Trouble could mean a thousand things, but Beck’s stricken look told Winnie that whatever happened at Emerson Works was a serious matter. She found Papa, and they gathered Lulu and culled Victor from a conversation with Gladys, piling everyone into the carriage and returning to Rittenhouse Square. Lulu waited with Winnie in the parlor while Papa made inquiries, and within the hour he told them there had been a fire at Emerson Works.
“A small one,” he clarified, “but it could have been worse, if Beckett hadn’t put so many precautions in place.”
“Was anyone—” The words stuck in Winnie’s throat.
“No. And the building stands. Louise, you’re welcome to stay, if you wish.”
Lulu’s head shook. “I should be home when Beck returns.”
Papa delivered her there personally, and when he returned, Winnie was standing where he’d left her. “What’s this? It’s well, poppet.” Papa patted her cheek with his cold hand. “But you may not see your coach at practice tomorrow.”
Winnie sank into a chair in an unladylike slump. “I don’t care about practice. It’s Beck and his workers I’m worried about.”
“Hmm.” Papa eyed her funny. “I’m off to bed.”
It was a happy surprise when Beck and Lulu arrived at practice the following afternoon. Beck carried a bag over his shoulder, his head bowed so she couldn’t read his expression. Lulu, however, looked grim.
Oh dear. Things at Emerson Works must have been worse than Papa thought. Winnie hastened toward them just as Beck lifted his head. “Ralph, come pass these out.”
Colleen’s brother dashed past her, reaching for the bag. Winnie wished she could run, too, but running toward a gentleman was not as acceptable as running base to base on the diamond, so she walked as fast as she could.
Ralph dropped the pack to the ground and bent inside, pulling out white baseball caps embroidered with royal blue letters: LB.
“Liberty Belle caps!”
Lulu showed the players one of several professional, eye-catching flyers Beck had printed up announcing next week’s exhibition game between the Liberty Belles and the Patriots to be held on Jefferson Grounds, on the corner of Master and 25th Streets. The flyers included the ticket price of twenty-five cents, stating that all proceeds would benefit the winner’s charity of choice, the Children’s Hospital or the Women’s Club Auxiliary.
As the team ambled back to the field, Winnie stepped closer to Beck. “These are wonderful. Thank you.” She traded her worn cap for the team cap. “How does it look?”
“Fine.” He didn’t look at her.
He must be terribly busy, after the fire. He shouldn’t be here. Her hand landed lightly on his forearm. “Beck, if you need to get back to work, you must.”
“I will. Thanks for understanding. There’s a lot to be done today. And tomorrow.” His gaze met hers at last, his expression stony. “And after that, Winnie. I can no longer coach the Liberty Belles.”
“What?” Winnie’s jaw gaped, but Beck couldn’t be moved by the shock and hurt blanching her face. He had to stay firm.
“I can’t coach the team anymore.” His arm went cold when her hand fell from it. “I’m sorry, but the fire reminded me how much I have to attend to at Emerson Works.”
Her head dipped. “I never meant to take away from your business.”
This wasn’t just about Emerson Works, though. It was about his traitorous heart. “You didn’t. I just … need to focus on things I can control.”
“Papa said a spark flew where it shouldn’t have. You couldn’t have controlled that. We can be cautious and things still go wrong.”
“I’m a perfect example of that.” He pointed to his arm. “I was shot by a fellow in my own regiment when a skirmish broke out. I thought one of my friends fell into me, until I landed in the dust and couldn’t get up again.”
“Oh, Beck.”
“The corps medical director stemmed the hemorrhage and I was taken to a field hospital. They closed the wound and told me if I didn’t succumb to infection that my arm might come back to life. But it hasn’t.”
“You lived, though. That’s all that mattered to the people who love you.”
One would think so. “My sweetheart pitied me, but she couldn’t quite hide her revulsion. I was still her beau when she made her debut that spring, but a few days later she said she needed time. Not much, as it turned out. She married someone with two working arms before we were Lulu’s age.”
“Jocelyn Jones.”
“How’d you guess that?”
“You and Paulette both mentioned knowing each other in your youth, and then Lulu all but confirmed them last night.” Winnie looked at her toes. “I’m sorry you’re still hurt over her.”
“I’m not, but I learned that while some problems can’t be avoided, I was going to be as careful as I could be in every other aspect of my life, to avoid another … loss.”
His gaze fixed on Lulu, who modeled her cap for a giggling Gladys. Winnie sighed. “Like your expectation that Alonzo will break Lulu’s heart? I know she’s young, but she’s willing to wait to wed, she told me. So is Alonzo.”
That wasn’t the point. “She’s going to get hurt. That’s one problem I don’t want her to have.”
“Love isn’t a problem to avoid.”
But it was. He had almost succumbed to romance last night—the glass pavilion, the lights, the music, holding Winnie close. He let himself feel everything he’d held at bay, and he’d been about to ask Winnie outdoors to view the lights with him. It was the first time he’d have taken an emotional risk since Jocelyn abandoned him, and although the events weren’t correlated, he’d been about to pin his heart to his sleeve when he learned his business had almost burned down. It was a firm reminder that love came with pain, every single time.
“Maybe not, but love isn’t the answer to everything. You out of everyone should know that.”
“I assure you, I don’t.”
“Victor Van Cleef. You don’t love him, but you marrying him would be the answer to your father’s hopes, wouldn’t it?”
She wanted to deny it, but she couldn’t. “He hasn’t mentioned it in a while, but yes.”
“Have you told your father you’re not interested?”
“No. I’ve avoided the subject as best I could—”
“Speak up. Every day you don’t, you string them along in the hopes of a Myles and Van Cleef union.”
Her skin went pale. “You’re right. I hoped he’d notice I don’t love him so I wouldn’t have to tell him. I hoped he’d notice I—”
“What?”
She glanced at the other ladies, tossing balls back and forth while they waited. “I don’t want to keep you from Emerson Works, but I hate to part like this.”
Neither did Beck, but it was probably for the best. If she was hurt and angry with him, he would know he had no hope with her—something he knew in his head but not in his traitorous heart. But he couldn’t break things altogether. “We’re friends, Winnie.”
She nodded, clearly disbelieving him. She was right. They wouldn’t see much of each other, especially once he retreated to his old way of solitary living and she married.
“You’ll be fine without a coach.” He turned away from her. “Goodbye, Winnie.”
“Thank you, Beck.” Her words pulled him back. “You’ve been a wonderful coach.”
He waved and left the field. Maybe someday God would heal his inability to take a risk. At least he was the only one hurt by his foolishness. Winnie would forget him in a fortnight.