The Substitute Bride. Janet Dean

of calm filled her. She could count on Martha, who’d raised her brother since Mama died, doting on him as if he belonged to her.

      Robby’s eyes brightened. “Can you get a job on a farm, Lizzie? So I can have a dog?”

      His request pressed against her lungs. What kind of a father gave his son a fluffy black-and-white puppy for Christmas, then turned around and sold it in January? Reversals at the track, he’d said. As always with Papa, luck rising then falling, taking their family and their hearts with it.

      A chill snaked down her spine. What if Robby caught Papa’s fever for gambling? If she didn’t get him away from here, her brother might spend his life like Papa, chasing fantasies.

      “I can feed the pigs and chickens,” Robby pleaded, his expression earnest.

      “I don’t have the skills to work on a farm, sweet boy, but once we’re settled, you’ll have the biggest dog I can find.” She kissed his forehead. “I promise.”

      Yet another promise Elizabeth didn’t know how she’d keep.

      A smile as wide as the Chicago River stretched across Robby’s face. “You mean it?”

      “Have I ever failed to keep a promise?” She ruffled Robby’s hair. “Now promise me you’ll be brave while I’m gone.”

      His head bobbed three times. “I will.”

      She wrapped her brother in one last lingering hug. “I love you.” She blinked back tears. “Now, tiptoe to your room and crawl under the covers.” She tapped his nose with her fingertip. “Sweet dreams.”

      His lips turned up in a smile. “I’m gonna dream about a black-and-white fluffy dog.”

      She forced up the corners of her mouth as Robby took one last look back at her then slipped out the door.

      No longer able to hold back her tears, Elizabeth leaned against the wall, fingering the cameo hanging from the delicate chain around her neck, the last tie to her mother. She would miss her room, her home, the place she’d lived all her life. Her watery gaze traveled the tiered moldings, crystal chandelier and wood-planked floor. Once this bedroom had held a mahogany writing desk, hand-carved armoire and handsome Oriental rug.

      Here one day, gone another.

      Like her life.

      “Elizabeth, we miss your company.”

      Papa’s booming voice was followed by the muffled mumblings of her want-to-be groom.

      She swiped the tears from her cheeks, then hustled to the half-open door and caught snatches of Reginald’s conversation. “Tomorrow…at my side…ceremony.”

      “I assure you, Reginald, she’ll be there,” Papa said, his voice carrying up the stairs, putting more knots in her stomach than she’d tied in her linens.

      He’d promised her to Reginald Parks much as he had the armoire he’d sold to Mrs. Grant last week and the cherry break-front he’d shipped to the auctioneer the week before. He expected her to bail him out as Mama’s fortune had, until he’d squandered every dime and worried poor Mama into an early grave.

      How could Papa believe Reginald was the answer? She couldn’t abide the man. He had no patience with Robby, even hinted at sending her brother to boarding school, as if losing his mother hadn’t been enough upheaval in his young life.

      Surely God had another answer.

      She sighed. If only she and Robby could have a real home where a family shared their meals and the day’s events at a dining table that stayed put, where a man considered his family first, where love didn’t destroy.

      “Elizabeth Ann!” Papa called. “Reginald is waiting.”

      She heard the familiar creak of the first step—Papa was on his way up. With her heart thudding in her chest, she eased the door shut and turned the key until the lock clicked. Then she jammed her hands into her kid gloves, grabbed her handbag and the small satchel stuffed with necessities and tore to the open window.

      She looked down. Way down to the lawn and shrubbery along the back of the house. She gulped at the prospect of following her possessions out that window. Now was not the time to lose her nerve. She dropped the satchel. It bounced but stayed shut. When the valise hit, the latch sprung, scattering clothing across the lawn. Praying she’d hold up better when she alighted, Elizabeth flung the rope of sheets over the sill.

      A rap on the door. “Be a good girl and come downstairs.”

      She grabbed the footstool and set it below the window.

      “Reginald promised you a lovely matched team and gilt carriage as a wedding present,” Papa said, his tone cajoling.

      Elizabeth hiked her skirts and took a step up.

      He pounded on the door. “Elizabeth Ann Manning, I’m doing this for your own good!”

      Papa might believe that, but in reality, her father had one goal—prosperity. Through the door, she heard him sigh. “Sweetheart, please. Don’t embarrass me this way. I love you.”

      Her fingers fluttered to her mouth as tears filled her eyes. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered.

      How could she abandon him? She stiffened her spine. He’d made the choice to gamble away their money, not her. Years of watching him take them on this downward spiral had closed off her heart. In her mind, he had only himself to blame.

      Well, she and Robby wouldn’t go down with him. Together they’d start a new life. She’d find a job somewhere, then return for her brother. After they got settled, she’d find a way to help Papa. She’d find a way to save them all, a way that didn’t involve marriage to Reginald Parks. To anyone.

      Papa slammed his body into the door. Elizabeth gasped. The hinges quivered but held, thanks to Mama’s well-built family home, a home far enough west to have survived the great fire. A home they’d soon lose.

      With one leg in and one leg out the window, she clung to the sheet and somehow managed to get a knee up on the ledge. Soon both legs dangled from the second-story window. Gathering her courage, she lay on her belly, ignoring the metal stays of her corset pinching her ribs.

      The pounding stopped. She heard a creak on the stairs. Papa must’ve gone in search of Martha and her ring of keys. He’d soon be back.

      Holding her breath, Elizabeth relaxed her fingers, and down she went, faster than a sleigh with waxed runners—until her palms met a knot and broke her grip. She landed on the boxwood with a thud, and then tumbled backward onto the lawn.

      For a moment, she lay sprawled there, dazed, then gathered her wits and scrambled to her feet. No time to gather her clothing. She snatched up her satchel and purse and darted for the cover of the carriage house. Slipping inside, she tore through it and out the back, easy to do since Papa had been forced to sell their carriage.

      Out of sight of the house, she sprinted down the alley past the neighbors’, no small feat in silk slippers. By the time she reached Clinton Street, her breath came in hitches.

      Once Papa found a key and got her door open, he and Reginald would be out searching for her. Two doors down, a hack rounded the corner and dropped off a passenger. She slid two fingers into her mouth and let out one of the peace-shattering whistles that had sent Mama to her bed with a cold compress draped across her brow.

      The hack pulled up beside her. “Where to?”

      Robby’s words marched through her mind. Can you get a job on a farm? So I can have a dog?

      Her brother yearned to live in the country, a good place for a boy. Not that she knew the first thing about the life, but a farm would be far from Reginald.

      Perhaps a farmer’s wife would want help with…whatever a farmer’s wife did. Elizabeth was strong. And she could learn.

      She gave the driver her destination. Then she settled into the