THE MORGAN HOUSE STOOD IN the center of a field, trees lining the drive to the expansive white Victorian. A covered porch wrapped around the front, encompassing a rounded edge where a turret room rose above the rest of the roofing.
The first time Kizzie had walked up to the residence, over a year ago, she'd thought of castles and fair damsels and knighted men, like from the old ballads her mama and granny sang. And still, even now, as the buggy approached, the beauty of the place stirred her mind in a fanciful direction.
She'd only imagined a world like the one within those walls when she lived in her family's cabin in the mountains—dreamed of a place with fresh linen coverlets and delicate china plates of rosebud prints. Of silk gowns and slippers.
Of love.
She frowned as the memories crowded one over the other, reality creeping through the daydreams like a haint of the forest, stealing each sweet dream and twisting it into a type of nightmare.
She looked down at Charlie.
Except her babe. Her smile tempted release as one of her mama's phrases slipped into her heartache like a balm.
Somehow, even in the middle of broken dreams, God touches the raw, painful remnants with a teensy bit of stardust.
Could it be that despite Kizzie's wrong choices, here lay a reminder of how good could still find a way? That hope still persevered?
Her heart shivered beneath the idea, teasing her thoughts toward a revelation she didn't quite grasp yet. Or maybe one she couldn't truly believe.
She kissed the top of Charlie's fuzzy head and brought Daisy to a stop just within the tree line. The notion of parading her buggy all the way up to the front door, as if she were a welcome guest, didn't sit too well with her.
Charles probably wouldn't like it at all.
Drawing her shawl closer around her shoulders, Kizzie steeled herself against retreat and marched across the open space toward the house. The wind blew an icy wave against her face, perhaps in warning? She faltered at the base of the porch steps. Should she turn around and go to Nella instead?
She firmed her shoulders. It wasn't Joshua and Nella's responsibility to bear her burdens, to always give her help. Charles promised he would.
And, as a respected landowner in the community, he had power and influence Joshua and Nella didn't.
The porch loomed over her with its decorative wooden frame as she took each step nearer the door. Light glimmered from inside through lace curtains behind tall windows.
Kizzie had cleaned those windows and washed those curtains.
She released a breath, causing visible puffs in the frosty air, before knocking on the door. Silence responded to her knock, and then the faint sound of heels on hardwood drew nearer.
Those weren't the sound of a man's shoes.
She shifted a step back as the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Eliza Morgan.
Kizzie hadn't seen her since she'd overheard Mrs. Morgan ordering Charles to “fix” the problem of Kizzie's pregnancy, which led to Charles suggesting Kizzie return home. From the upstairs window, Mrs. Morgan had watched Charles enact her plan and drive Kizzie away from the house toward the train depot, her expression as unwelcoming then as it was now.
One of the woman's pale brows curved skyward. “I wondered how long it would take you to disregard Charles’ request. Do you need more money?”
Disregard his request? “I'm here seeking guidance, Mrs. Morgan, not money.”
Her gaze trailed down Kizzie. “I should have kept to my rule to never hire comely young women, no matter the skill.”
Kizzie shivered as much from the cold air outside as the frigid look in Mrs. Morgan's eyes. The porch barely shielded Kizzie from the breeze, but a sliver of humor in her wanted to latch on to the compliment within Mrs. Morgan's response. “I think Charlie and I are in danger.”
“Charlie?” She spat out the word, and then her gaze dropped to the baby. Her expression, if only for a second, softened before her gaze rose back to Kizzie. “Another way to emotionally snag my son?”
Kizzie blinked at the accusation. No wonder Charles tried to keep her away from his mother. There wasn't a feeling bone in her body. “I—I don't have any mind to sn—”
“You don't fool me, Miss McAdams. I've known too many young women like you. Opportunists. Only, this time I wasn't able to stop Charles before he made a lasting mistake.” Her gaze dropped again to the bundle in Kizzie's arms.
Kizzie drew Charlie closer, to protect him from Mrs. Morgan's steely gaze.
Had there been other young women? Servants in the house too? Kizzie had never considered the possibility.
“I'm only here for help. That's all.”
“That's all? Not only has he reordered his world to take care of you, but the rumors …” Her lip curled. “The talk. People know, and it hurts Charles.”
Kizzie stiffened in defense, but the truth pinched. Did Charles feel the sting as acutely as she had from the ladies in the dress shop? “I'd never want to hurt him.”
“No?” A light glimmered in the woman's brown eyes. “Because you love him, is that it?”
“Yes, ma'am.” She raised her chin. “As much as I know what it is, I do.”
Mrs. Morgan's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment. “Then if you do, you should leave him alone. The burden you bring into his life, the stain on his good name? Every day you stay, you hurt him more.”
Was that true? Kizzie shifted a step back. “That ain't so.”
Mrs. Morgan advanced, leaving the shelter of the door. The glint in her eyes took a predatory turn. “Don't you know? Your reputation automatically sullies his by association. Girls like you have long been dangerous to good, upstanding men.”
“I ain't dangerous to nobody, least of all Charles.” Kizzie rasped out a weak argument. “I want to take care of him.”
“Care?” A dangerous flash lit the woman's eyes, inciting a responsive tremor. “Please don't tell me you have false notions he'll actually marry you.” Her lips curved into a humorless grin. “You, with your poverty morals and mountain manners?” Kizzie shrank as the woman's gaze trailed down her again, her expression conveying unsheathed disgust. “Charles knows his place, and it isn't with someone like you.”
Without another word, the woman stepped back into the house and closed the door with a resounding thud that Kizzie felt in her chest. Charlie jerked from the noise, a whimper quivering his little chin into a half dozen wrinkles. She ran a gloved hand down his cheek, his eyes searching her face as if to make sure all was well.
All was not well, but she smiled at him anyway and suddenly wondered, how many times had her own mother smiled to her children despite the tremors of her heart? Was that something mothers had to do often?
She walked back to the steps and paused. The accusations replayed in her head. The insults.
The meanness of the woman, with her airs and better-thans. Kizzie had noticed them when she worked for Mrs. Morgan but never considered standing up to her for fear of losing her job.
And then for the woman to glare at Kizzie's little baby with such disgust?
A child who had no hand in any of the decisions or mess between her and Charles?
Heat rose from Kizzie's stomach into her face, dousing any chill from the wind.
She'd made wrong choices, selfish choices, but she wasn't alone in them. She'd lost her way and didn't know how to plan for the future, but she certainly didn't fit Mrs. Morgan's descriptions.
And she'd never tried to trick Charles Morgan into anything.
Kizzie turned from the steps and marched back to the front door, her fist tightening at her side with each step. With all the tension from the past month fueling her, she slammed her fist against the door.
The door flung open, and Mrs. Morgan's eyes flashed wide. “How dare you—”
“You don't know me.” Kizzie stepped forward, her height matching Mrs. Morgan's, something she'd never noticed before. “And if high-class values are anything like the self-righteous, cruel airs you're puttin’ on, then I'll stick with my poverty morals any day of the week.”
“Why, you insignificant—”
“Your son was old enough to know exactly what he was doing, even more so than me, and you can close your eyes to that all you want. No matter how much you excuse his acts or yours, or turn a blind eye to the truth. And your big house and rich clothes don't cover the fact that your heart is full of meanness and pride with just as much need for healing as mine.”
The woman raised her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I'm nothing like you.”
“And this baby?” Kizzie raised Charlie up a little into Mrs. Morgan's view. “He's proof positive that God can make something beautiful out of broken things. I know I don't deserve it. I'll readily admit that, but I'm not losing out on the joy of having him in my life. You're the only one losing out by not embracing this grandson of yours.” Kizzie stepped backward onto the porch.
“Are you attempting to blame Charles for your wickedness? Hateful girl!”
“I ain't blamin’ Charles for anything more than I blame myself, but here's one of the differences between you and me, Mrs. Morgan.” Kizzie held the woman's stare. “I admit my own brokenness and the trouble I've caused, which means there's a chance I can make a difference for good and maybe even do good for other folks who need an understanding soul, but you got your nose so high up in the air, you can't see your own steps and you're bound to fall hard.”
“Foolish girl. Your arrogance is highly misplaced.” She sneered. “Whatever you decide to do, Miss McAdams, it will not be at my expense.” Her words were edged with a growl.
Kizzie drew in a deep breath, a sudden sting coming to her eyes. “If I ever wanted anything from you, it was your kindness. Not your money, or even your son.”
Kizzie's voice gave out on her, the sudden fury dying with the same speed at which it had come. Her body quivered from the spent effort, and as the door slammed behind her for a second time, she rushed down the stairs to her buggy.
Tears blurred her vision as she set the buggy into motion, pushing Daisy into a canter. She'd barely made it a mile when a horseman drew into her periphery. She turned to see Charles, hat pulled low, waving for her to stop.
She pinched her eyes closed. She felt the slightest urge to encourage Daisy into a full-on gallop, but the mare would never outrun Charles’ stallion, especially when attached to a buggy.
She'd barely brought the buggy to a stop when Charles lighted on the step and moved to sit beside her. “What were you thinking, Kizzie? Coming here?”
Perhaps a little of the fire from her confrontation with Mrs. Morgan still hummed beneath her skin, because she didn't so much as flinch at his unfeeling accusation. “I came for help, but I won't make the same mistake again.”
“You can't just show up here.” Charles’ breaths pumped his chest in quick movements. He sighed, his attention falling on Charlie, who stared at him with wide eyes. “It's … it's not a good idea.”
“Yeah, I got that notion plain and clear.”
“It's one of the reasons I tried to keep you away. Her mind will not be altered, and you put both of us at risk to come.”
“Both of us?” Her voice pitched to fighting-high. “Last I looked, I'm the only one alone in a house far from the man who promised to help me.”
His shoulders sagged, but he met her gaze. “If I don't conform to her wishes, Kizzie, I won't have money to take care of you, no matter where you are. You know this.”
“She didn't even know Charlie's name.”
“You … you told her?”
“Yes. But it wasn't my place to tell her. It was yours.” She tugged Charlie closer. “Are you ashamed of him too?”
“I'm not ashamed of either of you.” His palm rested on her arm. “But if we don't bide our time wisely, we'll lose everything.”
Why did she feel like she was losing everything anyway? “Then tell me, Charles, where am I supposed to go when I need your help?”
“My help?” He searched her face, his breaths slowing. “What do you mean?”
Charlie started nudging toward her, likely hungry, so Kizzie carefully turned to adjust her gown so that she could feed him as she told Charles of the morning's events.
His pale face offered some solace to her. At least he seemed to feel the horror of the situation a little. “I'll find a way to end this.”
“How?”
“I'm not sure.” He removed his hat and pushed a hand through his hair. “But I'll ask around. See if someone knows anything about who would do this.” He took Kizzie's free hand into both of his. “You can trust me to help you when you're scared, Kizzie, but …” He halted, looking away as if searching for an answer in the air. “If you need me again, don't come here. Send Joshua to find me.”
The flicker of sweetness budding in her chest when he took her hand wilted inside her. “But don't come myself?” The admission gouged at her heart. “Don't sully your pretty little world with your kept woman?”
“Kizzie.” He squeezed her fingers as she tried to pull away. “It's not like that at all.”
“Your mama's right, Charles. I've got nothin’ to bind me to you but this baby, and even with him it's just my word. The word of a fallen woman don't carry a whole lot of weight.”
“You have my promise.”
“I appreciate your promise.” She caught the laugh before it released. “I do. But your promise won't hold water in a court of law or if, God forbid, something happens to you.” Her voice trembled. “Don't you see? As much as I'd like to rely on your promise, the truth is it's only as lasting as your life and your mama's patience. I have nothing to protect me or Charlie.”
He lowered his eyes, slowly shaking his head.
“And … what if they come back?” She hated how her voice trembled, so she swallowed to clear it. “What if they come tonight and do worse?”
He blew out a long stream of air that puffed into a smoky hue around them. “Then I'll send Cole to keep watch around the place. How about that?”
Cole, his cousin and right-hand man.
And someone Kizzie never felt quite comfortable around. Her chest tightened.
But what choice did she have? She shook her head. “I'll talk to Joshua and Nella. They care about me and Charlie.”
Charles’ expression tightened for a second before he released a sigh. “Fine, but I'll come by tomorrow afternoon, and we'll sort this out together.”
He kissed her cheek and remounted his horse, giving her a long look before he rode back in the direction of his house.
She readjusted Charlie so he could sleep and continued her trek the way she'd come. Hopefully, she'd not worn out her welcome with Joshua and Nella, but at the moment, they seemed the only people in the world she could trust with her situation.
How silly she'd been to trust in fairy tales and storybooks. To believe leaving her mountains would offer her a life of castles and romance.
That “perfect” waited somewhere in the flatlands.
All of this was only partially Charles’ fault. She'd placed him on a pedestal, charmed and mesmerized that he'd chosen her from among all the other gals. Coming from a place where she'd grown up with the boys in the mountains, his fine clothes, sweet smell, and pleasing words met every hope she had when she'd left home to take the maid's job.
How blind she'd been to think she knew how the world worked!
How shortsighted to doubt her mama's advice!
She didn't know a whole lot about the love betwixt a man and a woman, but she knew enough to know that it had to be more than this uncertainty and wondering and … loneliness.
No wonder the idea of knights and princes and gallant men of old were lost to time and childhood. They didn't exist, except in stories, and she'd been a fool to hang her future on the silly notions.
Men were men.
They were going to take care of themselves first, weren't they, with no care for the women in their lives, especially if the women weren't highbrow, rich ones.
She hadn't wanted to believe it of Charles. Not when he'd swooped in with his smile and his lovely words and his warm kisses, but if he'd really loved her, wouldn't he care? Wouldn't he have dropped his plans and come to help her sort out this situation instead of arranging to send someone else?
Her eyes burned with fresh tears. Maybe she and Charlie really were on their own after all.
She frowned. Better to be practical now. Sensible.
Instead of having silly romantic notions.
Her gaze flitted to the horizon, where the sun was pushing through the clouds, tugging her heart heavenward. If only … if only God could love her even now.
She turned the buggy toward Joshua and Nella's house, forcing her thoughts away from dreaming about the impossible and her heart away from grieving whatever loss she felt with Charles. Neither did any good.
And then her attention caught on a small tuft of white pushing up through faint remnants of the most recent snow. White as the snow, a few tiny petals of winter pansies nudged skyward, bowing a little in the breeze but continuing to rise back in place between each gust.
The sight of them paused Kizzie's self-flailing and downward spiral.
Winter pansies.
A simple little wildflower and yet, the way it rose toward the light despite the snow and wind captured a part of her doubts and wouldn't let go.
Like … hope.
But was there any reason to hope?
Her gaze moved back to the sky as sunbeams filtered through the clouds and bathed the earth in a dance of gold.
She shouldn't hope. She'd only fail again. Or someone else would fail her.
But her heart refused to release the tethered scraps of it.
She breathed out a long breath. “I know I ain't got no right to talk to You. And by all accounts, You may not want to listen to someone like me, but if there's anything I can do to make You love me, Lord, I want to try. I … I ain't got nobody else. And I need You. Even if it's just the leftovers of Your love, I reckon they're better than a feast anywhere else. I'll take the scraps.”
The sunrays moved toward her approaching buggy, bathing her face in warmth for a moment, offering a teensy bit more hope than she'd had a moment before.
Maybe, just maybe, she wasn't too lost after all.