The Promise of Home (27 page)

When they finally stopped their frantic work, Emily sighed, and Matt shook his head. She was glad that Matt didn't try to say anything just then, because there wasn't a single thing he could have said to make her feel better. It was a huge setback. She would have to have the entire length of the corroded pipe replaced, dry the interior of the wall, replace and repaint the drywall that had gotten wet, and tear up and replace much of the hardwood floor.

“We need to get this wet dog bed off the floor,” she said finally. “I'll throw it in the back of my car and deal with it at home. It was due for a washing, anyway.” Emily tried to lift the cushion, but it was waterlogged and awkward.

“Here, let's both grab it,” Matt said. Emily didn't offer any resistance when he took hold of one side and hoisted it up. Together, they carried it downstairs to the back door and out to Emily's car, where they loaded it into the rear cargo area.

“Do you want to go home and change?” Matt asked.

Emily looked down at her clothing. Everything from her work boots up to her knees was sopping wet from kneeling on the floor, and her face and the rest of her body had been thoroughly splattered by the water spraying from the punctured pipe. Matt was similarly saturated.

“Yes, but I want to take a look at the ceiling first.”

She went inside to the dining room, which was directly beneath the bedroom that had flooded. The ceiling was lower there than in the great room, so she moved the ladder into the room and climbed up until she was high enough to touch it.

“Any moisture?” Matt asked as he held the ladder steady.

Emily moved her hand slowly along the ceiling, feeling for any trace of dampness and looking for any droplets of water that might have soaked through the bedroom floor. “Nope, nothing, at least not yet.”

“With that much water, you'd think it would come through pretty quickly.”

“Um-hmm. I don't think we're out of the woods yet. If it's dry this evening, I'll breathe a little easier.”

“This is a solid old house,” Matt said as she climbed down. “Maybe the floorboards are extra-thick.”

“Could be,” Emily said. “Or it might be the insulation. Ruth wanted to make the place more energy-efficient, so I had a thick layer blown in between the first and second floors before the drywall crew redid the walls. That might cause some mold issues…I guess we'll just have to wait and see. I can't believe I hit a water line in the first place.”

“You were using a stud finder. It obviously couldn't tell the difference between a stud and a pipe, so how could you have known?”

“I don't know. It was probably an old cast-iron pipe. I should have realized the wall where I was drilling separated the bedroom from the bathroom. If I'd been paying attention, I would have picked a different wall to drill.”

“Maybe you need to take a little break. You're here all the time, working nonstop. It's easy to lose focus when you're tired.”

“I didn't lose focus because I was tired.” Emily looked Matt full in the eyes.

He took a step back and put his hands up. “If I'm distracting you, keeping you from doing your best work—”

“No, Matt, that isn't—”

“I won't come anymore if you'd rather I not. I mean, I promised—”

“Matt!”

He stopped talking and looked at her, his face a mixture of wariness and disappointment.

“That's not it. I mean, yes, you're a distraction, but…a good one. You leaving is the last thing I want.”

She couldn't believe she'd said what she did. For her to blatantly admit her feelings,
those feelings
, was so uncharacteristic of her. Maybe Matt was right in one respect—that the nonstop work had started to soften her self-control. She couldn't even bring herself to look at Matt.
What will he think of me?
she thought.
And am I really ready—

She never finished the thought because Matt stepped forward and pulled her into his arms. With his face inches from hers, he hesitated only a moment, long enough for him to slip a hand behind her head, and for her to feel the warmth of his face emanating against her own, before he kissed her.

Emily didn't resist. Whether it was out of surprise or simply a feeling of relief at having a subconscious wish granted, she let him draw her closer, let herself enjoy the sensation of her body pressed against his.

Something in that sensation was vaguely familiar. She realized it was because Matt was holding her exactly the way she liked to be held—gentle enough that she didn't feel trapped or overpowered, but firmly enough for him to convey his attraction, to show her his strength, and to make her feel secure. It was yet another way that he reminded her of Andy.

Still, Matt
wasn't
Andy. His mouth felt different, tasted different, as it moved against hers. His voice was nothing like Andy's, and his background and vocation…well, she never could have imagined Andy handling a firearm of any kind. Matt was an entirely different person, on the inside and the outside, and that was okay.
More than okay
. And all those times during the past several days when she'd thought about what this moment might be like, it hadn't been Andy in her fantasies. For the first time since she'd been with Andy, the person she was kissing was a person she truly
wanted
to be kissing.

“Do you know how long I've thought about doing that?” Matt asked in a low voice when they separated.

Emily touched the side of his face, slowly stroking her fingers down toward his mouth. “I think…maybe I've wanted you to—” She didn't know exactly what she was saying, and she didn't get a chance to finish her thought or her sentence.

For a moment, maybe longer, she lost track of time, where she was, what she had intended to do next. There were only feelings of giddiness and excitement and wanting more. She shivered, and Matt seemed to be able to read her mind. He was no longer tentative as he gently moved his mouth from hers and planted a trail of kisses along her jaw.

Emily struggled to come to her senses. There was so much work she had to get done. “Not that I want this to stop,” she murmured, “but I've got that disaster to deal with upstairs.”

“You mean
we've
got that disaster to deal with. I know,” Matt said in her ear. “But since we've had one hell of a morning, and we've just now cleared up the matter of my presence here, will you please let me take you out for lunch? You don't have to call it a date, since we were going to get cleaned up anyway. I've got to let Ruby out of her crate for a bit, but we could go somewhere after that, just to relax for a little while, before we start in again.” He kept his arms around her waist as he pulled back.

“I think a date somewhere outside this house is long overdue,” she said with a wry grin. “Plus, while you deal with Ruby, I'll need to get some more tools and equipment from my place, and I have to call around and find a plumber who can help me replace the corroded pipe on short notice. I don't have the time to install a new one on my own. It might have to be run the length of the wall or longer…But it would be good to know the diameter of the old pipe before we leave.”

Emily was already making a verbal to-do list, and she had every intention of breaking Matt's embrace to go back up to the flooded bedroom, but for some reason, she couldn't resist staying right where she was. In fact, she nestled closer and was secretly delighted when he took the hint and kissed her again.

“I thought you were going back upstairs?” Matt asked after another few minutes had passed.

“Um-hmm. I am.” Still, she didn't move.

“I see. You know what I think?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you drilled that hole on purpose. You know, to make a huge mess and extend the time I'd be coming around to help you out.”

She scoffed and playfully shoved his chest. “Don't flatter yourself, buddy.”

“What? You're too good at what you do to make a silly mistake like that, and it seems like you've enjoyed spending time with me. Especially just now.”

Emily tried to keep a straight face, but a little smile broke through her resolve. “Well, everybody makes a silly mistake once in a while. I just picked the wrong spot to drill. And maybe I didn't think I'd like having you here in the beginning…but I ended up being wrong about that, too.”

“I'm glad.” As he released her, Matt took one of her hands, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. “Go measure the pipe, and then let's get out of here for a while. We can come back and deal with the wall later, together.”

Saturday, June 2, 1934

A
gain, the Colchester parish cemetery.

Across the expanse of headstones, he could see in the distance the grave in which he and his uncle had buried the hobo. Michael shuddered, even though the sunlight was intense and he could feel sweat beginning to moisten his shirt.

It
was
warm, not like the dank, earthy experience of the hobo's midnight burial. The perfect springtime leaves rustled in a gentle breeze as he and his family stood clustered around his grandmother's freshly dug grave.

It was like an odd dream, seeing his grandparents' headstone up close after such a long time, with the blank space for the year of death that would soon be engraved with 1934. It was even more surreal having his father there, standing with his mother's hand tucked in the crook of his elbow. Niall had taken the first train he could get to Vermont on Thursday night after receiving word, and he would return tomorrow—Sunday—and resume work the following day.

Throughout the earlier funeral Mass, and now, as his uncle conducted the burial prayer service, Michael couldn't rid his mind of the first glimpse he'd had of his father. He'd been gone just over three months, but his hair was thinner, grayer, and his lean build now bordered on gaunt. His mother had run out the front door at the sound of a vehicle pulling up to the house.

“Niall,” she said before his long arms swallowed her to his chest. Michael watched from the doorway as they held each other, as his father pressed his hand to his mother's soft hair. They were oblivious to him, to the frigid night air, to the straining engine of Whibley's truck pulling out of the driveway.

It was only once they had come inside, after his father had greeted Michael and hugged him tightly, and after his mother had removed the heavy coat she'd quickly thrown on, that his father learned of his mother's condition.

“What was it that you wanted to tell me, Anna?” he asked, turning toward her.

“Show you,” she corrected him. Slowly, facing him, she moved her hands down over her slightly protruding belly, pressing the material of her dress against it to accentuate its changed shape.

His father gasped. “You're…?”

She nodded. “More than three months along.”

“And you weren't…you didn't take ill?”

“I did, worse than before, but there are new treatments. I had to stay in the hospital for a little while, but this time I got better.”

No one said anything. The silence in the room was broken only by his father's increasingly labored breathing.

“The hospital.” His father shook his head, and his voice was pained. “I wouldn't have wanted you in the hospital alone. You should have sent word to me. I would have come.”

“I know you would have,” Anna said. She stepped forward and took one of his hands. “Please don't be upset with me. I know you would have come, but you might've lost your job, and I wasn't alone. I had Michael here with me, and Lizzie.” Her voice broke as she spoke his grandmother's name. “She nursed me through the worst of the sickness. I…we…owe her so much. It's a wonder that her time didn't come until after I was through the worst of it.”

“Not a wonder. It was Providence,” his father said quietly. He took a step forward, reaching out with his hands to lay them tentatively on her belly. Before Michael knew it, his father had sunk to his knees. He slid his arms around his wife, drawing her closer until his cheek rested against the slight rounding of her middle.

“Oh, Niall,” his mother said. She touched his hair, holding his head as tears ran down both of their faces.

Michael, too, found it impossible to maintain his composure, but his parents didn't seem to notice. As he stood against the back wall in the kitchen, he felt that his presence during their emotional intimacy was an inappropriate intrusion. Quietly, he slipped out the back door to start the evening chores.

On the evening after his grandmother's funeral, once he and his parents had returned to the farm, Michael was again in the barn when his father came in with a clean milking pail. “Your mother will have supper ready soon.”

“I've got the stall cleaned out,” Michael said as he came out of the feed room with a bucket of corn. “Just have the milking left to do.”

“I'll give you a rest tonight,” his father said as he took up the bucket of soapy water waiting on the old table. “After I go back tomorrow, you're going to have a heavier load on your shoulders, at least for a while.”

“You are going back, then? I didn't know if you would after you knew about the baby.”

“I don't want to leave. But I don't have a choice. There's still no job here for me, and your brother still needs my help. I'll be back when the baby is due, though, job or no job. And I wanted to talk to you privately for a few minutes.”

Michael didn't know what his father was about to say to him. He waited, remaining silent as he poured the bucket of corn into the feeding trough. Once his father had Onion positioned in the stanchion, he glanced up at Michael.

“Even more than before, I'll be relying on you, son,” he said as he washed Onion's udder. “You'll be the only one here with your mother. She assures me that she's fine now, and maybe she is. Regardless of what she says—and I know how headstrong she can be—you are to call or send a wire to me without delay if her condition should take a turn for the worse. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good. And now that school's finished for the summer, you should look for a job—any job, no matter how low the pay. Both of us will need to earn as much as we can, however we can.”

Since learning of his grandmother's death, Michael had scarcely thought about the job he was scheduled to begin on Monday. He had assumed his father would disapprove of it, like his mother, but perhaps, based on what he'd just said, his father would have a different understanding about doing what was necessary to get by.

“I found a job already.”

“Oh?” His father stopped milking and looked up at him, and Michael was encouraged.

“I went into Burlington last Thursday, before everything happened with Grandma. I walked around all day and talked to every business downtown, looking to see if they needed help. Only one of them did, but I got the job. I'm supposed to start working as a clerk on Monday.”

“A clerk? That sounds like a plum job!” His father smiled. “Who offered it to you?”

Michael took a deep breath. “Mr. Borisov, at the loan office.”

The smile melted from his father's face.

“I didn't expect Mother—or you—to approve,” Michael said quickly. “But I asked everywhere in the city. There aren't any other jobs. Besides, you just told me that we need to earn money however we can. Mr. Borisov offered me ten cents an hour. It's not much, but won't it help?”

His father turned and resumed milking. “It's a poor wage, even in times like these,” he finally said with an edge in his voice, “but it's something, and yes, it'll help. Still, you best not tell your mother, especially given her condition. Borisov robs good people of every shred of their dignity, and you'll not continue working for him any longer than is necessary, not after I'm home again. And you're not to let the job interfere with your schooling once summer's over, do you understand? I know lots of older kids have left school to work, but your mother and I agree that you'll not be one of them. We'll do whatever else it takes to get by.”

“Yes, Father.” So strong was the relief Michael felt at having confided his job secret that he longed to divulge the others as well, especially about the hobo, so he could seek his father's advice about how to rid himself of the guilt he carried—but he knew he couldn't. Even stronger than the need to unload the remaining secrets was the craving for his father's company. When his father was around, he felt that everything would be all right, even if there was a good chance that it wouldn't be. Michael wanted so much to be able to talk with him at leisure, to hear his opinions, to enjoy having the family engulfed by his steadfast presence. But there were only precious hours before his father returned to New York. He would savor the time, not taint it by unfurling conversations about difficult matters.

“You know, Michael, you've done a fine job these past few months. Seems like you've grown quite a bit while I've been away. I suppose doing a man's work has made you into a man.”

Michael felt warmth spreading through his chest in response to the praise. “Thank you, Father. I promised you I'd take care of everything while you're away, and I aim to keep doing that.”

“I know, son. I know you will.”

His father stopped speaking as he focused on finishing the work at hand, so Michael crossed his arms over the walls of a stall and listened to the rhythmic spurts of milk entering the pail. After a while, Onion's head came up out of the empty trough. Michael thought of his grandmother's advice and tried to pucker his lips to whistle, but his mouth only trembled and refused to form the proper position. It was just as well. His father had already eased the full milk pail safely away from Onion's hooves, and the lump in his throat would have distorted any sound he managed to make.

Summer 1934

By the end of July, having worked for nearly two months at Mr. Borisov's loan office, Michael had learned more about the intricacies of the pawn business than he ever thought possible. His title was clerk, but he was expected to do anything and everything that Borisov didn't have time to do or didn't feel like doing. These tasks included maintaining and changing the display in the front window, polishing sterling silver items on display, sweeping the sidewalks every morning and the floor inside the shop every evening, fetching items from storage when their owners showed up to get them out of pawn, and wrapping and storing new items that Borisov took as collateral for a loan or bought outright. Michael also kept a daily tally of items that were originally accepted as collateral for a loan but whose owners had failed to repay once it had come due. Ownership of these items—the former, often cherished possessions of residents in and around Burlington—immediately transferred to Borisov.

Michael had also learned a great deal about human desperation and the resulting hard choices it required. Never did a day pass without someone's loan coming due. If the owner of a pawned item appeared in the shop on the day the loan expired, the person might pay the amount due and take back the item. More often than not, a more unpleasant exchange took place.

Michael still cringed when he remembered the woman who had come in just before his two-week trial period had ended. Mr. Borisov had been in his usual place behind the counter, and the woman had stepped quietly forward, her hands clasped in front of her around a yellow pawn ticket.

“Mr. Borisov? I'm Martha McFadden. I brought my wedding rings and some other family jewelry to you about six months ago. This is the ticket. I've tried to put back enough to repay the loan you gave me, but seeing as how my husband still isn't working, I was wondering…would you have it in your heart to give us a bit more time?”

Mr. Borisov had taken the pawn ticket and flipped through his ledger until he found the entry. “One ladies' gold wedding ring. One ladies' gold pearl ring. One gold pocket watch.” He was silent as he glanced over the notes for the entry. “Loan term, three months. First loan extension, two months. Second loan extension, one month.” He glanced up at the woman with an emotionless, almost nonchalant expression. “Sorry. Can only do two extension. Must pay loan balance today to get rings and watch.”

Michael had been sweeping in the rear part of the store, but even from there, he'd been able to hear the woman's breathing become ragged as she began to plead.

“Please, Mr. Borisov. My husband doesn't know I pawned my rings or the watch. The watch is his, you know. He thinks he lost it somewhere in the house. His father gave it to him just before he died. It's the one thing he has to remember his father by. And the rings, if my husband finds out I don't have them…Please, I just need a little more time, just another month, to get the money together.”

While the woman had been speaking, Mr. Borisov had stared down at the ledger, refusing to make eye contact with her. “Office policy is two extension, no more. I wish could help more, but I also haf bills to pay. Loan is loan. Times difficult for everyone.”

At that point, the woman had started to sob and dropped to her knees before the counter. Michael had tightened his grip on the broom handle, willing himself not to stare or intervene in support of the woman.

“Please, please, Mr. Borisov, I'm begging you, I can't lose my things, I just can't. Please have mercy, Mr. Borisov. I'll bring you the money soon, I swear it. I'd give it all to you today if I could. Please…”

Michael didn't know how long the woman had stayed on the floor or how Mr. Borisov had managed to get her to leave the loan office. Michael had gone into the water closet at the back of the shop and stayed there until he heard nothing coming from the front of the store except the ticking of the various clocks displayed on the wall.

When he finally emerged, he took up the broom and resumed his sweeping. Mr. Borisov seemed entirely indifferent to what had just happened. He was still in his seat behind the counter, writing in the ledger. After a moment, he glanced up and held out the yellow pawn ticket left by the woman. “Find these things. Put in display two weeks. If no sell there, we save for gold buyer at end of month.”

“Gold buyer?”

“Gold buyer come from Boston first Monday every month. Take what gold I haf, measure karats, give me eighty percent value in cash. He take silver, too, measure troy ounces. Also pay eighty percent for silver.”

“Why only eighty percent?”

“Gold buyer haf expenses, too, and do all melting to give to government. Gold, silver only real money right now.”