An Unlikely Mother Read online

  With a smile that seemed more bitter than pleasant, Flora said, “Yes. I am quite the accomplished young lady. The most accomplished, according to many. But a fine lot of good that does me. What good is it to move people to tears with my songs, or paint a picture, or embroider a tapestry, in a place like this? It certainly hasn’t won me any friends.”

  She turned her gaze in their direction, looking longingly at the other women. They laughed at a joke someone must have told, and Flora lowered her head.

  “I don’t blame them. But I do miss having friends who care about me.” Shaking her head, Flora turned back to him. “No, they didn’t care about me. They feared me. They knew that if they crossed me, I’d make them regret it. Until they finally got sick of me pushing everyone around.”

  Genuine regret sounded in her voice. Not the kind that said she was sorry she’d been caught, but that she wished she’d behaved differently. Wanted to be different now.

  “Why did you do it?” George asked. He had no right to dig into Flora’s personal affairs, but something about the sadness surrounding her drew him, made him want to help her see that things were not so hopeless.

  “Why does anyone do bad things? I thought it was the right thing to do at the time.” Flora sighed. “I hated it when my father moved us from Denver to Leadville. He was never content to be a silent partner in his various mining interests. If he invested his money, he wanted to know it was being used wisely. Leadville is much less civilized. So much lawlessness, and it seemed to me that people, even those from good families, paid far less attention to the rules than they ought. I thought that if I exposed everything I thought was sin, then the people would be punished, and they would finally start living properly. I thought it was my duty to make things right.”

  The rise and fall of Flora’s chest as she looked at the ground told him she’d thought a lot about this topic. “To be perfectly honest, I thought I was better than all of them. That my virtues were far superior, and it was my duty to make them rise up or be shunned forever.”

  Green eyes shone with tears as she looked at him. “But when I finally started listening in church, instead of judging everyone who walked through the door, I realized that I had been the one in the wrong. My way was not Jesus’s way, and I had been foolish in putting myself in the place of God.”

  “Those sound like the words of a woman who’s gained an incredible amount of wisdom,” George said, smiling at her. “I’m sorry the others don’t see it, but perhaps they have their own faults they must grow past first.”

  Some of the sadness in her eyes disappeared as Flora smiled. “Now you sound like Pastor Lassiter. He says we’re all sinners, and we all have our own things we need to work out with God. But enough about me and my problems.”

  She gestured at Pierre, who’d gone back to digging with the stick, presumably to find more worms. “How do we help him?”

  George watched the little boy who had managed to capture his heart in such a short period of time. Even without sharing the same language, he felt a connection to the child. And somehow, with Flora sharing that same connection with Pierre, it brought him together with Flora in a way he hadn’t expected. They wanted the same thing for a little boy they barely knew, yet cared for deeply.

  If only George had a better answer for her.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “I tried talking to the men at work to see if they knew anyone, but there wasn’t much time for idle chatter. Pastor Lassiter and I haven’t had any success with the people we’ve spoken to. I suppose we just keep looking and asking.”

  Pierre returned, carrying several more worms, speaking animatedly in French. George wished he could communicate better with the little boy, especially since Pierre gravitated toward him and seemed to want to connect with him. But how did he connect with a child he couldn’t converse with?

  The little boy said something that made Flora laugh. Her laughter warmed his heart, and though she’d spoken disdainfully about her many accomplishments, George was grateful someone with her particular skills could help Pierre.

  George looked around for the pastor, wondering where he’d gotten off to, since he’d thought Pastor Lassiter had been heading in his direction. Finally, he spotted him, standing in a group of women, shaking his head at whatever they were saying. From the way the women kept glancing in their direction, it seemed like they somehow disapproved of what George and Flora were doing with Pierre. But how could anyone be upset that they were helping a poor child who’d lost his father?

  “They’re angry because I got to sleep in the cabin with Pierre instead of a tent,” Flora said softly, nodding in the direction of his gaze. “They think I’m just being lazy, not wanting to participate in the work, but they keep shooing Pierre away.”

  Her brow was knotted in frustration, marring her pretty features.

  “Why would they do that? What about the other children? Can’t he play with them?”

  Flora’s frown deepened. “Pierre can’t speak the language. They teased him and wouldn’t play with him. He came running to me, crying. Every time I intervened, the other ladies got mad at me for stopping work, until finally they asked me to leave. But I couldn’t just let them torment poor Pierre like that.”

  A dark look crossed her face. George wondered if she was thinking about how she bullied all the other kids when she was younger. But he couldn’t talk to her about it, couldn’t say that he’d been just as cruel to her as she’d been to him. Even though he’d spent a lot of years hating her for sticking him with the moniker of Pudgy, he’d come to a place of acceptance. He’d outgrown the silly nickname, and as much as he used to say that he’d get revenge on his childhood nemesis, he found he had nothing but compassion for the delightful young woman in front of him.

  “I’m glad you can be there for him,” George said instead.

  Flora shrugged. “I know what it’s like.”

  He hoped it didn’t look like he was staring. Sure, she said now that people didn’t like her, but he couldn’t imagine her experiencing the levels of torment he had. After all, he had been pudgy. More than that, actually. The boys had been teasing him, calling him a corpulent whale, and Flora had looked at them with those big green eyes and said, “No he’s not. He’s just pudgy.” From then on, everyone had called him Pudgy, a far sight better than if the corpulent whale idea had stuck.

  In some ways, she had done him a favor.

  Could he help her now?

  “Were you tormented as a child?”

  Flora nodded slowly, her gaze on the others still obviously talking about her. “People think I’m just a mean person. But everything I’ve ever done has been about self-preservation. I suppose I thought that if the negativity was directed at everyone else, no one would have time to turn the cruelty in my direction. I couldn’t have been more wrong.”

  Flora looked over at Pierre and smiled at him. The little boy came running back toward her. “Flora!” He chattered at her, smiling.

  George didn’t have to understand the words to understand the genuine affection between the two. If only he had paid better attention in the few French lessons he’d had. Then he could join in their merriment.

  “Teach me,” George said. “You’re good with him. It’s not fair you get to have all the fun.”

  “Basically, Pierre was telling me that his father promised him they’d go fishing when he returned from work. He wanted to ask you if you’d take him fishing, but then he thought it might not be fair to go without his father.” Flora gave him another pretty smile.

  “I told him that perhaps when we find his father, we could all go fishing together.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you fish.” George winked at her, grinning.

  Flora’s cheeks flushed pink. “No, but I would try for Pierre’s sake. I can’t seem to refuse him anything.”

 
Once more, George found himself captivated by Flora’s genuine kindness and gentility.

  Her confession about how she’d been treated—and how she’d reacted—only made him want to reach out to her more. To tell her the truth about his past and that he could see how she’d managed to overcome her previous failings to become the kind of woman any person would be honored to know. But his reasons for remaining quiet were so much greater than a woman’s hurt feelings over the petty actions of a few others. As soon as he figured out who was behind the sabotage at the mine, George could tell her everything. Hopefully it wouldn’t be long.

  * * *

  Flora tried to focus more on Pierre’s chattering than on the women complaining about her to Pastor Lassiter. Would their words finally convince him that he’d been mistaken in giving Flora a chance?

  She stole a glance at George, who’d been watching her. What must he think of her, confessing all of her misdeeds like that? Flora wasn’t herself around him. For some reason, she seemed to blurt out the most ridiculous things. Who was he to her that she could speak so freely?

  But who else did she have?

  Sarah Crowley’s shrill laugh reached her ears. Flora knew that laugh. The satisfied sound of achieving victory over one’s rival. Once, she and Sarah had been the best of friends. They’d worked together to bring down the girls they thought threatened their carefully organized social structure. Only, in the end, the only person who’d been brought down was Flora. Now Sarah led the group that had once turned to Flora for guidance.

  Pastor Lassiter approached, the women trailing him. They giggled and whispered behind their fans.

  Flora stood, smiling at him. “I hope you’re here to share good news about Pierre’s father.”

  She’d spent many years perfecting the art of deflection, keeping any negative attention off herself. While it seemed almost wrong to do so now, Flora lacked the strength to face what was bound to be another litany of criticisms.

  Besides, whatever they considered her bad behavior, wasn’t it in the service of another? Not that she’d done anything wrong, of course, but by the way Sarah smirked, they all thought they were really going to get her.

  Pastor Lassiter shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Some folks said that they thought they might have seen a Frenchman living in a tent on the other side of the camp, but I couldn’t find any sign of him. I was hoping you and George would come with me to do some asking around. Maybe if Pierre was with us, someone would recognize him.”

  “Of course,” George said. “Since I was the one to find Pierre, I feel responsible for reuniting him with his father. Besides—” George ruffled the boy’s hair “—I’ve become attached to the little guy.”

  Flora couldn’t help but smile. She, too, had become attached to Pierre. Truth be told, she was becoming attached to George, as well. He was the only person besides Pastor Lassiter and Rose who didn’t judge her, who listened to what she had to say as though he cared about her answers. But she couldn’t imagine her family condoning her involvement with a man so outside their social class.

  Not that she was interested, of course. While she felt comfortable in his presence, he often made her stomach feel...funny. It was a most unusual sensation. Like the time her father had left her alone in the carriage for just a moment, and the horses had taken off on her. Absolutely terrifying. And yet, when the dust settled, she’d been secretly exhilarated. With George, there wasn’t so much terror, and not nearly the level of exhilaration, and yet something in the area that felt like there might be. But this was a man, not a pair of spirited horses.

  Though she supposed it could prove to be just as dangerous.

  But she couldn’t keep herself from smiling as she said, “You know I would be happy to accompany you. I love Pierre dearly, but he deserves to be reunited with his father.”

  The pastor smiled at her. “I’m so glad. I appreciate the time and care you’ve taken with him. As I was telling the others, you are uniquely qualified to watch over Pierre.”

  “Yes, but she’s doing a terrible job of it,” Sarah said, stepping forward as she glared down her aristocratic nose at Flora. “That child stole my favorite shawl, and when I yelled at him, he threw it in the mud and ran away.”

  Flora hadn’t witnessed the incident, but she had seen Sarah screeching at Pierre. She’d stopped her supper preparations and run after the little boy.

  “Pierre was terrified,” Flora said calmly. “As I’ve told you before, he doesn’t speak English, and therefore couldn’t understand what you were saying. Imagine how you would feel if a stranger yelled at you in another language.”

  Pierre came closer to Flora, wrapping his arms around her leg and hiding in her skirts.

  “Well I’m not a thief, and I’m quite civilized, so strangers have no reason to yell at me.”

  “He’s four years old,” Flora said firmly. “There are many things he hasn’t learned yet.”

  She rubbed his back, then pulled him off her skirts so she could kneel in front of him. Very gently, she asked him in French what had happened.

  Tears started flowing down his face before the words came out. Finally, Flora understood.

  “He didn’t mean any harm.” Flora held Pierre close as she spoke to Sarah. “According to Pierre, you’d tossed aside your shawl and it fell off the bench and into the dirt. Pierre thought he was being helpful and went to pick it up. He said it smelled exactly like his mother before she passed away, and it made him miss her. He misses her dreadfully, and now with his father having disappeared, he was feeling lonely. So he wrapped himself in your shawl and used it to feel close to her. When you saw him and started yelling at him, it scared him. He didn’t mean to drop it in the mud. But he was terrified, and you didn’t even bother to find out what had happened. Pierre meant no harm.”

  Despite her explanation, Flora could still see the steam coming out of Sarah’s ears.

  “My shawl is ruined.”

  “I’ll gladly replace it,” Flora said.

  Sarah only glared at her. “It’s irreplaceable. I added the lace myself.” Then she grunted. “Smells like his mother. That is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. My shawl would never smell like a...peasant.” Spittle flew out of her mouth in a most unladylike manner. Derision curled her lip, and Flora hated that she’d once been a party to such behavior.

  “I believe you wear French perfume, do you not? His mother was French. It’s not such a stretch to imagine that you might share the same taste in fragrance.”

  Before Sarah could issue another retort—and from the expression on her face, it looked like she was working up a good one—Pastor Lassiter stepped forward.

  “Ah, yes. I knew there had to be a reasonable explanation.” He smiled at Flora, then down at little Pierre. “But that does lead me to something I’d like to speak to you all about. Part of why I invited you all to come up with me is that I’ve noticed a great deal of disharmony amongst you young ladies, and my hope is that our time in the camp brings you closer together and gives you a deeper sense of community.”

  He turned to look at Sarah and the other women. “While what happened to your shawl was unfortunate, Pierre was trying to help, but got carried away. But as you see, Flora is accepting responsibility for the situation and has offered to make it right.”

  Sarah opened her mouth to argue, but the pastor held up his hand. “I won’t tolerate any more squabbles. We need to think more in terms of how we can love and serve one another, instead of being loved and served. Sarah, now that you know Pierre took your shawl because it reminded him of his mother, perhaps you could find another shawl or blanket to offer him? Spray it with some of your perfume so he has that comfort. Imagine what it must feel like to have lost a mother and now have your father missing.”

  The words sounded strange to Flora. Usually the lectures were always abou
t how Flora had been wrong and what she needed to do to rectify the situation. Part of her waited for the chastisement to be turned toward her. And yet, it didn’t come. Pastor Lassiter smiled broadly at her.

  “I know you are all frustrated and angry because you think it is unfair that Flora gets to sleep in the cabin instead of in a tent. And that I’ve reduced her duties so that she can care for Pierre. Ordinarily, I’d ask for you all to take turns helping with him, but since Flora is the only one who speaks his language, I want him to have consistency of care. Our hope, and our prayer, is that we would find Pierre’s father quickly.”

  As Pastor Lassiter explained his plans for finding Pierre’s father, Flora felt George move to stand behind her, close enough that she could feel the comfort of his presence emanating in her direction. He wanted to be a friend to her, to stand beside her. But he seemed to understand that though they shared a bond because of Pierre, he couldn’t get too close. He couldn’t be everything Flora could imagine him being.

  She shook her head quickly, trying to banish those images from her head. They came too easily, but it was impossible to think that there would ever be anything more than a casual acquaintance between the two of them. Even if her parents were to accept such a match, as selfish as it sounded, Flora wasn’t willing to trade her life in their well-appointed home for rusticating in a cabin in the middle of some smelly mining camp. Stealing a glance at him, she noticed a smile at the corners of his lips. Would he still smile if he knew what she was thinking? That despite their shared love of a little boy, and their easy way of talking, there was no hope for anything else between them?

  Flora sighed. Whatever he thought, it was none of her business. The only thing that mattered right then was helping the little boy clinging to her skirts. And maybe, if the other women could see that she truly was trying to be the woman God created her to be, maybe everything in her life would finally be back to normal. She’d have friends, eligible bachelors would start calling on her again, and then she could get married and start a family of her own. A perfect plan.