Plain City Bridesmaids

by Dianne Christner

  She worried her lip. “Oh fine.” She started typing, surprised when her keyboard ability returned easily:

  Need housecleaning jov,

  “Oops.” She backspaced and typed again:

  job, one or two days a week. Experienced with references.

  She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Now what?”

  He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You need to type in my e-mail address.”

  “You have e-mail?” she snapped, instantly regretting her judgmental tone when she felt his hands tense in frustration. “Never mind. Give it to me.” She typed it into the appropriate space. “Guess you’re now my agent.”

  He gently kneaded her shoulders and whispered, “That and anything else you allow me to be.”

  His patience struck her. He was waiting for her to express her trust, her love. He was also waiting for her to initiate their next kiss. He could have stolen one earlier when they were stargazing, but he hadn’t. For years, Jake had carried the knowledge that Katy wanted to marry him—she had blurted it out to Lil at age ten—but now he had become the uncertain one.

  She grinned. “I like that.” Katy filled in a few more spaces and took in a deep breath, hovering the mouse over the SEND button. “You’re sure I should do this?”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “Yes.”

  “Here goes.” She hit SEND. “I did it!” She threw up her arms.

  “And now the job offers will come rolling in,” he teased. “So will the money.”

  “Ready for cookies?” Ann asked, stepping into the room.

  Katy turned and rose from the chair. “Yes, they smell delicious. But do you mind if we eat them downstairs? We’re finished here.”

  “Those look delicious,” Jake said, then leaned over his computer and placed it in sleep mode.

  “Yes, let’s go downstairs.” Ann gave a relieved smile.

  As they followed her down the stairs, Katy basked in the approval she’d seen in Ann’s eyes. It wasn’t that Jake’s family was hard to please, but just that she’d already made so many mistakes. She prayed that placing that ad on the Internet would not be another one.

  Katy was cleaning at the retirement center for Mrs. Kline when she felt her apron pocket vibrate. Setting aside her dusting mop, she punched a button and placed her phone to her ear. “Oh hi, Jake.”

  “You want to be a working woman?”

  She chuckled. “I am one. I’m working right now.”

  “I mean every day.”

  Excitement coursed through her veins and quickened her pulse. “Someone answered my ad?”

  “You have three replies. Want me to read them to you?”

  She gave a happy sigh, as she imagined him sitting at his computer, his broad shoulders bent over his desk while working on her behalf—a rakish agent with his tousled hair and lopsided grin. “Yes.”

  “ ‘Elderly woman needs a housekeeper for two days a week. Small house. Can pay $12 an hour. Barbara White.’ And she leaves her phone number.”

  Katy found a pen and pad on Mrs. Kline’s desk and scribbled the information. “Interesting that she needs two days with a small house. Okay next.”

  “ ‘Can hire for one day a week at $10. Widower with three children. Harry Chalmers.’ ”

  “Not as appealing.” But she jotted down his information anyway. “Go on.”

  “ ‘Looking for housekeeper. Can pay good.’ No phone number. You’ll have to e-mail that one back to get more information.”

  “Great, thanks,” Katy said. “So what are you doing home in the middle of the day?”

  “Figuring a blueprint. Pricing a job. A referral from Mr. Weaver.”

  “That’s good. Guess we better both get back to work. Thanks for the information.”

  “You bet.”

  As Katy slipped her phone back inside her apron pocket, she read over her notes. She would start with Barbara. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned someone sweet and kind like Mrs. Beverly, who had moved to Florida.

  CHAPTER 32

  Katy stared at Barbara White’s tiny home in a downtown section of Columbus. The weeds thrived, but the grass was scarce. Nothing like Mrs. Beverly’s picture-perfect, country club home, but Katy tried not to judge Mrs. White by her home’s exterior. Maybe she was too old to do any gardening.

  Through burning eyes, Katy observed that, indeed, Mrs. White was stooped, and her overall impression of the job didn’t improve when she was bombarded with a strong odor of cat urine.

  “Come and sit. We’ll have tea.” A large-boned, top-heavy woman led her across the living room’s dirty carpet. The coffee table was laden with stacks of glued jigsaw puzzles. Boxes of unsolved puzzles filled every corner. A calico cat sat in a sunbeam, using its claws on a threadbare sofa.

  Wide-eyed and venturing with trepidation into the kitchen, Katy was motioned toward a chair. The table had puzzle pieces spread over its surface. The sink held unwashed dishes.

  Katy’s stomach clenched at the idea of taking tea in the midst of such filth and rank odor. Trying to keep her nose from wrinkling, she asked, “Have you had a housekeeper before?”

  Barbara straightened a few inches from her bent position and let out an uproarious bout of laughter. Then she brushed at the air in front of her face. “Does it look like it? I wouldn’t be looking for one now except my kids threatened to put me in a retirement center if I don’t”—she twisted her lips in a snarl—“meet their high and mighty expectations.” Then she smiled, again. “Chamomile or Licorice?”

  “Chamomile.”

  Barbara eyed Katy’s covering. “Figured you for that sort.”

  The older woman lifted a grimy teapot from a white cookstove cluttered with pots and crusty spatulas, allowing time for Katy to assess the room. Besides the dirty dishes, filthy hairballs covered the floor, and her chair felt sticky. Something touched her leg, and she jumped. Then she heard a purr and looked down at a Siamese cat that wove in and out between her chair and her legs. She gasped when a large white Persian jumped from the floor onto the counter.

  “Stay away, Goblin. Stove’s hot.” Barbara scooped up the cat in her arms, patting its fluffy head, shuffled a few steps, and dropped the cat. White hair floated down over the stove and teapot. “She’s white like a ghost, but I liked the sound of Goblin better. Catchy, don’t you think?”

  “Scary.” Katy nibbled her lip. She nudged the Siamese away from her ankle and, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, stood. “How many cats do you have?”

  Barbara’s gaze skittered nervously from the Siamese to Katy. “Only three. And Sergeant spends most of his time outside. They’re sweet little kitties. You’ll see.”

  “This isn’t going to work out for me.”

  “I expect it’s the smell scaring you off, but if you keep up the litter box more regular than I do, that should fix that problem. I can’t smell it, but my daughter says it’s bad.”

  “I’m sorry.” Katy shook her head and started toward the door. She wasn’t going to get herself in a fix like she had with Tammy. She would nip this disastrous job opportunity in the bud.

  Barbara clambered after her, huffing by the time they reached the entryway. “You didn’t even give me a chance to ask you any questions. I thought the one doing the hiring was supposed to ask the questions. I ain’t so sure I want some Amish person working for me anyway. You didn’t mention that in the ad.”

  “I’m Mennonite. Don’t forget about your teapot, Barbara.”

  With that Katy turned and opened the door. With a gasp, she reached down and caught the white cat just before it escaped and pushed it back inside. Behind her, she heard Barbara say, “What a shame. I liked her, Goblin. The kids ain’t gonna be happy about this, either.”

  Katy regretted not being able to help Barbara, but there was no trying to fool herself. She was too fussy to fit in with the woman and her cats. And this had seemed like the best opportunity of the three replies.

  Katy glanced across the truck’s cab at J
ake and gave a tremulous smile. After a few e-mails, they had discovered the third response to Katy’s ad was a dud that ended up flooding his computer with spam. This added to her apprehensions about the entire Internet process and also about her interviewing with complete strangers.

  Playing it safe with the widower, they had scheduled the last interview for a Saturday so that Jake could accompany Katy. Now his truck braked in front of a multilevel house in a nice neighborhood with huge lots.

  “Wow.” She leaned forward to look past Jake. She’d never cleaned such a large, beautiful home. Surely Harry Chalmers could afford more than ten dollars an hour. She determined right then she’d ask for more. Then she remembered how Jake wanted to build better homes at more affordable prices and felt ashamed over her greed. But she quickly rationalized that, after all, she needed to be able to afford her expenses.

  They opened an entry gate and walked up a long brick sidewalk flanked by camellia bushes with white blooms. Jake rang the doorbell.

  They heard rattling on the other side of the door. Then little footsteps and a youngster yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!”

  When the door opened, a tall, good-looking man in jeans and a polo shirt greeted them. One of his hands rested on the red head of a preschool-age boy. Harry Chalmers glanced at Jake and then at Katy’s covering. His eyes crinkled. “You’re Katy?”

  She made the introductions, explaining that she’d brought Jake along as her escort.

  “With the way the world is today, I totally understand. Come in.”

  The entryway was impressive, two stories high with an iron-and-glass chandelier hanging from a domed ceiling. There were two armchairs, a table, and a large mirror. She looked up at the chandelier and wondered how she’d ever clean it. They went into a large great room and sat in dark leather furniture that was grouped around a fireplace and entertainment area. Katy had never seen such a huge television. The room was dusty, but not as cluttered as Tammy’s home usually was.

  Her gaze rested on the little red-haired boy who was still plastered against his dad. The child’s stare had never left Katy.

  She placed her references on the coffee table that separated them and folded her hands on her dark skirt. Harry Chalmers briefly scanned the page and nodded. “I just need the normal stuff. I don’t even know what that is. I haven’t done any cleaning since—” He broke off. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I hate the house like this.”

  It seemed his loss was recent. Katy gladdened to hear that he was the type who would keep things orderly. “I could clean your house in one day, but it would be a long day, and I’d need to rotate some of the cleaning. But $10 is low for this size of house.”

  He studied her, his gaze slowly raking over her entire body as if trying to decide if she was worth the money. She tensed, instinctively knowing that he was using the wrong gauge. The uncomfortable moment was broken when an older girl, about Addison’s age, called down from the stairway, “Is Mommy here yet?”

  Harry’s face colored. “Not yet, sweetie.”

  The little red-haired girl started down, one small hand gliding along the wood hand railing, the other dragging a wheeled, pink-handled backpack behind her, allowing it to bump awkwardly on each step.

  Katy considered the implications of the little girl’s question. Had her interviewer been married twice? She searched his face and then quickly scanned the room for photos, trying to piece the puzzle together.

  Next, the doorbell chimed.

  “Excuse me.” Harry Chalmers rose. His son took a fearful look at Jake and churned his little legs, running after his dad.

  Once the family had left the room, Katy looked at Jake and shrugged. He seemed as uneasy as she. From the entryway, angry voices carried into the great room. Jake patted her hand. The voices escalated.

  “But I want to go with Mommy, too,” the little boy begged.

  “No, it’s not your turn today.”

  Then an older boy, whom they hadn’t seen yet, entered the room from the direction of the entryway. He was almost as tall as his father and wore jeans and a black T-shirt. He was using an iPod and halted when he saw them sitting on the couch. Then he hitched up his backpack and strode past them with a curious look. Once he reached the stairway, he bounded up to the second level and disappeared, but Katy heard him slam a door.

  The situation grew increasingly uncomfortable with Harry and the children’s mother still arguing in the entryway. The little boy increased his cries whenever his parents allowed a silent moment. It seemed Harry wanted her to take all the children at the same time, and she wanted to spend quality time with each one. Harry claimed she just wanted to make it hard for him to have any time to go out with his friends. He accused her of being jealous of his secretary and trying to control his life. He didn’t sound like a grieving widower. Their youngest son’s cries suddenly drowned out their conversation.

  Jake squeezed her hand. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered back. “We can’t leave; they’re blocking the entrance.”

  “Let’s wait.” His Dutch accent thickened. “Maybe Chalmers will enlighten us about his personal situation. Otherwise, this is not the job for you.”

  Before Katy could decide if Jake was overstepping his bounds by saying the job was not for her, Harry rejoined them, carrying his son. The little boy struggled in his father’s arms, his face tear-streaked. When the boy calmed a bit, Harry gave Katy a sheepish grin. “Sorry about all that.” Then his voice hardened. “She’s such a—” But his voice broke off, as if he suddenly realized he didn’t want to speak harshly of the woman in front of his son. Or perhaps in front of strangers, for the couple had been arguing in front of the children. Shoulders slumped, he tenderly patted the little boy’s back.

  When she felt Harry intended to let the matter drop, Katy withdrew her hand from Jake’s and squared her shoulders. “Normally, I don’t pry into personal affairs, but under the circumstances … well your ad stated you were a widower.”

  Harry placed his son on the floor and ruffled his hair. “Your brother’s home. Why don’t you scoot up and say hi?”

  The boy nodded and tramped partway upstairs. Then he turned back and jutted his lower lip out. “I wanted to go with Mommy.” He swiped his forearm across his eyes and sullenly went up the stairs.

  With a sigh, Harry sank back onto the sofa. “Okay, look. I’m not a widower. I’m divorced. I haven’t been having any luck getting a housekeeper. I just thought if I implied I was a widower, it might help. I can’t afford an agency. The divorce really cost me. I’m a good guy. You’d be safe working here. We need help. But I can only pay ten dollars.”

  Katy met Harry’s gaze, unswayed by his sentimental act. “Implied? You gave me false information.”

  “I just thought that once you met me, you’d see I was a good guy.”

  She narrowed her eyes, wondering if that was what his secretary thought. Then she snatched her references off the coffee table and stood. Jake quickly jumped to his feet, and reassuringly, touched her elbow.

  “I can’t accept the position,” Katy said. “It’s not about the money anymore. But if you lied to me once, I don’t feel I can trust you.”

  “But you can trust me.”

  Did all men think trust could be earned so flippantly? She wanted to add that she didn’t like the way he’d looked her over, either. Instead, she said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Chalmers.”

  He rose, following them to the door. “You’re sure? I wouldn’t even be here. The kids, either. You’d have the place entirely to yourself.”

  She hesitated. That did sound inviting. Her gaze swept over the grand entry, taking in the elegant furnishings and marble floor, but her heart sank when she felt uneasiness in her stomach and recognized the little warning voice. This time she listened to it. “I’m sorry.”

  Chalmers opened the door, and they stepped into the sunny March afternoon. Jake matched her hurried strides.

  “Good
choice. I didn’t like him,” he said. “I didn’t like the way he looked at you. Especially after what his ex said about his secretary.” So she hadn’t imagined that. But while Jake intended to show his support, he made her feel worse, reminding her of how deceptive a man could be. This new peek into the outsiders’ ways disturbed her peace of mind.

  Jake opened the truck door for her, and she climbed up into the cab. As soon as he jumped up and seated himself behind the wheel, he went on, “We’ll put another ad online. I know there’s the perfect job out there for you.”

  “No. This isn’t working out.”

  Jake turned the key, and his truck rumbled to life, but he let it idle while he studied Katy. There was an edge to the tone of her voice that insinuated more than disappointment. She had shot the remark at him as if she were speaking of their relationship and not the computer ad service. As soon as she’d gotten inside the cab, she stiffened her shoulders and clenched her jaw, not looking his way but straight ahead out the windshield. No doubt, she blamed him for owning the computer that set up the failed interview.

  How illogical. He’d only wanted to help her see that she needed to come out of the Dark Ages. He pulled onto the suburban street and glanced over again. Her shoulders had relaxed a bit so he tried to put it as logically as he could manage. “The point of job interviews is weeding out the undesirables. The right one will come along. There was no way of knowing that man was a liar.”

  She turned glittering, brown eyes in his direction. “I should have known. He’s an outsider.”

  Again, her frustration seemed personally directed at him. “That’s rather harsh.”

  “Is it? Or are you so close to … them … that you can’t see the difference anymore?”

  How did Katy always manage to turn everything inside out and hurl it back at him? “But you like your job at the Brooks. There are a lot of good outsiders, Katy. Good jobs waiting for you.”

  Her jaw dropped open momentarily. Then she flew into a passionate protest. “Surely you know how many struggles I’ve had with the Brooks’ job? It’s tested me in every aspect of my faith.”