Callie appeared in the parlor and stopped at the sight of
Mr. Langley, her wide-eyed surprise changing to a huge smile. She motioned for the two of them to follow her upstairs.
The door to Elise’s bedroom opened. Doc left the room, carrying his medical bag. “Elise and the baby are fine. You’re a grandfather of a healthy baby girl.”
“Thanks, Doc. Thanks for taking care of my girls,” Langley said, in a shaky voice.
Callie ushered them inside. Elise sat propped up in bed, her face weary but wearing a stunning smile, her baby tucked in a yellow blanket and wrapped in her arms.
Mrs. Langley sat beside the bed. “Mark,” was all she said, but Jake heard more in that word than an entire sermon on forgiveness.
Mr. Langley walked to his daughter. “I’m sorry, Elise, for everything I’ve said. Can you forgive me?”
“You’re here, Papa. You came.” Elise’s voice strangled with tears. “You came when I needed you most.” She pulled back the blanket to expose all of her baby’s face, reposed in sleep during this momentous family reunion. “Meet your granddaughter, Kathryn Marie Langley.”
Mr. Langley caressed the baby’s face with one finger. “She’s beautiful, Elise. Like her mother.”
“Oh, Papa.”
Elise laid the precious bundle beside her on the bed and lifted her hands to her father.
Mark Langley wept in her arms.
Callie led Jacob through the hedge to Mildred’s, the only person they trusted who might remember the young man from the wrong side of the tracks who could’ve courted Irene Squier.
Mildred ushered them into her parlor. “Have a seat.”
Every surface, shelf and chair was stacked with books
and keepsakes. Not unusual these days while Mildred spent endless hours going through mementoes. All treasures Callie knew, but from the shocked expression on Jacob’s face, he saw nothing but junk. Callie picked up a stack of books on one end of the sofa and set them on the floor.
With an apologetic smile, Mildred cleared books from the other end. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’m going through things, trying to cull them out, but…” She picked up a McGuffey’s reader and opened the cover. “This belonged to my husband. Has his name right here.” She looked away. “It’s hard to let go.”
Callie understood the difficulty of letting go. Not with things, but with loved ones. Jacob had difficulty letting go of a past that affected him still.
“I’ll get refreshments,” Mildred said, then left the room.
Jake leaned toward Callie. “A house this size no doubt has a library. Isn’t it large enough to hold her collection of books?”
“Like she said, she’s been going through things. I think all these keepsakes make her feel closer to her husband.” She sighed. “Now you can see why her cleaning lady quit. Grace will do the job as long as she can. Her way of helping with expenses.”
Mildred returned, carrying a tray with three glasses of lemonade and a plate of those gingersnap cookies she loved. Callie shoved aside a box of postcards on the table to make room for the tray.
Mildred cleared the chair of today’s newspaper and plopped down. “You’re here for more than my cookies,” she said. “Anyone with ears knows about your time in jail, Jake.” She offered him the plate. “I’d like to hear your version.”
After he explained, Mildred leaned toward him. “Life’s
not fair, plain and simple. But you hold your head up. In time, people will lose interest.”
“Perhaps, but my past is tainting Callie’s reputation and giving this town another reason to turn against her.”
Mildred cocked her head at him. “Why not tell me why you’re in Peaceful, Jake?” She raised a hand. “Better yet, let me guess. Considering how many times you’ve asked questions about the women in this town, about the Squier family, especially their daughter, Irene, I suspect you came here looking for your mother.”
He met her gaze. “Yes.”
“Why did you believe your mother was in Peaceful?”
Jacob told her about the postcards.
“Have you found her?”
“That’s why we’re here, Mildred. We found a few references in newspaper gossip columns that could be a clue. The columns suggest a young man from the wrong side of the tracks courted a young lady on Serenity. We’re hoping that was Irene. Do you know who that young man might have been?”
Mildred munched a cookie, then leaned back, closing her eyes, hopefully deep in thought, not nodding off as she was prone to do. Her eyes popped open. “The wrong side of the tracks is easy enough. The folks with money lived on this side. Folks south of those tracks lived in small bungalows, a few in shanties.” She furrowed her brow, staring at her shoes, as if the name of the young man was written on the toes. “What year was that?”
“Most likely the fall and winter of ’76.”
“That explains it. The reason I don’t recall Irene having a suitor is my husband took sick about that time. He died a few months later, that next spring. I spent every moment at his bedside. I wouldn’t have noticed if Irene had spooned
with a young man on her front porch—or on mine for that matter. I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve been more help.”
Disappointment sank to Callie’s belly. “You were a wonderful wife, Mildred. Everyone said so.”
“I hope you figure it out. Maybe talk to the folks south of town.” She nailed Jacob with her gaze. “I’ve got a question for you. Are you planning to run? Or stick with Callie here?”
The shocked look on Jacob’s face said it all.
Mildred harrumphed. “Don’t let a little gossip direct your steps. Let me tell you, Jake, God expects better of you.”
“God doesn’t know me.”
“Ha! You’ve got lots to learn, my young friend. Stay put. Open your heart to God. You’re in for the ride of a lifetime.”
Callie had come hoping to learn more about Irene Squier. Instead, Mildred had tried badgering Jacob into faith and into caring for Callie. Callie knew what Mildred had forgotten. Before a man could ride, he had to be willing to get in the saddle.
Jake sat in Callie’s parlor holding Elise’s baby against his chest. Inside the blanket, the poor little thing drew her knees up, screeching like an alley cat in a midnight skirmish. And Jake didn’t know the first thing about comforting her. He’d never even held a baby before.
Not that he planned to hold this one for long. He’d come in from feeding the stock and surely didn’t smell good enough to hold a newborn baby. But, with Callie off to a prayer meeting and Grace holed up in her room, Elise had come to him, close to tears from walking the floor with Katie.
He couldn’t turn her down. Not after she gazed up at
him with exhausted eyes and asked for his help, as if he knew the first thing about babies. He’d taken the tyke into his arms as gingerly as an explosive device with a short fuse and sent Elise off to bed.
Elise surprised Jake by staying at Callie’s after she and her father had made peace, hoping Katie Marie would soften Grace’s heart toward her baby. But Grace avoided the newborn. Even took food to her room if the baby showed up at meals.
How could she not open her heart to this baby? Katie Marie was perfect. Helpless. Tiny. And madder than a hen with a broken beak.
Patting her back, Jake walked the floor, swaying with her. Not enough to hurt her. He hoped. He kept patting. Kept walking. Every muscle tense.
What if he hurt her?
What if something was wrong?
Should he get Doc?
Where was Callie? How long could one person pray?
“Looks like you could use some help.”
Callie stood in the parlor smiling at him. The relief of having her there washed through him clear to his toes.
An explosion erupted from Katie’s mouth. A belch of gigantic proportions, one a teenage boy would be proud of, was followed by a stream of curdled milk that dampened his shirt, and an odor that left him gagging. Surely that couldn’t have come from this dainty creature.
But the baby kept on crying, as if her little heart would break and Jake felt like joining her.
With an amused smile, Callie took Katie Marie from his arms, easing the baby into the crook of her arm and cooed softly to her, then tucked the baby up against her middle, swaying to the rhythm of some unsung lullaby.
Immediately Katie quieted. Her eyelids drifted closed. She slept.
Callie sat on the sofa. Jake sank beside her as wrung out as an old dishrag. “I’m thankful you got home when you did.” He grabbed the cloth Elise had left with him and dabbed the milk from Katie’s rosebud lips, then mopped his clothes. “You’re a natural mother.”
“You were managing just fine.”
Jake knew better. Commodore had said Jake wasn’t cut out for fatherhood. He hadn’t doubted Commodore’s assessment. His failure to soothe Katie had added further evidence.
Callie lifted her gaze to him. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
“She is.”
Jake touched the soft folds of the baby’s neck, ran a finger over the silky strands of her hair and along a tiny fuzzy ear. Katie emitted a soft sigh and snuggled deeper into the yellow blanket, a picture of contentment, tugging at his heart with a strength that left him dazed.
This precious infant would grow up without a father. Something hot flared inside him. Better to have no father than a bad one. At least she’d have one good parent.
“I can’t wait to hold my baby,” Callie murmured, ending on a soft sigh.
“Your baby is blessed to have you as a mother.”
She smiled at him, beamed really. “Thank you, Jacob. I want what’s best for my child.”
“What’s best for your child isn’t me.”
“Oh, you worry too much. Few feel up to the task of parenthood.” She chuckled. “What’s best for this little one is her bed. I’ll put her down.”
As Jake watched them go, tears stung the back of his eyes. Callie hadn’t understood what he’d tried to tell her. Even as the admission stabbed like a knife to his heart, the
truth was undeniable. Callie’s baby needed a good father. How could Jake be such a thing when he’d had no role model? He’d heard enough from Pastor Steele’s sermons to know a husband should lead his family. Yet Jake lacked the faith that would help guide a child and head a home.
The harsh truth of his incompetence sank inside him. He had to walk away. Leave this house. Leave the ministry to unwed mothers. Leave Callie. Leave everything and everyone who had become important to him. He’d vowed to toughen himself against caring, against opening his heart—
He’d failed. Callie Mitchell had his heart. He’d found what he’d been looking for all his life. Nothing in his past had prepared him for his feelings for this woman. Her presence made the bleakest day beautiful, the toughest task easy, and the most monotonous day exciting. She was merciful. Kind. Generous. Everything good.
He loved Callie. Completely, totally.
Only a few days old and Katie Marie had already taught Jake Smith a thing or two. He hadn’t had a family. Never knew the privilege of sharing a home or of having the support of loved ones, but this baby had given him a peek at the responsibilities of fatherhood.
He wasn’t fit to raise a child. To love this woman. Especially in a town that would never accept him.
He’d never tell Callie he loved her. If he did, it would be asking her to choose him over what was best for her child.
Even a faithless jailbird wouldn’t stoop that low.
W
ind howled in the trees, whipping the limbs into a frenzied dance. Rain pelted the windows, striking the glass with the clatter of hail. Callie prayed a tornado wasn’t brewing and heading their way. Jacob had raced to Mildred’s to cover a leak in her roof with a tarpaulin. Yet, even with nature blowing up a tempest, her house was sturdy and would weather the storm.
Katie Marie’s cry drifted down the staircase. Within minutes, she quieted. Her needs met by Elise. Remembering the way Jacob had handled the newborn last night, holding her like a piece of crystal, as if she’d break, Callie smiled. His tender, awed expression proved he was smitten with the baby. He would be a good husband, a wonderful father.
For someone. Not for her.
What’s best for your baby isn’t me.
Jacob’s statement didn’t sink in—at first—but it hadn’t taken Callie long to realize he meant every word.
She’d prayed and prayed for Jacob to come to God. Though she’d seen a change in his attitude in church and he’d acknowledged reading the Bible, he hadn’t taken that
step. And from his own mouth he’d dispelled the prospect of that changing.
He shared her concern for unwed mothers, understood her troubled background. She’d had hope that he might be part of God’s plan for her life. But she and her baby needed a God-fearing man to lead their home. God would not send her a man without faith.
A knock at her door jarred her out of her thoughts. Who would be out on such a night? Whoever braved this weather was getting drenched. She hurried to answer it.
On the other side of the door stood a stranger wearing a long navy macintosh over his suit, lowering a silk umbrella. She shivered in the damp, chilly wind.
The man tipped his bowler, revealing his pate, bald and pale as a peeled onion. She noted the case in his hand. Surely even the most ambitious salesman wouldn’t be out in this weather. “I’m sorry, but whatever you’re selling—”
“Ma’am, I’m Robert Lovell, attorney with the Indianapolis law firm of Lovell, McGahan and Lovell.” He replaced his hat. “I’m looking for Martin and Callie Mitchell.”
At the mention of her deceased husband, Callie’s grip on the door tightened. “I’m Callie Mitchell. Martin’s widow.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Mitchell.”
“What’s this about, Mr. Lovell?”
“May I come in? I’d rather explain my business in the comfort of your parlor than out here in this storm.”
“Please excuse my bad manners. Come in.” As Callie led the way, her stomach roiled like a vessel on a storm-tossed sea. What business would a big-city lawyer have with her?
She felt an urge to ask him to wait for Jacob, but that was silly. Whatever this was about, it had nothing to do with Jacob. The time had come to stop relying on that man.
They took seats at the parlor table. After an apology for dripping water on her carpet, the attorney reached inside his case and pulled out a ream of papers. He glanced through them, then met her eyes. “Just to verify, I’m at 7133 Serenity Avenue in Peaceful, Indiana.”
“That’s correct.”
“This house was previously owned by Senator and Mrs. Wesley Squier.”
“My father-in-law, Commodore Mitchell, purchased the Squier house at auction two years ago this month.”
“The senator and his wife died in a trolley accident that same year. Their daughter, Irene, preceded them in death.”
Something tightened in Callie’s chest, pressing against her lungs until she could barely breathe. If Irene was Jacob’s mother, she was dead. How could Callie break the news to him? “I had no idea. What a tragedy.”
He cleared his throat. “Indeed. Senator Squier and his wife had moved back East. At the time of their death, as their attorney, I had a copy of their Last Will and Testament. Or so I believed.” He mopped his brow. “As it turns out, not all their legal papers were in my possession. Recently, a safe was uncovered containing a later will, written in Wesley’s own hand with the seal of a notary, negating the earlier one. A judge in Maryland has ruled that the later will is binding.”
Through the window, lightning flashed, casting eerie shadows in the room. “What does this have to do with me?”
“Mrs. Mitchell, the house Commodore Mitchell bought shouldn’t have been up for auction. The Squiers left this house to someone else.”
Callie’s pulse throbbed in her temples with the rhythm
of rumbling thunder overhead. “I don’t understand. Commodore paid for the house.”
“I can appreciate your confusion. But, as I said, the house should not have been sold. It was left to Irene’s son, Jacob Squier Smith.”
All these years Jacob thought he had no family, but he did. He had a family that had looked out for him, left him in their will… That meant—
The room tilted then righted. Callie knew, in that moment, nothing would ever be the same again. She was losing her home, her baby’s home and the refuge for unwed mothers.
Lord, help me handle this trial.
“Could this be a mistake?”
“No mistake. I’m sorry.”
Her body went cold. She shivered.
“A letter attached to the updated will explained that after Irene died in childbirth, Senator Squier placed the infant in an orphanage, giving Jacob an alias, the surname
Smith
to protect his daughter’s good name. These documents were found weeks ago, but we haven’t been able to locate Jacob Smith. The orphanage had no address for him. As you can imagine, we wanted to make sure Jacob Smith survived before we broached this rather sticky situation with you.”
Should she get Jacob from Mildred’s? He needed to hear the news, had a right to know. But to hear something this devastating from a stranger seemed cruel. “Mr. Smith is here in town, but not available at the moment.”
The attorney smiled. “That’s good to hear. I’m staying at the Liberty Inn tonight. Please give him my business card and ask him to meet me there tomorrow.”
She nodded, taking the card.
“I suspected that he was in the area. A few days ago, Mr. Smith spoke to a friend of mine in Indianapolis.”
Callie’s head snapped up. “What?”
“Mr. Smith came to inquire about the Squier family. The state senator he talked to, David Davis, is a friend of mine. David knew I represented the Squier family and was looking for their heir. I’d never given David the name of the man I sought, but he thought Jacob Smith’s inquiry might be important.” He smiled. “It was.”
“Jacob came to Indianapolis, asking about my house?”
“I’m not privy to every topic of their conversation.” He handed a copy of the will to Callie. “You can rest assured that these documents are legal and binding.”
The name Jacob Squier Smith leaped off the page. Callie’s hands trembled so badly that she laid the document on her lap.
“Do you have the deed in your possession, Mrs. Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“Would you get it, please? I will make the necessary change of ownership in the recorder’s office in the Marion County courthouse.”
Callie’s head pounded, fire filled her veins. Jacob Smith had lied to her again. Even his name had been a lie.
No wonder he’d been willing to make repairs without a wage. No wonder he’d worked from dawn to dusk to restore her house. No wonder he’d been reluctant to tell her about his past. Jacob Smith had manipulated her.
For two years, she’d lived in the shelter of these rooms, more shabby than stately, but home. Wasn’t possession nine points of the law? “I will fight this, Mr. Lovell. I have no intention of turning over the deed to this house.” She shook the papers. “This document could be a fake. I don’t know you or your law firm.” She rose. “Good day, sir.”
Mr. Lovell’s jaw jutted, but he got to his feet. “I assure you, these documents are legally binding. There is no mistake,” he said, his tone steely.
“I assure you I won’t be fooled again. I will look into this with an attorney of my own.”
Not that she had an attorney or the money to hire one. She’d find a way. Perhaps Mildred would lend her the money. With the bond between Mildred and Jacob, the prospect of telling her neighbor about his deceit sank inside her like a stone.
She showed Mr. Lovell to the door, bracing against the wind then closed it after him.
Now
she understood why Jacob told her he wasn’t best for her baby. His reason wasn’t some concern for her baby’s welfare or a lack of faith. No. He knew he’d set up this betrayal.
What a fool she’d been.
Jacob Smith—no, Jacob Squier, a man she’d trusted, a man with a horrific past dominated by loneliness and injustice. She’d made his burdens her own. For this? Once again she’d missed what lurked beneath the surface of a man.
Yet that didn’t eradicate Jacob’s image from her mind, didn’t block those intense green eyes, the dimple in his cheek, that chiseled jaw—
Something Commodore once said stuck in her mind and came back to her now:
A drifter has something to hide. As soon as someone gets close to his secret, that’s when he leaves.
Jacob Smith hid secrets. But Commodore had been wrong about one thing. Jacob wouldn’t be leaving. Not when he expected to move into the main house.
Jake had managed to get the tarpaulin in place before the brunt of the storm hit. The wind practically blew him from Mildred’s to Callie’s. Thankfully, the rain had let up enough to make the distance without getting drenched.
Callie opened the door to his knock. He brushed the rain off his hat, smiling. “I’ve battened down the hatches at Mildred’s.” He took another look at her. “Everything all right here?”
She moved aside to let him in. “How nice of you to take an interest in your house.”
“What do you mean?”
She glared at him. “How could you do this to me?”
Her icy tone stopped him cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’ve had a visitor.”
“In this weather? Who?”
“A Mr. Robert Lovell, an attorney who claims this house doesn’t belong to me.” She took a step toward him. “That it was wrongly sold.”
“What?”
“A more recent copy of the Squier Last Will and Testament was found. How convenient to find that will after you’ve increased the house’s value.” She gave a choked laugh, verging on hysteria. “But then you know all about that.”
Lightning struck nearby. Thunder shook the house. Callie never flinched. She didn’t appear to notice the storm, but Jake could see by the glint in her eyes, the rigid set of her jaw, she had one raging inside of her.
He reached for her, but she batted his hand away. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Callie, talk to me.”
“You lied. How could you? I trusted you. I cared about you. Even thought, I lov— What a fool I’ve been!”
Another bolt of lightning, a clap of thunder. He pleaded with her, his composure crumbling. “Lied? I told you about my time in jail, the reason I came to Peaceful. I’ve told you everything.”
“You’re quite the actor.” She poked a finger into his sternum with surprising force, as if wanting to give him pain.
What was going on?
“Don’t pretend! I had all the deception I could stomach with Martin. Always pretending, always telling me what I wanted to hear and hiding what I didn’t.” She poked again, harder. “I trusted you! You and Martin are cut from the same cloth.” She thrust the papers at him. “This proves you’re lying!”
With an unsteady hand, Jake took the paperwork, never taking his eyes off Callie.
Her chest heaved. “Read it!”
Jake glanced at the page. Phrases jumped out at him.
The house at 7133 Serenity left to Jacob Smith.
Why?
“This doesn’t make sense.” The sneer suffusing Callie’s face forced the air out of his lungs.
He read on—
Jacob Squier, also known as Jacob Smith, son of Irene Squier, born to her on May 21, 1877.
His pulse ratcheted. The date of his birth. “Irene Squier’s my mother.” His gaze leaped to Callie and he looked into eyes as turbulent as storm-tossed seas. Unable to bear the coldness there, he dropped his gaze to the papers in his hand.
Irene Squier died in childbirth.
Dead? She was dead? Died giving birth to him?
Again and again he read the same words. With each reading the horror of them shuddered through him. As he read them one last time, the pieces came together in his mind. Comprehension slammed into him, doubling him over. He sucked in air. All the time he’d resented his mother for not coming to him, she’d been dead.
Tears filled his eyes. He’d never get to know her. Never get to see her face. Never get to tell her he was sorry for years of blaming her for deserting him.
“I thought
you
were an answer to my prayers. How wrong I’ve been.”
Jake straightened, tried to focus on Callie’s words. But she didn’t make sense—nothing made sense. He tried to tug her to him. Maybe in his arms, she’d listen. “I didn’t know about this.”
She laughed. The eerie sound slithered along Jake’s spine.
“Do you expect me to believe that your coming here to Peaceful, to this house looking for work was a coincidence?”
“The waitress at the café suggested you—”
“Lies. All of it. Lies!” Her voice broke. “You were living in my lean-to, waiting like a vulture for the pickings.”
“I’m not lying!”
“Do you deny that you went to Indianapolis?”
He frowned. How did she know about that? “No, but—”
“You set all this in motion!” Battling tears, she flung a card at him. “You’re supposed to meet the attorney at the Liberty Inn tomorrow.”
The anguish on her face tore at him, clawed at his heart, ripped it to shreds. Instead of thinking of Callie and what this meant to her, he’d been focused on his mother, on his loss. Callie was losing her home. To him. He wouldn’t let that happen. He picked up the card: Robert Lovell, Attorney at Law. Tomorrow he’d contact the lawyer and get this straightened out.
Callie pointed a hand toward the door. “Get out of my house. I won’t be moving, not until I’m forced. Stay in the lean-to tonight.” She snorted. “I couldn’t send even a dog out in this storm.”
With that she turned on her heel and stomped off.