He blew out a breath. Lord, please watch over Meredith and help her make the best decision for her and her child.
24
Ruth closed Margaret’s door with a soft click, then made her way down the carpeted corridor to the main staircase. As per Mrs. Dinglemire’s request, Ruth was checking on Margaret and her new son every few hours until the midwife could return later that day. Thankfully, Margaret was resting comfortably, with her baby beside her in a bassinet. Though he’d arrived several weeks early according to the original due date, the babe seemed healthy enough, weighing just over seven pounds. Mrs. Dinglemire pronounced him fit, claiming that Margaret’s doctor had likely made an error in the due date.
Not that it mattered, as long as mother and child were doing well. Unlike poor Mary.
As Ruth descended the stairs, her lips formed an automatic prayer for Margaret and her son as well as for little Abigail. But the prayer brought to mind another worry. Something was definitely wrong with Olivia. Since yesterday, she’d been distracted, barely even acknowledging the birth of Margaret’s son. The two girls had grown quite close these last few weeks, or so she’d thought, and Ruth had expected Olivia to be very involved with Margaret’s delivery. But she hadn’t even gone in to see the new baby yet.
Ruth looked into the parlor, surprised to find only Cherise and Patricia seated on the sofa. Patricia was continuing her attempts to teach Cherise how to knit a blanket. Ruth had to admire how Cherise had adapted to her new environment, wearing more conservative clothing and forgoing her usual cosmetics. She was extremely respectful of the house rules, and she’d taken to Patricia like a sister, though two women more dissimilar would be hard to find.
“Has anyone seen Olivia?” Ruth asked.
Patricia looked up. “Not since breakfast.”
“She wasn’t herself this morning,” Cherise said. “Ever since that woman came by yesterday, Olivia’s been de mauvaise humeur.”
“Translation, please.” Patricia set the wool on her lap.
“She’s been unhappy. Moody.”
“Yes, I noticed that too.”
Ruth frowned. “What woman came by yesterday?”
“I don’t know, but she left her card.” Patricia pointed to the coffee table.
Ruth snatched it up. Mrs. Jane Linder, Toronto Children’s Aid Society. Her stomach sank. “Oh dear. This might have something to do with Abigail. No wonder Olivia’s unhappy.” She put the card in her skirt pocket. “Mrs. Linder is the lady who will be coming to speak to you girls soon about your options for your babies’ futures.”
Cherise’s thin brows puckered. “I do not need to talk to anyone. I know I am keeping my bébé.” Her dark eyes flashed. “She will not take it away.”
Ruth sensed the girl’s fear and softened her voice. “Mrs. Linder only wants to make sure you girls can provide for an infant without a husband or any extended family to help out. As old-fashioned as that sounds, it’s hard for a woman on her own to work and care for a child.” She paused. “In fact, that’s something Olivia and I are considering, whether to expand our home to include babysitting for infants while the mothers work.” She squared her shoulders. “But that’s a discussion for another time. Right now, I must talk to Mrs. Neale and then find Olivia—”
The doorbell rang.
“That’s probably Mrs. Dinglemire here to check on Margaret.” Ruth hurried to the front door so the woman wouldn’t ring a second time. With two sleeping babies, the bell now seemed overly loud.
But it wasn’t Mrs. Dinglemire. Instead, Reverend Dixon stood on the porch, wearing his clerical collar as he did for official visits. Yet his brow was furrowed, his usual cheerful demeanor notably absent.
“Reverend, this is a surprise. Do come in.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bennington.” The pastor stepped inside and removed his hat.
“What brings you by?”
Giggles erupted from the parlor, followed by the murmur of conversation.
Reverend Dixon glanced at the doorway. “Might we speak in private?”
From his somber expression, Ruth doubted it could be good news. She suppressed a sigh. It was going to be one of those days. “Certainly. Come back to my office.” She looked into the parlor again. “Ladies, if Mrs. Dinglemire arrives, please let her in. I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.”
As she took her chair behind the desk and waited for the minister to choose a seat, she steeled herself for whatever he had to say.
“I’ve been meaning to come by and see how things are going with this new endeavor of yours,” he said.
The thread of skepticism in his voice put Ruth on alert. She didn’t get the sense that he was here to offer his assistance.
“Things are going well so far.” She wouldn’t mention that they were severely short of funds, or that the first woman to give birth at Bennington Place had died, or that her co-directress might have become too attached to an orphaned baby. “We have five women in residence and two infants, as of yesterday.” She forced a smile. “As word of our facility spreads, I’m sure we’ll be able to help many more women.”
A slight breeze blew in from the open window, ruffling some papers on the desk.
“As you know,” Reverend Dixon said, “I have recommended your home to a couple of women.”
“Yes, and we’re most grateful for your support.”
“However, some disturbing information has come to my attention. . . .” He trailed off, his gaze faltering.
“If you’re referring to that nasty article in the newspaper—which has no basis in reality, I might add—then you’re worrying for nothing.”
“It’s not just the article.” His bushy brows dipped together. “One of our parishioners has been collecting signatures on a petition to have Bennington Place closed down. He says that he’s personally seen
