Chapter 4

Otis paced back and forth with his arms folded across his chest. Where was that dog? For six years Wolfgang, named after Mozart

and shortened to Wolf, had rarely left his side, and he'd never run off at night.

But now, six nights in a row, Wolf had been let out and hightailed it away from the mansion. He'd come back hungry the next

day but unremorseful, prancing inside as though he'd done nothing wrong. Otis had done his best not to care that the dog was

deserting him, but he did. Wolf, though a dog, was his friend—his only true friend. Were raccoons so enticing that he'd run

off to chase them every night?

Traitorous animal.

He had other matters to worry about though. His brother's account books were not exactly books—they were stacks of banknotes,

promissory notes, threatening letters demanding payment, and receipts. Unopened mail, water-damaged records (how they had

become water damaged, he would never know), and of course the consistent entries in simple line form marked Elisabeth . The ever-mysterious Elisabeth, the name that had called to Leon and, if he was being honest, the name that also drew his attention time and again.

Otis groaned, annoyed with his deceased brother. How dare he die and leave an aftermath of trouble behind him? Begrudgingly

he sat, determined to make some progress on the mountain of neglect.

"I've brought you a cup of tea." Mildred stepped into the study, her round cheeks sagged with age, but when she smiled, they

brightened, making her look more like the woman he'd known in his childhood. "I will never tire of walking through this house

and seeing you."

"You flatter me." He offered her a forced smile. "Thank you for the tea."

"I saw your dog go out." Mildred moved a stack of warped papers and sat in a wooden chair across from him.

"The dog run is in disrepair. I should keep him in, but he howls at the door until I open it. I am not firm enough with him."

"Did he wander when you lived with the Crawfords in Massachusetts?"

"He'd run, but he always returned."

"Home has a way of calling us back."

Otis only grunted. He shuffled aimlessly through the papers nearest him. Receipts, bills, a badly torn letter. He picked that

up, expecting to find another request for money or an invitation to a social gathering.

Dear Mr.Reginald Taylor,

I have been caring for Elisabeth for some time now, and I find that her needs are increasing. Last month she needed the doctor called twice. If I am to continue caring for the baby, I will require an additional five dollars a month. If I do not hear from you within the week, I will bring her to your residence. I know you want discretion, but if you don't respond, I'll have no choice. I am not a charitable organization.

Sincerely,

Mary Stevens

Otis stared, and then he read the letter again. Still shocked, he read it aloud in hopes that Mildred would help the words

make sense.

"Oh dear." Mildred's eyes grew large.

"Elisabeth... is a child." Otis pushed away from the desk and stood, too overwhelmed by the revelation to sit, only to

find his legs weak and shaking beneath him. He leaned against the desk, but his head continued to spin. "She's a child."

"It can't be." Mildred picked up the note. "Oh my."

"She is out there, somewhere. My brother... he must have been the child's... guardian?"

"Could be he was the child's father," Mildred said without looking up from the page. "He wasn't an overly virtuous man...

but I never expected this."

"He can't be her father." Otis balked. "He wasn't married. I am sure my father would have told me if he was."

"He was not married. I am certain of that." She spoke in a gentle tone, but still the accusation hit him like a lightning bolt, forcing

him to sit again.

"Are you suggesting that my brother left me more than an enormous financial riddle? He left behind a daughter?"

"This letter leads me to believe that."

"And you believe it possible?" A new pain pierced his side. There had been a time when he and Reginald were inseparable. Now

here he sat, realizing he knew little of the man his brother became.

"Reginald was not one to be benevolent without a motive. If he was supporting a child financially, he had a reason for it."

Mildred's voice carried no doubt. "Does the letter have a return address?"

"Yes. Springhole."

"That's not far. We can find Mary and ask questions."

His finger tapped nervously on the desk. Mildred put a motherly hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry. We'll sort this out. This

letter can't be older than the entries in the book—most likely she's still there. Perhaps this can all be explained away."

"How can I not worry? I can't even make sense of Reginald's finances, and now I find out that my brother may have had a child—out

of wedlock, no less. And she's been hidden away somewhere?"

"He may have worried about your father's reaction, or he may have been ashamed."

Shame.

The word pinged around inside, colliding against his conscience in an uncomfortable way, and then the discomfort grew to pain.

Shame, embarrassment, disgrace... he knew them all too well. Such feelings had been the catalyst to his own neglect. He

pressed a hand to his pounding forehead. An unexpected seed of compassion sprouted, not for his brother but for Elisabeth,

a child, perhaps his niece, who hadn't been wanted. The pursuit to avoid public ridicule had already instigated too much secrecy

in the Taylor family, where decisions had been made based on ignominy and fear rather than heart and wisdom.

"I want this resolved." He wrung his hands together in his lap. "Would Leon go? Could he inquire after Elisabeth for me?"

"Yes, of course," she answered for her husband. "Or we could write?"

"No—if she's there, we need to know now. It cannot wait." A driving force made him wish they could go that very day. If only

he were better spoken and not so marked, he would go himself. But Leon would go in his stead, and surely they would find Elisabeth.

"If she is my kin, we have to find her. My brother and father might be comfortable hiding the unwanted branches of the family

tree away, but I am not. I will not..." His voice faltered. "We'll find her."

Mildred's face puckered. "You're a good boy. Always were."

"I was cast off," he said, more to himself than to Mildred. "I could never..." He shook his head. "I will never do that to family. If she is my responsibility, then I will find her and I will not abandon her."

"There could be a reason—"

"There could not! There could be no reason to hide a child away. Circumstances of her birth, scars—no reason!" The power behind his words scared even him. But

he stood by them.

There would never again be a discarded Taylor.

***

"Wolf," Otis called in a low voice for his dog. He wanted to shout, to call the animal all sorts of names and even throw empty

threats into the air, but he feared some distant neighbor would hear him, and the last thing he wanted was for the whole of

Monticello to learn of his return. All he wanted was his dog beside him.

"Wolf," he called again, voice still low but more demanding. "Wolf."

In the woods of Massachusetts, Wolf had always come when called. He would run full speed over brambles to get to Otis. What in blazes had gotten into him since coming here?

Otis looked in every direction before stepping out of the house. He was alone. The clear sky was dark, save the twinkling

stars and partial moon. The air, warm and humid, was damp just as it had been when he and Reginald played in this very yard.

"Wolf," he called again, then whistled and waited.

***

Sadie wrapped her arms around Blue and cooed soothing words into his ear, hoping they would keep him from barking.

"Hush, don't worry. Whoever is out there, they'll go away soon enough."

Blue sat up straighter, his floppy ears turned toward the sound. Someone—a man—was calling out for Wolf and whistling. Blue, or Wolf, clearly recognized the voice. He looked at her and then back at the sound. She should send him

on his way—after all, Blue was not her dog. But she'd slept much better since he'd joined her, and she hated to lose the one

friend she'd found. When he continued to look toward the sharp whistling, she took her arm off him.

"Go on, if you must," she said. It would be better if he jumped out the window and was discovered outside than if he barked

and brought this stranger into her hideaway. "Go," she said, nudging his side.

Blue moved slowly, and for a moment she thought he would stay. But then he stretched back on his haunches and let out three

sharp barks.

"No!" She pushed his side. "Go, get out of here!"

He looked back at her, his eyes full of confusion. He'd been there beside her keeping her company and now she was sending him away. He couldn't understand, and she had no way to explain it to him, so she shoved again.

"I'm sorry," she said, "but you have to go. You can't bring anyone here."

"Wolf," the man's voice called again, this time sounding closer to the factory.

Her heart beat faster, harder. She gathered her few belongings and pushed them behind a pile of old crates, glared at the

dog who refused to leave, and then crept into the shadows, pressing herself against the wall.

"Come here, boy!" The man's voice came from the window. "Don't make me come in there after you."

Go! Sadie silently tried to will the dog away. But instead, she watched Blue open his mouth, yawn, and then sit himself down.

She'd labeled him friend, but in this moment he looked the part of a turncoat.

Moments later she heard the man climbing through the window. Every fear she'd harbored since declaring the old factory her

home surfaced. What would her family think if they knew she'd been living in squalor? No West girl had ever gotten into trouble,

and now here she was, about to humiliate the family. She could die of shame. And worse yet, where would she go?

Her stomach clenched as a new fear came forth. Who was this man? What would he do if he found her? She grabbed her lunch tin—arming

herself—and crouched down. It wasn't much of a weapon, but with enough force it would leave a mark.

"I remember this place from when I was boy," the man said to the dog. His voice did not sound like the voice of a villain, although she had no idea what a villain sounded like. "That was a long time ago. Back then this place was crowded with machines and people. When I left, they were making wheels and bicycles."

There was a far-off sound in his voice, a mix of wistfulness and despondency that made her want to see his face so she might

read it better.

"I'm too tired tonight," he said, continuing to speak to the dog. He did sound tired. The deep-down, weary-to-the-soul sort

of tired. "Let's go. Some other time we can explore."

Blue barked, and from her corner she saw him resisting as the man urged him toward the window. A sneeze tickled her nose.

Blast this dust! Her eyes stung, burning as she fought to keep her sneeze inside.

Go! she nearly shouted, wanting to hurry their departure. Blue broke free from the man's grasp and came right for her, panting

and barking as he went.

"What is it?" The man followed, and though she tried to make herself melt into the wall, she knew she'd be discovered.

There was no escaping, no way to make a run for it. If he didn't leave soon, she would have to face him.

She sneezed, and all hopes of going unnoticed vanquished.

Tin pail in hand, she stepped from the shadows, ready to launch an attack on the intruder.

"What—"

"Leave!" she shouted, then held up her pail, threatening him.

The man stepped backward, tripped over his own feet, then scrambled across the floor as he struggled to find his footing.

"Who? What?" he growled as he wrestled with the floorboards, all marks of wistfulness gone from his voice.

She rushed for him, ready to strike. An instinct to protect herself flooded her veins. Blue got between them, barking first

at her and then at him. The man had come with no light, and she possessed none, so the three stared at one another in near

darkness.

"Quiet, Blue," she said when she could take his barking no longer.

"Blue?" the man said, finally uttering a coherent word. "His name's Wolfgang... his name's Wolf."

Wolfgang? Did villains name their dogs after brilliant musicians? "He didn't tell me his name, so I gave him one."

The man gawked, and she covered her mouth—this was no time to be making conversation. She stood taller, making herself as

big as she could, which was no easy task for a woman with a slight build.

"Well... his name is Wolf."

"And you are?" In the dark, shadow-riddled room, she could make out only his outline, but it told her he was a large man with

broad shoulders and a hat atop his head. Despite her efforts, she could not see his eyes nor tell whether he smiled or scowled.

"My name isn't your concern. I've simply come for my dog."

"You won't tell me your name?" She moved away from him, speaking as she went, only because she felt safer talking than standing

in silence. "I will just have to name you as well."

"Name me? Like you did my dog?"

"Yes. I can't very well write my sisters and tell them I met a stranger—they'd be worried. I will tell them I met"—she tapped

her lip—"Edward Rochester."

"Rochester... from Jane Eyre ?"

"You've read Jane Eyre ? Well, now I do know something about you." She took another half step backward and stopped. More to herself than to him,

she said, "I wouldn't want to be in company with a vagrant, but a man who has read Charlotte Bront? cannot be all bad."

"Don't you think bad men read when they are desperate to fill the long winter months?"

"I hadn't ever thought so, but you could be right. Does that mean you are a bad man?"

She saw him shrug. "I am just a man."

"Rochester suits you. He had secrets too."

He humphed and the tension in her shoulders relaxed some. This man may not be a friend, but he didn't seem eager to assault

her or run for the authorities.

Wolf—it would take her a while to get used to his new name—waffled between them, running to her and then back to him, unsure who to stay beside.

"What are you doing in here?" the man asked, still not giving her his real name.

"I could ask you the same question."

"I am fetching my dog. You on the other hand cannot offer that as an excuse." His voice wasn't harsh, but it wasn't friendly

either. Oh, how she wished she could see his face and read his expression. "You need to leave. This factory is not yours."

"I have come to think of it as mine. Besides, no one was using it and I needed a roof over my head. I'm sure if the owner were here, he'd understand

my predicament."

"You presume... That is how you justify your squatting?" His tone had grown harsher, and even without seeing him she knew

he scowled.

It should not have hurt, having a stranger judge her actions, but it did. And though she was determined to persevere, doing

whatever she must for her family, guilt nagged at her. Honor had driven her from home to the city. To have her indiscretion

called out stung.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, feeling sheepish like she so often did when Alta looked at her with disdain, seeing only the dirt on her skin and not the motives of her heart. "I work at the duster factory. My pa is injured and we needed money, so I came to work in Monticello." She spoke the words quickly. "The bank has threatened to take our land. Last season was so bad, we borrowed money. And now I've got to find a way to pay it."

"None of that tells me why you are here, in this factory."

"I had a place to live, but I lost it. I couldn't tell my family," she said, her voice cracking on the last word. That wouldn't

do. In times of battle, a general could not appear weak. She rallied, and this time she spoke with a firm voice. "You may

think me selfish, and I admit, staying here goes against my principles, but..." She glared into the darkness. She didn't

have to explain herself to him. This wasn't his factory any more than it was hers. He was simply a stranger looking for his

lost dog. "I was desperate. Judge all you like, but I had nowhere else to go and people depending on me. Someday I will find

the owner and I'll pay him back."

"Indeed. And what if he doesn't accept?"

"I'll grovel."

"Hmm," he said, then motioned for Wolf to follow and started for the window. She stepped closer, wanting to see his face,

but he kept going, putting more distance between them.

"Are you going to tell anyone that I'm here?" She scolded herself for letting fear creep back into her voice. "You won't,

will you? You have your dog. That's what you came for."

He stood near the window, saying nothing.

With each moment that passed her worry increased, growing wider and deeper, until she feared it would consume her. In two

giant strides she crossed the floor and put her hand on his arm. "Please."

He brushed her off, and in an instant he was gone through the window with Wolf behind him.