19

Seated in a rocking chair the next morning, Olivia cradled the sleeping Abigail in her arms. Mrs. Dinglemire had left a few minutes earlier, after coming to check on the newborn. The midwife had weighed Abigail and rechecked her vital signs, then used the opportunity to give all the women in the home a lesson on bathing and caring for an infant. Promising to return the next day, Mrs. Dinglemire had stopped to see Mrs. Neale on her way out to discuss the formula recipe they’d been using.

All in all, the midwife had seemed pleased with the baby’s progress, which gave Olivia an immense feeling of satisfaction.

Little Abigail squirmed in her arms and sighed. The warmth of the tiny body against Olivia’s chest acted like a sedative, allowing her muscles to relax and her soul to sing. Never had she felt more at peace, more certain of what she needed to do. She would take care of this precious girl until her mother regained her strength. Then she and Ruth would help Mary determine her future, hopefully one that didn’t include the man who’d beaten her. Baby Abigail did not need a father like that. She deserved someone loving and kind, someone who would lay down his life for her.

Olivia’s thoughts instantly turned to Darius, and a smile teased her lips. He’d been so thoughtful, coming to visit Mary, bringing her flowers, and gushing over little Abigail. Darius Reed would never harm a woman or child. She knew this in the very marrow of her bones.

And he’d promised to come back and check on the baby one day soon. Flutters swirled in Olivia’s stomach just thinking about it.

Stop it, Olivia. You’re being ridiculous.

Fantasizing about Darius was a futile endeavor since she’d vowed never to trust a man with her heart again. Besides, if he ever learned the horror of her past, he’d want nothing to do with her.

And soon he would have no further reason to visit Bennington Place, once his boss accepted the fact that the property was not for sale. Disappointment stole her breath at the thought of never seeing Darius again. Never witnessing that engaging grin or being able to stare into those mesmerizing blue eyes.

Surely it couldn’t hurt to enjoy the pleasure of his company while it lasted.

Angry shouts from outside the house drew Olivia from her daydreams. What was going on now? Was Mr. Simmons harassing some poor woman again?

Carefully, she rose from the rocker, shifted the sleeping baby to one arm, and walked over to the window. She moved the lace curtain aside and was stunned to see a large group of people—mostly men but a few women too—gathered on the sidewalk across the street. They held up placards and waved their fists in the direction of the house, shouting unintelligible words.

What on earth was happening? It looked like a riot could break out at any moment.

She let the curtain fall back, the slow burn of anger creeping through her system. This had to stop. They needed to do something to keep Mr. Simmons from riling up the neighbors this way or the negativity he spewed would deter women from coming to them for help.

No, he could not be allowed to continue his attack on their facility unchallenged. Perhaps Ruth could obtain some legal advice as to what their options might be.

Olivia laid the baby in a bassinet, then went to look for Ruth. Moments later, she found her at the dining room table, a newspaper spread out in front of her. From her grim expression, Olivia wondered if she’d heard the commotion outside.

“Mr. Simmons is at it again,” Olivia said. “But this time he has a whole group of people with him. They’re carrying signs and everything.”

Ruth shook her head. “I know exactly what’s got them aggravated. Look at this.” She pointed to the front page of the newspaper. A photo of the maternity home sat above the fold and underneath was a picture of a scowling Mr. Simmons.

“What’s this? Did you do another interview for the paper?” Olivia asked.

“Not me.” Ruth’s mouth was hard. “It’s Mr. Simmons. He’s been saying that we’re nothing more than a cover for a brothel. That the women living here are all pregnant streetwalkers.”

Olivia gasped. Why would he say that? Then she remembered him harassing Cherise when she first arrived.

Ruth pointed to a line in the article. “He’s started a petition against us, aiming to have the home closed down. Says he’s going to present it to the mayor at the next city council meeting.”

Olivia’s shaking legs forced her to sink onto one of the chairs. “Oh no. What do we do now?”

“To start with, I’m going to call my lawyer and see what legal recourse we have, if any.” Ruth folded the newspaper and rose. “I had intended to go to the hospital this morning to visit Mary, but I don’t fancy confronting that crowd. Maybe by this afternoon things will have quieted down.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Ruth paused in the doorway. “I think we should have a house meeting after dinner. The women deserve to know what’s happening—for their own safety if nothing else. Together we’ll come up with a plan on how to handle this little setback.”

Olivia only prayed that this setback was temporary and that the protestors wouldn’t succeed in running them out of the city.

Later that day, however, instead of the interest waning as Ruth had hoped, it seemed that even more protesters had shown up, this time lining the sidewalk in front of Bennington Place and blocking the front gate. Ruth moved away from the parlor window, determined not to let those hooligans get the best of her temper. Cooler heads must prevail. It was only a matter of time until this all blew over, and if it didn’t, they still had some options, according to her lawyer.

Unfortunately, the roof repairman was due to arrive soon, and Ruth wasn’t sure if he would be willing to go through the unruly crowd to gain access to the house. If he decided her business wasn’t worth the effort and canceled their agreement, Ruth would be hard-pressed to find another contractor who could come before their next scheduled inspection.

She sighed. “Lord, why are they making this so difficult? We only want to help people. Is that such a terrible thing?”

“Now who’s the one despairing?” Olivia’s voice preceded her into the room.

“Oh no. Did I say that out loud?” Ruth shook her head.

“You did.”

“Don’t mind me. Just a moment of weakness.” She crossed the carpet. “I think I’d better call my lawyer again. If we can’t get this crowd to disperse, I’m afraid they’ll scare off the roofer.”

Olivia’s brows crashed together. “We can’t allow that.”

“Let’s hope my legal firm can pull a few strings and get someone over here to help.” Ruth had just started down the hall when a loud crash broke the silence, followed by the sound of breaking glass.

“What on earth?” Ruth rushed back into the parlor and stared. A brick sat in the middle of the rug, surrounded by debris. The front window was shattered, with only one jagged shard remaining.

Olivia stood with a hand pressed to her cheek. The sunlight glittered off tiny glass fragments in her hair. When she moved her hand away, a slash of red marked her skin.

“Oh, my dear. You’re hurt.” Ruth moved toward her, but the almost feral look on Olivia’s face stopped her.

A string of Italian words erupted, matching the fire in her eyes as she strode out of the parlor.

Ruth’s heart jerked at the sound of the front door opening. Surely she wouldn’t confront the protesters. “Olivia, wait. Don’t go out there. It’s not safe.”

By the time Ruth reached the front step, however, Olivia had marched down to the gate.

“How dare you!” she shouted. “You have no right to damage our property.”

The people shook their cardboard signs, waving them higher in the air, yelling insults.

“Whores aren’t welcome here.”

“We don’t want your filth in our neighborhood.”

“Go back to the gutter where you belong.”

Ruth gasped as a slew of eggs, tomatoes, and other rotten projectiles came hurtling over the gate.

Olivia raised her arms against the barrage. “You’re all a bunch of hypocrites,” she shouted. “Leave us alone. We’ve done nothing to you.”

In response, the crowd’s volume intensified.

Alarm filled Ruth’s chest. Things were quickly getting out of hand. “Olivia, come back inside and we’ll call the police.”

But the girl ignored her.

Another volley of items flew over the fence, splattering the grass and the walkway. Ruth tried to shield herself from the onslaught, but something rank slid down her face and landed on her blouse. She brushed the slime from her cheek, blinking to clear her vision. Why had the crowd suddenly grown quiet? The eerie silence contained a nervous energy that seemed to pulse in the air.

To her horror, she spied Olivia’s crumpled form on the ground in front of her.

“Olivia!” Fighting a rush of panic that thrummed in her ears, she hurried to the girl’s side. All color had drained from Olivia’s face, leaving it as gray as the rock that had struck her. Blood flowed freely from a large gash above her temple.

Ruth fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief. “Someone call an ambulance,” she cried as she pressed the material against the wound. “This girl needs help. Now!”