CHAPTER 3

April 30, 1914

Dear Grace,

I have wonderful news. I’ve found a job at a grand hotel, not far from the boardinghouse. In nice weather, I can walk to work, and other times the streetcar takes me practically to the front door. Because of my skill on a typewriter, I earned a position in the secretarial pool of the hotel’s administrative offices. Mr. Easton Sr. is a strict taskmaster, but thankfully his son more than makes up for it.

In the third-floor bedroom of Mrs. Chamberlain’s boardinghouse, Grace unpacked her few items of clothing and hung them in the narrow closet. It had been more than twenty-four hours since Reverend Burke had brought her here. The gracious landlady had taken note of Grace’s traumatized state and had shown her right to her room. Other than bringing up a tray of toast and tea, the woman had let her grieve in private.

After hours of weeping, Grace had fallen into an exhausted sleep, the stress of the whole voyage finally catching up with her. When she awoke early this morning, feeling hollowed out from crying, she’d taken a hot bath and dressed in fresh clothes, while trying to sort out her thoughts. For now, the future was too difficult to focus on. Instead, Grace concentrated on what she would do today. She needed to see Rose’s gravesite, and she wanted to talk to Reverend Burke and Mrs. Chamberlain about meeting her nephew. She wouldn’t rest until she knew Christian was all right.

After making the bed, Grace stored her valise in the closet, then looked around the room. If she weren’t so emotionally numb, she might be better able to appreciate the hominess of the space. A handmade blue-and-white quilt covered the single bed, and piles of colorful pillows sat on top. They matched the ones in the corner window nook. A vanity, dresser, and nightstand rounded out the furnishings. Had Rose stayed in this room when she first arrived in Toronto? If so, no wonder she’d been delighted with her accommodations.

Grace pulled the packet of Rose’s letters out of her purse and sat in the window seat. From her high perch, she had a lovely view of pedestrians walking along Jarvis Street below. She opened the last letter she’d received from Rose, as though by reading it again she might find some clue as to when Rose had fallen ill. But nothing her sister wrote had hinted of any pending health crisis.

“Oh, Rose,” she said aloud. “Didn’t I warn you that coming to Canada wouldn’t turn out well?”

But nothing had swayed her decision to leave home, certainly not her little sister’s advice. In that moment, their roles had reversed, with Rose acting impulsively and Grace, for once, being the voice of caution.

Grace stowed the letters back in her handbag and checked her watch. Surely Mrs. Chamberlain would be up by now, preparing breakfast for her boarders. It was time Grace faced reality and made a plan to go forward. But she would need Mrs. Chamberlain’s help.

With determination, she descended the main staircase and made her way to the parlor where she’d briefly met her landlady yesterday. Today, seeing the space with fresh eyes, Grace could appreciate the cozy décor. Floral sofas and high-backed wing chairs surrounded the fireplace. Pictures on the wall depicted scenes from back home: green English meadows and a cottage much like the one Grace had grown up in. A gray tabby lifted its head from the cushioned window seat, blinked lazily, and dropped back to its previous position.

“Good morning, Grace. It’s good to see you up and about.” Mrs. Chamberlain appeared in the hallway. She wore a floral apron over her dress and held a large teapot. Her kind eyes radiated unspoken compassion. “I’m serving breakfast if you’d care to join us.”

“I’m not very hungry, but tea would be nice.” Grace walked toward her. “And afterward, I could use your help with something, if you have time.”

“By all means. Once I finish the dishes, I’m all yours.”

At the far end of the Holy Trinity Cemetery, Grace bent to place a bouquet of daisies atop a mound of fresh dirt. Then she straightened, wrapping her arms around her, as if by doing so she could shield herself from the crushing weight of her grief. Rose’s grave bore no marker, not even a simple wooden cross. Reverend Burke told Grace that the members of the congregation all felt badly for the young widow and were raising money for a headstone to give her a decent resting place.

How did this happen, Rose? If I’d come sooner, could I have saved you from this horrible fate?

The cool spring wind tore at the hem of Grace’s skirt and loosened strands of her brown hair, which blew about her cheeks. “How will I ever make things right with Mum now?” she whispered.

Memories of her last conversation with her mother crept into her thoughts.

“You owe me, girl. You know you do.” From her sickbed, Mum’s hard eyes had pinned Grace to the spot, unearthing the guilt that always sat just below the surface. “The least you can do is to bring Rose and my grandson home where they belong.”

Looking down at the stark burial site, Grace dashed the traces of tears from her cheeks. “I promise, Rose, I’ll do everything in my power to see that Christian’s safe. I’ll make sure the Eastons are treating him properly. And if they’re not, somehow I’ll find a way to fix it.”

How she would accomplish that feat, she didn’t know. She’d have to trust the Lord to provide her a way when the time came.

With a final glance at the pile of dirt, she crossed the cemetery grounds to the church where Mrs. Chamberlain had gone to give Grace some privacy.

As Grace reached the steps, she heard her name called.

“Yoo-hoo, over here.” Mrs. Chamberlain waved from the rectory next door. “Come in for some tea to warm up.”

Slowly Grace headed over. She welcomed the chance to speak to Reverend Burke and see what more she could learn about the Eastons in order to determine her next course of action. Anything to take her mind off the raw sorrow that tore at her chest.

Mrs. Chamberlain held the door for her and ushered her into the hallway. The delicious scent of yeast and cinnamon made Grace’s mouth water, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten much over the last twenty-four hours, too consumed with grief to have any appetite. It almost felt wrong to be hungry now.

“Reverend Burke found me in the church and invited me in. There are fresh rolls if you’re hungry.” The sympathy in Mrs. Chamberlain’s voice warmed the hollow places inside Grace.

“Thank you. That sounds wonderful.”

Grace entered the homey kitchen where Reverend Burke stood at the stove. “Welcome, Grace. Please have a seat. My cinnamon scones are almost ready.”

Grace sat at a round table covered with a plain red cloth. “You bake your own bread, Reverend?”

His smile created crinkles around his eyes. “It’s a skill I had to learn after my dear wife passed on. Since I enjoy eating”—he patted his round stomach—“I had no choice. Harriet here was kind enough to give me a lesson or two.” He winked at Mrs. Chamberlain, who chuckled.

Grace stared, not sure what to make of their easy talk of death. For her, it was far too painful a subject to banter about.

He opened the oven door and reached in with a dish towel to pull out a baking tin.

When Mrs. Chamberlain had poured the tea and laid two scones on her plate, Grace searched for a way to begin the conversation. “Have you both lived in Toronto long?” she asked. Perhaps getting to know these two a little better was a wise place to begin.

“We have.” Reverend Burke gestured for Mrs. Chamberlain to answer first.

“I came to Canada as a young woman, but I lived through unhappy times before I met my dear husband. Thankfully we started attending this church, which became my source of strength when poor Miles passed on.” Mrs. Chamberlain refilled her cup and set the pot back on the table.

Reverend Burke sat down. “I was a boy when my parents moved here. I felt the calling to a life of ministry and attended Wycliffe College in the city. I’ve been pastor of Holy Trinity Church for sixteen years now.” He waved a butter knife toward Mrs. Chamberlain. “Learning of Harriet’s struggles upon coming to Canada was instrumental in us starting the Newcomers Program. A place for immigrants to meet and get aid in finding a job or a place to live.”

Mrs. Chamberlain nodded. “Most people are terribly homesick at first. It helps to be around others from their homeland, which is why my husband opened the boardinghouse. He saw a real need for immigrants to have a decent place to stay until they got their feet under them.” She added a spoon of sugar to her tea. “Once he passed away, I wanted to keep the business going in his memory, although I take only female boarders now. A woman alone can’t be too careful.”

Reverend Burke lifted a brow. “I’m only a few blocks away if you ever need me.”

“I know.” She gave him a warm smile. “It’s a comfort to have good friends around.”

Grace set her cup down, bracing for the topic to come. “Speaking of neighbors, do the Eastons live nearby?”

Mrs. Chamberlain gave her a wary look. “Their hotel isn’t far from here. But the family’s residence is a good streetcar ride away.”

“I understand the hotel is quite fancy.” Grace had almost forgotten about the place where Rose had first met Frank.

“The finest in the city.” Mrs. Chamberlain patted a napkin to her lips. “The Eastons are one of the most influential families in Toronto. And from what I hear, their house is a mansion—as grand as a castle.”

Something in Grace shrank at the woman’s words. She’d never really thought about Rose’s in-laws being so well-regarded, but Mrs. Chamberlain made it sound like they were pillars of the community. How could she compete with that?

Grace reached for her handbag and took out one of Rose’s letters. “They may be rich, but it doesn’t mean they’re honorable. If you hear what Rose had to say, perhaps you’ll understand my reservations about them.” She unfolded the well-worn pages and skimmed down to the pertinent paragraph. “‘Now with Frank gone,’” she read, “‘I worry that his family will try to take Christian from me. I can’t allow my son to be raised by such people. Ones who disowned Frank because he chose a different life than what they expected. How could any parent treat their son like that? Promise me, Grace, if anything happens to me, you’ll take Christian and raise him as your own.’” Grace’s voice gave out, forcing her to stop. Had Rose already been ill when she wrote this? Had she worried even then that she might never see her son grow up? Grace folded the pages and raised her head. “Rose begged me to come, many times. If only I’d come sooner, she might still be alive.”

“Oh, my dear, you mustn’t think that way.” Mrs. Chamberlain laid her hand on Grace’s arm. “I’ve blamed myself as well, thinking I should have done more to help her.”

“Now, Harriet. You did your best.” The minister turned to Grace. “Rose was a very independent woman, determined to take care of herself and not accept charity. I did what I could to help, but in the end, God’s will is all that mattered.” A shadow passed over his features.

How could it be God’s will that a little boy be left an orphan? Grace clutched the paper in her hand and struggled to rein in her emotions. “Was Rose . . . was she alone at the end?” The thought of her dear sister dying by herself in a strange hospital was almost more than she could bear.

“No, I was with her. I’d gone to give her a blessing, but when I saw how low she was, I decided to stay and pray. She woke once more before the illness finally took her. Looked right at me and asked me to tell her mother and sister that she loved them. Then she asked me to make sure Christian would be taken care of.”

Tears spilled down Grace’s cheek. She dashed them away. “Which is why I need to make sure my nephew is being treated the way Rose would have wanted.” She leaned over the table. “Will you help me?”

“I would if I knew what to do.” Compassion shone in his eyes. “It’s not like you can march up to the Eastons’ door and demand they hand the child over. They’re Christian’s legal guardians now.”

Grace bit her lip, her mind spinning. “What if I hired a barrister? To see what rights I might have.”

Reverend Burke eyed Mrs. Chamberlain who gave a subtle shake of her head. “I’m afraid the law will be on the Eastons’ side. Short of proving them unfit, I don’t see what good it would do. A legal battle would be expensive and wouldn’t likely change anything. The Eastons are not only rich, they’re powerful. They have connections with lawyers, judges, and politicians in the city and across the province.”

The minister rose from his chair, his mouth set in a grim line. “I’d be very carefully around Oscar Easton if I were you. He’s not a man to be trifled with.”

Grace sagged on her chair, the air whooshing from her lungs, along with her hope of ever being able to bring Christian home.

Mrs. Chamberlain patted her arm. “Geoffrey’s right. I’d think long and hard before taking on that family, Grace dear. It would only lead to heartache for all involved.”

Grace swallowed her disappointment. “Very well,” she said, more to appease them than anything else. “I’ll give the matter due consideration before I take any action.”

Reverend Burke smiled, the lines of concern around his eyes easing slightly. “And a big dose of prayer wouldn’t hurt either.”

Perhaps he was right. Perhaps challenging the Eastons legally would be a futile endeavor. Yet she couldn’t just forget she had a nephew. Rose would never forgive her for going back on her promise. Not to mention her mother, who wanted her grandson in England more than ever after learning of Rose’s death.

But what else could she do? If Grace were to call the Easton house or simply show up on their doorstep, what kind of information would she learn? Even if they invited her in, a brief visit wouldn’t reveal the true state of affairs in the household. She needed a more long-term way to check on Christian.

For now, she would do as the minister suggested and think long and hard about her next move. In the meantime, she’d need a temporary job to support herself while planning a way to determine if the Eastons were indeed suitable guardians for Rose’s son.