Secrets of the Heart

by Al Lacy

  As she spoke, Maria went to a small desk on one side of the large vestibule and opened a drawer. “Tell you what, Kathleen,” she said, taking out a sheet of paper, “I’ll write LuAnn a note and tell her I just hired you, and that if she hasn’t already filled the position, she should hire you.”

  Kathleen could hardly believe how well things were going today.

  Maria dipped a pen in the inkwell on the desk and scratched a hasty note. She blotted it, stuffed it into an envelope, and handed it to Kathleen. “Here you are, dear. Just ask for Mrs. Massey when you knock on the door. They have a butler and a cook, but their cleaning lady got married about ten days ago and quit her job.”

  As she ushered Kathleen toward the door, Maria said, “I hope you aren’t getting married anytime soon.”

  “No, ma’am. I don’t even have a beau.”

  “Pretty as you are? That’s hard to believe. All right, Miss Kathleen O’Malley, I’ll see you on Thursday morning at eight o’clock.”

  “You sure will, Mrs. Stallworth. Thank you for giving me the job…and thank you for recommending me to Mrs. Massey.”

  “You are very welcome, dear.”

  Kathleen tried not to limp as she walked toward the street, but she knew it was still obvious if Mrs. Stallworth was watching her. When she passed through the open gate, she looked back and saw Maria standing at the door in spite of the cold air. The woman waved, and Kathleen waved back.

  When Kathleen limped away from 1440 Sunset Drive, a great burden was lifted from her shoulders. LuAnn Massey had hired her on the spot after reading Maria Stallworth’s note. Kathleen would work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday each week at the Massey home. This would give her Sunday to rest up.

  Mrs. Massey said she would pay $1.10 a day since the Stallworths were furnishing Kathleen her uniforms.

  This was a source of even greater encouragement to Kathleen. The use of the uniforms would save her having to buy as many clothes, and the extra ten cents a day over what the Stallworths were paying would help pay the rent for her room.

  Kathleen entered the mercantile store in downtown Chicago where her parents had often gone to buy clothing and shoes. After trying on several pairs of shoes, she remembered that winter was near, and that meant there would be long walks on snow and ice. She decided on a pair of soft leather boots that buttoned up the side in a row of small buttons.

  She left the secondhand shoes for the salesman to throw away and departed the store, wearing her new boots. They were wonderfully comfortable.

  By the time Kathleen arrived at the boardinghouse lunch was over, and Hattie Murphy was washing dishes in the kitchen off the dining room.

  The older woman looked up to see Kathleen limp into the kitchen and broke into a smile. “Hey!” she said. “You got some new boots!”

  “Thanks to you.”

  “You’re back earlier than yesterday,” said Hattie, as she stacked plates on the cupboard next to a tray of clean cups.

  Hattie was small, silver-haired, and about sixty, but Kathleen figured she could outwork the average woman half her age. The older woman wiped her hands on her apron and turned around to look at Kathleen. “Does your early return mean you had success?”

  “Oh, did I ever!”

  “Wonderful, darlin’!” Hattie said, her Irish brogue quite evident in her excitement. “Tell me!”

  Kathleen waggled her head in mock pride, “Well, Mrs. Murphy, you are now looking at the cleaning lady at the mansions of John Michael Stallworth and Ralph Massey!”

  “No-o-o!”

  “Yes! I’m doing the Stallworth house on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And I’m doing the Massey house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays! I get Sundays off…and guess what!”

  “What?”

  “The Stallworths are providing uniforms for me to wear while I’m working both places!”

  Hattie clapped her chubby hands, “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful! This calls for a celebration!”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I have a couple of women here in the boardinghouse who fill in for me, cooking the meals, when I go visit my son and his family in Indianapolis. I’ll have them cook supper for the boarders tonight, and I’ll fix us up a special meal to celebrate your new jobs. A nice big meal! How’s that?”

  “It’s great, Hattie, but I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

  “Trouble! Honey, it’s no trouble. I want to do it. Now, you’ve probably not had any lunch, have you?”

  “No, but if you’re going to prepare a big meal for tonight, I’ll pass. I need to get me a good bath and maybe rest these feet for a while.”

  “Tell you what. My apartment has a nice big bathroom, and a big bathtub. You go get your clean clothes and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  Kathleen felt a special tenderness toward Hattie Murphy, who was filling an empty spot left by her mother. She gazed fondly at the little round woman whose snow white hair was always worn in a perfect bun on top of her head. Her cheeks never lost their rose red color, and her bright blue eyes always had a twinkle.

  “Mrs. Murphy,” said Kathleen, “you’re so good to me. I can never tell you how very much I appreciate you.”

  Hattie’s features flushed. “Go on, now, honey. I’ve got hot water right here. I’ll bring a couple buckets up to my room.”

  “I’ll come back down and help you carry it.”

  “No, you won’t. I’ll have it up there before you get to my door. Go on, now. Get your clean clothes.”

  In the privacy of Hattie’s bathroom, Kathleen sank down into the fragrant hot water and felt the tension of the past several days gradually seep out of her body. Hattie had slipped some kind of perfume into the water, and the sweet aroma filled the room.

  She gave herself a good scrub, then soaped and rinsed her hair. She stayed in the tub to soak, enjoying the knowledge that she had two good jobs and could make herself a decent living. When the water began to cool, Kathleen reluctantly left the tub, dried off, and wrapped the towel around her wet, dripping hair.

  Once she was in her clean undergarments and the robe Hattie had supplied, she stuck her head out and saw the little woman sitting by the fireplace in a rocking chair.

  “Come on out, honey,” Hattie said with a smile. “Dry your hair by the fire.”

  Knowing how long it took to dry her luxuriant head of hair, Kathleen gladly accepted the invitation.

  A half hour later her auburn hair shone beautifully, and she returned to the bathroom to put on her clean dress.

  That afternoon Kathleen took her much-needed rest. At suppertime, she returned to Hattie’s apartment. The little widow was humming an Irish tune when she came to the door to let Kathleen in, and after greeting her, hummed the tune some more.

  Kathleen’s mother used to hum the same tune, but Kathleen couldn’t remember the name of it. The familiar melody shot a keen sense of longing through her.

  “Okay, honey,” said Hattie as they moved into the kitchen, “its just about ready.”

  The kitchen was warm and cheery, and the sweet aroma of Irish stew and soda bread smelled wonderful. Hattie had laid out dinner on a snowy white tablecloth that sufficiently covered the round table.

  “I wish you had let me come down earlier to help you,” Kathleen said.

  “You needed the rest, honey. Those boots doing your feet better than those ol’ shoes?”

  “They sure are. My left heel feels better already.”

  Kathleen talked about her new jobs, and Hattie rejoiced with her. When they had eaten sufficient amounts of stew, the two women topped off the meal with hot tea and gingerbread.

  After cleaning up the dishes, they sat by the fireplace and talked for a while. Soon Kathleen’s head began to nod.

  “Okay, darlin’,” said the widow Murphy, “its time for little girl leprechauns to go to bed.”

  Hattie walked Kathleen to her room, kissed her cheek, and told her good-night.

  A short time later, Kathle
en slid between the crisp, clean sheets and sighed. Things were so much better tonight than they had been the night before. Tomorrow she would begin her job with the Masseys, and on Thursday she would start her job with the Stallworths.

  Though no one was there to see it, a small dimpled smile played on the Irish girls face.

  PETER STALLWORTH WAS ONE of the Great Lakes Railroad Company’s three junior vice presidents, and the youngest at twenty-one. Behind his desk was a large window overlooking Chicago’s downtown area, with a far-off view of Lake Michigan to the east.

  In front of his desk stood the other two junior vice presidents, twenty-eight-year-old Derek Walton, and Jack Ballard, who would turn thirty on his next birthday.

  Peter looked up at them and said, “Really, fellas, you don’t have to say it just because I’m the boss’s son.”

  “We’re not, Peter,” Ballard said. “We’re saying it because it’s the best idea.”

  “Right,” Walton agreed. “Look, Peter, haven’t we already been over this ‘I have to walk on eggs because I’m the boss’s son thing? If my dad owned this company, I’d want to build my career right here, just like you are. Your dad has already proven to all of us that you get no favors because you’re Peter Michael Stallworth. You have to pull your own weight and do your own thinking, just like the rest of us.”

  “And you’ve most certainly done your own thinking on the accounts receivable problem,” said Ballard. “My idea doesn’t come near yours.”

  Walton nodded. “Neither does mine. And for that matter, the other ideas don’t appeal to me like yours does. I think what you’ve come up with will solve the problem of collecting from those customers who’ve been dragging their feet when it comes to paying us for hauling their freight all over the eastern United States. You’re sure going to get my vote.”

  “And mine,” said Ballard. “And from what I’ve heard the other guys say, your idea is getting their votes, too.”

  The handsome man with the sandy hair and cool blue eyes smiled. “You guys sure make it easier on me, I’ll tell you that.”

  “Hey, we know it’s tough enough working for John Stallworth when you eat and sleep under his roof and wear his last name,” said Walton. “Why should we make things tougher for you here? You’re doing a good job, Peter.”

  “Yeah, especially being the youngest officer in the company, and with no help from your dad,” put in Ballard.

  “I don’t want him to help me. If he were to change his approach and decide to help me work up through the ranks just so one day his son could take over his position as chief executive officer, I wouldn’t want the position. I only want what I earn.”

  “Everybody in this company knows that,” said Walton. “That’s why you’ve got so much respect around here.”

  “I appreciate your kind words, guys,” Peter said, rising from his desk and picking up a folder. “I’ll see you in the meeting. Right now I’ve got some papers to deliver to Dan Clayton.”

  Peter’s colleagues returned to their offices, and he headed down the hall. When he approached the door marked “Daniel Clayton, Senior Vice President,” he tapped on the door and waited for permission to enter.

  Instead, Clayton opened the door. “Hey, Peter! Come in!”

  “I have the papers ready on the Fleming Steel account, Dan. If you want to wait till after the meeting to go over them, I can come back then.”

  “Let’s do that,” Clayton said, who at sixty-one was four years older than Peter’s father. “But if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”

  “Sure.” Peter stepped inside.

  Dan closed the door and laid the folder on his desk. He turned to face the younger man and said, “I like your solution on the accounts receivable delinquents. You pick that up at C.I.B., or is that your own masterpiece?”

  Peter had graduated from the Chicago Institute of Business a year early at the head of his class. His father had given him the junior vice president position upon graduation five months ago.

  Peter chuckled. “No, sir, they don’t teach you those kinds of things at C.I.B.”

  “Well, I mean what I say, son, it’s a masterpiece.”

  “Thanks, Dan. You and Derek and Jack have been very encouraging.”

  “Just wanted you to know how I felt, and to tell you your idea will get my vote.”

  “That’s good to know. Well, I’ll head on back to my office and get ready for the meeting. Afterward we’ll come back here and go over those Fleming papers.”

  John Stallworth stood at the large window in the conference room with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at State Street five floors below. Like his only son, he was an inch under six feet and had cool blue eyes and sandy hair, now showing a great deal of gray.

  When his officers began filing through the door, Stallworth pivoted and greeted them with a smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, moving toward the long conference table.

  They greeted him in return, and others came in behind them.

  When Peter entered, sided by Derek Walton and Jack Ballard, John eyed his son furtively, feeling a great swell of pride. Peter’s idea was a colossal one.

  As soon as all the officers had gathered and taken their seats, Stallworth sat down at the head of the table and said, “All right, gendemen. Two weeks ago today I presented you with the nagging problem the Great Lakes Railroad Company has experienced in making collections on delinquent accounts receivable. I asked each of you to come up with a solution that would not harm our image nor send our customers to Illinois Central or one of the other railroad companies.

  “As I told you then, the solution would take some ingenuity on your part. All of you have turned in your ideas to me, and in turn I have had them copied and placed in all of your hands so you could study them. The best thing to do here is take a vote. If we have a tie, or anywhere near it, we’ll discuss the ideas we like the best.”

  Dan Clayton raised his hand.

  “Yes, Mr. Clayton,” Stallworth said.

  Clayton rose to his feet. “Sir, every man here has taken the time to come and share his thoughts with me. I think we can conserve some time if I simply ask one question.”

  “All right, Mr. Clayton, ask these gentlemen your question.”

  Clayton looked around at his colleagues with a smile on his face. “Will everybody in favor of adopting Peter Stallworths collection plan raise your hand?”

  The vote was unanimous.

  Peter’s face reddened at the applause, and he glanced quickly at his father, relieved to see the pleasure on his face.

  The chief executive officer and owner of the Great Lakes Railroad Company said, “Mr. Stallworth, you are to be congratulated. Every man in this room has discussed your plan with me, and we all feel it is the most sensible and by far the most acceptable of all. It meets every criterion I laid down when I asked each of these officers to come up with his own solution. Well done.”

  “May I speak, sir?”

  “Please do.”

  Peter stood up. “Maybe all of you should hold off your congratulations until we see if my plan works!”

  There was laughter all around, then Dan Clayton spoke up. “Peter, you’ve covered every possible loophole. Believe me, it will work. Go ahead and take your bow!”

  There was more laughter and then a twenty-minute discussion on the induction of Peter’s plan into the bookkeeping system. When the assignment went to the comptroller to work it out, the meeting was dismissed.

  On their way out, many of the officers took time to personally congratulate Peter.

  Peter walked with Dan Clayton to the latter’s office, and they proceeded with their work on the Fleming Steel Company account.

  At five o’clock, the officers and employees of the Great Lakes Railroad Company were starting to leave the building. Inside John Stallworths office, Peter looked on as his father shrugged into his overcoat and put on his hat.

  “Son,” Stallworth said, “I c
ouldn’t say this in the meeting, but I’m so proud of you for your good thinking that I’m about to pop my buttons.”

  Peter grinned sheepishly. “Aw, Dad, it wasn’t that big of a thing.”

  “It sure was. It’s going to save this company a lot of money, and part of it is going into your paycheck. As of right now, you’re getting a two-hundred-dollar-a-month raise in salary.”

  Peter grinned wider. “Thanks, Dad. The extra will come in handy for whenever I get married.”

  As they left the office and headed for the stairs, John said, “Speaking of getting married…how are things between you and Harriet?”

  At that moment, two employees came out of the accounting office and greeted both men, then followed on their heels.

  Peter leaned over and whispered, “I’ll fill you in on Harriet when we’re in the carriage.”

  John Stallworth let his son handle the reins as they headed east toward home. Peter seemed a bit preoccupied, so John waited patiently for him to speak.

  The Stallworths were hoping to hear soon that wedding bells were in the offing. Harriet was the daughter of Chicago shipping magnate Clarence Scott. The Scotts lived just a few doors down from the Stallworths, and having Harriet as their daughter-in-law wouldn’t hurt their social standing at all. Plus she was a pretty girl, vivacious, intelligent…and rich. It was only natural that John and Maria would want their son to look her way.

  Peter said nothing for the first ten minutes of the drive, then he glanced at his father and said, “I’ve been trying to think of a way to let you down easy, Dad, but I can’t. So I’ll just tell you how it is with Harriet. I’m not in love with her, and she’s not in love with me. We had a good talk about it on our last date two nights ago.”

  “It was that cut and dried?” said John.

  “Mm-hmm. We agreed that we don’t share the same interests. Our goals are different. She dearly loves opera, it bores me to death. She doesn’t want any children, I do. And I think you and Mom want grandchildren.”

  “Well…ah…yes. We sure do.”

  “And besides, Dad, Harriet has one big problem.”