The Typewriter Girl

by J. L. Jarvis

  “She’s endowed with...potential. No doubt about that!”

  “She wouldn’t give you the time of day—especially after I put a fist in your face.”

  “Why not introduce me and see?”

  “No.” Benjamin went to get Fletcher’s briefcase.

  Fletcher pulled back, impressed. “Why, Benjamin Stark, the man who sank a thousand hearts—”

  Benjamin had never understood why Fletcher said things like that. He knew of no broken hearts. He was cordial to women, and they were cordial back. He knew of no other effect.

  “Miss Madding is in my employ, and she’s got work to do. She doesn’t need anyone to distract her.” Benjamin held out the briefcase.

  Fletcher took hold of the handle but let it rest on the table. Benjamin walked to the door and leaned on the doorframe, arms folded. When he was ready, Fletcher lifted his briefcase and ambled to the door. Benjamin stepped aside, clearing the way.

  Fletcher paused at the threshold. “So how is her typewriting? I can only imagine—and I will—how very nimble her fingers must be.”

  In an instant, Benjamin had Fletcher’s collar in vice grip. Fletcher was stunned and, despite trying to hide it, a little afraid.

  Blood rushed to Benjamin’s face, and his eyes reddened with rage.

  Fletcher’s voice was half choked. “Just having some fun.” He reached up and gave Benjamin’s shoulder a tentative pat.

  Benjamin eased his grip, but did not let go. “Leave her alone.”

  Fletcher nodded slowly. “I’ll leave her alone, but will you?”

  Benjamin refused to take this bait. He led Fletcher to the front door. Fletcher followed, but kept a safe distance.

  When she heard them approaching the door, Emma ducked into the parlor without being seen. She leaned on the wall, catching her breath. The men’s parting was surprisingly cordial, as though the pattern had repeated itself many times before this. Emma had met men like Fletcher. People excused him because of his ineffable charm. Something in his manner trained people to expect and to tolerate that which others with tact only thought. However, today even Fletcher had tested the limits.

  Emma heard the front door close. Benjamin’s footsteps progressed down the hallway. He would return to the study, at which time she would be able to slip into the hall and go back to her room or, perhaps, join him in the study. But the footsteps stopped outside the parlor. Emma’s heart hammered against her chest.

  He walked in and closed the parlor door, which was all that concealed her. She stood now before him.

  Her flushed and distraught expression told him all that he needed to piece it together. She had heard everything.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Fletcher.”

  “I thought he was gone. I was going to work. Then I was going to go. I heard my name. I should’ve just gone to my room.”

  Her face burned under his scrutiny. She could not blame him for being annoyed with her for eavesdropping. If only she had not stayed to listen. But who would not have been curious?

  “Emma?”

  The depth of his voice unnerved her. Her own quavered as she said, “I just want to get back to my work.” She slipped past him and went to the study.

  She felt his gaze as she stacked and shuffled papers around to buy time while she gained some composure. He sat on the back of a sofa and watched her. Mrs. Dowling passed wordlessly by, but her eyes took the scene in discretely. Even on opposite ends of the room there was tension between them. Benjamin noticed Mrs. Dowling and asked for some tea for Miss Madding.

  Mrs. Dowling walked down the hall, archly echoing to herself, “Tea for Miss Madding.”

  When he turned back, Emma was gone from her desk. When had he formed this habit of checking to see where she was? He found her at the window seat, her head resting serenely against the wall. He sat beside her. “I hope you’re not wasting your thoughts on Fletcher Van Elden. His words have no meaning or power.”

  She just lifted doubtful eyes. She tugged at his soul, no matter how he resisted. He had lost himself like this once before. Now he was drawn, yet again, to a woman entangled. She may have run away, but she was not free. Her life was hopelessly complicated. He followed her gaze to the lake. They both watched it in silence.

  He reached past her to the window. Her posture stiffened in response to his nearness. The window resisted, then he lifted it up and the sound of water and birds and the smell of fresh breezes entered the room. When she shivered, he wrapped a throw blanket about her shoulders and let his hands linger.

  Emma leaned into his touch, and he was undone. Their faces drew awkwardly nearer. He breathed in the scent of her hair. His lips softened and, brushing her temple, touched her cheekbone. She lifted her chin so her lips could meet his. Their touch was tender, and sparked a longing that ached. He had felt this way once, and it ended in tragedy. What had he learned, if he could sit here and repeat it? He needed to end this. Emma’s fingers tightened, gripping his shirt at the shoulders. Her chest brushed against his, and his muscles grew taut as he clasped her against him and sought her mouth with a deepening kiss.

  Mrs. Dowling’s footsteps approached from the end of the hall. The couple flew apart instantly. Their stunned eyes met, and the sight made them laugh. He leapt up and grabbed two random books from the bookshelf, and tossed one to Emma. Mrs. Dowling walked in with a tray and found Benjamin leaning idly against a bookshelf, engrossed in a book. A flushed Emma sat by the window seat, reading a book with great interest. Upside down. Mrs. Dowling looked from one to the other and frowned with suspicion as she set down the tray and poured tea.

  Emma slipped carbon paper between two fresh sheets of paper and rolled them into the typewriter, proceeding to hammer the machine with forced concentration. After tea, she had returned to her desk. Without speaking of it, they both felt the kiss on their lips and the feelings that neither was ready to voice.

  And yet, Benjamin watched her. He would catch himself staring and look away quickly, most often too late to avoid her eyes darting to meet his in response. Once, he looked down to read what she had typed, and she looked up unexpectedly. Her golden brown eyes met his and opened with unspoken questions. A rush of excitement sped through him. He felt bound to turn away, lest she see the effect her mere gaze had on him.

  Emma sensed his attention and felt heat rise to her face. She redoubled her efforts to keep her mind on her work. She was weak. She stole glances, only to see his blue eyes probe hers. They troubled her, forcing their way to her soul with no warning. Her fingers struck the typewriter keys with more vigor. Her chest rose and fell as she took in fresh air.

  With a great show of returning some books to their shelves, Benjamin stood behind Emma and watched as she worked. Her long brown waves were pulled back in a ribbon unevenly tied. With the tug of that ribbon, her hair would tumble down past her waist to the slope of her back. His longing would be his undoing. He could not let this go any further.

  She stopped typing.

  He put his hand on a book and tilted it out from the shelf, and then slid it back, as though changing his mind.

  She said, “There’s a week here that’s missing. Is there something you need to fill in here, or shall I move on?”

  “Let me see where you are.” He was brusque as he lifted the paper to read. Then he sat at his desk and dictated. Emma typed as Benjamin restlessly shifted from sitting to standing to pacing.

  Klondike Region: Summer 1898

  We worked our claim for weeks. Every weekend Daniel came into Dawson. Some weeks I stayed home—at least that’s what we called it. Our home was not even close to a home—just a rustic old miner’s cabin that someone had left there. We patched up some holes and moved in. Simple shelter was all that we needed to keep us warm and dry while we worked our claim.

  Every weekend, Daniel would go into town just to see Sadie. They would dance until he ran short of money and could no longer afford her. After that, he would meet her at six in the morning, when sh
e got off work. It tore him up to think of her with other men, even if it was only dancing. I heard them argue once. I wasn’t eavesdropping. I was there in the cabin. They forgot, or didn’t care that I was with them. She told him it was only a dance here and there, but he hated the thought of men putting their hands on her. I didn’t listen to more. I walked out and went down to the river. I couldn’t blame him. It would bother any man, but it was even worse with Daniel. He was quiet, but his feelings ran deep.

  He stopped writing to Henrietta, the girl who was waiting back home. I don’t know what he told her, but the letters still came for a while. He would glance through them, sometimes sharing some news from back home, but most of the time he just shoved them into his pocket until he could toss them into the fire when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  I kept my distance from Sadie. People in love don’t need company. Those two sure didn’t need mine. When Daniel went to see her, I headed in the other direction. But before long, she was coming to the cabin to visit and cook, so I had to be with her. I kept busy working and pretended to pay no attention. Daniel told me once that I’d hurt her feelings. She didn’t want him to tell me, but it hurt her that I was so cold. And Daniel saw it, too. He asked me to try to be nice, even though I didn’t like her. Didn’t like Sadie? She was Daniel’s girl, I respected that. Didn’t like her. I knew where she was every minute, and what she was doing. I knew which hand she lifted to brush back her hair when she came outside for some air after working inside. I knew her shape when she lifted her arms to hang wash on the line. And I knew when she watched me. When I felt her eyes on me, I wanted her more. That’s when I started to work longer days.

  Sadie grew distant toward Daniel. She always was kind, and she treated him well. She worked hard for us, cleaning, washing, and cooking. Daniel took that as her way of showing her love. But she kept him at arm’s length just the same. I told him that she just wasn’t ready for anything serious. She had just left her husband.

  “But she’s free.”

  “Give her time.”

  She wanted to love him. I knew that and talked myself into believing that love would grow.

  She was coming by nearly every day now. Daniel let her use his horse so she could ride out from Dawson and back there to work. Daniel still hated the work that she did, but they didn’t argue anymore. She just met his complaints with silence.

  I was washing up one day after work, wiping my face with a towel. When I opened my eyes, she was there.

  “I just got this down from the line,” she said as she held up a clean shirt.

  I thanked her and told her she didn’t have to do that. She clutched the clean shirt to her chest and reached out her hand. I took off my dirty shirt and handed it to her. She watched as I washed from the waist up. She watched, and I felt it as if she had touched me. I enjoyed it with a sick, miserable feeling. Then I put on the clean shirt, and said, “Daniel’s hunting.”

  She nodded. “He told me.”

  “There’s nothing out there but squirrel.”

  She said she’d make a stew. We were saying one thing, and thinking another. I was thinking about what I would not do next.

  Mining is grueling work, so I was in the habit of coming back to the cabin and lying down on my bed. She and Daniel would sit outside and talk for a while. But today Daniel was gone. I felt awkward about lying down on my bed with her there. So we sat outside and talked.

  Sadie and her husband left for the Klondike as newlyweds. They’d eloped. Her father disowned her for that. The sad thing was, he was right about this guy. He was a couple years older, a guy with big plans and no money. He had this exciting idea to run off to the Klondike and strike gold. They would arrive, and he would get work on another man’s mine. He would save what he could of his fifteen dollars a day, and then work a claim of his own. The plan was not bad, but the trip turned out to be less romantic than either had expected. And he had turned out to be less of a man.

  I’d seen enough to fill in the rest. When things didn’t work out, he took out his frustration on her. It was hard work just to get here. He wasn’t prepared in body or mind. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d had money problems, but she didn’t mention that. Everything that went wrong had to be somebody’s fault, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be his. If I were a generous man I would leave it at that, but the truth is, I think the only reason he brought her along was for the work she could do. Maybe he loved her at one point, but I had my doubts about that. I think she did, too.

  So here she was now, a dance hall girl. It was her last choice, but a lucrative one. She was saving to go back home to Illinois. She never said whether Daniel was part of her plan. But I know she was part of his. He loved her in his quiet and powerful way.

  I asked her whether she’d heard from her husband—her former husband. She hadn’t. She’d heard he was working a mine for someone. That was all she cared to know. He was out of her life.

  We ran out of talk, and I nodded off in the chair. I was like this every night. Mining took all that I had. I went in to lie down. She started to get up, but I ordered her to sit down and rest, for a change. She was working too hard for us. We heard a couple of shots in the distance. Daniel didn’t miss often. He’d be back before long.

  The next day, he was still floating up on cloud nine while he worked ten feet down in a hole in the ground. He was digging and loading buckets with dirt, which I’d haul up and dump, and then send back down empty. He was singing away. Now, Daniel was a great friend, and a formidable worker in a mine, but he was a god-awful singer. I didn’t mind telling him so. I was doing just that—yelling some well-chosen words down into the hole—when I saw Sadie Brown appear just over the hill on her way to the mine shaft. After weeks of arguing with Daniel, she’d finally quit her job. Here she was carrying a beat up old sack in her hand. She didn’t even own a suitcase.

  She was beaming. She had decided to take Daniel up on his offer to stay here. His offer? This was the first I’d heard of it. She would cook and clean while we worked the claim. It made sense. Of course, we had no money to pay her. I knew without asking him what Daniel had in mind, so I went ahead and offered it to her: a share in the mine. We were getting the best part of the deal. For a third of our profit (which lately was zero), we now had a cook and housekeeper. I was just about to yell down the mineshaft to Daniel that Sadie was here, when she threw her arms around my neck.

  “You’ve saved me again—this time from dancing!”

  “No, I didn’t do a thing. It was Daniel’s idea.”

  “But you agreed!”

  Daniel’s voice rose from the mine. “Nelly Bly, Nelly Bly, bring the broom along....”

  Sadie grabbed hold of my hands and we started to dance. My arm circled her waist and we danced through the camp. Her joy was infectious. I laughed to see her sea green eyes sparkle. I loved watching her smile. Then the dancing just stopped. And the smiles faded. We never spoke it out loud, but now we could not pretend that it wasn’t there. We both saw the same thing in each other. I held her with a tentative grasp in my arms, neither pulling her closer nor letting her go. Sadie’s fingers tightened their grasp on my shoulders. My hands slid from her waist up her sides, until I heard Daniel climbing out of the hole. We pulled apart and turned toward him.

  “You’ve done it!” We stepped back from each other as Daniel came out of the shaft and came rushing to Sadie. He laughed, and she nodded and forced herself to laugh with him. He swept her into his arms and swung her around. I can still see his smile, and I still see her face watching me as I looked one more time. I walked away, and I left them alone. I went into the hole to bust rocks and dig dirt and to curse at myself.

  The three of us lived in that little cabin. Sadie had her own corner with a blanket hung over a rope. We had ours. She brought softness into our hard lives. I looked forward to seeing her stand in the door when she heard us come back for our meals. Sometimes she hummed softly while doing the chores. I stole pleasure from secr
et glances. She was happy for the first time since I’d known her. And at night, after the kerosene lamp was turned down, I lay in my bed and listened for the soft rustle of blankets and sheets as she slipped into her bed in the darkness.

  Chapter 6

  I rose early and started to work before anyone else was up. When I dressed in the morning, my shirts smelled like the air that she breathed when she pulled them down from the line. Sadie got in the habit of filling a tin with some breakfast and leaving it outside the shaft. When a new patch appeared on my dungarees, each stitch of it carried the touch of her fingers. We talked over meals about practical things. I went fishing and hunting and anywhere else that would keep me away. I made sure we were never alone for long, until one day.

  Daniel went into town. He had something to do. He was going alone. That was that. No discussion.

  I went hunting. The problem with hunting was this: there was nothing to hunt. I was lucky to shoot a squirrel or two. The real luck was in getting away. It was lucky for Daniel, not me. I wanted Sadie. It was simple, in the way that a forest fire is. You can try to ignore it, but it burns just the same.

  I’d been out for a while. Empty handed, I decided to go back home and try my luck with the fish. About half a mile from the cabin, I heard Sadie scream. I ran, pounding my feet to the dirt to get to her. A gunshot cracked in the crisp air. I shouted her name. I found her at the doorway with the Colt in her trembling hand. Bedding and dishes were strewn on the floor. Feral animal odor thickened the air.

  I wasn’t sure if she even knew I was there. I said her name quietly. “Give me the gun.” I carefully took it from her.

  “A bear.” She was shaking and clutching her shoulder.

  I checked for bullets, and left her there while I walked around outside the cabin. When I was sure that the bear had moved on—as sure as you ever can be—I returned to the cabin. She hadn’t moved. I held her face and looked into her eyes. Her absent look scared me, but she looked when I said her name. “Where are you hurt? Let me see.”