Some of the councilors were nodding their heads, while others stared at the tabletop, not looking at her. Olivia heard a few sniffles behind her and someone blowing their nose.
She looked down at her notes and forged on. “My ordeal is what led me to envision a residence such as Bennington Place. We provide shelter for women in crisis, without judgment or condemnation. We help them with their pregnancies and provide options for their futures. All we want is the right to remain open and to be of service to those in need, as God has mandated. I hope you’ll allow us to continue our work. Thank you very much for your time.”
A weak smattering of applause broke out as Olivia stepped away from the microphone, her heart still thundering in her ears. With a hand to her stomach, she sank back onto her chair.
“Marvelous job.” Ruth patted her knee.
Judging from the lack of enthusiasm, Olivia wasn’t at all sure. When the buzzing in her brain eased, she focused back on the proceedings. Margaret had come forward and was praising Bennington Place for everything it had done for her and little Calvin. Then Cherise and Patricia each gave a brief account of their experience at the home. As per Ruth’s advice, Cherise wisely avoided any mention of her former profession, since it certainly would not aid their cause.
Dr. Henshaw and Mrs. Dinglemire both came forward as well to offer their expert testimony on the value of Bennington Place in the community.
As each person spoke, Olivia studied the eighteen council members. A few of the men nodded and wore sympathetic expressions, while the majority stared with stone-faced countenances. Her stomach twisted. This did not look good at all.
Olivia wished that Mrs. Linder could have been here, since her testimony might have held more weight. But the woman’s busy schedule hadn’t allowed it.
“Any additional speakers?” the chairman asked after the women had finished.
Olivia glanced nervously over her shoulder. Would any of the other residents come forward?
“Yes, sir. I’d like to say a few words.”
Olivia’s mouth fell open, her heart jumping into her throat. Tingles shot up her spine at the sight of Darius striding to the front of the room, her brother Sal right behind him.
What on earth were they doing here together?
Darius adjusted his tie as he approached the microphone and cleared his throat. From the corner of his eye, he was aware of Olivia’s shocked reaction, but he couldn’t dwell on that now.
Judging from the council members’ weak response to the women’s speeches, he needed to make this the best pitch of his life. One that would sway more than half of the men seated before him to vote against Mr. Simmons’s petition.
“Good morning, gentlemen. My name is Darius Reed. Up until recently, I worked for Walcott Industries, a property management firm in the city. I was tasked by my boss to acquire the Bennington property, which meant I found myself inside the maternity home on several occasions. At first, I believed the facility was not only unnecessary, but if it did exist, it should be located on the outskirts of town, away from respectable society.”
Murmurs of agreement rose from the audience.
“However, I soon learned how wrong I was. Bennington Place is exactly where it should be, where the people who need help can find it. I happened to be there on the day that a severely battered woman arrived at their doorstep. It was a wonder she made it there at all, but she certainly wouldn’t have if the home hadn’t been accessible. Sadly, after giving birth, the woman passed away. Yet, if it hadn’t been for the quick work of the Bennington Place staff, the baby wouldn’t have survived either.”
Darius cleared his throat, wishing he could see Olivia’s face. Were his words having any effect? The flinty stares of the council members gave him little indication.
“As for the residents of the home,” he continued, “they are a true community who work together to help one another, whether it’s making clothes, knitting blankets, or caring for the newborns. There is nothing untoward or undesirable about anyone at Bennington Place. As Miss Rosetti stated, they are doing God’s work, and I, for one, believe they should be allowed to continue their admirable mission. Thank you.”
As Darius turned away from the stand, he glanced over to where Ruth and Olivia were seated.
Olivia held a handkerchief to her cheek. “Thank you,” she mouthed with a trembling smile.
He nodded and let out his breath. Had his words hit their mark? He wasn’t sure, but it was the best he could do to show Olivia his support. Whether it would make any difference to the council’s decision—or to Olivia herself—he had no idea. All he knew was that he had to follow his heart and give credit where credit was due.
Darius took a seat as Sal stepped forward.
“Good morning. I am Reverend Salvatore Rosetti, priest at St. Michael’s Cathedral and brother of Olivia Rosetti, whom you’ve already met.” Sal looked at each of the men in front of him in turn. “Please do not negate the testimony I am about to give solely based on my relationship to the home’s co-founder. My first and foremost priority is always to God,
