“To be frank, many of them are better off with us than they were with their families,” Westbrook said. “We bring them up to be moral, upstanding Americans, even the immigrants. English only, and no tolerance for anything else.”

Arthur’s stomach lurched. “You punish them for speaking their mother tongues?”

“Spare the rod, spoil the child,” Westbrook said—with pride, of all things. “Their parents chose to come to our country; their children must integrate. Most of them only need it once; they rarely speak anything but English again.”

Arthur felt sick. He had been vaguely aware that this happened in schools and orphanages across America. But being aware that a misfortune sometimes befalls others is not the same as having it stare you in the face.

It might have happened to Rory.

“That will never do,” he found himself saying, and this was a condition that he had no right to insist on, but the words were coming out of his mouth anyway. “My father voted against the Immigration Act. He won’t want to donate to an orphanage that treats immigrant children differently from American ones.”

“We’re hardly the only ones,” Westbrook protested.

“It won’t do,” Arthur repeated. “Not for this donation. And our charity wants to donate quite a large sum of money.”

Westbrook frowned. “Well,” he said slowly. “I suppose most donations do come with strings attached.” He gestured. “Would you like to see the schoolhouse and dormitory now?”

“Yes,” Arthur said, steeling himself. “I think I should see it for myself.” The idea of seeing a place where Rory had lived as an unwanted youth made his stomach hurt again, but he should confirm that the children were otherwise adequately cared for.

His gaze stole to the altar. “Lovely antiques you have here. How long have you had them?”

Westbrook gave him a forced smile, his previous friendliness gone. “As long as I’ve been here.”

Arthur could swipe the snuffer when his back was turned, but what if the blame for the theft fell on the orphans?

This man was a pastor, but he’d also sold all of Rory’s mother’s possessions to bring in money. Arthur was going to hope funds could still motivate him. “My brother collects antiques, and he’s been looking for a snuffer exactly like this one. I don’t suppose you’d sell it to me? I’ll pay twice what it’s worth.”

Westbrook hesitated, then shrugged. “Why not? It’s only a material possession, after all. Far more honorable to take the money and spend it on our poor children. We’re entrusted with their care and their souls when others would see them abandoned.”