Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (47 page)

 38 

T
hese three ladies have my full authority to sign on the mercantile account, Mr. Mulholland.” Eleanor glanced at Naomi, Marta, and Elena, who all looked lovely in their new dresses sewn by Mrs. Malloy—to whom she owed another payment for services well rendered. “I couldn’t manage without them. And now that we’ve begun renovations on the old courthouse, I’m depending on them even more.”

Mr. Mulholland printed each of the women’s names in the ledger, then turned the book around to face them. “If you three ladies will sign your names right here”—he pointed—“then everything will be in order.”

Each of the women signed, seeming to stand a bit taller as they did.

Outside on the street, Eleanor thanked each of them again. “I couldn’t do this without the three of you. I hope you know that.”

Marta beamed. “When can we see the building again, Miss Braddock?”

“Is the work going well?” Elena asked.

Eleanor glanced down the street in the direction of the old courthouse. Many of the widows and children had been inside as far as the main floor lobby to view the building before the renovation began two weeks ago. Since then, Marcus had declared it unsafe for women and children.

She wondered if he’d intended for that formal edict to include her too, and simply hadn’t admitted as much. She knew that her decision had hurt him, but since the night of the meeting, he’d acted nothing less than the perfect gentleman. And that was the problem. . . .

He was acting. He wasn’t being the friend she hoped he still was—and needed him to be.

“Yesterday, when I was there, Mr. Geoffrey said he and his men are making good progress. He also said that if they can maintain this pace over the next five weeks, then”—Eleanor offered a cautiously optimistic smile—“we might be able to host Christmas dinner there together, instead of eating in shifts like we’re doing now, and like we’ll do next week for Thanksgiving.”

“Oh . . .” Elena beamed. “Christmas together would be
wunderbar
. We could decorate a Yule-tree,
ja
? And maybe
Christkindl
would bring gifts for the children.”

Marta nodded. “It is a hard time of year for so many.” She cast a glance at Naomi, her own smile lessening. “Even more for some.”

Naomi lowered her eyes, but not before Eleanor caught the look the three women exchanged. Naomi had been especially quiet in recent days, but Eleanor had attributed her silence to fatigue and to the long hours they’d both been working. Since the newspaper reported the renovation of the old courthouse, word about the meals—and the home—had spread, and each night dinner was served, more widows and children showed up. Naomi was helping her implement a procedure in which all the names and birthdays of every woman and child were recorded, along with their specific needs.

But Eleanor wondered now if her friend’s silence was due to something else.

“We are going to meet our daughters at Mr. Stover’s building, Miss Braddock,” Marta offered. “And will start dinner for tonight. But first, we will stop to see Gretchen. Three weeks until her baby comes, but already she has pain.”

“Does she need a doctor?” Eleanor asked, alarmed. “There’s a physician in town who has cared for some of the women and children.”

Elena shook her head. “She needs rest, ma’am. But she must keep working.”

“Because if she doesn’t work,” Eleanor continued, having heard the same words from so many of the widows, “she can’t afford to pay rent. And she has not only herself to think about, and the baby, but precious Maggie as well.”

“Naomi has been caring for the little girl at night.” Elena ducked her head when Naomi threw her a look.

“Is that true?” Eleanor glanced beside her.

“She is no trouble, Miss Braddock,” Naomi said softly. “She is a sweet child. And follows Caleb around like a little duckling. But . . . sometimes at night she has trouble sleeping. She is afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Eleanor asked.

“Of being left alone. Bad dreams come and bring thoughts of her mother dying . . . like her father did.”

Well able to imagine the child’s fear of losing a remaining parent, especially at so young an age, Eleanor hurt for Maggie all the more.

The wind gusted, and Eleanor tugged the front of her coat closed.
“Naomi and I will join you shortly. We need to pay Mrs. Malloy a visit to pick up another order of dresses, then stop by the bakery for any day-old bread Mr. Fitch may have. But we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

Marta and Elena linked arms, as was the custom among the German women, and headed down the street. Eleanor and Naomi continued on to the dress shop, which wasn’t far from the old courthouse.

Fall was already giving way to winter, and though she customarily looked forward to the change in seasons, she worried about how these dear women and their children would keep warm.

Earlier in the week, she’d been to see her father but hadn’t gone any farther than the doorway of his room. He hadn’t even seen her. He’d been standing at the window, hand pressed against the pane when Nurse Smith had come along quietly beside her.
“It’s not been
a good day today, Miss Braddock,”
she’d whispered.
“
You might wish to come back later this week.”

Sometimes Eleanor wondered if there would ever again be good days for her father.

She sneaked glances at Naomi walking beside her. “What they said about Maggie . . . Is that why you’ve been so tired lately?”

“It is no bother, Miss Braddock. You know how dear our Maggie is.”

Eleanor nodded. “Perhaps . . . if you think she would, she could stay with me for a night or two. Or more, if that would help.”

Naomi smiled. “You are a kind woman, Miss Braddock. But I believe Caleb and I can—”

Naomi’s pace slowed, and a wary look came over her. Eleanor turned to see what she was staring at . . . and felt as though she’d tripped headlong from one world into another.

“Good day to you, Miss Braddock!”

Tongue-tied, it took Eleanor a moment to react. “Mr. Hockley! W-what a surprise to see you.” Realizing that wasn’t the warmest of welcomes, she tried again. “How are you today?”

“I am quite well, Miss Braddock. And you?”

“I am quite well also, thank you.” If only she could breathe past the knotted tangle at her midsection. She’d had dinner with him twice in as many weeks, but to see him out and about in the world—in
her
world—was jarring.

Remembering her manners, she made introductions, grateful when he tipped his hat to Naomi.

“Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Lebenstein.”

“You as well, Mr. Hockley.”

Eleanor didn’t miss Naomi’s quizzical look. “Mrs. Lebenstein is not
only a co-worker, Mr. Hockley, she’s also a dear friend. She’s been most instrumental in coordinating the meals for the widows and children. I couldn’t be facilitating this without her.”

Gratitude softened Naomi’s gaze.

“Excellent to know that, Miss Braddock. It’s wise to have a replacement trained and waiting in the wings.”

Seeing Naomi look at her, Eleanor quickly moved to change the subject. “So what brings you into this part of town, Mr. Hockley?”

“Business, of course. Yours, actually.”

“
Mine?
” Eleanor didn’t even try to hide her surprise.

“Yes, I was at the old courthouse visiting with your architect, Mr. Geoffrey.”

“You . . .
met
with Mr. Geoffrey?”

“Indeed. Nice fellow. Runs a tight ship. I like that.”

“What were you meeting with him about?” Too late, she heard how insistent that had sounded. But apparently, Mr. Hockley hadn’t taken it as such.

“The building beside the old courthouse. The one he purchased last week.”

“Mr. Geoffrey purchased a building?” Eleanor realized she kept repeating what he’d said, but she couldn’t believe it. She knew the building. An old one of plank-wood construction. “For what purpose did he buy it?”

“Frankly, I didn’t ask him. The building itself is worth very little. He told me it was the land he wanted. Something to do with the new home.”

“I see.” But Eleanor didn’t
see
at all. Marcus hadn’t mentioned one word of this to her. If she went over budget because of this . . .

Much to her relief, Mr. Hockley seemed as eager to be on his way as she was to send him, and she and Naomi continued to the dress shop around the corner.

It was all Eleanor could do not to march over to the new home right that minute and ask Marcus what on
earth
he thought he was doing purchasing land. But she couldn’t leave all the errands to Naomi—who had sneaked more than one look in her direction in recent minutes.

Hoping to avoid that conversation for as long as possible, Eleanor opened the door to the dress shop, the bell jangling overhead.

“Miss Braddock, Mrs. Lebenstein . . .” Rebecca Malloy stepped from behind the counter, her smile communicating she was happy to see them. “Good day to you, ladies.”

“Good day, Mrs. Malloy!” Eleanor withdrew the envelope from
her reticule, doing her best to keep her frustration to herself. “We’ve stopped by to pick up the new order of dresses and”—she held out the payment—“to give you this.”

Mrs. Malloy accepted the envelope, fingering it thoughtfully before looking back at Eleanor. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Braddock, for bringing me this work. Business was so slow for a while, I was afraid I would have to close my shop. But, thanks to you, my days are full and productive again. And word is spreading among the women on this side of town.”

Eleanor briefly touched her hand. “It’s we who are grateful to you, Mrs. Malloy.”

“Yes,” Naomi chimed in, opening her coat to show off her new dress. “It is so many years since I have a dress so nice.”

Mrs. Malloy beamed, then held up a hand. “I have your next order ready. Give me a moment to wrap it, and I’ll be right back.”

As soon as Mrs. Malloy disappeared into the back room, Eleanor checked her chatelaine watch affixed to her waistband, hoping Marcus would still be at the old courthouse when she got there, and hearing Aunt Adelicia’s voice so clearly in her head.
“The league has
been most generous, Eleanor. Please be mindful of that generosity
and do not exceed the allocated budget.”

Eleanor let out a sigh.

“If you want to go now and speak with him, Miss Braddock, I can manage the dresses on my own.”

Seeing the knowing look on Naomi’s face, Eleanor knew better than to try to pretend. “No, I’m fine. I’ll stay and help. But if I go over budget on this building, Naomi . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t let that happen. I simply can’t.”

“Mr. Geoffrey, he knows that. He is a man of business,
ja
?”

“
Ja
,” Eleanor whispered. “
Und ein sehr
guter
.” And a good one.

Naomi raised an approving eyebrow. “Your accent is improving.”

Eleanor managed a smile, while realizing Naomi didn’t understand how much Marcus had wanted to construct his own building instead of renovating the mayor’s old hand-me-downs, as he’d offhandedly commented the other day.

“Mr. Geoffrey, he is also”—Naomi eyed her—“a friend to you,
ja
? A very . . . good friend.”

Catching the lilt in Naomi’s voice, Eleanor read meaning in her eyes. “No, no.” She shook her head. “Mr. Geoffrey and I are simply friends, Naomi. Nothing more.”

Naomi pursed her lips. “As my precious husband used to say,
“Beste
Freunde machen die besten Liebhaber.”

It took Eleanor a moment to translate what Naomi had said, but when she did—
Best friends make the best lovers—
her face went warm even as color heightened Naomi’s cheeks. They both giggled, but Eleanor quickly sobered.

In light of her rapidly approaching future, she needed to correct her friend’s misassumption. “It is not that way with Mr. Geoffrey and me. We
are
friends.
Just
friends.”

Naomi’s eyes flashed. “For now, maybe. But someday . . .”

“No,” Eleanor said softly. “It can never be that way between us.”