34

WHEN ADAM’S EMOTIONS had been spent, leaving his insides as hollowed out as his shell of a store, he pushed bleakly to his feet. His knees ached from the time spent on the hard ground, and he stumbled until his joints started working again. A coughing fit hit him, so intense it seemed his body was determined to expel his very lungs. When the spasms finally eased, Adam became aware of noises in the outer room.

Was someone out there?

He swiped his face with the sleeve of his smoke-laden shirt and made his way to the front. Two lit lanterns hung from blackened nails on the remains of a wall, brightening the area. When had it become dusk?

Clad in a long, black apron, John whisked a straw broom over the floor, a cloud of soot almost enveloping his tall frame.

“What are you doing? This isn’t your job.” Adam could not even regret the harshness of his tone.

John, however, kept sweeping. “I’m helping a friend who would do the same for me if I were in trouble.”

Adam fought another rush of emotion that threatened to close his throat.

John glanced over his shoulder. “There’s another broom over there if you care to join me.”

At a loss, but not about to let John work alone, Adam picked up the tool. In silence, they swept the debris into piles, then, using a shovel, began to fill the large barrels John had brought with him.

“I spoke with Chief Witherspoon last night after you’d been taken to the hospital.” John leaned on his broom for a small respite.

Adam looked up. “You were here?”

“Who do you think helped drag you out of the building?”

Adam sucked in a breath. “You? But how did you even know about the fire?”

“A parishioner called to tell me. I came straight over. Never expected to find you risking your neck for a piece of wood.”

John’s amused look tempered his scolding, yet the enormity of the danger he had faced for Adam’s sake brought about a wave of shame. What if he’d lost his life on Adam’s account?

“I don’t know what to say, John. You’ve rescued me more times than I can count.”

John’s unrelenting gaze held Adam’s. “The only thing I want to rescue is your soul. Don’t let this misfortune define you, Adam. Trust God to help you pick up the pieces and carry on. He won’t forsake you.”

Adam swallowed the bitterness on his tongue. “Right now I’m not sure I can believe that.” He resumed sweeping with the vigor of his anger.

“Then it’s my job to keep reminding you.” John moved toward him. “I wasn’t sure if I should mention this or not . . .” He hesitated. “Since the building is leased to me, the chief gave me some information I think you should know.”

At the seriousness of his tone, Adam stopped working. “What is it?”

“The chief believes this may be a case of arson.”

“Arson?” The word slammed into Adam with the force of an anvil. Who would do such a thing? It made no sense. Could someone have gotten wind of Adam’s past and objected to an ex-convict opening a shop here? Someone who believed he might be bad for business?

Adam heaved the shovel into the trash pile, bitterness leaving an acidic taste in his mouth. Would this be his fate for the rest of his life, constantly dodging a barrage of prejudice and hatred, all because of a past mistake? God might forgive him, his family might even forgive him, but many others would not.

“Did I hear you say arson?”

Adam looked up to see Mr. Sampson picking his way across the debris. A flare of unease surfaced. “That’s right. Why?”

The old man tugged at one of his suspenders. “Like I told the constable last night, I noticed a stranger on the edge of the crowd. Seemed real interested in what was going on. Asked about you in particular.”

Adam’s blood turned cold. “What did the man look like?”

Sampson moved closer, chewing on a toothpick. “Decent enough. Had a pretty nasty scar on his jaw, though. Imagined he was a friend of yours at first, but he seemed almost disappointed when the reverend here got you out.”

Adam’s heart stalled. “Fitzgerald.”

“Who?” John came up beside him.

Adam paced the floor, kicking up a cloud of dust as he moved. “Maggie’s former fiancé.” Adam clenched his fists at his sides. What did this mean? Was Maggie in danger, or was this message aimed solely at Adam?

Suddenly the loss of his shop and all its contents faded in importance. The only true thing that mattered was Maggie’s safety. As long as she was all right, Adam could bear any misfortune.

“I’m sorry, John. I have to go and warn Maggie. I’ll see you later.”

After pounding on Rylan’s door for what seemed like several minutes, Adam startled when the door yanked open. Colleen stood on the threshold, baby Ivy in her arms.

“I need to speak with Maggie. It’s urgent.”

“You’re too late.” She stared at him with a dull look. “Maggie’s gone.”

The hair on his arms stood on end. “What do you mean? Gone where?”

Sorrow drifted across her features. “Back to Ireland . . . with Neill Fitzgerald.”

White flames of terror exploded through his torso, and his breathing thinned. “That’s ridiculous. She’d never go anywhere with him, especially not back to Ireland.”

Without a word, Colleen walked into the parlor. Adam forced his feet into action and followed her. She laid Ivy in her cradle and moved to the desk in the corner, where she picked up a piece of paper. “When I got home from the orphanage this afternoon, I found this.” Her accusing glare challenged Adam. “Maggie said you broke her heart and she could no longer bear to stay here.”

Adam took the page and scanned the hastily penned note. “This says they’re leaving tonight.” He raked a hand over his jaw, his brain whirling to take in the magnitude of the situation. He looked up. “Where’s Rylan?”

“Gone to look for her, of course. But it’s been over an hour now.” His sister’s brows slashed her forehead in obvious concern.

“Fitzgerald’s dangerous, Colleen. I believe he caused the fire at my shop. He must be forcing Maggie to go with him.” Adam jammed his hat on and headed to the door.

Little Delia and Chester appeared in the hall. Traces of moisture shone on the girl’s tiny cheeks. “Uncle Adam, Aunt Maggie left without saying good-bye. Will you bring her back, please?”

The sight of her blue eyes awash in tears twisted like a knife in Adam’s chest. He knelt down to hug her. “I’ll do my best, sweetheart.” He kissed the top of her head, nodded to Colleen, and dashed out the door.

All the way to the waterfront, Adam begged God to spare Maggie, to save her from the maniac’s clutches, and prayed that, by some chance, Rylan had already found her.

But an hour later, after scouring the docks of the Hudson River without finding Rylan or Maggie, Adam’s hope began to fade. He stopped to scan the fleets of ships lining the harbor. How would he know which one of these boats they were on? The distinct possibility that they may have already left haunted him, as did the certainty of what Fitzgerald would do to Maggie once they’d set sail.

Helpless fury pulsed through his veins, adding to the throbbing of his wounds. Dusk had turned to full inky blackness. Dampness from the mist hovering over the water sank into Adam’s bones. He blew on his stiff fingers, his desperation mounting.

Please Lord, help me find her.

Shoring up his determination, he doubled back toward the ships’ offices. Maybe one of the men there would remember something. A woman as beautiful as Maggie would surely stand out. . . .

The sound of raised voices caught Adam’s attention, spiking a rush of adrenaline. Maybe Rylan had found Maggie and needed his help. He sprinted off toward the ruckus, dodging crates and barrels, until he saw two men arguing near the steamship office.

The man with his back to Adam raised a hand. “But I have two tickets here already paid for.”

“Nothing I can do about it, mister.” The second huskier man moved away, revealing a woman standing to one side.

Adam’s heart screamed to a halt in his chest.

Maggie.