Ruth ground her teeth together. It had to be Mr. Simmons. What did that troublemaker do, sit and watch their house all day with a spyglass? She huffed out a breath. “Our mission is to help women in trouble, Reverend. That doesn’t mean we get to judge whether or not they are worthy of assistance. These are exactly the people who need our compassion and caring the most.”
“I understand that, but—”
“Do you turn people away from the church if they don’t meet your standards?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Then why should we?” She leaned over the desk. “We don’t interrogate our residents. If they choose to confide their circumstances to us, then we listen and treat each case individually, with the respect and compassion they deserve. As long as a woman agrees to follow our house rules, we don’t turn anyone away.”
“I see your point,” he conceded. “However, I also understand the concerns of the people in this neighborhood. They fear that Bennington Place is attracting undesirable types. The mothers of young children are worried for their youngsters’ safety. And the businesses on the next block worry that potential customers might be put off as well.”
Ruth closed her eyes briefly. It seemed no argument would sway the man. “What is it you want me to do, Reverend?”
The man’s pale eyes met hers. “I’ve been asked by our parish council, some of whom are city aldermen, to respectfully request that you consider moving your maternity home to the outskirts of the city, somewhere less densely populated. It would be better for everyone involved.”
Anger flared in Ruth’s chest. “Do they think I can just pick up my house and move it wherever I wish?”
“Of course not, but you could sell this house and buy another in a more appropriate area. Or you could keep the house and lease a more suitable property for the maternity home.”
“You make it sound like a trip to the market to choose a cut of beef. It’s not that simple. This is my family home, and I don’t wish to move anywhere else. Besides, we need the visibility this location affords.”
A beam of light from the window illuminated the large silver cross around his neck. He rubbed his chin in a thoughtful manner, appearing to search for another argument to persuade her.
Ruth tilted her head. “You were so supportive of our goal at the outset, Reverend. What happened to change your mind?”
He let out a sigh. “It’s complicated, Mrs. Bennington.”
“Really?” She folded her arms. “Then why don’t you explain it to me.”
The man shifted his considerable weight on the chair. “Several of my more affluent parishioners have threatened to switch parishes if I don’t do my utmost to gain your cooperation. I’m sure you realize what this could mean for St. Olaf’s if our major financial backing was eliminated.” He gave her a pointed look.
“Oh, I understand very well, Reverend. Though you don’t seem the least bit concerned about losing my financial backing.”
A flush invaded his cheeks, but he remained silent.
Though she railed against the withdrawal of his support, she could understand his predicament. One couldn’t escape the influence of the almighty dollar, even in the Lord’s house. She sighed. “Tell these concerned parishioners that I will take their opinions under consideration. That should get you off the hook for a while.”
“So you’ll think about relocating, then?” His face brightened.
“I’ll think about it. That’s all I can promise at the moment.”
Selling her family home was out of the question; however, she supposed she could look into the idea of a rental property. She and Olivia could work through the numbers to see if it would be economically feasible. Perhaps if she rented out some rooms in her home to boarders, the income could offset the expense of a new maternity home. She made another note to talk to her financial advisor at the bank.
Reverend Dixon rose and gave a bow. “Thank you for hearing me out, Mrs. Bennington. You’ve been more than fair. I can show myself out. No need to trouble yourself.”
“Good day, Reverend. See you on Sunday.”
As soon as the door fell closed behind him, Ruth let out a frustrated breath, barely resisting the urge to throw her paperweight across the room. Could people not see the good work she and Olivia were trying to do? Honestly, some of her fellow parishioners were so narrow-minded it made her wonder if they wore their hats two sizes too small. She had a good mind to parade all the expectant mothers down the church aisle to the front pew just to give the old codgers something more to complain about.
But as much as the idea gave her a rush of satisfaction, it did nothing to solve her immediate problem. For that she would need a lot of prayer and a large dose of divine inspiration.
25
Olivia pushed the baby carriage up the street toward home, keeping a steady pace so as not to wake little Abigail.
The sun shone brightly overhead, glinting off the leaves of the elm trees that lined the street. She’d hoped the fresh air would give her a new perspective, but with too many unwelcome thoughts running through her head, the walk hadn’t really helped. Even though Olivia realized her obsession over Abigail wasn’t healthy, she couldn’t stop trying to devise a way to raise the child herself. Yet unless a potential husband materialized out of thin air, one willing to adopt an orphan, she could see no other options.
The other problem on her mind was her friend Joannie. Being so caught up with Abigail’s care, Olivia had postponed a scheduled visit to the reformatory, but when she called to speak with Joannie, her request was denied. Though Olivia remembered that telephone privileges were as unpredictable as the matron’s mood swings, an undercurrent of worry nagged her. Surely Joannie hadn’t suffered the same fate as Mabel. Would anyone tell her if she had? Olivia breathed
