Chapter Four
Ruth stood very still.
She could feel her heartbeat everywhere: in her chest, her throat, her ears.
A few paces away, Henry had turned and was speaking in low tones to the man beside him.
Ruth didn’t dare approach or interrupt, but she watched them all the same.
The other man, taller than most, with an easy stance and kind face, glanced her way more than once as they spoke. His thoughtful expression kindled a fragile hope in her heart.
Please, Lord, she prayed. Please help him understand.
Clara shifted against her, a soft, restless movement.
Ruth’s attention dropped to her. “It’s all right,” she murmured, crouching down. “You’re safe.”
Clara’s eyes were still wide.
“I shouldn’t have let go,” Ruth whispered, more to herself than to her sister. Guilt pressed heavy in her chest. “I’m so sorry, Clara.”
Clara shook her head, then reached up to touch Ruth’s cheek with hesitant fingers.
Almost undone by the simple gesture, Ruth covered Clara’s hand with her own. “We’re going to be all right,” she said softly, though her voice wavered. “Do you hear me? We are.”
She wasn’t sure if she believed it, but she needed to reassure her sister.
Ruth brushed her thumb lightly over Clara’s knuckles, finding strength in the warmth of her small hand. “That man …” Ruth said quietly. “He might be the one who helps us.”
Clara followed her gaze briefly, then tucked herself closer into Ruth’s side.
Ruth swallowed. If he says no …
She couldn’t finish the thought.
Her eyes lifted again, drawn back despite her misgivings.
Henry stood firm, his expression unreadable, inclining his head as the other man spoke. The wind shifted, stirring the dust at Ruth and Clara’s feet and tugging lightly at the loose strands of Ruth’s hair.
Everything seemed to hinge on that quiet conversation—on words she couldn’t hear, a decision she had no right to make.
Ruth’s breath caught as Henry shifted, the quiet conversation coming to an end, and waited for him to turn back to her.
Suddenly, a new voice cut through the space between them.
“Well, now …” it drawled, smooth and unwelcome. “Sounds like a man about to make a poor decision.”
Ruth stiffened instinctively as she turned toward the sound.
A man approached from the edge of the platform, moving with confidence that felt less earned and more assumed.
His vest strained across his stomach, and his face flushed beneath a neatly trimmed mustache.
A gold watch chain glinted against his waistcoat, catching the sunlight with each step.
There was a sheen of sweat along his brow from the heat.
His eyes, however, rested too freely on her.
Immediately, Ruth’s chest tightened as a quiet intuition rose within her, an instinctive wariness pricked by this stranger’s intrusion.
He tipped his hat toward Henry as if greeting an old acquaintance.
“Collins,” he said easily. “Didn’t expect to find you here.”
Henry’s posture shifted; the change was subtle, but unmistakable.
“Wilkes,” he replied flatly.
The man—Wilkes—smiled, though the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “Couldn’t help overhearing,” he went on, glancing toward Ruth, who took a step back. “Sounds like you’re about to send this lovely young woman on her way.”
Ruth drew Clara closer, but Henry said nothing.
Wilkes chuckled lightly. “Seems like a waste, if you ask me.”
His gaze slid over Ruth again, more slowly this time, as though assessing her worth.
Ruth fought the urge to recoil.
“My place could use an extra pair of hands,” he continued, turning back to Henry. “Kitchen work, cleaning—nothing complicated—and a young girl like that?” His eyes flicked to Clara. “Well, there’s always something she could be put to doing.”
Ruth bristled at the offhand manner of his speech, which seemed more suited for discussing livestock or equipment than the fate of a woman and child.
“I’d be happy to take them off your hands,” Wilkes added, almost pleasantly. “Save you the trouble. I’ll reimburse whatever you paid—and make it worth your while, besides.”
He spoke so casually, as if negotiating a simple transaction. As if she and Clara were nothing more than misplaced parcels.
Ruth’s pulse roared in her ears, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, until Clara shifted behind her.
“No.”
Wilkes paused, one brow lifting. “No?” he said, his smile still plastered to his face.
Ruth lifted her chin, though her heart hammered wildly in her chest. “We’re not for sale,” she said shakily. “Not to you—or anyone else, for that matter.”
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “Miss, I don’t believe I was speaking to you—”
“You were speaking about me,” Ruth cut in, “and my sister.”
Wilkes studied her, the look in his eyes shifting from amusement to calculation. “You’d be given a place to stay,” he said, his amiable tone frosting over. “Food. Work. That’s more than most in your position could hope for.”
Ruth felt the weight of those words and the truth in them.
She had lived that truth.
A roof overhead, food in her belly, and steady work—all things the brothel had promised, too.
But at what cost?
Her stomach turned. She could see it now, as clearly as if she was standing there: the dim hallways, the affected laughter that never reached the women’s eyes. The way men looked at them…and how the women had learned to let themselves be measured, chosen, and used, then forgotten.
All for a place to sleep, for the next meal.
She’d scrubbed those floors. Washed those linens. Watched the women come and go—some hardened, some hollow, some trying to pretend it was something else. Something better.
Her mother had stood among them, beautiful, tired, and trapped.
God has something better for you.
Ruth had clung to those words like they were the only solid thing in a shifting world.
And now here it was again, that same bargain—dressed up differently, but the same at its core.
At that moment, steely resolve rose within her, strengthening her spine. She would not be trapped by any man or reduced to a servant. Clara would not be made to cower and hide. Not ever again.
Ruth lifted her chin, her voice quiet, but unyielding. “I already have an arrangement, sir, and I intend to see it through.”
Wilkes’s gaze moved back to Henry, his smile returning. “Are you certain about that, my dear?”
Ruth didn’t look away from him. “I do.”
The wind shifted again across the platform, but Ruth didn’t move.
Whatever happened next, whatever Henry decided, she wouldn’t let this man take them. She would never be owned like her mother, like Millie and the others.
Never again.
Her heart pounded as she stood her ground, every nerve alive with fear and defiance, as she waited to see what Henry Collins would do.