As soon as Rosemary boarded a south-bound horsecar, she walked through the coach and stopped next to the driver.
“Can you please tell me if there’s a line that goes west to the soldiers’ home on Arsenal Road?”
“City don’t run cars out there, ma’am. Too far away.” He lifted the reins. “Best take your seat. We needs to be goin’.”
She held up her hand. “Wait, please. Is there another means you could suggest?” She heard the pleading in her voice.
“Well, there’s a livery stable down on Beabeau. Road from there goes out to Arsenal. You might could hire a buggy.”
The cost of renting a buggy gave her a moment’s pause. “Do you happen to know what they charge?”
He pushed his cap back on his head and seemed to see her for the first time. “I believe it’s a silver dollar, but you tell Mr. Rush that Winston sent you. See if’n he’ll cut you a bargain.”
“Thank you.”
As soon as she reached her seat, he snapped the reins and the coach moved along the track. Rosemary squeezed her arms around her waist. If she spent a dollar on a horse and buggy, she’d have to leave for Noble Springs tomorrow, whether or not she found her parents. She’d already used half the day on the journey to Roubillard Street. If they were no longer living at the soldiers’ home, perhaps someone there would know where they’d gone. Please, Lord, let me find them—today. She folded her hands in an attitude of prayer. And please help me know what to say.
True to his word, the driver stopped at Beabeau Street and pointed to a wooden building with a corral on one side. “There you be, ma’am. Good luck to ya.”
She thanked him again and strode toward the stable. The closer she got to her destination, the more pungent the air. Because her brother had spent months working for the livery owner in Noble Springs, she was accustomed to the smells. Still, she hesitated when she reached the open doors. Few women hired buggies. What if Mr. Rush refused to rent one to her?
“Help ya, ma’am?” A lean man with a weathered face walked out of the shadows. His manure-crusted boots testified to his occupation.
“Are you Mr. Rush?”
He tipped his hat. “The same.”
“Winston—he’s a driver on a horsecar—sent me. I want to rent a buggy for the afternoon.” She drew a steadying breath. “A little runabout would be perfect, if you have one.” She tried to conceal her nervousness and appear confident at the same time.
“Winston sent you? Well, guess I could find something you can handle. You want to wait over there in the shade, I’ll get a rig ready.” He disappeared inside the stable.
Thirty minutes later, she traveled west on Arsenal Road in a black runabout, thankful that Mr. Rush had charged her half price since it was past noon. The bay mare he’d provided was almost as slow as her brother’s horse, Moses.
The road ran straight through flat terrain dotted with small farms. A multistoried brick structure rose in the distance, a tall bell tower in front standing several stories higher than the rest of the building. The stable owner had told her she couldn’t miss her destination. He was right.
A trickle of perspiration slid along her temple, more from anxiety than the midday heat. She flicked the reins to spur the horse to a trot. Within a few minutes she guided the runabout onto a curved drive that ended at a columned portico. Other horses and buggies were tied to rails on both sides of the entrance. Several men milled about the grounds, while others sat in the sun. No one paid any attention to her arrival.
After securing the reins, she pushed open the heavy door and found herself in a large room lined with tall, narrow windows. The space reminded her of the lobby at City Hospital, except the aroma floating in the air smelled like ginger cookies rather than medicine.
She jumped when a voice spoke behind her. “You here to visit a family member?” A young man wearing a blue Union uniform smiled at her.
This was the moment. She could either say yes and proceed with her plan, or flee. Rosemary gripped her hands together until the nails bit into the flesh.
“Yes, I am. Not a soldier, though. I was told Mr. and Mrs. Saxon are employed here.”
His eyes brightened. “They surely are. Mr. Saxon’s out in the vegetable garden, but I believe Mrs. Saxon is in their apartment. She generally takes a rest after she sees to our dinner.” He took a step toward a hallway leading to the left. “Want me to take you to her?”
“Please.” She hated the way her voice squeaked.
She followed him to the end of the hall, where he tapped on a door. “Miz Saxon. Someone to see you.” He bowed toward Rosemary and strode away.
The door opened. The welcoming smile on her mother’s face paled to a look of astonishment. “What . . . what are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question, Mama.” She tried to smile. “Mrs. Thorndyke told me where you were. May I come in?”
“Please do.” Her mother’s voice trembled.
When she stepped inside, her mother rested her hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. A butterfly touch. “I’m so happy to see you. I was afraid . . . I didn’t know how . . .” Her eyes glittered with tears.
Rosemary fought to keep her own tears in check. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she took her mother’s hands in her own. Now. She needed to speak before her courage fled. She drew a long breath.
“I came to apologize. I was harsh and self-righteous when you tried to explain how your brother’s death affected you. To have me leave you as well must have been a double blow.” She bowed her head and focused on their joined hands. “I miss you so much. Can you forgive me?”
After a moment of hesitation, her mother gathered Rosemary in her arms. “I’m the one who was wrong. No proper mother sends her children away. To say I’m sorry isn’t nearly enough. It never will be.”
Resting her head on her mother’s shoulder, she inhaled the sweet powdery scent that she remembered from childhood. They held each other tight for a long moment. Then her mother stepped back and led Rosemary to the sofa.
“Tell me everything. Where do you and Curt live? Is he teaching again?” She drew a handkerchief from her apron pocket and dabbed tears from her cheeks.
Rosemary shook her head. “First, tell me how you and Papa came to be here. Caring for Union soldiers, of all things.”
“The Lord’s forgiving power is a wonder. When we heard of this place being built, my first thought was of my brother—wishing he’d survived. Then one day the idea came to me that these men are no different than he was. They just wear a different-colored uniform.” She leaned forward, enthusiasm shining from her face. “Your papa and I prayed over this decision and felt led to come here. The war is over, praise God. We’re doing what we can to help those who have no families left.”
She remembered her mother caring for neighbors who were ill, and her father sharing his harvest up and down their street. A flood of love for her parents filled her heart.
“I’m proud of you, Mama.”
Her mother looked away. “I was proud of you too, when you served at the Barracks.” Her voice was a whisper. “But I couldn’t bring myself to say so.”
Rosemary scooted closer until their shoulders touched. “It’s all past now.” She kissed her mother’s soft cheek. “Let me tell you about Curt.” She related her brother’s experiences in Noble Springs, first as a stableman, now as the mathematics instructor at the academy. “He married my best friend, Faith Lindberg.”
Mama sat bolt upright. “Curt is married?”
“Last October. We wrote to invite you and Papa.” She raised her eyebrows. “You didn’t receive the letter?”
“We left Roubillard Street in June. Your message never reached us. I would have welcomed a reason to visit.” Fresh tears seeped from her eyes. “Your father has been urging me to make the trip ever since we sold our house, but I was too afraid of our reception. You and Curt must have believed we were the worst parents in the world, to ignore such happy news.”
Rosemary cringed. That’s exactly what she and her brother had thought.
“It’s not too late.” For either one of us.