The Final Recollections of Charles Dickens by Thomas Hauser

her heart as she spoke, as if nothing less would keep it from splitting into small pieces.
    â€œWhen I was a young girl, before I knew what death was, I would play in the churchyard with no thought to whose ashes lay beneath my feet. If you buried James fifty feet deep and took me across his grave, I should know without a mark that he was buried there. But he no longer lies in the grave. He has flown to a beautiful place beyond the sky where nothing dies or grows old. I hope he is as happy in his new life as I have prayed for him to be. And I wish that he has not given his heart to another, that he waits for me. I dream so much of Heaven and Angels and kind faces that I never see when I am awake. Heaven is a long way off, and they are too happy to come to the side of a poor woman like me. But in that other world, if I am forgiven my sins, I will wake some day and James will find me.”
    As Florence spoke, Christopher sat clenching his fist as if he were to beat down a lion.
    â€œMy sister was a toy for Wingate’s pleasure,” he said. “Let him remember what happened for so long as he is on this earth and for eternity in hell ever after.”
    â€œHow did he escape punishment?”
    â€œThe word of a whore carries no weight against the word of a gentleman in an English court of law,” Christopher said bitterly. “The police accepted a fiction he told and made threats against us should we pursue the matter.”
    â€œAnd you let it be?”
    â€œI was of a mind to seek him out. Wingate was never in such peril of his life as he was at that time. When heis within five minutes of breathing his last, he will not be nearer to death than he was at my hand. But I feared punishment from the law that would deny Florence my protection. My curse is upon him. I still think of such an act. I wish he had never been born.”
    I wanted to know more about Wingate.
    â€œHow did he earn his pay when you knew him?” I asked Florence.
    â€œHe worked in business. That was all I knew.”
    â€œDid he work alone?”
    â€œHe had a partner whose name was Owen Pearce.”
    â€œHow long were they partners?”
    â€œUntil Mr. Pearce died.”
    â€œThere was more,” Christopher urged his sister.
    Florence worked her fingers together uneasily.
    â€œI met Owen Pearce several times,” she said at last. “We had dinner on occasion with Mr. Pearce and his wife. Her proper name was Lenora, but she preferred to be called Lily.”
    â€œGo on.”
    â€œAfter Mr. Pearce died, Geoffrey told me that Mr. Pearce had signed several documents in his presence. If I was asked about the matter, I was to say that I had been there when the documents were signed.”
    â€œWhat kind of documents?”
    â€œI was told that it was none of my concern.”
    â€œHow did you respond?”
    â€œI understood the life I had. I gave for money what should only be given for love. And I knew nothing about business. But I would not have stories made for me and told him so. Geoffrey grew angry and said again that, were I asked, I should speak other than the truth.”
    The sound of the infant crying intruded on our conversation. Florence bent down over the egg crate and lifted up the child.
    â€œWhat is her name?” I asked.
    â€œRuby.”
    â€œHow old is she?”
    â€œSeven months.”
    Pushing aside the ragged clothes that covered her breast, Florence began nursing her daughter.
    â€œYou are a gift to me, fresh from the hand of God. I should like it if, some day, you are a fine lady with a true love who shelters you in his arms. I live now so that some day you may be happy and remember a woman who looked over you and kissed you and called you my child.”
    Holding Ruby close, Florence turned toward me.
    â€œDo not think that all power I had of loving is gone. I did not know that anything could be as dear to me again as she is now. It is not a slight thing when