Tracie Peterson (26 page)

Esther looked at Darlene with an expression of pity. “Hayyim said that there are talks of why the Christians believe we are wrong in not accepting their Messiah.”

“Hayyim should honor my father’s goodness to him and remain silent on matters of gossip.” Darlene knew her defense was weak, but what could she say? To admit that her father’s conversations concerned her would only fuel Esther’s inquisitive nature.

“So has Avrom betrayed the faith of his fathers?” Esther questioned, calling Abraham by his Yiddish name.

“Never!” Darlene declared, overturning her tea cup. It was like all of her worst fears were realized in that statement. Without warning, tears welled in her eyes.

Rachel reached out a hand to pat Darlene lovingly. “There, there,” she comforted, “Of course Avrom would not betray our faith.”

At this Darlene choked back a sob. “He talks with Mr. Blackwell.” It was all she could manage to say, and for some reason it seemed to her that it should be enough.

“It will not bode well, I tell you,” Esther commented, refilling Darlene’s cup.

Rachel ignored Esther. “Why are you so upset? Has your father said something that causes you to worry?”

Darlene shook her head. “No, but … well,” she paused, taking time to dry her eyes. “I can’t explain it. I just have this feeling that something is changing. I try to tell myself that I’m just imagining it, but I feel so frightened.”

“And well you should. If Avrom turns from his faith he will perish,” Esther declared.

“Oh, hush with that,” Dvorah replied. “Darlene does not need to hear such talk.”

“There will be plenty to hear about once word gets around,” Esther said rather smugly.

“Yes, and no doubt you will help to see it on its way!” Dvorah’s exasperation was apparent. “Leave her be. Come, Darlene, I’ll walk you home and the air will cool your face.” She got up from the table without waiting for Darlene’s reply.

Esther shook her head in disapproval. “You should speak with the cantor,
Hava.
”

Their congregation was too small to support a rabbi, and Ruven Singer, a good and godly man, took on the role of cantor for their group. He led the prayers on
Shabbes
and was always available to advise his people regarding God’s law.

“Mr. Singer could speak with Avrom, if you’re worried,” Rachel offered.

Darlene nodded and drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. She accepted her coat from Dvorah, who even now was doing up the buttons on a lovely fur-trimmed cape. After enduring another suggestion or two from Esther and a sincere thank you from Rachel for the baby clothes, Darlene followed Dvorah outside.

“That old woman!” Dvorah declared. “Busybody Esther should be her name!”

This made Darlene smile. “She always seems to know exactly what everyone is up to. I don’t dare make a wrong move with her only two blocks away.”

Dvorah laughed. “She told me my dress was too exciting. Six inches of mud on the hem and she thinks I’m dressing too fine.”

“It is lovely.” Darlene had thought so from the first moment she’d laid eyes on it, but with Esther, who would dare to say such a thing?

“Thank you. Oh, look, a hack. I’d much rather be driven home than walk.” She waved her handbag once and the driver brought the carriage to a stop. “Don’t forget what I said.” Dvorah waved from the hack and then was gone.

“I won’t,” Darlene muttered to no one. But already, thoughts of the luncheon conversation were racing through her mind. So much so, in fact, that as Darlene set out to cross the muddy, bottomless street, she didn’t see the freight wagon bearing down on her.

Just as she looked up to catch sight of the horses’ steaming nostrils, Darlene felt strong arms roughly encircle her and pull her to safety. Gazing up in stunned surprise, she nearly fainted at the serious, almost angry expression on Pierce Blackwell’s face.

“Were you trying to get yourself killed?” he asked. Then without waiting for her reply he pulled her against him and asked, “Are you all right? You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No. I mean yes.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m fine. You can let me go now.” He only tightened his hold and Darlene actually found herself glad that he did. Her legs felt like limp dishrags and she wasn’t at all certain that she could have walked on her own accord.

“Let’s get you inside and make sure you’re all right,” he half-carried, half-dragged her the remaining distance to the Lewy & Co. door. Opening it, Pierce thrust her inside and immediately called for her father.

“Mr. Lewy!”

“Don’t!” Darlene exclaimed, trying to wrench free from Pierce. “You’ll scare him out of ten years of life.”

Pierce ignored her complaint. Abraham hurried into the room with a look of concern on his face. His gaze passed first to the man who had called his name and then to the pale face of his daughter.

“What is it? What is wrong?”

“Nothing, Tateh. I’m fine.” Darlene hoped that by hurrying such an explanation, her father would breathe easier.

“She was nearly killed by a freighter,” Pierce replied. “I believe she was daydreaming and didn’t even see him coming. There was no way the poor man could have stopped.”

“I’m fine, Tateh. I’m just fine.”

Abraham seemed to relax a bit. “You are certain?”

“Absolutely. I wouldn’t lie to you.” Darlene smiled sweetly, more than a little aware that Pierce watched her intently.

With the moment of crisis in the past, Abraham turned his gaze to Pierce. “You saved my
Havele.
You have my thanks and never ending gratitude.”

Pierce looked at him with a blank expression of confusion.
“Havele?”

“
Hava
is Hebrew. It means Eve.
Havele
is just a way of saying it a little more intimately. Perhaps you would say, Evie?”

“But I thought, I mean, I remember my father saying her name is Darlene.”

“Don’t talk about me as though I’m not here!” Darlene suddenly exclaimed. Gone was the fear from her encounter with the freighter. “My mother liked the name Darlene and that is what I’m called. Now please let me go.”

At this, Pierce released her with a beaming smile that unnerved her. He bowed slightly, as if to dismiss the matter, but Abraham would have nothing of it.

“I have no fitting way to reward you,” he began, “but I shall make for you six new suits and charge you not one penny.”

“Tateh, no!” Darlene declared without thinking of how ungrateful she must sound. She knew full well the cost of six suits and while they were living comfortably at this point, there was no telling what tomorrow could bring. They shouldn’t become indebted to this man.

But they were indebted. Pierce Blackwell had saved her life.

It was only then that the gravity of the situation began to sink in. With a new look of wonder and a sensation of confused feelings, Darlene lifted her face to meet Pierce’s. “I’m sorry, I just mean that suits hardly seem a proper thanks.”

“I completely agree,” Pierce replied. “And that is why I must say no. I did not rescue your daughter for a new wardrobe. I have funds aplenty for such things. I happened to be here because I have a fitting appointment. God ordains such intercessory matters, don’t you think?”

“I do, indeed,” Abraham said and nodded with a smile. “I do, indeed.”

His acceptance of Pierce’s words only gave Darlene reason to worry anew. It was exactly these matters that had caused her to walk in front of the freighter. Certainly such thoughts could only cause more trouble. What if her father thought Pierce’s God was more important and more capable of dealing with matters? What if her father gave himself over to the teachings of the Christians! Esther’s words came back to haunt her.
He will perish,
Darlene thought. God would turn His face away from her beloved Tateh and he would surely die.

By faith Abraham, when he was called to go out into a place which he should after receive for an inheritance, obeyed; and he went out, not knowing whither he went.
H
EBREWS
11:8

P
ierce closed the door to Abraham’s shop and hailed his driver. He could still feel the rush of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart when he’d seen Darlene about to die. She’d nearly walked right into the path of that freighter and all with a sad, tragic look on her face. It was almost as if she were facing an executioner. Surely she hadn’t intended to kill herself!

Pierce ordered his driver to take him to his commission merchants office, then relaxed back into the plush leather upholstery of the carriage. No, Darlene wouldn’t kill herself. There’d be no reason for that. But perhaps there was. Pierce didn’t really know her at all. He toyed with several ideas. Perhaps she’d just been rejected by a suitor? No, she’d told him there were no suitors in her life. Perhaps she’d lost the will to live? Pierce was certain she couldn’t bear to be parted from her father. Then what had caused such a look of complete dejection?

His Wall Street destination was only a matter of a few blocks away, and before he could give Darlene another thought, his driver was halting alongside the curb. Pierce alighted with some reservations about the meeting to come. His man, Jordan Harper, was quite good at what he did, but Pierce had never gotten used to letting another man run his affairs. Of course, when he’d been abroad it was easy to let someone else take charge. He knew that his father would ultimately oversee anything Harper did, and therefore it honestly didn’t appear to compromise matters in Pierce’s mind. The only thing he’d ever disagreed on with his father had been the large quantities of western land tracts Pierce had insisted on buying. The land seemed a good risk in Pierce’s mind, and it mattered little that hardly anyone had ever heard of the dilapidated Fort Dearborn or the hoped-for town of Chicago.

Climbing the stairs, Pierce pulled off his top hat and entered the brokerage offices where Harper worked. A scrawny, middle-aged man of questionable purpose met Pierce almost immediately.

“May I help you, sir?”

Pierce took off his gloves, tossed them into the top hat and handed both to the man. “Pierce Blackwell. I’m here to see Jordan Harper.”

“Of course, sir. Won’t you come this way?” the man questioned, almost as if waiting for an answer. At Pierce’s nod, he whirled on his heels and set off in the direction of the sought-after office.

Black lettering stenciled the glassed portion of the door, declaring “Harper, Komsted, and Regan.” The older man opened the door almost hesitantly and announced, “Mr. Blackwell to see Mr. Harper.”

The room was rather large, but the collection of books, papers, and other things related to business seemed to crowd the area back down to size. Three desks were appointed to different corners of the room, while the fourth corner was home to four rather uncomfortable-looking chairs and a heating stove.

Jordan Harper, a man probably only a few years Pierce’s senior, jumped up from his chair and motioned to Pierce. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” The scrawny man took this as his cue to exit and quietly slipped from the room, taking Pierce’s hat and gloves with him.

“Take off your coat. Old Komsted keeps it hot enough to roast chestnuts in here.” The man was shorter than Pierce’s six-foot frame, but only by inches. He ran a hand through his reddish-brown hair and grinned. “I’ve made quite a mess this morning, but never worry, your accounts are in much better shape than my desk.”

Pierce smiled. He actually liked this man, whom he’d only met twice before. “My banker assures me I have reason to trust you, so the mess is of no difference to me.”

Harper laughed. “Good enough. Ah, here it is.” He pulled out a thick brown ledger book and opened it where an attached cord marked it.

Pierce settled himself in and listened as Jordan Harper laid out the status of his western properties. “You’re making good profits in the blouse factory. They’re up to eighty workers now and I found foreign buyers who are ready to pay handsomely for the merchandise. Oh, and that property you hold near Galena, Illinois, is absolutely filthy with lead and has netted you a great deal of money. Here are the figures for you to look over. Here,” he pointed while Pierce took serious consideration of the situation, “is exactly what the buyer paid and this is what your accounts realized after the overhead costs were met.”

“Most impressive,” Pierce said, sitting back in his seat. “I see you’ve earned your keep.”

Jordan smiled. “I’ve benefited greatly by our arrangement, Mr. Blackwell, but you don’t know the half of it yet. It was impossible to catch up to you while you were abroad. It seemed every time I sent a packet to you, you’d already moved on. Several of my statements were forwarded, but eventually they’d be rerouted back to New York and, well, they’re collecting dust in the files downstairs.”

“I kept pretty busy,” Pierce commented, “but my father trusted your work, and so I felt there was nothing for me to concern myself with. Of course, I was a little younger and more foolhardy three years ago.”

Jordan laughed and added, “And a whole lot poorer.”

Pierce raised a brow. “Exactly what are you implying, Mr. Harper?” There was a hint of amusement in his tone.

“I’m not implying one single thing. I want you to look here.” Jordan Harper quickly flipped through several pages. “As you will see, I took those tracts of land that you purchased at the Chicago site and, in keeping with your suggestion that should prices look good, I should sell as much as two-thirds of the property, I did just that.”

Pierce again leaned forward to consider the ledger. At the realization of what met his eyes, Pierce jerked his head up and faced Jordan with a tone of disbelief. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Not at all. In fact, it’s quite serious. I take it from your surprise that you haven’t bothered to check on all of your accounts when you were visiting the banks?”

“No, I suppose I didn’t concern myself with it,” Pierce admitted. “But you’re absolutely sure about this?”

“The money is in the bank, and I get at least twenty offers a week to buy the balance of your land in Chicago.”

Pierce looked at the figures again. “But if I understand this correctly, and I’m certain I do, the original $100,000 investment I made has now netted me over one million dollars?”