Whirlwind (16 page)

A slow smile lifted Frank’s mouth. “I’ll pray about it, too. You’re right, though. Millie’s a whirlwind.”

Daniel began to pray.
Lord, what I want most is to be in your will. I’ll wait on you and let you lead me in this. Your blessing means everything to me, and if I’m not to marry again, I pray you’d take away the stirrings I feel for Millicent.

Unaware Daniel was praying, Frank chuckled. “Yes, Millie’s definitely a whirlwind.”

Lord, I know only you can control the wind. Is that the answer? That I’m not to marry again?

“Miss Fairweather.”

“Yes?” Millicent looked up from tying her shoe. All about her, women were getting ready to go to breakfast.

Mrs. Sloper, the matron in charge, was looking at her intently. “Could you come with me? You may bring the little one with you.”

“Should my sister come, too?”

The matron didn’t meet her eyes. “I’ll fetch her soon.” Something seemed wrong, but Millicent didn’t question the matron. She popped Arthur onto her hip and followed the woman through the building and to an office. Mr. Clark stood at the window, his face drawn and somber. Another gentleman stood behind his desk.

The matron’s voice sounded strained. “Miss Fairweather, this is Colonel Webber, the director of Ellis Island. The young lady to his right is Miss Alma Matthews, the Methodist missionary to the island.”

Millicent murmured polite greetings but inwardly knew something was wrong
.
She looked to Mr. Clark.

He took Arthur from her, gave him a quick hug, and passed him to the matron. The woman slipped out of the room with the little boy. Mr. Clark touched her arm. “Miss Fairweather, something dreadful has happened.”

“Oh no. Frank didn’t make it through processing?” She turned toward the colonel. “He’s healthy and bright. Of all the men in the world, Frank is the most honest and hardworking.”

Colonel Webber remained standing behind his desk. “That’s not it. We thought to speak with you first so you could assist us. A fight broke out last night. Unfortunately, Mr. Quinsby walked in and became a victim.”

Millicent looked from the colonel to Mr. Clark, then back. One looked grim; the other wore a bleak expression. The missionary was crying softly. Millicent rasped, “Was he hurt badly? Where is he?” Manners dictated she be silent and allow them to respond, but worries started to soar. “I’ll get my sister. Isabelle ought to be with him.”

Mr. Clark nudged her into a chair and stooped so his dark eyes were level with hers. Her fright escalated even more.

“Millicent.”

He called me by my Christian name.
That realization sent her into a panic. “Frank—”

“He’s with the Lord, Millicent.”

Feeling as if he’d pushed her into a snowbank—shocked, off balance, and ice cold—Millicent stared at him. “Fr—No. No, there’s been a mistake.”

“There’s no mistake. I saw him.” Mr. Clark warmed her icy hands. “I thought you ought to know first so you could collect yourself. Isabelle is going to need you to be strong for her.”

“Isabelle. Oh, it can’t be.” Tears welled up as she looked at Mr. Clark’s unblinking gaze. “My sister . . . she adores Frank.”

“And he adored her. It’s a tragedy.” He pressed his handkerchief into her hand.

The colonel cupped Miss Matthews’ arm. “We’ll give you a few minutes.” He said something more to Mr. Clark, but it sounded muffled and far away.

Again, Mr. Clark took her hands in his. “I cannot begin to express how much I regret your loss.”

“It didn’t really happen.”

“It did. I saw him, Millicent. He’s not with us anymore.” He tilted her face up to his. “We must help Isabelle through this.”

Shaking uncontrollably, she tried to calm herself. Mr. Clark took off his coat and slid it around her shoulders. “It w-would be best if I told her.” She curled up within the warmth of his coat. “Tell me what h-happened.”

“Frank accidentally walked into a knife fight occurring in the lavatory and was caught horrifically in the midst of violent chaos. He passed on in a matter of minutes from the injuries.”

Millicent stared at him. Steady brown eyes gazed back. “Please, Mr. Clark. Check again. It might be a mistake.”

“It’s no mistake. It’s Frank.”

“I have to see it for myself.”

He jolted. “No!” Just as quickly, he lowered his voice. “The wounds are . . . unsightly. Frank wouldn’t want you to remember him that way.”

“You said I have to be strong for my sister. We can’t let Isabelle see him. I-I’ll do it for her. So I can tell her. She won’t believe anyone else. Only me.”

The muscles in his jaw twitched. “You can believe me.”

“I know I can, but Isabelle won’t. She doesn’t know you.”

He knelt again. Slowly, he removed something from his pocket and pressed it into her hand. “This will convince her. Isabelle knows Frank wouldn’t ever part with it.”

Millicent didn’t want to look, but she forced herself to. Daniel had given her the twopence. There, gleaming in undeniable proof, was the cross that identified it. Her fingers closed around it. In her heart, she knew that Isabelle would find excuses to believe Frank was still alive and the coin had been stolen from him. “Isabelle will need me to see.” She swiped the tears from her face and pled, “He’s her husband. Let me do this for my sister.”

“This is against my better judgment.”

Millicent bowed her head.
Lord, give me strength. I need your help so badly now.
She opened her eyes and took a steadying breath. “God and I—we’re all Isabelle has left. When our parents died, they buried them without our seeing them. Years later, we still imagined we saw Mother or Father here and there. I have to see Frank so I can spare Isabelle those doubts.”

Millicent had no memory of how she got to a small room. A sheet lay draped over a form. Mr. Clark wrapped his arm about her shoulders. “We can stay back here . . .”

Wetting her lips, Millicent shook her head and started forward. When she saw the boots sticking out at the bottom, everything inside her started to tremor. Those were Frank’s boots.

Mr. Clark’s arm tightened about her.

Someone pulled the sheet back a tiny bit—just so she could see from the top of the man’s head to the beginning of his moustache. The breath froze in her lungs. “It’s . . . it’s . . .him.”

Mr. Clark half dragged her from the room. “I wanted to spare you that. Here. Sit down.”

“No.” She pulled free from him and pressed her hand to her forehead. “I . . . he . . . Isabelle.” She moaned, “Oh, Isabelle.”

Mr. Clark made a soothing sound and folded her into a chair. “Sip this.” He tipped a cup to her lips.

She swallowed, but the water had a hard time making it past the ball lodged in her throat. “What are we going to do?”

“There are only two choices: Either you and Isabelle go back to England, or you marry me so you can stay in the States. You’ve no one and nothing to go back to. I feel marriage is the best option.”

Millicent stared at him. “I’m upset, Mr. Clark. I know I’m not hearing—”

“Yes, you are. I’m asking you to become my wife.”

Thirteen

I
don’t love you.” Millicent blurted out the words.

“We respect each other, and we’re both believers. Love . . . love can come later.”

Wasn’t that what she thought just yesterday when the Swedish girl married the stranger? That she’d hoped, like in the Bible marriages, love would follow the wedding?

“I cannot fathom sending you back to a life of poverty and hardship. As my wife, you and your sister will have your every need met,” Daniel said.

“That’s not a good reason to marry. Marriages of convenience are merely fictional devices in penny dreadfuls.”

He pressed his fingers to her lips. “We’ll not speak of that. Not now; not ever.”

“If we do this, it will be for Isabelle and Arthur.” Tears filled her eyes.

“I know what we’re doing. Trust me.”

Ten minutes later, they broke the terrible news to Isabelle. Millicent watched as every last vestige of color left her sister’s face. “You’re lying. You have to be.”

Millicent wrapped her arms around her and whispered brokenly, “Isabelle, I saw him. It’s Frank.”

“You’re wrong. I have to see him.”

“It was him.” Millicent pressed the twopence into her sister’s palm.

Isabelle stared at the tiny coin. Her head fell back, and her blood-curdling cry tore through the room.

An hour later, the minister knelt beside Isabelle in the small chapel and said a prayer for Frank’s eternal rest.

Mr. Clark then took Isabelle’s hand into his and spoke in a soft, slow voice. “Isabelle, Frank loved you deeply, and he’d want you to be taken care of. Your sister and I are going to do that. There’s only one way for me to shelter and provide for you. I mean no disrespect, but we have no choice. Millicent and I are to be married here. Now. It’s the only way I can take you with me.”

Instead of their being married in an office, Mrs. Sloper and Colonel Webber arranged for them to use the chapel. Miss Matthews had gotten the minister from the Methodist church across in Battery Park to come officiate at the wedding. She’d rounded up three flowers and tied them with a pale blue ribbon for Millicent to hold—a lily, a pink rose, and a red rose. The meaning of each flower registered in Millicent’s mind . . . Death. Friendship. Love.

What am I doing? Love should be the only reason to marry. Lord, how can I do this?
She stared at the flowers.

Mr. Clark extended his hand toward her. “Come, Millicent. It’s time.”

Her knees shook, but she rose. Pressing her forehead against her sister’s, she whispered, “Isabelle?” She noted the black traveling suit her sister now wore. Her own off-white suit, in contrast, now took on a bridal air.

“Go” was her sister’s simple response.

They repeated their vows, and Mr. Clark started to slip a ring on her finger. For a moment, she flinched. In a low tone, he said, “The ring was my mother’s. I pray our marriage will be as strong and happy as hers.” A second later, the insubstantial gold band encircling her finger proclaimed she was his bride.

The minister didn’t invite her groom to kiss her. He skipped that and said a blessing.

Afterward, Millicent started shaking.
What have I done?

As if he could read her very thoughts, Mr. Clark tilted her face up to his. “You did the right thing.”

Mile after mile slipped past the train window. Daniel had tried to hire a Pullman car so they’d have privacy, but none was available. With so many people squeezed into a regular passenger car, the odors of food and unwashed bodies became overwhelming. Opening the windows helped, but ash and soot from the train’s smokestack blew in. The thunderous sounds of the engine reverberated, too.
Two days of this.

Millicent tried to console her sister as best she could, but she was mourning, too. Grief so raw needed release. Daniel considered disembarking and booking a hotel for a few days to give them time. Then again, what difference would that make? Shock usually blunted the loss for the first few days. After Henrietta passed on, he’d been numb for about a week. It might be merciful to hasten on to Texas and get them settled before the full reality struck.

Deep, painful memories assailed him.
Henrietta loved me, was all a wife could possibly be, yet I failed her. I wasn’t there for her to rely on. Just last night I told the Lord I’d wait upon Him. I’d wait for His leading and guidance—yet this morning I charged ahead and married. It seemed the only practical solution. I put logic ahead of spiritual wisdom. What have I done?

Daniel sat in silence, glad Arthur was able to nap in the midst of the noise. The ladies were in no condition to converse, so he concentrated on the problem. What was he to do? He’d made a commitment to the Lord not to wed unless or until he was given leave to do so again; in the midst of the crisis, he’d acted rashly. Only now that the deed was done, to annul the marriage would be to make a mockery of sacred vows. He’d pledged before God and man to be her husband until death parted them. He’d proposed, placed his mother’s ring on Millicent’s finger, and told her she’d done the right thing. Annulment was . . . unthinkable.

So where did that leave them?

“I don’t love you. . . . Marriages of convenience are from penny dreadfuls . . .”
Her words echoed in his mind. She was right. This whole set of circumstances might well have been a plot for such a novel. They’d acknowledged that they were marrying for Arthur and Isabelle’s sake. Watching Millicent carefully smooth a tiny wrinkle in the cape over Isabelle’s shoulder and keep the barest murmur of reassurance going, Daniel knew she’d want to be by her sister’s side for a long while to come. That would simplify matters in the short term. At least for the foreseeable future, they’d lead an in-name-only marriage. As time passed, Daniel would seek God’s guidance. The Lord would either grant him the self-control necessary to endure the deprivations his hasty actions would inevitably cost, or in great mercy the Lord would free him to have Millicent become his wife fully and completely.

Lord, forgive me for this mess.

The train pulled into Gooding, Texas, late the next evening. Millicent reached over and tried to take Arthur from his father’s arms, but Daniel wouldn’t turn him loose. Caught in the middle of that silent tug-of-war, the little boy didn’t even stir. Millicent whispered, “I’ll get Isabelle and him off the train. You have a lot to tend to.”

“Not so much that I can’t see to my family.” Daniel hitched Arthur over his shoulder, rose, and lightly touched Isabelle’s shoulder. “This is our stop.”

Millicent pressed one of the valises into her sister’s arms. “Isabelle, please carry that. I’ll handle the rest.”

The valises beneath their seat required a few good yanks to come free. When Millicent straightened, Daniel hooked his big hand through the handles. He helped them disembark and led them over to a bench beneath a gas lamp. “Stay here. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“We’ll be fine.” She dropped the bag and reached for Arthur. “I’ll take him now, sir.”

By the glow of the light, she could see Mr. Clark’s frown. Was it because he’d just noticed that tears streaked down Isabelle’s face?