Appomattox Saga Omnibus 2: Three Books In One (Appomatox Saga)

by Gilbert, Morris

  “All right,” Levy said, bringing his round face to bear on her.

  “All right…what? Frankie asked, startled by his suddenness.

  “All right, we see if you can sell my books.”

  “I get the job?”

  “No, you get a chance to see if you can do the job,” Levy corrected her. “I pay your expenses to New York. You sell the books, you get the job.”

  “Oh, thank you, Mr. Levy!”

  “Don’t thank me,” he protested. “It’s hard for young men, being an agent. Long hours and lots of walking.”

  Frankie laughed in delight. “Well, walking and long hours are my speciality. I…don’t know too much about books, though.”

  “That I will teach you myself.” He rummaged through some literature, then tossed some of it to her. “Go home and learn how to say all this. Practice looking sincere. Come back tomorrow and try to sell me a book.”

  Frankie went back to Mrs. Satterfield’s house, and the old woman drilled her until nearly midnight. The next morning when Solomon Levy came to open his office, he found Frankie waiting. Smiling, he said, “You going to sell me a book?”

  “Yes, sir, I sure am!” Frankie followed him inside, and when he sat down, she held up a book. With a bright smile, she poured out the approach that had been written in one of the sales booklets. When she finished, she said, “Now you see, don’t you, Mr. Levy, that you simply can’t afford to do without these wonderful books! Why, a man in your position owes it to the community to keep up his education.…”

  Levy took his cigar from his lips, rolled his eyes to the ceiling, and demanded, “Who is this girl? Why is she selling me these books?” Then he looked at Frankie and smiled, and it was a strangely gentle smile. “All right, I’ll buy the books.”

  They talked about the details, how Frankie would be paid, and finally Levy grew serious. “My other agents are all young men, Miss Aimes. I must say this to you—there will be no wrongdoing.”

  Frankie divined his meaning at once. “Oh no, Mr. Levy!”

  “I am very serious about this.” Levy studied the young woman and asked, “Are you a Christian, Frankie?”

  The question came as a total surprise. “N–no, I’m not.”

  “Well, I am!”

  Frankie stared at him with such astonishment that Levy laughed deep in his chest. “Oh, I’m Jewish; anyone can see that! But I’m a Christian Jew.” Levy spoke quietly for the next ten minutes, telling her how he’d been brought up as an orthodox Jew, then had drifted into an immoral life. He spoke of how he’d made a great deal of money, yet confessed that he’d had no joy at all. And then he told her how he’d met a man—a Christian—who, after several years, had won him to Jesus Christ.

  “So I am now a Christian.” Levy smiled, and Frankie could see the joy in his eyes. “My agents, however, are not. And they will try you, as young men try young women. And you must promise me now that you will be virtuous when that temptation comes.”

  “I’m a good girl, Mr. Levy,” Frankie said quietly. “My brother is a good Christian, as was my mother before she died.” Dropping her eyes, she whispered, “I hope someday I’ll be a Christian, too.”

  Solomon Levy stared at the girl, compassion in his warm brown eyes. “You are not far from the kingdom, child,” he said. “If you have troubles with the young men, or any problems at all, come to me. Will you do that?”

  “Yes! I will!”

  Sol Levy nodded. The night before, he had been troubled with grave reservations about hiring a young woman, but now he felt a real peace about it. Maybe I’m put here especially for this one, he thought. He smiled gently at Frankie. “We’ll leave for New York in three days. Study the books—and ask the good Lord to be with you.”

  “I will, Mr. Levy.”

  As she left the office and stepped into the street, a strange feeling came over Frankie. It’s going to be all right! was the thought that came, and somehow she felt that all that had just happened was somehow right.

  For three days she worked hard, and when she left Deborah Satterfield’s home, the widow hugged her and said, “Good-bye, Frankie. Don’t forget to write. You can always come back here.”

  Frankie left Detroit that night in the company of Mr. Solomon Levy and five young men. She was well aware that she would have to prove herself to her employer—and she was equally aware that the young men would put her to the test—but she was happy. As the train pulled out of the station, its whistle screaming, Frankie said a little prayer: God, I don’t know where I’m going, but I guess You do. Don’t let me disappoint Mr. Levy—and make whatever You want out of me!

  CHAPTER 8

  THE VIVANDIER

  She’s just a stuck-up hick, Jack! And I’m sick of hearing Old Man Levy always talking about how great she is.”

  The two nattily dressed young men were sitting in the lobby of the Crescent Hotel in Melton, a small town in upstate New York. The speaker, Harry Deal, glared upward toward where Sol Levy’s room was located. “Those two been in their ‘meeting’ for over an hour.” Suspicion gleamed in his pale blue eyes, and he swiveled his head to stare at his companion. “Say, Jack, I think there’s something funny about them.”

  “The old man and Frankie?”

  “That’s who we’re talking about, ain’t it?” Harry lowered his voice and motioned upward toward the second floor. “You notice he don’t never have us in his room for no long private meetings, don’cha?” A knowing grin appeared on his thick lips, which were almost hidden under a bushy mustache. “You ever wonder if them two—”

  “Aw, come on, Harry!” Jack protested. “The old man’s at least sixty years old! And he’s been fair enough to us.”

  “Fair! He gives Frankie all the good territory! No wonder she’s sold more books since we come to New York than any of the rest of us! Not only that, but he’s always taking her out to eat and givin’ her special lessons.” Harry stared upward again and shook his head. “Something ain’t right about that pair, Jack. And don’t give me that sixty-year-old bit, neither! Lots of old guys go after the girlies!”

  Jack Ferrago grinned suddenly at the angry face of his companion. “You know what, Harry? I think you’re just sore because Frankie gave you the brush-off.”

  This seemed to enrage Harry, who snorted indignantly, “What you talking about? That freak give Harry Deal a brush-off? Not on your tintype, buster! Sure, I felt a little sorry for the kid when Levy dragged her into the firm,” he added righteously. “The way she dressed in those baggy old clothes was pitiful! Nothing but a field hand, Jack, you remember! So I tried to help her out, kind of show her the ropes.”

  “You never went out of your way to help me or any of the rest of us guys when we first started, Harry,” Jack jibed with a wicked grin. “And don’t I remember that she dumped a plate of dumplings over your head once at supper? Said you were pinching her leg?”

  “It was a blasted lie! I—I dropped my fork and was trying to pick it up when that crazy girl up and done that!”

  “Oh sure! Any man could mistake Frankie’s leg for a fork,” Jack said with a grin. “You’re just sore, Harry. The old man’s square and so is the kid. She just outworks and outsells you; that’s why you’re always putting her down.”

  “You’ll see, Jack,” Harry growled. “I’m glad this tour is over. I’m telling the old man that I ain’t working with that freak no more! It’s her or me, and that’s it.”

  “Well, it’s been nice working with you, Harry,” the other man said with a shrug. “Hope you get another job without too much trouble.” He got to his feet and picked up his suitcase. “Come on, let’s get something to eat before the train comes in.”

  Harry gave one last malevolent glare upward, then snatched up his own suitcase and stalked out of the lobby. His parting shot to Jack was: “Notice the old man and Frankie are staying over another night? Don’t that mean something?”

  “It means that Fredrickson and Johnson won’t be in with their final sales u
ntil tonight, and that’ll be too late for Mr. Levy and Frankie to catch a train. Now shut your face, Harry. I’m sick of your whining!”

  Harry shot another angry look upward, but his gaze was off by about seventy feet. Levy’s room was that far down the hall from the spot the young man had been glaring at. Inside the room, Sol was sitting at a large table that was covered with papers, humming to himself as he sorted through the pile. Periodically he would pick up a pen, dip it in an inkwell, then make an entry in a large black book that lay open. Finally he drew a line carefully and began to total the figures, totally immersed in the task.

  Frankie looked up from the chair where she was reading the book Levy had given her. She started to say something but stopped and waited for him to finish. The clothes she wore now, though still men’s garments, fit her better than the rough outfit she’d worn when applying for work. Her light brown wool trousers were held up by maroon suspenders, and her white cotton shirt was covered by a loose-fitting vest with small blue checks. Her hair was still clipped short but now was clean and lay in curly ringlets around her head. Her hands, though still hard from years of hard work, were clean, and her nails were neatly trimmed.

  I’m sorry this job is over, she was thinking as she studied Levy’s face. The past few months had been an exciting time. She remembered suddenly how she’d been petrified with fear the first time she’d stepped up to a strange house and knocked on the door to sell books. It had been in upstate New York, and she had almost turned and fled in a panic. Fortunately, the woman who answered the door was a cheerful lady of sixty, a well-to-do widow who was puzzled, then fascinated, by the young girl who stood before her in the strange garb. She’d invited Frankie in and, being a rather voluble individual, had done quite a bit of talking—enough to give Frankie time to regain her composure. Frankie smiled as she thought of how she’d run at once to find Sol Levy, crying out, “I did it! She bought the whole set, Mr. Levy!”

  Frankie set her book down, then idly rose and moved to the window, which was open to let in fresh air. The day had been warm and humid, and the air in the room was almost stifling. Frankie perched on the windowsill and watched the activity in the street. The town was a small one, like all the others she’d been in since coming to New York. But she hadn’t spent much time in the actual towns.

  “Country people are easier to sell to,” Sol had informed her at once. “And a country girl like you, why, they’ll like you right off.”

  He had been right, Frankie had discovered. The men on the team had stuck to the towns, but Frankie had rented a horse and headed for the country lying in the hills. The people there were like those she knew, and in almost every case she could win a hearing by saying, “I’ve got a mare just like the one in your pasture back on the farm in Michigan.” She knew farming and animals, and the rural people she met trusted her in a way they would not have trusted a man like Harry Deal.

  She also discovered that she actually liked the work, and this showed in her clear green eyes, which glowed with excitement as she made her pitch. She always insisted on having the children present if possible, so that she could show them the beautiful pictures in the large Bible and the other books. She had realized at once that the children could sell more books than she ever would. Often all she did was turn the presentation over to them.

  Still, she had never forced a sale, not even once. If the prospect didn’t want the books, Frankie would be just as cheerful as if they had bought the entire stock. More than once she had said gently to a poor family who wanted to overbuy: “You might like to wait for a time on some of these. Why don’t you just take this one and see how you like it?” Several times when a rough-handed mountain woman would handle a book, usually a Bible, with tender longing, then would hand it back with a regretful sigh, Frankie had said, “You keep the Bible, ma’am. Compliments of the publisher.”

  She had mentioned one of these instances to Sol, who had said, “You were right, Frankie; the publisher pays!” Frankie smiled at the recollection.

  Suddenly Levy spoke up, causing Frankie to turn from where she stood. “Well now! It looks like the winner is you!”

  “Winner?” she asked. “Winner of what, Mr. Levy?”

  “Winner of the prize for most books sold on the New York tour,” he answered with a broad grin. “Come and see.” He held the book out, and Frankie leaned over his shoulder to see the columns he had totaled up. At the top of each list was the name of an agent. As she scanned the totals, Frankie took a sudden sharp breath.

  “You beat them all! And in your first season!” Sol nodded, beaming at her. “I’ll bet those boys will be sick when they hear about this!”

  Frankie stood up, but the smile faded. “It—it really wasn’t fair, Mr. Levy,” she said. “The only reason I sold more than they did was because you helped me more. Besides, lots of people let me in just because I was different, you know?” She hesitated, then looked at him, her eyes wide. “Why don’t you just divide the bonus up among all of us?”

  Sol stared at Frankie, then nodded slowly. “If you say so. But I’ll tell the other agents it was your idea.” He closed the book and began to put the papers into some sort of order. As he worked, he spoke of the past few months, mostly about how well Frankie had done. Finally he stood up, saying, “Let’s go eat. We got to stay over until Fredrickson and Johnson come with their final sales over in Bentonville.”

  “All right.”

  The two of them left the hotel and walked down the board walkway toward the small café where they’d eaten a few times. Several people glanced at them curiously, for they made a strange-looking pair: the short, rotund Jew dressed in a black suit with a round derby on his head and the tall, athletic, unusually dressed young woman. As they entered the café, they were greeted by the owner, Al Sharp, who said, “Got a table right here, folks. Roast beef is good tonight.”

  Frankie, who had never eaten in a café in her life before joining Levy’s crew, had developed some taste. She had sampled some pretty bad food at different restaurants all over upper New York, and when their meal came, she waited until Sol asked a blessing, then sampled the roast beef critically. “This is good.” She smiled. “Not like that shoe leather we had in Elmira.”

  Sol ate hungrily, for he was a man who loved to eat, but he could eat and talk and think at the same time, so he was aware that Frankie was not as cheerful as usual. He kept her entertained until after the dessert was out of the way; then as they sipped the strong black coffee the waitress brought, he said abruptly, “Tonight you’re a little sad, Frankie. Wot’s the trouble?”

  “Oh…nothing!” Frankie looked up quickly, drawn out of her thoughts by the question.

  “Now you think old Sol don’t know about you? After all these months?” A fond smile touched his lips as he said, “You don’t know I can read minds?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly!”

  “Silly? I’ll show you, den, what it is that’s taken all your sparkle.” He leaned forward and whispered, “Right now, Frankie, you are thinking: I wonder what in the world I’ll do with myself now that the job is over.” He laughed aloud then, for the girl had blinked with astonishment, her jaw dropping. “Oi!” he cackled, pleased that he had surprised her. “Maybe I go into vaudeville.”

  Frankie smiled, confessing, “I guess I don’t hide my feelings very well, do I? But it’s been such a wonderful time that I…I hate to see it end!”

  Levy leaned back and studied the girl. He had grown very fond of her. His own wife had died twenty years earlier, and they’d had no children. He’d lived alone, throwing himself into his work, but was actually a lonely man. Being a Jew had not helped, for there was much feeling against his race, even in America. He knew hundreds of people all over the country but was close to few of them. He stayed on the road constantly, for there was a restlessness in him that could not be content.

  This young woman had been a challenge to him—and he loved challenges, this short, fat Jew! And he had won! For Frankie had bee
n a jewel that he had polished with loving care. The agents resented her, for he had spent much time with her, not only teaching her about the book business, but just talking. He had introduced her to a better sort of literature than she had known, and he had listened. He was a good listener, and though Frankie never said much about her past, he sensed the tragedy that had driven her alone into the world.

  And he had been vaguely troubled these last weeks, as the end of the tour rushed to meet them. He had been selling books for years, but something in his profession didn’t satisfy him. An idea had been slowly forming in his fertile mind, and now as he sat across from Frankie, he knew that he was going to take a bold step—one that might well be disastrous.

  “I’m a little sad myself, Frankie,” he said slowly.

  “Why, what’s the matter, Mr. Levy?” Frankie was surprised, for in the time she’d known him, the man was always cheerful. But she saw now that he was indeed not smiling in his usual fashion, and there was a sober light in his brown eyes.

  “It’s this terrible war,” Levy answered, shaking his head. “All the killing that’s going to come…I feel so bad about it!” He held his hands palms upward in a helpless gesture. “But what’s an old Jew like me to do? I can’t fight like the young men.”

  “Maybe it won’t come, this war.”

  “Child, it’s here already! The North is raising an enormous army, and the South is armed to the teeth! Any day now the Union army is going to move south, and when they do, there’ll be war.” He looked at her, then asked, “Do you have any relatives—brothers, perhaps—who are of age to fight?”

  “Only one brother, but he’s almost an invalid.”

  “Ah, well, that may be best.” Sol Levy sat there quietly, then said, “I have asked God to tell me what to do, and I think He has told me something.” He smiled abruptly, seeing Frankie’s shocked expression. “Oh, I’m not going crazy or hearing voices, child! But I’ve learned to wait on God since I’ve become a Christian. And now I have waited, and I know what I must do. And it concerns you, Frankie.”