One

At the clip-clop, clip-clop of horse’s hooves coming down the cobblestone street, Torey Mitchell ducked under the cover of a large, nearby oak. Trembling, she watched the carriage pass, then resumed her slow gait along the sidewalk, breathing a sigh of relief to be in a section of town where thugs and thieves weren’t lurking behind every corner building.

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since she had seen the murder. And she’d been roaming the streets of Chicago ever since—snatching moments of sleep in filthy, deserted alleys. Stealing food from outdoor vendors when she could get away with it. Exhaustion tapped every muscle in her body. And hunger had become a constant, malevolent companion.

Torey knew she couldn’t wander like this indefinitely, but where could she go? Amos Williams knew every businessman in town, including the seedy ones—especially the seedy ones, it would seem. Already she’d been recognized as his stepdaughter at least a dozen times. She’d always known him to be a harsh man. She’d always tried her best to keep her distance from him, fearing the cruelty she’d witnessed him display to the servants. But never, never in her wildest imaginings had she considered him capable of murdering a man in cold blood. He deserved prison. And she was the only person in the world who could bring about justice for his victim. But every time she saw a police officer on the street, her heart beat with a fear like nothing she’d ever experienced. The thought of going to prison or being hung was too much to bear.

At other times when she was feeling her most brave, she wondered if perhaps the police would understand that she’d been too terrified, too horrified, to scream for help. It wasn’t that she hadn’t wanted to warn the poor man.

Regret haunted her over her choices that night. If only she had not gone looking for Amos after the opera. She should have stayed put in their booth until he returned—as he’d instructed. Never would she forget the flash of his knife, the look of startled fear in the victim’s eyes, or the dark anger in Amos’s face when he heard her gasp and turned to see her watching in terror.

Now she couldn’t go home.

Nor could she ask assistance from friends and acquaintances. Who would believe her word over Amos’s?

If Amos put out the word that she wasn’t to be helped—and Torey was almost certain that he had—no one would dare hire her. Not that she was qualified to do anything anyway. She’d watched her own maids work enough to know their routine. The problem lay in the fact that she’d never actually made a bed or cleaned a water closet. The thought of domestic work didn’t exactly excite her, but right now she’d do just about anything for a slice of bread, an apple, anything to quell the ache in the pit of her stomach.

She sighed with longing at the soft glow of lamplight shining from the stately homes with well-tended lawns. She averted her gaze from the windows, not wanting to intrude on the families just sitting down to dinner.

As she returned her attention to the sidewalk, a gray squirrel scampered across the path. She stifled a scream and instinctively jumped back. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she swayed. In a split second of clarity, she reached out, grabbing a wrought-iron fence just in time to prevent herself from plunging to the ground. She leaned her head against the railing and closed her eyes. For just a moment she would stay here. Only long enough to get her bearings, then she’d be on her way. Maybe she could find a nearby park with a soft, grassy surface where she could sit and stretch her aching legs.

Once the world righted itself again, Torey dared to open her eyes. As she prepared to move ahead, her gaze caught the open window of the house behind the wrought-iron bars.

Bathed in lamplight, a woman knelt before a wingback chair, her elbows resting on the cushioned seat, her head bowed in prayer. From somewhere deep within Torey, a sense of longing—stronger than her need for food—rushed up like a swelling tide. Mother had never been the religious sort, and the thought of Amos darkening the doors of a church was nothing short of laughable.

But Torey remembered a gray-haired woman who had walked the floors in prayer. How she missed her grandmother! Grandmother had filled her early childhood with love, laughter, and God. If only she could have stayed a child forever. Tears pricked her eyes.

On impulse, she fingered the latch on the gate. Did she dare sneak up the walk for a closer look?

The woman wiped away a tear, and Torey moved almost before her mind informed her of the decision to do so. She closed the gate carefully behind her, wincing as it groaned in protest. Once she was certain no one had heard the groan and was coming to investigate, Torey crept stealthily to the window, veering from the stone walk to catch the best view. The woman’s tears continued to flow as her lips moved in prayer.

“Our Father which art in heaven,” Torey began to recite, pulling the words from the recesses of her memory. “Hallowed be Thy name.”

She whispered every line, marveling that she remembered the words to the prayer. And before she said amen, her heart poured forth words of entreaty. “God in heaven. Jesus? I haven’t heard Your name spoken in anything besides a curse for many years, but if You are there, as Grandmother always promised You would be, I beg of You, please help me.”

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Amos!

Fear sprang up inside of Torey. Terror.

Rough hands seized her, biting into her already bruised flesh. Suddenly face-to-face with a stranger, relief that it wasn’t Amos warred with fear of what was to come from this man who had caught her peeking through the window. “Answer me, Girl. What were you doing lurking about in the dark?”

“I–I. . .” Torey’s world began to spin “Please, I’m. . .” Her mind registered his gray eyes widen in surprise. Worry washed the anger from his countenance just as she drifted into unconsciousness.

❧

Simon reached out just in time to grab the waif of a girl before she fainted dead away on his doorstep. She hung like a rag doll in his arms and he stood, looking about in helpless wonder. What did one do with an unconscious thief?

He glanced down. Long lashes brushed her dirt-smudged cheeks, and for the life of him, Simon couldn’t look away from the lovely, almost angelic face framed in golden curls.

The door swung open. Simon jumped and glanced up quickly, as though he were a thief caught with stolen merchandise.

“Mercy, Simon, a person could have mistaken you for a gypsy. I very nearly phoned the police.”

“I’m sorry for frightening you, Mother.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Who is this?”

“As a matter of fact, it appears we have a thief, though I doubt she’s a gypsy. I caught her peeking in the window at you. How many times have I told you to be sure and draw the curtains at sundown when I’m not home?”

Mother’s plump hand touched the brooch at her throat as it always did when she was nervous. “To think someone could just look in on a person without her knowledge. Did you knock her out, Simon?”

Expelling an exasperated breath, Simon gave his mother a wry grin. “I haven’t sunk so low as to strike a woman, Mother. She fainted when I confronted her.”

“Woman? She’s hardly more than a child. And of course she fainted. You must have scared her half to death.” His mother shook her head. “Well, bring her on inside and let’s get her settled into Georgia’s old room.”

“You want me to bring her inside the house?” Simon asked incredulously. “Do you think that’s wise?”

“Of course. It is our responsibility to see her cared for, considering you caused her to faint.”

“Mother, this is not our fault. Nor do we bear any blame for this waif’s condition. She was lurking behind a bush, up to no good, I’d venture to say.”

“Nonsense. Look at her. No one with the looks of an angel could be up to no good. Now, obey me, please. Or do you prefer standing in our yard arguing with your mother while the neighbors observe our humiliation?”

Simon scowled and glanced about.

His mother chuckled. “There might have been an observer.”

A grin sprang to his lips. She had a way of getting her point across quite nicely. He carried the girl up the stairs and into the house. “Are you sure you want me to put her in Georgia’s room?”

“A lovely girl should sleep in a lovely room. Your sister hasn’t occupied that room in five years. I’m sure she won’t mind.”

“I know. I was just thinking the extra servant’s quarters might be better.” The girl was filthy.

“Don’t be snobbish, Simon dear. Take her upstairs to Georgia’s room as I requested. I’ll follow as soon as I draw her a bath.”

“All right. But under protest.”

“Duly noted.”

Simon deposited the girl on his sister’s rose-colored comforter, then closed the door softly after him. The smell of roast beef filled the house, tempting his taste buds and beckoning him down the steps toward the source of the tantalizing aroma. He waited impatiently in the kitchen while Mother tended their new guest.

In moments, she appeared.

“Poor girl. I decided to let her sleep. She can bathe in the morning.”

“Yes, and then we’ll send her on her way, right?”

“Don’t start ordering me around. I’m not a child, nor am I old enough to be delusional. I’m not about to allow someone to come into my home and take advantage of my hospitality. But the girl needs our help. That much is obvious.”

“She certainly needs someone’s help.” But surely that didn’t mean they had to take in a wandering soul who could very well have been about to rob them blind.

Mother scowled, then reached for the plates from the cupboard. She set one plate in front of Simon and another for herself. Then she paused and gave him a thoughtful gaze. “From the cut of her clothing, I’d venture to say she comes from quality folk.”

“More likely she stole the clothes from someone’s home.”

“Rubbish.”

“Then why is she filthy and peeking into windows?” Simon grabbed an apple fritter from a plate on the table.

“Simon,” Mother scolded. “You’ll spoil your dinner.”

“Not likely. I missed lunch today.”

“Why? I packed you two pieces of chicken and two slices of bread.”

“I know. I just didn’t have time to stop and eat.”

“Your father would never have wanted you to work yourself to death to make up for the income lost by his death.”

“I know. But expenses are tight.”

Mother set the meal on the table with a sigh. “Times are hard for many people.”

“Yes,” he said pointedly. “Including us.”

“The Lord has always provided. We can’t allow our lack to dictate whether or not we extend charity—if that’s what you’re getting at. Say the blessing, please.”

Simon complied. They filled their plates in silence; then Mother cleared her throat. “I have something to discuss with you.”

A sense of dread filled him. The last time she’d had something to discuss with him, she had invited Mr. and Mrs. Ponch and their daughters—each gunning for a husband—to dinner. That had been a month ago, and Simon still couldn’t escape a weekly visit at the bank from each of the young women. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with them. They were pretty enough, good natured, and well-spoken. They just weren’t for him. He’d know when the right woman came along. If only his mother could understand that and respect his wishes.

“No more dinners, Mother. Please.”

“What? Oh, for pity’s sake. I told you I wouldn’t invite any more young ladies and their parents over. Although there’s not a thing wrong with any of the Ponch girls.” She waved to dismiss the thought before he could respond. “Besides, that’s not what I want to discuss.”

Relief replaced dread, then slid into a healthy caution as Simon eyed his mother. “All right. What do you want to discuss?”

“I have made a decision concerning the house.”

Surely Mother wasn’t thinking of selling their home. Times were tight but certainly not desperate. “There’s no need to think of selling the house.”

“Sell the house your father built for me? Never!”

“What, then?”

She gathered a deep breath. “After much prayer, I have decided it is the Lord’s will that we receive boarders.”

Simon’s fork clattered to his plate. “What?” He rose from his chair and paced the kitchen. “Mother. You can’t turn our home into a boardinghouse!”

“Of course I can. It’s my house.”

“It’s my home too! I forbid it!”

The uncommon narrowing of Mother’s eyes warned Simon that he had gone too far. Her face grew red, and her green eyes sparked with new vitality. “Son,” she said slowly, and Simon didn’t dare interrupt her to inform her of his rapid change of heart. “I will do whatever the Lord instructs me to do. If He tells me to turn this house into a chicken coop for all the stray chickens in town, that’s exactly what I’ll do. How dare you forbid me to do anything, young man! Have you forgotten that I diapered your bottom only twenty short years ago?”

Bested, Simon stood, knowing there would be no calming her once she worked herself into a stomping mad fit. He grabbed her hand and bent to kiss her soft, plump cheek. “Forgive me, Mother. I had no right to upset you. But I am less than enthusiastic about the idea.”

Patting his hand, Mother gave him an affectionate smile. “You don’t have to be enthusiastic about it. But I will need your help once boarders begin to arrive. I’ve decided to offer our young guest upstairs a small wage and room and board to join our household staff.”

“Mother!” Simon released an exasperated breath. “You need to at least ask for references.”

“Nonsense. The Lord is all the reference I need. And I believe He sent that child to our doorstep.”

“All right. Have it your way. I won’t say a word. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be keeping an eye on her.”

And if she made one move that smacked of shadiness, Simon would haul her to the police station before she could blink an eye.

The sound of a small, nearly panicked voice drifted into the kitchen. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Simon and Mother exchanged a quick glance, then bolted from the kitchen, through the sitting room, and into the hallway where the “guest” stood trembling at the top of the steps.

“Where am I?”

Simon started to move forward, but Mother stopped him with her arm across his middle. She stepped toward the stairs. “You fainted outside the house, Dear, and my son, Simon, carried you upstairs.”

The girl turned wide violet eyes upon Simon and scowled as recognition dawned. “I remember you! You nearly scared the life out of me. What do you mean, sneaking up on people that way?”

Annoyance rose in Simon, heightened by Mother’s quick chuckle. Before he could speak, Mother addressed the girl.

“I had planned to let you sleep, but since you’re awake, I’ll go ahead and draw you a nice hot bath. One of the last things my dear husband did was to install indoor plumbing. I don’t know how I ever got along without it.”

“Y–you mean, you aren’t throwing me out tonight?”

“Well, I should say not.” Mother trudged up the steps, huffing by the time she reached the girl. “As a matter of fact, it just so happens we are in the need of a strong young girl such as yourself to help out with household duties. If you are interested, the position is yours.”

“Oh!” The girl grabbed onto the railing just in time to keep from plunging headlong down the steps. She sat hard on the landing.

“Are you all right, Dear?”

“Yes, Ma’am. It’s just that I never thought He would actually hear my prayer, much less answer so quickly.”

Mother gathered the young woman into her arms. “He always hears our prayers. Now, let’s get you into the kitchen and get some warm food in your belly.”

Simon’s heart caught in his throat. Perhaps his mother had been right after all. Had God truly sent this girl to their door? Even so, where had she come from? She was well-spoken, indicative of a high social status. So the questions remained. Why did she look as though she hadn’t slept or eaten in days? And why was she running away? Simon didn’t like unanswered questions. There were too many of those in his life right now. Somehow he couldn’t help but feel that this girl was going to complicate his life, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.