No Turning Back
Page 29
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Jerell fumbled slightly with his coat, brief-case, umbrella, scarf, gloves, and hat. Striding down the hallway of the nearly deserted building as he juggled the items, he grumbled softly under his breath, which fogged in front of him. The bitter winter winds chilled the whole building beyond the ability of boilers and sweaters to compensate, since there was now a huge hole angling up from the second floor to the fourth. Someone had nailed boards over the outside hole, which kept the worst of the snow out, but it did nothing for the icy air.
Finally managing to get his things in order, Jerell tugged the scarf into place as he took the stairs. So much to do! Being the only pressman in the building when Fulenthen had crashed in had been a marvelous boost to his career; his first-hand account made him the darling of the editorial board. It also made him the target of every other pressman, each of whom ruthlessly interrogated every other person who'd been there that evening.
Jerell didn't mind their antagonism; he'd become accustomed to the prevalent attitude among pressmen (and women) over the years. He let it roll off his back and focused on doing his job. Except for that one dark month and six days, he'd done alright. Not good, but alright. It was true, all those things he'd told Miss Jenfsen last summer; he really did want to do better than he had, and being taken was perhaps the best blessing in disguise that he could have had. Not that he'd recommend it to anyone.
His thoughts turned to Miss Jenfsen. Sylenn Jenfsen, now there was an unusual girl. There was something incredibly wild about her and something incredibly fragile. It was an intriguing-- no, an intoxicating combination. She was so strong, so able, and yet so delicate. At first glance, he'd thought her as frail as any debutant, but then he'd taken a second look and seen the steel in her eyes. It wasn't until he had her on his arm that he'd realized that she was dressed like a tramp and smelled as though she'd been digging in dumpsters. He was trained to notice details like that, and he hadn't.
And somehow, her shabbiness didn't really bother him. He wanted to know more about her. So what did he do? Ran his mouth like a fool every time he saw her. Nattered on like a school boy. Which was likely why he hadn't seen her in months, why she never told him where she lived or worked or ...
He sighed at himself, shook his head, and fixed his hat firmly. No use wasting time on something that wasn't going anywhere. When God willed, it would happen.
He opened the main door, closed it behind him, bent his head to the chill wind, and ran straight into someone. Stumbling backwards, he caught himself and the other person. He could barely make out facial features in the darkness.
"Miss Jenfsen!"
"Um, hello," she replied with her usual caution.
"What a pleasant surprise! What brings you over this way?" He realized he was holding her by her arms and hastily dropped his hands. Belatedly, he offered his right arm.
She ducked her head as she slipped her hand through his arm. "Um, I was waiting for you."
"You were? That's-- ah, well, that's most kind of you! Were you waiting out here in this freezing cold? You should have come up, or at least inside to the stairwell, out of this wind!" There he went, running his mouth again and completely unable to stop.
"It's alright," she (mercifully) interrupted. "I've got a good coat, and I wasn't out here that long."
"Wonderful! I hate to think of you standing out here, freezing for my sake! Ah, if I may ask, what did you wish to see me about?" They'd begun walking up the street, under the infrequent lamp light. He could now see that she was indeed warmly bundled in a very nice coat and furry hat. She even had a muff for her hands.
"Um," she began, stopped, and nearly buried her face in that muff. Straightening up and taking a deep breath, she continued, "Since I never gave you my address, I thought this the best way to let you know that I wanted to accept your offer for a dinner."