She firmed her shoulders. It wasn't Joshua and Nella's responsibility to bear her burdens, to always give her help. Charles promised he would.
And, as a respected landowner in the community, he had power and influence Joshua and Nella didn't.
The porch loomed over her with its decorative wooden frame as she took each step nearer the door. Light glimmered from inside through lace curtains behind tall windows.
Kizzie had cleaned those windows and washed those curtains.
She released a breath, causing visible puffs in the frosty air, before knocking on the door. Silence responded to her knock, and then the faint sound of heels on hardwood drew nearer.
Those weren't the sound of a man's shoes.
She shifted a step back as the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Eliza Morgan.
Kizzie hadn't seen her since she'd overheard Mrs. Morgan ordering Charles to “fix” the problem of Kizzie's pregnancy, which led to Charles suggesting Kizzie return home. From the upstairs window, Mrs. Morgan had watched Charles enact her plan and drive Kizzie away from the house toward the train depot, her expression as unwelcoming then as it was now.
One of the woman's pale brows curved skyward. “I wondered how long it would take you to disregard Charles’ request. Do you needmoremoney?”
Disregard his request? “I'm here seeking guidance, Mrs. Morgan, not money.”
Her gaze trailed down Kizzie. “I should have kept to my rule to never hire comely young women, no matter the skill.”
Kizzie shivered as much from the cold air outside as the frigid look in Mrs. Morgan's eyes. The porch barely shielded Kizzie from the breeze, but a sliver of humor in her wanted to latch on to the compliment within Mrs. Morgan's response. “I think Charlie and I are in danger.”
“Charlie?” She spat out the word, and then her gaze dropped to the baby. Her expression, if only for a second, softened before her gaze rose back to Kizzie. “Another way to emotionally snag my son?”
Kizzie blinked at the accusation. No wonder Charles tried to keep her away from his mother. There wasn't a feeling bone in her body. “I—I don't have any mind to sn—”
“You don't fool me, Miss McAdams. I've known too many young women like you. Opportunists. Only,thistime I wasn't able to stop Charles before he made a lasting mistake.” Her gaze dropped again to the bundle in Kizzie's arms.
Kizzie drew Charlie closer, to protect him from Mrs. Morgan's steely gaze.
Had there been other young women? Servants in the house too? Kizzie had never considered the possibility.
“I'm only here for help. That's all.”
“That's all? Not only has he reordered his world to take care of you, but the rumors …” Her lip curled. “The talk. People know, and it hurts Charles.”
Kizzie stiffened in defense, but the truth pinched. Did Charles feel the sting as acutely as she had from the ladies in the dress shop? “I'd never want to hurt him.”
“No?” A light glimmered in the woman's brown eyes. “Because you love him, is that it?”
“Yes, ma'am.” She raised her chin. “As much as I know what it is, I do.”
Mrs. Morgan's eyes narrowed for the briefest moment. “Then if you do, you should leave him alone. The burden you bring into his life, the stain on his good name? Every day you stay, you hurt him more.”
Was that true? Kizzie shifted a step back. “That ain't so.”
Mrs. Morgan advanced, leaving the shelter of the door. The glint in her eyes took a predatory turn. “Don't you know? Your reputation automatically sullies his by association. Girls like you have long been dangerous to good, upstanding men.”
“I ain't dangerous to nobody, least of all Charles.” Kizzie rasped out a weak argument. “I want to take care of him.”
“Care?” A dangerous flash lit the woman's eyes, inciting a responsive tremor. “Please don't tell me you have false notions he'll actually marry you.” Her lips curved into a humorless grin. “You, with your poverty morals and mountain manners?” Kizzie shrank as the woman's gaze trailed down her again, her expression conveying unsheathed disgust. “Charles knows his place, and it isn't with someone like you.”
Without another word, the woman stepped back into the house and closed the door with a resounding thud that Kizzie felt in her chest. Charlie jerked from the noise, a whimper quivering his little chin into a half dozen wrinkles. She ran a gloved hand down his cheek, his eyes searching her face as if to make sure all was well.
All was not well, but she smiled at him anyway and suddenly wondered, how many times had her own mother smiled to her children despite the tremors of her heart? Was that something mothers had to do often?
She walked back to the steps and paused. The accusations replayed in her head. The insults.
