There,” Samuel said, righting the stool with its repaired leg. “Four chairs and a stool, all fixed.”
Eliza—for they called each other by their first names now—was at her new stove, stirring a pot of potatoes. “I had no idea you were a carpenter, Samuel.”
“Neither did I.”
“You like this, don’t you?”
“I do enjoy fixing things.”
She shook her head. “You like this. All of this, working with the children, making them safe and happy.”
He sat on the stool to test its stability. Two-year-old Bertie toddled into the room, dragging a blanket behind him, and Samuel took him on his knee. “I do like it. During these past two weeks I’ve never felt more fulfilled or of more worth to the world.”
“You do have worth here, and I’m not just talking about the new stove, or the shoes, or the new window in the boys’ room, or the stack of wood over there.”
He was embarrassed by the praise, but it stirred an issue that had been on his mind. “I have worth here,” he said. “Only here.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Eliza said. “Not true at all.”
“It feels true.”
“In a few days it’s Christmas, and you’re proposing to Ada. You will find your worth in your new wife and in your new life together.”
Instead of affirming Eliza’s words, he found himself shaking his head. “I don’t know what to do. I love Ada deeply, and until coming here, marriage was the next step.”
Eliza stopped stirring and took a deep breath, as if needing extra air to fuel her words. “But now your heart has expanded to include …” She pointed at little Bertie, who was sticking his fingers through the buttonholes in Samuel’s vest.
He nodded.
As did she. Then she sat on the bench facing him. “That’s how it happened with me, Samuel. I was the nanny to a wealthy family in England. But when the girl grew too old, I suddenly had a life of my own. And so I came here, to New York City. I met a man on the boat, and during our voyage, we fell in love and began to talk of a life together.” She looked at her lap.
“What happened?” Bertie stopped his playing and cuddled against Samuel’s chest. Samuel cupped his head with a hand.
“We ended up at Five Points, along with a million other immigrants. Once here, I saw the children in need and knew I had to do something to save them. And so I used what little money I had and rented this place and took them in, trusting God to provide contributions and food and clothing enough to keep us open.”
“And the man?”
She shrugged. “He had other plans that did not involve raising other people’s children.” She retrieved the lap quilt Bertie had dragged into the room and helped Samuel wrap it around the toddler.
“I’m sorry,” he said, tucking Bertie in.
“I’m not.” She went to check the potatoes. “I sacrificed one kind of love for another.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Perhaps Miss Wallace could join you in your work here?”
He laughed, then felt guilty for it. His attention was drawn to the quilt around Bertie. He fingered the faded blue cottons. “You should see the bridal quilt Ada’s making, full of velvets and satins, embellished with all sorts of embroidery. Not practical at all. She’s not practical.”
“She’s had no reason to be. Perhaps you give her too little credit. If she loves you, she’ll join you in your work. For isn’t marriage a partnership?”
Samuel remembered that Ada had offered to come with him to take Nusa home. He’d been the one to tell her no, because Five Points was no place for a lady.
No place for Ada.
Looking around the room—even though he’d grown fond of this place and enjoyed using his allowance to provide for some of its needs—he had a hard time imagining Ada here. How could he ask a princess to visit a slum?
Eliza stopped her work and looked at him. “Forgive an old woman for stirring things up. You and Ada have your whole lives ahead of you. Relish each other and the time you have together.”
“But you gave up your love and your time together.”
“What’s right for one is not right for all.”
And yet …
As Samuel rocked little Bertie to sleep, the subject haunted him.
Samuel sat at his desk at the bank—a desk that had been vacant too many days, as he’d given much of his time to the foundling home.
He felt disconnected, as if he was returning to another life.
For that’s what it was. In the bank, he was Samuel T. Alcott, heir to the Alcott fortune. At the Merciful Children Foundling Home, he was Papa Samuel, a colleague, and a member of a family.
And then there was his life with Ada. Because of the influenza, they hadn’t seen each other in weeks. They’d communicated through notes, but notes were far from enough.
He felt her slipping away—and knew it was his fault, that he was the one backing up and putting distance between them.
Samuel’s grandfather entered his office, his face stern.
“Good morning, Grandfather.”
The elder Alcott skipped the pleasantries and pointed a finger toward Samuel’s desk. “Get out your personal ledger.”
Samuel’s stomach flipped. He knew what was going to happen and had dreaded the moment. But there was no escape.
He pulled out the ledger and handed it over. His grandfather opened it, ran a finger along the columns, and jabbed at the final number.
“What’s this here? I see you’ve gone through all your allowance this month—and then some.”
“I’ve had a few expenses of late.”
“I never thought Ada was such a demanding girl. After you marry, you’ll have to put her on a budget.”
Samuel hated that Ada had taken the blame. “The money hasn’t gone to Ada.”
His grandfather hesitated. “You haven’t been gambling, have you?”
“Of course not.” He might as well say it. “I’ve been working down at Five Points, at a foundling home. They’ve needed some repairs and supplies, and I’ve used my money for that.”
Grandfather paused, but only for an instant. “It’s that orphan girl you brought home, isn’t it? She’s the cause of all this.”
“She was the impetus that opened my eyes to their need.”
“Charity is fine, Samuel—it’s even commendable—but there is a limit.”
Samuel found the statement odd. “Is there?”
His grandfather’s eyebrows rose. “So you wish to give all your money to the poor.”
“Isn’t that what Jesus told the rich man to do?”
“What are you talking about?”
It was a Bible story his grandmother had taught him, a story forgotten until lately. “A rich man approaches Jesus and asks what he must do to gain eternal life. Jesus tells him he needs to be willing to give up everything, distribute it to the poor, and follow Him.”
Grandfather stood there aghast, which made Samuel panic.
“We have so much, Grandfather, and they need so much. In fact, I thought it would be wonderful if we could build them a better place, perhaps in a safer neighborhood, and—”
Grandfather planted a finger on the desk, leaning forward. His voice was a harsh whisper. “I have so much. You have nothing without me. And if you continue with this folly, I will make sure you get nothing from me. Not a penny.”
Samuel couldn’t believe what he was hearing. How could his grandfather threaten to disinherit him? How had his simple acts of kindness come to this?
His anger pushed him to standing—but his legs were weak. “Then there it is. We’re in agreement. You want to give nothing, and I want to receive nothing.” On impulse, Samuel grabbed his coat and hat from the rack.
“Where are you going?”
“To a place where I’m truly needed.”
His grandfather’s voice softened. “Whoa now, boy. You’re needed here, Samuel. And I do admire your altruistic heart. But God also wants us to be wise, and to be strong and do the work.”
“But the important work is not here at the bank.”
Grandfather shook his head. “There, you are wrong. For without the investment of this bank’s money, dozens of businesses would not exist. Hundreds—if not thousands—of people would not be employed in those businesses, and all those families would be hungry and in need. You must find balance, boy. It does not have to be all or nothing. You need to find a compromise.”
Samuel knew what his grandfather was saying was wise and prudent. But he was weary of straddling both worlds. “I’m being torn in two. Or three.”
“Then mend yourself together again.” Grandfather moved to leave the office, then turned one last time. “I don’t discount your situation, Samuel, but enough is enough. Your work here, your life here, deserves more than you’re giving it.”
“Perhaps it’s more than I have to give.”
Grandfather was taken aback. “What are you saying?”
Samuel wasn’t sure—until he heard his own words. “I’m done here. I’m done with this life. I choose to go where I’m truly needed, to the place where God has led me.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. God’s put you right here, and it’s time you set aside this other nonsense and get to—”
Samuel felt as if he would burst. “I’m sorry, but I can’t. I just can’t.” He brushed past his grandfather and left the office.
Grandfather called after him. “If you leave this building, you’re giving up your job and your home. You’ll be on your own, Samuel. Completely on your own!”
Samuel’s heart beat wildly in his throat as he raced through the bank and out onto the street. He strode down the sidewalk, his head low, his coat flowing behind him. With each step he repeated an admonition. What have I done? What have I done?
Then suddenly, he stopped. I know exactly what I’ve done. And I know exactly where I need to go.
He walked on.
Ada poured Nana some tea. “I’m so glad you’re feeling well enough to come down to the parlor. I’m sure you’re ready for a change of scenery.”
“I’m ready to feel well. I’m weaker than a newborn foal.”
Ada was not surprised. Nana had eaten little but soup and Carr’s crackers for weeks. “What if I ask Cook to make you some toast?”
“With apple butter?”
Ada smiled. “If I have to make it myself.” She pulled the bell pull, summoned the maid, and made her request. Then she settled in with her proposal quilt block, readying the scraps of her Christmas dress for application. The red and green plaid was festive and joyful—as she would be on that happy day—just two days away.
They heard someone at the door, and Ada stood, ready to receive their visitor.
Wilson answered it, and Ada was thrilled to see Samuel come in. She rushed into the foyer, ready to encase him in an embrace. It had been so long—too long.
But something about his stance made her hold back.
“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” he said, “and I wasn’t sure if you were seeing visitors yet, but I … I …”
His face was drawn, his forehead furrowed. Something was terribly wrong. “I’m glad you came. I’ve missed you terribly. Please come in. Today Nana has come downstairs for the first time.”
After Wilson took his coat and hat, Samuel ran a hand through his hair. Then he followed Ada into the parlor. “Mrs. Bauer. How good to see you up and around.”
“How good to be up and around,” she said. “Please sit, Samuel, and tell us what’s happened in the world during the weeks of my confinement.”
He took a seat but seemed baffled by her question. This was not like Samuel, who was always at ease talking about any subject. “I’m afraid I haven’t been out in the world much lately. I’ve been busy with …” He looked to Ada. “Ada, pardon me, but may I speak to you in private, please?”
From the tone of his voice, that was the last thing she wanted, but Nana gave her permission, saying, “Go on now, children. I’m ready to take a little doze. Go have your discussion in the morning room.”
Ada kissed her then led Samuel to her mother’s study. Sunlight streamed through the east windows, warming the room. She closed the doors.
He motioned toward the settee, and she took a place at one end while he sat at the other. He seemed totally exhausted, and nervous, and …
“You’re scaring me, Samuel.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to, but …” He took a fresh breath and the words came out in a rush. “My grandfather and I had an argument, and I’m disinherited. I’ve also lost my job and am not welcome in my home—his home.”
Ada had no idea what to say but finally managed, “Why?”
“Because of the foundling home. I’ve been spending some of my—most of my—time and money there, repairing things and buying them much-needed supplies, and he doesn’t approve. He’s cut me off and turned me out.”
A thousand thoughts pummeled Ada’s mind. She wanted to support him, but he was foolish to alienate his grandfather and lose everything. Surely some compromise could be made. “I appreciate your heart for the poor. And I applaud your generosity. But must it be all or nothing?”
He sat silent a moment, his breathing heavy, his eyes locked on the air between them. “I feel called to help them. It’s as if this is what I was born to do. It’s my destiny.”
Her empathy weakened. “I thought being married to me was your destiny. You’ve told me as much.”
“I know.” His eyes met hers, and a wave of panic flowed through her until she felt ready to drown. “I believed that. But I don’t know how to reconcile my love for you with this purpose I feel compelled to fulfill.”
“I thought we were getting engaged. You said you were giving me something special at Christmas. This isn’t what I had in mind.”
“Nor is it what I had in mind.”
She took his hands. “Then don’t do it. Help the children, but marry me.”
He shook his head back and forth, back and forth. “I have no home, no job, and no income. I have nothing to offer you.”
She put a hand upon his heart. “Offer me this. I only want your heart, Samuel. You know you already have mine.”
He stood, causing her hands to fall away. “I can’t marry you, Ada. I can’t make you suffer for my choice.”
“But I choose you and all that you are, and all that you do.” A new thought surfaced. “I’ll go with you and help you with your work. We can do it together.”
His face turned wistful. “God called me to this. It’s not for everyone. It’s not for you.”
“But how do you know? How do I know? You’re not giving me a chance.”
He stood. “I have to leave.”
“Samuel!”
Ada ran after him, through the wide hallway and into the foyer where Wilson hurriedly gathered Samuel’s coat and hat.
“Samuel, you can’t do this to me. To us.”
“I’m so sorry, Ada. I’m so sorry.”
The sound of the closing door echoed in Ada’s ears.
“Ada?”
It was Nana. Ada hated that she’d witnessed their parting. As had the butler. Soon the entire household would know of her rejection, her shame. For buried within Samuel’s rejection was the fact that he didn’t trust her heart or her capabilities.
Ada stumbled into the parlor, not daring to meet Nana’s eyes.
“What happened?”
She couldn’t talk now. She couldn’t explain the unexplainable.
Instead, she gathered the scraps of her Christmas dress—the dress she was going to wear on the day of her proposal—and took them to the hearth.
Where they met a fiery death.