“The emerald bracelet. She claimed you gave it to her.”
“Humph.” Celia pushed a hank of her frizzy red hair back from her face.
“Did you give it to her?”
She looked him in the eye, hers clearer than he’d hoped. “What do you think? I look like the emerald bracelet type to you?”
“Claire never mentioned leaving?”
“She didn’t tell me she was going, all right? Pretty damned inconsiderate of her, if you ask me.”
“And you know nothing of the bracelet.”
“Back to that damned bracelet.”
“Was anything she ever said to me the truth?” he wondered aloud.
“She ever say she was in love with you?”
“What?”
“Well, that woulda been the truth.”
“You’re a crazy old woman.”
“That might be, but I know what I know. And I want to know where the hell the bottles are.”
“And what you do know is that she was in love with me.”
“Yeah.”
He laughed scornfully. “Well, she was a damned good actress anyway.”
“She was a poor actress, she was. Never had me fooled for a minute.”
“That’s because you’re her mother.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay.”
“I can see you’re all choked up about her being gone, so I’ll leave you to your misery.” He stepped to the door.
“You do that,” she said. “And tell that damned maid to bring a bottle and the newspapers!”
He stared at her for a long minute. Claire had been far too lenient with the woman’s poor disposition and despicable habits. “The servants have been ordered not to bring you a bottle. You may have wine at dinner. I’ll expect you dressed and downstairs at eight this evening.”
Her eyes widened as though they’d pop from her head. “What the hell—?”
“And you’ll curb your language in front of my mother.”
She opened her mouth as if to object again, but he cut her off. “If you want to eat, you’ll be there. I don’t pay my staff to wait hand and foot on someone capable of bringing herself to the dining room.”
He shook his head and closed the door on her cursing. Thank you very much, my dear Stephen. Lord help him if he was stuck with this woman for life. But if he was, there were going to be some changes made. He’d see to it.
Fort Wayne, Indiana
Sarah stared into the darkness overhead. She hadn’t known she possessed the strength to board that train back in Youngstown. But she’d done it. And she’d kept her bags and William possessively in her grasp the entire five days.
She hugged William to her side, grateful for the crowded boardinghouse room because she was lying down to sleep for the first time in days, and because she no longer had to listen to the droning rhythm of the rails and feel the tremulous rocking of the passenger car.
The talk around her had centered on factory jobs and restaurant work, and she’d listened unobtrusively. She received frowns of disapproval from more than a few of the women. The proprietress had warned her that if William so much as cried out at night, she would have to leave.
She’d hastened to assure her that William never cried. And she would spend the entire night with him affixed to her breast if need be. She had to sleep. Her leg ached from being unable to prop it, from walking, from climbing the metal stairs on the train cars, from running to get a seat after stopping for food and water. Her back ached from carrying the bags.
But inside, deep inside, was where the true ache yawned. Her deception ate at her. Her lies and the hurt she’d caused the Hallidays were worse than any physical pain. Missing them tore at her heart and brought tears that she fought constantly.
Loneliness and shame created an ache far worse than hunger or fatigue or mending bones.
“That baby got a daddy?” came a softly spoken question from the darkness beside her.
“No,” she replied.
“Shame. Baby should have a daddy.”
Tears rolled down her temples into her hair. Lies, lies and more lies. “He died.”
“Oh. Shame.”
“Yes.” What had become of her life? Would she ever be able to speak without being on guard?
“Need a job?”
“Yes.”
“Can’t take a baby to the factory.”
“I know.”
“Don’t pay as good, but I know somebody lookin’ for help.”
“You do?”
“Shut it up!” The loud voice startled Sarah, and even William jumped in his sleep. She soothed him with loving pats.
“I’ll tell you in the morning.” The voice came as a whisper this time.
“Thank you,” she replied, grateful there were a few kind people in the world.
She purposely relaxed each limb and muscle in her body, thinking of her downy canopy bed back in Boston, the luxurious four-poster at the Hallidays’. But she no longer led that kind of life, lived in comfortable homes as before or slept in beds as privileged people did.
Worse, she thought of William’s lovely iron crib with the high sides and the taffeta skirt that fell to the floor. He’d been so comfortable in that bed Leda had provided for him.
Her choices had changed their futures. She was of the working class now. And she might as well get used to it.
Morning came way too soon. The other women went about their routines of dressing and leaving for their various jobs. The woman who’d spoken to Sarah the night before came to stand at the end of her cot as she changed William and worried where she’d wash out his flannels from the previous night.
“That position I told you about?”
She looked up. The woman wasn’t much more than a girl, with wide violet eyes and honey-colored hair pulled back in a neat roll. “Yes?”
“It’s working for Mrs. Hargrove over at the Hotel Gold.”
Someone behind her chuckled. “And you think the war wagon’s gonna let her bring a baby?”
“One of the other girls has a baby.”
“Well, she ain’t gonna last.”
“What does the job involve?” Sarah asked, worried it was something she wouldn’t know how to do.
“Hotel maids is all. Making beds, heating water and such. Trouble is nobody will put up with Hargrove when they can make more money at the factory.”
“Well, I can put up with her. I can put up with whatever I have to.” She had no choices.
“I think you can.”
“Hotel Gold, you say?”
“It’s a fair walk from here. On the nice side of town. I’ll point you out the way.”
“I appreciate your help.”
By seven, she stood nervously in the kitchen of the Hotel Gold, waiting for Mrs. Hargrove. The cooks and other servants bustled about, barely sparing her a glance.
At seven-thirty, the woman appeared, looking nothing at all like Sarah had expected a tyrant to look. She had mousy-brown hair shot with gray, and a tall, wiry body. Everything about her appearance was stark, from her bland expression to her black dress and white collar.
“You want a job?” she asked tersely in front of the others.
She ignored those who couldn’t help but listen. “Yes.”
“What can you do?”
“Anything you ask of me.”
“That your baby?”
“Yes. His name’s—”
“What are you planning to do with him?”
“I need a job where I can have him with me. He never cries. He’s no trouble at all.”
“What’s your name?”
She had no reason to lie about that now. No one would know the difference. And it was one thing she could say that was the truth. “Sarah—Sarah Thornton.”
Mrs. Hargrove looked her over critically. “You a widow?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How long?”
“Almost four months.”
“I guess I won’t have to
worry about you consorting with the guests then, will I?”
Sarah felt her face grow warm. “No, ma’am.”
“I’ll try you today. If you don’t measure up, no pay, and you’re out. If you work out, you’ll get two uniforms that you’ll launder and press yourself, one meal a day, and the starting wage. Do you accept that?”
She had no choice. “Yes.”
“There’s a schedule by the desk. It tells which rooms are occupied, and what times the guests wish to have them cleaned.”
Sarah nodded.
“Speak your understanding,” she said harshly.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I will inspect the rooms you’ve done. I expect square corners on the beds and not a speck of dust. The chamber pots must be emptied and washed, the chimney lamps cleaned, and fresh towels placed on the hooks.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sarah said hurriedly.
“Now come with me. If you can’t read the schedule, you will have to—”
“I can read.”
She raised both eyebrows. “I’ll show the book to you.”
As Sarah turned to follow, she glanced at one of the girls standing at a nearby table, and the girl flashed her an encouraging smile.
Mrs. Hargrove explained the schedule to her as succinctly as she’d explained everything else. Then she turned and left her on her own.
Sarah fashioned a sling from two of William’s blankets, and tied him to her chest. By one o’clock she had cleaned seventeen rooms. The Gold was an enormous and well-appointed hotel. Sarah had stayed at a few hotels with her father when he’d allowed her to accompany him on business trips, and this was as splendid as any her father had patronized.
Mattie, the young maid who’d smiled at her in the kitchen, showed her how Mrs. Hargrove preferred beds made, and Sarah needed to be shown only once.
She’d never dusted or swept or done any of the things she did that day, but doing them gave her a sense of satisfaction. It was honest work. She would earn her pay.
When Mrs. Hargrove found her at dinner with the other servants, she spoke to Mattie, rather than Sarah.
“Sarah did her rooms adequately, Mattie. Give her uniforms.”
She left the room as abruptly as she’d arrived.
“That means you passed the test,” another maid named Hannah said. “The uniforms are black, as you can see. I’ve worn black for so long now. I don’t know if there is another color. I had a husband who was killed in a mining accident before my baby was born.”
Hannah seemed so young, it was hard to believe she’d been widowed already. “I’m so sorry,” Sarah said, wondering where the young woman’s baby was now.
Hannah nodded. “It’s hard. My folks are gone, and I only have my sister. Sometimes I want to leave this place and take my baby and run away, but I don’t know where I’d go that would be any better.”
“The first days are the hardest,” Mattie said to Sarah. “After that you’ll get used to it.”
“I’ll do just fine.” Sarah assured herself more than anyone else. Anything was better than riding the train day and night and sleeping sitting up.
“Where did you work before this?” Mattie asked.
“Well, L…” She considered the truth, but decided they wouldn’t accept her if they knew she’d never worked a day before. “I worked for a family in Ohio. I took care of their house.” It was partly the truth. She had run the Halliday home for the past few months. The thought prompted her to wonder how Leda was getting along without her help. Nicholas had been adamant about his mother needing help so she could rest more and see friends.
Perhaps he’d have to entertain less. Or find himself a housekeeper…or a wife…
“If you carry the baby on your back, it will hurt less,” Hannah said.
She listened, glad for the distraction. “Oh?”
“I can show you. I have a little girl.”
“Where is she?”
“She’s with my sister right now. I hated to leave her, but she’s getting too big to keep with me. My sister lives on a nearby farm, so I see her on my days off.”
Sarah wanted to cry for her. What would she do when William got too big to carry? She didn’t want to think about it. She refused to think about it
“Mrs. Hargrove could fill our jobs in a minute, though,” Hannah explained. “The hotel is always shorthanded. Girls either leave to get married or take factory jobs. Girls at the factory leave, too. I’d be long gone from this sorry place if some farmer or rancher would ask me.”
Mattie laughed. “Me, too.”
“You’ll marry again too, Sarah,” Hannah said. “You’re the prettiest one I’ve seen since I’ve been here.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarah said, then stopped her denial. She would not give up William. If she had to marry someone in order to take care of him, she would do it.
Immediately, her thoughts turned to Nicholas. Could she bring herself to marry a man she didn’t love for William’s sake? She swept his image from her mind and finished her dinner. There was still water to heat and carry for the guests as they prepared for bed.
“We can leave at a quarter to ten,” Mattie explained. “And we get either Saturday or Sunday night off. We take turns so we can keep company with our young men.”
“For me it’s time with my baby,” Hannah added.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Sarah offered. “I will take Sundays so others can have free time on Saturday.”
Mattie and Hannah grinned and thanked her.
By the time she snuggled William against her on the cot, her body ached worse than it had the night before. But she’d come this far and she’d found a job on her own. Once again she wondered how long she’d be able to keep her baby with her all day while she worked.
And again Nicholas’s image swam behind her closed eyelids, and she remembered him as she’d seen him the very first time. She recalled the strength in his arms as he’d carried her, the smell of his hair and his clothing.
The vivid memory of his inflaming kisses and the warmth of his sleek skin would be with her always. She could see him as he’d been the day of the picnic, smiling, his always perfect hair mussed by the wind. He’d become a man the day his father died, Leda had told her, and Sarah understood. That was why he’d been demanding of Stephen, that was why he’d been wary and severe with her.
And if she hadn’t already been in love with him, watching him that day would have made her fall. Oh, but there wasn’t a man who could compare.
There might be handsome men out there. There might be perfectly nice ones who could provide for her and maybe even love her. But there was not another Nicholas. And for that reason she could not marry. She could not live with a man, sleep in his bed, give him children, and love Nicholas for the rest of her days. He was the one she loved. The one she desired and the one she could never have.
If she had to she would move on, find work farther west.
Sarah drifted into exhausted slumber. She dreamed of a man with black hair and eyes as dark as strong coffee. And awakened an hour later to startling screams and the choking smell of smoke.
Chapter Seventeen
Sarah stood outside with the other boarders, a blanket wrapped around her for modesty. The summer night was unpleasantly warm, and her cotton nightdress clung to her damp body. Against her shoulder William’s head lay drenched with perspiration.
She held him protectively, watching and listening as volunteers found the source of the smoke somewhere behind the row of buildings. Her body trembled with fatigue and anxiety.
“This is going to be a short night,” one of the other women grumbled.
The boardinghouse owner appeared in a frilly wrapper, oddly out of place on such a plain woman. “Okay, girls, head back upstairs. The fire was in the living apartment behind the shoe store next door. It’s all taken care of.”
Sarah followed the complaining boarders up the creaking set of outside stairs and back into the stifling upstairs ro
om. The stuffy space still smelled like smoke.
The fire could have spread to the boardinghouse. Or the smoke could have overcome them all. She and William could have died here. Alone. With no one knowing where they were or who they were.
Creating a pillow of her blanket, she tried to make herself comfortable on the cot and give William space. She didn’t allow herself to think of Mahoning Valley, the Hallidays’ home, Nicholas or the security any of them represented. As miserable as it was, this was her life now.
If she’d died, they would have placed her body in a grave beside the bodies of strangers. Would her father ever have learned of her death? Would he have cared? Or did he already think she’d been killed in the accident? Thinking of that, she wondered if the agent she’d hired had found news of Claire’s body. She regretted being unable to give that information to the Hallidays. She supposed she didn’t deserve any better conditions than she was living under now.
Because of her, Stephen and Claire were not together. Worse yet, because of her they hadn’t been in their compartment where they might have survived the accident.
Loneliness and guilt would be her closest companions for a good long time. She might as well become used to them.
Nicholas’s office boy rapped on his door and entered. “Miss Marcelino is here again, Mr. Halliday. She wants to see you.”
“Did you tell her I’m busy?”
“I told her, sir. She’s not an easy person to put off.”
“You’re telling me. This is the third time in a month. Tell her—”
“Tell me nothing. Tell me yourself,” she said from the doorway.
The youth gave Nicholas a stricken look.
“It’s all right. I’ll handle this.” He waved him into the outer office, then stood, rolling down his sleeves, and shrugged into his jacket.
Without waiting for an invitation, Judith seated herself on one of the chairs across from his desk. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you were avoiding me.”
“I have a foundry to run, Miss Marcelino.”
“Surely you could spare time for lunch.”
“No, not really.”
Her green eyes narrowed. Today she wore a fashionable turquoise dress with a bustle and a low-cut bodice, and sported a perky hat to match. Gracefully, she got up and moved to perch on the edge of his desk, where she leaned in to him.
Cheryl St. John Page 22