Six

The breakfast bell rang. He never normally lay in bed at this late hour. Unable to sleep, he’d not dozed off until the predawn light seeped through his window. Caught oversleeping, he jumped up and donned his jeans and a flannel shirt. Reality smacked him in the face when he remembered Magdalene’s after-dinner warning last night that several couples were coming back today to adopt some of the children. How could they give any of them up? They’d never prepared emotionally for this possibility.

Sure, people came by on occasion, hoping to get a cheap laborer, but they never met the criteria needed to actually adopt a child. In cities, adoption was rare. Both he and Magdalene knew that. Somehow, they’d fooled themselves into thinking they’d nurture all of these children into adulthood.

Magdalene and the children were already seated at the table and waiting for him. He blessed the food, and they dug into eggs and sausage, but he could barely choke down anything.

The knocking started before they’d even finished breakfast. Chandler gave each couple paperwork to fill out, sending them into the parlor to accomplish the task. He pulled Magdalene aside and told her to keep the children in the schoolroom or upstairs. He didn’t want them playing outside today with all these people coming and going.

She nodded, a somber expression filling her eyes. “Will they take them today?”

“No, I have to check into the legalities and do this properly. I’ll review their applications and maybe by next week some of them will be approved.”

“I never planned to lose any of them.” A lone tear escaped.

He fought an unexpected urge to wipe it away, remembering her soft vulnerability the night he’d found her crying up in the kitchen. “Me, neither. I thought we’d have them all ’til they were grown.” He yearned to hold her in his arms, receiving and offering comfort, for his heart echoed the pain written across her face, the sadness woven through her words. “Well, I better get to those law books.” And away from you before I do something foolish.

Chandler spent the rest of the morning in his office interviewing couples, reading over their forms, and studying adoption laws. None of the applicants seemed good enough to raise any of their children. The four named in the paper, Frankie, Susie, Bobby, and Sarah, were most requested.

Realizing their time together might be short, Chandler decided an afternoon at the beach was a much needed distraction for them all. At lunch, he made the announcement. The children were thrilled; Magdalene seemed both happy and saddened by the idea.

They dressed warmly. The sea air carried a chill this time of year. They trudged over the few hills between them and the ocean. He carried Frankie, and Magdalene held Susie’s and Sarah’s hands. The older children ran ahead, lagged behind, and scattered across the horizon. They knew the rules, though, and always stayed within sight.

❧

Magdalene looked out over the ocean, a powerful reminder to her that God was still in control. Thinking about this being their last outing together, all fourteen of them, nearly did her in. She must find something else to do, something to occupy her mind. She’d question Chandler about his family! Curiosity had nagged her since Thanksgiving. This might be her last opportunity to ask. By next week, they could all be heading in different directions, toward separate lives.

“Are you the only Christian in your family?” she asked as they settled into a comfortable position in the sand. Magdalene pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her full skirt carefully so she remained well covered. The older children raced away from the lapping waves. The three youngest worked on a sandcastle with Chandler.

“Don’t get wet,” Chandler warned. “You’ll freeze. Yes, for now. I believe my mother is close.”

“What prompted you to ask the Lord into your life? I know Mr. Baxter had a lot to do with your decision. . . .”

He sighed. Remembering seemed hard. “I was born early and almost died. I spent much of my childhood in bed, weak and unhealthy.”

The news surprised her; he was the picture of good health.

“My mother and I were very close. She spent hours at my bedside, reading to me, teaching me, and being my companion. I’m the youngest of ten children and the sixth boy. My father didn’t believe in coddling boys—as he called it—so he resented me and my relationship with my mother.” He started another room for the castle, his much more sophisticated than the children’s.

“Anyway, at eighteen, I met Warren Baxter, and he took a real interest in me—becoming the father I never had. He told me about Jesus and sowed seeds of truth in my heart. God watered those seeds and opened me up to Himself. Within months, I prayed the sinner’s prayer, and Warren became my spiritual father. He discipled me until his death.” Gloom shadowed Chandler’s face.

“You miss him.”

He glanced in her direction. “Very much. I wish he were here now to pray with me and guide me. I have no idea what to do, absolutely no idea.”

“I’m sorry you’re going through this because of me.”

Compassion filled his face. “This may have come about anyway. I’m trying to remember God is sovereign. This is no surprise to Him, and He has just the answer we need.”

Magdalene had to agree with him, though living out her faith proved much more difficult than just saying the words.

“Most things in life are for a season, Magdalene. Maybe the orphanage had only one short season and has served God’s purpose. Maybe the best thing for these children is to have their very own parents. No matter how much we love them, we can’t give them a family in the true sense of the word.”

Magdalene felt uncertain whether or not she agreed with him. He and the kids sure felt like family to her, and she loved them just as much.

❧

Upon returning to the orphanage, Chandler discovered another not-so-flattering article graced the front page of today’s paper. A picture of him, clenched fist swinging in the air and an angry scowl plastered on his face, only supported the reporter’s theory that depicted Chandler Alexandre as a violent man, unable to control his rage. The headline read, We Must Save the Children! Why had he allowed his emotions free rein yesterday? Instead of crying out to God for self-control, he let his anger control him. Now he reaped the consequence of his choice. His reputation and that of the orphanage faced further scrutiny.

After dinner, he took a long walk alone, weighing the options before him. A marriage of convenience in order to obtain the money his maternal grandfather had left for him appeared to be his only alternative. No other possibility existed to support him or the orphanage. The likelihood of donations lessened with each newspaper article.

He sat on the cold, damp sand, listening to the waves crashing against the shoreline. The restless churning of the sea matched the emotions stirring within. Lord, I need You so much. Direct my path. Show me the way. I’m weary and discouraged. Chandler hadn’t cried since childhood, but weeping before God tonight seemed a distinct possibility.

None of the applicants looked promising, either. Maybe he expected too much, but none of them had plans for religious teaching in the home. God was a Sunday activity. The rest of the week, they didn’t give Him much thought. What chance did any of them have of raising godly offspring if He wasn’t an important priority every single day and in every single choice?

In Chandler’s mind’s eye, he envisioned each of the children’s faces. The lump in his throat increased in size, and unshed tears blurred the image of the ocean before him. He’d never allowed himself to consider the possibility of any of them ever being adopted. He’d planned to father them for the rest of their lives. Would moving on disrupt their stability, or would it be better for them to have a mother and father?

Chandler shivered, more because of his musings than the cold wind blowing on him. A million questions without answers plagued him. He rose and headed home. He needed someone to talk to—anyone. He missed Warren so much, he hurt. Who would even understand, except Warren? They’d shared a deep connection because of the Lord and their passion for the orphanage.

His mother! She always understood him. He jogged the rest of the way to the barn and threw a saddle on Stubby. He rarely rode and normally hitched the team to a buggy, but the thought of riding tonight beckoned to him. Luckily, Stubby was trained for both saddle and harness. The whistle of the wind blowing past him as he galloped along the road brought a sense of exhilaration and freedom, and for the duration of his ride, his troubles blew free.

He arrived at his parents’ home just past seven-thirty. Though the lights still burned brightly through the window-panes, he knew they’d soon be turning in for the night. He hoped his father was out for the evening at some business affair or meeting and he could visit with his mother alone.

He rang the bell, and Baldwin answered almost immediately. “Mr. Alexandre, Sir, are you quite all right?”

“Quite, Baldwin. Is my mother in?” Chandler removed his leather riding gloves.

“Madam was just turning in. I shall see if she’s willing to receive visitors.”

Chandler nodded and stepped into the foyer to await the decision. Such formality. He’d never want a child of his feeling like an intruder. No, he always planned to be available, even if he earned a hefty salary as shipping mogul and lived in a house the size of a castle.

“Chandler, Dear.” His mother looked concerned. “It’s late. Is everything okay?” Her hair had been let down and braided for the night. She wore her sleeping attire.

Chandler nodded. “I need to talk. Do you have time to listen?”

“Always, Dear. Baldwin, please take Chandler’s coat.” She requested a spot of tea with cream and sugar. Having an English butler had rubbed off on the Alexandre household.

Afterward, she took hold of Chandler’s hand and led him to a small sitting room where she received only her most intimate guests. “Now do tell what brings you out on this chilly December night.”

Chandler stood and paced the length of the little room. “I don’t know what to do about the children, the future of the orphanage, or Grandfather’s will.”

“Are you considering marriage?” his mother questioned softly, but he didn’t miss the surprise in her tone.

Uncertain he wanted to broach that topic just yet, he changed the subject. “Where is Father?”

“He’s in a meeting with your brothers to discuss future expansion.”

Baldwin entered with their requested pot of tea. After placing the silver service on the cherry wood coffee table, he quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Chandler returned to his seat while his mother poured the precise amount of cream into each cup, then she filled the remainder with tea. “Sugar?”

At his nod she asked, “One lump or two?”

“Tonight I believe I need two.”

She smiled, dropping two cubes into his tea and handing him the hand-painted rose china cup and saucer. “Tea fixes what ails. Now, shall we get down to business? I’m all ears.” She raised her teacup to her lips, never removing her gaze from his.

Taking a deep breath, he plunged forward. “Do you think I should get married to save the orphanage?” He sipped the hot, sweet liquid.

“Who would you marry?”

“I have a quandary there. Perhaps Miss Fairchild.”

“Which Miss Fairchild?” Her cup clanged against the saucer.

“That’s my quandary, Mother. Do I marry the one most suitable to mother children—” He rose and strode to the fireplace, where he turned to face his mother.

“Magdalene?”

Nodding, he continued. “Or the one who looks at me with longing in her eyes—the one who’d be the most desirable wife.” Surprisingly, his words brought memories of Magdalene to mind with her teary eyes and long hair falling loose around her, and his stomach churned in response.

“A difficult choice. Do you have feelings for either?”

He thought long and hard before answering. “I respect Magdalene. She’s a hard worker, loving with the children. I admire her selfless attitude, but the way Isabel smiled and flirted, she made me feel like a man.” Although in all honesty, lately Magdalene drew out his manly feelings of protection. Several times recently, he felt confusing, unnamed sensations in her presence.

“Sounds as though your emotions for Magdalene run deeper, but you like the way Isabel makes you feel.”

Nodding, he said, “Exactly. I fear if I marry Magdalene, she’ll never desire my touch. I wish for a real marriage. . . .” His face grew warm at the honest words. “Maybe I should forget the whole idea. All the children could be adopted out, and I could close the orphanage down.”

“But that is not your wish.” His mother knew him well.

He shook his head. “No, my wish is to keep going as things have always been, but little in life remains the same for any period of time.”

“A lesson we all learn as we age.”

“I can’t bring myself to approve the current requesting families though they do qualify. They would be good families, just not the very best. I can’t imagine life without those twelve precious faces to brighten my day.” He rubbed the stubble on his jaw.

“Then why don’t you adopt them yourself? You can afford a large brood of children with what your grandfather left you.”

The idea hadn’t occurred to him before, but maybe he and Magdalene could at least adopt Sarah and Bobby. Filling his lungs with air, he set his jaw in determination. “I’ll do it, Mother—I’ll marry Magdalene. She’s the best choice for the children.”

“I always loved your unselfish way of thinking.”

Sighing, Chandler returned to his chair, sipping his now somewhat lukewarm tea. “The children, the orphanage, they are more important than my longings.”

“I believe Magdalene will make the best wife. Isabel seemed young and spoiled.”

He nodded, remembering her sulky display.

His mother continued, “I like Magdalene. I think she’d make a fine wife for you and a good mother to those twelve imps.” Her eyes sparkled with the possibilities.

“She may well say no. She only tolerates me.”

“Well, she does love the children, so offer her a marriage of convenience for their sake. Then work hard to win her heart. No woman can resist a handsome man and a good wooing.”

Chandler rose and hugged his mother. “I hope you’re right. How do you feel about inheriting another dozen grandchildren?”

“The more the merrier, but I’d like at least one who’s yours and Magdalene’s.”

“Don’t count on that, Mother. We have no feelings for one another.”

“If there is one thing I’ve learned over almost forty-five years with your father, feelings have little to do with love. They come and go like the wind. Love is a choice, and you can decide to act on that choice with Magdalene.”

“You speak as if she’d already said yes.”