Band of Sisters (39 page)

“I’m simply asking you to explain, Curtis. That’s little enough under the circumstances, don’t you agree?”

“Certainly, and I’ll gladly explain everything when I’m able. But I cannot put you or Dorothy in the position of knowing more than is good for either of you to know now.” He kept his voice low, and she matched it.

“Good for us? Is Maureen in some sort of danger?”

“She’s not in danger if she’s with you—but living alone, in that filthy tenement, is out of the question.”

Olivia wouldn’t let him off so easily. “I understand from Dorothy that you are now the proud owner of that filthy tenement.”

“Then you can imagine why I don’t think it a fitting place for your friend.”

The waiter brought their first course, refilled their wineglasses, and stepped away.

“Dorothy also told me that you’ve been spending a great deal of time with Drake this week—business trips out of town. She said he’s very pleased with your further investments.”

Curtis did not answer but cut his meat with precision.

“And yet he refuses to discuss the details with her.” Olivia waited.

Curtis raised his eyes to hers, then glanced away and down again to his plate. She saw the muscles of his jaw tighten. “Interesting that he mentioned my purchase of the tenement, nevertheless. I didn’t realize that Drake normally consults his wife in his business dealings.”

“He doesn’t,” Olivia admitted. “Someone delivered a group of leases to their home. Dorothy recognized the address because I’d told her the street Katie Rose gave me—the address of the apartment she and Maureen shared.”

Curtis’s shoulders relaxed. “I understand why Dorothy might question me or my methods. But I’m not the one Dorothy—or you—shouldn’t trust.”

Olivia could make no sense of Curtis’s double-talk. “Do you mean Drake? If you do—”

“Please, Olivia.” He reached for her hand but she pulled back. “Don’t ask me now. I promise to explain when I’m able, and I vow that what I do puts neither you nor Dorothy at risk. But you must keep all this to yourself for the present. There’s too much at stake for—” He stopped midsentence.

Olivia had never considered Curtis melodramatic. The earnest plea in his eyes told her that she should not now.

“Two weeks, that’s all I ask. Everything I need to do can be accomplished in two weeks. And then I promise to explain everything.”

Olivia prayed for the right words. “Curtis, I’ve spent a great deal of time in your company these past weeks.”

“And I have cherished every moment.” His eyes spoke sincerity.

“I have to ask . . . I think I have a right to ask, based on all we’ve shared—”

“You have every right, and because of all we have shared, I beg you not to ask—not now—but to trust me.”

She bit her lip. “I must ask,” she persisted, “if what you’re doing, whatever it is that you’re planning to do . . . is it what you believe Jesus would do?”

Curtis took her hands in his, not allowing her to pull away this time. “On my life, I believe that the Lord has brought me to this place to accomplish this purpose. On my life, I don’t know if Jesus would do what I am about to do in the way I see to do it. But I know that I do this for the good of those who cannot speak for themselves. To protect God’s little ones from the menace of predators who deserve to have a millstone slung about their necks.”

“And be ‘drowned in the depth of the sea.’” Olivia’s breath caught in her throat as she quoted the last of the Scripture.
Not the answer I expected.

She pulled her hands away, trying in vain to decipher whatever cryptic message he intended. Then she sighed softly. “I’ll prepare a room for Maureen.”

“I don’t believe she’ll be there long. But when she leaves, you mustn’t let on that she’s working for me or that we’re in any way connected. In fact, it might be best if everyone thinks she’s staying on with you.”

“Will she be safe?”

“As safe as I can make her.”

Olivia left their luncheon with little satisfaction, but having made the unsettling choice to trust Curtis as well as the small inner voice that persuaded her.

The days at Darcy’s passed slowly. Sequestered in the stockroom, Maureen had no opportunity to observe the comings and goings of those using the elevator or visitors on the sales floor. And she heard nothing from Curtis. She might have believed that he’d forgotten her or that she’d imagined the entire conversation, except that each morning and evening she glimpsed Joshua faithfully following her, watching from a distance. The comfort it gave her to be watched over made walking to and from work in the bitter January cold her most pleasant time of day—that, adequate food, and the knowledge that she could pay her rent made the days pass more quickly.

Thursday night, Joshua passed her in the street, dropped a small brown paper package tied with string at her feet, nearly tripping her, then stooped to pick it up. “Begging your pardon, miss—my clumsiness.” He tipped his hat and handed her the package as though she’d dropped it, then went his way.

Maureen was startled, especially by the sudden nearness of him, but played along. She could hardly wait until she reached her flat to pull the string and unwrap the small square box.

“Banbury tarts! Wherever did he find them?” She smiled.
A little worse for slamming on the ground, but no doubt just as tasty. When did I ever receive such a gift?

Beneath the tarts was an envelope. Maureen pulled the notepaper from its hiding place.

My dear Miss O’Reilly,

Tomorrow morning, make a scene on the sales floor of Darcy’s that no one there will soon forget. Complain about your unfair treatment—whatever you wish—but make certain you are fired or quit on the spot. Proclaim loudly that you’ve been offered a home with Olivia Wakefield whenever you want and that you intend to take her up on that offer. Under no circumstances allow yourself to be alone with anyone from management.

Go directly to Morningside. Olivia expects you. Our mutual friend will collect your trunk.

Confide in no one.

Curtis Morrow

Maureen folded the letter, slipped it into the envelope, and placed it in her purse.

Katie Rose—I’ll be with Katie Rose!
And then she sobered.
But will Katie Rose want to be with me? Will she want me with her at Morningside? Will Olivia want me after the way I’ve treated her in front of her friends? And what’s happened to make Curtis ask this?

Maureen’s heart beat steadily, faster, glad that something was happening, or about to happen, and at the same time fearful as to what that might mean.
What shall I say at the store tomorrow—and to whom?
She sighed.
High conflict is made for the stage—the last thing I want—and yet it seems that I’m forever on its sudden end.

She looked round the sparsely furnished flat, mindful of how little there was to show she’d ever been there, and mindful that no matter how pitiful the room might seem to another, at least she’d been safe.
And that is beauty of its own.

She rubbed her arms against the cold and drew a case from beneath the bed, pulling her extra clothes and the few things she’d brought from Ireland from their pegs. Among them she tucked her teakettle, the iron skillet she’d bought when first moving in, and Mrs. Melkford’s Bible. She’d opened it only once to read, but she’d not consider leaving it behind.

She pulled Curtis’s letter from its envelope again.
What if someone finds it?
She lifted the lid of the stove but hesitated, undecided.
What if he’s not all he says? What if I need proof that he told me to do this?
Maureen bit her lip, remembering the devastation she’d felt at Drake’s burning of Colonel Wakefield’s letter to her father.
But Curtis is not Drake.

Should I trust him? Joshua trusts him.

She thought of Joshua, of how he’d appeared outside the nickelodeon at just the moment Jaime Flynn had preyed upon Katie Rose. She thought of the next morning, when Joshua had appeared again, sandwich and apple in hand, and fed her body and soul in his caring.

That knowin’ and helpin’ at just the desperate moment, that trustin’ that he’s chosen wisely, it’s not all Joshua’s doin’, is it? He’s a good man, but just a man.

She swallowed, remembering the still, small voice that had directed her steps more than once. “So You’re there, then, Father God?”

She drew her breath and lifted the stove lid.

Is this faith?
And she dropped the letter into the flames.

A frigid drizzle stalked Maureen through the slippery city blocks to Darcy’s Department Store the next morning. Even so, she could not convince herself that her knees shook from the cold.

She hung her dripping cloak and nearly empty rain-soaked purse on the peg in the staff room, knowing they wouldn’t dry before noon. But she would don them wet rather than stay the entire day. She’d not decided just how she would stage her dramatic exit, only knew that as a stand for liberation and a thumb in the face of her oppressors, she would buy her lunch as a free woman from the frankfurter vendor on the street. No matter that it rained or snowed, he would be there to gain his livelihood. She drew in her breath, trusting Curtis that she, too, would find a new means of sustaining herself.

Maureen had run five sales slips and change up and down the steps before she saw Mrs. Gordon on the main floor, making her rounds.

It was barely ten thirty, but Maureen was weary from too little sleep, no breakfast that would stay down, and her cold walk. She stood at the top of the stairs and looked mournfully over the sales floor. She steadied herself against the banister and watched for a moment the clerk who’d taken her place behind the hat counter, lamely displaying a hat to a customer.
I was a shopgirl—a good one, for that little while. It wasn’t fair, them pushin’ me out and down the stairs.
She swallowed.
How is it that I’m slow to leave what isn’t good for me? That counter with Alice was a little taste of heaven—at first. My first real job. But you’re not here now, are you, Alice? Oh, where are you?
Maureen blinked back the pools that threatened to well.

“Miss O’Reilly.” Mrs. Gordon stood suddenly behind Maureen and whispered sternly, “Move along to your duties.”

Maureen, startled from her reverie, turned to face Mrs. Gordon. “Move along?” she repeated.

“Yes, of course! Get back to your duties below stairs,” she hissed.

Maureen knew the woman whispered for the sake of customers on the floor. She glanced round, noting that the store was busy once again, having survived the early January slump. She also realized that a few of the clerks were new.
New clerks, who don’t know the job nearly so well as I did! Who probably can’t eye a lady’s hat to fit her suit nearly so ably.

“I think I’ve served below stairs long enough as punishment for something I didn’t do,” Maureen said quietly.

Mrs. Gordon blinked as though she’d not heard clearly. “What did you say?”

This is it. This is how it will go. I’d not planned it like this, but here it is.
Maureen drew herself to her full height. She spoke clearly, loudly enough that she knew her voice would carry to the front of the store. “I said that I’ve been punished below stairs long enough for somethin’ I didn’t do. I’m ready to resume my duties on the sales floor—immediately and at full pay.”

“How dare you!” Mrs. Gordon kept her voice low. “Get downstairs immediately if you value your job at all!”

“I did value my job—when it was the job I was hired to do. Work I did well.” A thrill ran through Maureen’s heart as she stood tall. “I’ve been insulted too long by you and by that filthy little Kreegle man who tries to fondle the salesgirls. I’ll return to my counter now, if you please.”

A dozen pairs of wide eyes fastened on the two women, and Maureen waited.
It’s a dare, but however she takes it, I’ll win. Win if she gives me the counter after all, or win if she fires me and I really do work for Curtis. What will it be, Old Blood and Thunder?