“He’ll make time. Mark Henshaw is a remarkable young man. Not only is he raising his younger brother, he also volunteers his services to those living in the Ward.”
“That is impressive.” Olivia knew the area well. Her parents thanked God every day that they hadn’t ended up in those slums like so many other immigrants.
“Of course,” Ruth continued, “we also need to find a reputable midwife. And hopefully our upcoming fundraiser will bring in a group of benefactors to help cover our operating costs. Speaking of which . . .” Ruth pushed the morning paper across the table with a broad smile. “We made the front page of The Daily Star.” She pointed to an article underneath the latest war news.
A photo of Bennington Place accompanied a caption that read Local Widow Opens Private Maternity Home in the Heart of the City.
Ruth beamed. “The reporter promised the story would be visible, but front and center? How marvelous! Think of how many people will learn about us now.”
Nerves skittered up Olivia’s spine at the thought of the extensive publicity their new venture would receive. It had taken every ounce of Ruth’s persuasion to ensure the reporter didn’t use the term unwed mothers in the headline, which might have garnered a negative reaction from the community. They certainly didn’t need that as they strived to get their project off the ground.
Olivia scanned the printed words beneath the photo, anxious not to find any mention of her name. She let out a relieved breath. As promised, she was only referred to as Mrs. Bennington’s partner. Olivia didn’t want anyone to associate Ruth’s name with a woman who’d been arrested and incarcerated at the Mercer Reformatory.
Ruth rose to clear the breakfast dishes from the table. “I do wish you would take more credit for our venture,” she said, as though reading Olivia’s thoughts. “After all, this is your vision more than mine. All I did was provide the location.”
Olivia stood and refolded the newspaper. “You did much more than that. Not only did you provide the capital for the renovations, but you also opened your home and your heart to me. I don’t know where I’d be without you.” She blinked hard as she pulled Ruth into a hug.
“You’re the one who saved me, Olivia dear.”
“Then for that, I’m grateful. You have too much life in you to give up.”
Ruth laughed. “God willing, I’ll have enough energy to see this project through.”
“You better.” Olivia grinned. “Because I can’t do all this by myself.”
Darius entered his office on the eighth floor of the downtown building and set his briefcase on top of the mahogany desk. As he did every day, he inhaled the smell of leather and ink and let out a satisfied sigh. This was what he’d been working so hard for. This beautiful office with its view of the city signified he was well on his way to the bright future he’d envisioned for himself and Sofia.
“Any idea what’s got the boss all worked up?”
Darius turned to see his colleague Kevin Caldwell in the doorway. His blond hair was more disheveled than usual, as though he’d been running his hands through it.
“No, I’ve been out most of the morning.” Darius crossed his arms. “What’s going on?”
“I swear there’s steam coming out of Walcott’s office.”
“Maybe I should schedule another meeting off-site.” Darius grinned. Their boss’s temper was nothing new. Each employee learned to deal with it in their own way. As the newest member of the Walcott team, Kevin had not yet found a coping method. Darius slapped the man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Whatever the problem, it will likely blow over by tomorrow.”
A door slammed down the hall. “Reed. My office. Now!”
Darius winced. “Then again, tomorrow is a long way off. Wish me luck.”
“You got it, pal.” Kevin poked his head around the door, looked left and right, then scurried off.
Darius braced himself as he approached the boss’s office and knocked on the door.
“Come in.” The familiar bellow allowed his nerves to ease. If Darius had committed some grievous error, the command to enter would have been laced with profanity.
“Is there a problem, sir?”
The older man turned toward him. “You tell me.” He slid a newspaper across the polished surface of his desk.
Darius moved forward to pick it up. After the first glance at the war headlines, he couldn’t determine what had Walcott so hot under the collar, but then the photo of a house caught his attention.
“The Bennington property.”
Mr. Walcott scowled. “How long have I been trying to get Widow Bennington to sell to me?”
“Years?”
“More than I care to count.” Mr. Walcott slapped a palm to the desktop. “And now this ‘young woman’ they mention in the article has convinced her to open a maternity home. Of all the harebrained—”
Darius glanced at the man’s reddened complexion and frowned. “Come on, sir. It’s not worth having a heart attack over.” Lately, with the man’s burgeoning waistline and his fiery temper, Darius feared for his superior’s health.
“What would make a woman pushing seventy want to play nursemaid to a bunch of pregnant women?” Mr. Walcott paced the area behind his desk. “She should be sitting in a rocking chair on a porch somewhere, knitting or playing bridge.” He smashed a fist into his palm. “None of this makes a lick of sense.”
Darius had to concede the man made a valid point. Still, getting upset enough to turn his face that shade of purple was a bit excessive. “Why don’t we sit down? Let’s put our heads together and see what other options we have.”
Walcott pierced him with a hard stare. “You think we still have options?”
“Of course we do. The Bennington mansion isn’t the only viable property in town. We can find another space worth purchasing.”
“I don’t want another property. That estate is in the perfect location. Think of the building complex we
