by Debra Diaz
She opened her bag and pulled out a nightgown, put it on, blew out the lamp, and got into bed. It was about as comfortable as it looked, but in a moment she was sound asleep.
* * * *
Genny couldn’t ever remember being faced with defeat once she had made up her mind to do something, but when two weeks had passed and she had failed to find employment, she felt hurt and baffled. She’d been to the courthouse, the post office, several banks, countless shops and clothing stores, even lawyers’ offices. Everywhere the answer was the same: “Sorry, ma’am, we have all the people we need just now.”
Every refusal stung, like a personal insult. Obviously she’d come to the wrong city.
But she liked Nashville. It proved to be just as beautiful as she’d heard it was. A friend of her father’s had once waxed eloquent in his description of Nashville’s beautiful homes, the brick edifices of the commercial center, the cultured and intellectually-oriented people. The picture he’d painted had greatly appealed to Genny, who had an inherent appreciation of beauty.
But something must be wrong…perhaps there were just too many people looking for work. The thought of being forced to return home filled her with panic. Each morning she set out with almost grim determination, and each evening she returned dispirited and hopeless.
At four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon she stumbled into the boardinghouse; her stylish boots with the pointed toes pinched her feet relentlessly. She’d been out since nine o’clock. She’d eaten lunch in a small café and had watched the waiters and wondered if they needed someone to wash the dishes. Then she’d pulled back the thought with horror. She, the haughty Genny Romayne, washing dishes! But she looked at the waiters again, almost with envy. At least they had a job.
The door slammed behind her as she paused to wipe her perspiring brow. A voice came from behind a closed door.
“Is that you, Mrs. Stuart?”
“Yes, Mrs. Armstrong.” Genny turned hastily toward the stairs, hoping to escape to her room before Mrs. Armstrong made an appearance and began asking questions, as she did almost every day. It was one thing to be rejected…it was another thing to have to relate it to someone else in humiliating detail.
But the door had already opened. “Won’t you come in for a moment?” said her landlady, with a hint of geniality. “I’ve made some tea.”
It was the first time she’d attempted to be cordial, and Genny tried not to look surprised. But the thought of tea was too tempting to refuse. She walked slowly into the woman’s living quarters, consisting of a sitting room, small office and bedroom.
“Sit down, Mrs. Stuart. I’ll get right to the point.”
Genny sat down, propped her feet upon a low stool, and gratefully accepted the proffered cup of tea.
“I assume you are still looking for employment?”
“Yes.” Genny eyed the woman cautiously, wondering at her somewhat arch manner.
“It so happens, Mrs. Stuart, that my cousin is leaving her job and needs someone to take her place right away. Of all things — she’s become a missionary! Some church is sending her out to California.”
“What is it?” Genny asked quickly.
“Why, I’m sure it’s a Baptist — ”
“No, I mean the job, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“She’s a bookkeeper for Dr. Carey. And she assisted him with a few nursing tasks. Dr. Carey is a war veteran and one of our most distinguished physicians.”
“Thank you for telling me, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“Well, there is one thing.”
“One — thing?”
“You would probably be required to live there. Elvira, my cousin, lived there, but then…she’s in her fifties. The doctor is adamant about the hours she was to be in the office. There are times when he needs assistance, hence the importance of someone being available, and not having to be sent clear across town for.”
“I see. Well, I’m sure it is a large house, with several servants, isn’t it? I don’t see anything wrong with my living there, if it is a requirement.”
Mrs. Armstrong pursed her lips primly. “I daresay. Well, I think the decline of morality since the war has been appalling, my dear Mrs. Stuart. So many households disrupted. Unmarried people living in the same house. I’m sure your reputation is impeccable.” She paused, as if it were a question rather than a statement.
Genny said quickly, “Of course.”
“As for Dr. Carey — no one knows much about his…social relationships. He never married. There was some sort of scandal years ago about the girl he was supposed to marry.”
Mrs. Armstrong took a sip of tea. Genny’s curiosity got the better of her. “What happened?”
“Well, she went quite wild, it was said, and ran off with some other man. She claimed she thought Dr. Carey was dead, and his name did appear on the casualty lists after Shiloh, but it was a mistake. Elvira says Dr. Carey has never gotten over her. She was very beautiful. Her name was Caroline Adams. A prominent family. I really don’t know what happened to make her turn out like that.”
She sipped delicately and shook her head. “Poor doctor. He was much thought of during the war. He was one of those hardy souls in General Forrest’s cavalry. A colonel, I believe. They say he was indispensable in helping Forrest cover General Hood’s retreat from Nashville in ’64. It was a dreadful time, raining and sleeting… so many of our men were barefoot…”
Genny’s mind began to wander, though she continued to gaze at the other woman, instinctively nodding her head now and then. The doctor was no doubt quite old by now, as old as the former moral standards of the South. This was the new South. Living in the same building with an elderly doctor and several other people seemed perfectly acceptable to her, no matter what Mrs. Armstrong said or how she pursed her thin lips. Besides, nannies and governesses and housekeepers did it!
Yes, her mind was made up. She was tired of Mrs. Armstrong, tired of the boardinghouse, tired of the endless searching and rejection. “Bookkeeper and doctor’s assistant” sounded like a perfect position, and she intended to have it.
* * * *
The next morning she hired a cab to convey her to the doctor’s house, giving the driver directions supplied by her landlady. Mrs. Armstrong seemed to have repented of telling her about the position and tried to dissuade Genny from going by saying she thought it might be too strenuous and unsuitable for a young woman…after all, Elvira was a much older widow with considerable nursing experience, and heaven knew what sights might be imposed upon her, working in a doctor’s office. Genny thought the fact that Mrs. Armstrong had just lost a boarder, leaving Genny one of only two remaining, might have influenced the woman’s sudden concern for her welfare.
She told Mrs. Armstrong she only wanted to talk to Dr. Carey; she needn’t make any decisions today. But privately, she was just as resolved as she’d been the day before that she would do everything within her power to obtain this job. Even if she had to exert a few feminine wiles on the old doctor to get it!
She dressed carefully in a beige lawn gown with dark brown beads and lace ruffles. It was demure but outlined her figure admirably; thank goodness women no longer dressed as they had in the 60’s with those wide hoops and endless petticoats! At her throat nestled a fichu of white French muslin, bordered with lace and fastened with a deep red silk rose. Her slippers were trimmed with ribbons to match the color of her dress. She labored over her hair, missing Abra’s capable assistance, and finally achieved a low chignon with thick, crisply-curled bangs. It was a neat, professional look. Her eyes looked vibrant and very blue, and her translucent skin shone faintly with pink.
But on the long drive across town she had sufficient time to grow nervous. She’d been so certain every time she was interviewed by a prospective employer that she would be offered a position, and each time she had been refused. She suspected her youth and inexperience to be the cause. She must endeavor to look older; she must give the impression that she could handle any situation.
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br /> The driver stopped in front of a large, red-brick house. Three stories high, it sat well back from the tree-lined street, surrounded by towering elm and oak trees. Ivy climbed resolutely up the front chimneys. A wide veranda stretched from corner to corner, enclosed by a wooden railing. The grounds looked carefully tended. At the rear of the house, half-hidden by crepe myrtle and hedges, a walkway connected the main house with another, smaller version of itself. That, she supposed, contained the doctor’s offices.
She wondered briefly if she should go to the residence or the offices, and decided on the house. Her brisk knock was answered by a plump woman of short stature with a round face, large blue eyes, and wearing a white cap and apron.
“Yes, miss, can Oi help ye?” she asked, her words thickly cloaked in an Irish accent.
“Hello. My name is Mrs. Stuart. I’m looking for employment, and I was referred here by Mrs. Armstrong, who I believe is Miss Elvira’s cousin.”
“Oh, of course.” The woman smiled and stepped back, allowing her to enter. “Me name’s Agnes. I’m the housekeeper. I’ll just go and see if Mr. Ward can see ye now.”
Mr. Ward, Genny thought, confused, but she said nothing. Agnes moved to the right of the hall and knocked on a closed door. A muffled voice came from within. She stepped inside and closed the door.
The hall where Genny stood was cool and filled with mellowed sunlight from a window at the far end. A tall hat rack stood behind the door, and the entry was also furnished with two sofas and a pier table. To her left, a long stairway curved slightly upward and disappeared.
In a moment the housekeeper opened the door and said, “Please go in, Mrs. Stuart,” and stood aside for Genny to enter.
CHAPTER FIVE
Genny walked with confident strides into the room. She had a brief impression of a large, manly room, obviously a study, before her attention centered on the massive mahogany desk and the man who sat behind it. He had a lean, almost gaunt face, though his features were well-formed, and wavy, light brown hair.
“Please forgive me, Mrs. Stuart, for not rising to greet you, but I have a slight impediment.” He gestured toward a pair of crutches that stood braced against the wall. “Will you sit down?”
Genny sat in a large leather chair, folding her hands and giving him a long, measuring look in the guise of a modest smile. Some men, she had found, seemed to be impressed by a bold directness, while others preferred women demure and ladylike. She guessed that this man was the latter type, and set her course accordingly.
“My name is Geoffrey Ward,” he told her, clasping his hands on top of the desk. “I’m a friend of Dr. Carey’s…I also happen to live here, with my daughter, Valerie. I handle some of his business. The doctor is out of town. He’s giving a series of lectures in Memphis. He asked me to be responsible for finding a replacement for his bookkeeper.”
“I see,” said Genny.
“Do you have any references, Mrs. Stuart?”
“Well, not with me, Mr. Ward. But I graduated from the Knoxville Female Academy and attended a finishing school in New York City. If I may say so, I excelled in mathematics. I’ve just moved here, and I’m living in a boardinghouse owned by Miss Elvira’s aunt. I am a widow, you see. I’m afraid that…circumstances are such that I really must find employment soon.”
Mr. Ward leaned back in his chair, regarding her intently. “I am sorry. But your duties, Mrs. Stuart, would not be confined to keeping Dr. Carey’s books. You would also be required to sit at the desk in the main office and receive the patients, keep their records in order, fill out appointment cards, and so forth. He does have a large practice. You might occasionally be expected to assist the doctor in the examination rooms, or even accompany him on some emergency. Do you feel qualified for all this?”
“Oh, yes,” she said quickly. “I’m sure I’m more than capable, Mr. Ward.”
He opened a drawer of the desk, withdrew a long sheet of paper, and handed it across to her. “Would you take this over to the table by the window and complete these figures?” He gave a faint, apologetic smile. “Just so that I’ll have a sample of your abilities.”
“Of course.” She stood and rustled gracefully across the room, quickly added and subtracted several long columns of numbers and completed a handwriting exercise. When she handed the paper back to Mr. Ward, he glanced over them and looked impressed.
“There is one other matter to consider, Mrs. Stuart. Dr. Carey would like for his assistant to live here in the house, as the previous one did. He’s had experience in the past with ladies not showing up on time, not being available when he needed help — you know, that sort of thing. It’s a large house. Dr. Carey and I are seldom here except late at night. Of course, it would be quite proper, since my daughter also lives here, along with the servants. The assistant’s room is next to my daughter’s. Dr. Carey’s and my rooms are on the opposite side of the house.”
“Oh,” said Genny, and wondered if she should look doubtful. “Mr. Ward, would you mind telling me something about Dr. Carey? I mean, I’ve never met him, and if I’m offered the position — ”
“Certainly.” His lips twitched with a smile. “In my opinion he’s one of the best doctors in the country, and a renowned surgeon. He’s not one of those quacks who reads through a copy of Domestic Medicine, hangs up a shingle and goes into practice not knowing a kidney from a hole in the ground. He has studied quite extensively, both here and abroad.
“And let’s see…he’s on the staff at both the public and the private hospitals, he’s a member of the Medical Society, and he’s been a delegate to the American Medical Association. I might add he has been offered positions all over the country, though he chooses to remain in Nashville. His professional reputation is quite beyond reproach.”
“And his — personal reputation?”
Mr. Ward’s smile widened, though he seemed to make an effort to control it. “I assure you that Dr. Carey has been involved in no major scandals, Mrs. Stuart.”
That reply seemed hardly satisfactory, but Genny supposed it would have to suffice. And from the description she’d just heard, Dr. Carey had to be an old stick-in-the-mud who was more interested in peering into microscopes than chasing after women.
“How much does it pay?” she asked.
“Fifteen dollars a week. He’s in the office several hours a day on Monday through Friday. But of course you must be available at any time. Free room and board. Does that meet with your approval?”
“Yes.” It didn’t seem like much but Genny decided not to press her luck.
He spread his hands. “Well, you are the first person I’ve talked with, but I’m satisfied. The job is yours, Mrs. Stuart, if you want it.”
“Thank you very much, Mr. Ward.” She stood up. “Shall I move in right away?”
“If that is agreeable with you.” At her nod, he turned and pulled on a long cord that hugged the wall behind the desk. “And please call me Geoff.”
“And I’m Genny. I never could get used to being called Mrs. Stuart.”
The door opened and Agnes bustled into the room, her dark skirts swishing. “Yes, Mr. Geoff?”
“Agnes, have Finney bring the carriage around and drive Miss Genny back to her rooming-house. She’ll be living here from now on.”
The woman dropped a curtsy and moved at once to obey.
“This is most kind of you,” Genny said. She had to fight the exultance she knew must be shining in her eyes.
“Think nothing of it,” he replied. His dark eyes followed her out of the room, and if she’d seen them, she would have wondered at their look of deep sadness and regret.
* * * *
Her new bedroom proved decidedly superior to the one she’d occupied at Mrs. Armstrong’s. It was spacious and well furnished, with a mahogany four-poster bed, a cedar chest and matching wardrobe, a washstand with bowl and pitcher (not chipped), and a small night table on which sat a lamp and a Dresden vase. The colors of the curtains and rugs, and the vase, w
ere in varying shades of gold and blue, matching those same colors adorning the wallpaper. A tall window opened over the wide, gently undulating back yard.
She’d been in her new residence for two days. The doctor was supposed to arrive this evening. She’d not yet seen the offices where she’d be working, for they were kept locked in Dr. Carey’s absence. She had met Geoffrey Ward’s daughter, Valerie, a quiet, pretty young woman of about seventeen, with hair the same light brown shade as her father’s, and large hazel eyes. Geoff’s wife apparently had been dead for some time. She’d also met the other servants…Finney, Agnes’s husband, who managed the grounds, drove the carriage, and took care of Dr. Carey’s horses, and Myrtle Mae, the excellent cook and laundress, who obviously was quite fond of her own cooking for she was so large she could scarcely move about the kitchen.
Geoff, she had learned, was a lawyer with an office in town. She hadn’t even caught a glimpse of him since she’d moved in; Agnes had seen to everything she required. The housekeeper, in her friendly way, had given Genny a sketchy portrayal of the family history. Dr. Carey’s father, a minister, had married a young woman of Irish descent who, Genny gathered from a word here and there, had brought with her a considerable inheritance. (Agnes had been her maid.) She’d become ill after the birth of her son, never completely regaining her health and dying while still a young woman. The doctor’s father had not remarried, and he too had died at some point…certainly it was all ancient history by now.
Outside, thunder rumbled ominously in the darkened sky as she dressed to go down to supper. She deliberately chose her most becoming gown, a deep blue muslin edged with silvery ruffles. The front of the dress was artfully draped to resemble an overskirt, and was pulled tight over the bust and abdomen. She did have an attractive figure, and if that would impress the old codger and get him on her side, she certainly would not be averse to making the most of it.