17 

Sarah followed Simon into the row of bleacher seats along the right field line.

“If we sit here,” he said, gesturing to her spot, “we have all the children either next to us or in front of us where we can keep an eye on them.”

“Why can’t we sit behind home plate?” one of the boys moaned.

“Our tickets don’t allow that, Alonzo,” Simon said calmly. “Remember how we discussed being grateful for the generous gift and the privilege of coming today?”

Alonzo crossed his arms on his chest in a pout, but he sat down in the row in front of Sarah and Simon.

Sarah shaded her eyes and peered across the playing field. Uncovered bleachers extended along both foul lines and along the outfield. The right field bleachers were less than ten rows deep to accommodate the billboard and the scoreboard on the extreme right. Beyond the outfield, brick apartment buildings hemmed in West Side Park.

Following her gaze, Simon commented, “Just wait a few minutes. The roofs of those buildings will be full of people watching the game.”

“That’s a lucky location,” Sarah said. “Do you go to many games?”

Simon shook his head. “No, hardly ever. None of these children have ever been before. They worked hard to earn the privilege of coming—even if Alonzo is complaining.”

“I confess I don’t really follow the game,” Sarah said. Leo did. Every morning after he finished with the business section, he turned to the sports, but Sarah had never paid much attention to his random comments about pitchers and third basemen with strong arms. From Karl she had learned the names of the positions players occupied on the field, but most of the rules had gone in one ear and out the other.

“A month ago, an outfielder from the Phillies knocked four in-the-park home runs in one game,” Simon said. “Wish I could have seen that one!”

“That sounds exciting.”

“I’m sure it was. But today’s game should be a good contest as well.”

“Will the Colts win?”

Simon tilted his head. “After four losing seasons in a row, the Colts are finally on a winning streak, but Cincinnati is still ahead of them in the standings.” Simon leaned forward and poked a finger into the shoulder of a boy. “Keep your hands to yourself, Frank.”

She scanned the bleachers in both directions, hoping that Brad had not decided to take in a ball game to distract himself from his troubles.

Simon thought Sarah Cummings looked stunning in a sporting navy-blue suit and a coordinating mannish-style hat. But mannish was the last thing she was.

“Even if you’ve never played,” Simon said, “you’ll pick up the rules of the game quickly.”

“I’m sure the boys will be eager to explain if I miss something.”

She was smiling, and it seemed genuine. Simon cleared his throat softly. “Base ball is good for what ails you. Democrats and Republicans may not agree on the gold standard, but they agree on base ball. And Diamond Matches may have sunk the Chicago Stock Exchange, but a few good strikeouts can make anyone forget all about it.”

“It sounds as if you keep up on current events,” Sarah said.

“Don’t you?” Simon asked.

She looked flustered. “No one calls for the opinion of a woman.”

“You must have one nevertheless.”

“I can’t vote,” Sarah said. “I don’t think too much about politics.”

“Someday you’ll vote,” Simon said. “The suffragettes are right. Why should women not have all the rights of citizenship?”

Her eyes widened. “Is that your true opinion?”

He nodded. “Of course. I do not hold to the prevailing judgment that women are somehow less able than men to comprehend challenging subjects. Consider Lucy Edwards. She’s determined to have a university degree. She’s not afraid to take on challenges, and she certainly has strong views.”

“She is a Banning. No one cares what a parlor maid thinks,” Sarah said softly.

“I do.” His gentle response was staunch. “A maid is not everything you are.”

Her brown eyes met his gaze fully, perhaps for the first time ever.

Sarah realized that she’d seldom truly looked at Simon Tewell. He was shorter than Brad and his coloring bland, but he was not unattractive. His roundish face was gentle, his pale green eyes welcoming, and he seemed quite earnest in his opinions about the virtues of a woman’s mind.

Sarah broke the gaze and looked down at the playing field again. Though kind and thoughtful, Simon Tewell had nothing to offer her. What would be the point of having an opinion and no money? She was only at the game with Simon so she could learn enough not to sound like an idiot if Brad should invite her to another game before the end of the season. Distracting thoughts of what it might be like to go to dinner with Simon Tewell had no place in her plan.

When the skirts were finished, she could stop going to St. Andrew’s.

“It looks like they’re ready for the first pitch,” Simon said.

The children cheered.

Would the constant calling cease if she became engaged to Paul Gunnison? Lillie hoped so. On the other hand, an engagement would only spur her mother on. With a list of three calls still to make, Lillie was reaching her social threshold for the day. Her mother was supposed to be with her but had claimed a headache at the last minute and left the task to Lillie. As they became more settled in their home, more and more people had stopped in to welcome the Wagners to Chicago, and the visits had to be reciprocated.

There was that sign again. “St. Andrew’s Orphanage.” This time curiosity got the best of Lillie, and she signaled the driver to stop. At first she intended only to study the building, but her hand had a mind of its own and reached for the handle on the inside of the carriage door. Sensing her wish, the driver jumped down and held the door open for her. Lillie crossed the street and stood on the walk leading toward the orphanage’s red door. And then she was walking toward the door. Knocking on the door. Stepping through the doorway.

“My name is Jane,” the girl said. “Mr. Tewell is not here, but I can take a message.”

“Mr. Tewell?”

“The director, miss,” Jane said. “Aren’t you here to see him?”

Lillie was not sure what she was there for, but she could hardly say that to Jane.

“Actually,” Lillie said, “I’m interested in exploring how I might help here at St. Andrew’s. Is there someone else I might speak to about volunteering?”

“You’ll want Mrs. Edwards, miss.”

Lucy Banning Edwards. Lillie relaxed. “Yes, I suppose I do. Is Mrs. Edwards here just now?”

Jane nodded. “Follow me. I’ll see if she can receive you. Whom shall I say is calling?”

“Miss Lillie Wagner of Prairie Avenue.”

Lillie followed the girl’s stooped shoulders down the hall that led to the orphanage’s offices and lingered discreetly in the hall while Jane inquired on her behalf.

“Show her in, please, Jane.” Mrs. Edwards’s voice came from an inner office. By the time Lillie entered the room, Lucy Edwards had stood up to greet her.

“Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.” Lillie extended a gloved hand for Lucy to shake. “I’m afraid I’m here on a whim because I was passing by, but I have thought of stopping in for some time now.”

“We’re always happy to have visitors.” Lucy waved her hand toward a wooden chair and sat behind her desk. “We’re especially grateful if they want to help.”

“Oh, I do want to help. I just haven’t known how to go about it,” Lillie said. “I’ve begun gathering some textiles. A friend and I thought we might sew some clothes. Dresses. For the girls.”

“We always need clothing,” Lucy said. “Even when the older children leave, we want to provide something to send with them.”

“Sewing a few dresses is not much,” Lillie said, “but it’s a start. Perhaps I’ll be suited to do something more later on.”

“Sewing is important both for the clothes, but also for girls to learn skills,” Lucy said. “In fact, we’ve recently begun offering a class to teach a few of the older girls. We have a talented seamstress working with them, but I’m sure she could always use an extra pair of hands in the class.”

A knock on the door interrupted them. Lucy’s face lit up and she was on her feet again. She stepped across the room and took an infant from a young woman’s arms. Two young boys pushed their way past the woman’s skirts.

“This is my daughter, Stella,” Lucy explained, “and my son, Ben. This angel of mercy is Charlotte Shepard and her son, Henry.”

“I’m pleased to meet you all,” Lillie said. “I’m Lillie Wagner.”

“No, Henry, leave the papers alone.” Charlotte nudged her son’s shoulder, then turned to Lillie and smiled. “He likes to touch everything.”

The young woman clearly was a maid, but Lillie sensed an unusual degree of equality between Lucy and Charlotte.

“I would be lost without Charlotte,” Lucy explained. “Her work in caring for my family makes my work possible.”

“I’m a little early,” Charlotte said. “I could keep the children in the hall if you like.”

Lucy shook her head. “Thank you, no. Will should be here any minute to take us all home.”

“Then if you don’t mind, I’ll go,” Charlotte said. “I don’t want to miss the streetcar. Archie will be home soon.”

“I should go as well.” Lillie stood up. “I have several calls still to make today, and I don’t want to hold you up.”

“I hope you will stop in again, Miss Wagner,” Lucy said. “I’m sure we can find a way for you to fit in at St. Andrew’s. Let’s both think about it, shall we?”

Four boys were in a tussle at the end of the row in front of Sarah, and Simon had taken three others for a stroll down the baseline. The boys giggled conspiratorially, and Sarah knew the situation could not wait for Simon’s return. After all, this was why he had asked her to come—though she suspected he had ulterior motives as well. She pressed her lips together and tried to recall the names of the boys, who were getting more aggressive by the second.

“Boys!” she said, standing and pressing toward them. “What are you fighting about?”

“Nothing,” came the unanimous answer—too quickly.

One boy shoved his hands behind his back. Sarah remembered him from her days at St. Andrew’s. Michael O’Brien. He had been boisterous from the first day he entered the orphanage as a toddler.

“What do you have behind your back, Michael?” Sarah asked.

“Nothing.”

“Somehow I don’t believe you.” Sarah put out her hand. “Let me have it.”

The other three boys fell away from Michael, leaving him little option but to surrender.

A book. Brown with a red stripe down the cover. Sarah flipped it open. Handwritten pages. A journal.

Jane’s lost book.

A player cracked a bat against a ball, and the heads of all the boys cranked to follow the spinning white arc.