Flynn stared past the thick iron bars to the bleak hall beyond. He’d expected a confrontation with Dr. Allerton, but the man had never been one to do his own dirty work. He’d probably sent a runner for the sheriff as soon as he learned of Flynn’s presence in the house. They’d been waiting. Trespassing and unpaid debt. He’d go before the judge in the morning, but Allerton had enough leverage to see him rot in prison.
“Is this what you planned for me, Lord?” His whole life seemed one downward spiral. From his birth in famine-stricken Ireland, to his parents walking away for the sake of their younger children. He’d poured his sweat into pleasing his master only to be buried under the man’s debt. How could he have let his head be turned by Allerton’s daughter? He had nothing to offer her or Charlie.
He leaned his head back against the hard wall, one pleasant memory rising over all the muck. Esther in his arms, his mouth over hers, and her returning his kiss.
Maybe life wasn’t so bad after all.
“Thomas Flynn?”
He stood at the deputy’s bellow and moved to the barred door as it swung open.
“Come along.” The man motioned for him to pass. “There’s a lady waiting for you in the office.”
Flynn’s stomach dropped. Not Esther. He didn’t want her seeing him like this, dirty and stinking after three days in that tiny cell. But the deputy prodded him on, so there was no way to go but forward. He stepped into the office, and Esther pushed up from a creaky, wooden chair.
“Charlie?” he asked. What if he’d had more trouble with his heart, what if Esther had come to tell him—
Esther waited until the deputy passed through the room before speaking. “Charlie’s well. Up and about more every day.”
Flynn nodded and let the relief have its moment. He brushed his hands down the front of his wrinkled shirt. His coat sat back in his cell, too much for this July heat. “You shouldn’t have come,” he said, though he’d thought of little else than of her and Charlie since he’d been locked up.
“It’s my fault you’re here in the first place.” She waved a hand around the room with its oak desk and simple chairs. Sparse, but clean and brightly lit—unlike the cell he’d come from. Thankfully, this was all she’d seen of the jail.
“You had nothing to do with it,” Flynn stated. “Your father warned me.”
“My father has no right to dictate my life.”
“But he can dictate mine.”
Esther crossed the room and gripped his hand, eyes sparking. “Not anymore. Your debt has been paid.”
Flynn stared, not quite believing, not quite ready to hope. Freedom? “How?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.” He tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone dry. Pieces fell into place. First Eli. Now him. “You?”
She stepped back. “Why should I not put my money to good use?”
Humiliation burned through him. “Because I didn’t ask you to.” Bought and sold from one Allerton to the next. “I don’t need you.”
Her expression faltered for a moment then hardened. “Yes, you do. You expected me to leave you here?”
“It was my problem.”
“Stop thinking about yourself!” She shook her head and backed away. “I have done what I’ve done. If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.” With the swoosh of her full skirts, she walked from the room.
“Stop thinking about yourself.”
Thomas Flynn climbed the steps to the miserable little room where he’d lived the better half of his life. Small. Hot. Smelling of smoke.
“If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.”
Choice? Did he have a choice now? From apprentice to debtor—had he ever really known freedom?
He wasn’t sure he knew it now. He still felt indebted, but now to the one woman he had wanted to impress, to prove himself to.
“Guess she knows what I’m worth.” Down to the penny. He groaned and plopped onto the edge of the bed, which creaked in protest. A small rodent scurried along the wall before vanishing down a hole. Flynn worked his right hand. The tips of his fingers tingled and the bone in his arm ached, but less every day. “What am I worth?” To the world, who had both looked down their noses and praised his work. To Esther, who had paid the debt hanging over his head. To Charlie—his friend.
To God above.
He glanced to the dark rafters.
“I have done what I’ve done. If you want to stay here and rot, that’s your choice.”