Winnie Griggs (6 page)

Had Miss Andrews offered to make her an appointment just to drum up business? Or did she think Daisy’s clothing was really that awful? Daisy hadn’t wasted time worrying about her wardrobe since she’d left her grandmother’s. Function was what mattered, and the pieces she had—this skirt, two shirtwaists and her Sunday dress—had that going for them.

In fact, one of the things she’d disliked about living in her grandmother’s home was the emphasis everyone placed on appearances. Daisy had vowed to leave all that behind her when she left there. Nowadays, as long as her clothing was serviceable and modest, she didn’t give it much deeper consideration.

But Miss Andrews’s words had given her pause. She
was
planning to be a businesswoman now. Perhaps it was time she gave such things a little more consideration.

Her musings were interrupted by the sound of Everett on the stairs.

“It smells good,” he said as he entered the kitchen.

Her mood lightened at his praise. “Thanks.” Then she felt the need to give a disclaimer. “I’m afraid the bread is a bit scorched, though. It may take me a couple of tries to get a feel for your oven.”

“I daresay you’re right. But I’m sure the rest of the meal will be fine.”

Coming from him, she supposed that was praise of a sort. Daisy placed the stew and bread platter on the table. “I have apple pie for dessert. And I’m pleased to say it hardly got scorched at all.”

He took his seat without comment, and she sat across from him.

When he reached for the bread platter, however, she cleared her throat. “Would you like to say the blessing before we start?”

Everett slowly drew his hand back and gave her an unreadable look. “Why don’t you perform that service for us?”

Was he the sort who didn’t like to pray in public? She hadn’t thought of him as the reticent sort. But she nodded and bowed her head. “Heavenly Father, we thank You for this food and for all the other blessings of this day. Help us to remain mindful of where our bounty comes from and to whom our praises belong. And keep us ever aware of the needs of others. In Your name we pray. Amen.”

She smiled up at him as he echoed her
Amen.
“Eat up.”

The silence drew out for several long minutes as they concentrated on their food. Finally, she gave in to the urge to break the silence. “I read that newspaper of yours.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and I want to thank you for the job you did on that interview. You took my uninteresting life and made it sound, well, plumb interesting.”

He seemed more amused than flattered by her comment. “That’s the job of a good reporter—to find the hidden gem in any story.”

“Hidden gem. I like that.” She pointed her spoon at him, then quickly lowered it. “I didn’t read just the interview, though—I read the entire thing. You did a fine job with all of it.”

“Thank you. I suppose it
is
fine, for what it is.”

“What it is?” His tone puzzled her.

“Yes—a small town, nothing-ever-happens, two-days-a-week newspaper.”

“So you’re not happy with it.”

“As I said, it’s fine for what it is.” He gave her a pointed look. “Do you mind if we change the subject?”

Why was this such a touchy subject for him? But she obediently reached for another subject and said the first thing that came to mind. “I heard you mention something about a letter. It wasn’t bad news, I hope.” Maybe that’s why he seemed so out of sorts.

He studied her as if searching for some ulterior motive behind her question. She thought for a moment that he would change the subject again.

But then he reached for his glass as he shook his head. “Not at all. It’s a letter from my sister, Abigail.”

Why wasn’t he happier about it? “How nice. The two of you must be close.”

He didn’t return her smile. “She wants to come here for a visit.”

His grim tone puzzled her. “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, wouldn’t you like to see her?”

“Of course I would.” He took a drink from his glass, then set it back down. “But, as I’ve told her any number of times, it’s better if I go to Boston than if she comes here. Unfortunately, she doesn’t see it that way.”

“But if it’s that important to her, perhaps you could allow her to come here just one time. You know, to satisfy her curiosity.”

His exasperated look told her she’d overstepped her bounds. “For her to come here,” he said, “there are significant arrangements that would need to be made—things such as finding a traveling companion and making certain she doesn’t fall behind in any of her classes. Besides, Turnabout is no place for a girl like Abigail. And there aren’t an abundance of activities to entertain and enlighten her here.”

He broke off a piece of bread with more vigor than was absolutely necessary. “No, it’s much better if I visit her.”

A girl like Abigail? What did that mean? Was his sister one of those spoiled, pampered debutantes like the ones who’d graced her grandmother’s parlor? Girls who never got their hands dirty or even knew what a callus looked like? But that wasn’t a question she’d ask out loud. “Do you plan to do that? Go visit her, I mean.”

“Of course. I traveled to Boston to see her over the Christmas holidays and will make another visit sometime this summer. She and I spend our time going to the theater, visiting museums, attending the opera and whatever else she cares to do.”

Those were the kind of things they enjoyed doing together? “Don’t you two ever go on picnics or take buggy rides through the countryside or just take long walks together?”

“Since my time with Abigail is limited, I always strive to make it count for something.” His demeanor had stiffened, and his accent was more pronounced. “My sister is being raised as a proper lady, not a hoyden. Those activities add to both her education and her social polish. Their entertainment value is merely an added bonus.”

Daisy straightened. She supposed she’d been put in her place. And she’d also gotten the distinct impression that Miss Abigail Fulton might be every bit as stuffy as her brother.

Ah, well, there wasn’t much danger that they would cross paths anytime soon—not if big brother had his way.

* * *

Everett was glad when Daisy finally let the silence settle between them. He didn’t care for all this prying into his personal life. Didn’t she understand there were lines one just did not cross? Someone should sit her down and explain the rules of polite society. Not that he thought it would do any good.

Perhaps she would learn from their interaction.

His thoughts drifted to that prayer she’d voiced earlier. It had surprised him, in both its simplicity and sincerity. He hadn’t heard anyone pray like that outside of church before. It seemed that her faith was a deeply personal one. But then again, he was beginning to see that she approached nearly everything in her life with everything she had.

If she was going to make it on her own, and try to establish a business, she’d have to learn to be more objective and circumspect in her approach.

Perhaps that was something else he could teach her.

Chapter Six

D
aisy blew the hair off her forehead as she dried the last of the dishes. There was plenty of stew left over, and it would keep fine on the stove’s warming plate until Mr. Fulton was ready for his evening meal.

She hung the dishrag over the basin, then looked around to check if anything else needed her attention before she headed home. Kip would be ready to go for a walk, and she was eager to get back to work fixing up her new home. But she wouldn’t leave until she’d made certain she met her obligations here.

Mr. Fulton was fastidiously neat, and she was determined to leave the place as orderly as it had been when she arrived, if not more so. And she’d start by arranging his cupboards in a more logical manner. Logical from a cook’s perspective, at any rate.

A freestanding cupboard on the far wall seemed to be the ideal place to store items that were seldom used. She crossed over to it and opened the doors, then smiled when she found it held only a few mismatched cups. She could certainly put it to better use than that. Satisfied, she closed the doors, then paused.

Was that a crack in the wall behind the cupboard? It was mostly in shadow, but as she looked closer, she noticed the crack was perfectly straight.

Then her eyes widened. It was a door, painted over to match the surrounding wall. What with that and the fact that it was mostly hidden by the cupboard, it was easy to overlook.

Why had the door been so cunningly hidden? And what was behind it? It didn’t appear to have been opened in quite some time. Did Everett even know it was here?

The doorknob was behind the cupboard, making it impossible for her to even try to open it. She studied it, hands on her hips, her curiosity growing. After all, who could resist the allure of a hidden door?

Removing her apron, Daisy headed downstairs.

* * *

Everett finished cleaning his printing equipment and arched his back, trying to ease the kink in his muscles. After ten months of trial and error, he finally considered himself proficient with the various aspects of the printing process, though there were some tasks he still didn’t particularly enjoy. Back in Philadelphia, he’d been a respected reporter with a major paper. His job had been to write the stories—getting those stories to print had been someone else’s job, and he’d rarely given it a second thought. But here he was responsible for every aspect of getting the paper out.

Which was another reason he was doing everything in his power to find another position as a reporter for a large newspaper once more.

He wiped his hands on a cloth as that squeaky stair announced Daisy was on her way down. “All done?” he asked, moving toward his desk to get her payment.

“I am.” She glanced at one of his trays of print type. “How come all your letters look backward?”

“That’s the way type is set for printing.” He saw her puzzled look and explained further. “Think of it as looking at a reflection. The type is the mirror image of what the printed page will be.”

Her expression cleared. “Imagine that. So you have to set all those letters into backward words so the print comes out frontward on the paper.”

“Not the most eloquent way of explaining it, but yes.”

She shook her head. “That sounds like it would be difficult to keep straight in your head. I know it would make me go all cross-eyed.”

She did have a colorful way of speaking. “It
is
a tedious job. I will admit, even after several months at it, I find myself having to focus totally on what I’m doing or I’ll get it wrong.” It had given him a whole new appreciation for professional typesetters. He just hoped he didn’t have to
be
one much longer.

But enough of this chitchat—he had work to do. “Here are your wages,” he said, handing them over.

She accepted them with a thank-you, but didn’t head for the door as he’d expected.

“Was there anything else?”

“I was wondering if you knew about the door in the wall behind your cupboard?”

What was she talking about? “A door? Are you certain?”

That got her back up. “I know a door when I see one.”

Everett moved toward the stairs. “Show me.”

She marched up ahead of him, then wordlessly waved him toward the far wall.

Everett drew closer to the cupboard, studying the wall behind it. Sure enough, there was the obvious outline of a door. How had he missed spotting it in all the time he’d lived here?

“I take it from your reaction you hadn’t noticed it before.” Daisy was right at his shoulder. “What do you suppose is in there?”

He glanced at her, and she had the grace to blush.

But Everett was curious now, too. “Let me just shift this over so we can find out.”

Everett put his shoulder to the cupboard, waving off her offer of assistance. That done, he grabbed the doorknob and twisted. It was locked. “This cupboard was here when I moved in. I wonder...” He felt along the top of the cupboard, and sure enough, he found a key.

Daisy’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Must be something mighty important in there to keep it locked up.”

Was she expecting a treasure of some sort? It was more likely to be nothing but a shallow closet. He quickly unlocked and opened the door, but instead of finding the storage space he’d expected, he faced the backside of another door.

“How strange,” Daisy said, her disappointment evident. “It’s not even deep enough to store a sack of flour. Maybe it’s where they kept their brooms.”

“It’s not for storage at all.” He moved aside so she’d have a clearer view. “This back wall is another door. I believe this is an upstairs access between our buildings, with a lock on both sides for privacy.”

“You mean that other door opens from my side?” She studied it closer. “I haven’t reached this far in my cleaning yet, but I can picture just where it might be.”

She straightened. “How about that. The original owners must have been good friends to set this up.”

Everett nodded, still mulling over the implications. “I believe I heard somewhere they were brothers.”

“That makes sense.” Daisy nodded in satisfaction. “Their families probably did a lot of visiting back and forth.”

He dusted his hands. “Either they had a falling out or the new owners valued their privacy when the buildings changed hands.”

“That’s a shame. Neighbors should be, well, neighborly.” She tilted her head thoughtfully. “But there’s no reason we can’t make use of this.”

What in the world was she thinking now? “Miss Johnson, I—”

“How would you feel about leaving the doors open whenever I’m over here cooking?”

Before he could respond, she quickly continued.

“With such easy access, I can work on a few things at my place while the food simmers. And I can even check in on Kip occasionally while I’m at it.”

Somehow that arrangement didn’t seem quite respectable. “I don’t—”

But she wasn’t finished. “Oh, and don’t you worry, I won’t skimp on the work I’m doing for you. I’ll only go over to my place when I’m not needed here.”

He shook his head irritably. “I don’t mind you splitting your time, as long as the meals are prepared properly. But there are proprieties to be observed.”

Her brow furrowed, and then she waved a dismissive hand. “I really can’t see how that would be an issue. After all, I’ll be over here cooking for you just about every day, and we haven’t made a secret of that. What difference can it make if that door is open when I’m at work here?”

It went against the grain with him to give even the appearance of bending the rules of polite society. Still, she was making sense in a roundabout kind of way. “If I agree to this, and I haven’t said I will, then I need your word that that animal of yours stays on your side of the wall.”

“That won’t be a problem.” Her eagerness was palpable. “This would be such a big help to me in getting my place livable more quickly.”

“I suppose there wouldn’t be any harm in it.” Though he still wasn’t fond of the idea. “But only during your working hours. And it would probably be best if we don’t spread the word about this easy access between our apartments. Some individuals might take it amiss.” Did she understand what he was saying?

“Thank you. I promise I’ll handle it just as you say. And don’t worry, I’ll keep my side securely locked when I’m done here for the day, just as propriety dictates.”

Maybe she’d gotten the message, after all.

She straightened. “Now, I’m going right over to my place to see if I can find my door and the key that goes with it. It seems the previous residents
really
wanted to shut each other out.”

“Family disputes can be among the bitterest.” Everett pushed away the memory of his own father.

She was still studying the door. “If I’m recollecting the layout right, I think there’s a rickety bookcase in front of the door on my end.”

He knew a hint when he heard one. “I suppose you’d like me to help move it.”

But she shook her head. “Oh, no, I was thinking out loud, not asking for help.”

She might say that, but it would be ungentlemanly not to lend a hand after her comment. “Of course. But I’ll accompany you all the same.” Besides, he was curious to see what progress she’d made since the night she’d arrived.

As soon as she opened the door to her place, her dog raced up, tail wagging. He jumped up, planting his front paws on her skirts, and she gave his head an affectionate rub. “Hey, Kip, did you miss me, boy? I promise we’ll go for a walk just as soon as I check something out upstairs.”

The animal was every bit as foolishly cheerful as his mistress.

The front room was mostly bare but surprisingly clean. Daisy had apparently scrubbed the floors and walls until there wasn’t a speck of dirt to be seen. Interesting that she’d worked on the downstairs before the living quarters upstairs.

She caught him looking around, and smiled proudly. “There’s still a lot to be done, but I’m making progress. Right now I’m trying to decide if I want to buy yellow paint or blue paint for the walls. Yellow would be brighter and cheerier, but blue would be more relaxing and remind folks of the blue skies of springtime. What do you think?”

He had a feeling she wasn’t talking about muted shades of those particular colors. “I favor more sophisticated colors, such as white or gray.”

Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Where’s the joy in that?”

Joy? What an odd thing to say about a color choice. But apparently, the question had been moot.

She moved to the stairs and her dog stayed right on her heels, seemingly determined to make up for the time they’d been apart. “I warn you,” she said over her shoulder, “I haven’t done much to fix up the second floor. You’re liable to get a bit of dust and grime on you.”

“I feel sufficiently warned,” he said dryly. Just because he liked to maintain a neat appearance didn’t mean he was averse to a little dirt when there was no help for it.

The upstairs wasn’t as cluttered as the downstairs had been that first night, but it was every bit as dusty and unkempt. Gus had really let the place go. It made him wonder if there were soundness issues with the structure itself. Everett studied the walls and ceilings more closely. But there were no visible water marks or signs of crumbling woodwork.

He followed Daisy to the wall that adjoined his, and sure enough, once you knew where to look, the door was evident. He helped her shift the clutter away from the wall and they discovered the key still in the lock, so finding it wasn’t an issue. When they opened the door they found themselves looking into his apartment.

Her smile widened to a broad grin. “This is wonderful—I’ll be able to get twice as much work done now.”

“Just remember, the dog stays on your side of the wall.”

“Don’t worry, he knows his place.”

Everett very deliberately turned and headed down Daisy’s stairs to make his exit. Regardless of how “neighborly” the prior tenants had been, there would be no use of that adjoining door as a shortcut access other than during her working hours.

He would not do anything to set the local tongues wagging. Regardless of how innocent a person was, perception and reputation were everything.

* * *

After Everett left, Daisy took Kip for a walk. As usual, she grabbed a cloth bag so she’d have something to hold anything edible or useable she found along the way. At the last minute, she remembered she needed to gather the stuffing for her mattress ticking, so she grabbed a larger gunnysack as well.

Once on the edge of town, she let Kip have his head and followed wherever the animal led, only redirecting him when he seemed headed for mischief.

This was only her second day here, if you didn’t count the night she arrived, and already it felt familiar, comfortable. Everything was falling into place just as she’d hoped, even better than she’d thought possible.

She could build a good life here. She’d already made a few acquaintances that, in time, she hoped could bloom into true friendships.

The discovery of that door between her and Mr. Fulton’s places had been exciting, something unexpected and fun. Sharing a secret with him made her feel closer to him somehow, even if he didn’t feel any of that excitement himself.

Too bad her employer-neighbor seemed unable to appreciate a bit of adventure. Did he realize how much he was missing by being so guarded? He seemed to like reporting on what was happening around him much more than experiencing it.

Was that because he’d never felt swept up in the joy of letting his imagination run free, of focusing on the fun in whatever situation you were in? That was probably hard for him to do, what with his inflexible, cynical outlook on things. Instead of looking at that doorway as something fun and exciting, he’d seemed more concerned with how it might look if word got out about it. Looking for warts instead of dimples again.

Then she caught herself up on that thought.

She had no right to judge him. She had no idea what had made him the way he was. Maybe he’d never been taught how to have fun. Or maybe something had happened that made it hard for him to see the silver lining in things.

Well, if that was the case, it was up to her to show him how to relax and not hold on to his need for control so tightly.