His mind awoke before he was willing to open his eyes. He lay breathing in the dusty smell of the straw filled mattress going over the events of yesterday and the day ten days prior that had led him to this place. Though he had slept soundly, the very memory of it all left him feeling exhausted. He heard the door creak open.
"Bertie?" he groaned turning over with a stretch.
"No." Jim Reed answered. "She's out in the square helping with the dinner." his heavy footsteps thudded across to the bedside table where the dull sound of wood on wood gave Jet to know Jim had placed some form of food. "Mum sent me up with some soup for you." Jet looked at the thin stew beside him - some sort of meat, undistinguishable from a long turn in the boiling pot, and potatoes - he tried to appear grateful but Jim caught his vague look of disgust. "I know it's not as fine as what you're used to but you'll have to make do for now. It's good enough for the rest of us."
"No, tell your mother I am thankful for her hospitality."
"Right." Jim Reed replied tersely. He turned to leave but seemed to think better of it, seating himself heavily in the chair instead. This was precisely the last development Jet wanted to occur. He had no desire to spend any more time with this man than he had to despite any recommendations of good character Dr. Lang had made. In Jet's experience a jealous suitor always made for a poor companion; particularly one of no rank who did not know his proper place in the order of things. This promised to be excruciating. Jim Reed indicated to the soup, "Well, eat before it gets cold."
"Yes, thank you." Jet took the wooden bowl in hand and began to eat. The soup was as unpleasant in taste as in appearance - not so bad that it was inedible, but somewhat worse than had he just been served boiled water alone. Jim Reed watched Jet closely as he slowly consumed the flavorless concoction.
"Why do you persist in seeking out my cousin? She has more than enough worries without adding you onto the load." And there it was. Jet was indignant at the accusation.
"Pardon me, but I have never once sought out your cousin. By my own intent I have never made any efforts to obtain her company. Any contact we have had has been the result of mere happenstance and nothing more. If she chooses to retain my companionship for any length of time I neither see any reason that I should discourage her nor do I see how it is any of your concern that you should raise an objection to it."
"It is causing people to talk, they wonder what your intentions with her are."
"Then I say that it is for her Father to raise an objection and, once again, no concern of yours."
"He has voiced his concerns."
"And yet he has not interceded to put a halt to our association. If he has seen fit to let it bide then you can have no reason to pursue your objection."
"Her Father lets it bide because he trusts his daughter to maintain her virtue and he believes it to be a mere passing fancy on your part. Once she ceases to amuse you then you will go about your way." Jim Reed retorted.
"And you do not believe the same?"
"Oh no, I do."
"Then why not just wait me out? If I am as mercurial as you suppose than it should not be too long."
"Because she is a good woman and not just a rich man's plaything! I cannot bear to watch her be used in this way!"
"Ah, and now we get to the meat of the thing!" Jet proclaimed. "You suppose because you stand by her with your ardent love that it somehow gives you a right to speak on her behalf. I say to you, you are not worried that I might leave her humiliated with dashed hopes but that I might influence her to remain in my company and thus abandon yours. And even more: you fear that the thing you have most coveted - her love - may become mine. And worse, that I don't care enough about her to appreciate it." Jim Reed looked at him, furious - perhaps he had said too much; he was in no condition to fend off the young Scot. Instead Jim Reed put his face in his hands for a moment drawing the fingers down from it. When he looked back at Jet he seemed to have calmed considerably.
"I take it we understand each other, then?" Jim spoke, offering the other man a hand. Jet laughed in spite of himself.
"Yes, I believe we do." he said taking the stocky man's proffered hand.
"Doctor Lang has given his permission for you to travel to the hotel as early as tomorrow, if you wish." Jet had not considered how soon he might be able to leave. For a moment he was elated at the prospect of being in a warm hotel apartment with fine food and drink at his beck and call. Certainly, it would suit his needs for recovery. He could wake tomorrow morning as though this had all been a terrible dream now fading in the light of a new dawn.
"If it is all the same to you and no imposition, might I continue to remain here for a time? I have no pressing engagements and - if I am honest - I just do not want to go back right now." Jim Reed's eyebrows rose well above his spectacle frames in surprise.
"I would have thought you would want to be amongst your own kind." Jet breathed deeply,
"It is reasonable to suppose so, but I do not wish to just yet - I have my reasons - so if you would be willing to take me on?"
"I'll see if we have any spare clothes that'll fit you. I'm sorry to say your fancy ones were ruined in the river."
"It's just as well. I didn't much care for the stares they brought upon me." Jim laughed at the memory.
"You could not have stood out more were you an orange among chestnuts! Not to worry, by tomorrow you'll blend in so well even my Mum won't know you from Adam."
Jim Reed was true to his word. Two days following Jet found himself sliding a worn pair of suspenders over his thin shoulders. Bertie had not visited him the previous evenings nor that morning. He looked in a small mirror on the wall - he was more gaunt than usual, his complexion irregular, his hair fell across his forehead with little order - he imagined Bertie would have quite a bit to say regarding his transformation, provided she ever spoke to him with the candor she once had again.
"Well now! No one would ever guess you were the same well-dressed sod who came to us almost a fortnight past." Jim exclaimed as he entered the room. He stopped and examined his handiwork. "I suppose the trousers are a bit short, can't be helped - you're more limb than body. Any how, enough chatter, Mum has breakfast on the table and it won't keep." Jet followed Jim down the stairs into the main room which served as both kitchen and dining area. Based on his prior experience with the thin stews and watery gruels he had been served during his convalescence he was not eager to feign his fondness for them as the family audience would require from him. From the stairwell he scented some heartier items the smell of which caused his mouth to water. Each plate was set on the worn wooden table fully laden with baked beans, sausage, an egg, a small hank of bacon, and plump potato scones - small wooden bowls of porridge completed the scene. After days of nothing but weak soup and gruel Jet found himself nearly moved to tears by the sight.
"Well, come on now - if you're well enough to walk you're well enough to eat a proper breakfast." the cheery woman who was Mrs. Reed chirped. "We can't have you wasting away while you are in our care." Mr. Reed - a burly, dark Scot pulled out the chair at his right and motioned for Jet to sit. Marking Jet's astonished look Jim leaned over to his companion.
"You didn't expect that we lived off gruel and weak soup? Dr. Lang's orders you know." he said with a wink.
"I will have to remember to thank the good doctor when next we meet." Jet whispered back. "Thank you for your hospitality Mrs. Reed, Mr. Reed." he said, taking his seat. Unconsciously, he counted the plates - five. Jim caught him.
"Bertha never takes meals with the family. She goes out early to help prepare meals at the Women's House with Miss O'Brien."
"The Women's House?" Jet inquired.
"Aye, that is where women who have no means to support themselves or need to flee from terrible situations can come to find respite. We have two houses - one for women with children and one for women without. Bertha spends most of her days with them." Mr. Reed answered.
"What could she possibly have to do with them?"
"She believes they can become something much more than they have been degraded to through the transforming grace of God." a raspy voice answered. The dull thud of a cane followed by the shuffling of feet announced the entrance of Rev. Smith. "So she helps them learn the skills to secure employment and she teaches them of the redemptive power of God in their lives." Jet was surprised - were there really people who would consider hiring such women for honest work? Rev. Smith gripped his seat back heavily, lowering himself gingerly into the empty chair behind the final trencher. "Let us pray..." he began - the others bowed their heads in quiet reverence - Jet sat through the eloquent prayer as though it were an especially dull lecture; unable to move about freely without risking offence he amused himself by focusing and unfocusing his eyes on the meal before him. Finally the "Amen" sounded. Jet attacked the food with gusto. He assumed it must have been delicious though he could not recall any specific flavor for the speed at which he had consumed the items caused them to blend together in his mind. "I am gratified to see you up and about Mr. Moore." Rev. Smith finally spoke. "Jim has told me you intend to remain with us for some time?"
"Yes sir, if you'll have me."
"Of course. We would not turn a prodigal away." Jet took umbridge at this characterization of his state, but there was no sense in causing a scene over what the old blackcoat chose to see him as if it aided his own ends. "Particularly not now when we need all the hands we can muster. The Russian flu has rendered many of our most dedicated soldiers unable to serve. That is to say nothing of what it has done to those whom we serve! The warm winter, rather than aiding in recovery has only served to speed its spread to epidemic proportions." he looked down at his plate mournfully. "I have presided over far too many funerals this season - baptized far too many babies who I then had to turn a spade of dirt upon." 'All the work of a kind and loving God.' Jet thought caustically, but he managed to hold his tongue. The meal passed in uncomfortable silence. Finally Mr. Reed spoke:
"George, what would you have us do for today? Especially with the boy?" Mr. Reed indicated to Jet.
"Ah yes. Your missions for the day." Rev. Smith brightened a bit at the prospect. "Robert, I would ask you to assist in fixing the roof Mr. Cartwright's house. I have been over to see the damage and it is rather extensive. Still, it should not require more than a day or two of your time before we can begin to have meetings there again. As for the youths: I would ask Jim take Mr. Moore under his wing for the time being until he becomes accustomed to our ways. Is this acceptable to you, Jim?" the elder man asked.
"Aye, but he will have to keep up."
"Are you up to the task, Mr. Moore?" Rev. Smith seemed to be challenging Jet, and likely he was.
"I believe so, Rev. Smith."
"Then the two of you will be in charge of distributing the food from the storehouse." He looked at the pair pointedly. "Remember, these are not social calls - so do not tarry too long in one place. And Jim, keep an eye on Mr. Moore. A little work is good for the soul but I do not wish to undo all we have done these past two weeks. If he starts to flag, send him home."
"Aye sir." Jim nodded in agreement.
Jim led the way to the cellar that served as a storehouse for the Army. It was located below an old brick tenement held tenuously together by crumbling cement and housing eight families in all. The worn door was painted a pale blue which had grayed substantially over the years. When Jim undid the heavy metal lock, Jet half anticipated a cascade of cobwebs upon entry. He was pleasantly surprised to find the place was neatly swept with the dirt floor properly spread with sand. Makeshift plywood shelves were lined up in rows along the floor creating aisles. On these shelves were large sacks of foodstuffs. Near the back of the cellar Jet observed a number of cured meats hanging from the ceiling.
"Most of this food we buy from monetary donations, but occasionally we get a special donation. Those hams in the back were a special gift from the butcher for Christmas. I wish we could have served them then, but they'll go further in the soup. Don't worry, everything's already been sorted. We just need to take it over. Here." Jim hefted a bag of flour and passed it to his cohort. Jet staggered at the sudden weight, he smiled as he tried to situate it on his shoulder as Jim was doing with a sack of potatoes.
"How much does this weigh?" Jet asked through gritted teeth.
"About 50 lbs give or take. Sorry, I didn't want to overload you on your first day." Jet shot him a scowl, but Jim seemed to be oblivious to it grabbing another sack of potatoes and slinging it over his other shoulder. "Here grab me those onions if you could, Mr. Moore. Ugh, that is far too formal for my tastes - is there another name I can call you."
"Lord Moore would do the job nicely." Jet grinned vengefully as he plopped a small sack of onions on top of one of Jim's potatoes.
"Oh ha ha. I doubt you would want to be called that around these parts - they'll more likely take you for a nutter than a Lord, looking like that, but were they to believe you then you would truly be at risk. While most of our people are good, honest folk; there are those in these parts who would not be able to resist the temptation of easy wealth from a kidnapping."
"Then Chester."
"Alright, Chester. Our first delivery is to the house of Mrs. Fenwick. She prepares most of the soups for us with the help of some of the ladies from the women's house. What is it?" Jim had caught a momentary grimace from Jet.
"I'm sorry, it's just hard for me to hear women of their... experience, called "ladies"." Jet answered disdainfully.
"As far as we're concerned they are ladies to the good Lord and so they are ladies to us. If we don't believe they are worthy of such a station than how may they ever feel they can attain it?"
"Well they can't. They will never be ladies and most will never even be able to aspire to the rank of a scullery maid. What house would ever take a fallen woman?" Jim wheeled on him. Unused to the momentum from the weight he was carrying, Jet almost crashed into the man.
"Now you listen to me "Lord Moore" or whatever you wish to be called. I have met you in the dens with the very women you deride in a state of debauchery any man should be ashamed to exhibit. In what world do you believe that you are any better than they? Because you bribed them into sin? Well, if that is the stick by which we use to measure than what about you? You paid for it! At least their sin was out of need and desperation - yours out of licentiousness and boredom."
"They made their choices."
"Aye, some did. But what decision is it between degradation and starvation? These women have made the choice to devote their lives to Christ and thus they are a new creation - the old is washed away completely. Any sin they committed before, in their previous lives, is of no consequence to us now. It no longer exists to be held against them." Jet made to speak but was interrupted before a syllable could exit his mouth. "Regardless of how you may feel you will treat all the women we work with and serve with the utmost respect. This is not up for discussion." Jim turned his back on the other man. Jet dropped the sack of flour with a heavy thud.
"Fine then." Jim did not even turn to acknowledge Jet's act of defiance.
"If you aren't going to work than go home." Jim answered continuing to walk on. It seemed as though Jet were set for humiliation no matter which way he chose. To pick up his bag and follow Jim would require a tacit admission that he had behaved abominably - his actions more like a spoiled child than a gentleman. But to return to the house so early seemed a fate even worse - a lie could only save his reputation until evening when Jim returned and revealed all. He could leave, take a coach to the hotel and be done with this nonsense, but the idea of his disgraceful actions being discussed without him present to give account galled him. He exhaled a frustrated sigh, picked up the sack, and followed Jim.
The morning passed quickly as Jet and Jim distributed sacks from the storehouse to the various dwellings which served the Army's mission. Finally, they arrived at the Women's House. It was a large old house, from the outside Jet guessed it once had as many as four bedrooms with a possible fifth in the attic. Mrs. O'Brien met the men at the dutch door in the rear that opened to the kitchen.
"Thank you, Jim." She said. She glanced over at Jet with a pleasant smile, he felt the heat rising from his neck. "Here, let me get the latch for you."
"Thank you, Sarah. Is Bertha in?" Jim inquired.
"Jim is that you?" Bertie's voice echoed from the back of the kitchen.
"Yes, ma'am!" Jim hollered in reply.
"Oh good, how is the patient?" Bertie asked, her voice approaching the door.
"He's up and about now."
"Ah, then I suppose he'll be making his way back to the hotel?" Bertie arrived at the door, wiping her floured hands off on her apron. She smiled brightly at her cousin.
"Well, I can't say for sure - I suppose you had best ask him yourself." Jim cocked his head in Jet's direction. Bertie followed his line and jumped slightly from shock.
"I intend to stay until I have fully recovered." Jet proclaimed with a winning grin. Bertie, somewhat discomfited by the tall man's sudden appearance, suddenly seemed very preoccupied in wiping her hands on her apron though her gaze was glued to Jet.
"We will be glad of your assistance." she muttered quickly. "It's good to see you are well. Thankyou." She dipped her head slightly as a bow, grabbed a small packet of ham from off the top of a large sack of potatoes Jim carried, and rushed back into the house as quickly as if she had witnessed a ghost appear.
"That went well." Jim smirked, taking Jet's sack from him.
"All in good time." Jet replied confidently. Though confidence was far from what he felt - that encounter could scarcely have gone worse. An insult, a flare of anger, a few tender words would have revealed the heart of the woman; rather he could not read her reaction at all excepting that she was put at ill ease by his presence. Still, she had shown some concern for him... but that could just have easily been her polite way of inquiring after whether or not he had gone. He wondered why he should even care at all? Was she so much an intimate to him that he should consider the loss of her friendship as something undesirable? He could feel his heart racing as though his nerves had been deeply shaken from the encounter. Or was it his nerves at all? The pounding seemed to increase as though his heart were intent on exiting his chest. Jim Reed exited the building, he absently wiped his spectacles as he approached Jet. Holding them to the sun, Jim inspected the glass, finding it clean to his satisfaction he replaced them on his head.
"There is far too much flour in the air in that kitchen. Chester? Are you alright?"
"How do you mean?"
"You're white as a sheet." Jet had not even a chance to speak before Jim placed a hand on his forehead. From his expression Jet guessed he had not gotten the results he hoped for. Jim took both of Jet's wrists in his hands, turned them over, and placed his thumbs firmly in the center. The dark haired man frowned.
"What is it?" Jet asked, he could feel the cold fingers of panic on the back of his mind. The world around him seemed to lose its sense of focus - as though what was immediately at hand was also somehow only existing in the most peripheral part of his awareness.
"We need to get you home. You've over-exerted yourself." From the tone of Jim's voice Jet could gather that the trouble was far more serious than what was being said. He made to turn towards home but somehow, in that act, he seemed to lose proper contact with the ground. Jim caught him mid fall. "Come on now, I'll help you." Jim wrapped Jet's arm around his shoulders and began walking slowly towards the Reed house with Jet staggering along beside, feeling quite the fool for the show he was providing. They made a slow go of it but eventually Jim was able to half drag half carry Jet up the stairs an to his temporary sleeping quarters. "I'll get you some tea, but you need to rest for now. I won't be offended if you drop off before I return." Jet managed a weak smile in thanks. He recollected no more beyond the sound of the door latch falling into place.
He didn't wake until some hours later when the fading sun shone golden around the border of the window. He stretched his arms above his head. He only just barely registered a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. For some time he lay listlessly contemplating what the root of his present discomfort was - whether he was truly ill or something far less serious. His stomach seemed to decide to help him discern the answer by letting out a loud rumble. He was hungry, likely famished, having eaten nothing since that morning. Even so, he continued to lie in bed; weighing whether it was worth his effort to go in search of food or if he should go back to sleep until the morn. He attempted the latter but found slumber evaded him, still, he could not persuade himself to the former - to haul his heavy carcass out of bed seemed far too great an exertion. He heard the latch click ever so softly. The door hinge creaked its objection to the door being opened. Jet waited, listening to the soft tread of lightly clad feet across the floor. He turned toward the visitor. "Oh, pardon me, I didn't mean to wake you." Bertie stammered, her plump face marked her surprise. "I just thought you might like a book to read." She pushed an old novel forward with both hands.
"It's alright, I was awake already." He took the book in one hand and examined it. "The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Acton Bell. I can't say I've ever heard of it."
"It hasn't been in print for ages, it belonged to my father who gifted it to me when I turned sixteen. I can't say I know much of its history or author beyond that but I have found it to be a very good book."
"I'm surprised you didn't bring me a Bible." Jet smiled.
"If I had, it would sit on the dresser untouched while you wiled away the hours watching the sun traverse the wall. Also, there is already a copy in the dresser - the top drawer, if you are interested."
"You know me well." Bertie turned to leave. "If it wouldn't be any trouble, would it be possible to have some food brought up? I haven't had a morsel since breakfast."
"Oh yes, I am sorry. I'll return momentarily." and with that Bertie hurried from the room.
"And it had better not be soup!" Jet called after her. He could not but wonder at her strangeness of behavior - she had made the effort to bring him the book yet she seemed to desire nothing more that to be out of his company - this vexed him a good deal. He looked at the book and, having satisfied himself of its unfamiliarity, placed it on the bedside table. She was true to her word, returning with a plate of sliced beef and cut potatoes piled on a fat slice of bread.
"Thank you." Jet said, receiving the plate. He placed it gingerly on his lap.
"If that is all; I will be going." Bertie made to leave but Jet caught her arm.
"No, please." she started at his touch - that little shudder, like a baby bird - his eyes dropped with his hand. She stood looking at him warily. "Please," his blue eyes sought hers, "Please stay with me, if only for a short while. To pass the time." Bertie seemed to consider his request, finally she placed her hand on the crest of the little wooden chair that sat as the stalwart companion to the bed.
"For a while, just to pass the time." she repeated, taking a seat.
The days passed in much the same way. After he had spent another full day in bed, Dr. Lang returned to follow up on his patient. After scolding Jet for being far more ambitious than his body could support, Dr. Lang pronounced that he would be able to perform light work for half day periods. Jet was sent to the main kitchen to peel potatoes for the first week before finally being allowed to partner with Jim Reed. He rarely saw Bertie for more than a few moments excepting during Sunday meetings and Rallies - and even then only from a distance. Yet as he watched her he could not help but conclude she was a most remarkable woman. He could not believe how very busy she was! She was always flitting from one task to another from the first hours of the morning to the last of the night and even beyond that. When Sarah O'Brian's infant son, Liam, took ill with the Russian Flu; her two elder children temporarily moved to the Reed house. One night, suffering from an acute case of insomnia, Jet crept down the stairs in search of a morsel of food and found Bertie sound asleep in the sitting chair, a child slumbering peacefully in either arm. Early in the week she would take a small contingent of Salvationists with her to the businesses of ill-repute in order to reach out to the lost, as she called them. Rarely did she find success in this task - but every so often Jet would see a new woman or man warily wander into the square and, upon recognizing the Sergeant Major, would approach her slowly as a badly beaten dog might a human holding out a gentle hand, and she would take them in a warm embrace regardless of their appearance or filth and guide them over to her comrades. In those moments it was impossible for Jet not to be reminded of Mrs. O'Brian - what it must have been like for her that very first day: emaciated with two small children in tow and one in her arms. Seeing that gladsome woman now, recalling what a state she had been in, he could not help but feel a sense of gratitude towards Bertie despite his own humiliation. Though prone to sleep during the lengthy sermons during the Sunday Meetings, when Bertie spoke he was the picture of attention - he did not care so much for what she said (negligible tripe about the mercy and grace of her God) but he liked the way her mouth moved, the way her eyes lit with some internal passionate fire. He had assumed, upon learning of her rank of Sergeant Major that it functioned merely as something of an honorarium - a title bestowed on her, as a woman, to encourage the participation of other women - but the more he came to know her the more he realized her rank was earned through endurance testing, unceasing hard work. Not that he was spared from a similar fate; for there always seemed more work to do in a single day than hands enough to complete it in a week. It seemed that the tireless efforts of Bertie and Jim Reed were contagious to those immediately around them - Jet found himself working much beyond what was required of him, and, after a few weeks time, Jim declared there was no better assistant he had ever had in as far as willingness to perform any asked for task was concerned. Still, Jet never forgot Jim as a competitor - though Jim had been content to let the issue lie where it had initially fallen. It was an unseasonably warm late February morning before he would broach the subject again during their dinner break.
"So, we are back up on the roof of the Women's House this afternoon?" Jet stretched his long body out on a pile of fat burlap sacks warmed by the sun.
"Aye, Da says a storm is coming soon and we need to finish those patches before it hits." Jim replied, soaking up the last of the soup with a crust of bread.
"Ah, why must the sun only last for so short a time?" he twisted his body to face Jim. "They say in Barbados the sun shines the whole year through and the water is as warm as a bath even in winter."
"Then move to Barbados." Jim replied mirthlessly, watching the O'Brian children run about the square after each other.
"We could do it you know. Move to Barbados. Between the pair of us I imagine we could make a success of it."
"Ah, nay. I would never be happy there."
"Aemon! Charlotte! Come over here and help your mother." Bertie called to the children from somewhere beyond their sight. The pair ran towards the voice. From Jim's face Jet could see he was well lost.
"I've often wondered, have you given up on her affections?" Jet ventured.
"No. I could never, not until the very day she became another man's bride. And even then I imagine they will linger on. I've loved her all my life and most of hers - it's all I know by now." Jim's tone was resigned, it seemed he had given the subject a good deal of thought.
"Then why do you not fight me for her?"
"And what good would that do? It's her choice. The very best I could hope for in competing with you is that she would not despise us both for it." Jim stared blankly at the bustling square. "I take it then, that you are no longer indifferent as you once were?" Jet lay back, letting the sun warm his face. He sighed.
"No. For your sake I wish I could say I were. For my own sake I wish it. I have tried to deny it, even to fight it by pure force of will - but there's nothing for it. It grows by the day."
"I can't say I approve of it - I cannot say anyone will - but I understand it better than anyone else. I won't stand in your way." Jet sat up to face him, a serious look upon his face.
"I doubt I could say the same were our positions reversed. You are a far better man than I."
"As if that were ever in question." Jim looked at Jet with a smirk.
"Well, what about Sarah, then? She's a beauty and I know you are fond of the children."
"Aye, Sarah is a fine woman. But it's not as though I can stop my affections for one woman and turn them on another at the drop of a hat. Besides, I cannot see it working."
"And why not? She is still a young woman and you are of similar temperament. You cannot tell me the children would be too great a burden on you? Or is her former profession not wiped as cleanly away as you say?" Jet sneered.
"It's not what you think, it would be unfair to her and the children to burden her with a roving man. Come next Autumn I will be departing for Glasgow to study medicine. From there I intend to serve the Salvation Army as a traveling doctor and teacher. It would be far too much to ask a woman with children to accompany me on such a journey when she should be settled. Besides, I doubt she would have me."
"And why do you say that?"
"There have been others, much better suitors, and she has turned each offer down. Apparently, she decided not to wed any man after the death of her husband."
"Ah, so she was married then?"
"Yes, she was. To the father of Aemon and Charlotte. I believe he was called Patrick. From what I've gathered he was a good man and a fine husband to her. They married very young, without a thought of how they would provide for a family. Then Aemon was born and Charlotte was on the way and they found themselves in need of money. In those days there was a strike at the steel mill and the owner brought in Irish workers to fill the vacant positions. Patrick was scraping the slag from the vat when the platform below him gave way. There was nothing left of him to even bury. Sarah knew less English then than now, but even had she been able to speak it fluently she found there were no jobs for Irish women - not in that town. She decided to try her luck in London but found no employment to be had in any reputable place. With the children wasting in her arms she had no choice but to turn to a man who was willing to loan her money at high interest. When the time came to repay she had still been unable to find work so he offered her a choice - debtor's prison or to work the debt off in the brothel. But the more she worked the more her debt seemed to grow." Jim paused for a moment. "I suppose I don't need to tell you the rest; you are well aware of it." Jet needed no further reminder. The women most amenable to accepting Lady Cox's proclivities were either of a similar mind to her or desperate enough for the large sum she offered to defer their revulsion. Mrs. O'Brian had been very much the latter, even refusing the Lady's proposal multiple times. But Lady Cox only offered more - said she liked her dark hair - and, eventually, Mrs. O'Brian was purchased. It had seemed such an inconsequential thing at the time; a simple part of the evening's entertainment. Jet could not stomach it. It was one thing to buy a few hours of diversion, but quite another to haggle over the price of a starving woman with three mouths to feed at home - that she had even had the will to reject the first few offers only made the concept worse. Still, revolting as the thought was, it was not as though she had been forced. Her story was pitiable, even tragic; but if not for them she would likely still be living it. It provided him a great deal of consolation when framed in that manner; though he guessed giving voice to such a line of thought would almost certainly end with him on the ground. Jet looked to the sky, searching for an escape from the subject at hand. One readily presented itself in the form of of a long line of thick, dark clouds billowing on the horizon.
"I suppose we'd best return to our work before that storm rolls in." he suggested. Jim examined the sky.
"Aye, we won't have much time before that monster comes in. Your work will get its test tonight."
That following Sunday Rev. Smith led the meeting. It was all Jet could do to remain awake. No amount of passionate preaching or loud intonation on the preacher's part could hold his attention. He found his eyes roving the room finally resting upon their favorite subject - those little lips mouthing the scripture verses as they were recited. Suddenly, he felt a slight tug on his shoes. He looked down to see two small, unpracticed hands delicately attempting to tie his shoelaces together. He smiled to himself, nonchalantly crossing his leg over the other so the undone laces now were too far to reach each other, thus foiling the attempted prankster. After meeting had ended he caught up with the culprit in the square.
"Ah, here is the criminal mastermind now!" he declared, lifting laughing Aemon up by the forearms. "Quickly! I need a policeman before he escapes."
"I'm a policeman!" cried his sister enthusiastically. Jet lowered the boy to the ground where he held out his hands to the girl. "You're under arrest." she said slapping invisible manacles on his wrist. "I sentence you to five years hard time!" She led her brother over to a hay pile where he pantomimed breaking rocks with a pickax. "Ok, that's enough - my turn!" She looked expectantly at Jet.
"Ah do I see another trouble maker- what?" He felt a gentle hand on his back. He looked to see Bertie smiling tenderly at him.
"Children, would you please excuse us - I need to speak with Mr. Moore a moment." The girl giggled, took her brother's hand, and the two ran off across the square.
"How is the roof holding up?" Jet asked.
"It bore the storm well. We're grateful for all your help with the work this season."
"We? Are you grateful?" Jet replied archly.
"Yes, I am glad you decided to stay with us. It has been a Godsend." Jet smiled with that self-assured air that was always known to pique Bertie.
"Strange that he should choose to send me."
"If you wish to annoy me then I shall go." She said turning to leave, her nose stuck in the air. Jet headed her off in a few steps.
"Aw come on now Bertie, I was only having a tease." She ducked by him but not before he could hook her arm. "Hey, listen."
"Yes?" She replied coyly.
"We both have the day off - would you like to accompany me on a walk through Regent's park?"
"I suppose that would be agreeable."
"The we'd best be off before we waste any more daylight."
The pair walked the paths of Regent's Park for hours, little noting how often they retraced their steps. It seemed they spoke of everything and nothing. By late evening a light snow had begun to fall, glittering in the lamplight. Bertie stalled at a lamp for a moment, looking Jet over.
"I shall never be used to seeing you outfitted in such a manner." she finally concluded.
"I had wondered when you would mention that. Are you telling me I look a clown?"
"A clown by the very definition of the word - for I could not distinguish you from any common man by clothing alone. But your mien belies such an assumption. The affect is incongruent."
"So you prefer me in my hat and tails?"
"I suppose they do suit you better." she answered with a slight smile.
"You know, I had meant to mention before: during our last walk you mentioned atoms. I regret to say I know few women who are even aware of the existence of such things - save for Philomena." Jet said by way of inquiry.
"I read." she looked at him with mild offense.
"Yes, but clearly not the types of things that typically interest a woman."
"It is true, the common Gothic novel or romantic verse never could hold my attention. I enjoy reading about those things that further my appreciation for God and His creation." More mention of God - it seemed the woman and the subject were an inseparable pair. Jet took another tack.
"When do you even find the time?"
"Usually on my days off, when the weather is too foul for a trip to Hyde Park to speak I typically walk to Mudie's and spend the day among the stacks."
"Ah! So that's where you go to! I had wondered."
"I am almost surprised you never followed me to find out."
"You think I am so desperate for your company that I would resort to such tactics?"
"Yes." she smiled coyly.
"You flatter yourself."
"Do I? You requested it specifically."
"And you accepted. I hope that means you have forgiven me?" Jet's eyes searched her face for the answer.
"I told you it is not for me to forgive. But my grief has begun to ebb and my anger with it."
"Then am I back in your good graces?"
"Were you before?" She raised her eyebrows in mock surprise at the idea. Jet turned away in frustration, he had not gone more than a step when he felt the pressure of her hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. The path is a bit slippery." Jet smiled warmly as he patted her hand.
"I do not believe you for a second."
"You may believe as you wish, your boots were made for such weather. Mine are far less forgiving." she defended.
"Well, if you truly require my support you may have it... and if you do not, you may still have it." he offered her his arm. Her hand radiated warmth on the spot where it rested.
The sky had darkened considerably by the time they reached the south bridge. "Oh, look at the ducks!" she cried out, rushing to the rail - her face bright as an excited child's. Jet could not help but smile as he watched her gleefully beaming at the paddling waterfowl. She looked to him, her normally ruddy skin was pale and tinged lightly purple from the cold but for the rosey spots on her cheeks. The snow seemed to give that skin a crystaline, almost otherworldly, element to it. But it was her eyes and lips which arrested his attention. Those great dark eyes framed with a think black fringe which the snowflakes clung to shone brightly in the dark night. Her lips were red as a rosebud from the exertion of walking, the snow leaving small droplets of water upon them. "I suppose it's silly of me to make such a fuss, but I did not expect to see them when the weather was this cold." Jet looked down at the ducks when a reflection in the water caught his attention. He looked to the sky.
"Bertie, look at that moon!" In the distance the waxing moon hung silent and yellow among the shimmering stars. "What was that song? The young may moon is beaming love."
"The glow-worm's lamp is gleaming, love." She added, taking the lead while he trippingly followed:
"How sweet to rove,
Through Morna's grove,
When the drowsy world is dreaming, love!
Then awake! - the heavens look bright, my dear,
'Tis never too late for delight, my dear,
And the best of all ways
To lengthen our days
Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear!"
The final stanza seemed to hang in the air even after the words had left; Jet felt as though at that moment his heart might burst from his chest, he took both of her hands in his - facing her, the words came almost without his bidding.
"Bertie, I have to say something to you."
"Jet-"
"Please, let me say it or I fear I might lose my nerve." Jet, the motion independent of his cognitive thought, stroked her round cheek gently with his gloved hand. She seemed momentarily startled by the gesture, but, instead of swatting his hand away he felt her lean into his caress. "Bertie, when I thought you were lost to me, I felt like I had lost some part of myself that I had never known was integral until it was gone. I missed you." She let his hand cup the lower line of her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her snow moistened cheek. "I missed you so very much." his lips brushed her forehead. "Bertie, I should never want to be without you so long as I live." he pressed his lips to hers. They were soft, supple - he felt himself, his body, his whole being, enveloped in that kiss as though nothing else in the world existed. He felt her body, warm and soft against his, held tightly in his arms. If he could have this moment forever he should want for nothing more. But for one thing... He loosened his embrace and felt her arms slide from around his neck in response - he had not even fully realized they had been there.
"Bertie, I love you more than anyone or anything in this world. I know it may be some time before I can ask this properly, but when the time does come would you consider becoming my wife? You don't have to answer now, but I would ask that you at least consider-" he was caught off guard by another kiss. He looked down into Bertie's radiant face.
"When the time comes I will gladly marry you." she spoke the words with no hesitation. A third and fourth kiss were quickly added.
"We should be heading back if I am to speak to your father tonight." he said still holding Bertie close. "But I don't want to let you go just yet."
"I know." she murmured, her face buried in the front of his shoulder. "But were we to remain this way until we wished to separate, we should freeze to death." He stroked her bonneted head.
"Ah, my Bertie, always the clever one." She pulled back from him and grinned, those eyes flashing with mischief.
"Well, one of us has to be." He kissed her on the forehead.
"Alright, let's go home." He extended his arm to her and she slid her hand through the crook. It rested there, so like it belonged that it was a part of himself. They made their way down the path.
"You know, I really do pity you." Bertie said.
"Oh, and why is that?"
"You fell in love with a headstrong woman."
"And you with an unstable gentleman. No one should envy us in our plight."
"That is true."
"That we should not be envied?"
"No. That I love you, Jet."
The pair returned to the Reed House well into the nine 'o clock hour half delirious in their happiness. A somber visage greeted them when they opened the door - that of Rev. Smith reading his Bible at the table by the light of a single candle.
"Father! What are you doing up so late?" Bertie asked, astonished.
"Bertie, please go up to your room. I need to speak with Mr. Moore in private."
"Yes, father." She smiled at Jet but obediently climbed the stairs to her room.
"Have a seat." the older man stated. Jet took the chair left of the Reverend. He waited patiently for the elder man to speak yet the only response that came was the sound of pages being turned every few minutes. Jet began to wish heartily to flee this uncomfortable silence for his room. "Have you paid your penance yet?" the words were so sudden and so strange he did not fully comprehend them.
"I'm sorry?" Jet stammered.
"Have you paid your penance yet?" the man repeated in measured tones.
"I'm afraid I don't understand your question."
"You have spent the past month and a half trying to pay off your sins by your works like a Papist. So I ask you now - have you paid your penance?"
"I haven't been trying to pay off anything by works!" Jet objected. Rev. Smith raised his head from his book - there was a fire in his eyes Jet had never seen before.
"Don't take me for a fool. It is human nature to attempt to mediate guilt through charitable deeds, there is not one among us who doesn't recognize that you chose to remain with us out of guilt for the death of Miss Geraldine Foxham. And I ask you now, do you feel that you have paid off that debt?"
"If that is what I have been doing than yes, I suppose I have." he answered sardonically, irritated by this line of questioning.
"Then why do you continue to remain with us?"
"Sir, I am in love with your daughter and I wish to marry her." Jet pronounced boldly.
"And does she feel the same?" Rev. Smith further interrogated.
"Yes, I believe she does."
"I am sorry for that."
"And how do you mean?" Jet could feel his temper flaring.
"Only that I can scarce think of a more unsuitable match - I should rather she live and die as an old maid than be bound to a man such as yourself." Jet was as much stunned by this proclamation as he was furious but the old man was not finished. "You are a man of the Devil himself: sinful, slovenly, and evil at heart. No man is beyond redemption; but to surrender my daughter to a man who is not redeemed but who revels in his base ways would be against my responsibilities as her father. And what world would she live in? Do you truly intend to bring a woman of her nature into the world of the nobility?"
"I hadn't really considered-"
"That is correct!" Rev. Smith interrupted. "You had not considered it. She would at best be regarded as an oddity and at worst a creature to be derided and mocked. Or do you intend to leave that world and live with us?"
"No. The company is dependent on me, I cannot leave it. Nor would I wish to of my own accord."
"So, you are asking to take my daughter away from her family, from her ministry, from all she has built; to live where she will be derided for being an upstart."
"She's the daughter of a Curate! It's an acceptable match on rank."
"Aye, but not on breeding, not on manners. I never raised her as a pampered pet the way most do. She is a true soldier of the Salvation Army; not a doll to sit on a shelf and collect dust. To be trotted out for company to see and admire!"
"Do you think I don't know that?" Jet was near shouting now. "Do you think I don't know it is an unsuitable match? That I don't see all my own failings and faults magnified a thousand-fold in the light of her brilliance? Do you think I don't see the difficulty ahead of us even if I have not addressed every coming issue? But I will tell you this Rev. Smith: I do love Bertie am I will marry her no matter what the cost or how long the wait." The Reverend sat in silence for a few minutes looking at his book. He turned the page.
"I have little doubt you truly believe what you say. To force Bertha to reject you would only serve to drive a wedge between my daughter and myself. And I still might lose her to you for you are both of an obstinate temperament - not inclined to follow sense when it contradicts you but to rebel against it. I doubt I should live long enough to outlast your combined will to defy me. So I will indulge you. If, in one year, you prove your constancy is true and not merely the result of a temporary passion, and she still wishes to wed you, I will give my consent."
"Thank you sir. Is that all?" Jet said, raising himself from the chair.
"No, you've had a letter. I have not read it but I can guess as to its contents." Rev. Smith handed Jet a small envelope from the back of his Bible. On the front, in fine black letters read two words "Arthur Wyndham". Jet felt his world, that world he had spent two months so carefully constructing, come crashing down around him. Surely, he had not thought he could go on living in this manner forever, yet he had never tangibly considered that he would be leaving except as a distant, half-formed concept of some unnamed future date. He reread the contents to be sure. "What news from home?"
"My sister and Brother-in-Law will be stopping in London on their way home from Italy. They intend to meet me at the Hotel in two days and then we shall return home together."