Two

Chandler rose from his desk, stretched, and rubbed the back of his neck. It was well after midnight, and his weary eyes ached for sleep. Climbing the stairs, he checked on the children one last time before he turned in. He’d organized his thoughts and had lists for himself and Miss Fairchild to follow. This ball had to be a success—it just had to be.

Miss Fairchild. . . He shook his head; she puzzled him. Leaning over Sarah, he pulled her covers up under her chin. Then he moved on to the boys’ room. As he went down the row of sleeping children, he thought of her offer to work without compensation. He smiled, remembering the passion in her eyes and the determination in her voice. She’d give up everything for the children—just as he would.

Bending to cover Frankie, he heard soft crying. Straightening, he strained to listen. Frankie’s bed sat at the end of the row closest to Magdalene’s door. Muffled sobs came from the other side of the wall. He stood frozen, wondering what to do. In the end, he only tiptoed from the room, knowing the impropriety of knocking upon her door. A part of him longed to offer her comfort, aware the same painful burden broke both their hearts.

Chandler returned to his office and opened the Bible that always rested on the corner of his desk. He knelt and read Matthew 11:28–30 several times. “Lord, I need rest from this heavy burden, as does Miss Fairchild.” He prayed for them both, for the children, and the future of the orphanage. Rising, he turned off the gaslight and headed for the kitchen door.

The sight of Magdalene—head down on the table, a cup of milk nearby, and sobs wracking her entire being—stopped him dead in his tracks. She sat up straight, looking in his direction. Moonlight pouring in through the kitchen window revealed her startled expression and her tear-drenched face. She clutched her robe tighter around the neck. Long hair draped around her like a cloak. The sight of her, soft and vulnerable, caught him off guard. Careful not to step any closer, he leaned against the doorjamb for support, not sure what to say. Their gazes locked and neither spoke. His heartbeat quickened.

Finally, Magdalene broke the spell. She averted her eyes toward the window and in a barely audible voice said, “I thought you’d already gone to your cottage for the night.” Self-consciously, she touched her hair.

“No.” He had an overwhelming urge to go to her, wrap her in his arms, and wipe the tears away. Where had those thoughts come from? This was Miss Fairchild, for heaven’s sake—the woman who wanted nothing to do with him, not even friendship. “I heard you crying. . . .” He paused when her gaze returned to his and his heart momentarily stopped beating. The sadness, the fear, the uncertainty in her eyes echoed all the emotions rumbling through him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She wiped fresh tears from her cheek.

Swallowing hard, he refocused on the full moon through the opening in the lacy curtains. “You didn’t bother me. I’d gone up to check on the children.”

“Do you do that every night? I mean, I’ve heard you occasionally and wondered.”

He smiled, feeling silly. Caught in his secret ritual, he nodded. “Just about this time, once I finish the bookwork.”

“You work too hard.” The compassion and caring in her voice pulled his attention back to her moonlit face. She seemed so different tonight—so feminine.

“I do what needs to be done, just as you do.”

“Chan—Mr. Alexandre.” She ducked her head, obviously embarrassed by her slip. “What will happen—”

“Don’t even entertain those thoughts. We’ll find a way. We must.”

She nodded.

“No more tears.” He hadn’t intended to sound so gruff.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered. “For them, for myself.” Their gazes locked once again. “Even for you.”

“I know.” Terror gripped his heart as well. “But we mustn’t give in to worries. We can’t. We just can’t. . . .” He moved to leave, glancing at her one more time, wanting to remember the way she looked tonight.

“I’ll try not to disappoint you.”

“And I shall try not to disappoint you or them. Good night, Miss Fairchild. Try to get some sleep.”

He left the orphanage through the kitchen, heading to the caretaker’s cottage just a few steps away. The sight of the moon brought new thoughts of Magdalene. His raw emotions from the long day must have somehow gotten tangled and confused, because all sorts of crazy ideas and feelings about her danced through him. Stopping on his cottage porch, he looked up at her window. Tonight marked the first time he’d actually viewed her as an appealing woman, and it scared him almost as much as the loss of funds did.

❧

Exhausted, Magdalene dragged herself from bed. She’d slept little and the puffy bags under her eyes verified the fact as she brushed her hair and stared into the looking glass. As she dressed for the trip home, memories of Chandler standing in the kitchen doorway earlier this morning taunted her. She felt her cheeks heat up. How she’d yearned for the comfort of his arms.

“Stop!” She spoke sternly. “You’re a spinster,” she reminded the woman in the mirror. “A large-boned, sturdy spinster, at that. No time for silly, girlish musings.”

She woke the children, helping the younger ones into their best outfits. Most were tattered and faded, but they were better than the play clothes they normally donned. She took extra time tying ribbons in Sarah’s and the other three girls’ hair.

The breakfast bell rang and Magdalene shooed the girls down the stairs. The boys had finished their preparations and gone down long ago. They gathered around the table.

“Mr. Alexandre, do I look beautiful?” Sarah twirled before him.

“Very beautiful. All you girls look pretty as queens.”

They giggled at his response. How sad, girls of all ages longed for a man’s approval—even her. Magdalene bit her lower lip.

“Pwetty as Miss Maggie?” Frankie’s innocent question mortified Magdalene. She hated Chandler being reminded how plain she was.

Chandler smiled at her, undaunted.

Magdalene rushed to fill the silence before Chandler responded. “Girls, don’t worry about what Mr. Alexandre thinks—or any other man for that matter. As long as you feel pretty, you are.” She raised her chin, silently challenging him to dispute her claim. He had the good sense not to. They all took their seats around the table. If only she felt attractive. Truth be known, she ached to hear someone tell her, even if it wasn’t true.

After breakfast, Chandler helped her bundle the children up and get them settled in the old buckboard—their only transportation into town. He helped her into the back so she could keep an eye on their charges. Bobby sat next to Chandler on the creaky, wooden seat.

Magdalene led the children in rounds of “Oh Susannah,” “Carry Me Back to Old Virginny,” and “Camp Town Races.” Then they played the Thankful Game, each naming reasons they had to be thankful. Time passed quickly and before long, Chandler reined the horses to a stop at the bottom of Rincon Hill, where Magdalene’s family resided in a small cottage—very different from their once-glorious mansion on Nob Hill.

Chandler lifted Magdalene down from the buckboard. His touch, as always, sent chills down her spine. She avoided glancing into those midnight eyes and attempted to rush away from his presence, only his hold remained firmly about her waist.

“Have a nice Thanksgiving.”

“Thank you.” She stared at his feet, afraid he might see all her secrets.

He lifted her chin, and his tender eyes sent her heart racing. Leaning toward her, he whispered, “Don’t be afraid. Together, we will find a way to keep things going.”

She nodded. Together. What a sweet sounding word. Stop! He’s talking about saving the orphanage—nothing more!

He let go of her chin, and Magdalene ran up the hill toward the cottage, not allowing herself a backward glance. Thank the good Lord she had a whole day away from him and a chance at regaining a little composure. Suddenly, he seemed so different—so friendly.

“I’m home,” she called out the moment her feet hit the steps to the porch.

Mother and Father rushed to the door and greeted her with hugs. Isabel came out of the room they’d once shared, appearing very grown up. The front of her carrot red hair was pulled up, and the back hung down in ringlets. Emerald eyes matched the dress she wore. Once, it had belonged to Magdalene, but she’d left it behind, having no need for party dresses.

“Magdalene, you’re finally here! I have so much to tell you.” Izzy spun around the room for Magdalene to get the full effect of her hair and dress. “Come.” She grabbed her hand. “I must fix you up for the occasion.”

Magdalene’s indignation rose. “What’s wrong with the way I look?”

“Nothing.” Isabel grinned and her dimples showed themselves. She nearly dragged Magdalene into the bedroom. “Close your eyes. I have a wonderful surprise.”

Magdalene stood in the center of the room, eyes closed.

“You may peek now.” Isabel’s voice sang with pleasure.

Isabel held one of the most beautiful dresses Magdalene had ever seen. She reached out, sliding her hand over the cool burgundy silk, loving the slippery texture. “Izzy, how beautiful.”

“I made it,” she declared proudly.

“You made this?” Magdalene could hardly believe the words. The dress was so near perfect, she’d assumed Isabel bought it.

“For the Christmas season.”

Isabel pulled out another dress of plain blue cotton and held the frock out toward her. “And I made this for you!”

“For me? But why?” Magdalene took the dress from her.

“I wanted you to have something new that wasn’t faded for the holidays, and since you like practical, I kept it simple.”

Even though what Izzy said was true, she felt disappointed at another reminder of her plain existence. She forced a smile. “Thank you, Izzy.” She hugged Isabel, wrinkling the dress in the process.

“Sit down, Madam.” Isabel bowed toward the old wooden chair at the dressing table. “I shall fix your hair and prepare you to wear such a fine garment.”

Magdalene followed orders, deciding, just for today, primping would be fun. Maybe she’d even end up feeling beautiful.

Isabel chattered as she worked with Magdalene’s hair to put it in a looser, softer style. Patiently she wet each strand and made ringlets around her finger to frame her sister’s face. “Quite a few young men have asked Father to court me, but there’s only one man I hope asks, and he has yet to figure out I’m alive. But after today, he shall know.”

Magdalene listened unenthusiastically. Envy crept into her heart. Isabel had her choice of many, yet Magdalene didn’t have a choice of even one. God, help me to be happy for her. Help me not to yearn for what she has.

“Magdalene? Did you even hear me?”

“I’m sorry, Izzy. What did you say?”

“Do you think a man of twenty-six is too old for me? Everyone says I’m mature for seventeen.”

“I guess not.” Her answer sounded half-hearted at best, but Isabel didn’t seem to notice.

“I think I’m in love. I’m certain he’s the one for me. Do you believe in love at first sight?”

She thought back to the first time she’d met Chandler Alexandre. She’d certainly been intrigued.

“I don’t know—”

“Because Mother says she loved Father long before they met. And I’m certain I love Chandler.”

Magdalene’s heart plunged to the floor. “Chandler? Chandler who?”

“Your boss, Silly.”

Magdalene jumped up from the chair, causing Isabel to pull her hair in the process. “How can you love him? You don’t even know him!” How could she go on working with him if her own sister married the man she secretly adored?

“I will after today.” Isabel shot her a wait-and-see look.

“What do you mean? How will you meet him today?”

“That’s the rest of your surprise. Father ran into Mr. Alexandre, and he invited our family to share in their Thanksgiving feast. They were once good friends before Father left the bank.”

Magdalene sat down on the bed, sensing she might faint dead away. “Surely not.”

“Aren’t you thrilled for me? Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Magdalene could scarcely take it all in. “How? How did this happen?”

“I’ve become friends with his niece, Josephine. She adores her uncle Chandler and talks about him all of the time. I’ve seen his picture and fallen in love. How can you work beside him everyday and not be in love with him yourself?”

How indeed? “He’s not my type.” She’d never admit the truth aloud and risk greater humiliation.

“Do you even have a type?”

“No, Izzy, I don’t,” she snapped. “Are you finished with my hair?”

“Almost. Come back over to the chair.”

Isabel wore a wounded expression, and Magdalene felt guilty. Anger seethed within toward her sister for falling for the same man. No, truth be known, the anger was at herself for falling for Chandler and with Isabel because she’d be the one to win his heart. Magdalene wouldn’t ever win Chandler or any other man, even if Izzy helped spruce her up.

When they arrived at the Alexandre estate near the top of Nob Hill, Magdalene could scarcely take in all the grandeur. Their mansion looked like a castle from the fairy-tale book Mother used to read to her as a child. Somewhere beyond the wrought iron gate there must be a prince—a prince her sister had set her sights on, and Magdalene couldn’t even find a frog.

❧

Chandler had given the orphans a tour of the house. He’d just started down the grand staircase when two young women in the foyer caught his eye. The one in the sky blue dress turned slightly. “Magdalene!” He stopped halfway down after nearly losing his footing, and his heart stopped as well. What ailed him? Perhaps seeing her coppery hair in the softer style caught him off guard. Maybe the crisp, unfaded dress that matched her eyes caused his reaction, or possibly the color in her normally pale cheeks was affecting him.

“Mr. Alexandre.” She greeted him as one would a stranger. Disappointment filled him. Where had the tender woman he’d glimpsed last night disappeared to?

“Miss Maggie!” The children ran past him down the stairs and hugged her. Her stern expression diminished as she greeted each of them.

The other young woman moved away from the children and smiled up at him. He nodded and grinned back. Her eyelashes fluttered downward to hide her emerald eyes.

“Ah, here he is now.” Chandler’s mother’s voice carried up the stairs.

“And the whole brood.” Disapproval laced each of his father’s words.

Chandler descended the rest of the stairs and was introduced to the Fairchild family. Everyone but Magdalene appeared happy to be there. Her stoic expression said she’d rather be caught in the Pacific Ocean without a boat. Why does she dislike me so, and why doesn’t she wear her hair like that more often?

“Izzy!” His niece, Josephine, ran into the room and hugged the younger version of Magdalene. “Uncle Chandler, did you meet my friend, Isabel? You must take her on a walk and show her the grounds.” Josephine pulled Chandler toward Isabel, intertwining their arms. “I’d take her myself, but I’m fighting a cold and must stay indoors.”

Chandler glanced at Magdalene, who’d suddenly become very interested in inspecting the paintings hanging in the foyer. “Magdalene, would you care to join us?”

“No, thank you. I’d prefer to remain indoors.” She barely glanced in his direction.

“Come on, children. I’ll show you the grounds as well.” He didn’t miss Isabel’s disappointment at his invitation to the orphans, but she continued to hang on to his arm.

“Doesn’t your sister like the outdoors?” he asked once they were outside.

“I think it’s you my sister doesn’t like.” Isabel spoke matter-of-factly, and he had to agree.

“Why, Miss Fairchild?” He opened the garden gate, leading them inside.

“Please, call me Isabel.” She batted her thick, auburn lashes that fringed large green eyes. “All my friends do.”

“All right, Isabel. Why does your sister dislike me so?”

She stopped to smell a pale pink rose. “You’re not her type.”

“And what kind of beaus does she prefer?” He picked the prettiest blossom and handed it to Isabel. She drew the flower to her nose and breathed in the sweet scent.

“I have no idea. She’s never had a beau.”

Why did her words bring him both pleasure and sadness? “But you probably don’t lack for callers, do you?”

“No, I don’t.” She peered at him coyly from behind her rose. “But if you’d like to call, Mr. Alexandre, I’d have my father chase all of the others away.”

Chandler grinned down at her. I may need to find a wife soon, and though Magdalene might be a wiser choice, you appear more interested. “I’ll keep your offer in mind.” They strolled on through the gardens. Isabel stopped frequently to inhale another fragrance. The children played hide-and-seek behind the rows of flowers and plants.

Lord, if the ball idea doesn’t work out, getting married may be my only option. He hated the idea of marrying to obtain his trust fund, but he was running out of options. Magdalene seemed the perfect choice because she adored their little orphans, but could she ever love him? Could he ever cherish her? He’d hoped someday to have a wife who shared his dreams. He’d get to know both Fairchild women better, just in case. . . .