CHAPTER 2

Quinn stood outside the iron gate that guarded the walkway to a rather quaint-looking house. Tall and narrow, with a turret on one side and wraparound porch in front, the character of the building was eminently suited to a boardinghouse. Another of his shipmates, Grace Abernathy, had recommended this establishment, saying that her sister had found it charming and the proprietress who ran it very kind. Now if only Mrs. Chamberlain had a vacancy, he might finally have a place to settle for a while.

How long that might be, Quinn had no idea. Uncertainty was the constant of this voyage; he never knew what to expect around the next corner. The train trip to Toronto had been uneventful in itself, giving him a long time to reflect on the next steps required to find his siblings, as well as how best to go about tracking down the elusive Julia Holloway.

Lord, you’ve helped me get this far. I have to trust you to guide me from here.

A man came around the corner of the house, wielding a bushel basket and a rake. With his cap slung low over his forehead, the man’s face wasn’t visible, yet something about him seemed familiar. When he lifted his head and spotted Quinn, the man dropped the basket and grinned.

“Quinn, old chap. You’re here.” Jonathan Rowe rushed over to open the gate, then came out to clap him on the shoulder. “I thought you were staying in Halifax awhile longer.”

“So did I. But I finally got some information on the children’s possible whereabouts.”

Children. Perhaps that wasn’t the correct term to use anymore. Becky had to be nearing eighteen, Cecil sixteen, and Harry twelve, but they would always be children to Quinn. He swallowed, recalling the last time he’d seen them on the day he left to move into the earl’s household. The sight of their precious faces pressed against his side. The sound of their cries. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how scared they had been years later, shoved aboard a steamship on their way to a foreign land. Alone. Surrounded by strangers.

Quinn forced away the anger that seethed just below the surface every time he thought about it. Jonathan didn’t deserve his irritability, nor his unpleasant mood. He summoned a wide smile. “It’s good to see you again, Jon. I trust you and Emmaline have found accommodations here. I only hope there’s room for one more.” Quinn managed what he hoped to be a lighthearted tone to his voice.

But Jonathan didn’t smile in return. Instead, a look of regret crept over his features. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but Mrs. Chamberlain doesn’t take male lodgers.” He nodded his head toward the side yard where he’d first appeared. “I’m staying in a cot over the garage, but only because she needed a temporary groundskeeper.”

“Oh.” Quinn’s optimism faded faster than the rays of the sun behind a cloud. “I don’t suppose she could recommend another place to stay?”

“There’s a YMCA on College Street. That would’ve been my next destination if Mrs. C. hadn’t offered me this position.”

“How far is College Street?” A bone-deep weariness settled over Quinn. He felt like he’d been traveling forever. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a proper night’s sleep or a hot meal.

“I’m not sure. Come up to the porch, and I’ll see if Mrs. C. is around. You look like you could use a glass of lemonade.” Jonathan opened the gate wider to allow Quinn onto the property.

“That would be appreciated. Thank you.” He followed his friend to the homey wraparound porch.

Jonathan gestured to the wicker chairs. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

Quinn had only been sitting for a couple of minutes when the front door opened and a plump woman bustled out, followed by Jonathan, who carried a tray of drinks.

“Hello there. I’m Harriet Chamberlain, and you must be Mr. Aspinall. Jonathan and Emmaline have spoken most highly about you.”

Quinn jumped to his feet. “Yes, ma’am. But please call me Quinten.”

Her pale eyes sparkled. “That’s a fine English name. I had a cousin with the same name back home.”

“You’re from England?” He should have known by her faint accent.

“Yes. I came to Canada as a young girl many moons ago.” A shadow passed over her features, but then she smiled again. “Emmaline’s not here right now. She’ll be sorry she missed you.”

Jonathan handed Quinn a glass, and the three took a seat.

“I understand you don’t accept male tenants,” Quinn said after a long drink that drained half the glass.

“I’m afraid not. But the YMCA has reasonable rates. It’s a very respectable establishment. You should do fine there.”

“Thank you. I’ll just need directions to find it. This is indeed a large city.”

“And growing by the day.” Mrs. Chamberlain chuckled. “How long will you be staying in Toronto?”

“It all depends on what I find out about my siblings.” Quinn frowned, his gaze scanning the tree-lined street in front of them. “I need to locate one of Dr. Barnardo’s Homes. The one on Peter Street.” He’d long since memorized the information on that scrap of paper.

Mrs. Chamberlain went white, and lines popped up on her forehead. “That’s a name I haven’t heard in some time.”

“You know the place?”

“Oh, indeed.” Her mouth was a grim line, which quelled Quinn’s faint stirring of hope. “It’s where most of the young lads are sent when they get off the ship.”

A shiver of foreboding traveled down Quinn’s spine. “Why does it sound like that’s a bad thing?”

She glanced over at him. “The house itself isn’t bad. The boys are treated well there. It’s where they go afterward that’s the problem.”

“How so?” Quinn set his empty glass on the wicker table at his side.

“The majority of boys are sent to work on farms in the area. It’s not an easy life. I’ll tell you that straight out. And many aren’t treated half as well as the cattle in the barns.”

“How do you know this?”

She stared ahead, and for a second Quinn thought she hadn’t heard his question. But then she turned to look at him. “Years ago, my sister and I were brought over on just such a ship, along with a large group of other children. We were taken to the girls’ receiving home in Peterborough.”

Quinn stiffened on his chair. “That’s where my sister was sent.”

Mrs. Chamberlain reached over and laid her hand on Quinn’s arm. “I only pray your sister had a better experience than Annie and I did.” Moisture rimmed her eyes. “I made it out alive. Sadly, my sister didn’t.” She pressed her lips together and turned to fumble in her pocket for a handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry.” Quinn’s throat thickened. “How old were you, if I might ask?”

“I was nine. Annie twelve. We fought to stay together, but no one wanted two girls. So they sent us to different farms, hundreds of miles apart.” She crumpled the handkerchief between her callused fingers. “It was dreadfully hard work. Up before dawn each day to do all the morning chores—milking cows, collecting eggs, getting the firewood chopped to start the stove. But at least the people who took me in were fairly decent. Unlike Annie’s situation.”

“She wasn’t treated well?” He hated to ask, dreading the answer.

She shook her head. “Annie ran away twice, but each time the authorities brought her back. They didn’t seem to care about the bruises covering her body. The farmer said she’d been disobedient and deserved the punishment. Apparently, his word was good enough for them.” Mrs. Chamberlain dabbed her eyes. “If only that was the worst of it.”

Quinn glanced over at Jonathan, who had remained silent throughout the conversation. But the look of disgust on his face reflected Quinn’s own feelings. “Did she die by the farmer’s hand?” he asked quietly.

“Not directly, but he’s still to blame. Not only did he mistreat her, he got her pregnant.” She paused. “Annie hanged herself. She was only fifteen, and it was all too much for her to bear.” A tear slid down the woman’s cheek. “I know there’s not much I could have done, but I wish she hadn’t felt so alone. With no other choice.”

Quinn shook his head, the lemonade souring in his stomach. “I’m very sorry for your loss. I only pray my sister was more fortunate.”

“I do too.” Mrs. Chamberlain seemed to gather herself. “Perhaps conditions have changed for the better over the years. However, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared for whatever you might find.”

He nodded and rose. “Well, I’ve taken enough of your time. I’d best find the YMCA before it gets too late. Thank you for the lemonade—and the advice.”

“You’re most welcome. Oh, you’ll be needing the address.” Mrs. Chamberlain stood and took a slip of paper from her apron. “I wrote it down for you. There’s also the Red Triangle Club, a branch of the Y that caters to soldiers. It’s farther away though, and lately they’ve been full. I think the College Street facility would be a better option.” She handed him the paper. “If you can’t get a room, let me know. I’ll have my friend Reverend Burke see if one of his parishioners can put you up temporarily. And you must join us on Sunday at Holy Trinity Church. The majority of parishioners who attend are originally from Britain, so you’ll feel right at home.”

“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll keep that in mind.” Quinn smiled as he pocketed the address, the tightness in his chest easing for the first time since leaving English soil. Maybe he wasn’t completely alone in this journey after all.

For the rest of the evening, Harriet couldn’t get Quinten and his siblings out of her mind. All during dinner with her boarders, she could barely keep track of the conversation going on around her. Now, after the day’s chores had been completed, she sat in her favorite armchair in the parlor, trying to gain control of her emotions by reading her Bible.

Yet her thoughts kept returning to Quinten and his search for his family. She gripped the leather book tighter. The lad’s story had dredged up all the sorrow and despair of her own childhood, feelings she’d thought she’d left firmly in the past—the fear and loneliness of losing her parents and being sent away, the grief at being separated from her dear sister, and the eventual tragedy of losing Annie.

Clearly, she’d been fooling herself that she’d gotten over these memories. It had taken her a long time to come to terms with Annie’s suicide. Talks with different ministers over the years had helped Harriet come to a place of understanding and peace about it. Yet even though a scab had formed over her wounds, it hadn’t taken much prodding for the bleeding to begin again.

“Is everything all right, Harriet?” Rev. Burke’s deep baritone shook Harriet from her thoughts.

She blinked and looked up from the book in her lap. “Geoffrey. I didn’t hear you knock.”

He smiled as he entered the room. “Clearly not. Which is why I let myself in. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. You know you’re always welcome.” She set her Bible aside and rose. “Let me make us a pot of tea.”

He came forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. “Tea can wait. Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you?” Genuine concern radiated from his eyes.

“It’s nothing, really. Just a foolish old woman reliving events that should remain in the past.”

He studied her. “What’s happened to bring on this bout of melancholy?”

She let out a sigh. “A friend of Jonathan and Emma’s came by today. Right off the boat from home.” Harriet twisted the string of beads at her throat. “The young man is looking for his siblings, who were sent here through Dr. Barnardo’s organization, like Annie and I were years ago.”

“Ah, I see.” Gently, he steered her to the sofa. “It’s brought up all those difficult memories.”

“It has.”

“What can I do to help?”

She sighed. “There’s nothing anyone can do. It will pass. It always does.”

Geoffrey took a seat beside her and placed his hand over hers. “Is there anything you can think of that might help put the tragedy behind you once and for all? Give you the closure you need?”

Harriet pulled her hand away. “Put it behind me? Geoffrey, I will never forget what happened to my sister. And I will never stop grieving her loss, no matter how much closure I get.” She stood and walked to the fireplace, where the only photo she had of her sister graced the mantel. The gentle girl with fair hair and wide eyes. Eyes that once sparkled with joy but later knew only despair.

Geoffrey came up behind her. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention to make you feel worse.”

She brushed at the unexpected dampness on her cheek and turned to look at her friend. He didn’t deserve her sharp tongue. “You’re only trying to help. As always.” She managed a smile. “Besides, what you said isn’t anything new. I’ve thought about it a lot over the years, trying to determine why losing Annie that way continues to haunt me.” She shook her head, the guilt and shame rising up once more. “I don’t even know where she’s buried, or if she has a gravestone. Shouldn’t I at least know that much?” She shivered involuntarily, for that would mean returning to Hazelbrae, something she swore she would never do.

“You could start by trying to find out.” He studied her as though determining if he should say anything further. “One thing I sometimes advise my grieving parishioners is to find a way to pay tribute to their loved one. Something meaningful to both the deceased and the bereaved.” He paused to stroke his chin. “What if you did something to honor Annie, like plant a tree or start a scholarship in her name? Something that would have meaning for you as well.”

Harriet’s throat tightened and she nodded. “I’ve often thought about a memorial of some kind but could never decide what might be fitting.” She reached over to pat his arm. “Thank you, Geoffrey. This is just what I need. To stop dwelling on the negative and focus on something positive. I will give the whole matter a good deal of consideration.”

He smiled, crinkles forming around his eyes. “All in a day’s work, my dear.”