“You began working three years ago? You must have been just a child.”
Her mind flashed back to her first day of walking to the mill with the other workers, the darkness of predawn, the frigid air waking her up, the clomp of their clogs on the stone pavement, huddling under her shawl and head covering for warmth and to hide her identity.
“I was sixteen. Most of the others, including Jane, started a lot younger than that. But my mum wanted me to be attending ragged school as long as possible.”
“I like your mother. She was not only a praying woman but a wise woman for valuing your education.”
“Then you approve of girls going to school?”
“Absolutely. Why wouldn’t I?”
Was he sincere? She hadn’t met too many men who thought her schooling was worthwhile, least of all her father. He’d only agreed to it because he’d adored Mum and did whatever she wanted. “Some fellas don’t want a wife who has more learning than they do.”
“You needn’t worry on that score. From everything I’ve witnessed about you, you’ll have no trouble finding a husband. Fellows will line up at the door of the Marine Barracks, if they aren’t already.”
Once his words were out, he rapidly dropped his attention to the crate on the table and began fidgeting with the empty milk bottle. “So tell me more about Jane.”
Zoe smothered her smile. Pastor Abe seemed to have about as much experience with women as he did with bottles. But in some indefinable way, his presence and his company were the distraction and the balm her aching heart needed.
five
Abe stood in front of the sitting room fireplace of the Marine Barracks and held out his hands to warm them. From the hours spent combing Victoria’s streets and taverns last night and all morning, not only was he weary to the bone, but the damp cold had seeped into his limbs as well.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t any closer to finding Herman Cox today than he’d been yesterday after the man had disappeared from the hospital, leaving Violet in his care. Even so, he softly whistled the hymn he oft did when he felt discouraged, knowing that praising the Lord was one of the quickest ways to take his mind off his troubles. “Rejoice, the Lord is King! Your Lord and King adore! Rejoice, give thanks, and sing, and triumph evermore—”
“Pastor Abe?” Someone spoke behind him.
He spun to find Miss Hart standing in the doorway, holding Violet, who appeared to be sleeping contentedly, thank the Lord. After the bouts of crying yesterday, he’d been uncertain whether Violet would ever stop, even after Miss Hart assured him the baby would be fine once she had enough nourishment.
The young woman didn’t step into the room but regarded him warily. Except for the slight pinch of a frown between her brows, her face was flawless, even more beautiful than he remembered. Not that he’d been thinking of her. At least not oft, and only because she’d insisted on bringing Violet back to the Marine Barracks with her and taking care of the baby while he looked for Herman.
“How is Violet today?” he asked.
“She was fussy off and on throughout the night, but she’s sleeping now.” The dark circles under Miss Hart’s eyes told him she’d gotten very little sleep herself.
“Is she still hungry? Do you need more milk?”
“We’ve plenty left from what you had sent over last eve.” Miss Hart tucked in a corner of the infant’s swaddled blanket. “She’s sated now.”
“Is she ill, then? Shall I call for a doctor?”
“She’s got her nights and days mixed around is all.” His expression must have shown his ignorance, because she offered an explanation. “Herman probably stayed up drinking at night and slept during the day, so Violet naturally thinks nights are the time to be awake and days are for sleeping.”
“I see. That poses a problem.”
“My niece was mixed around for a while too. But I eventually got her straightened out.”
He was tempted to ask how one went about changing a baby’s sleeping habits but decided he’d already shown enough of his lack of knowledge for one day. Instead, he leapt upon the chance to talk about something else. “Your niece? How old is she?”
“She was six weeks old when she died.”
Miss Hart wavered slightly, a sign of her exhaustion. Perhaps her grief over her friend had also interrupted her sleep.
Whatever the case, Miss Hart needed to sit down before she collapsed. Though the room was sparsely furnished, Abe strode to Miss Hart, took her arm, and guided her to the closest sofa.
“Thank you,” she whispered, her eyes glistening with sudden tears. “I’m just tired. Mum always said everything’s worse when you’re tired.”
He crouched before her, wishing he could do something to ease her grief and heartache. He started to reach for her hand, but then drew back. He needed to be careful. As a pastor and a single man, he couldn’t place himself in any compromising situations.
Yesterday’s time alone with Miss Hart at the hospital had bordered on inappropriate, even with the examining room door open and an attendant nearby. He’d lost track of time while Miss Hart had shared about Jane, about their escapades at the mill together, their months of unemployment, and finally their voyage across the Atlantic to Victoria.
In the moment, he’d told himself he was simply fulfilling his pastoral duty of comforting the bereaved. He oft sat with grieving families as they poured out memories of their loved ones. The sharing was the beginning of the healing process.
Even so, she was a single woman. And he needed to exercise more caution so he could remain above reproach. He’d learned that lesson all too well when he’d been offering comfort to Wanda.
If only Miss Hart didn’t look so forlorn. . . .
He hesitated in front of her. Her dark hair was pulled back today into a simple knot, but already a strand had come loose, as if it couldn’t stand to be contained. Her lashes were wet, making them appear longer and darker as they framed her shimmering eyes.
“Did you find Herman?” she asked.
“Not yet—”
“Good.” Her shoulders visibly relaxed, and she hugged Violet a little closer.
Unease nudged Abe, prodding him to stand and put some distance between himself and so beautiful a woman. He crossed to the fireplace and stretched his hands toward it, though he was no longer cold.
He cleared his throat and stared at the flames rather than at Miss Hart. “I’ll continue to look for Herman. And I will find him eventually.” He had enough connections throughout Vancouver Island and on the mainland that Herman Cox wouldn’t be able to avoid him for long.
“He doesn’t want the babe back,” Miss Hart said with too much confidence.
“Herman Cox is a good man. It would appear he’s simply lost himself to grief since his wife passed away.”
“That’s no excuse for neglecting this babe.”
Abe turned to face Miss Hart. Though tears still glittered in her eyes, now fire sparked there too. “You’re right—”
“He doesn’t deserve the child.” She jutted her chin, daring him to contradict her. Her expression reflected all the hurt and injustice and pain she’d experienced so far in her life.