by Carol Cox
Catherine stopped next to the trunk and surveyed her new home with delight. The room at the Bellmont sported finer appointments, but it had been nothing more than a temporary shelter, and an expensive one at that. This room, though simply furnished, was hers and hers alone.
With her hands on her hips, she turned in a slow circle, then gave a satisfied nod. Plain, but it had potential. A new bedspread, curtains to match, a bright rug on the floor. . . Her imagination took flight before she remembered she was only a tenant here. Perhaps Mrs. Abernathy wouldn’t want her changing things to suit herself.
Reality dictated she set the idea aside for the time being, anyway. Redecorating her room, along with refurbishing her wardrobe, would have to wait until she had more funds on hand.
Catherine eyed Mattie, stretched out on the bed and looking like she was ready to drift off to sleep. Every ounce of her being longed to do likewise, but she still needed to unpack and get settled into her new digs.
She lifted the trunk lid and started pulling out the clothes she’d packed so carefully only a few days before. Mattie roused herself enough to sit up and watched with interest while she shook out each garment and slipped it onto a hanger in the wardrobe.
Catherine straightened the sleeve on a green merino dress and slid the hanger along the rod. “It was nice of Mrs. Abernathy to let me move right in. I still can’t believe she took me on like that, sight unseen.”
“I told you she was wonderful.” Mattie reached over to the trunk and fingered the tucks on a white cotton blouse.
Catherine held up her sage green gored skirt and studied it with a critical eye. At home, she’d packed it feeling sure it would fit her needs at work, but after seeing some of the people who came through the office that day, it now struck her as unbearably drab. A pang of inadequacy pierced her excitement. “This is absolutely frumpish.”
“No, it isn’t,” Mattie protested. “It’s lovely, and I’m sure it looks very becoming on you.”
Catherine hung the skirt over a hook on the wardrobe door and stepped back to view it from a distance. “It won’t do, Mattie. It’s just plain dowdy. I’m going to have to get a whole set of outfits as soon as I can. I refuse to look like some poor little country mouse!”
Mattie grinned up at her. “With that gorgeous hair of yours, you’d look good in a potato sack.”
“It’s not only for me,” Catherine went on. “What I wear reflects on the company. I need to think of that.”
A light tap sounded, and their landlady poked her head around the half-open door. “I just wanted to make sure you were getting settled. Is everything to your liking?”
“Come in, Mrs. Abernathy.” Catherine grinned at the little dumpling of a woman who entered the room. Her round face and eyes the color of raisins made Catherine think of one of her mother’s currant puddings.
The landlady clasped her hands at her waist and looked at the wardrobe with approval. “My, you’re nearly unpacked already.” A wave of good cheer radiated from her. “I’m so glad you’re going to be part of my household. It will be wonderful to have another Christian young lady staying with me. Is everything to your liking? Is there anything you need?”
“It’s perfect, Mrs. Abernathy. Just perfect.” Catherine paused and fingered the bedspread. “I was wondering, though. Would you mind if I added a few touches of my own? Not right away, but maybe later on?” She trailed off, hoping she hadn’t offended.
Mrs. Abernathy’s face split in a pleasant smile. “Suit yourself, dearie. I don’t mind a bit. That spread is getting to be a little on the frayed side, come to think of it. And don’t worry about hurting my feelings by making suggestions. To my mind, wanting to make the room your own means you’re planning to stay a long time. And that’s a good thing.”
Catherine basked in the woman’s friendly glow. “Thank you. I’ll plan on picking up a few things as soon as I can afford them.”
“I’ll be getting back down to the kitchen now,” Mrs. Abernathy said. “Supper will be ready in just a bit.”
Catherine pulled two blouses from the trunk and held them in front of the green skirt by turns. She shook her head. “Nothing looks right. I need to do something about this.”
“What if you pinned a brooch at the neck?” Mattie offered. “I have one you can borrow.”
“I don’t know if that will be enough to help.” Catherine brightened. “You know where the good stores are. Let’s plan on going shopping soon.”
Mattie lifted one eyebrow. “I thought you were on a tight budget.”
Catherine placed the skirt in the wardrobe and shut the door. She gave a rueful laugh. “Well, window-shopping at least.”
Mattie giggled with her, and they hurried down to supper.
Five
Catherine grabbed up her purse and stuffed a fresh handker-chief inside, then quickly settled her hat on top of her head and gave one last look around the room. Is there anything I’ve forgotten?
She should never have taken the time to try on three different blouses with her green skirt. Those extra minutes spent trying to decide which combination worked best were going to make her late, and she couldn’t afford that—not on her second morning at work.
A quick glance in the mirror told her the additional effort had been worth it. The sparkling white blouse with crisp tucks up the front flattered both her face and figure. Mattie’s brooch pinned at the neck provided the perfect finishing touch. It wouldn’t be up to Miss Trautman’s standards by any means, but a definite improvement over the outfit she’d worn the day before.
Looking her best wouldn’t make up for being late, though. She hurried down the hallway to Mattie’s room and rapped on the door. “Are you ready to leave? Hurry up, or we’ll be late.”
Her conscience smote her at the implication Mattie might be responsible for her own tardiness. Still, time was ticking away. She was surprised Mattie hadn’t been the one to come looking for her long before this.
She didn’t leave without me, did she? Panic knotted her stomach, but she dismissed the notion on second thought. She’d only known Mattie a short time but couldn’t believe she would do something like that.
Catherine knocked again, harder this time. “Mattie, are you in there?” Worry edged her voice. “It’s time to go. We’ll have to run to make it, as it is.”
She pressed her ear against the door panel and heard a faint groan. Frowning, Catherine turned the knob and pushed the door open a few inches.
Mattie lay curled under her blankets, damp strands of brown hair straggling across her forehead. Catherine pushed the door open wide and started toward the bed.
Mattie waved her back with a feeble gesture. “Don’t come close. I don’t want you to catch this, whatever it is.” She pressed her hand against her mouth to stifle a ragged cough. “Tell Miss Trautman I’m too sick to come to work today, will you? And would you ask Mrs. Abernathy if she’d mind bringing me a cup of tea?”
“You poor thing!” Catherine shifted from one foot to the other. She glanced at the door then back at Mattie. “I wish I could stay and help. Is there anything. . . ? I’ll go get Mrs. Abernathy.”
The landlady stood with her hands in a sinkful of suds. She looked up and smiled when Catherine clattered into the room.
“Did you oversleep on your first morning here? I wondered, when you missed breakfast.”
“Mrs. Abernathy—”
“No, don’t apologize. You haven’t time for that.” She pointed to a paper sack on the counter top. “I’ve bagged up some biscuits for you to take with you. You can keep them in your desk drawer and snack on them when you get the chance.”
“But Mrs. Abernathy—”
The cheerful woman thrust a second bag at her. “And take this one for Mattie. That way she won’t have to take time to come get it herself.”
“That’s just it. Mattie’s not going to work. She’s sick.”
Mrs. Abernathy’s lips rounded in dismay. “Sick! The poor lamb.”
> “She asked me to see if you’d take her a cup of tea. I’d stay and carry it up for you, but I’m in a frightful hurry, and—”
“Of course, of course.” Mrs. Abernathy sprang into action, setting the teakettle on a stove burner with one hand and making shooing motions at Catherine with the other. “I’ll take care of our Mattie; don’t you worry about that. You run along, now. It wouldn’t do for you to lose your job almost before you’ve begun.”
She herded Catherine toward the front door, then bustled up the stairs, clucking like a mother hen fussing over her only chick.
Relieved that Mattie was in good hands, Catherine glanced at the hall clock, gasped, and bolted out the door.
❧
“Mattie won’t be in to work today, Miss Trautman. She’s terribly ill.”
The supervisor drew herself up and peered over her spectacles at Catherine. “How could she think of getting sick at a time like this? Doesn’t she realize how busy we are? Everyone must carry their share of the load.”
I hardly think she took sick just to make things difficult for you. Catherine clamped her tongue between her teeth to keep from speaking the thought aloud.
“I can’t possibly be expected to take on more than my own responsibilities right now. And the other girls have plenty to do at their typewriters. It’s thoughtless; that’s what it is.” She eyed Catherine with a dubious expression then seemed to come to a decision. “You will have to take over Mattie’s duties for today at least.” She clapped her hands briskly. “Go get your things. You can bring them out here and do your work at the reception desk.”
“But I—”
Miss Trautman fixed her with a cold stare. “Yes?”
“I’ll just get my things and be right there.”
❧
With its sweeping vistas and pristine air, the area near Castle Hot Springs lightens the visitor’s spirit upon arrival. The soothing waters and dry climate rival any spa to be found in Europe.
Catherine pressed the blotter over the words she had just penned. Would the piece be up to Mr. Showalter’s standards? She read the paragraph again.
It had to be. If she couldn’t meet her employer’s expectation, she might lose her job. Could she bear it if she couldn’t measure up and wound up going home in defeat? That won’t happen. God opened up the way for me to be here, and no one is going to run me off.
“Catherine?” Miss Trautman’s piercing voice preceded her down the hallway. “Be sure to show Mr. Westfall in as soon as he arrives. Mr. Showalter is most anxious to speak with him.” She paused before turning back to her own office. “And see that you’re on your best behavior. He is an important investor. Very important.”
Catherine wrinkled her nose at Miss Trautman’s retreating back, then rearranged her features as the front door swung open and a rotund gentleman stepped inside.
“I’m Westfall,” he announced without preamble. “Is Showalter ready to see me?”
Catherine led the way back to her employer’s private office, hoping her demeanor would merit Miss Trautman’s approval. Inwardly, she giggled. He looks like he has plenty to invest, all right. He’s certainly well fed.
Back at the desk, she took advantage of the moment alone to fluff her hair and smooth the curls hanging down the back of her neck. The idea of trying to please Miss Trautman might rankle, but she recognized the truth that she was the first person at Southwestern to be seen by visitors and thus bore the responsibility for making a good initial impression.
She returned to her work and lost herself in writing descriptions of the sanitarium the company planned to build north of the city. Sometime later, Mr. Westfall breezed back by her desk on his way out, and she glanced up at the clock on the wall behind her, surprised to see how much time had passed. It was almost eleven. Isn’t Mr. Showalter supposed to be meeting with someone else in a few minutes? She ran her finger down the entries in the appointment book.
Yes, there it was: Mitchell Brewer was scheduled for eleven o’clock. But where was he? The other visitors had been punctual, sometimes arriving several minutes in advance of the appointed hour.
Another minute or two passed. Catherine fidgeted with the papers on her desk. What was she supposed to do if Mr. Brewer didn’t appear? Should she notify Mr. Showalter that his appointment hadn’t shown up or just stay at her desk and keep on working? Mattie’s job wasn’t nearly as easy as it seemed on the surface.
❧
Almost eleven o’clock. Mitch picked up his pace and strode east along Jefferson Street. The Southwestern Land and Investments building should be just ahead in the next block. Time for his interview with Nathan Showalter and then to see about taking care of Alex Bradley’s request.
That little task might turn out to be easier said than done. It seemed so simple at first. Then he started thinking about just how he planned to go about it. He could hardly go in as a total stranger, ask for Catherine O’Roarke at the front desk, and expect them to produce her, could he?
What reason could he give for asking to see her? He came up with several ideas and scrapped them all. And when he stood face to face with her—assuming he got to see her at all—how could he possibly introduce himself without using Alex’s name?
What did I set myself up for this time, Lord? Of all the hare-brained schemes! How do I get myself into these things, anyway? He waited for an answer, but none came.
Mitch stepped off the curb, only to leap back out of the street when he heard a strident ah-oo-gah! A Ford runabout sped past only inches away.
Startled out of his woolgathering, Mitch glanced around and realized he had walked a half block too far.
He retraced his steps, hurrying when he heard a clock begin to chime eleven. Trotting up Southwestern’s front steps, he realized he didn’t have any more idea of how to locate Miss O’Roarke than he did a few moments before.
He pushed the glass door open and swept his hat off in the same motion. Smoothing his hair with one hand, he glanced at the clock hanging over the reception desk.
Barely a minute past the hour. Not as punctual as he’d like to be but not too bad considering his absentminded detour. His gaze shifted to the copper-haired young woman seated behind the desk.
Her lips curved in an inquiring smile. Mitch simply stared, his own lips curving in response.
The receptionist tilted her head and looked at him curiously. “May I help you?”
Mitch recovered his equilibrium enough to stride to the desk, hoping he hadn’t lost credibility as a serious journalist. “I’m Mitchell Brewer. Mr. Showalter is expecting me.”
Her blue-green eyes sparkled. “You have the eleven o’clock appointment, then. Please come with me. I’ll take you back to Mr. Showalter’s office.”
Mitch followed along behind her, noting the way her hair changed color when she stepped into the shadows. With the sunlight pouring through the front window and glinting off her curls, the effect made him think of a new penny. Back here in the hallway, it appeared to be more of a strawberry blond.
He couldn’t decide which shade appealed to him more, but he had no trouble approving of the way the curls followed the lines of her neck and spilled over her shoulder. Her trim figure moved along with a free, easy stride.
They passed through a small anteroom then stopped outside a closed door. His charming guide tapped on the door, then pushed it open.
“Mr. Brewer is here.” She flashed Mitch a smile and stepped back to allow him to enter. Mitch felt his throat go dry. The scent of lilacs filled his nostrils when he brushed past her.
Nathan Showalter rose from his seat behind the massive walnut desk and extended his hand. “Brewer, it’s good to meet you.” He glanced over Mitch’s shoulder. “By the way, Miss O’Roarke, that was a very nice piece you wrote. Keep up the good work.” A delighted smile lit the receptionist’s face before she closed the door and left them.
Mitch reached out to take Showalter’s outstretched hand. While one part of his mind sized up his ho
st, another registered Showalter’s words to the receptionist. Miss O’Roarke? Then that must be. . . He pulled his attention back to the interview. Business before pleasure, and talking to Catherine O’Roarke would definitely be a pleasure.
❧
“The future belongs to those who are willing to grasp the dream and make it become a reality.”
Mitch nodded and jotted down the main points of Showalter’s statement. He had already made quick notes summing up the man’s appearance, the feel of his handshake, the details that would convey the sum of the man to his readers back East.
“Let me show you what I mean.” Showalter stepped across to the far wall and pulled down a map showing Phoenix and its environs. “For years, this area suffered through alternate periods of flood and drought. What we needed was a way to provide water on a steady, manageable basis instead of having either feast or famine. That is exactly what the Roosevelt Dam does.
“And that, Mr. Brewer, is going to turn Phoenix into a Utopia. Look here.” He pointed to a spot some distance north of the city. “Do you realize how many people have come to Arizona for their health? We have found the perfect spot to build a sanitarium that will allow them to rest and rejuvenate in the most healthful setting imaginable.”
Mitch set his notepad aside and moved to join him. He bent forward for a closer look. “Why, this place is miles from town. There’s nothing there but desert.”
“Desert today; paradise tomorrow.” Showalter clapped Mitch on the shoulder and resumed his seat. He leaned across his desk with an openness that drew Mitch in to his contagious excitement. “Phoenix is growing, Brewer. And this is while we’re still a territory. As soon as Taft signs that proclamation of statehood, there’s no limit to the growth we’ll see.
“We need men of vision, men of purpose to set the stage for maximum potential.” He tented his fingers, and his voice took on a pedantic tone. “Change is inevitable, but the kind of change that occurs is open to question. Growth can be allowed to happen on its own, willy-nilly. . .or a guiding hand in the background can steer it in the right direction.”