“GOOD MORNING, MRS. BRANDT!”
Sarah waved a greeting to her neighbor, Mrs. Ellsworth. In spite of the Sabbath being a day of rest, Mrs. Ellsworth was out sweeping her front porch. This enabled her to keep an eye on all the activities on Bank Street. She had the cleanest porch in New York City.
“Is that a new hat you’re wearing?” the old woman asked.
Sarah reached up to touch the hat in question. “As a matter of fact, it is.”
“Very stylish,” Mrs. Ellsworth said in approval.
“It should be,” Sarah replied with a grin. “It was my mother’s.”
“Your mother’s?”
“Yes, she decided I needed some more presentable clothes, and she made me take my pick from her closet.” The gown she’d worn to the opera last night had been only one of her new acquisitions. Mrs. Ellsworth hadn’t noticed that her suit was “new,” too.
“That was very nice of her. Now I suppose you’re taking your old things to be laundered, but where are you taking them on a Sunday?” Mrs. Ellsworth asked with a puzzled frown at the bundle Sarah carried. “Or are you taking something to poor Mr. Prescott?” Webster Prescott was a newspaper reporter who had been injured while investigating the murder Sarah had just helped Malloy solve a few days earlier.
Sarah glanced down at the bundle. “No, this isn’t for Mr. Prescott. His aunt is taking very good care of him, and she assured me he doesn’t need anything. And it’s not my laundry, either. I’m paying a visit to one of the missions on the Lower East Side, so I thought I’d take my old things down to them as a donation.”
“Oh, my, what a nice thing to do. I do hope you have included some shoes in your donation. Giving someone a pair of shoes is very good luck.”
“I’m afraid I – ”
“No, wait, I’m wrong about that,” Mrs. Ellsworth corrected herself, frowning in concentration. “It may only be new shoes that bring good luck. I’m not sure what old shoes bring. Oh, yes, I am! They’re good luck for the bride and groom, aren’t they? To tie behind their carriage. Yes, so they must be good luck for everyone, don’t you think?” she asked, satisfied she had solved the problem of the value of old shoes.
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Sarah said diplomatically. She never bothered to argue with Mrs. Ellsworth’s superstitions. “In any event, I didn’t have any shoes I could donate, so I’m only giving away clothes.”
“Oh, well, I’m sure those poor souls at the mission will appreciate whatever you can spare. And how is Mr. Prescott doing?”
“I saw him yesterday, and he seems to be improving. He’s fortunate his aunt was able to look after him. If I have time, I’ll stop by the hospital again today to check on him after I visit the mission.”
“I’m glad to hear he’s better,” Mrs. Ellsworth said. “But you aren’t going down there to that mission alone, are you? An unescorted woman isn’t safe in that part of town.”
Sarah didn’t bother to point out that it was broad daylight, and that as a midwife, she was accustomed to going to all parts of the city unescorted, at all hours of the day and night. “No, I’ll have a gentleman with me.”
“Mr. Malloy?” she asked, brightening instantly. For some reason, Mrs. Ellsworth had developed a fondness for the gruff police detective. Sarah would attribute her warm feelings to Malloy helping clear Mrs. Ellsworth’s son of murder charges, except that the old woman had liked Malloy long before that.
“No, not Mr. Malloy,” Sarah said, disappointing her. “I’m meeting Mr. Dennis.”
“Mr. Richard Dennis?” she asked, instantly wary. “Nelson said he thought it was Mr. Dennis’s carriage that picked you up last evening. We couldn’t help noticing,” she added, lest Sarah think her nosy.
“We went to the opera,” Sarah said, relieving Mrs. Ellsworth of the need to inquire.
“Did you enjoy yourself?” the old woman asked, still not certain how she felt about her friend seeing Nelson’s employer socially.
“Very much.”
“Mr. Dennis is an honorable man,” Mrs. Ellsworth said, although Sarah heard the echo of a question in the words. “He was very kind to Nelson during the… the unpleasantness.”
Sarah saw no need to mention that Dennis hadn’t voluntarily been kind. “He didn’t want to lose a valuable employee,” she said instead, the soul of tact. Dennis had done the right thing, after all, no matter what his motivation.
“He certainly won Nelson’s undying loyalty,” Mrs. Ellsworth assured her.
“Then Mr. Dennis is fortunate indeed,” Sarah said.
“And speaking of Mr. Malloy, how is his son doing after the operation?” the old woman asked, returning to a subject nearer to her heart.
“He’ll be getting his cast off on Wednesday. I guess we’ll know then.”
“Please tell Mr. Malloy I’ll be remembering the child in my prayers.”
“I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”
Mrs. Ellsworth looked around expectantly. “Is Mr. Dennis calling for you?”
“No, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to take his carriage into the Lower East Side. People might get the idea he was trying to flaunt his wealth.”
“Oh, yes,” the old woman agreed. “The poor should be allowed to keep their pride, at least. But how will you get there? A Hansom won’t want to go there, either.”
“I suggested we ride the El,” Sarah said with a smile.
Mrs. Ellsworth smiled back. “Mr. Dennis on the El. That should be an experience.”
“I’m sure it will be.”
Sarah wished her neighbor good morning and set off to the nearest train station at Eighth Street on Sixth Avenue.
She really hadn’t expected Richard Dennis to ride the Elevated Train down from his home on the Upper West Side, but she smiled when she spotted his carriage sitting near the station. Dennis must have been watching for her, because he alighted from the carriage and hurried toward her as she approached.
He really was a fine figure of a man, and his clothes were tailored to accentuate his lean figure and height. He smiled as he reached her and removed his silk top hat. “Good morning, Mrs. Brandt,” he said. “You look lovely this morning, as usual.”
“Thank you,” she replied, wondering how many times he’d said this meaningless phrase to women who looked far from lovely.
“I’ve been thinking about your plan to take the El and then walk over to Mulberry Street, but I really don’t see any reason why we can’t go in my carriage. You have this bundle, after all, and – ”
“I really think we should arrive unannounced, Mr. Dennis,” she reminded him. “Your carriage would attract a crowd, and believe me, we’d make very slow progress surrounded by hundreds of curious children.” Besides, she thought, I want you to walk through the neighborhood and see for yourself “How the Other Half Lives,” as the reporter Jacob Riis had tried to do for the entire city in his book by that name.
“But I’m not sure it will be entirely safe,” he protested. “While you’re under my protection – ”
“I don’t need your protection, Richard,” she said kindly. “I travel the city every day without it. But if you prefer, you can go in your carriage, and I will meet you there.”
“Certainly not!” He was outraged at the very suggestion. “I will, of course, do whatever you think is best.” He glanced uncertainly at the driver, who was watching for a signal. After a slight hesitation, he waved the man on. Then he turned back to Sarah with a strained smile. “Allow me to take your… your package.” Plainly, he thought it odd she’d chosen to carry such a thing as a bundle of clothing on a public street, but he was too gentlemanly to mention it.
Sarah surrendered her burden, then took the arm he offered her.
“I’m afraid you will have to instruct me,” he said, looking uneasily at the tracks that ran over their heads. “I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never ridden on the Elevated.”
“I’m sure you’ll find it a superior method of transportation,” Sarah assured him, and led him to the covered stairway that would take them to the station, two stories above the street.
“The stations have always reminded me of the chalets in Switzerland,” he remarked as they climbed the stairs amid the crowd of other travelers.
“Many other people have noticed the same thing,” Sarah said. “I’m sure they were designed to be as attractive as possible.”
“It’s a pity the trains themselves can’t be more attractive.”
He was right. The trains rattling overhead sent a shower of dirt and debris down on the streets – and pedestrians – below, and the noise rattled the windows, making everyday life a strain on the four avenues where the trains ran. On the other hand, they were the only means of speedy and reliable transportation in the city.
They waited only a few minutes for a train to arrive. Dennis quickly figured out how to pay the fare, and they settled into their seats. Fortunately, Sunday morning was not a busy time for the trains, so the car wasn’t even quite full. During busier times of the day, Sarah had seen the conductors cram the cars so tightly that passengers could hardly move before allowing the train to leave the station.
Dennis had settled her bundle on his lap. “What have you brought?”
“Some clothing I no longer need. I thought perhaps someone at the mission might be able to use it.”
He frowned. “I hadn’t thought. You’re right, of course. I should have my man check my own wardrobe and see to it.”
Sarah figured his “man” probably appropriated all of Richard’s castoffs for himself, but she didn’t say so. The train was pulling out of the station, and Dennis glanced around a little apprehensively. She had to admit the crowd was of a much lower social class than Dennis would be accustomed to, although no one appeared to be truly disreputable. Then the train cleared the station, and Dennis was distracted by something else entirely.
“Good heavens!” he cried before catching himself. Lowering his voice, he leaned closer to Sarah and whispered, “You can see right into those people’s rooms!”
The train tracks had been built over the sidewalks on either side of Sixth Avenue, within a few feet of the tenement buildings that lined the street and on the same level as the third-floor windows. If the train had stopped, the passengers were close enough to reach out and shake hands with the residents of those third-floor flats.
“Sometimes I’ll catch a glimpse of someone and try to imagine a life for them,” Sarah said. “It helps pass the time.”
“But… but…” He was speechless with horror. Finally, he managed, “They have no privacy!”
“That’s why the rent for those flats is lower than for those on other floors. Many people gratefully sacrifice their privacy for the economy.”
Plainly, he could not imagine such a thing.
The train picked up speed, but it would be stopping again soon, so it never went very fast. The people at home on this Sunday morning presented a tableau to the train passengers.
“Shocking,” Dennis murmured, unable to turn his gaze from the passing scenes.
“The poor endure much more shocking indignities every day,” Sarah said. “I’m sure your wife understood this and wanted to help.”
Dennis only shook his head in amazement. This trip was supposed to help him understand his wife better. Sarah began to wonder if he would be able to absorb all the lessons he would learn today.
They left the train at Bleeker Street, the next stop. Dennis protested that his carriage could have come this far, at least, and saved them this much of the journey. Sarah ignored him and led the way out of the station and down the steps to the street.
Sunday morning on Bleeker Street was little different than any other day, except perhaps to be busier. Because the men who would normally be at work the other six days of the week were home, their voices and bodies were added to the bustle and the din. The cobbled street was clogged with the carts of the street vendors who were hawking their wares.
“Don’t those people have any regard for the Sabbath?” Dennis asked, nodding toward a cart loaded with shoes of every size and description.
“They’re Jews,” Sarah said. “Their Sabbath was yesterday.”
Although the air was still cool, the sky had cleared after an early morning shower, and many of the windows in the tenement buildings were open so women could lean out and talk to their neighbors. Never mind that the neighbor with whom they were conversing lived on the other side of the street. Shouted conversations in several languages went on over their heads as children, still barefoot even in the chill of October, darted in every direction, heedless of their elders or their right of way. Some of the children played a game of stick ball in the street, using piles of horse manure for bases. Others chased each other in tag, while still others jumped rope or played hop-scotch on a pattern scratched into the sidewalk.
Young men clustered on comers, passing a bottle while they ogled young girls who passed in pairs or small groups, dressed in their Sunday finery and pretending to ignore them. Old men squatted on stoops and complained to each other in their native tongues. Old women bartered with the vendors, scolding and screeching incomprehensibly.
At night these streets were deserted and the buildings were packed with humanity crammed into every comer to find rest. During the day, the life could not be contained, and it spilled out into the streets and onto the fire escapes, exploding with an energy that made the very air electric.
Could Dennis feel it? She glanced up at him, but he simply looked bewildered and anxious. He was probably worried someone would pick his pocket.
They were certainly attracting more than their share of attention. Dennis’s tailor-made clothing and aristocratic bearing set him apart. The only reason they hadn’t been approached or intimidated yet is because so many people knew Sarah. Several in every block greeted her by name, and when anyone made a move toward them, either to beg or to steal, someone else would warn them away with shouts and curses.
“That’s Mrs. Brandt, the midwife! She saved my daughter’s life!” was a common theme, repeated in many languages.
“You have a lot of friends here,” Dennis marveled after they’d gone several blocks.
“The poor are very sensitive. They know when someone is patronizing them and when someone treats them with genuine respect.”
“Respect?” he repeated as if he’d never heard the word. Plainly, he could not imagine having such a feeling for these people.
“Yes, and their loyalty is the reward for that respect.”
At last they reached Mulberry Street. Police Headquarters sat on the block between Bleeker and Houston, and Sarah thought of Malloy as they passed. He would be at home today, spending time with his son. She’d see them both on Wednesday, when Brian went to the doctor’s office to get his cast off. Malloy had invited Sarah to be there, and she would be. She told herself the thought of seeing them made her stomach flutter only because she was excited for the boy.
The buildings across the street from Headquarters were quiet today. The rooms there were rented by newspaper reporters who spent their time watching to see who came and went at Headquarters in hopes of getting a story. Only a few cub reporters would be on duty on a Sunday, and they were probably sleeping until the next Black Maria full of prisoners arrived.
“Is that a saloon?” Dennis asked in surprise, pointing to a building located half a block away. “It’s practically next door to the police station!”
“I’ve heard that the owner justifies it by saying ‘the nearer the church, the closer to God.’ ”
Dennis frowned in disapproval. Sarah wondered if he disapproved the sentiment or of hearing her express it. “That’s blasphemy.”
“Yes, it is.” Sarah managed not to smile. “The area farther down, where the street curves, is known as Mulberry Bend,” she added. “It contains the worst slums in the city.”
“There are worse slums than this?” he asked in amazement, looking around.
“Indeed, although they aren’t as bad as they used to be. Just a few years ago, the police would only go in there in large groups,” Sarah said. “The Italians have settled there now. So many of them live here, they call it Little Italy.”
“The real Italy is nothing like this,” he informed her, making no effort to conceal his dismay. Sarah could imagine the inhabitants of Little Italy would agree with him.
The Prodigal Son Mission was located in the next block. Sarah had never paid much attention to it before. Missions and settlement houses had started appearing in various locations in the Lower East Side as society developed a social conscience.
This mission was in an old Dutch-style house that had once been a large and comfortable home to a well-to-do family. That family had long since moved farther north, leaving the house to be divided into flats for the flood of poor immigrants currently invading the city. Now the house had changed character again. Someone had hung a large cross over the front door, and a sign identified the mission to anyone in the neighborhood who could read English.
When she glanced at Dennis, he was frowning.
“Isn’t it what you were expecting?” she asked.
“I’m not sure what I was expecting,” he said. “I was just trying to imagine Hazel coming here, walking down these streets and seeing these people.” He turned to her. “She wasn’t like you, Sarah. She wasn’t brave or strong.”
Sarah didn’t consider herself particularly brave or strong, either. “Perhaps you misjudged her.”
He wasn’t prepared to admit such a thing.
They’d reached the front stoop, and Sarah walked up the steps and knocked on the door while Dennis waited on the sidewalk, still holding Sarah’s bundle. In a few moments the door opened. A young woman stood there, and she smiled uncertainly at Sarah.
“You want something, yes?” she asked with a lilting accent. She was an ordinary-looking girl, but her smile brightened her face and her light brown eyes, making her almost pretty.
“We’d like to see Mrs. Wells, if she’s available,” Dennis informed her from his place at the bottom of the steps.
The girl looked down in surprise, and her smile vanished. Richard Dennis was used to intimidating those he considered his inferior, and he’d certainly intimidated this girl. “Sì, Signore, I mean, yes. Please to come in, Signora.”
She stood back hastily to allow them to enter. Sarah recognized her accent as Italian, but unlike most of the Italian immigrants, she had light hair and a fair complexion. Sarah knew from her dealings in the neighborhood that this meant she was probably from Northern Italy, although Northern Italian immigrants were much rarer than Southern ones.
“You will wait here, please,” the girl asked, still wary of Dennis, since he hadn’t done anything to reassure her. In fact, he was practically glaring at her in apparent disapproval. Sarah couldn’t imagine why he would disapprove of the girl.
She wanted to chide him, but she didn’t know exactly how to make him see how rude he was being. Instead, she looked around while they waited for the girl to return. The entrance hall was remarkably clean and virtually bare of furniture and decoration except for a cheap picture of Jesus on one wall. The floors had been painted brown and scrubbed until they were spotless. From another room, Sarah could hear young voices uncertainly singing a hymn.
The girl had disappeared into that room farther down the hallway, and after a moment, the singing stopped and a woman came out. The girl made as if to follow her, but the woman said, “Thank you, Emilia. Please stay with the girls and have them continue with their Bible lesson,” and came down the hall alone to meet them.
“Mrs. Wells?” Sarah asked as she approached. She was a small woman of middle age. The years had thickened her figure and put silver streaks into her dark hair, but her face was remarkably unlined. Her dark brown eyes glowed with the confidence and serenity of someone very confident of her place in the world.
“Yes, I’m Mrs. Wells,” she replied. “Welcome to the mission. Have you visited us before?”
“No, we haven’t,” Sarah said. “I’m Sarah Brandt, and this is Mr. Richard Dennis. His wife used to – ”
“Mr. Dennis, of course,” Mrs. Wells said, her intense gaze instantly on him. Sarah saw a flicker of emotion cross her smooth face. She must have been amazed that Richard had suddenly turned up on her doorstep after five years. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you. We met when I visited your wife during her last illness.”
“Oh, yes, I’d forgotten,” Dennis said apologetically. “That was a difficult time. I’m afraid much of what happened then is a little unclear to me, even today.”
She nodded with understanding. “No need to explain. It has been a long time. Your wife was a remarkable woman, so dedicated to the work we do here. You must feel her loss deeply. I know we still do.”
“Thank you,” Richard murmured uncomfortably. Sarah knew he didn’t want to discuss his wife’s death, particularly when they were standing in a corridor.
Mrs. Wells obviously realized it, too. “Now tell me,” she continued briskly, as if as eager as Richard to move on from the unpleasant thoughts of Hazel’s death. “What brings you here after all this time?”
Sarah came to Richard’s rescue. “Mr. Dennis and I were wondering if you would mind telling us a little about the work you do. He’s interested in finding out why his wife was so devoted to your ministry.”
She seemed to be considering Sarah’s answer, almost as if she were trying to judge the truthfulness of it. But perhaps Sarah was only being fanciful. The woman probably had to be careful her visitors were sincere and not just curiosity seekers wanting to have an experience they could tell their wealthy friends about later. “Well, it is the Sabbath,” Mrs. Wells reminded them, “and usually I’m leading the young ladies in a Bible class at this hour.” Sarah wasn’t sure if this was meant as a reprimand or not. “But they can get along without me, I’m sure,” she added kindly, taking away the sting. “It’s much more important for you to find the peace you’re seeking, Mr. Dennis.”
Her eyes were filled with sympathy, as if she understood completely the pain Richard had felt and his need to assuage it. Sarah could easily see why she had been successful with this ministry. Such kindness would draw the children of these streets like a magnet.
“Please, step into the parlor,” Mrs. Wells said, “and give me a moment to instruct Emilia.”
The parlor was almost as austere as the hallway. The mismatched furniture had to be the result of donations or rescues of salvageable pieces from the trash, and the decor was uncluttered with the assortment of knickknacks and doilies most people felt was fashionable. Sarah took a seat on an ugly sofa. She was glad for the layers of her petticoats, because they cushioned her against the protruding horsehair stuffing which would make sitting on it feel like sitting on a hairbrush. Dennis chose a chair that seemed reasonably sturdy, if a little the worse for wear. He set Sarah’s bundle self-consciously on the floor beside him.
After a few moments, Mrs. Wells returned, closing the parlor doors carefully behind her and taking a seat on the sofa beside Sarah. She moved with an unconscious grace that drew the eye while at the same time giving the overwhelming impression of modesty and humility. She was dressed in black bombazine unrelieved by any adornment. Even her pierced earlobes were bare. Sarah judged that she was in mourning.
“Now, what can I tell you about Mrs. Dennis?” she asked when she was settled on the sofa beside Sarah, her back perfectly straight and her hands folded properly in her lap.
Sarah looked to Richard, but he sent her a silent plea to begin.
“As I said, Mr. Dennis is interested in finding out more about your work here because of his late wife’s involvement,” she began. “Perhaps you could begin by telling us how the mission got started.”
Once again Mrs. Wells studied Sarah for a moment before replying. Sarah had the impression that Mrs. Wells was once again weighing her words to see if they were truthful. “I would be happy to,” Mrs. Wells said, her smooth face settling into a small, sweet smile, making Sarah think perhaps she had only imagined Mrs. Wells questioned her sincerity. “My dear husband started the mission more than seven years ago. It was his dream and his calling. He’d worked in this part of the city for a long time, preaching on street comers and ministering to the poor wherever he could find a place, before he was finally able to purchase this house.” She turned her gaze to Dennis. “He was only able to do so because of the generosity of a wealthy benefactor.”
“How… how fortunate,” Dennis managed, somewhat nonplussed at what might have been a very broad hint that his generosity would also be appreciated.
“Fortune had nothing to do with it, Mr. Dennis. The Lord provided,” she corrected him gently.
“Of course,” Dennis murmured, properly rebuked.
“Is your husband busy?” Sarah asked to save him from more embarrassment. “I would love to meet him.”
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, not in this world, at least,” she said with another of her gentle smiles. “My husband passed away less than a year after we opened the mission.”
“I’m sorry,” Sarah said, responding as good manners dictated she should, even though she hadn’t known the man.
“No need to be sorry,” Mrs. Wells informed her. “Although I miss him dreadfully, he’s in a much better place now. If the Lord took him, He must have thought his work here was done, and that we would be able to continue without him.”
“So you took over the work here after he passed away?” Sarah asked, amazed that so unassuming a woman would have been able to make a success of a ministry in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city.
“I did what I could,” Mrs. Wells clarified. “My talents are very different from his, of course. He was a gifted and dynamic preacher. I am merely God’s handmaiden, and I can only do what a woman can do.”
“And what is that?” Sarah asked, genuinely curious now.
“Here we offer young girls a safe place to stay, if they need one. Many of them had been living on the streets or worse. Others lived with their families, but they still need to learn the skills that will make them productive wives and mothers, things like cooking and sewing and simple hygiene. You would be amazed at the squalor in which they live.”
Sarah thought of the tenements where a single outside spigot or pump served a dozen families and no one had a bathtub. She thought of streets clogged with garbage and horse droppings because the city workers didn’t want to go into that neighborhood to pick it up. If cleanliness was next to Godliness, for some it was nothing short of a miracle. “I’m a midwife, Mrs. Wells,” Sarah explained. “I know it only too well. For most of them, it’s not a choice, however. It’s a matter of not having any means of keeping clean.”
“You’re right, of course,” Mrs. Wells said. “But things will never change unless people know that they should. We simply try to educate the young women who come to us about what kind of change is necessary – and how to accomplish it.”
Certainly a worthy goal, Sarah thought, admiring the woman even more. “I know many of the settlement houses teach young women the skills you mentioned, in addition to helping them learn to read and write,” she offered. The ones she’d seen in New York had been modeled after Hull House in Chicago, founded by Jane Addams.
“The settlement houses do emphasize education. You would expect nothing less, since they are run by college women.” Mrs. Wells said the phrase “college women” with just a hint of disdain.
“Don’t you approve of the settlement houses?” Sarah asked in amazement.
“I’m sure they mean well, Mrs. Brandt,” Mrs. Wells allowed, “but they emphasize the physical and ignore the spiritual. Saving someone’s body is useless unless you save the soul as well.”
Sarah certainly believed many of the souls in the Lower East Side – and in all parts of the city, for that matter – needed saving, but she knew that wasn’t nearly enough. “Don’t you teach your girls to read?”
“Of course we do.” Mrs. Wells seemed surprised at the question. “They read the Bible and other uplifting literature. While we prepare them for heaven, we also teach them how to have a better life here on earth.”
“My wife never…” Dennis began, then stopped when the women looked at him in surprise. Sarah had almost forgotten he was there, and Mrs. Wells seemed to have, also.
“Yes, Mr. Dennis?” Mrs. Wells prodded gently.
“I never knew my wife to be interested in… in religious things. I mean, she attended church regularly, of course. One does, but she never seemed overly concerned about…” He gestured vaguely, unable to find the correct word.
“I gathered as much,” Mrs. Wells said. “When she first came here, she was a seeker. That’s what I call them. People who have an emptiness inside and are looking for a way to fill it. As I remember, Mrs. Dennis seemed very unhappy when we first met.”
Sarah could have groaned. This wasn’t what Richard needed to hear. He already felt guilty enough over his wife’s death. “I believe Mrs. Dennis was looking for something meaningful to do with her time,” Sarah tried in Hazel Dennis’s defense. “Women in her position in life sometimes grow bored with society.”
“She was also unhappy because she didn’t have a child,” Richard offered.
“I don’t have a child either, Mr. Dennis,” Mrs. Wells said, her tone still gentle and reasonable. “My daughter was taken from me when she was only three. At first I was angry and grief-stricken, but eventually, I came to understand and accept. God needed me for other work, so He freed me of the responsibility of my child. She’s in heaven, with her father, and I’m not selfish enough to wish her back here in this veil of tears. She’s happier there than she could ever be here, and I, in turn, found fulfillment in the work God gave me. Your wife did, too.”
“She did?” he asked, leaning forward in his eagerness to hear something that would give him peace.
“She found her true calling, Mr. Dennis. She did work she loved, she found God’s peace, and she died in a state of grace. We cannot ask for more in this life.”
Obviously, these answers more than satisfied Mrs. Wells, but Sarah wasn’t sure how much comfort they would give Richard. “Perhaps you could show us around the mission so Mr. Dennis can see what his wife did here,” she suggested.
Once again Mrs. Wells studied Sarah in that odd way of hers. “Forgive me, Mrs. Brandt, but were you a friend of Mrs. Dennis?”
So that was it! Mrs. Wells was simply trying to figure out what Sarah’s role was in all of this. “No, I regret to say I never knew Mrs. Dennis.”
“Mrs. Brandt is a friend of mine,” Richard quickly explained. “I asked her to accompany me today because of her familiarity with the neighborhood and the people in it.”
Mrs. Wells hadn’t taken her gaze from Sarah. “Oh, yes, you said you were a midwife, I believe.”
Sarah heard the unspoken questions that Mrs. Wells was too well bred to ask. She would naturally think it odd a man in Richard’s position would be well acquainted with a midwife. “My family and Mr. Dennis’s have been friends for many years. After my husband’s death, I chose to make my own living doing what I love. Much as you did, Mrs. Wells,” she added.
Mrs. Wells nodded, silently acknowledging the bond between them. “I hope your work affords you as much satisfaction as mine does to me, Mrs. Brandt,” she said. Then she turned to Richard. “I believe you wanted to see what we do here at the mission.”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind showing us around,” he said, giving her one of his charming smiles. Sarah wouldn’t have thought charm could influence Mrs. Wells, but she allowed herself to return his smile.
“I would be happy to, Mr. Dennis. I consider it my Christian duty to help you find the peace you’re seeking.” She turned to Sarah with an unasked question in her dark eyes. “And to help you find whatever it is you are seeking, Mrs. Brandt.”