I believe something has arrived for you.”

Mrs. Hawkins went to the door. “Come see, love.”

Annie hurried to the stoop. A horse-drawn flatbed wagon stood in front, loaded with books. “What is this?”

Reverend Clarke stood at her shoulder. “That, my dear, is your library.”

She scrambled down the steps and pulled a couple of books off the stack. “Dickens and Twain.” She looked at some others. “Histories and biographies . . . and some are brand-new.”

The reverend whispered in her ear. “There are even some Baum volumes for the children
 
—or the young at heart.”

She spun around to look at her friends. “How did you do this?”

The doctor pulled at his lapel. “You have no idea how persuasive Agnes Hawkins can be, child.”

The Hawk winked at her. “The men who delivered them will bring them in now, to store on the third floor until you purchase your property.”

“Oh no. The books will stay there. This library and school will not be mine, but all of ours. And I can think of no better home for them, or for me, than Hawkins House.”

She had reduced Mrs. Hawkins to tears, again.

Epilogue

T
HAT EVENING
S
TEPHEN
invited the Hawkins House ladies to a celebratory dinner at his favorite Italian restaurant. Before they were to leave, Annie slipped into her room to think. Her eyes went right to her writing desk, where she had laid the heart pin. She had planned to give it back but hadn’t yet had a chance. Cupping it in her hands, she contemplated the fact that she had attached more to this heart than what Stephen Adams had intended. She didn’t really want to give it back, but he said it had belonged to his mother. It wasn’t right to keep it. The sooner she returned it, the better.

Carefully placing it in her pocket, she hurried to the closet and grabbed her cloak. “I’m coming.”

Along the way she asked Mrs. Hawkins for a favor. “Could I speak to him alone for a moment when we get there?”

“I understand, love. I’ll assemble the others outside until you are ready.”

“I need to find out if he was only interested in me for those stories.”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Annie. You’ve put up a wall to protect your heart. I did that too when I was your age.”

“I don’t know if I can trust his affections. I . . . He seems to mean well, but I am not sure. I want to talk to him in private.”

When they arrived, Mrs. Hawkins made her wait with the others while she went inside first. “I’ll make sure everything’s in order.”

Annie stomped her feet to keep warm.

“Why are we waiting?” Aileen complained.

Annie clicked her tongue. “She’s checking on things.”

Mrs. Hawkins came out a moment later. “He is waiting at a table in the corner. We’ll come in in a few minutes, love.”

“But, Mrs. Hawkins, if I find out . . . if I think he doesn’t really . . . well, I’m going to leave.”

“We will deal with that if it happens, love. Now go in. He’s waiting. And see if they can find me some tea, will you?”

Stephen looked up as the door opened. Annie stepped inside and inhaled. The place smelled delicious
 
—onions, garlic, and the doughy scent of pasta. No wonder he liked coming here. She joined Stephen at the corner table and stared into his bright eyes. The candlelight made his silky dark hair glisten.

“Hi.”

“Nice to see you, Annie, at last. Is it still all right if I call you by your Christian name?”

“Please do.” She touched her velvet hat. She normally didn’t wear such finery, but it had felt like an important occasion.

“You look lovely.” He did not seem to be able to take his eyes off her headpiece. “I hope you wore that hat for me.”

“I . . . I thought it would be appropriate.”

“It is.” The muscles in his face relaxed.

“Thank you for arranging that meeting with Mr. Davis and Mr. Barrows.”

“I was happy to, for you and for your father’s legacy.”

Laughter erupted from another long table, and they both turned to look at the same time.

“Do you know Joey Falcone?” he asked.

“Aye, he likes to come to the dances. For Emma, I’m sure. He’s Italian. I’ve seen them together often.”

“They’re from different neighborhoods. Things are changing, I believe. Folks from all backgrounds are finding common ground as Americans.”

“I hope so.” She frowned a moment, thinking of her parents’ sad love story. She focused on the candle on the table as she tried to summon the courage to say what must be said. “I don’t think . . . I mean, I don’t know if I’ll stay. I’m sure you all will have a good time.”

“Oh no. I hope you will. I need to talk to you, Annie. We’ve had so little time alone. I brought you another
rugelach
.”

“What?”

He pointed to a small plate in front of him, where a twisted roll like the one Mr. Barrows had eaten lay.

She laughed. “I was looking forward to that. Thank you.”

“Please tell me you’ll stay.”

“All right, if you insist. How can I refuse that gift? But I need to return this. It isn’t right that I have it.” She held a closed fist over the table, the heart pin inside. “Here.”

He slid his hand under hers, and she dropped the pin and then pulled away. “I realize that you gave this to me as an incentive, and ’tis your own mother’s, so. You should keep it.”

“I gave this to you. It’s a gift, not an incentive.”

“I shouldn’t keep it.”

“Don’t you like it?”

“I do. But . . .”

He handed it back. “Please keep it, Annie.”

She shook her head. The candle on the table reflected moisture in his eyes.

“Promise me you won’t leave here until I’ve said everything I want to say. Please.”

She agreed.

He laid his arm on the table. A gesture to reach for her hand? She wasn’t sure.

“I want to help people, and sometimes I try too hard, try to do too much.” He pulled a pair of mittens from his suit-coat pocket with his free arm. “Like this, for example.”

“Oh, good. You got them. Did Mrs. Hawkins bring them to you?”

“Yes, she did. This is a new pair. I went without for a long time. I meant to replace them, but I kept putting it off.”

“What happened to your first pair?”

He glanced toward the window that was thickly covered in drapes. “It makes me sick to see some of the people out on the streets. Kids, no more than five years old, out there hawking goods. They should be playing stickball or chase or reading books.” He looked back at her and smiled. “I was one of them once, a poor boy on the streets looking for a penny here and there because my folks had no jobs. I gave my other pair of mittens to one of those boys.”

Tears began to drip down her cheeks, and she took off her gloves and wiped them.

“Oh, don’t cry.” He handed her a thick white napkin. “I gave away those mittens without thinking about having to go without. I don’t mind it, but that’s an example of how I go ahead and do things without thinking of the consequences.”

“That is admirable, actually.”

“Perhaps that is not a good example. This leaping before I think things out sometimes gets me in trouble. Like what I did with your stories.”

“I understand.”

“I have been motivated by the fact that my father did not provide for me. He took his own life.”

“Oh, Stephen. I’m so sorry.”

He smiled, his handsome face focused on her alone. “I have learned a lot lately about forgiveness. I have forgiven my father for not being a provider. For leaving us instead of fighting for us.”

The pain of her own past made her feel his all the more acutely. “I forgave my father for not telling me he was Luther Redmond.”

He wrinkled his dimpled chin. “So you see. I suppose we would have made different choices if we were in their shoes, but we weren’t.”

“I suppose so.”

She looked at the heart pin he still held in his open palm. “Mr. Adams?”

“Stephen.”

“Stephen, I thought I was Dorothy, but I’m not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t go home, like Dorothy did. She wound up landing in a field on her aunt and uncle’s farm in Kansas. That can’t happen to me. I can’t be the child again, the one whose father loves her.” She gulped air before she spoke again. “I can’t go home, because my father isn’t there.”

“My father isn’t here either, but there is One who is.”

“Oh, aye. I feel my heavenly Father with me now, providing for me.”

“A blessing. A gift.”

“That’s right.”

He leaned forward. “I’m here, Annie. I’ll always be here.”

Annie tried to slow her breathing. The last thing she wanted was to faint right there in front of Stephen Adams. He held out his heart to her even as he still offered his mother’s brooch. As though a spotlight beamed on the table between
them, she began to see the truth. She did have a home. “I asked God to give me his heart, and it seems he has also opened my eyes.”

She turned and looked as her friends began filing in. The woman who had truly been a mother to her, the one Kate Gallagher had chosen to look out for her. The giggling girls who were like the sisters she never had, even Aileen. You could be annoyed with sisters but still love them with all your heart. She turned back to Stephen. “If there is no place like home, like Dorothy said, then I’m sure I’ve found my home because there is no place that feels as good as this.”

Stephen’s smile grew so large, wee crinkles formed under his eyes. “I’ve always thought life was a journey like that yellow brick road. And I’ve always longed for friends to travel it with me.”

She knew what he meant. He wanted her to be with him. Having someone want her, love her, was what she had been longing for. And now . . . now she could see that clearly.

The room, though dim, suddenly became vibrant with color. Sure, the red-painted walls and gold-framed floral prints were there when she walked in, but she only now noticed them.

She put a hand against her cloak, feeling her pounding heart. The things she’d been longing for had been in front of her all along.

She turned back to Stephen and put her hand in his, clutching the heart pin. His eyes were as blue as the Irish Sea. His hair, as dark and shiny as coal. The astounding color she now saw made her gasp. “I accept,” she said. “I accept your heart.”

Just then a trio of men began to play concertinas and flutes in the back of the room. The sound lifted her spirits.

Stephen rose and pinned the heart on the outside of her cloak. Then he leaned close and whispered in her ear. “You have my heart, Annie Gallagher. My true heart. Forever.”