Wishing she’d thought to button up her coat against the cold, she clutched Jimmy closer to her chest, walking as quickly as she was able toward the city center. Unfortunately it was also directly into the bitingly cold wind. It sliced through her like a knife. After a few minutes, Amelia began longing for the sunny warmth of San Diego. Oh, why had she ever thought going to Montana this close to winter was a good idea?
As she walked, her mind returned to that pathetic image from the stupid old movie—all Amelia needed to complete that picture was a small blizzard, and she wouldn’t be surprised if that was coming. She’d never experienced actual snow before. Oh, she’d seen it in movies and on Christmas cards, and had always imagined it would be lovely, but this piercing Montana weather melted all interest in snow.
“Yoo-hoo? Hello there?” A middle-aged woman stuck her head out of a car window, waving vigorously. “Do you need a lift, honey?”
Amelia blinked in surprise then eagerly nodded. “Y-yes! That would be wonderful! Thank you!”
The old black car pulled next to the sidewalk and the woman hopped out. “It’s so cold today. I was just telling Fred, that’s my husband there.” She pointed to the man coming around from the driver’s side now. “You and your poor baby must be half frozen.”
“Here, let me take that.” Fred reached for Amelia’s suitcase. “I’ll put it in the trunk.”
“And you get in the backseat.” The woman opened the door.
Suddenly Amelia was uncertain. She studied the woman’s face for a moment, trying to discern her motives. Was Amelia a fool to get inside a car with strangers? What if it was irresponsible? Maybe these people wanted to kidnap her baby! She remembered the Lindbergh story. The plain-faced woman didn’t really look evil. But looks could be deceiving.
“It’s all right,” the woman reassured her. “The kids are back there, but I asked them to skooch over to make room for you. Go ahead, get in before we all freeze to death.”
Amelia peeked inside the car to see a boy and girl, squeezed together into half of the backseat. They looked to be grade-school age or maybe older, both curiously staring up at her. “Hello?” she said tentatively as she got inside. “I’m Amelia and this is Jimmy.”
“I’m Susan.” The girl poked her brother. “This is Rollin. He don’t talk much.”
“And I’m Clara,” the woman said as the car began to move. “We just drove over from Idaho. Headed for my folks’ place to celebrate Thanksgiving. We came a day early—so I could help my mom with the cooking since she broke her arm last week.”
“Where are you going?” Fred peered back at Amelia as he stopped for the traffic light.
“I, uh, I’m not sure,” Amelia confessed.
“Not sure?” Fred frowned.
“Well, I need to find a hotel.” Amelia said quickly. “Or a place that rents rooms. But I can’t afford anything too expensive. Someone stole my wallet on the train. That’s why I’m walking.”
“Stole your wallet?” Clara looked alarmed.
“Did you tell the police?” Fred asked.
“No.” Amelia considered this. Maybe she should’ve. “I think the thief is still on the train. I don’t see how the police could catch him now.”
“Well, that’s a low-down shame. Do you have family in town?” Clara asked. “To help you out?”
“Yes, of course,” Amelia said quickly. And, really, it wasn’t untrue. At least Jimmy had family. “But I don’t want to stay with them. Do you know of an inexpensive hotel?”
“That’d be Wallace’s,” Fred told her. “It’s nothing fancy, but from what I hear, it’s clean. And it’s only a few blocks from the station.”
“I probably could’ve walked,” Amelia murmured. Although she was grateful for the warm car.
“Not with that baby,” Clara said. “And we don’t mind, do we, Fred? Our chance to do a good deed. Rollin’s a Boy Scout.” She pointed at her son. “Your good deed for today can be to carry this lady’s bag into the hotel for her.”
After they dropped Amelia in front of Wallace’s Hotel, silent Rollin got her suitcase and lugged it into the hotel lobby for her. Before she could even thank him, he darted back out. As she waited for the reception clerk, she got worried. What if this hotel was fully booked? What then?
To her relief, there was still a room available, but the cost of just three nights would use up nearly half of her limited funds. Still, what choice did she have? She needed time to figure things out with the Bradleys—and three days was cutting it very short.
“Can you recommend a babysitter for me?” Amelia asked the clerk.
“My daughter Dorothy babysits for guests sometimes,” he told her. “When she’s not in school. But not tomorrow, since it’s Thanksgiving.”
Amelia asked him a few questions about Dorothy and, satisfied the girl was old enough and experienced enough, she continued. “I would need her for a couple of hours this afternoon,” she said. “Perhaps after she gets out of school?”
“No school today,” he said.
“Oh, good. Then do you think Dorothy could come around one?”
“I don’t see why not. Let’s plan on it. Unless you hear otherwise from me, you can expect her.”
She thanked him and, hoping her luck might be improving, rode the elevator to the third floor. Before long she was getting settled in her room. She removed a bureau drawer and lined it with a pillow from the bed to transform it into a temporary bassinet. Both she and Jimmy would probably sleep better tonight. In the meantime, she had much to do. First she unpacked, putting everything away. Then she began to get everything ready for Dorothy the babysitter.
A part of her questioned the sensibility of having a stranger taking care of Jimmy. But really, what choice did she have? It wasn’t as if she could drag the baby around with her. Especially not in this cold weather. Still, she reassured herself, she would check Dorothy out very carefully before leaving this afternoon. If she had any misgivings, she would simply tell the girl she’d changed her mind.
Amelia was just starting to long for a nap when she heard someone tapping on the door. Grateful that the teen girl knocked quietly, Amelia let her in, explaining that Jimmy was sleeping. “We had a long night on the train from California.”
“You’re from California?” Dorothy’s brown eyes got big.
“Yes. San Diego.” Amelia already liked this girl. She showed her around, pointing out where fresh diapers and a change of clothes were, as well as the clean baby bottles and formula. “But I should be back before his next feeding time,” she whispered. “He just had a bottle half an hour ago. And I expect he’ll mostly sleep. If he gets fussy just jostle him a bit and he’ll probably quiet down.” Amelia looked more closely at the neatly dressed girl. “You’ve had experience with infants, right?”
“Oh, sure. I babysat for my nieces and nephews when they were babies, and I was only twelve then. They’re older now, but I still watch them sometimes.”
“Good. Now do you have any questions?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I should be back by three.”
“Okay. You can stay longer if you need to.”
“Thanks.” Amelia picked up her purse. “But two hours is probably fine.” Amelia bent down to kiss Jimmy’s cheek. “Be good,” she whispered.
Amelia stopped by the reception desk before exiting the hotel. “Is there a good beauty salon nearby?”
The clerk grinned at her. “Not that you need it, but Beulah’s Beauty Shop is just a couple blocks that way.” He jerked his thumb to the left. “Pink-and-white awning, you can’t miss it.”
“Thanks. I wanted to inquire about employment there,” she explained. “I’m a licensed beautician.”
“Oh, yeah.” He nodded. “Well, good luck with that.”
“Thanks. And thanks for sending your daughter to me. She’s a very nice girl.”
His smile looked more sincere now. “Dot’s a good girl. Very responsible.”
�
�I appreciate that.” She thanked him again and, feeling like Jimmy really was in good hands, exited the hotel. Thanks to the striped awning, which was snapping in the wind, Beulah’s Beauty Shop was easy to find. But as soon as she stepped inside, she could see they were busy. With most of the beautician chairs occupied, there were still three women in the waiting area. Of course, it was the day before a holiday. Always a busy time for hair salons.
Feeling a bit guilty, but desperate, Amelia went to the reception desk and rang the bell. After a few minutes, a slightly frantic-looking redhead hurried over. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “We’re too busy to book any more appointments. Beulah’s out today, and one of our girls is sick.”
“I didn’t want a hair appointment. I wanted to inquire about employment. I’m a licensed beautician. I just arrived from California and am looking for—”
“Sorry, as much as we could use help right now, the owner is gone so I can’t really—”
“Why don’t you let her do my hair?” A stout, gray-haired woman in the waiting area stood up and came over. “For Pete’s sake, I’ve been waiting for over an hour for a cut and curl and I still have grocery shopping to do.”
“Go ahead,” the beautician nearest the reception area called out. “Let her take Mrs. Livingston. Beulah won’t care.”
The redhead still looked uncertain. “But we don’t even know her.”
“I’m Amelia.” She stuck out her hand. “And I’d be happy to fill in if it’d help.”
“Uh . . . okay.” The redhead grasped her hand. “I’m Sally. Come with me and I’ll get you a smock.”
Amelia felt a rush of hope as she followed Sally into the back room. Imagine—finding a job on her first day in town! Too good to be true. Of course, she knew she didn’t exactly have a real job yet. But this would be her chance to prove herself. Or, with her luck, she could end up being thrown out on her ear.
4
“I’ll warn you,” Sally whispered as she opened a closet in the back room, “no one likes working on Martha Livingston. She’s a horrible gossip, and she likes to complain. The only reason I’m not worried about letting you take her appointment is that Beulah probably wouldn’t care if we lost her business.”
“Hopefully that won’t happen.”
Sally chuckled as she handed Amelia a pale pink smock. “Good luck just the same.”
“Thanks.” Amelia tied the smock’s belt snugly around her waist as they went back out.
“You can use Peggy’s station.” Sally pointed to a vacant pink chair. “She’s out sick today.”
Amelia, remembering she was still trying to fight off her own bug, hoped she wouldn’t share it with Mrs. Livingston. She quizzed the older woman about her hair expectations as she carefully tested the water temperature in the shampoo sink. Soon Amelia was gently but firmly massaging shampoo into the older woman’s scalp. It felt right to be doing hair again, but the whole while Mrs. Livingston talked nonstop. Some was just idle chatter, but the woman was also very curious, asking where Amelia came from in California and what had brought her to Rockford.
Amelia attempted to keep her answers as vague as possible, but while towel drying Mrs. Livingston’s hair she realized she might be missing out on an opportunity. “A friend of mine has relatives in Rockford,” Amelia said in a nonchalant tone. “The Bradleys. I’m not sure what the parents’ names are, but I believe they have a daughter named Grace and a—”
“You don’t mean George and Helene Bradley?” Mrs. Livingston said suddenly.
“Well, I don’t know if—”
“Their daughter’s name is Grace. They had a son too. But poor James died in the war. Not that long ago. He’d been a pilot in the Navy for a couple of years. A bit of a wild hare as a kid, but he turned out to be a very nice young man. Such a loss.” She made a tsk-tsk sound.
“Yes.” Amelia concealed her eagerness to hear more. “That sounds like the family.”
“So did you say you’re friends with Grace?”
“No, not exactly. My friend, uh, is related to the family.” In order to not feel deceitful, Amelia decided that her “friend” must be Jimmy. After all, he was related to the Bradleys—and what better friend did she have right now?
“So you’re spending Thanksgiving with the Bradleys?”
“No, no. I don’t even know them.” Amelia needed to backtrack. “I just mentioned them because of my friend’s association . . . and I thought they lived here.”
“Well, take it from me, Doc Bradley is the salt of the earth. You’d have to look far and wide to find a nicer man. But that wife of his, well, you can have her.” She chuckled. “Not that you’d want her. But to be fair, I’m afraid Helene can’t help her unfortunate disposition. It’s the family she came from. You know what they say: the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
“Really?” Amelia was starting to snip now, trying to stay focused on the haircut as she listened intently to each word.
“You see, Helene was a Jackson—they were one of the original founding families of Rockford. Made their money in copper mines. And when I was a girl, it seemed like the Jacksons owned most of the town.”
“Some of them still do,” the woman in the next chair said quietly.
Mrs. Livingston laughed. “That’s for certain. I’m sorry if you’re a friend of Helene’s, but that woman sometimes acts like she’s the queen of Rockford. No doubt she could buy and sell most everyone in town, but she doesn’t need to lord it over the rest of us. Doc Bradley certainly doesn’t.”
“Maybe it’s because his wife is the one with the money,” someone else said.
“I’m sure Helene keeps poor Doc Bradley in his place too,” Mrs. Livingston said.
“Oh, Martha, she’s not that bad,” Sally’s client argued. “It’s just that Helene is, well, as my Bernice would say, she’s a very straight stick.”
“She’s a hard-nosed, stuck-up snob,” Mrs. Livingston declared. “Did you hear what Helene Bradley did to young Jeannie Campbell last week?” She turned her head so sharply it nearly resulted in losing a piece of ear. “Helene heard that Jeannie missed curfew last Saturday, and she used that as an excuse to dismiss Jeannie from volunteering for the American Red Cross. Can you imagine?”
“As chairwoman, that’s Helene’s right,” the other woman said. “Though it is a bit harsh.”
“Since when does staying out late mean you can’t roll bandages?”
“Mrs. Bradley definitely has some high standards,” Sally said. “But I’ll give her this: she tips generously.”
“Maybe so, but did you know she didn’t speak to her very own daughter for two years?” Mrs. Livingston continued. “She was so mad that Grace married Harry Griffin I heard she wrote her daughter out of her will.”
“Why was she so mad?” Amelia asked meekly.
“Helene didn’t think Harry’s family was good enough for Grace. The Griffins live in Missoula. They’re firefighters. You know the fellows that jump out of airplanes to put out forest fires? Very exciting, I suppose, but Helene did not approve. Not at all. And she was fit to be tied when Harry got James interested in flying too.” Mrs. Livingston locked eyes with Amelia in the mirror. “James was the son that got killed in the war. The reason he went in as a pilot was because he’d been working for Harry’s family in Missoula. I heard he was a very good pilot. But I’m sure Helene feels that Harry is to blame for her son’s death.”
“That’s ridiculous,” the other woman protested. “It’s the war that killed James, and Harry is fighting that same war. Along with so many of our boys. If you want to blame anyone, blame the Axis. Blame stupid Hirohito and Hitler and Mussolini!”
“I know that well enough,” Mrs. Livingston said irately. “But Helene Bradley might not see it quite like that.”
“Was Mrs. Bradley on good terms with her son?” Amelia rolled the first curl around her finger, securing it with a pin. “I mean, before he died?”
“Hard to say. The truth is Hel
ene Bradley isn’t on good terms with much of anyone. No one measures up to her standards. And from what I hear, she’s been more cantankerous than ever after losing her son.”
“I think that’s understandable,” the other woman said. “I’d be out of sorts too if I lost a child. No parent wants to outlive their children. It’s not right.”
“That’s true, but Helene was like that even before James died.”
Hearing them speaking so openly about James made it harder than ever to maintain her composure, but now instead of listening to them going back and forth about the Bradleys, Amelia knew she needed to focus on getting Mrs. Livingston’s hair properly set. To her relief, the old woman’s thinning locks didn’t take long to curl.
“We’ll just put you under the dryer for a few minutes,” Amelia told her as she wrapped the hairnet around the pin curls and led her to the dryer area.
While Mrs. Livingston’s hair was drying, Amelia swept up the station, taking care to leave everything there in even better shape than she’d found it. Then, seeing that Mrs. Livingston’s hair was dry, Amelia brought her back to the station and carefully removed the pins. She brushed and styled it, applied some hairspray, and finally spun the old woman around to face the mirror. “How’s that?”
Mrs. Livingston’s brows arched as she reached up to touch her hair. For a long moment, Amelia couldn’t guess her thoughts. Then she smiled. “Well, it’s different than the way Peggy normally does it, but I think I like it better. Is this some new California style?”
Amelia wasn’t sure how to answer, so she just nodded. “It looks lovely on you.”
“Thank you.” She patted the back of her hair with satisfaction. “I’ll tell everyone that it’s a California style.”
The Christmas Blessing Page 3