Romancing the Rogue

by Kim Bowman

  Her thoughts turned again to the job ahead of her, taking care of her mother. Until that awful stock market crash, Lily Pennington Sheffield had lived a life of privilege, having hired help for everything from laundry to getting dressed. Since Lily had married well, she hadn’t expected to ever have to worry about money. But that day, that horrible day, everything had changed. Lily lost her husband, and the world as she knew it had ceased to exist.

  Rose had left her studies at Vassar to deal with funeral arrangements and financial matters, selling what she could, including their stately home on Long Island, and paying most of the creditors. Then she and Mother had moved to their summer home in Wildwood. Though Sheffield Cottage was larger than most of the surrounding buildings, it was much smaller than their New York mansion, and they could live there more cheaply. She’d found her job at the hotel, which helped pay for their food, and occasionally rented out their extra rooms.

  Pulling her serviceable wool coat tightly around her slender frame, she noticed a missing button and wondered where it might have gone. There was no money for a new coat, so even though it had seen six seasons, the gray wool would have to do until things started to improve. Someday things will be better, she repeated to herself. It was the mantra that kept her going.

  Letting herself in the back door, she paused, noting the silence. Was Mother napping?

  A glance around the kitchen made the hairs on her neck rise. While Mother wasn’t the most meticulous housekeeper, she would never leave the kitchen like this. A half-eaten slice of bread and an open package of crackers lay on the table, and crumbs littered the floor. Cupboard doors stood open as if someone had been looking for something and left abruptly.

  “Mother?” Rose called softly. She stepped softly across the floor, not wanting to alarm her mother if indeed nothing was amiss.

  Hearing no answer, she continued through the kitchen to the dining area. With every step, her heart beat faster, and her footsteps matched the tempo as panic rose. Though she checked every corner, there was no sign of Mother in the large formal dining area.

  Walking through the dining area to the foyer, she finally spotted Lily on the staircase. At first glance, she appeared to be resting peacefully. She sat on the third step, eyes closed, arms folded under her head as it lay on the fifth step.

  “Mother?” Rose called again. She stepped closer and took Lily’s hand, intending to check her pulse.

  Long, brown lashes fluttered and wide hazel eyes stared back at her. “Rose? What are you doing home from work already? Is something wrong?”

  “Mother, it’s mid-afternoon. I’m finished with my shift. Let’s get you to the sitting room where you’ll be more comfortable, and I’ll fetch Doctor McManus.”

  “Doctor? Why do you need the doctor? Are you ill, dear?

  “No mother, I’m fine. You’re the one who was unconscious.”

  “I wasn’t unconscious. I was taking a catnap.”

  “On the stairs? If you couldn’t make it up to your room, you could have lain on the settee in the sitting room.”

  Lily’s face creased. “I suppose so. I don’t know why I was on the stairs. It seems I can’t remember anything, not even what I had for lunch.” She groaned as Rose helped her get up and walk to the sitting room.

  “From the dishes and food left in the kitchen, it appears you had some bread and crackers,” Rose said as Lily settled into her favorite armchair.

  “Oh, of course. It was delicious, dear.”

  “You didn’t eat very much of it.”

  “Oh, I — I wasn’t all that hungry.”

  “Mother, you must eat. You’ve lost so much weight since we moved here. I’d be happy to cook all the time, but I’ve got to work, otherwise we wouldn’t have any food to eat.”

  “I understand, dear. It’s just — I don’t quite know what to do with myself all day. No committees to chair, no charities. It’s like being on an endless vacation, without the friends and family. I’ve read every book in my possession, mended every rip and tear in both our wardrobes—” She broke off as her gaze focused on Rose’s coat. “I see you’ve lost a button.”

  Rose sighed and handed her coat over. “Here. If you can find a spare button, go ahead and fix this while I figure out what we’re having for supper.”

  Chapter Three

  Noting the lengthening shadows on the Boardwalk, Charlie packed his things for the ride home. Ma would be so pleased with today’s success. The last few years had been difficult for her. Pa’s long illness and death had taken a toll. Charlie had sent money regularly while enjoying success in New York, but now that he was head of the family, his place was here.

  Mounting his bicycle, he headed north, toward Anglesea. His family lived in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of the barrier island known as Five Mile Beach Island. Like most other full-time residents of the island, Ned Brannigan had been a fisherman, but Charlie had been eager to leave and go to the Big City. His father had never understood Charlie’s passion for art but hadn’t tried to stop him from following his dreams.

  Charlie squared his shoulders and focused on the ride home. Home. With his family. He’d spent his youth working hard to get away, and for several years, home had been a little one-bedroom studio apartment in Soho. And now, at almost thirty years of age, he was right back where he’d started. He shook his head at the irony.

  A neighbor stood on a street corner with a bucket of flowers and Charlie stopped to greet her. Might as well share a little bit of the windfall with a friend.

  “Good evening, Mrs. McIntyre.”

  “Good evening, Charlie. Have you been over to the Boardwalk today? It must have been windy out there by the water.”

  “It was, but I managed to sell a few paintings. So I thought I’d surprise Mama with a few of your lovely flowers.”

  “Oh bless you, child. What a good son you are.” She reached down and picked several of her best flowers and named an amount well below the price on the sign. “Give her a few from me, along with my best regards.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

  Pulling his bicycle up to a neat clapboard home, he got off and walked it around to the back, leaning it against the house. Then he took the crate indoors into the warm, welcoming kitchen.

  Susie Brannigan stood at the stove, stirring a large pot bursting with savory aroma. She looked up as Charlie came in. “Oh good, you’re home. Go and wash up. Dinner will be on the table in five minutes.”

  “Yes, Ma. But first, these are for you.” He presented the flowers to her with a flourish.

  She dropped her ladle into the pot and gasped. “Oh my! Where on earth did you get these?” She put her hands to her hips and pierced him with a stern look. “You didn’t steal them from Mrs. McIntyre, did you?”

  “No, ma’am. I paid her for them.”

  “And why would ye be wastin’ yer hard earned money on flowers that are only gonna wilt?” Occasionally when flustered, she’d lapse into the brogue of her Irish ancestry.

  “To celebrate, Ma. I sold three paintings today. I’ll give you some for the household and keep some to buy more materials.”

  “Three paintings! Why, Charlie, that’s wonderful!” She reached out and hugged him then. “I always knew you were a special boy. You’ve been working hard at that delivery service, but you’re a painter through and through. An artist, I mean.” She corrected herself before Charlie could protest. “And you’re an angel to share the money with us. Someday we’ll get back on our feet, and then you can go back to painting.”

  “I didn’t think you’d sell anything out there today,” Connor, younger than Charlie by four years, teased him as they set the table. “I know the Boardwalk has been busier lately, but I figured it was still too chilly for the society ladies to be out strolling.”

  “I thought so, too. In fact, I was ready to come home when this lady came and helped me retrieve one of my miniatures that the wind had blown off the crate. I figured I’d have to chase it out ont
o the beach, so I was glad she caught it for me just before it blew off the Boardwalk. She didn’t buy the painting, but after she set it back, another woman came and bought that very one, as well as the ones on either side of it.”

  “Wow, that’s a coincidence,” agreed eighteen-year-old Katie as she entered the dining room. She set a serving bowl of steaming beef stew on the table and went back into the kitchen.

  “You must have met your Lady Luck,” said Connor.

  “My what?”

  “Lady Luck. Remember when Uncle Phineas would go to Atlantic City? He’d talk about the women in the casinos. If one of them happened to be nearby when a gambler hit it big, that woman would be his Lady Luck and he’d keep her by his side the rest of the night.”

  “Lady Luck. That’s pretty much how I felt about her. It was as if she put a special spell on those paintings and that’s what made the next person buy them.”

  “You’d better keep an eye out for her. The next time she walks by, ask her to touch all your paintings.”

  Susie entered with a basket of rolls. Taking their cue from her, the three siblings quieted and sat. At a nod to Charlie, they all bowed their heads as he offered thanks for the meal. Then they eagerly tucked into Susie’s famous Irish stew.

  “Now what’s this I hear about you and your Lady Luck, Charles Rowan Brannigan? You’d better not be planning a trip to Atlantic City. Those casinos ruined your Uncle Phineas’ life. I won’t stand for one of my sons having anything to do with them.”

  Connor’s face turned red, and Charlie felt his own cheeks burn. Beside him, Katie hid her amusement.

  “I ain’t been near Atlantic City, Ma,” Charlie insisted, lapsing into the casual speech of his youth. “I told Connor about a woman who came by and touched three paintings just before someone came and bought them. It was like she’d put a spell on them. So Connor said she was probably my Lady Luck.”

  “Stuff and nonsense.” Susie’s distaste for the gambling industry was evident. “The lady recognized a good painting, and so did the woman who bought them. Now, let’s talk about some of the things I need you two strong boys to help me with around the house.”

  The subject was dropped. But later that night, Charlie took out his supplies and started painting. Lucky or not, he’d promised the lady he’d paint replicas of the miniatures if he sold them. And something about the woman made him determined not to disappoint her.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, Charlie stood at his spot on the Boardwalk, eager and optimistic. Thanks to the milder winds and the scarf and cap his mother gave him, he didn’t hunch down but stood tall, proud, and assured. Though business was better and several of the wealthy women walking the Boardwalk promised they’d return, Rose, the pretty lady with the gray coat, didn’t come. He remained at his post far longer than he’d intended, hoping maybe she was delayed at work, but finally gave up when the sun started its descent.

  For the rest of the week, Charlie kept one eye open for Rose. He sold only a few paintings and started to lose hope. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea.

  On Friday afternoon, he finally caught a glimpse of her as he answered questions from a passerby. She seemed lost in thought, trudging along the outside edge of the Boardwalk. He hurriedly ended his conversation and raced across the walkway.

  “Hello again,” he said, adjusting his cap. “I was afraid you weren’t coming back.”

  She looked up at him then, and he noticed the tears filling her eyes. Instead of the friendly smile she’d given him earlier in the week, her eyes clouded in confusion. “Do I know you?”

  “You came here on Monday morning and admired my painting of the robin and her nest. It sold, but I painted another one. Would you like it now?”

  Her gaze dropped again, and she seemed to shrink before his eyes. “I’m sorry. I won’t be able to buy anything for a while. I’ve been let go from my job.”

  His heart ached at seeing her so dejected. But what could he do to help? He could barely support himself, and his family needed him.

  “Excuse me, sir, but are these your paintings?”

  Charlie turned to utter an excuse but paused with his jaw open at the sight. The makeshift booth was crowded with people looking at his artwork. He recognized some of the ladies he’d chatted with earlier in the week. This time they brought their husbands along.

  He reached out and grabbed the lady’s elbow.

  “I can’t offer a permanent job, but would you mind helping me out for today? It looks like I have more customers than I can handle.”

  “What would I do? I don’t know anything about art.”

  “If you could wrap the purchases in paper and thank them nicely, I’ll do the rest.”

  The woman beamed, and the sight sent a warming glow straight to his heart. “I can do that,” she assured him.

  They went back to the booth and sold almost every item he’d brought that day.

  ~~~~

  Rose entered the sitting room to find her mother attempting to fold a load of clean towels.

  Lily cast her a sheepish smile. “There you are, dear. I thought I’d help out with the laundry, but I can’t seem to get these towels folded nicely, the way you do.” She glanced at the mantle clock. “It’s later than usual. Did that horrible woman keep you after hours again?”

  “No, Mother. In fact, I don’t work at the hotel any longer.” Rose sat down and took the towel, folding it absently.

  “You don’t?” Lily looked up, confused, and then her brow cleared. “Oh, you finally quit that nasty job. Good. Now you can help me figure out how to do things around here.” She waved a hand at the towels still in the laundry basket. “In New York, I could arrange a dinner party for fifty guests without blinking an eye, but I simply cannot figure out how to fold linens. How did Etta do it so nicely?”

  Rose bit her lip. She’d have to iron and re-fold most of the laundry. They were due to have guests that weekend.

  “I’ll be here for Saturday and Sunday, like I usually am, but on Monday morning, I’ll have to find another job. Until we finish paying off our creditors, we won’t have enough income from Father’s investments for our bills. I was able to work a few hours this afternoon helping out an artist on the Boardwalk.”

  “An artist? What was he selling?”

  “Watercolors, mostly. He has lovely paintings of the local scenery, and this afternoon there were so many customers he needed help wrapping the paintings.”

  “Wrapping paintings? That sounds much better than doing laundry. Where is his gallery located?”

  “He doesn’t have a gallery, Mother. He sets up his paintings on the Boardwalk next to the ice cream parlor at Oak Street.”

  “Outside? That can’t be good for the paintings. What if it should rain?”

  “He takes the paintings home every night.”

  “He lives nearby? What is his name?”

  “Charlie. Charlie Brannigan.”

  “Brannigan? I don’t recall a Brannigan family.”

  “I don’t think they live in this neighborhood. He rides his bike to the Boardwalk every day.”

  “How inconvenient. The poor man. Is his automobile not working?”

  “I don’t believe the family owns one.”

  “Why ever not? How do they go anywhere?”

  “If they travel off the island, I suppose they take the train. Most people can’t afford to have an automobile.”

  Lily frowned, and Rose sighed. Mother really had no concept of how the working class lived. The Pennington family had not only owned a car, they’d retained a chauffeur. Lily’s marriage to Arthur Sheffield had ensured her continued freedom to come and go, not limited by funds or the availability of public transportation. Until that awful day, when everything had changed.

  Rose’s comfortable existence had also been shattered. She’d been a star student at Vassar, enjoying all the school had to offer, when the news broke. Her mother had sent a telegram to the school. Come home.
I need you. Amazingly, the dormitory matron hadn’t blinked an eye when she’d gone to her, asking permission to leave the campus. Later, she discovered she hadn’t been the only young girl yanked out of the social elite that day. Others had come out of it worse.

  Father hadn’t been able to face the fact that his wealth was gone. He’d invested so much of his money in the stock market that the crash now known as Black Tuesday had left him heavily in debt. He’d killed himself almost immediately. And Rose had been left to pick up the pieces.

  Some days, the task seemed impossible.

  Chapter Five

  “Charlie, I still can’t believe you sold so many paintings in just one day. And for so much money! This will buy food for a month!” Susie waved her fork in the air for emphasis.

  Across the table, Charlie nodded. “I couldn’t believe it either. The last man to stop in was loaded. He’s opening up a new hotel in Wildwood and needed paintings for each of the rooms. He kept choosing more, asking if I had any others. I told him I’d be back in two days with some. So don’t spend all that money. I’ve gotta go buy some more supplies.”

  “Right. Take what you need and paint some lovely pictures — whatever the man wants. I’m so proud of you!” She blew him a kiss. “I always knew you were talented.”

  “Thanks, Ma.” He waited until she got up to go to the kitchen before leaning toward Connor and whispering, “But I think it’s partly because my Lady Luck finally showed up again.”

  “She came back? Just before people started buying?” Connor whispered back. He let out a low whistle when Charlie nodded. “Well, that proves it. You’ve got to keep her around.”

  “Did she look like a local, or was she a rich lady on vacation?” Katie was also careful to keep her voice down.