“Weren’t you ever married? Did you just up and leave all your family behind?” Dahlia finally had lost interest in her nails.
“My family is not from Tennessee. And my spouse is . . . dead.” It was Claire’s turn to gaze straight ahead. The words had slipped off the tongue without too much effort.
“We’re awfully sorry to hear that, Claire,” said Minnie. “You’re just so business-like all the time. All about work and very little chit chat.”
“Look, guys, I know the other reason you’re so worried. I want to take the time now to say we’re all a team here. We work together, and I don’t run this store. It’s not mine. But just know I want an enjoyable place to come every day just like you.”
“I think you’ve done a nice job, Claire.” Oma didn’t smile, but her faced held an expression of sincerity. “Whatever it is you’ve been through, just know that we’re here if you need us.”
Joy managed a small chuckle. “I’m sure us not pestering her anymore will do wonders for her sanity. Sorry, Claire, I hate to admit that we cackle like hens sometimes, but as Roy said, we like to know the people we work with and if we can trust them or not. That’s just the way it goes, you know.”
“Joy, I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for that. And I’m sorry this whole deal with my looking through a few catalogs scared you silly.” Claire managed a smile of gratitude.
Everyone stirred at the sound of the door of the break room opening. Mr. Parker poked his head through. “Are we spending the night here or what?” He grinned. “Claire, do you need any more time?”
“No Geo . . . Mr. Parker. We’re finished.” She turned back to her cohorts. “If we ever need another meeting again, we can have one. It might not be bad to do these quarterly and see where we are with everything.”
Everyone murmured in agreement as they reached for their coats and left the room. Claire took extra time slipping on a jacket before following behind. When the last worker disappeared into the darkness, she paused at the main door. George slipped up beside her. He’d already wrapped a light trench coat around him. On his head perched one of Adrian’s hats. It looked broken in, worn well. How long had George worn that particular hat, and was it a favorite? The whole outfit gave him an almost mysterious quality, a man with a past who chose to shroud it underneath a coat and hat.
“That was uncomfortable.”
“You think?” Claire looked him up and down.
“I always catch bits and snatches of conversation, when they think I don’t hear. I’ll admit this time I listened outside the door.” He rested his arm against the door rail.
“Really?”
“Couldn’t help myself. Honestly, I didn’t share anything at all with them about you. The day you started was the first day they knew.”
Claire frowned. “Don’t you think you could have dropped a hint, made up some kind of story? We could have collaborated on it. Or you could have let Mitchell know and he would have told me.”
George let out a soft breath, staring absently at the ceiling. “People are nosy, Claire, and I just don’t cater to it.” He rested his hand lightly on her shoulder. “That’s the beauty of owning your own place. You don’t have to answer to anybody.”
“Don’t you think giving them a heads-up would have gotten some buy-in, maybe have settled their fears a little? That’s how they all see me, as someone who’s just waltzed in here without a care in the world.” Claire didn’t flinch from his hand.
“Look, I don’t disagree with what you’re saying, but I keep a distance from my workers. You get in too thick and soon they don’t respect you. I try to be fair, but I’m a businessman first.”
“I guess Anita dittoed that sentiment, too, didn’t she?”
George pulled away, stunned.
She clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry, George. That was uncalled for.”
He turned away in silence, heading to the back of the store where he cut off all but the security lights. Claire faced the door, gazing through the glass into the dark night. She was just itching to learn more about Anita, get to the bottom of why a woman the others didn’t fancy was once admired and loved by the man several feet away. She’d milked the opportunity that day during lunch, when Buzzi and Moo made their entrance into her life. Now she’d lunged for another round.
George held the front door open for Claire. In silence, they walked to his car while the brisk October night air whipped around them. Nearly two months in Knoxville, and now this. All she wanted was to seal the past, avoid discussing it, and avoid walking in the shadow of old ghosts.
Gay Street passed by in a blur. The hum of the car lulled her emotions only a little. She still regretted mentioning his late wife.
“Claire, I’m not mad at you at all. Now, I’ll admit I was taken off guard by what you said.” He reached over and placed his hand on top of Claire’s. “It was a critical remark, and you don’t know me or Anita enough. That’s what got me.” He squeezed her hand. “But I forgive you.”
“I shouldn’t have said it, but the thoughts of anyone knowing about how and why I came here unnerves me to no end, and as far as Anita goes . . . I don’t know. I like knowing about people, what I’m up against, that sort of thing.”
“Up against?” George let out a light breath and grimaced. “You’re not up against anything, Claire. I don’t know where or why you’d even compare yourself, as a worker or anything, for that matter. First of all, I like the folks at the store, but they’re a gossipy bunch like most everyone in groups are. And Anita and I were a lot alike in many ways, especially when it came to business. That doesn’t mean everything she did was right on the mark. As a matter of fact, there’s things I admire about you that she could never be.”
She got up enough nerve to finally glance his direction. “Really?” Her voice sounded weak in her ears.
“You have a way about you that affects me in different ways than Anita. And that’s okay. You’re two different women. How could you not have your own style and personality? I personally wouldn’t have it any other way.” He took his eyes briefly off the road and grinned at her.
“You don’t think I’m a total cad?”
“Not at all. What’s eating at you, though?”
Claire rested her eyes on the night, shops and houses and trees zipping by. She thought long and hard. Finally, she answered. “I don’t want anybody knowing about my past or getting too personal. I want to forget as much of it as I can myself. I don’t want people questioning what happened and why I couldn’t keep my man happy enough to keep from thinking I was crazy. It’s embarrassing.”
“And they’ve been grilling you, haven’t they?” George hadn’t let up on her hand.
“Not as bad as they could, but slipping in asking questions just the same.” Claire turned her head in his direction, taking in the silhouette of his face. “George, I’m going to be honest with you. Remember how you mentioned that people sometimes didn’t understand Anita?”
George shot a quick sideways glance at her. “Y-e-e-s.”
“They’re scared to death that I’ll be just like her. For heaven’s sake, was she that bad?”
He exhaled a little at a time. “I think what you’re going to find here is that each one of us speaks our own truth. And really, it’s all a matter of perspective. She liked being the boss, she had her own ideas about how things should be.”
“And you just let her run it the way she saw fit.” Claire’s eyes wandered to the right passenger window, wishing she were at home right this minute. Starting a disagreement had never been her intention.
“Yes, I did, in some ways. Let me tell you something, I make no apologies for it.”
Her heart paused a few beats before the heat flared in her cheeks. George’s voice wasn’t unkind, but she saw more of the man behind the business, one who could be pleasant most times, but when it came to business, he was the one who dug in his heels. Claire said nothing, but this time, she gently pulled her hand back to h
er lap. Out of the corner of her eyes, she caught sight of him looking at her at intervals. One more turn and they’d be winding down Holston River Road.
When they reached the driveway, George drove to the front porch and let the car idle. “Claire, we had a pretty bold discussion tonight. Some might say an argument, though I’m not sure it quite went that far.”
“Well, then, this conversation was as bold as the one I had with Ruby.”
His smile reassured her. “Ruby, now that woman’s bold.”
“Yes, she’s a feisty one. I think we had a meeting of the minds, but I’m not sure I trust her. It all put me on edge, and I’ll admit I’m snippy too.”
“Personally, Claire, I don’t think you trust anyone right now.” He grew silent at this observation, focusing his eyes on the house. “Do you?”
Her emotions calmed at the softer tone in his voice. “I think I can trust Mitchell. A little, anyway. I mean, what else can I do? I don’t have anyone else, and my family isn’t around.”
George reached over and took her hand in his. “Look, I want to make one thing clear. You can trust me. And Edna. She doesn’t know anything, other than you’re renting the house.” He turned toward Claire, his whole body facing hers. “You can trust me. I’m not perfect, but whatever comes up, we can talk things out.” He loosened his grip and rubbed her shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve been bearing this alone. I probably should have paved the way a little, instead of focusing only on myself and work.”
“I’ll agree with you on that. But again, thank you for an opportunity to work.” Claire reached for the handle of the passenger door.
“Don’t forget you owe me some loomed towels and runners.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” She slipped out of the seat, shutting the door behind her. With a wave, she turned and picked her way through the dark to the front porch, with only the car lights shining. At least she’d have the evening to herself, and this time, she was glad of it.
***
Settled into her work room upstairs, Claire gazed at the loom. She’d spent the previous evening winding the warp, threading the heddles, just a few of the steps taken to dress the loom. All this after making the calculations for 12 towels in the color scheme and designs she’d chosen. Everything was in place and ready to go. She sat for the next four hours, concentrating on nothing but the loom and the movement of her hands and feet. The rhythm of working it soothed her. As always, watching her work come to life filled her with pride and purpose. It also soothed her nerves. Buzzie slept by her feet while Moo eyed the loom, swatting at a stray dangling thread.
She thought about the people at work. Nobody had been unkind, really. Curiosity ingrained itself in human nature. That much she knew. And who could blame them? Her mind wandered back to Ruth, Ella, and the other ladies at Hatchie River. How many dresses had they made now? Wouldn’t it have been fun to teach them how to loom? Perhaps they could have make some towels and washcloths, instead of using the nearly shredded ones the asylum had. Halloween was coming up, and she desperately needed to make Anna’s outfit for the party at Mr. Hyde’s.
It finally dawned on her that the outing would be the first one where she and George would be seen together outside the store, where they’d fallen into the routine of turning on their boss/employee relationship. What startled her was the fluttering excitement at the thought of spending an evening with him outside of work. It was kind of like a date, but not. This was for Anna, she reasoned. Why had he asked her to go? He could have easily taken Anna by himself. What fun it would be, the chilly night air, people laughing, the smell of wood and leaves burning.
All around children would laugh and scream, chasing and scaring each other in fun. The little boys would tease the young girls and make them cry. Someone would fight over who got the last marshmallow, while there would be squabbles over who got the best seat on wagon for the hayride. This weekend she’d get with Anna and help her pick out a costume. Then it would be nights of sewing just to finish in time. Again the flutter of excitement. This would mean more time with George nearby. Each passing day she fantasized more about what it would be if there weren’t two different houses in their lives, but one where they would have not only dinners together, but breakfast. And lunch on weekends. What would it be like to tuck Anna into bed every night with Lulabelle resting beside her? What if G. P. & Sons was really her business, too, and not just George’s, only because they were . . .? She interrupted herself. No need to go that far with all this thinking. Not right now. The clock let out shrill chime. Her eyes heavy, she stopped at last, smiling at her progress. She had several pieces to put on George’s shelves at the store. She’d have just as much fun selling them.
***
“I like this one, Miss Claire.” Anna pointed her stubby finger to the witch’s costume on the pattern envelope.
It was Sunday afternoon. On Friday, Claire had brought home an envelope showing children’s costumes on the outside. Inside it, the paper templates used to create one of the outfits.
“You like the witch better than the princess? Are you sure?” Claire turned her eyes toward the little girl, grinning at her determined little face. “Why do you like that one better?”
“Because witches can fly and cast spells. Princesses don’t do anything. They’re boring.” Anna crossed her arms together, brows rumpled together.
“Then a witch it is.”
Anna rested her head against Claire’s arm as they sat together on the sofa in the quaint living room at George’s house. “Will you make me a hat to go with it? And a long black flowy thing coming out the top? And can you make the cape a little longer so it makes me look like I’m flying when I run?”
“Anna, don’t you think you’re being a bit selfish, asking Miss Claire to do all that work for just one night? You’ll never wear that costume again.” George had wandered into the room, sitting down to read the paper in the easy chair in the corner.
“But Daddy, witches have to fly.” She turned back to Claire. “You understand, don’t you, Miss Claire?”
“Anna!” George scowled at his daughter.
“George, it’s not a problem. This costume is very simple to make.” Claire smiled at George, relieved that his face had softened at her reassurance. “Anna, darling, you’ll be the best witch of all.”
“Really, Miss Claire? And can we take Moo with us so I’ll have a cat like witches do? I need a cat to make me a real witch.” Her eyes flashed in earnest, lips pursed in firm determination.
Claire shook her head, beating George with a response as she heard the paper rattle where he sat. “No, darling. We can’t take Moo with us. Buzzie would be so lonesome. And not taking her would hurt her feelings. You wouldn’t want that, would you? To know that poor sweet kittie was home all by herself, crying her little heart out?”
Anna’s lower lip quivered, and her big blue eyes filled with tears. Her voice trembled. “No, Miss Claire. I didn’t think about that. I just thought it would be fun to have a cat like witches do.” She buried her face against Claire’s arm. “Please don’t tell Buzzie I was only going to take Moo to the party. I love Buzzie.”
“Of course you do. And I won’t say a word.” Claire caught sight of George struggling to keep from laughing. The paper move up more and more until it shielded his face from view.
“We’ll get you a broom. That’s what people see with witches. A broom.”
Anna’s eyes lit up. “Really?”
“Why don’t you go make up some spells to go with your new costume. Maybe you can pretend to turn some of the boys into toads or something.” George had peeked out from the side of the newspaper he still held up.
It was Claire’s turn to stifle a giggle. “I agree. Maybe Lulabelle can help.”
“Yeaaa! Yes, Lulabell can help.” Anna threw up her arms in triumph and scrambled off the sofa, leaving George and Claire in peace.
“You handled that well, my dear.” George dropped the newspaper and laughed.
&nbs
p; “You weren’t bad yourself. Tomorrow after everyone leaves, I’ll cut some black material from one of the bolts in the sewing section. There’s plenty.”
“And how do you plan on making a hat? That’ll take a little more planning.”
“Simple. Take the same material, make the cutouts and soak them in starch so the shape stays when the hat dries. When I push the cone part of the hat through the brim, I’ll leave enough material at the bottom to attach everything. It won’t be hard at all.”
George rested his head back, gazing at Claire. “You’re something else. You know that, don’t you?”
“What do you mean? Things like this come easy for me. Nothing to get worked up about. And Anna will love it. Does Mr. Hyde have a costume-judging contest?”
“He hasn’t before. But maybe I can suggest it to him. That would be something different this year.”
“And what would the winner win?”
“Not sure. I’ll have to think about that. It might be a quick trip to the Five and Dime for a small toy of some kind.”
“Good idea.” Claire grinned. She’d spend the next week making the costume. Maybe she’d start with the hat and get that part out of the way.
Chapter Seventeen
On a small table, the black hat sat, drying on an old towel George had found in his basement. Anna sat fingering the material Claire had cut the night before, once she was sure everyone had made their way out the door and off to catch the trolley or bus. When the door shut, she’d headed straight to the sewing section. With George’s permission, she made her selection, picking up the shears and quickly snipping off some black material in accordance with Anna’s size. Another bolt board held the remnants of black chiffon.
Normally that would have been pricey for a child’s costume, but only a yard remained, hardly enough for a dress of any kind. The chiffon would become a tassel trailing from the hat. Work on the dress and cape, finishing the project in plenty of time.
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