Esther tried not to pause, tried not to stare at the door to the blacksmith shop or the sign hanging from its latch.
Closed.
In the middle of the day?
It might not bother her so much if the smithy hadn’t worn the same sign yesterday. Charlie pulled at her hand, his desire to stop and visit his friend always foremost on his mind.
As it was on hers.
“Not right now, Charlie.” She led him past but found herself glancing to see who watched. Would anyone notice her slipping into the alley? Would it matter if someone did?
Her heart sped. How could she face Mr. Thomas Flynn again after what had transpired between them last time, and with her feelings still unsettled?
“No.” She couldn’t afford to let her guard down. Charlie was her only focus, all that mattered.
“Mama?”
“Nothing, Charlie. Just that we should hurry home. You know Cook doesn’t like when we’re not on time for dinner.”
She led him away, though very aware of his pout and long glance over his shoulder toward the smithy.
“Why … you don’t like Mr. Flynn anymore?”
Her jaw slackened. “It’s not that I don’t like Mr. Flynn. He’s been very kind to us. He’s very busy though, I’m sure. We can’t keep interrupting him while he’s working.”
“How about … after his work?”
“After?” How long could she stall on that one? “Maybe. But not today, all right, darling?”
“I miss him.”
Esther squeezed Charlie’s hand. The sentiment settled deep, ringing with truth. She missed their visits too.
She worked hard to put Thomas Flynn from her mind the rest of the way home, and was almost successful until she walked in the front door and heard his name booming from Father’s office despite the closed door. She sent Charlie up the stairs to wash. A murmur of voices was punctuated with the latch bobbing downward at the door. She stepped aside and pretended to straighten the arrangement of lilies on a small decorative table. A moment later, Eli slipped out and eased the door closed.
Esther lifted her eyebrows with her unspoken question.
He tipped his head toward the library, and she led the way. “What’s going on?”
“Master Flynn sent a message asking for more time before the next payment of his debt. Says there was an accident.”
Esther’s heart slowed. “What kind of accident? Is he all right?”
“Not sure. Your father’s none too happy though. I think he doesn’t mean to give him more time.”
“What will happen if he doesn’t?”
Eli shook his head. “Nothing good.”
But Father should be more understanding if there’d been an accident. Was Flynn injured? Did he need help?
“You want me to go look in on him, see what’s happened?”
Was she so obvious? “I—I just wouldn’t want …” She blew out a breath. “I would feel better knowing he is well. It’s the Christian thing to do.”
“Of course.” But the slight upturn of Eli’s mouth suggested he read deeper. “I have an errand to run for your father. I’ll pause on my way.”
“Just don’t mention this to—” Esther glanced to the doorway, imagining what her father would have to say about her concern. After Julia suggested she was staining her reputation by visiting the blacksmith so often, Father had had quite a lot to say on the matter.
She chafed at the mere memory of his words. Thomas Flynn was as honorable a man as she’d met—more so than most in the upper circles of society. His occupation was no reason to slander his name, nor was his Irish heritage. A man should be judged on his character alone.
And you judged him any kinder?
Memories of their first meetings scalded her with guilt. What a hypocrite she’d become.
“Mama?”
Charlie’s call pulled at her heartstrings. Oh, that her son would be judged for his heart and not his outward appearance or slowness with words.
She squeezed Eli’s hand. “Thank you for doing this for me.”
Charlie poked his head in the doorway and beamed a smile at them. His gaze quickly wandered to the shelves of books, however, and she realized she’d not brought him in here before.
“Come, Charlie,” she beckoned. Esther took his hand and led him to a large stuffed chair. The dark-stained leather held her child as she reached for a copy of The King of the Golden River, a children’s novel filled with wonderful illustrations. “Why not sit here and look at the pictures while I slip upstairs for a moment? I’ll read you the story when I return.”
He nodded, not glancing up from the book.
Esther smiled and kissed his head before stealing up the stairs to her room. She set her reticule aside and shrugged off her walking jacket. The silken blouse beneath breathed much easier in the warmth of the house. After washing the dust from her hands and face, she started down the stairs. She had taken longer than she should have, but a few moments of quiet to let the weariness roll off her had been sorely needed.
She stepped into the library and was met by silence. No heels of small shoes bumping stretched leather. No crinkle of pages turning, or the hum of a happy child.
“Charlie?”
The chair sat empty, book abandoned, spine up on the floor.
“Charlie?”
She hurried around the room, glancing under the small tables and behind chairs. The foyer was also empty. Heart climbing in her throat, she tapped on her father’s office door as she cracked it open. “Have you seen Charlie?”
Father looked up from his ledgers. “Of course not.”
Esther let the door close with no further comment. She checked the kitchen next, but Cook hadn’t seen him.
No one had.
Flynn stared at the stick of iron till his eyes blurred, the end he had mangled taunting him. His forge was stocked and billowed heat enough to fill the smithy. The iron glowed red and lay across his swage block, but he couldn’t swing a hammer. Not with his right hand, at least, and his left was clumsy—not much better than when he’d first started out as an apprentice. For the first four years after his parents had given him over to the blacksmith, he hadn’t touched a hammer. Only to fetch it for Leighton. All he considered Flynn good for was fetching this or that and stoking the forge. Flynn had also spent plenty of time on the bellows, making those coals glow. Sleeping on a pallet made up in the corner of the smithy and eating whatever and whenever the man remembered to feed him, learning quickly not to complain. If the blacksmith threw him out, he had nowhere to go.
Flynn gripped the hammer in his left hand and chased the memories away with an attempt to smooth a barb. The tip of the rod had been flattened and twisted in his frustration after the doctor’s visit, and almost resembled the wilted petal of a rose.
Flynn leaned forward on his stool with a small hammer and clumsily tapped away the burrs, flattened the ridges.
“That’s fine work.”
Flynn looked up at Eli, who stood in the open back door. Leaving the iron on the swage block, Flynn started to stand. Pain spiked through his bound arm, eliciting a grunt.
Eli frowned at the crude splint Flynn had strapped to his arm. “I heard something about an accident.”
“Not so much of an accident.”
“A fight?”
“I wish.” He’d liked to have finished it. Hasting’s goon might have some height on him, but years of molding iron would let Flynn hold his own. “Dr. Allerton send you about my late payment?” He fished the remaining coins from his pocket he’d held back for food. He wasn’t so hungry anyway. “This should keep him satisfied for a week or two.”
Eli’s hands remained at his side. “Dr. Allerton didn’t send me.”
Flynn stared. “But not a social call.” As a boy, Eli had been somewhat of a friend to Flynn, but any bond had faded after Eli started collecting his payments for Dr. Allerton.
“Miss Esther may have been concerned.”
“Esther?” Elation at her worry faded quickly. She hadn’t come herself for many a good reason. “Inform her I’m fine. She can put me from her mind.”
Eli shook his head. “Your arm, how bad?”
Flynn shrugged, trying to ignore the painful throb that beat in time with his heart. “I’ll heal.”
“Your shop has been closed.”
“I just needed a few days. Everything’s fine.” Flynn walked past Eli to the door, hoping he’d get the hint and follow him out. As much as he liked Eli, right now was not a good time for company—especially anyone tied to the Allerton estate. “I’d rather you didn’t say anything to the doctor, but see that he gets these.” Flynn pressed the coins into Eli’s hand.
A nod and Eli was on his way.
Flynn closed the door and leaned into it, the pain in his arm mounting along with the ache in his head. “What now, Lord?” He’d been raised by his parents to worship God, and Matthias Leighton had insisted Flynn attend church with him every Sabbath, but was that all God was good for? Something to believe in? Someone to thank when all was well, and plead to in times such as these?
A light tapping vibrated the door, and Flynn cracked it open to see what Eli had forgotten to say. Instead, two bright blue eyes stared up at him. Despite the huffing and puffing of his breath, a grin spread across Charlie’s face.
“I … found you.”