Patchwork Christmas, page 30
“But it wasn’t that.”
“Oh, wasn’t it?”
Fine. She’d deal with her reservations first. “They had rags stuffed in the windows and frost on the inside.”
Nana pointed to her own bedroom windows. “Go over there. If you move aside the draperies, what do you see?”
Ada pulled aside the massive brocade. “There’s frost on the windows.”
“Glass is glass, child. We have draperies to block the draft. They have rags. Your next objection?”
“They’re not objections, Nana. Just observations.”
“Such as …?”
“The beds … many of them are mere cots with only a thin blanket as a covering.”
“And …?”
“And Samuel’s room up in the attic—it was tiny. There aren’t even proper walls. Just open beams and studs and—”
Nana rolled her eyes. “Did you only see what they didn’t have and not see what they did have?”
Ada hated that Nana thought badly of her. “Of course I saw what they have. They have each other, and I know love trumps all the not-haves I can name.”
Nana seemed to relax. “Now that’s a proper observation.”
“I tried to think of myself there—for a year ago I had offered to go with him.”
“And?”
This is where it got difficult. “I actually think I would have grown used to the simpler conditions. If I would have been with Samuel, I’m not sure much of that would have mattered.”
“Good for you.” She studied Ada’s face. “But something else is bothering you.”
“I don’t know anything about children.”
“What’s to know? Children are simple creatures. They need food in their stomachs, a roof over their heads, and clothes on their bodies. But most of all, they need attention and love.”
She made it sound so simple. Ada fingered the braid on her skirt and moved on to the next issue. “After seeing it all … I do think I understand why Samuel chose that life. In fact, I’m kind of jealous.”
“Now there’s an unexpected twist.”
“I know. It surprised me, too,” Ada said. “What struck me is that Samuel lives a life full of deep emotions. He felt called by God to this purpose. He felt it so deeply he gave up everything.” She cocked her head, her cheeks warming. “I’d like to feel things so deeply. I don’t want to give up on life. I don’t want to settle. And I’d like God to call me to some purpose.”
Nana leaned forward and patted Ada’s hand. “Maybe He just has.”
Really?
Ada was glad there was a back to her chair. “But Father and Mother insist I marry Owen.”
“The way I see it, the call of the heavenly Father usurps any earthly one.”
Ada was shocked by Nana’s turnaround. “So you want me to disobey them?”
“I want you to take a breath, calm down, and pray about it. Ask God to show you His plan.”
Her mind swam with possibilities. And yet there was one hitch…. “Samuel never told me he still loves me.”
“Did you tell him you still love him?”
Ada scrolled through their conversations since he’d awakened. “After the engagement I realized I did love him, and I made my choice. I wanted to be with Samuel, and I marched into his room to tell him—asleep or no. And I did tell him I love him. But then he woke up, and I worried about what he felt toward me, and then my parents ordered me to marry Owen, and Mother insisted he leave, and … it all happened so fast.”
“Then slow it down, child. Ask God the questions, and give Him time to arrange the answers.”
“Arrange the answers?”
“‘God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform.’”
Ada could hear the music of the familiar hymn in her head. An excitement stirred inside her. To anticipate God’s leading …
She suddenly stood. “I have to go.”
Nana smiled “And …?”
“I’ll let you know what He says.”
Chapter 13
It was just a few days before Christmas, and Ada’s time was spent in a whirl. Praying and looking for God’s answers consumed her thoughts, even as life went on.
There were Christmas parties to attend, and a caroling excursion. She’d even taken out her bridal quilt, hoping that by looking at its evidence of her life’s journey, God would give her some direction. Should she finish the last row of blocks with scraps from the dress she wore the night Owen proposed, or the dress she was wearing on the day of Samuel’s accident?
Knowing there was no answer—yet—she decided to use her energy to make a crazy quilt pillow with the appropriate scraps—the dress from the accident, the dress she wore to see the foundling home, and even scraps from the torn shirt Samuel had worn when he’d been injured. She worked on it in secret, feeling joy in each stitch.
Surely that meant something. Was it a sign from God?
It was certainly a start. But time was ticking by, and life was moving on around her.
Unless God gave her immediate direction, she needed to buy Owen a gift for Christmas. She took a trip to Bloomingdale’s, where she looked at pocketknives, pipes, a brass match safe, and pocket watches. Nothing seemed quite right. The idea of a pipe was rejected because she’d never seen Owen smoke. The match safe—although pretty—was a bit utilitarian, and the pocket watch too intimate. And so she had the pocketknife monogrammed. It was the least she could do.
It was the most she could do.
Ada sat in the parlor and finished stitching a small gift bag for the knife. Her brother was in the foyer, dressing up warmly to venture over to the Medical Academy. But before he could leave, there was a knock on the door. Wilson answered it and received a note.
Ada set her stitching aside. Her stomach executed a small flip, as if God… “Who’s it for?” she asked.
But by then the butler had handed the note to John. “It’s for me, sister,” he said, unfolding it. He read the note, then looked at her. “It’s from Samuel.”
Ada’s stomach flipped a second time, and she hurried to his side. “What does he say? What does he want?”
John read the note aloud. “‘Dear John, Some of the children are sick. We would greatly appreciate your medical help as soon as possible. Sincerely, Samuel.’”
“Sick children? You’re going, aren’t you?” she asked.
He donned his hat and began to put on his gloves. “How can I not go?”
How can you not go?
Ada obeyed the inner nudge. “I’m going with you.”
“I can’t let you do that. They’re sick.”
“I’ve helped with Nana for years, and wasn’t I a help to you when you treated Samuel?”
John paused a moment, scrutinizing her. “There’s a risk, Ada.”
“I’m healthy. I can handle—”
“The risk I was talking about has nothing to do with your health.”
So her struggle in regard to Samuel was not a secret. She stepped closer to her brother, speaking low, for his ears alone. “I want to go there again, John. I need to go.”
He searched her eyes, then nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
God knew. And that was enough.
Eliza spooned out oatmeal. She filled three bowls on a tray and handed it to Samuel to take to the sick children upstairs.
“Do you think Dr. Wallace is coming?” she asked him.
“I hope so.”
“The children aren’t that sick, Samuel….”
“I just want to make sure.” He turned toward the front hall and the stairs.
But Eliza called after him, “Do you think Ada will come, too?”
Samuel pretended not to hear.
“Would you please stop pacing?” Eliza asked. “I’m trying to give the children a lesson, and you’re distracting them.”
Samuel stopped in place and looked at the children being taught their alphabet. All eyes were on him instead of on their teacher.
“Sorry.” He moved his pacing to the hall beside the stairway. This waiting was a complete waste of his time, for he had no idea if the note had even reached John, or if he’d had time to divert his day to include Five Points, or whether Ada would even know about the note at all. What if John got the note and left immediately, not even telling his sister of his destination? What if John didn’t come? What if John did come but came alone?
“Why didn’t I just send Ada a note?”
Hearing his words said aloud caused his pacing to stop. “What have I done? What was I thinking?”
He sank onto the stairs, put his head in his hands, and questioned the whole thing. Ada was on his mind—constantly. The need to see her again was a gaping hole that remained unfilled. So when three of the children had taken sick, he’d concocted the scheme to get her here. Hopefully.
But even if she comes, it doesn’t mean she’ll stay, or that she’ll return your love. She’s still engaged to be married. Until that changes, none of your feelings matter.
Samuel raked his fingers through his hair. This is how his thoughts had been since Ada had left, a cacophony of hopes and admonitions rattling against each other, never still.
He prayed under his breath. “Lord, forgive me for taking matters into my own hands. But I love her so. I just want to be with her.”
A still, small voice broke through the mental chaos. “Now. Now, Samuel.”
He sat upright. He dared not make a sound, expel a breath, or move a muscle. Now? he prayed.
“Now.”
The knock on the door made him jump. His heart beat wildly. He stood and moved his hand toward the door handle. If he opened the door and it was Ada …
And there she was, her cheeks flushed from the cold and the journey, her golden curls contained by a gray wool bonnet adorned with a sprig of holly.
“You came,” he managed.
“I came,” she said.
John cleared his throat. “I came, too. You sent for a doctor?”
Samuel felt himself redden. “Yes, thank you. I’m so glad. Come in and examine the children.”
Samuel’s thoughts continued to spin—with gratitude. Thank You, God. Thank You for… now.
“They should be fine,” John said, latching his medical bag. “Give them plenty of fluids and rest, and keep the other children away as much as possible.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Samuel said. “I’m much relieved.” He turned to Ada. “And thank you, Ada, for coming to assist.”
Ada accepted his thanks, even though she hadn’t done much. To make herself feel useful, she smoothed the covers around the oldest boy, Tito, and stroked his hair away from his forehead.
“Grazie, signorina,” he said.
Ada melted. “You’re welcome, Tito.”
“Sleep, children,” Samuel told them. “I’ll be up to check on you in a little while.”
As they went downstairs, John said, “Send me a note again if you need me. But honestly, I think they’ll be much improved even by tomorrow.”
Suddenly Ada panicked. Their mission was complete. They were leaving. But they’d just arrived—she’d just arrived.
She couldn’t leave yet.
Couldn’t.
Wouldn’t.
In the foyer she made her declaration. “I want to stay and help—if it’s all right with Samuel and Eliza, of course.”
Samuel beamed, and Eliza came out of the kitchen. “Did I hear an offer to help?”
Ada could have kissed her. “I offered to stay, if you could use me.”
Eliza put a finger to her chin and looked to the ceiling. “Let me see … thirteen children, three sick in bed, with rooms to rearrange so others won’t get sick, and bread to make, and Christmas two days away …” She looked at Ada and smiled. “I would much appreciate your help. In fact, how are you in the kitchen?”
“I guess we’ll see.” Ada kissed her brother on the cheek. “I’m needed here, John.”
But before she could escape, he pulled her into the parlor and spoke for her ears alone. “Come home, Ada.”
“I can’t come home. There’s work to be done. Samuel needs me. The children need me.”
“Owen needs you. Mother needs you. At home.” He glanced at Eliza, who was wiping the nose of a little girl. “Home, Ada. Not here, playing nanny and nursemaid.”
“I’m not needed at home and you know it. If I go home right now, how would I spend my day? Reading a book? Listening to Mother press me for ideas about my wedding?”
“You’ve waited a lifetime for such a wedding.”
She had. From the time she’d been old enough to consider the opposite sex more interesting than annoying, she’d daydreamed about a big wedding, marrying an important man of breeding and station.
Yet recently she’d been praying for God’s direction….
Ada looked to the foyer. Samuel held a little girl who was playing with his collar. The sight of him was like an answer to her prayer. “Come get me Christmas Day, John. Until then, I want to be here where I’m needed.”
“Ada, do you know what you’re doing?” he asked.
The answer was no, but she left him to ponder the question on his own. She hurried to the foyer, nudging Eliza toward the kitchen. “Teach me how to make bread, Eliza. I’d love to learn.”
Her heart beat in her throat and did not relax until she heard the front door close.
Samuel came into the kitchen. Was he going to argue with her decision?
But he just stood there looking at her.
Say something. Please say something.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he finally said. “Very glad.”
Eliza stepped between them, handing Ada an apron. “Get off with you, Samuel, or I’ll find an apron for you, too. If I’m not mistaken, we need more firewood.”
He smiled and took up the wood sling. “I’ll be back soon.”
They were wonderful words, full of promise.
Samuel strode down the street, grinning like a madman, his open coat flapping against the wind, his face enveloped by the puffs of his breath in the cold.
Cold he did not feel.
For he was warm inside, glowing and on fire with happiness. Ada was staying! She’d volunteered to stay! God was good! God was amazing!
He added a joyful jig to his step, receiving a laugh from Mrs. O’Connor, who was selling tin cups in a pushcart nearby. “What’s made you so happy today, Samuel Alcott?”
“Christmas,” he said. “Merry Christmas!”
“You’re glowing, Miss Wallace,” Eliza said.
Ada wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, trying to rid it of loose hairs. “I’m not glowing; I’m just plain hot. And please call me Ada.”
Ada ladled another bowl of stew and handed it down the row of children seated around the table. Older children held younger ones on their laps and blew on each spoonful before helping it reach an eager mouth.
Eliza pulled a pan of baking powder biscuits from the oven. The smell of hot bread was enticing, and Ada’s stomach growled.
But her own hunger could wait. The children came first. And oddly … she didn’t mind.
Which was a revelation of sorts. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt a hunger pang, or when she’d truly needed something. She also couldn’t remember the last time she’d perspired because of exertion rather than the weather.
A whoosh of cold air blew in, and she heard the front door close and snow being stomped off boots. She stopped her spooning to look to the hall, eager to see Samuel.
He entered the kitchen with a sling full of wood. His eyes sought hers, and he smiled as though the sight of her truly pleased him. His cheeks were bitten by the cold, and once he set the new wood by the stove, he stood over it, warming his hands. Ada waited for him to say something.
But he didn’t.
And she didn’t. She wasn’t sure what to say. She was in his world; she’d invited herself in. Partly. But Samuel had been the one to send for her brother. Had he wanted her to come along, or was her appearance a surprise?
Did he want her here? He’d said as much, but were they merely polite words? Samuel was usually talkative. They’d never had trouble making conversation before.
Eliza glanced at him, then at Ada. “Gracious sakes, Samuel. Cat got your tongue? Say something nice to our new volunteer—who’s just made biscuits for the very first time.”
His eyes skimmed over the bread but landed on Ada. “She’s full of surprises.”
Now he was being ridiculous. Ada spooned out the last bowl of soup and, nudged past him, and replaced the pot on the stove. “They’re just biscuits, Samuel. And the surprise might be that you like them.”
He plucked one from the pan and took an enormous bite, all the while having his eyes locked on hers. “Mmm, good,” he said, with crumbs falling to his chin.
Ada brushed a crumb away, then took a seat at the table. On a whim, she reached for a toddler who was sitting on the lap of an older girl, then took up a spoonful of stew, blew on it, and fed it to the child. See? I can fit in here. I’m up to the challenge.
Samuel merely laughed and sat at the opposite end of the table.
Eliza shook her head. “My oh my. Life just got interesting.”
Indeed.
“I hope you don’t mind sharing the bed with me,” Eliza said. “The good news is I tend to sleep like a corpse with my hands clasped over my chest, so you won’t have to nudge me over to my side.”
Ada stood before the narrow bed, swimming in one of Eliza’s nightdresses. “I told you I could sleep on the settee in the parlor.”
“Nonsense. A proper bed brings a proper sleep.” Eliza gathered two bricks by the fire with tongs and wrapped them in pieces of flannel. She carried them to the bed and slid them down to the foot end. “There,” Eliza said. “That’ll take the chill off the sheets. Get in now, and I’ll blow out the light.”
Once they were settled, once Ada’s eyes had adjusted to the moonlight and the low embers of the fire, Eliza said, “Care to pray with me?”
“Of course,” Ada said. Absolutely.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come …”
