The Pattern of Her Heart (8 page)

“What do I do, Lord? I don’t want a wife, but the child needs a woman’s hand in her life. Who among these women could help my Reggie?” he whispered into the silent room.

He stared out the office window at the grassy side yard, where the parishioners occasionally gathered for summertime picnics and festivities, and hoped he’d be given a divine answer to his query. This was one problem Justin didn’t want to solve on his own, for if he knew nothing else, he knew his daughter. She
would
resist.

The sound of clattering footsteps and Reggie’s voice startled Justin from his silent reverie.

“Guess what happened!” she shouted, her arms flapping up and down like an agitated chicken as she skidded to a halt in front of his desk.

Justin surveyed his young daughter. Her hair was unkempt, her clothing was soiled, and dirt smudged her forehead and both cheeks. He assessed the child as though she were a stranger and knew he needed an answer to his prayer—immediately.

“Did you hear me, Father? Guess what happened?”

“What?” he asked, forcing himself back to the present.

Reggie plopped down in the one remaining chair and folded her arms across her chest. “Spencer is leaving. His grandpa and uncles died, and now his family has to go somewhere down south to pick and hoe cotton. Isn’t that terrible? I wouldn’t want to hoe cotton. Do you think Spencer could come and live with us? I don’t want him to leave. He and Moses are the only friends I have in Lowell.” She sat up straighter. “I told him we’d come and talk to his mother and see if she’d let him stay with us. What do you think? He wouldn’t eat too much, and he doesn’t get into trouble very often. Do you think we could?” she asked, her questions tumbling out in rapid succession.

“No, Reggie, we couldn’t do such a thing. First of all, Spencer’s parents are not going to leave him in Lowell if they’re moving down south; second, I don’t think Spencer or any other member of their family will be hoeing cotton; and third, we aren’t going to go and talk to Mr. and Mrs. Houston. I am truly sorry your friend must leave, but this is none of our business.”

“But, Father, I promised.”

“You should have come and talked to me prior to making such promises,” he admonished quietly.

She tucked one leg beneath her and wrinkled her nose. “Won’t you at least talk to his mother?”

“Put your leg down, Reggie. That’s a very unladylike position,” he instructed. “If Mrs. Houston wishes to discuss Spencer’s future with me, I’m quite sure she’ll stop by the house.”

“Why does it matter if I sit like a lady? You never cared before.”

“Well, I should have. I’ve gone far too long without correcting your behavior.”

She frowned and jumped up from the chair. “I’m going home,” she announced, darting from the room and headlong into Mrs. Sanders, who was standing directly outside Justin’s office with the other members of the Ladies’ Aid Society.

“Why, Regina, how pleasant to see you. Have you been enjoying the cake Rachel baked for you and your father?”

Reggie hesitated for only a moment. “We didn’t eat it. I sold it instead.”

Mrs. Sanders gasped, obviously taken aback by the girl’s forthright reply.

“I got twenty-five cents,” she proudly announced. “Mr. Parker was going to give me only ten cents until I told him it was for the church benevolence fund, so he decided to give me an extra fifteen cents.”

“You
lied
to him?” Mrs. Sanders directed a condemnatory glare into the preacher’s office.

“No, Mrs. Sanders, she did not lie. She has donated all of the money toward the benevolence fund. Quite frankly, I thought it a better idea than letting the desserts go uneaten,” Justin said. “After all, we are only two people and you all had been so very generous with your gifts.”

With a downward glance, Mrs. Sanders sputtered an apology to the preacher and then busied herself searching her reticule for some unknown object.

“I thank you for your words of regret, Mrs. Sanders, but I believe it’s Regina, not I, that you’ve affronted,” Justin said as he took hold of his daughter and gently moved her until she was standing directly in front of him. With his hands resting upon Reggie’s shoulders, Justin met Mrs. Sanders’s embarrassed gaze. “I’m certain you’d like to offer Reggie your apology.”

M
C
K
INLEY
W
AINWRIGHT
paced back and forth in front of the Lowell railroad depot, straining to his full height as he peered down Merrimack Street before turning his attention to Dutton Street.

His lips curved into an unconvincing smile as he stopped beside Mr. Forbes. “Mr. Cheever should be arriving at any moment.”

Jarrod Forbes removed his spectacles and wiped them with his handkerchief. “So you’ve told me—twice now. The sun is much too bright for my liking. I’ll wait for you and Mr. Cheever inside the depot,” he said before glancing toward the sound of a shrill whistle in the distance. “Sounds as though the train should be arriving soon also.”

Mr. Forbes leaned heavily upon his cane and hobbled off to the doorway of the depot. Matthew was seldom late, and McKinley began to worry that an emergency had occurred at one of the mills. He hesitated, attempting to decide if he should send one of the boys running to the mills. The train shrieked an earsplitting whistle, and McKinley motioned to a young lad. He’d just completed his instructions to the boy when he saw Matthew’s carriage round the corner.

“I won’t need your assistance after all. Mr. Cheever is approaching,” he said, tossing the boy a coin.

“Thank you, sir,” the boy said as he caught the coin and then tucked it into his pocket.

“I was growing concerned,” McKinley said as his father-in-law stepped down from the carriage with his case in hand.

Matthew waved his driver on and then strode alongside McKinley. “I thought I had all of the contracts assembled, but after reviewing them this morning, I realized several were missing. I was required to stop at the mill on my way. Finding the remaining documents proved more time-consuming than I had anticipated. Where’s Forbes?”

“He’s waiting inside the depot. He was determined to be on the train, even if neither of us accompanied him,” McKinley replied.

Matthew laughed. “Likely he’s concerned about all that shopping he must accomplish in Boston before his departure.”

“How wonderful it must be to have nothing more pressing than the purchase of a few trinkets weighing upon one’s mind,” McKinley said as they entered the depot.

“Pleased to see you made it in time for our departure,” Mr. Forbes said as Matthew stepped forward and grasped the older man’s hand. “I began to fear you wouldn’t make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss an important meeting with the Association. As I told McKinley, I was delayed by a few misplaced contracts but have managed to set everything right.”

“Then let us board,” Forbes declared, suddenly seeming to have gained new momentum.

The three men boarded the train and settled into their seats. The train had barely pulled away from the station when Jarrod Forbes nodded off to sleep.

“Doesn’t appear as though we’ll be having much discussion with Mr. Forbes on the way to Boston,” Matthew commented while giving the older man a sidelong glance.

McKinley grinned and nodded in agreement.

“How has my daughter reacted to all this news regarding the plantation?” Matthew asked. “Her mother tells me Violet appeared somewhat withdrawn when they visited yesterday. Yet when Lilly questioned her, she wasn’t forthcoming.”

“She’s distraught. I’ve attempted to reassure Violet that I will not go to Mississippi, but I think she fears I’ll relent if Jasmine becomes more forceful.”

Matthew leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes for a moment. “Quite frankly, I don’t believe this entire ordeal should rest upon Jasmine’s shoulders, especially if you want to share in the proceeds of your father’s estate,” he said rather sternly.

“What? You think I should leave Violet—in her condition and after her difficulty? I question whether your daughter would ever fully recover if she lost another child. And there’s my position with the Corporation to consider. Besides, I know nothing about harvesting a cotton crop.”

Matthew rubbed his fingertips across the deep creases that lined his forehead. “It’s entirely your decision. I’m pleased that you’ve put your love for Violet and the unborn child first. However, Violet mentioned the fact that you expect to receive your full share from your father’s estate. Jasmine and Nolan have much at stake in this matter also, and I’m surprised they would agree to take on full responsibility. Leaving their horses and business to the care of others could prove very risky for them—and you can be sure they question their own ability to harvest a crop.”

“Then you think I should go?”

“I find more fault with your ultimatum regarding the inheritance than in your decision to remain in Lowell. You might find spending some time in prayer to be beneficial . . . and you might want to say a word of thanks for your sister while you’re at it.”

McKinley stared out the train window and contemplated Matthew’s words. Perhaps his decision had been hastily made. Yet the thought of going to Mississippi was out of the question. Instead, he would offer to assist Paddy and the other folks whom Nolan would leave in charge of his holdings. To make this issue a matter of prayer, however, would be impossible. Though he knew his stance regarding the inheritance was selfish, he would not accept less than the share allotted him in the terms of his father’s will. After all, as the only remaining son, he could have contested Jasmine’s inheritance. Besides, he
needed
the additional funds! The downward turn in the economy during the past few years had taken a heavy toll on his investments, which was a fact he did not wish to discuss with his father-in-law.

McKinley tried not to linger long on the topic. Thinking about the plantation made him remember his father and the conflicts they’d had over his own decision to remain in the North. He knew his father never fully agreed with his decision. Nor could Malcolm Wainwright ever fully understand McKinley’s hatred of slavery. He could almost hear his father’s protests, even now.

“But you benefited every day of your life from the work of our
slaves,”
his father had once argued.
“How can you turn away
from all that I offer? How can you turn away from your home?”

And indeed McKinley had struggled at times with that decision. There were moments when he remembered the sweet smell of honeysuckle as it drifted on the evening air. He remembered the parties and family gatherings. He had, when young, imagined himself quite happily settled with his own plantation and slaves.

I’m sorry, Father. How could I explain to you what I never
quite fully understood myself?

The train came to a jerking halt at the Boston railroad station and ended his musings, at least for the moment. Nathan Appleton’s carriage awaited them outside the depot, and within a short time, the three men were delivered to the front door of the Appleton home, where Nathan personally greeted them.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Forbes. I do wish it were under different circumstances,” Nathan said as he led them into his library. “Many of the Associates are traveling abroad for the summer, but most of them will return to America in the next two weeks. Let me introduce you to the members who are able to be in attendance.”

Nathan quickly made the introductions and invited the men to be seated. “I trust you’ve heard the latest financial news,” he said with a worried look in his eyes.

“I’ve heard nothing of interest. Is something amiss with the Corporation?” Matthew inquired.

“We received word yesterday that the New York branch of the Ohio Life Insurance and Trust Company has failed. It appears the insolvency was caused by a massive embezzlement of railroad bonds, which will, of course, leave enormous debts,” Nathan explained.

Wilson Harper mopped the perspiration from his forehead. “New York bankers restricted all routine transactions immediately. We’ve heard that investors who held stock and commercial paper immediately rushed to make deals with their brokers. The telegraph we received this morning says that stocks fell ten percent in one day. Fortunes are being lost overnight. Terrible! Terrible!” Harper said, shaking his head back and forth.

“The banks wouldn’t honor routine transactions? Why?” McKinley asked, his fear mounting at this turn of events.

“All their depositors wanted payment in gold; however, the bankers knew they couldn’t meet the demand until the expected gold shipment arrived from San Francisco. They announced their gold shipment is due by mid-September. I believe they gave the anticipated date in order to allay the fears of their depositors, but I’m not certain it’s been successful. I’m hoping panic doesn’t spread to Boston, yet we likely need to withdraw some of the Corporation’s funds in the event there’s a nationwide collapse.”

“I doubt that’s going to occur. This country is economically sound, don’t you think?” McKinley inquired in a hopeful voice.