Circled Heart (17 page)

“Even if it is wrong,” I muttered, making him laugh again.

“Obviously my opinion must be wrong if it differs from yours, but even if it is wrong, it’s still my opinion. I’ll just hang on to it for a while. Now where can we talk about Monday’s plans?” There wasn’t much to talk about because he had it all arranged: employment advertisements posted, sewing machines and work stations in place, electricity and water hooked up, even a telephone line on the second floor. “By the time we have a work force in place, the apartments and the second floor will be plainly furnished. Nothing fancy, you understand, just the basics.”

“Your basics will be more than many of these women have ever seen, Drew. None of us is asking for luxury.”

“Luxury would offend your Puritan conscience, Johanna, so I knew better.”

“I wish I had such a conscience,” I confessed somewhat ruefully. “The truth is I’ve come to enjoy many of the finer things in life and would hate to be without them. My father was raised on the Kansas prairie and often spoke about his pioneer parents and their struggles to make a home and a life. I’m afraid I’m not made of the same stuff as my forebears, too much a city girl and too fond of the bright lights.”

“Maybe you’re just too hard on yourself.”

I shrugged, not wanting to pursue the topic. Truth was, I believed that in some indeterminate way my current situation would be a disappointment to my parents had they lived. My father came from humble roots and worked a long line of menial jobs to pay his way through school. My mother left her big house and well-to-do family behind to live in a two-room shack in a country that eventually killed her, and she did it all cheerfully without complaint. There was none of that willing self-sacrifice in me and I knew it. I liked going home to a meal ready on the table, to a warm, safe bed, to a well-run house where clean, freshly-pressed clothes appeared in my closet and where the pantry was stocked without any effort on my part. I liked my independence and knew it was predicated on an inheritance I had not earned and did not deserve. What little I did for others was a small contribution. I had been given more than I could ever repay.

Drew said my name, calling me back to the conversation. “Where were you just now?”

“Lost in humble and healthy introspection.”

“I wouldn’t have said you were the type for self-abasement.”

“Don’t imagine you know me after so short an acquaintance,” I lectured sternly. “Even a man as practiced as you in the ways of women is capable of being surprised.”

“I couldn’t agree more. Part of your appeal is your ability to surprise me. If you didn’t usually combine it with either an insult or a lecture, I’d find the quality completely charming.” Then he effortlessly brought the conversation back to the employment needs of Cox’s Fine Women’s Garments and we concluded our plans for Monday morning.

Over the weekend a steady stream of traffic kept Mayville busy at the Hill Street front door. Grandmother’s friends dropped off greetings and the family came daily to check on her progress. Allen Goldwyn stopped by Saturday afternoon and as we sat comfortably in the front room talking, Uncle Hal, Aunt Kitty, and Jennie arrived. My uncle went upstairs immediately without asking, his own mother and the house of his childhood, after all, but it had taken only one look from Grandmother’s eyes when I mentioned Aunt Kitty to let me know that my aunt was not to enjoy the same freedom of movement as her husband. I headed her and Jennie off at the front door and herded them into the room where Allen still waited.

Jennie greeted him warmly. “Mr. Goldwyn, how pleasant to see you again! I was charmed by your kind remembrance to me on my birthday. The vase holds an honored place on my bureau. Even Mother commented on its graceful form, didn’t you, Mother?”

My aunt raised both brows in frosty acknowledgment of Allen’s presence and sniffed out a response, Aunt Kitty at her most condescending for some reason and taking it out on poor Allen. I gave her a quizzical look and then glanced at Jennie, who shrugged and continued to make conversation, encouraging Allen to talk about his job and his architectural designs. After a while, however, my aunt’s disapproving posture could no longer be ignored and Allen said a polite farewell.

I walked him to the front door. “I’m sorry, Allen. I don’t know what gets into Aunt Kitty sometimes. She doesn’t mean it personally and she doesn’t intend to be rude.”

“Johanna, you—” Allen began and then stopped midsentence, changing his mind about whatever he’d planned to say. Looking into the hall mirror, he took longer than usual to put on his hat before he continued, “I’m sure she doesn’t. Give Mrs. McIntyre my regards, Johanna, and if there’s anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Without thinking, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, Allen. You’re a good friend.”

“Not as good as you deserve.” His tone was hard to decipher, sad and somehow weary so that I felt vaguely alarmed.

“Is something wrong, Allen?”

“Everything’s fine,” he answered, but I didn’t believe him. Before I could question him further, he opened the door and walked hurriedly down the front steps. I’d never known Allen to be moody or enigmatic, and this change in his usually pleasant demeanor troubled me.

When I returned to the front room, Aunt Kitty asked sternly, “Who is this young woman you’ve brought into the house, Johanna? I met her yesterday afternoon.”

“Do you mean Crea O’Rourke? She’s helping to care for Grandmother and she does a wonderful job.” I answered too defensively, despite my intention to the contrary.

“Irish and from that place, I presume.”

“If by ‘that place’ you mean the Anchorage, then yes.”

Aunt Kitty fixed a hard stare at my face. “So there’s no telling what kind of woman she is, and yet you leave her alone in the house? God only knows what she does while you’re away. Really, Johanna, have you no sense at all? If you and Gertrude aren’t murdered in your beds, you’re still risking all the valuables in the house.” At those words, I felt a hot flush start at the base of my throat and creep inexorably into my cheeks.

“I have complete confidence in Crea O’Rourke. I’ve seen her in difficult situations and know her to be compassionate and entirely trustworthy.”

“She’s Irish, Johanna,” Aunt Kitty stated, considering that the words must explain everything.

“She may be Irish, but at least she’s not a condescending and insufferable snob. I’ll take the Irish anytime compared to that.” Color rose in my aunt’s face, too.

“Watch your tongue, young lady. Your disrespect proves what I’ve said for years, that you have been hopelessly and unfortunately spoiled. Despite my advice to the contrary, Gertrude has indulged your every whim regardless of how ridiculous, but now you are going too far. I can’t walk into this house without running into people who don’t belong here. If it’s not the Irish, it’s the Jews.”

I looked at her blankly. “What?”

Jennie, watching the exchange silently, murmured, “I think she means Mr. Goldwyn, Johanna.”

“A snob and a bigot, Aunt Kitty?” I flared, rising. “What nonsense you talk! Has anyone told you it’s 1912?”

“Some things don’t change,” she responded, as angry as I.

Later, I considered the irony of my aunt’s comment and how surprised she would have been to be in such complete agreement with both Crea and Allen on the subject. At the moment, however, I had to take a deep breath and mentally count to three before I could reply quietly, “Sadly, you’re right. Some things don’t change even though they should have years ago. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to look in on Grandmother. I’m sure you can see yourselves out.”

My heart beat so hard I could feel it thumping against my chest. If I didn’t distance myself from my aunt, I’d get into a screaming argument that would accomplish nothing. I was usually good at keeping my temper, but this time Aunt Kitty had pushed me right up to the edge. Uncle Hal met me on the stairs as I headed up to Grandmother’s room.

He took a quick look at my face and asked, “With whom have you been arguing, Johanna? It’s all over your face.” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “Kitty, I suppose. She means well, Johanna, and she’s as concerned about Mother as I am.”

“Don’t tell me you think Crea is going to murder us in our beds, Uncle Hal.”

“Kitty didn’t say that.”

“Yes, she did.”

We stood on the steps facing each other.

“I like Crea, Johanna. I’ve watched her with Mother and found her patient and persistent. Mother seems to like her, too.”

“Even with her being Irish and all?” I asked sarcastically.

Uncle Hal grimaced. “Kitty comes from a different background and time than you, Johanna. You have so much compassion and understanding for other people, can’t you spare any for your own aunt?” He took a look at my stubbornly set face and sighed. “Apparently not, at least not right now. Good-bye, Johanna. If you need anything, call.” He started down the stairs and I continued my progress up, still too annoyed with my aunt to be able to entertain one charitable thought about her.

Crea, sitting next to Grandmother’s bed, looked up as I entered the room.

“Your face looks like a thundercloud, Johanna. Who have you been quarreling with?” Grandmother slept calmly, her face peaceful and elegant in repose.

“My aunt,” I answered in a low voice.

“Ah.” She paused. “Was she stating her disapproval of me?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Your aunt is easily read, Johanna. She made it very clear that she doesn’t approve of my being here, but I wasn’t sure if it was because I’m Irish or because I came from the Anchorage.”

“Both.”

Crea nodded. “She has a right to her own opinion.” Her words reminded me of my recent conversation with Drew Gallagher.

“Even if it’s wrong?”

Crea laughed. “Yes, even if it’s wrong.” Then we talked about how Grandmother’s morning had gone, how she was handling her prescribed exercises, and whether she was able to eat properly, topics that allowed me to regain my nurse’s objectivity and usual equilibrium.

Later that evening Peter stopped by to see Grandmother and again the next day.

“What a good grandson you are,” I told him as I met him at the foot of the stairs Sunday afternoon. “You’ve been here three days in a row.” A faint flush of color appeared on his cheeks and I thought I had embarrassed him, so I quickly added, “Of course, you are her favorite grandson so it’s to be expected.”

“I’m her only grandson,” he reminded me dryly.

“That, too. Anyway, you know you’re always welcome, Peter, and I was just teasing.” He nodded and his unnatural color faded.

“It’s hard to see her like that, isn’t it, Johanna?”

“She’ll get better, Peter. I know it. She’s a strong woman, and we’re going to give her the best of care. Did you meet Crea?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know what I mean by the best of care. Grandmother will be up and dancing in no time.”

“I hope so.”

I walked with him to the front door. “I know so, Peter. Trust me.”

“You’re the most confident person I know, Johanna. Do you ever doubt yourself, ever find yourself up against a predicament you believe is too great for you to handle?”

“Never.”

He grinned at my tone. “Lucky you, then.” He said good-bye and went down to the curb where his own automobile was parked, the one his parents had given him the first year he went off to college. He was much more spoiled and indulged than I and yet completely unaffected by it, which was what made him so lovable. The best person in the family, the one and probably only fact we all would have agreed to without argument.

The following Monday became a day that lived on in my dreams for years to come. I took the train and walked from the nearest station, arriving outside the Cox building well before nine o’clock. Time to spare, I told myself but stopped short at the cross street, amazed by the line of women that snaked down the street and around the corner. Fortunately, Drew Gallagher already sat in his parked vehicle at the curb, apparently waiting for me. When he saw me, he crossed the street in a few long strides.

“What did you say in the advertisement?” I asked. “What did you promise?” For a moment we both stared mutely at the crowd of women that continued to expand farther down the street.

“Fair wages, regular work, and safe housing.” He attempted his usual nonchalance, but I could tell he was as taken aback as I.

“A holy threesome for sure, Drew. How many women can Cox’s accommodate?”

“Eighty for the work and forty for the apartments, unless they double up.” He gave me a helpless look. “Do you know how and where to start with this crowd?” In my usual contrary way, his discomposure put me at ease, even made me smile.

“By the time I reach the other side of the street, I will,” I said and stepped purposefully off the curb. “If you wouldn’t mind helping me get inside, I can take it from there as long as I can borrow Fritz for the day.”

Drew took the lead and forged a way through the crowd, unlocked the door, ignored the murmur of emotion that swept down the line of applicants, and pushed me inside. When he exited once more for Fritz, I sat down at the desk inside the front door and pulled out a notebook and pencils from my bag. Once Drew and Fritz returned, I put Fritz in charge of the doors.

“One woman at a time,” I told him. “She comes in through the right side and exits at the back. Don’t be threatened, cajoled, or tricked. Desperate women will do any of those things and then some. Are you up to it?”

Fritz grinned. “Yes, Miss. I’ve had to learn how to hold my own these past weeks.” He was thinking of Yvesta and smiling, so maybe Drew was right and it was love, after all.

Behind me, Drew asked, “Do I have an assignment?”

Surprised at his question, I answered, “You told me very specifically that you didn’t have time to spend on this phase of the project. So no, there’s nothing for you to do but go away and come back later when the line is down.”

“And leave you here at the mercy of these women? What would that make me?” His tone was teasing, almost mocking, but whether directed at me or himself I couldn’t tell.