The Matrimony Plan (17 page)

“Yes, but you can’t force people to take on a child.”

“And what if an orphan is given to the wrong family?” Felicity was treading on delicate ground now. She couldn’t very well tell Mariah that her brother had agreed to give an orphan to Mr. Coughlin.

“If there are problems, heaven forbid, the child would be removed from the home. What are you trying to tell me? Is
one of the children in danger? You are on the Selection Committee. If there’s a problem, you need to speak to Gabriel.”

That’s the one thing she couldn’t do. “There’s not a problem yet,” she admitted, “but there could be.”

Mariah sighed. “I know this is difficult, but there’s no sense borrowing trouble. Our Lord will see this through, as will the good people of Pearlman.”

“Yes, but if there is a problem, maybe there’s a better solution than sending them back to the asylum.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Don’t you see? We could create a home for them, a sort of boarding school. All we’d need is a big enough house, a place with lots of bedrooms. Like in John’s gospel, where Jesus said his Father’s house has many rooms. Why not us?”

“Do you mean here?” Mariah’s face dropped. “You want Gabriel and me to take in children?”

“No, no.” Felicity rose and paced the room. “That’s not it at all. I mean the house itself. It’s so large, with lots of bedrooms. It’s much too big for a parsonage, but it would make the perfect foster home and school. The children would have a place to call home. Don’t you see how perfect it would be?”

Mariah hesitated. “And who would run this?”

That was the difficult part. “I would.”

“By yourself? You have no experience with children or teaching.”

Felicity’s hands shook. “I—I hoped maybe you’d take charge at first, and I would help.”

“The way you help with Slinky?” In one sentence, the masculine baritone shredded Felicity’s excitement.

“Gabriel,” she gasped, emotions bouncing like fireflies in a jar. “Let me explain.”

“No.” He set his hat on the table, and she saw the worry lines creasing his forehead. “Everything is settled, Ms. Kensington. There is no need for a boarding school.”

Ms. Kensington? The last flicker of hope sputtered out. “Then they’ll all be taken?” She couldn’t bring herself to ask who would get Luke.

“If the applicants agree.” He poured himself a cup of tea.

“W-Who?” She steeled herself for the answer.

His look accused her of abandoning her duty. “The best applicants.”

He wasn’t going to tell her. The only reason to hide the outcome was if he’d agreed to give a child to Coughlin. He couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

“But what if some still go unclaimed?” she said, frantically trying to think of some way to talk him out of this. “What if the child objects to the match? They do have that right, don’t they?”

“Felicity,” Mariah warned softly. “It’s late.”

“Yes, go home to your fiancé,” Gabriel snapped.

With a gasp, Felicity realized that’s why he was being so cold. He thought she was engaged to Robert.

“There is no fiancé.”

For the briefest moment, his eyes met hers. She saw hope there, but then it faded. “Please excuse me. I’m tired, and there’s a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“But—”

He left the room before she could finish her sentence. He’d dismissed her. Though she looked to Mariah for support, she knew her friend could do nothing to sway Gabriel.

It was over. Just like that. Not only had she failed the children, but somehow she’d lost Gabriel, too.

The ache that had begun when Gabriel saw Felicity and Blevins together in his office accelerated with every passing minute. All parties involved had neatly planned that marriage. For a second after she refuted it, he had hope, but then he remembered Kensington’s revelation.

Blevins or no Blevins, a life with Felicity would soon be impossible. He’d protested Kensington’s plan to send Peter to the Grattans, but then the man told him why he wanted the match. To protect Felicity, Gabriel turned his back on what was right, telling himself that Peter would be all right with the bigoted Hermann Grattan. It would only be for two or three years, and the Grattans had no prejudice against Peter, just Luke. But Felicity wouldn’t see it that way. She’d blame him—and rightfully so.

“What happened, Gabe?” Mariah’s voice carried a cartload of concern.

Gabriel could not discuss what Kensington had told him about Felicity, even with his sister. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Even I can see something’s wrong.”

He tried to brush off the question with a wave of the hand. “I need to go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

“Bed is not what you need, Gabriel John. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath.”

“I’m not angry,” Gabriel bristled, “and I don’t need scripture quoted to me.”

“Apparently you do. Granted Felicity’s idea wasn’t thought through, but it came from a loving heart. She cares deeply what happens to those children.”

“I know.” He did know, and that was the problem. What her father told him that evening changed everything.

“She seemed to object to a decision that was made without her. Is that true?”

“I had to,” Gabriel growled. “Don’t ask me to explain because I can’t without betraying a confidence.” As much as he wanted to tell Mariah, he couldn’t. Only two people could divulge this secret, and neither had seen fit to do so in twenty-some years.

“Oh, Gabe, is something wrong? Is she ill?”

How easy it would be to agree, but he could not mislead
her. “No, she’s not ill. It’s nothing terrible.” If a secret that shattered lives wasn’t terrible.

“I see.” Mariah took the teacup from his hands. “Then why do you look like death?”

Because he’d agreed to do something that grated against his conscience. Because he could see no way out. Because he’d broken a sacred trust for the sake of a woman.

He lifted weary eyes. “Please don’t ask.”

She looked at him long and hard. “Do you still love her?”

“Yes,” he whispered. And that was the problem.

B
y nine-thirty the next morning, the church had filled to capacity. An expectant hum followed Felicity as she made her way toward the committee table, still planted in front of the altar. Everyone watched her, some hopeful and others wary.

“Ms. Kensington.” Mrs. Simmons’s quiet plea broke Felicity’s step. “I know you can’t divulge the results, but I want you to know that I’ve been praying for the best foster parents for each child.”

“Me, too,” Felicity whispered, feeling a rush of affection for the woman she’d wrongly disdained in the past.

Mrs. Simmons patted her hand. “Then I know it will go well.”

Felicity wasn’t quite so certain. Gabriel and her father had made other plans, terrible plans. She blinked back tears as she climbed to the table.

Daddy stopped her before she sat down. “Felicity, you don’t look well. Perhaps you should go home.”

“No, Daddy. I need to do my duty, all of it.” She stressed the last three words, but of course he didn’t understand what she meant.

“That’s my little soldier.” He settled her in her chair and then proceeded to direct people who didn’t require directing.

A sea of faces spread out before Felicity. From eager applicants to the nervous children, seated along the wall to the left, all looked to her. The oldest boy, Peter, joked with Matthew, but whenever he looked her way, his brow creased.

Gabriel looked older and worn, as if the last ounce of energy had been drained from him. He spoke briefly with each of the children, lingering longer before Luke. The boy never raised his eyes, and Felicity couldn’t tell if he understood what Gabriel was telling him.

She quickly turned away when Gabriel took his seat at the other end of the table. The three feet between Gabriel and her might have been a huge chasm. He didn’t look at her, and she couldn’t bear to look at him.

“People,” Daddy yelled.

The crowd gradually quieted after a lot of shushing and admonitions about not talking in church.

Daddy tugged his waistcoat down. “We’ve reviewed all the applications. Thank you for stepping forward to help out these children. We received twenty-eight applications. That means a good many of you are going to be disappointed. That being said, let’s get the suspense over with.”

He motioned to the female agent, who led little Grace to stand between the altar rails. In this enormous moment of Grace’s young life, she stuck her thumb back in her mouth and no amount of tugging by the agent could dislodge it.

“For this little girl—” Daddy cleared his throat and squinted at sheet of paper in his hand “—we’ve selected Hugh and Cordelia Butterfield.”

Cordelia burst into tears. “Praise God. Oh, thank you, thank you.”

Her husband helped her forward, and as Cordelia dropped to her knees before little Grace, the man’s lips trembled, and
he wiped away a tear. Felicity drew in her breath. She’d been wrong about him. Though solemn and stoic, he cared deeply.

The little girl wrapped her arms around Cordelia, and the woman hugged her tightly, taking into her heart the gift God had sent to replace her dead child. Many a woman, Felicity included, dabbed at her eyes. Gabriel and Daddy had chosen wisely.

Next, the tough little fireplug Nathaniel went to the Millers, who had two boys close in age. The boy instantly fell into chatter with his new brothers. Again it was a success.

The Highbottoms claimed twelve-year-old Matthew, whose shock of fair hair closely matched that of his new mother. Felicity smiled at Matthew’s delighted grin. His fear was gone, wiped away by the chance to begin anew with two brothers and two sisters.

Again, Daddy and Gabriel had chosen well, but Mr. Coughlin didn’t agree. He stood at the announcement, face beet-red.

“I want that’un.” Coughlin staggered to the front of the church, pointing at poor Matthew.

Daddy stepped between Coughlin and the boy, and Charles Highbottom hurried Matthew down the side aisle.

“Now, Einer.” Daddy clapped Coughlin on the back. “Most people didn’t get their first choice. More than twenty will go home empty-handed.”

“But I’m entitled.”

“Every applicant went through the same selection process,” Daddy consoled, guiding Mr. Coughlin back to a pew. “Have a seat Einer, and wait it out. We still have two boys left.”

Felicity’s gut tightened. The only reason Daddy would tell Coughlin to wait was if he and Gabriel had approved the man’s application. She looked to Luke and Peter, both terrified. They knew it, too. She tried to catch Gabriel’s attention,
but he wouldn’t look at her. It was true. They were going to condemn one of those poor boys to a life of pain and misery.

“No,” she squeaked, but it was barely audible.

“Peter, please come forward,” said Daddy.

The male agent reached for Peter’s hand, but the boy refused assistance. With a straightening of his shoulders, he walked to the center, directly in front of Mr. Coughlin, and faced his future with resolve.

No, it couldn’t be.

“We had a hard time agreeing on the best home for young Peter.” Daddy fidgeted, shifting papers around. “We had many fine applications.” He glanced at Gabriel, who shook his head.

Felicity hoped that meant he would stop Daddy, but Gabriel didn’t speak.

“Stop this,” she mouthed, but Gabriel would not look at her.

If he would not act, she must. She rose, but her legs trembled so badly that she sat right back down again. Electricity hummed through the deathly silent room.

Daddy cleared his throat and pushed up his spectacles. The slip of paper in his hand shook. “Hermann and Sophie Grattan.”

“What?” Felicity’s surprise escaped in a single word. She’d expected to hear Mr. Coughlin’s name, but if Peter wasn’t going to Coughlin, then… She looked to Luke, who realized the fate that awaited him. He lowered his gaze and shrank against the chair, making himself as small as possible.

“You can’t,” Felicity gasped. “Gabriel, no.”

But he no longer sat at the table. Gabriel met the Grattans before they reached Peter. “Or, if you’d prefer,” he said loudly enough for everyone to hear, “you could take Luke. He’s younger, and you’d have more years together.”

Peter looked to Luke, who hopefully eyed the Grattans. “Luke’s a good kid.”

Felicity couldn’t stand this anymore. How could Gabriel and Daddy put the boys through this? “Stop this. Stop it now.”

That drew everyone’s attention.

“Felicity,” Daddy growled.

Mrs. Grattan seized the opportunity to claim her prize. “We’d love Peter.”

“Come along, boy,” said Hermann Grattan, taking Peter by the arm. With a final glare at Luke, he added, “We don’t want no foreigners.”

Felicity had heard enough. The slurs he’d cast at Luke yesterday still rang in her ears. He’d insinuated that the boy’s birth somehow made him less than human.

She stood. “He’s no more a foreigner than you are, Mr. Grattan. In fact, he’s less. You were born in Germany. Luke was born here. He’s an American.”

“Felicity,” Daddy warned, but she couldn’t stop now.

“If my opinion had been considered, you wouldn’t be allowed to take
any
child into your home. If you can’t accept Luke for who he is, you don’t deserve any of these precious children.” She forced herself between Peter and the Grattans. “Go back to Luke, Peter.”

“You have no right.” Mrs. Grattan turned bright red, her jowls quivering as her mouth sought sufficient venom.

“I have every right.” Felicity drew herself to her full height. “Not only am I on the Selection Committee but I’m a Kensington.”

“A Kensington?” Mrs. Grattan screeched, her laughter harsh. “You’re no more a Kensington than I am.”

A collective gasp came from the crowd, but the loudest of all came from a voice Felicity knew well. Mother. “No-o-o.” The strangled cry echoed over the crescendoing hum.

It couldn’t be. Felicity looked from Mother to Mrs. Grattan, who’d gone pale as a bleached sheet. “What do you mean?”

Mrs. Grattan hitched her shoulders. “I mean exactly what I said. You can stop pretending you’re high and mighty, Felicity Kensington, when you’re as much a dirty foreigner as that boy there. You’re no Kensington. You’re just an orphan from who knows where.”

The room swam, as if flooded under several feet of water. Mrs. Grattan’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Mother’s eyes bugged out, and her lips trembled. Tell Mrs. Grattan she’s wrong, Felicity silently pleaded, but Mother said nothing. Neither did Daddy. He just wiped his eyes.

“No,” Felicity cried. “Lies, all lies.”

Gabriel reached her side. “Felicity.” He tried to lead her out of the sanctuary.

She jerked away from him. This couldn’t be true. “Daddy?” She reached for the man who’d been an anchor in her life, but he was busy berating Mrs. Grattan.

“Sophie, you broke your promise.”

No.
Her head split. The room spun.

It couldn’t be true, but it was. She wasn’t a Kensington.

At that moment, Coughlin figured out how he fit into the puzzle. “I don’t want no foreigner.” He stabbed a finger at the man Felicity thought was her father. “Whatcha tryin’ to pass off on me? Them foreigners ain’t good fer nothin’ but thievin’ and lying.”

Gabriel led the unhappy Mr. Coughlin aside while the agents whisked Luke from the sanctuary. Luke. What would happen to Luke? Would he be sent back on the train? Felicity stumbled after him, but Daddy stopped her.

“Let’s not make a scene, little one.”

She whirled around to see everyone watching her, waiting
to see her collapse, but she wouldn’t. She was a Kensington. No she wasn’t, but if she wasn’t Daddy’s daughter, who was she? A foreigner? A street urchin? Is that why Mother ordered her around? It all made sense now—the fine schools and fancy clothes and desperate need to marry her well. Her parents had to make her more than she was and marry her off before the truth came out. And Sally’s snide remark. She knew. Eloise must have told her.

“I’m sorry,” Mrs. Grattan mumbled, shuffling Peter toward the center aisle. “I thought she knew. Everyone knew.” She faced the congregation. “After all these years, I thought they would have told her.”

She began to march Peter from the room, but Gabriel stopped her.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Grattan, but Peter will need to come with me. Peter, rejoin the agents in front of the church. I’ll be there shortly.”

Mrs. Grattan protested. “You can’t do that.”

“Let it go, Sophie,” Daddy growled as Peter escaped from the sanctuary.

She visibly shook. “You haven’t heard the last of me, Gabriel Meeks.” With a harrumph, she marched out, head held high.

Felicity wobbled, the last of her strength gone, and her father rushed to support her. “D-Daddy?” Tears strangled the word.

“Come along with the pastor and me.”

Gabriel gently steered her toward the side aisle with Daddy plowing ahead of them. As she passed the five empty chairs where the children had sat, she remembered Luke.

“Gabriel?” She gripped his arm with all her strength. “Don’t let Mr. Coughlin get Luke. Promise me.” This was more important than anything else. She could not let the
poor boy endure scorn a hundred times worse than had been directed at her by Mrs. Grattan.

“Don’t worry, Felicity,” Gabriel assured her. “Mr. Coughlin was never going to be given a child.”

“But then why? Why all that with Peter and Luke?”

He sighed. “It’s a long story and one that can wait. You have more important matters to address now.” He squeezed her arm. “Talk to your parents, and listen.”

Her parents? She stared at Daddy’s broad back.

She had no parents.

The church office afforded privacy for this most painful of conversations. Felicity stood in the center of the room, numb. Daddy pulled Gabriel’s chair from behind the desk while Mother sobbed into her handkerchief at Florabelle’s desk.

“Mother?” The word suddenly sounded peculiar.

Eugenia Kensington didn’t lift her eyes.

Daddy pointed to the empty chair, and Felicity tentatively sat. Whatever he had to say would hurt, but she had to know the truth.

“Who am I?”

He took her thin hands in his meaty ones. “You are our daughter.”

“But not by blood.” Her fingers, her legs, even her cheeks had gone cold.

“What’s blood?” Daddy said.

Mother lifted her face from the handkerchief to wail, “I knew this would happen one day. I knew it. You should never have done it, Branford.”

Felicity stared at her mother. “You shouldn’t have adopted me? Is that what you’re saying? Or am I not even adopted?”

“Of course you are.” Daddy turned red. “I’ll show you the papers if you want, but all that legal stuff doesn’t matter.

You’re ours. We’re yours. We raised you as our own and gave you everything you could ever want.”

As their own but not their own.

Again Mother wailed, this time from within the handkerchief.

“Eugenia, stop it. This is our daughter, the joy of our lives. Show a little backbone.”

“B-but now Mr. Blevins will never have her.”

“Maybe he doesn’t deserve her.” Daddy glowered at Mother, who was too busy sobbing to notice.

“And the National Academy,” she cried.

Daddy snorted. “If they won’t take my Felicity, then they won’t get one penny.”

“But how will she ever marry well now?” Mother cried. “Now that everyone knows the truth.”

Felicity’s parents argued the ramifications of the announcement. Why couldn’t one of them hug her and tell her it was all right? Why did it always come back to money and social status?

“Stop it,” she said softly. “Just stop.”

Her words went unheard as the discussion descended into bickering. Mother blamed Daddy for not taking enough precautions. Daddy claimed Mother had pushed for too much. On and on it went until Felicity couldn’t stand it anymore.

She stood. “Excuse me. I need to go to the washroom.”

They barely noticed her departure.

She walked through the now-vacant church. The sanctuary was dark and quiet, bearing no witness to the turmoil that had occurred moments before. In front stood the empty cross.