by Delynn Royer
“Why don’t you take your dinner break, Ross, and walk her to the shop? I’m sure there’s much for you two to catch up on.”
Malcolm’s tone was flat, but full of implied meaning. Ross looked to see the man still seated behind his desk. He had relaxed back into his chair, his hands clasped around his middle in a casual pose. His hard gray eyes, though, were anything but casual. They were fixed on Ross as if seeing into his thoughts.
I don’t love your daughter. It seemed to Ross that the truth had to be plain on his face.
Love, those cold gray eyes seemed to reply, has nothing to do with it. Ross had already pushed him. He was not a man who would take well to being crossed.
“Oh, Daddy, what a wonderful idea!” Johanna was saying. “Say you’ll walk along with me, Ross. So much has happened since you’ve been gone. Why, I’m fairly bursting with it all.”
“Go on, Ross,” Malcolm said in that same flat monotone, “You’ve accomplished more than enough here for one morning, don’t you think?”
“Fine,” Ross said, tearing his gaze from Malcolm. He tried to muster a smile for Johanna’s sake. “Let’s go.”
As he led her through the city room, he reminded himself that it wasn’t Johanna’s fault that he’d fallen in love with another woman. It was Emily he wanted, but after all that had gone wrong between them, would she ever be able to trust him? Unfortunately, there was only one way to learn the answer to that question. He would have to jilt Johanna and bring Malcolm Davenport’s wrath down upon his head. He would have to throw his future away.
He had some hard thinking to do.
*
“Merciful heavens, Emily, it’s hard to believe it’s her, isn’t it?” Melissa Carpenter whispered. She leaned to one side to cast a discreet glance at the garishly dressed, disheveled blonde who was puzzling her way through the latest edition of Godey’s Lady’s Book in the cluttered front parlor of Miss Beatrice Ellinger’s Boardinghouse for Young Ladies. “She’s changed so much, I wouldn’t have recognized her. She looks so... so...”
“Old,” Emily supplied, casting a pitying look over her shoulder at Stacy Bliss.
Emily had been shocked, too, when Karl had brought Stacy by the print shop that afternoon. After listening to Emily complain all morning about the injustices of the court system toward women, he’d suggested that perhaps they should try to do something about it. First, though, they needed to talk to the victim in person. Would she be willing to testify if they could pressure the police chief into bringing charges against Gibson?
Karl had taken it upon himself to seek Stacy out and had had little trouble locating her. Emily had barely been able to reconcile her memory of the fourteen-year-old farm girl of their schooldays with the brassy-looking woman who stood in the print shop.
It was clear that Stacy had been leading a hard life. She was only a few years older than Emily herself, yet she looked like a woman well into her thirties. The cheerful sparkle Emily remembered in this young woman’s eyes had been replaced by a cynical glint that suggested the vivid bruises still marring her neck and cheekbones were not the first she’d encountered at the hands of a disgruntled “suitor.”
“She says she’ll testify against Gibson,” Emily continued, “but we still have a problem.”
“What problem is that?” Melissa asked.
Stacy wasn’t the only one who had changed over the years. It was no wonder that Karl had not immediately recognized Melissa Carpenter upon running into her on the street. The redheaded duckling had transformed into a graceful swan. Having outgrown the pudginess that had marked her childhood and adolescence, the minister’s daughter had thinned out everywhere except for her hips and well-developed bosom. Her high cheekbones accentuated large, long-lashed, golden brown eyes, and soft auburn curls escaped her black net snood to frame an elegant, classically beautiful face.
Knowing Melissa, however, Emily suspected that her friend remained blissfully unaware of her own beauty. Having obtained her teaching certification three years before, she had surprised her family by turning down a proposal of marriage from her steady beau, Elwood Beamsdorfer, before moving into Miss Bea’s Boardinghouse for Young Ladies. Since then, she had dedicated herself to her job and her volunteer work at the Home for Friendless Children.
Taking her friend by the arm, Emily led her down a carpeted corridor to the kitchen where an enticing aroma of boiled ham and sweet apple schnitz wafted from a covered kettle on a cast-iron range. They had excused themselves from Stacy on the pretense of pouring some iced tea.
“We need to clean her up,” Emily said, “get her settled in some decent surroundings, and find her a respectable job.”
“You mean, she’s not going back to...” Melissa reddened at the idea of Stacy’s occupation. “You know what I mean.”
“She told Karl that she doesn’t want that kind of life anymore, but she doesn’t know how to get away from it.”
Melissa frowned, then moved to take three drinking glasses down from a cupboard and set them on an oak table. “Maybe she should just move away from here. People aren’t likely to forget what she’s done. You know that better than—” Melissa cut off, clearly horrified at her own slip. “Oh, dear. I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I just meant—”
“I understand.” Emily knew her friend better than that. Over the past four years, they had exchanged occasional letters and never once had Melissa referred to the rumors about Emily or asked if they were true. Instead, she’d kept her missives cheerful, writing mostly about the children she taught at school and at the home.
“You only speak the truth,” Emily said. “I do know from experience that most people aren’t quick to forget the past. Maybe you’re right that it would be best for Stacy to move away eventually, but first she needs a hand up. She needs friends. Remember, she’s not blessed with a family who will stand behind her in times of adversity.”
Melissa let out a sympathetic sigh as she moved to the range and tested a brass teakettle to see if it had cooled. “That poor girl. What a terrible shame.”
Sensing that she was gaining headway, Emily pressed on. “First and foremost, she needs a place to live and a job. I’d give her a job myself except I can’t afford to pay any help yet, and since it’s clear that her family won’t help her, that’s where you come in.”
Melissa turned to Emily with wide eyes. “Me?”
“Well, you and Miss Bea, that is.”
“Miss Bea?”
“You mentioned at the funeral that a room would be vacant at the end of the month. One of Miss Bea’s tenants was leaving to get married. Is that room still available?”
“Well, yes, but I thought at the time that you might want to move in. I’m not sure how Miss Bea will react to having a—” Melissa reddened again and turned away, quickly retrieving an ice pick and a bowl from a second cupboard. “What I mean to say is, we need to maintain a certain level of propriety for the sake of the other ladies’ reputations, if not for our own.”
Emily waved this concern away. “Bea Ellinger has a heart bigger than the Susquehanna River. I’ll bet there are ten stray cats on your back porch waiting for their dinner as we speak.”
“More like a dozen,” Melissa admitted.
“And what about that time she let Old Quint Stehman stay in her garden house when he was drying out from the rum?” Emily pressed. “Nobody else in town believed that man was worth a dime and now, because of Miss Bea, he’s got a job at the mill and has reconciled with his grandchildren. The woman’s a saint, I tell you, and she’s got the spunk of twelve men to boot. She’s never backed down from a fight just because of what people might think, and she won’t turn Stacy away, either. Not if you tell her that Stacy wants to repent from the sordid life she’s been living.”
“You may be right about Miss Bea’s soft heart,” Melissa said, moving to the icebox, “but what if Stacy doesn’t really mean it about wanting to change? What if she turns right back around and resumes that sordid life
of hers even after Miss Bea and I decide to take a chance and help her?”
Emily had known Melissa Carpenter since they were toddlers and had never once failed to talk the pleasant-natured minister’s daughter into anything Emily had set her mind on. She sensed now, however, that a coup de grace was in order. “I was thinking the very same thing as we were on our way over here,” Emily said, squelching the twinge of conscience that would have nipped this white lie in the bud, “but you know what I thought of then?”
“What?” Melissa asked as she chipped some small chunks from a block of ice in the top compartment of the cabinet.
“I thought about what the Good Book says in cases just such as this.”
All at once, Melissa stopped chipping. There was no sound in the kitchen aside from the simmering kettle on the range.
Emily let out what she hoped sounded like a heartfelt and penitent sigh. “‘He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.’”
Melissa showed no signs of responding, so Emily continued, “Whether Stacy is sincere at heart, I certainly cannot know, but how many times are we called to forgive? Is it seven?”
Ice pick and bowl in hand, Melissa turned around to assess Emily. “You know, I always hate it when you quote Scripture.”
Emily tried to look innocent. “I can’t imagine why.”
“It won’t work.”
“What won’t work?”
“You can’t make me feel guilty by quoting Scripture, and that’s that.”
“Good heavens, why would I want to make you feel guilty? You certainly have nothing to feel guilty about, do you?”
“I should say not.”
“Well, good. That’s a burden off our shoulders.”
Melissa frowned hesitantly, then turned back to the icebox to finish her task. When she was done she crossed to the table and set the bowl of ice down with a clunk. For a moment, she didn’t move.
Emily held her breath.
“Seventy times seven,” Melissa muttered.
Emily had to suppress a grin. “What did you say?”
“Seventy times seven,” Melissa repeated, her attention stubbornly trained on the ice bowl. “That’s how many times we are called to forgive. If Miss Bea gives permission for Stacy to stay here, then maybe I can get her a job doing laundry at the Home.”
Emily felt an almost overwhelming urge to embrace her dear old friend, but she managed to hold herself in check. “I just knew you would help. Miss Bea isn’t the only one with a heart as big as the Susquehanna.”
When Melissa raised her head, Emily was glad to see a knowing smile. “Emily Winters, I do love you, and I am happy you’re finally home where you belong, but why do I get the feeling that my quiet and peaceful life is about to change?”
“Don’t be silly!”
But when Melissa turned her back to retrieve the teakettle from the stove, Emily couldn’t fight a sly smile of her own. Karl Becker’s interest in the “new” Melissa had not escaped her notice. He had sown his wild oats in the past, but that was no drawback as far as Emily was concerned. When he was ready to settle down—and she sensed that the time was about to come—he would settle down very well for the right woman. Perhaps Melissa’s life was about to change, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
It was two days later when a knock came at the print shop door. Emily looked up from her account book to the wall clock in her father’s office. It was already past six p.m. Earlier that day, she’d promised her mother and Karen that she would be home for supper. She would have some explaining to do.
At a second knock, Emily set down her pen, capped her inkwell, and pushed up from her chair. She was officially closed for the day, but she would be happy to accept any customer with an order. Malcolm Davenport had lowered his rates, and it was already having an effect on her business. One look at her account books had confirmed the worst.
Despite her morning job with Karl and her family’s help, she was barely making a profit. Also, she was still without credit to borrow money for more supplies. She needed hard cash to get through the next couple of months—cash she didn’t have. The only thing that might save her now would be a timely increase in work orders, but that wasn’t likely to happen. Not with Malcolm Davenport’s ruthless price-cutting to thwart her.
When she opened the door, she found a friend instead of a customer. Leaning on his cane, Karl Becker tipped his stovepipe hat and grinned. “I thought you’d still be working, Miss Emily. I have good news. May I come in?”
“Good news?” Emily tried not to sound as defeated as she felt as she gestured for him to enter. “I hope that means you’ve brought some business.”
“In fact, I have.” He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a folded sheet of paper. “David has decided to pull all of his printing business from Denton’s.”
She unfolded it to see that it was a blank sheet of Mr. Stauffer’s business stationery. “What’s this?”
“If you can duplicate the letterhead, we can start with a five-hundred-sheet order.”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. “Oh, Karl...”
“Now, don’t go all maudlin on me, Miss Emily. This is just business, after all.”
“But I do appreciate—”
Karl held up a hand. “I’m only the messenger. You did such fine-quality work on my business cards, he was happy to place a new order.”
“Thank you,” she said, adding the stationery to a stack of other orders on a nearby desk. “I’ll have it ready by early next week if that will do.”
“That will do just fine, but that’s not the reason I came. I assume you saw Gallagher’s article in yesterday’s paper?”
At his unexpected mention of Ross, Emily had to force down certain scintillating memories of that past Sunday afternoon. The mere thought made her blush like an overripe peach, and Karl was too astute to miss such a reaction. “The article about Arnold Gibson, you mean. Um, yes. Yes, I did. I was very impressed.”
“Impressed?” Karl raised an eyebrow. “I was more surprised by his uncensored candor than impressed, but now that you mention it, I suppose he did make a somewhat stirring presentation.”
“That’s high praise coming from you.” Emily turned away and headed for the job press to clean up for the night. She wasn’t doing a very good job of repressing unchaste thoughts. Her cheeks were burning even as they spoke.
“Apparently Ross’s article is already garnering some results. I had to speak with the chief of police on some other business this afternoon, and I mentioned it to him. He’s heard from a few other people about that article, too. It seems that, after reading about the incident in the paper and seeing Stacy’s injuries for themselves, Miss Bea’s whole quilting circle is in a righteous flurry.”
Emily was unable to repress a laugh as she soaked a rag in turpentine and set to work wiping down the inking mechanism. “Now, that surprises me. Then again, Miss Bea has been known to work miracles.”
“She’s apparently taken Stacy under her wing, which puts a whole new light on the subject. With upstanding citizens like Miss Bea and Melissa Carpenter seeing to her welfare, not to mention Gallagher’s article, Stacy’s case now has all the makings of a soul-stirring social cause for the church ladies. What’s come out of all this is that the chief asked me to bring Stacy down to speak to him a couple of hours ago. He’s ready to press charges against Gibson. If all goes smoothly, he’ll appear before Alderman Chase tomorrow morning.”
Upon hearing this, the glimmer of an outrageous idea formed in the back of Emily’s mind. Perhaps the timing of Arnold Gibson’s court appearance could work to her advantage. Then again, she could be grasping at straws. “Tomorrow morning, you say?”
“Yes. After escorting Stacy and Miss Carpenter home myself, I couldn’t resist coming by to share the good news with you.”
“I’m glad you did. I needed some good news about now.”
“Why? Things not going well?”
&nbs
p; Emily shrugged as she removed the last traces of ink from her equipment. She didn’t want to get onto the depressing subject of her business troubles. “Nothing that I can’t take care of myself.”
“Say, do you need any help with that? You look busy. Have you had supper yet?”
She laughed. “No, you’ll get your clothes dirty. Yes, I am busy, and no, I haven’t had supper yet.” She dropped her soiled cleaning rag into an empty coffee tin at her feet and began removing the metal chase from the bed of the press. “I was just about ready to clean up and head home when you knocked.”
“Then perhaps we can grab a bite at the Railroad Eating House. There’s another matter I’d like to discuss with you.”
“Oh? Sounds mysterious. Don’t keep me on pins and needles.”
“Well, it’s about Miss... uh, Melissa Carpenter.”
“Melissa? How is she?”
“She appears to be quite well.”
“What’s on your mind?”
“I asked her to go riding with me this weekend.”
Emily smiled to herself as she carried the chase over to a table. “And what did she say?”
“She said no.”
“Hmm.” Emily worked quickly to disassemble the metal frame and reveal the pages she’d set and printed earlier.
“She said she was far too busy with her work to be pointlessly gallivanting around town.”
“Oh.”
“Does she have a beau?” Karl blurted.
“Not at the moment.”
“Then, it doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
“That she declined my offer. What could she possibly be thinking?”
Emily rolled her eyes at Karl’s high opinion of his masculine charm. “Perhaps she’s not interested in being trifled with.”
“Trifled with?” He sounded surprised. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Emily took a font case from one of the composing desks and moved back to the worktable. “Your reputation is... how shall I say it? Slightly blemished from an overabundance of frivolity when it comes to women?”