I’m going home today.
Samuel looked around the guest room for the last time. He would miss the people who had visited him here. Ada and Grandfather, Mrs. Bauer, and John.
Not Mrs. Wallace.
He couldn’t get the image of Ada’s mother out of his mind. Or her command: “Go away, Samuel Alcott.”
He understood why she hated him. In many ways he hated himself.
But Ada … He doubted he would ever love again. Not in that way. He loved the children as his own, and loved Eliza as the big sister he’d never had, but he knew that the part of his heart reserved for a wife, a partner, and a soul mate was closed. Whether by God’s design or his own folly, the door was locked, the key misplaced.
With a hand to his sore ribs, he stood and held the bedpost for support. He’d done a good job of convincing John he was well enough to return to Five Points. But the truth was far less certain.
He hated to be a burden to Eliza, but he had to leave here and stop this torture.
He thought back to the carriage, to the first time he’d opened his eyes and had seen Ada looking back at him. In his delirium during the days that followed, he’d heard her voice. She’d been the one to guide him through his haze into clarity. He’d even felt her touch and had taken comfort in it. If only he could hold her one more time, kiss her—
Stop it! She belongs to another man. You rejected her. You caused all this. You …
Are a fool.
Getting Samuel home became a production. John was going along as a doctor—to help Samuel negotiate the carriage and to inform those on the other end as to Samuel’s medical needs.
Mr. Alcott had insisted on going, for he wanted to see this foundling home that had stolen his grandson’s loyalty.
And Nana, who hadn’t been out of the house in over two years, was going along because Mr. Alcott was going. Plus, she’d always had a soft heart for children.
And finally Ada, who had never imagined seeing Samuel to his destination, became a part of the farewell party—in spite of her mother’s protests. This—at least she could have this.
The seating arrangement in the carriage was exactly to Ada’s preferences. John sat outside with the coachman, leaving room for Mr. Alcott and Samuel with their backs to the horses and the ladies facing them. Although Ada would have liked to feel Samuel’s arm against hers, to be able to see him, knowing within a short time she might never see him again …
It was bittersweet, but better than nothing.
She looked at the two men sitting across from her. They were members of the same family tree, a tree with wealthy roots. Yet they had ventured onto two very different branches, each with its own distinct purpose and reach.
The world needed both of them. Mr. Alcott’s entrepreneurship was the sap that made America grow and flourish. He created jobs. And as a banker he loaned other entrepreneurs money to go after their dreams. Without this type of ingenuity and risk-taking, the working class would all fall into poverty.
Poverty. Five Points. Children without a home.
Ada looked at Samuel and received a wistful smile. Samuel had chosen an upper branch, one not often touched by human hands. But were the fruits of his labors any less important simply because they were less seen? To take care of children, to help them trust again, to help them feel of worth, was a fruit that could reap riches beyond measure. Who knew what those children would do or be when they grew up? Would one of them become president? Or create some invention that would change the world? Or fall in love and marry and have a houseful of children of their own?
This last bounty was priceless yet harder to measure than the success that revealed itself on ledger sheets. Ada was going to marry Owen. They would have children. The parade of generations would go on. To be fair, she knew she should tell Samuel about her betrothal, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. To tell him the truth would forever separate them.
Distance would accomplish that of its own accord.
“What’s got you thinking so deeply, Miss Wallace?” Mr. Alcott asked.
“Oh, nothing.”
Oh, everything.
Samuel led the way up the steps of the foundling home. He was nervous. How would Ada and Grandfather react to it? Would they be repulsed by what they’d see? Or would their hearts be softened? He knew it didn’t really matter, but he still wanted them to understand why he had given them up.
“This is it,” he said, leading the group inside. He nearly made apologies in advance but stopped himself. There were no apologies to be made. It was what it was.
Eliza came into the small entry foyer from the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. “Samuel!”
She ran toward him and encased him in a rocking embrace that caused him pain—which he disguised. “Where have you been? Are you all right?” she asked. She gently touched a cut on his face.
“I had an accident with a horse. The Wallaces took me in and cared for me.” He didn’t go into more details. There was plenty of time for that.
The children heard the ruckus and came rushing from all corners of the house, hugging his legs and wrapping their arms around his waist. “Papa Samuel! You’re back!”
“Ich verfehlte Sie.”
“Sono felice che siete bene.”
Samuel put his hands on their heads and told them he’d missed them, too. Home. He was home. There was nothing like it.
“Back, children. Back,” Eliza said. “Give him room to breathe.” Eliza finally gave her attention to the others. “And who have we here?”
Mr. Alcott removed his hat and gave her a bow. “Good day, ma’am. I am Nathaniel Alcott, Samuel’s grandfather.”
Eliza bobbed a curtsy. “Very nice to meet you, I’m sure.”
Samuel took over the introductions, taking Ada’s arm and moving her close. “Eliza Hathaway, this is Ada Wallace.”
Eliza’s eyes grew large, and she looked to Samuel for confirmation that this was the Ada Wallace. Samuel nodded.
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Wallace. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about you.”
Samuel checked Ada’s reaction. She seemed perplexed, as if she couldn’t imagine Samuel saying anything nice about her. That made him sad.
Mrs. Bauer stepped forward. “And I am Ada’s grandmother, and this”—she drew John forward—“this is my grandson, John. Dr. John Wallace. He’s been caring for Samuel.”
John offered a bow. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Glad to meet all of you.”
“You have quite a gaggle there,” John said, pointing to the children.
Samuel looked to Ada as he answered. “These are my children.”
“Plus one,” Eliza said, nodding to a little girl who stood away from the others on the bottom stair. “I found her yesterday, hiding under the stairs in the alley. Her name is Francesca. She’s Italian.”
Samuel nudged his way through the children and went to sit on the bottom step. He didn’t move to hug her, knowing that many of these children were wary of contact. “Ciao, Francesca. Il mio nome è Samuel. Il felice voi sono qui.”
“My goodness,” Ada said. “You know Italian?”
Once again Eliza answered for him. “Living where we do, we’ve both had to learn a little Italian, German, French, Russian—”
“And Yiddish,” Samuel said. “I learn enough to make the children feel welcome. But they are doing the hard work. All of them are learning English.”
“I admire your ear for languages,” Mr. Alcott said. “I can barely order from a French menu. I have no talent for it at all.”
“Neither did I,” Samuel said. “Until I had no choice.” He patted the stair, inviting Francesca to sit next to him. She did so, and he touched her raven-black hair. It was as soft as silk.
Eliza clapped her hands. “Come, children. Time for your English lesson with Mama Lottie.” The children ran into the parlor nearby, and Ada could see rows of mismatched chairs, all facing in one direction. A young woman stood at the front with a chalkboard in hand. Little Francesca left Samuel’s side to join the others.
“Would you like some coffee?” Eliza asked.
“That would be wonderful,” John said.
“And I’d like a tour,” Mr. Alcott said. “Show us around, Samuel. I want to see everything.”
Samuel was surprised by his grandfather’s interest but glad for it. “Come. I’ll show you where the children sleep.”
As they headed upstairs, Mrs. Bauer took the railing with one hand and Mr. Alcott’s arm with the other. “Are you coming, Ada?”
“Of course.”
Samuel swept an arm toward the hallway. “We have four bedrooms on this floor, and there are two rooms in the attic, one for children and one for me. Eliza stays in a room off the kitchen, and Lottie is married and lives elsewhere. That’s the extent of our operation. Nothing fancy.”
Ada walked by doorways that revealed small but neat rooms crowded with cots, beds, and bedrolls, three to a room.
“Very nice,” she said, though nice was an exaggeration. She saw rags shoved between the window sash and sill. A child had drawn a face in the frost on the inside of the glass. It was starting to snow. “This room has nice light.”
“A few rooms don’t have any windows at all, so this one is prized.” Samuel moved to the end of the hall. “Let me show you the attic. Some of the girls have spruced up their room with bits of tin.”
“Tin?”
“Come. I’ll show you.”
Samuel led the way up a narrow staircase. Among the eaves there were two rooms, one on either side. He pointed to the left. “See there? The girls have taken it upon themselves to make their room prettier. They find bits of metal and old cans on the street, flatten them, and punch designs in the tin.”
One wall was their gallery, showcasing their odd art. It was an admirable attempt to create beauty where none had been before.
“And this is my room,” he said, pointing to the room on the other side of the small landing. “It’s small and unadorned. Hardly a place for …” He looked to the floor and let the sentence die.
He’d deemed the room unworthy of her.
Ada took a step inside the room. The space was smaller than the girls’ portion of the attic, the furniture scuffed and in need of paint. A dresser, bed, bedside table, washbasin and pitcher, and chair. The room was the size of her bathroom back home.
She didn’t dare ask about those facilities—if there were any.
“I suppose this is very disappointing to all of you,” he said. “And incomprehensible.”
Ada wasn’t sure what to say. For this he’d given her up, given up his own family, his inheritance, and his way of life.
“You are one in a thousand men, Samuel Alcott,” Nana said.
“Among thousands of children who need my help. If only we could help them all.”
With Mr. Alcott’s help, Nana sat on the one chair. “‘Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God.’”
Samuel smiled. “Exactly.”
His grandfather took a deep breath. “I smell coffee. Shall we?”
As they had to descend the attic stairs in single file, Ada purposely held back in order to have a moment with Samuel. “I’m glad you showed me all this,” she said when they were alone.
“So you understand?”
She couldn’t honestly answer him in the affirmative. She understood the need; she saw the good they were doing. But the sacrifice …
He touched her arm. “Ada? Do you understand why I gave up everything to be here?”
She touched his hand with her gloved fingers. “I’m trying to.”
Samuel followed Ada downstairs. He was glad she’d come but was dismayed that she still didn’t understand his choice, that his rejection of her was because of something bigger than them both. And that even though he loved her, he’d made the right choice.
Because the foundling home was no place for Ada.
As they descended the main staircase to the first floor, he fought this statement. Who was he to say such a thing? God had a purpose in mind for Ada, just as He’d led Samuel to his destiny. Now that she’d seen the home, seen the need, seen the children, the seed had been planted.
But she’s going to be married to a wealthy man. She’s going to live the life she’s always known.
The entire issue was too much for Samuel to dissect.
It was up to Ada to water the seed or let it perish.
Lord, guide her.
“Well now,” Eliza said as Ada and Samuel came into the parlor.
“There you are. Did you enjoy your tour?”
“Very much.”
Eliza responded, but Ada didn’t hear because she was enraptured by the sight of Nana starting a game of cat’s cradle with a little girl.
“I see you’ve met Nusa again,” Samuel said.
“Shh!” Nana said as she carefully pinched the right strings to continue the game. “I haven’t done this in years….” She successfully completed the transfer, and it was Nusa’s turn.
Nusa. The little girl saved by Samuel a year ago. The little girl who’d opened his eyes to the needs of all children. The little girl who’d been instrumental in the destruction of Ada’s future with the man she loved.
Ada suffered a shiver. It was too coincidental. Only somehow it wasn’t.
“Ohhh! Ich lieB es fallen!” Nana dropped the cat’s cradle, and Nusa laughed.
Ada’s thoughts swam. Everyone seemed so at ease here, as if they’d come a hundred times before.
She felt no ease, only confusion. And the need to leave. Immediately.
“We should go,” she said.
Eliza held forth a cup. “But you haven’t had your coffee.”
Ada shook her head, feeling claustrophobic. “I need air.” She apologized and rushed outside.
Samuel followed her. A gentle snow fell, dotting their shoulders.
“Ada, why are you upset?”
How could she explain the complexity of her thoughts? “I’m thrilled to have seen you again, Samuel. And I admire the work you’re doing here. As Nana said, you are one man in a thousand.”
He reached forward and touched her hand. “But I am still just a man. And I …” He took a fresh breath. “I wish you every future happiness, Ada.”
With that, he returned inside. The visit cut short, the others passed him on their way out, calling their good-byes.
The coachman helped Ada into the carriage. She wanted to be quickly gone. Away from this place. From him. To leave would cause pain, but to linger …
As the carriage moved away from the curb, she felt all eyes on her. “You were rude, child,” Nana said. “What got into you?”
She shook her head and looked out the window.
“I, for one, was very impressed,” Mr. Alcott said. “Yes, the conditions are minimal and bare, but the children seem happy.”
“And healthy,” John said. “I offered Miss Hathaway my services if there is ever a need.”
Their acceptance and good opinions only added to Ada’s inner turmoil.
After dropping Mr. Alcott at his home and John at the Academy, Ada helped Nana upstairs.
“I’ve tackled more stairs in this one day than I’ve tackled in a year,” Nana said, gripping the massive walnut railing.
“To think that until recently you rarely came down.”
“Silly me. Learn from my mistakes, child. If you give up on life, life will give up on you.”
It was the perfect segue. “Giving up on life … that’s what I need to talk to you about.”
At the landing, Nana paused, her eyebrows high. “The visit today affected you?”
“How could it not? Let’s talk in your room.”
Once there, Ada shut the door, poked the fire to life, and placed a blanket over her grandmother’s legs as she sat by the fire. Ada took a seat in a facing chair and plunged ahead.
“It was hard seeing the foundling home,” Ada said.
“A fact you made perfectly clear. Rushing out of there as if the entire place was below your dignity … Really, Ada.”
“But it wasn’t that.”
“Oh, wasn’t it?”
Fine. She’d deal with her reservations first. “They had rags stuffed in the windows and frost on the inside.”
Nana pointed to her own bedroom windows. “Go over there. If you move aside the draperies, what do you see?”
Ada pulled aside the massive brocade. “There’s frost on the windows.”
“Glass is glass, child. We have draperies to block the draft. They have rags. Your next objection?”
“They’re not objections, Nana. Just observations.”
“Such as …?”
“The beds … many of them are mere cots with only a thin blanket as a covering.”
“And …?”
“And Samuel’s room up in the attic—it was tiny. There aren’t even proper walls. Just open beams and studs and—”
Nana rolled her eyes. “Did you only see what they didn’t have and not see what they did have?”
Ada hated that Nana thought badly of her. “Of course I saw what they have. They have each other, and I know love trumps all the not-haves I can name.”
Nana seemed to relax. “Now that’s a proper observation.”
“I tried to think of myself there—for a year ago I had offered to go with him.”
“And?”
This is where it got difficult. “I actually think I would have grown used to the simpler conditions. If I would have been with Samuel, I’m not sure much of that would have mattered.”
“Good for you.” She studied Ada’s face. “But something else is bothering you.”
“I don’t know anything about children.”
“What’s to know? Children are simple creatures. They need food in their stomachs, a roof over their heads, and clothes on their bodies. But most of all, they need attention and love.”
She made it sound so simple. Ada fingered the braid on her skirt and moved on to the next issue. “After seeing it all … I do think I understand why Samuel chose that life. In fact, I’m kind of jealous.”
“Now there’s an unexpected twist.”
“I know. It surprised me, too,” Ada said. “What struck me is that Samuel lives a life full of deep emotions. He felt called by God to this purpose. He felt it so deeply he gave up everything.” She cocked her head, her cheeks warming. “I’d like to feel things so deeply. I don’t want to give up on life. I don’t want to settle. And I’d like God to call me to some purpose.”
Nana leaned forward and patted Ada’s hand. “Maybe He just has.”
Really?
Ada was glad there was a back to her chair. “But Father and Mother insist I marry Owen.”
“The way I see it, the call of the heavenly Father usurps any earthly one.”
Ada was shocked by Nana’s turnaround. “So you want me to disobey them?”
“I want you to take a breath, calm down, and pray about it. Ask God to show you His plan.”
Her mind swam with possibilities. And yet there was one hitch…. “Samuel never told me he still loves me.”
“Did you tell him you still love him?”
Ada scrolled through their conversations since he’d awakened. “After the engagement I realized I did love him, and I made my choice. I wanted to be with Samuel, and I marched into his room to tell him—asleep or no. And I did tell him I love him. But then he woke up, and I worried about what he felt toward me, and then my parents ordered me to marry Owen, and Mother insisted he leave, and … it all happened so fast.”
“Then slow it down, child. Ask God the questions, and give Him time to arrange the answers.”
“Arrange the answers?”
“‘God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.’”
Ada could hear the music of the familiar hymn in her head. An excitement stirred inside her. To anticipate God’s leading …
She suddenly stood. “I have to go.”
Nana smiled “And …?”
“I’ll let you know what He says.”