1871
The violin’s exquisite vibration captured Belinda’s breath. She raised her eyes to watch the bow dance across the strings and could hardly keep from singing along to “Joy to the World.”
“I didn’t know there would be music.” Belinda’s smile broadened. “It’s a perfect night!”
“It’s lovely.” Edith Michaels nodded approval at her daughter’s glee. “And we have the best table in the restaurant. It will be a memorable occasion, to be sure.”
“One only has a single opportunity to make an engagement official.” Belinda grasped her mother’s hand beside her and her father’s arm on the other side. The sparkling white tablecloths, the glittering candles, the thrilling music—Belinda could not have imagined a more flawless engagement dinner. “Thank you both for giving this wonderful night to Hayden and me. We shall always remember it.”
William Michaels cleared his throat. “Where is your Mr. Fairbanks? Did we misunderstand the time?”
“I’m sure he’s coming.” Belinda patted her father’s arm. Why did Hayden’s tardiness always seem to strike when an evening included her parents? Belinda had become accustomed to building in time for Hayden to be fashionably late, but he knew she hated it when he kept her parents waiting.
The waiter circled again and discreetly topped off their water goblets.
“Perhaps we should order hors d’oeuvres,” Edith said. “I understand they have a mushroom pâté that is quite good.”
William nodded. “No doubt they would bring some bread as well.”
“We may even start on the soup,” Edith said.
“Oh no!” Belinda sucked in alarm. “Let’s not go so far as soup. Hayden will be here soon enough, and we’ll all order together.”
“We’ve been here thirty minutes already.” Edith straightened a fork that was not askew.
“But we were early,” Belinda countered.
“Nevertheless, I do feel we ought to order something. And I had no lunch today.”
“The pâté, then.” Belinda laid her hands in her lap and laced her fingers together to still them.
“He will get the restaurant right, won’t he?” her father asked. “He knows to come to Larimer Street?”
“Yes, Papa. He knows.” Ever since Belinda and Hayden knew they wanted to be engaged someday, they had planned to celebrate at this establishment.
The string quartet transitioned to the more subdued “Lo, How a Rose E’er Blooming,” and the Michaels family awaited the beginning of their meal. Belinda glanced up at every man with Hayden’s build who moved through the spaces between the tables, but none of them was him.
Hayden Fairbanks was more than a little dissatisfied with the look of his tie, but he had no time to fret further. As it was, Belinda was likely to greet him with a cold glare. Her father’s raised eyebrow would make clear his displeasure at Hayden’s late arrival. The expense of this evening was an indulgence for all of them. While William Michaels was financially secure by Denver standards, he wasn’t a wealthy railroad investor. He ran his simple shop catering to travelers and made prudent decisions about the use of his profits. Hayden suspected William didn’t quite approve of Belinda’s choice to marry a journalist whose deadlines sometimes made it challenging to keep to social time frames, but he had given his agreement, if not his blessing, when Hayden asked him for his twenty-three-year-old daughter’s hand.
He sighed and brushed both sides of his mustache, determined that his lateness should not cast a pall on the evening meant to be a glistening memory for Belinda. Getting engaged just before Christmas was her dream. She also had her heart set on a winter wedding, so they would not wait more than a few weeks. Hayden picked a spot of lint off his best suit, which now struck him as insufficient for the evening’s occasion. He would order a new one before the wedding even if he had to scrub the tailor’s floor on his knees to pay for it.
The knock came just as Hayden was ready to buff the tops of his shoes with several quick strokes. He laid the shoe brush on the top of his chest of drawers and took the few short steps across his small apartment above a butcher shop to open the door.
“Mr. Hayden Fairbanks?” A boy not more than twelve years old stood in the hall with his hat in his hand.
“Yes, that’s me,” Hayden said.
“I’ve got a note for you. The man said I should be certain it got to you directly on account of how urgent it is.”
“Urgent?”
“That’s what he said.” The boy held out an envelope.
Hayden took the note and then fished in his pocket for a coin to give the boy. He listened to the fading footsteps of the messenger’s departure as he tore the end off the envelope and shook the message out.
Hayden, my good friend, I must ask a tremendous favor of you. Please go to my abode as soon as you receive this message. My daughter will be there waiting for you. I’m sorry I didn’t have time to properly pack her things, but they are few. She is capable for a child of six, but I don’t want to leave her alone a moment longer than necessary. In the sugar jar on the counter you will find enough bills for the journey and my sister’s address. I will meet you there, and I will explain everything.
Gerald
Belinda nudged away the cherry pie without even picking up the dessert fork, and she shook her head when the waiter inquired whether she wanted coffee.
Her parents had the grace not to say much of anything, at least nothing that had to do with Hayden. Edith prattled intermittently about the party neighbors had invited them to for the following evening—a party where Belinda had fully expected to accept congratulations on her engagement—but her chatter focused on what she already knew the buffet table would hold and who was planning to attend. The lump in Belinda’s throat seemed to thicken by the minute. She wished her mother would just stop talking.
Eventually, Edith did fall silent, alternating between sipping her coffee and dabbing her lips with her napkin.
William laid his fork down on his empty pie plate. “I’ll settle the bill, then, and we should be going.”
“You go,” Belinda said. “I think I would like to wait a little longer.”
“My dear daughter,” her mother said, “we waited as long as we could to begin. Now we’ve had an entire dinner. Do you really believe he will turn up this late?”
“I’m not ready to go home,” Belinda said evenly. “Perhaps I’ll have some coffee after all.”
“I’ll be happy to make some for you at home. Anything you like. You hardly ate a bite.”
The cheery Christmas music grated on Belinda’s nerves now. She blocked it out. “Please. I won’t stay long, I promise.”
“But who will see you home?”
Hayden, of course. “I’ll look for a cab,” she said.
“They’ll be hard to come by once the theater lets out.”
“I won’t stay that long. Or I’ll find an omnibus.” Or Hayden will be here.
Belinda met her mother’s eyes. Even as a child she had matched Edith’s stubborn streak, and tonight she meant to win.
“We’ll go,” her father said, “but if you are not home in one hour, I shall come fetch you myself.”
“Thank you.”
While the table was being cleared, Belinda indicated she wanted to keep her pie. She needed something to pick at. “May I have coffee, please?” she said.
Surely Gerald hadn’t left his motherless six-year-old child alone in their small house.
Hayden hustled through the streets uncertain he would recognize Gerald’s home once he found the right lane. He had only been there one time, and that was more than two years ago when Gerald’s wife fell ill and died far more quickly than anyone had anticipated. No one expected her to die at all, but she did. Hayden hadn’t seen the girl on that visit. He had never seen her. Was she dark like Gerald or fair like his wife? When her mother died, the child was whisked away and sheltered from the funeral. After everything was over, Gerald soldiered on with the help of a woman who kept the girl while Gerald worked, but he took new employment at a monthly publication rather than a daily newspaper, so his hours would be more predictable. Hayden had not seen Gerald in the last two years either. If she was six, the child was old enough to begin her education, an endeavor Hayden doubted Gerald was prepared to undertake unless he had become more attentive to details than Hayden recalled.
Gerald must have lost his mind. If he did leave the girl, he was even more negligent than Hayden imagined. If he sent the note to Hayden as some kind of hoax—Hayden hated to think his old friend was capable of that.
Hayden found the street, or he thought he had. He stopped at the end of the lane to take his bearings. Gas lamps glowed in narrow windows, and chimneys released smoke in shadowy plumes against the night sky. The temperature had dropped, and after receiving Gerald’s note, Hayden had dashed out of his building without thinking to snatch his overcoat off the hook. He shivered now with the cold and the uncertainty of what he would find—but also with the realization that he had dreadfully disappointed the one person he loved more than any other.
But a child.
How could he have set aside Gerald’s note until a more convenient time?
The slush covered Hayden’s shoes and wicked up through the fabric of his trousers. He pushed his feet forward, aiming for the tiny house at the end of the lane with a feeble light flickering from deep inside it. If he was to believe the note, a child sat vigil with that candle waiting for someone to come, someone to care.
This was not just another story to write before the deadline. He would explain to Belinda as soon as he could, and she would understand.
Belinda took a handkerchief from her handbag and dabbed the wet blotches below her eyes.
“Will there be anything else?” the waiter asked.
“No, thank you.” Belinda produced a wan smile. “I appreciate your patience.”
She retrieved her coat on the rack near the door and buttoned it tight before tying her hat on her head. The doorman performed his task on her behalf. Crisp air bit into her cheeks as soon as she stepped outside. Her mother had been right. No cabs lined Larimer Street. Belinda would have to walk at least far enough to seek better odds of finding transportation. She looked both directions before choosing one. Lights from the train station at Twenty-First and Wazee caught her eye.
The train station.
Belinda blew out her breath and watched it curl in the night air. For more than a year, her cousin Vanessa had been writing from San Francisco, begging Belinda to visit. Just a month ago, Vanessa had written a cogent argument for why it wasn’t too late for Belinda to come for Christmas even if her parents didn’t want to travel. She fingered the soft bottom of her bag, feeling the thickness of the bills. She saved a few dollars at a time. Her income was limited to the weeks her father was of a mind to pay her for the time she spent working in his shop. Because she wanted for nothing at home, he saw little need to be generous, but she could count on something from time to time and had saved nearly all of it for three years.
How much would it cost to ride the train to San Francisco? Belinda hadn’t considered Vanessa’s proposition seriously, so she had never made the needed inquiry. Since she was going to become engaged at Christmas, it had hardly seemed like the time to plan a trip.
If she wasn’t going to become engaged—which the evening seemed to prove—what was holding her back?
Hayden pushed gently on the door. It gave.
“Hello?” He wished he could remember the child’s name. The house was small, just four rooms, and he could see straight through it. The candlelight he had seen from the street emanated from the kitchen at the back of the house. A plain wooden table, positioned against one wall just the way Hayden remembered it, reassured him he was in the right house.
“Hello?” he said again as he closed the door behind him. There was no fire in the grate. The only warmth in the house, as well as the only light, came from that candle on the kitchen table.
“I’m in here.”
The tiny voice, on the brink of a tremble, guided Hayden’s steps. He found the girl sitting in a straight-back chair tucked under the table with a closeness and security he doubted the child could have achieved on her own. Her feet dangled well above the floor. Brown eyes framed by dark curls under a red wool hat looked up in expectation.
“I’m Hayden,” he said, “a friend of your father’s.”
“Yes, sir. Papa said you would come. I only had to wait.”
Hayden swallowed. How could Gerald know any such thing? How could he be sure Hayden would get the note? If Hayden had left on time for dinner, he would not have been home to open the door to the messenger boy.
“You look like you have been very patient.” Hayden sat across from the girl and stretched a hand out to warm it over the feeble flame. “What’s your name?”
“Eloise.”
“It’s a lovely name.” Hayden took a breath. “Eloise, do you know where your father is?”
She shook her head. “We’re to meet him at Aunty’s house.”
“I thought we might try to catch him before we leave, but I can’t think where to look.”
“Papa said I will be safe with you and we’ll be together again at Aunty’s house.” Eloise managed to slide sideways out of her chair, dropped to the floor, and crossed to the small length of counter. She returned to the table with the sugar canister.
“Have you eaten, Eloise?”
“I had lunch.”
Hayden knew his first step would be to feed this poor child. He opened the canister and found an envelope matching the one he had received earlier. Inside were folded bills and a card with an address and the words, Thank you. I promise to explain.