"Ingrid?"
Taking a deep breath, Ingrid wiped the tears from her eyes when she heard Spot walking up behind her.
"What're ya doin up here? It's freezin." He removed the jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around her.
Ingrid turned slowly to face him, her eyes brimming slightly with tears. The sight broke Spot's heart. He quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, what's the mattah?"
"I have failed them," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I have failed them all."
Ingrid cringed when she realized that she had spoken the words aloud. The warmth of his arms around her mad her head so foggy that she was unsure of anything that was happening around her.
Spot squeezed her shoulders tightly, trying to keep from shivering in the cold. "Who? Who do you think that you have failed?"
"Everyone," she responded, now completely unable to control the words coming out of her mouth.
"Come on," Spot said, guiding her to the fire escape. "Let's getcha some place warm, then we can talk."
They climbed back through the window, Spot closing it behind him. He took her hand, leading her through the room and down the stairs. He stopped when they reached a darkened room. Spot struck a match, lighting a nearby lamp. A pale light flooded around them and Ingrid quickly realized that they were in a small kitchen.
Spot reached for a kettle, filling it from a small pump. "Whatta ya say to some tea?"
She nodded, a small smile returning to her lips.
"So ya wanna talk about is?" Spot asked, offering her a chair at a rickety table in the middle of the room.
"Not particularly," she murmured.
"Ingrid, you can't keep things like this bottled up. It ain't good for ya."
She averted her eyes. "It is nothing, really."
"Ingrid," he warned, taking on his leader tone.
She laughed slightly in spite of herself. "You never give up, do you?"
"That's just part of me charm," he replied with a wink, instantly lightening the mood. "So come on, out with it. What were ya talkin about up there? Who'd ya let down?"
Ingrid sighed. "My father, my sister, Gunnar. Everyone."
Spot furrowed his brow. "I don understand."
The kettle on the stove whistled and he quickly poured them tea in dented metal cups.
She took a sip before continuing. "I suppose that I must start at the beginning. My mother passed away shortly after I was born, leaving my father to raise my sister and myself. He had the best of intentions, but raising two girls was not within his abilities. So he thought it best to send us away for a proper education."
"To London."
She smiled. "Yes. You have a good memory."
He winked again and motioned for her to continue.
"Annika, my sister, did not take to boarding school. Her spirit was too wild. She craved adventure that could not be found within the walls of a school. When she was fourteen, she left." She took a steadying breath before continuing. "Years passed without any word from her. My father fell ill and I was forced to return to Norway. Soon after, Annika showed up on the doorstep... with child. Father refused to allow her back, turning her out into the streets. My father died months later, but not before making me promise him that I would find Annika and care for her as he could not."
Ingrid hung her head, unsure if she was able to continue. Setting down his cup, Spot instinctively took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She looked up at him, biting her lip before he continued.
"When Father died, I didn't know where to turn. Then one day, a letter arrived from postmarked New York. I discovered that it was from Annika, so I sold everything and bought a ticket. From the moment that I landed here, I searched high and low for her. Eventually I was directed to a burlesque house in the slums. That is when I met Gunnar, her son." She had not spoken of this history to anyone and the vulnerability scared her, but she could not stop the words from pouring out of her mouth. "It soon became clear that she was sick. She begged me to take Gunnar away; to keep him safe. And so I did, only to succumb to a life on the streets."
With her last words, her will was broken. Hot tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks and she fought to keep in sobs.
"I'm so sorry, Ingrid," Spot whispered, wrapping his arms around her. He held her for a long time as she cried into his shoulder. When her tears finally subsided, he leaned back so that he could look into her eyes. "You've done right by Gunnar bringin him here. Your father and sister'd be proud. Everything's gonna be alright now.
A single tear slid down her cheek and Spot reached out to catch it with his thumb. Suddenly the urge to lean forward to kiss her became unbearable. He slowly closed the distance between them, letting his lips meet hers softly.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of her reaction. A sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Caleb."
Spot smiled at the use of his real name. "Fer the kiss? It was my pleasure."
"That's not what I meant," she teased, a genuine smile playing across her lips.
"I know what you meant," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "You're welcome."
Taking a deep breath, Ingrid wiped the tears from her eyes when she heard Spot walking up behind her.
"What're ya doin up here? It's freezin." He removed the jacket from his shoulders and wrapped it around her.
Ingrid turned slowly to face him, her eyes brimming slightly with tears. The sight broke Spot's heart. He quickly wrapped his arms around her. "Hey, what's the mattah?"
"I have failed them," she mumbled into his shoulder. "I have failed them all."
Ingrid cringed when she realized that she had spoken the words aloud. The warmth of his arms around her mad her head so foggy that she was unsure of anything that was happening around her.
Spot squeezed her shoulders tightly, trying to keep from shivering in the cold. "Who? Who do you think that you have failed?"
"Everyone," she responded, now completely unable to control the words coming out of her mouth.
"Come on," Spot said, guiding her to the fire escape. "Let's getcha some place warm, then we can talk."
They climbed back through the window, Spot closing it behind him. He took her hand, leading her through the room and down the stairs. He stopped when they reached a darkened room. Spot struck a match, lighting a nearby lamp. A pale light flooded around them and Ingrid quickly realized that they were in a small kitchen.
Spot reached for a kettle, filling it from a small pump. "Whatta ya say to some tea?"
She nodded, a small smile returning to her lips.
"So ya wanna talk about is?" Spot asked, offering her a chair at a rickety table in the middle of the room.
"Not particularly," she murmured.
"Ingrid, you can't keep things like this bottled up. It ain't good for ya."
She averted her eyes. "It is nothing, really."
"Ingrid," he warned, taking on his leader tone.
She laughed slightly in spite of herself. "You never give up, do you?"
"That's just part of me charm," he replied with a wink, instantly lightening the mood. "So come on, out with it. What were ya talkin about up there? Who'd ya let down?"
Ingrid sighed. "My father, my sister, Gunnar. Everyone."
Spot furrowed his brow. "I don understand."
The kettle on the stove whistled and he quickly poured them tea in dented metal cups.
She took a sip before continuing. "I suppose that I must start at the beginning. My mother passed away shortly after I was born, leaving my father to raise my sister and myself. He had the best of intentions, but raising two girls was not within his abilities. So he thought it best to send us away for a proper education."
"To London."
She smiled. "Yes. You have a good memory."
He winked again and motioned for her to continue.
"Annika, my sister, did not take to boarding school. Her spirit was too wild. She craved adventure that could not be found within the walls of a school. When she was fourteen, she left." She took a steadying breath before continuing. "Years passed without any word from her. My father fell ill and I was forced to return to Norway. Soon after, Annika showed up on the doorstep... with child. Father refused to allow her back, turning her out into the streets. My father died months later, but not before making me promise him that I would find Annika and care for her as he could not."
Ingrid hung her head, unsure if she was able to continue. Setting down his cup, Spot instinctively took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She looked up at him, biting her lip before he continued.
"When Father died, I didn't know where to turn. Then one day, a letter arrived from postmarked New York. I discovered that it was from Annika, so I sold everything and bought a ticket. From the moment that I landed here, I searched high and low for her. Eventually I was directed to a burlesque house in the slums. That is when I met Gunnar, her son." She had not spoken of this history to anyone and the vulnerability scared her, but she could not stop the words from pouring out of her mouth. "It soon became clear that she was sick. She begged me to take Gunnar away; to keep him safe. And so I did, only to succumb to a life on the streets."
With her last words, her will was broken. Hot tears streamed uncontrollably down her cheeks and she fought to keep in sobs.
"I'm so sorry, Ingrid," Spot whispered, wrapping his arms around her. He held her for a long time as she cried into his shoulder. When her tears finally subsided, he leaned back so that he could look into her eyes. "You've done right by Gunnar bringin him here. Your father and sister'd be proud. Everything's gonna be alright now.
A single tear slid down her cheek and Spot reached out to catch it with his thumb. Suddenly the urge to lean forward to kiss her became unbearable. He slowly closed the distance between them, letting his lips meet hers softly.
He pulled back and looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of her reaction. A sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Caleb."
Spot smiled at the use of his real name. "Fer the kiss? It was my pleasure."
"That's not what I meant," she teased, a genuine smile playing across her lips.
"I know what you meant," he whispered, resting his forehead against hers. "You're welcome."