Page 34 of More than Words Can Say

“So I take it this is the mistake you warned me about, the one you worried would bring danger to Abigail’s doorstep?”

The poor girl’s body wilted in on itself. She nodded.

Zach inhaled a deep breath and made himself as comfortable as possible against the wood slats at his back. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.

“Guess you better start at the beginning.”

CHAPTER

18

Rosalind let out a sigh, then scooted around to plant her back against the wall beside him. Taking her cue, Zach stared straight ahead instead of at her and waited.

“There’s not much more to tell,” she hedged.

Zach bent down, picked up a piece of straw, and twirled it between his thumb and finger, signaling he wasn’t in a hurry. That usually did the trick with Evie. She hated the quiet almost as much as she hated him not giving her an easy exit from a difficult conversation. It didn’t work as well on Abigail. His wife seemed to enjoy the quiet. But maybe her sister would be—

“He was a traveling photographer,” Rosalind blurted.

Ah. More like Evie than Abigail, it seemed. Zach hid his satisfied smile behind one of the bland masks he’d mastered during his poker-playing days.

“He set up a portrait studio in a storefront a couple blocks from the bakery. Families came into town from miles away to have their pictures taken. One fellow even brought his horse into the studio, if you can imagine.” Her lips curved slightly, and she tilted her face toward his.

Zach grinned in reply, but they both knew she was only delaying the distasteful part of the story.

“Julius ate at the bakery most mornings and tried to convince Abby and me to come sit for him. But we had Papa to worry about and money was tight, so we turned him down, even when he offered us a discount.” She scuffed the sole of her left shoe against the straw-littered floor. “He was always very charming and gracious. Wore a tidy brown suit with a chocolate brown tie and a bowler hat. He never flirted with me, at least not the way most men do. No winks or suggestive comments. No excessive compliments or bragging. Just earnest conversation and attentive listening. When he looked at me, I had the oddest feeling that he was . . . absorbing me, as if I were a painting or a piece of sculpture.” She shook her head. “It’s foolish, I know. But he was an artist, and his interest flattered me more than it should have.”

Zach stuck the straw in his mouth, needing something to chomp down on before his lips opened and his opinions on artists and their flattering attention disgorged all over the girl at his side. Julius might need his camera tossed off a cliff, but Rosalind didn’t need to feel worse about a situation she no longer had any control over.

“A few days before Julius planned to leave town,” she continued, “he ran across me coming out of the drugstore. The doctor had diagnosed my father with heart failure earlier that morning. He’d said there was nothing we could do beyond keeping him comfortable, but I couldn’t just let him die. He was my father, and his care was my responsibility. So I consulted with the apothecary, and he advised me on a few patent medicines that promised invigorating results. They were costly, however, purchased mostly by his wealthier clientele, but I wouldn’t be deterred. I told him I’d be back the next day with the funds.

“I intended to take coins from the till that night after Abby went to bed. Then I ran into Julius. Seeing my distress, he took me aside, and I poured out my troubles. I couldn’t help it. I felt so overwhelmed. So alone. That’s when he mentioned his side business. Photographic cards. If I posed for him and signed a document that granted him permission to replicate my image, he’d pay me enough to purchase the medicine Papa needed.”

A regular Good Samaritan. Zach’s molars ground the straw to stringy bits. He could have offered to buy the blasted medicine for her, but no. The photographer had seen an opportunity to make a profit, and he’d taken advantage.

“For the first time in my life, I felt as if my appearance might actually have value beyond superficial packaging. As if, like Esther, God had graced me with beauty in order to fulfill a higher purpose—saving my father.”

So naïve, yet the longing in her voice resonated. How often had he wanted to believe that he was created for some higher purpose? For a while, he’d found that with Seth and Evie. His efforts had been imperfect, and he’d gathered more than his share of regrets along the way, but his purpose had been crystal clear: Provide. Protect. Then they outgrew their need for him, and he’d floundered.

Until the Kemp sisters. They’d given him a cause higher than himself to serve. He might still be figuring things out with Abigail, but he knew his job. Provide. Protect. Maybe if he fulfilled his purpose well enough, Rosalind would gain the freedom to find hers.

“I followed him back to his studio,” she recounted, “and he showed me some of the photographic cards he’d made of other girls. Young. Pretty. The photographs were improper, to be sure, but not sinfully immodest. At least that’s what I told myself. All the girls wore undergarments. Their hair might be unbound and their poses a tad wanton, but Julius promised that my pictures would be different. Special. He wanted to capture my vulnerability. Preserve my purity.”

Preserve his profits, more like. Zach spit out the mutilated straw. Most decent men would feel guilty even looking at a print of a partially clothed woman in a salacious pose, but a print of a young girl with innocence shining in her eyes? It would stir protective instincts and conjure fantasies about rescue and marriage. The clever fiend would make a killing.

“I signed the paper and sat for the photograph.”

Zach hated the flat tone of her voice. So defeated. So filled with self-derision. He couldn’t let that stand.

“You made a poor choice.” He wouldn’t sugarcoat it, but neither would he allow her to define herself by it. “So have I. More than once.” He cocked his head in her direction, but she kept her gaze glued to the ground in front of her. “Can’t undo what’s been done,” he said, “but you can change how you handle the consequences.”

That brought her chin up. Her brow furrowed as she tilted her head toward him. “What do you mean?”

He pushed away from the wall and turned to face her more fully. “Don’t let this mistake shape who you are. Deal with it, make recompense where you can, but don’t let it dictate your future. You are a strong young woman with a kind heart. Don’t let it change you into a weak little girl cowed by guilt and fear of discovery.”

Zach tried to ignore the taste of hypocrisy on his tongue. It was a miracle he hadn’t smacked her to the ground, swinging that protruding log from his eye while he lectured her on how to clean the speck from hers. Practicing what he preached might not be his forte, but with any luck, Rosalind would surpass his less-than-stellar example.

“But if people find out, my reputation will be ruined.”