“She found her true calling, Mr. Dennis. She did work she loved, she found God’s peace, and she died in a state of grace. We cannot ask for more in this life.”
Obviously, these answers more than satisfied Mrs. Wells, but Sarah wasn’t sure how much comfort they would give Richard. “Perhaps you could show us around the mission so Mr. Dennis can see what his wife did here,” she suggested.
Once again Mrs. Wells studied Sarah in that odd way of hers. “Forgive me, Mrs. Brandt, but were you a friend of Mrs. Dennis?”
So that was it! Mrs. Wells was simply trying to figure out what Sarah’s role was in all of this. “No, I regret to say I never knew Mrs. Dennis.”
“Mrs. Brandt is a friend of mine,” Richard quickly explained. “I asked her to accompany me today because of her familiarity with the neighborhood and the people in it.”
Mrs. Wells hadn’t taken her gaze from Sarah. “Oh, yes, you said you were a midwife, I believe.”
Sarah heard the unspoken questions that Mrs. Wells was too well bred to ask. She would naturally think it odd a man in Richard’s position would be well acquainted with a midwife. “My family and Mr. Dennis’s have been friends for many years. After my husband’s death, I chose to make my own living doing what I love. Much as you did, Mrs. Wells,” she added.
Mrs. Wells nodded, silently acknowledging the bond between them. “I hope your work affords you as much satisfaction as mine does to me, Mrs. Brandt,” she said. Then she turned to Richard. “I believe you wanted to see what we do here at the mission.”
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind showing us around,” he said, giving her one of his charming smiles. Sarah wouldn’t have thought charm could influence Mrs. Wells, but she allowed herself to return his smile.
“I would be happy to, Mr. Dennis. I consider it my Christian duty to help you find the peace you’re seeking.” She turned to Sarah with an unasked question in her dark eyes. “And to help you find whatever it is you are seeking, Mrs. Brandt.”
3
SARAH HARDLY HAD A MOMENT TO REGISTER THE implication before Mrs. Wells rose to lead them out into the hall. She hadn’t been aware of any needs of her own in making this visit, but she couldn’t help admiring the fulfillment Mrs. Wells seemed to feel. Perhaps Mrs. Wells had sensed something of which Sarah herself had been unaware.
“We don’t work on Sunday, of course,” Mrs. Wells was saying, “but I can let you see where we do our other activities during the rest of the week.”
She took them to the room where the girls had been singing earlier. They sat in rows and were bowed over their Bibles now, struggling with various degrees of success to read them. They all looked up when their visitors entered. Sarah scanned the faces and saw they represented many nations of origin and ranged in age from about twelve to perhaps sixteen or seventeen. Girls much older than that were either safely married or hopelessly lost – either to prostitution or death. The choices in life for impoverished females were severely limited.
These girls were as well scrubbed as the hallway, their hair braided or pinned up, their clothes neat and clean, if not new or stylish. The blond girl who had met them at the door, Emilia, sat on a stool at the front of the room, and she smiled at them. Again Sarah noticed how the smile brightened her face.
“These are the girls who live here with us at the present time,” Mrs. Wells explained. “They have no place else to go except back to lives of sin and abomination, but they are safe here with us.”
Sarah winced at the fact that she’d said this in front of them, but if any of them minded, they gave no indication. Probably, they’d heard it before. Sarah had to admit it was also true. A ministry that saved destitute girls from the streets was a haven indeed.
Mrs. Wells then took her visitors through the kitchen, a large room as spotless as the rest of the house, and out to the small plot of ground behind the house that had been turned into a playground. Here a couple dozen children played on swings and slides and seesaws, things that existed no place else in this part of town. They weren’t as clean or as well dressed as the girls inside. Obviously, they were children from the neighborhood who had come to this amazing refuge to enjoy a few hours of idyllic childhood. Then Sarah noticed other small faces pressed longingly against the slats on the other side of the fence, peering in at their fellows.
True, the yard was already swarming with children, but Sarah couldn’t imagine locking others out and cheating them of this unique opportunity. “How do you decide who gets to come in to play and who doesn’t?” Sarah asked, indicating the pathetic onlookers.
“We can’t allow them all in at once, of course,” Mrs. Wells explained, her gaze settling lovingly on the children. “If we did, none of them could enjoy the yard. So we let a group of them come in for an hour, and then we send them out and admit the next group. It’s the only fair way.”
Sarah looked at the older woman with admiration. She might be a bit rigid in her religious views, but she obviously cared deeply for the people in the neighborhood.
A few adult women stood around, watching over the children as they played, stepping in to settle disputes and helping the smaller children when they needed it. Their clothes identified them as belonging to a higher social class than the children they tended, so Sarah assumed they were volunteers. She imagined Hazel Dennis standing in this yard, doing the same thing. Had she found being with the children fulfilling or had they only reminded her of what she did not have? Surely, visiting the mission couldn’t have been painful, or she wouldn’t have continued to come.
Sarah glanced up at Richard and wondered what he was thinking as he watched the grubby children at their play. Could he imagine his wife finding joy and satisfaction here?
“Would you like to go upstairs and see the work rooms and the dormitory?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“Yes,” Richard said, still deep in thought. “Yes, I would.”
When they reentered the house, they found Emilia waiting for them. “The bambini are happy here,” she said, the words almost a question, demanding they agree.
“They certainly appear to be,” Sarah said. The girl seemed eager for their approval, and Sarah knew how much attention from outsiders could mean to someone in her position in life. “How long have you been here, Emilia?”
The girl’s eyes widened in surprise that Sarah knew her name. “I am here five months,” she said carefully, glancing at Mrs. Wells for confirmation. “I learn to sew.”
“Emilia hopes to find a job making clothes,” Mrs. Wells explained. “She’s been doing very well.”
“I’m sure she is,” Sarah said with an encouraging smile. The girl beamed.
“Are the girls finished with their Bible study, Emilia?” Mrs. Wells asked.
“Si, they have gone to eat.”
Sarah hoped Mrs. Wells would invite Emilia to join them upstairs, but she left the girl standing in the kitchen, staring longingly after them. Mrs. Wells didn’t speak again until they reached the top of the stairs. Then she turned to face Sarah and Richard.
“Emilia is a perfect example of what we have been able to accomplish here,” she said softly, so no one could overhear. “She was seduced by a wicked man who had no intention of marrying her. When her family found out, they disowned her for her wantonness. You can imagine what she had to do to survive. By the time she came to us, she was completely degraded, but I’m happy to say that she has since repented both of her sins and of her popish ways. She is now a true child of God.”
Dennis nodded in approval, but Sarah couldn’t help wondering what her Irish friend Malloy would have to say about Mrs. Wells’s opinion of Roman Catholics. Of course, the prejudice was practically universal among Protestants, so Sarah couldn’t single the woman out for disapproval.