by D. L. Koontz
“I do. You’re attracted to a married man and you’re annoyed by it.”
Libby closed her eyes, struck by Maude’s words. “That sounds so awful and scandalous and—”
“Normal. It sounds normal, Libby. What you do or don’t do about it is what makes the difference.”
“I suppose.”
Maude continued. “You know...you’ve never asked me about my past. About any men in my life.”
Embarrassed, Libby dropped into a chair and studied her friend. “I didn’t want to pry. I figured if you—”
Maude chuckled and showed a stopping hand. “It’s alright. And, it’s one of the things I like about our friendship. It’s not stifling.” She pulled her silver case from her pocket, extracted a cigarette and lit it. “I was in love once. I told you I volunteered for the Red Cross in the war, right? 1917. Before America got involved. Ended up in France. Met another doctor. Fell in love. He was British. Brilliant, funny, full of life. We had three months together. Busy moments working side by side. Down times filled with passion. When you’re caught that close to war’s ugliness, you tend to live life on the edge. Like it’s your moral duty to grab every available pleasure before death claims you.”
Libby grabbed the gold velvet cushion from behind her, and hugged it against her chest. “Must have been surreal.”
Maude nodded and drew a long breath on her cigarette. Exhaled. When she continued, her voice was low and husky. “One night he acted different. Came clean about being married. I was devastated. Furious. Began calling him all sorts of names. Suddenly, our compound was being bombed. In seconds, dead and injured lie everywhere. We raced to the surgical tent and did what we could. I lost sight of him at one point. Next thing I knew, his body was placed on my operating table. He died there. I was left wondering what more might he have told me about the marriage? Would it have mattered? And why had he suddenly told the truth? Did he suspect he was going to die? And, of course, did I do everything I could to help him?” She inhaled again and tipped her head back to exhale, her gaze moving to the ceiling and halting there, as if she were staring at something that challenged her.
“I had no idea.” A choke rose in Libby’s throat.
Maude shrugged. “Now you know why I work with people damaged by the war. I understand the experience, and the guilt of survivors.” Her voice was tight with emotion.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Point is, many people, especially men, are good at omitting information. At telling you only what it takes so they get what they want from you. Libs, you’re a beautiful woman. Now that you’re a widow, you need to practice caution. Don’t trust or believe men so readily.”
Libby’s gaze ranged over the pillow to the patterns on the carpet, at a loss for words. Perhaps Maude was right. Then again, Andrew had been painfully honest with her. She could trust him. And Davis had been honest. She was certain. No, Maude was from another era. She didn’t know that women in the future learned about the battle of the sexes at a much younger age.
Maude moved her feet from the couch to the floor, sat forward, and smudged the remains of her cigarette in an ashtray. “Enough of that. The train leaves at four—”
Startled, Libby asked, “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”
“Back to Cleveland for the winter. I told you the other day. You really have been distracted by the sheriff, haven’t you?”
Libby waved the comment away. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”
“In case you didn’t notice, autumn has arrived.” Maude winked. “Most of the hotel closed this week. Folks have gone home. My patient left yesterday. Not everyone has a heated room and plans to stay here, like you.”
“I hadn’t realized. I’m going to miss you.”
Maude tilted her head. “Look here, why not come along? Even if only for a few weeks. Now is a good time to go before the cold weather arrives with a vengeance. We’ll have a swell time.”
The idea both scared and titillated Libby, but she couldn’t leave now. “Thanks, but maybe later.”
Maude studied her. Libby waited for her to ask what in the world she might have to do, but bless that sweet woman, she didn’t inquire. Yes, theirs was a good friendship. Instead, Maude said, “Then ride along as far as Pittsburgh. You could do a little sightseeing. Some shopping. We’ll take in a show. Getting away would probably do you some good.”
Libby liked the idea. Davis was in Pittsburgh. She could talk to him about Brogan, and report that Andrew hadn’t returned yet. She ought to let him know that someone had been watching her, too. Still, she was about to decline, because greater than her desire to talk to Davis was her need to spend time with Rose and learn what N.C. had said, if anything, about the sheriff. But, she had a thought. “Would you mind if Rose came, too?”
Maude’s smile grew. “Jolly idea. The more the merrier.” She put her hands on her knees and pushed herself to standing. “It might be good to get Rose away from that deputy anyway.”
Libby’s eyebrows rose. “N.C.? You’ve seen them together?”
“Quite a bit. Haven’t you?”
Libby cringed. She’d been too preoccupied to notice.
Maude headed to the door. “I’ll arrange for two round-trip tickets. You two can decide later when you want to return. The hotel shuttle leaves for the train at two o’clock. Will that give you enough time?”
“We’ll be ready.”
“Eat something before we leave. The food on the train is limited and ghastly. And, pack something smart. There’s a vaudeville show in Pittsburgh you might enjoy.” With that, she was gone.
A half-hour later, Libby stood in Jarvis’s office holding a borrowed suitcase and a small wooden hand crate large enough to hold several containers of water. On a hunch she’d gone to his office to ask if the hotel had any abandoned luggage she could use on short notice. Her thought had proven correct and she became the proud temporary owner of a handled crate and a brown leather case, the perfect size for an extended weekend trip. Unfortunately, it didn’t come with wheels and durable lightweight fabric like luggage in the twenty-first century, but she planned to tip porters to tend to her needs on this trip anyway.
The transaction complete, Libby turned to go, but Jarvis halted her with his next statement. “Madame—”
“Libby.”
“Libby,” he said her name like it was the hardest thing he’d ever had to do. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. About a position.”
“You mean for Rose?”
“No, you.” He rubbed his chin, stood and came out from behind his desk. He leaned against the edge of it and folded his arms. “Does that insult you? You seem like an independent, modern young woman so I thought you might be interested in more than...” He swept a hand through the air as though gesturing toward the privileged life outside his office.
“The boring rut of a socialite?”
He tried to hide a grin. “I wouldn’t have worded it quite that way, but yes. You see, Mrs. Henderson, my coordinator for the maids and the restaurant staff, will not be returning. You strike me as a...problem-solver. You’ve displayed a talent for scheduling and finances, as well.”
Because she won a bet and got rid of Martelli?
“The staff likes you.”
But you won’t admit you do too?
“You seem to appreciate the work they do and how arduous it can be. You also have a skill with modern devices, like the telephone.”
This one she couldn’t let go by. “That’s considered a skill?”
Jarvis unfolded his arms, flattened his hands on the desk, and drummed his fingers once. “Perhaps that’s not much of an accomplishment, but you’d be surprised how many of the staff are daunted by the task.” He cleared his throat. “Oliver Kenton tells me you interact well with individuals from all social levels. And, there is your skill with languages. It’s proven quite handy on a number of occasions.”
Foremost, you haven’t seen Davis around here so you
know your initial thoughts of me being a mistress were unfounded.
“The position wouldn’t begin until next year. We train in May, open in June. We operate on a skeleton staff during the winter as there are so few guests. Since you will be living here, it will give you several months to become familiar with the establishment.”
Libby’s thoughts raced again. How could she promise availability when Andrew could return at any time? In that instant, that moment of worrying about him, she suddenly wanted to be cured of the need to continually watch for him. After all these months, she had no energy left for the emotional hope-disappointment-then-hope-again struggle.
She gripped the suitcase handles tighter. “Thank you, Jarvis. May I think about it?”
“Certainly. I’m not going to search in earnest until January. If you have any questions, let me know.”
Libby turned to go.
“Oh, and madame, a telegram arrived for you this morning.”
Later, Libby knocked on Rose’s door. The girl had earlier agreed to accompany Libby on the trip.
“You might want to use a larger case, if you have one,” Libby said, assessing Rose’s small gray valise and her progress in packing.
“This will hold everything, ma’am,” Rose said. “I don’t have much to pack. I am usually in a maid’s outfit, I am.”
“I meant for your purchases. We’ll be shopping at millinery stores and haberdasheries.” Libby sank on the edge of the bed near Rose. “Of course, we can always buy you another bag in Pittsburgh I suppose.”
Rose grimaced and diverted her gaze to a small wooden four-leaf clover that hung from the valise. She began to rub it as she spoke. “I don’t have that kind of money, ma’am. I surely can’t be spending what I have on fabric for myself. I’m coming along to help you, I am. After we get back, I’ll have to make some changes. Maybe get a job in Bedford—”
“A job? You have a job.”
“The hotel has closed for the season.”
“Why does everyone keep telling me that? I don’t mean that job. Yes, you’ll have your position again next year, but meanwhile you have a job as my assistant. My personal companion. You know that I—” She stopped mid-sentence as comprehension hit. “Good gracious, Rose. I forgot to tell you that I’m going to pay you, didn’t I?”
“Ma’am, you don’t have that kind of money.” Rose’s face pinkened.
Libby looked at the telegram clutched in her hand. It was from Thomas St. Clair, saying her investments thus far had more than doubled. General Electric had done particularly well. “Rose, I do have that kind of money. Let me be more clear this time. I would like to pay you to work for me. Like a lady’s companion. You would live right here. I’ll pay for that, of course. I’d expect you to make us both some smart outfits, run errands, look after our rooms, accompany me. If that sounds good to you, then I will pay you the same wages you make as a maid. You’ll get two days off each week. And flexible leave anytime you want it. How does that sound?”
Rose’s jaw fell open and she dropped on the bed as though needing support. “Ma’am, you’ll pay for my room, and pay me, and I get two days off each week? That’s too much, it is.”
Libby twisted her lips. She probably could have offered one day off per week and secured just as much interest from Rose, but no, she wanted to be fair. “You can use them to visit your mom.”
“Me mum! I can’t wait to tell her about this. I’ll do that as soon as we get back from Pittsburgh, I will.”
“Does she already know we’re going?”
“Yes, ma’am, I paid the front desk earlier to telephone the pastor of our church. He promised to drop by and tell her.”
Libby was quiet a moment, startled by how many people had to be involved in delivering a message to Rose’s mother. She couldn’t change that situation much on the receiving end, but she certainly could make it easier on this end. “Make that your first task when you get back. Look into having a telephone installed. For our use. There’s no sense going in search of one every time we want to place a call.”
Rose’s sprang to her feet. “Oh yes, ma’am, I’ll cross me fingers for luck on it, I will.”
“If this works out, you may have N.C. call you here. It might be easier to make plans that way.” Libby eyed Rose closely to gauge her reaction.
Rose blushed even more. “He’s just a friend, ma’am.”
Libby grinned. “But you enjoy his company?”
Rose looked away and busied herself by stuffing her folded clothes into her valise. “He’s funny. A gentleman.” She brightened. “He has cold hands.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.”
“Oh, it is. Warm hands, cold heart. But cold hands, warm heart.”
“Ah.” Libby couldn’t think what to add to that bit of superstitious logic. She leaned closer and helped Rose fold the few items she had yet to pack. “Does he ever say anything about Sheriff Harrow?” She gave it her best effort to sound nonchalant.
“What do you mean?”
“You know... what sort of man he is. I know he has a wife. Any children?”
“Not yet, but she’s with child now, she is. Due in six months.”
Libby looked away. “I see.”
“But, it’s such a sad situation.” Rose buckled the strap on her valise.
“How so?” Libby forced a blank face.
“It’s just that N.C. speaks so highly of the sheriff. Says he can’t do enough for people. Always helping out, he is. Knows everyone by name. Polices the town fairly. Treats everyone equal. But...”
“But?” Goodness, would Rose never get to the point?
Rose looked around which struck Libby as odd since they were alone in the room. When the girl spoke again, it was in a whisper. “Well, ma’am, it’s his wife. Gretchen’s her name. She’s much younger than him and, well, I guess she’s not very happy. Not exactly faithful, if ya know what I mean.” Rose’s eyes grew big and she thrust a hand over her mouth, looking like she wished she could stuff the words back in.
So the handsome sheriff had married a much younger woman, a hot little number that didn’t like being tied down? Libby noticed Rose’s discomfort and deduced the rest of the saga in her head. That the paternity of Gretchen’s baby was uncertain. Rose was just too sweet and circumspect to voice it.
Libby tugged Rose’s hand from her face. “Don’t be silly. It’s just me. I’m paying you for your honesty and discretion.”
Rose thought about that and visibly relaxed. “’Course it don’t matter much anyway ’cause she’s been sick lately. Real sick. So she’s not been healthy enough to do much running around.”
Libby left the room feeling dizzy.
Five hours later the three women stood outside the station as a low hum sounded and grew, finally turning into a roar when the train rumbled in from the east. Once the engine had passed, the line of four passenger cars slowly came to a halt, bracketing the platform. Behind the string of carriers, a half-dozen boxcars extended down the track, beyond the edges of the station.
“They’re putting our luggage on,” Rose said as she stretched to look down the line to the last compartment.
Maude and Libby turned to look, too.
“I can’t believe how much water you packed,” Maude quipped to Libby when she eyed the bags again. “They do have water in Pittsburgh, you know.”
Libby shrugged. I need my memory back. “I have a sensitive stomach right now.”
At ten minutes until four, the three women boarded, found their seats, and settled in. It smelled of disinfectant, tobacco, and stale heat. Libby could feel the vibration of the train beneath her feet, see the dust mites dance in the sunlight streaming in.
After the departure whistle sounded, the train pulled forward with a shudder, its iron wheels squealing. Maude leaned sideways and peered past Libby through the window. Her gaze sharpened in focus, graduating from a glance to a glare. Libby was about to comment when her friend spoke. “Do you know that man?” Mau
de pointed toward the east end of the platform. “The one in the black hat?”
Libby caught the briefest glimpse of a figure turning his back to them. From the distance it was hard to judge height before he disappeared into the shadows.
“Oh! He left,” Maude said. “He must have seen me pointing.”
Rose emitted a sound of disappointment. “I missed him. Sorry ma’am.”
“Me, too,” Libby added.
Maude said, “I couldn’t see his face. He wore his hat low and hid behind a newspaper.”
“Hid?”
“That’s what it looked like. I saw him watching you earlier, too. I didn’t think much of it, men being men, but when you went to the ticket counter, you know, when Rose and I stayed with the luggage, his gaze tracked your every movement.”
Libby shifted in the lumpy velvet seat as the train cleared the long platform roof and moved into the sun-filled landscape. She tried to act nonplussed, interested in the moving tableau outside the window. Could this be the man outside her room late one night? Or, pale man? He was about that size. And, had he watched her deposit Hardin in the water? She gripped her small purse, careful not to let the other two women know she was feeling for confirmation of the pistol within.
In her peripheral vision, Libby saw Maude staring at her with expectation as the train picked up speed. “I guess I have one of those faces that look familiar,” she quipped. “Now, let’s talk about our plans for this trip.”
Pittsburgh was both a surprise and a disappointment. Libby’s first impression was of a city of hills and rivers, with a metropolis—at least, compared to Bedford—tucked in between. The streets were alive with porters blowing whistles, hawkers shouting prices, shoppers patronizing businesses, newspaper kiosks, street vendors, shoeshine stands, and drivers disregarding the few (and new-looking) traffic lights. Large motorcars and even larger trucks fronted with protruding bug-eye headlights pushed past horse-drawn buggies and farm carts. The downtown buildings were four and five stories high, and surrounded in all directions with train tracks and one- and two-story houses. By far, the establishments advertised names suggestive of Scot-Irish and German origins.