An Unlikely Mother

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 about 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.

Only the weight of George’s gaze on her didn’t make it feel so perfect at all.

Chapter Four (#ub96cbda0-4629-5bba-82b7-c86782c1804f)

A week later, they hadn’t come any closer to finding Pierre’s father, Henri. It was as though the man had never existed. Except there was a little boy missing him who said otherwise. Today, George found himself walking through the mining area itself, hoping that someone would recognize the little boy happily swinging between him and Flora.

The mine was no place for a child, but George had no other ideas. They’d walked Pierre through the camp a number of times, hoping the little boy would recognize someone, or at least some of the scenery. The only thing Pierre seemed interested in was going fishing, but George felt guilty at the thought. How could he replace the little boy’s father in what had clearly been an important bonding time between them?

Flora and Pierre were singing “Frère Jacques,” and George couldn’t help but enjoy Flora’s melodic voice. Though Flora had spoken disdainfully of her feminine accomplishments earlier, George was impressed with how readily she sang with the little boy, a pastime he seemed to enjoy greatly.

Pierre stopped singing and looked up at him expectantly. “Chante!”

“He wants me to sing with you, doesn’t he?” George looked over at Flora, who smiled broadly.

“It would appear so.” She gave the little boy an affectionate look, and once again George was struck by how readily she opened her heart to a child who needed it. It seemed like the other ladies in the camp hadn’t warmed to Flora, and her only friends seemed to be the pastor and Rose. A shame, because from what George could see, Flora had so much to give.