Rumors and Promises (21 page)

I
an knew he needed time away from Sophie and Caira. To think. Their lives and hearts were becoming as intertwined with his as threads in a tapestry. Seeing Sophie each day laid bare emotions he once thought he could control. He needed something else to focus on and had been relieved Elisha could meet with him early the following week.

Though not as lovely and feminine as the burgundy evening gown she once wore, the new clothes Sophie had made for herself fit her nicely. The simple but smartly tailored garments accentuated her talent and her petite waistline. The wispy curls escaping from her severe hairstyle only served to make him wish that the rest of her thick tresses would fall free, as well. What was he thinking?

He sat behind his desk. Elisha, perched on a chair across from him, interrupted his thoughts. “I’m only saying that perhaps we should take a day to make a trip to the new rescue home in Detroit, to see how they run things there. I believe it is one of the newer Florence Crittenton Homes. What do you think?”

“I’m sorry, Elisha.” Ian closed his eyes, rubbing his thumb and forefinger over the bridge of his nose.

“You do seem to have other things on your mind, Ian. Perhaps this isn’t a good time.”

“I’m afraid I’m not doing a good job casting all my cares on the Lord is all.” Yes, more time in prayer would help, along with meditating on God’s word. That was it. Once he received the spiritual help he thought he was obviously lacking, he could deal with everything logically.

“Oh, now, don’t let that Wringer woman get to you, son. She’s like a wounded lion. Her roar’s kind of loud, but sooner or later people will figure out she’s a gossip. I pray God will show us how to guide her to her proper place.” The head elder shook his head.

Ian’s eyes popped open. Elisha thought that he was afraid of Gertrude. At least this dear friend and mentor didn’t realize who truly made him want to run. “You’re right, Elisha, on both accounts. When would you care to embark on our journey?”

Two days later, Ian stepped off the train behind Elisha and onto the platform of the Fort Street Union Station in Detroit.

“There he is!” Elisha hailed a rather short, paunchy man with a gray handlebar mustache hiding half of his broad smile. “Dr. Conrad! Good to see you again.” The two men shared a hearty handshake.

“This is my pastor, the Reverend Ian McCormick.”

“I’m honored to meet you, Reverend.”

“Call me Ian, please.” He was touched by the pride his head elder took in him and in the ministry of the church. The awareness of the fact that these were older, wiser men made him feel like an inexperienced boy in their presence. Hopefully, he would learn something from being with them.

“Well, then you must call me Robert. Come along now. With this spring weather, our walk to the home shall be a short, invigorating stroll. Follow me.” Dr. Conrad gestured toward Fort Street.

The impressive red brick structure that they left behind was matched in grandeur by the Presbyterian church on the corner. Its beautiful spire would dwarf Stone Creek’s humble steeple.

“I understand from my friend, here, that you’re interested in establishing something similar in Stone Creek.” The doctor took long strides for a short man, but they kept up with his quickened pace. They turned left onto Washington Boulevard.

“Yes, well,” Ian said, pausing to clear his throat, “but perhaps something on a smaller scale than you would have here in the city.” In his mind and heart, he had imagined a small homelike atmosphere for residents so that they felt more like part of a family.

“Our ability to join forces with Charles Crittenton’s work is most fortuitous, or should I say, blessed.” The man paused as though reverent. “He began to spread these homes across the country in memory of his daughter. Poor little gal passed away when she was only four. But the conversion that took root during his bout of despair has borne much fruit. While he was heartbroken over his daughter’s passing, Mr. Crittenton has certainly moved his affections to the worthy cause to which God led him.”

“So I’ve read. As sad as the situation was, surely much good has come of it.” Elisha always seemed to have a positive comment for each situation. You couldn’t feel glum around him for long.

“The women should just have finished their dinner. They have a quiet time in the afternoon, during which I could give you the tour. That should work out nicely.”

They arrived in front of a three-story structure on Miami Avenue. As they strode toward the front door, Ian took in the large sturdy house with its ruddy brick face. Not knowing what to expect, an ominous feeling overshadowed him. But perhaps it was his nerves, not the building; for inside would be housed many fallen young ladies, living on charity while they waited out their confinement.

A lump grew in his throat as he remembered the awful discovery made when Annie’s body had been found. The swollen belly she’d hidden under her baggy clothing gave away the undeniable fact that she had been with child.

How would Annie have felt climbing the steps to the front door of such a mission home? In fact, how had she felt when she had knocked on the door of the parsonage? It troubled him greatly that he could have been instrumental in saving both lives. That thought alone drove him to the desire to give young women who’d made a mistake a place where they would be accepted and loved. A place where they would have the opportunity to bear their babies in peace. A place of healing. If they couldn’t take care of the infants, he wanted them to have a loving place to leave them so the mothers could start a new life. But in his grand scheme, they would be encouraged to keep those children.

A trim young lady opened the front door, wearing a white cap with an apron to match. She bid them enter.

“Please kindly let the matron know I have arrived with our guests.” Dr. Conrad removed his hat.

“Yes, sir.” She took their hats and coats before she led them to a reception room and gave them a shy smile. Not unlike Sophie, when she began working at Fairgrave’s, Ian noted.
Sophie.
What was he doing thinking about her again? Wasn’t he there to distance himself from the young lady whose endearing ways had begun to entangle his heart?

Ian nodded and turned away from the servant, taking in the clean and simply appointed room. He was there because he had a job to do. Brisk, light footsteps in the hallway interrupted his reverie.

“Good afternoon, Dr. Conrad, I see our guests have arrived.” A woman who could not be yet forty years old greeted them. The crisp white outfit she wore accentuated the gray creeping over her
temples. While her dark eyes were bright with kindness and hope, dark circles belied her tireless efforts at the mission.

“I am Mary Heartwell, the superintendent of this facility, which I hope you will find pleasing.”

“Miss Heartwell, let me introduce Reverend McCormick and Elder Whitworth.”

“Of course!” She extended a work-worn hand, motioning and added, “I am the nurse, the matron, and confidante of these dear young souls. We are pleased to have Dr. Conrad here, as well as the other generous doctors who take their turns in rotation, a month at a time.”

Miss Heartwell exuded warmth while still maintaining her sense of decorum, a rare quality for a woman in charge.

“Carrie Smith needs to see you, Doctor. Perhaps you would allow me to take these gentlemen around the home and you can catch up with us later.” Miss Heartwell opened the watch dangling from the fob pinned to her shirtwaist and snapped it shut.

The doctor nodded. “Of course. Gentlemen, I’ll rejoin you later.”

“Let’s begin upstairs since the women are away from their rooms at the moment.” Miss Heartwell headed into a rather long hallway, toward the stairs.

Ian heard the low hum of conversation, along with an occasional giggle from the back of the house. He supposed the chatter came from the dining room. They passed an empty parlor on their right.

“We are very fortunate to have a rather large sitting room. Our young ladies are able to read their Bibles or other books in there while there is also room to take out the sewing machines in the morning for them to do their work. Sometimes in the evening there is needlework and knitting to do. We keep their hands busy. If they’re fortunate enough to have family supporting them, we encourage them to keep up a correspondence.”

Ian noticed the cleared tables around the perimeter of the room while there were also plenty of chairs and a sofa where they could sit comfortably.

“You understand this dwelling place is likely temporary.” Miss Heartwell nodded toward Ian and Elisha. “As we are now affiliated with the Florence Crittenton Mission, we are hoping to soon have an even more suitable abode. We hate to turn anyone away.” Her smile warmed Ian, making him feel quite at ease.

He and Elisha followed the kindly Miss Heartwell up a steep flight of stairs. Once they reached the second floor, doors on either side of the hall stood open to good-sized rooms with three sturdy white beds apiece. Though ready to accommodate more than one resident at a time, the room they entered felt lonely as their shoes echoed on the polished wooden floor.

“Here’s where the young ladies sleep or come to rest when they’re not feeling well. As you can see, they all seem to be up and about today.” Her arm swept toward the perimeter of the room.

This begged a question. “The room is very tidy. Who does all the work?” Ian noticed sheets and blankets tucked neatly and any of the girls’ possessions must have been hidden from sight.

“Why, the residents take care of their rooms. They need to learn skills to take with them. Whether they are from a poor, uneducated lot and never learned habits of cleanliness or they were from wealth and never had to lift a finger, they must know how to care for a home.”

“Important skills to have. Naturally.” Elisha nodded.

“Speaking of skills, what do they do when they leave here? And what happens with the children?” Ian again could not suppress his curiosity.

Miss Heartwell tied a section of the airy muslin curtain back so that more daylight entered through a tall window. “Most often we train these fallen girls in useful skills, so they can go on to become domestics. Some, with understanding families, will return home.
We encourage them to love their children and keep them. We do our best to make sure they have secured a reputable position when they leave here.” She paused.

Floorboards squeaked under an uneven gait in the hallway. A young lady carried a stack of linens into the room. When she saw the men, she halted.

“Put them down on that bed for now, Julia,” the nurse said.

“Yes, Miss Heartwell.” Placing the pile onto the bed revealed folds of clothing barely hiding a growing belly. She blushed. Ian thought the girl must be nearing her time.

“It’s all right, you are excused to go back to your work.” Miss Heartwell’s sympathetic gaze told of her affection for the residents. She then turned toward Ian and Elisha to whisper, “They are used to feeling safe in their own world. I’m afraid they’re a bit shy to outsiders.”

Julia smiled at the matron before she looked toward the floor and exited the room. The nurse’s voice took on a hushed, matter-of-fact tone. “Not all of these dear girls are simply ‘fallen women.’ Some are victims of deceit, seduced into what they believed was an act of love, rather than sin.” She grew even quieter. “Others are victims of force. It may not seem ladylike to divulge such information, but these are the facts, gentlemen, as sad as they may be. But we don’t allow them to wallow in the past either.” Miss Heartwell averted her gaze and turned rather pink. “Perhaps I should write up a pamphlet addressing these travesties more delicately. Please excuse … my rather forthright manner. Someone must speak for these hurting women.”

Elisha shook his head. Ian attempted to take it in. Miss Heartwell had a difficult job. Brotherly feelings filled him. The desire to go to fisticuffs with the brutes who’d taken advantage of naïve girls made his jaw tighten. His fists clenched. Violent thoughts usually repulsed him. Perhaps this was what the Bible meant by “righteous indignation.”

“Poor girls.” Miss Heartwell shook her head, then stopped and raised her chin. “We do not cater merely to brazen women or prostitutes though we try to help them, too. All are welcome. Sadly, they are the ones likely to give up their children rather than turn over a new leaf. Then there are some girls who want a fresh start. Their children usually go to a childless relative or to the foundlings’ home. But we always encourage our young ladies to allow the natural love for their babies to flourish. Which brings us to the nursery.” She beckoned them to follow her to another room.