Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  Taking out his own pocket watch, Ian peered through the gloom at the dial. “If we make it a quick meal I can, which is good because I’ve just now realized I’m famished. I was late getting away from Glory Manor, and only had time to eat a few pieces of toast Aunt Birdie gave me for breakfast as I headed out the door.”

  “Then we’ll make it quick because you always think best when you’re not hungry.”

  Exchanging a smile, the two men began making their way down the street, stepping over abandoned railroad ties as they walked toward the many taverns in the area. Stopping in front of one that had a sign with Norma’s painted over the doorway, Ian turned to Victor.

  “Do you mind if we eat at Norma’s? I’ve been woefully neglectful with my patronage of this tavern, and Norma gets a little worried if I don’t show up every few weeks.” He smiled. “She’s been feeding me ever since I stumbled into her tavern when I was a student, starving and exhausted from working at the telegraph station and studying for some exam or another.” His smile widened. “She served me up steak, potatoes, vegetables, and pie and made me promise to take better care of myself or else she’d take to bringing me lunch during class. Since I wasn’t keen to take on the ribbing I’d get from my fellow students if Miss Norma started showing up at the university, I agreed to eat here at least three times a week while I was a student, and even though she’s a businesswoman at heart, she gave me those meals practically for free, refusing to allow me to pay the prices stated on the menu.”

  “And that right there is why it’s a mystery to me that you’ve yet to marry. Women of all ages seem to want to take care of you. I have little understanding why you’d let Miss Norma look after you, but not a young lady who could make your life more comfortable as well as make that house you’re building a real home.”

  Ian moved to the door leading into Norma’s. “You do realize that your interest in getting me married off almost puts you in the category of matchmaker, don’t you?”

  “A frightening notion to be sure, but one I feel might be necessary to see you well settled.” Victor smiled. “Apparently, it’s not only women who want to take care of you. And on that note, allow us to get on with our lunch, even if I have to admit that Miss Norma scares me half to death whenever we eat here.” His smile turned into a grin. “However, since I’m eating with you, and you have a reputation for holding your own if there happens to be a brawl”—he gestured to the door Ian had yet to open—“lead the way.”

  Pulling open the door, Ian frowned at Victor. “Miss Norma’s not scary. She’s merely a no-nonsense sort who was forced to make a living for herself and her three children after her husband died years ago in a mill accident.”

  “She’s taller and broader than I am and carries two pistols on her belt,” Victor countered as he walked with Ian into the tavern. “She also carries a very sharp-looking knife in the pocket of the apron she always wears.”

  “Which is very practical considering she spends hour after hour serving surly men who have enormous appetites, few manners, and a tendency to swing first and ask questions after they’ve knocked out whoever they think has offended them.”

  “Which makes me wonder why you always insist on eating here when you’re in this part of the city,” Victor muttered as they stepped farther into Norma’s and were immediately shown to a table by one of Norma’s now fully grown sons.

  Taking a seat, Ian glanced around, smiling at the sight of all the men from the various mills wolfing down their meals, their boisterous voices mixed with the clatter of silverware.

  That Miss Norma didn’t put on any fancy airs, limiting the silverware offered to her guests to one fork and one knife, and a spoon only if a person ordered soup, was exactly why Ian preferred eating at her tavern when he was visiting the mills.

  He never needed to worry that he’d pick up the wrong utensil, forget to wipe his mouth after every bite, or neglect to place his napkin on his lap. There’d been many a dinner he’d attended in Pittsburgh where he’d spent the entire meal walking on eggshells, uncertain he was remembering all the rules that went with polite society and knowing full well that someone would take note if he used the wrong knife or, heaven forbid, allowed any peas to tumble from his fork as he tried to raise them to his mouth.

  “Ah, Ian, my dear boy, I’d begun to worry about you.”

  Turning to the voice, Ian rose to his feet and kissed the cheek Miss Norma, as she preferred to be called, presented him.

  Waving him back into his chair, Miss Norma plunked her hands on her hips. “You’ve not paid me a visit for more than a month.”

  “I’m afraid work has kept me busy of late, Miss Norma, and I had to return to Glory Manor to take care of a few issues that developed on the farm.”

  “Your Aunt Birdie recovered from her accident?”

  Ian frowned. “How did you know about that?”

  Norma frowned right back at him. “I would imagine you told me or . . . no, now that I think on it, I heard the news from Mrs. Gorman.”

  “Mrs. Gorman?”

  “She’s a woman involved with the United Presbyterian Orphan Home.”

  “How did she learn about Aunt Birdie’s accident?”

  Miss Norma smoothed back a section of brown hair streaked with gray that had escaped the bun she always wore at the back of her neck. “Let me take your order first, dear. We’ll catch up after you’ve been fed.” She stopped her son, who was walking by, took a few menus from him, then handed those menus to Ian and Victor. “We got a special today on fried chicken. It comes with potatoes and carrots.”

  An image of Izzie standing on a chair while Elmer fluttered her wings and then burrowed underneath Izzie’s dress flashed to mind. Blinking to disperse that image because Izzie Delmont was occupying far too many of his thoughts today, he opened the menu and began looking it over. “I’ve had a few unfortunate situations with chickens lately, Miss Norma. I think I’ll stick with the steak.”

  Miss Norma frowned. “You’ve been eating chicken that hasn’t been prepared properly?”

  “It’s the still-living chickens that have been causing me problems. I lost a housekeeper because she thought the chicken Uncle Amos brought in from the chicken coop was meant to be used for dinner. Uncle Amos then accused Mrs. Gladstone of being a chicken murderer, and after that, well, there was little hope she’d agree to stay on.”

  “Amos has always been a little peculiar when it comes to his animals,” Miss Norma said before she nodded to Victor. “What’ll you have today, sir?”

  “I’ll have the chicken because I’ve not had any issues with chickens lately—or ever, for that matter,” Victor said with a smile, handing his menu to Miss Norma, who then hurried away to place their orders.

  “She never remembers my name,” Victor said with a shake of his head. “One would think, given how often I come here with you, that she’d try a little harder.”

  “Miss Norma is horrible with names. Don’t take it personally.”

  “It doesn’t seem as if she’s ever had a problem remembering your name.”

  “Because she evidently decided to make me an unofficial member of her tavern family.” Ian smiled. “And I also might have, a few years back, helped her out with an issue she was having with a man who tried to force her into selling her tavern to him.”

  Victor’s brows drew together. “You really can be a dangerous man when crossed.”

  “And in a daunting atmosphere like Pittsburgh, that’s come in handy at times.”

  “I suppose it does, what with how often you deal with . . .” Victor gave a wave of a hand to the rough customers eating at Norma’s. He turned back to Ian. “But speaking of daunting, if you’ve lost your housekeeper, who is minding the farm while you’re here?”

  “I’ve already hired another housekeeper.”

  Victor frowned. “How did you manage that?”

  “She showed up at the farm the same day Mrs. Gladstone left, clutching the newspaper I’d posted the positi
on in.”

  “And she was a qualified candidate?”

  An image of Izzie stuck to the washing machine flickered to mind. Unwilling to admit his concerns about Izzie to a man who certainly wouldn’t understand, Ian found himself nodding. “She was in possession of an impressive résumé, one that came from the house of Mr. Arthur Waterbury in New York.”

  Victor sat forward. “Arthur Waterbury? Why, I’ve met the man, and if your new housekeeper worked for his family, I’d say she’s probably overqualified for the position at Glory Manor.”

  “You know Arthur Waterbury?”

  “Indeed. He’s an incredibly wealthy man. Made the bulk of his fortune in mining, then moved on to oil. I met him in New York City about a year ago because he was interested in investing in one of our steel mills.” Victor tapped a finger against his chin. “If memory serves me correctly, he has an unmarried daughter, and . . .” His eyes widened. “Unless that situation has changed, and I haven’t heard any rumors suggesting otherwise, this daughter was rapidly approaching spinsterhood, which means . . .”

  “What?” Ian pressed when Victor suddenly stopped talking and got a most unusual look on his face.

  “I would think that’s obvious, but since you’re not following what I’m saying, allow me to spell it out for you. Miss Waterbury is an American heiress who, for some unknown reason, has yet to marry. And you’re a handsome industrialist who could benefit from marrying a New York socialite.” Victor leaned farther over the table and lowered his voice. “You could schedule a meeting with Arthur Waterbury using your new housekeeper as an excuse—saying something to the effect that you were checking up on the reference, and then . . . if you play your cards right, you may very well find yourself in a position to court an honest-to-goodness American heiress.”

  Chapter 18

  Rubbing a hand over his face, Ian frowned. “How did we end up talking about American heiresses when only a moment ago we were speaking of chickens?”

  “Because you’ve hired on a housekeeper who was once employed by one of the great American families.” Victor beamed. “If you were to marry the Waterbury heiress, men like Nigel Flaherty would stop behaving as if your every decision needed to be questioned, and as if you weren’t their equal in every way, business or social.”

  Ian’s lips quirked as an odd thought suddenly struck. “Do you know that Izzie, or rather, Mrs. Delmont, wanted to rename a cantankerous chicken named Elmer to Nigel after she decided it was a shifty sort. I discouraged her from doing that because I know men named Nigel who aren’t shifty in the least, but I apparently forgot about Nigel Flaherty.”

  Victor’s gaze turned shrewd. “Who is this Mrs. Delmont, or rather Izzie, as you called her?”

  “She’s the new housekeeper.”

  “And you address her by her given name?”

  Ian’s collar suddenly felt rather tight. “Well, no, not to her face. That would be inappropriate.”

  “As is thinking of her by her given name.” Victor leaned forward. “How old is she, and could she possibly be an attractive woman?”

  Ian shifted on the chair, quite as if he’d suddenly turned into a naughty lad being taken to task by his teacher. “I suppose she is attractive, although for most of the time we’ve been acquainted she’s been covered in a most hideous rash.”

  “Why do I get the distinct impression your housekeeper is more than merely attractive?” Victor asked, his question causing Ian to tug at a collar that now seemed intent on strangling him.

  “I’m sure I have no idea.”

  “Is she an older woman?”

  “Well, ah . . .” Relief shot through him when Miss Norma took that moment to reappear by their table, carrying two dishes in her hands that she quickly set down in front of them. Taking a seat next to Ian, she smiled.

  “Now, where were we?”

  Glad to be given an opportunity to change the topic of conversation away from Izzie, especially because Victor seemed to be heading in a direction Ian wasn’t comfortable going, he returned Miss Norma’s smile. “You were about to tell me how a Mrs. Gorman became aware of Aunt Birdie’s accident.”

  “Ah yes, so I was.” She leaned forward. “Mrs. Gorman, as I mentioned, works with the United Presbyterian Orphan Home. She, bless her heart, has had a hard time of it lately finding places for all the children needing good homes. She often stops in to see if I know of any families willing to take a few children in when the orphanage is out of room. I must say I was stumped at first when she told me there were four children needing to be placed in a home. But then I remembered how Birdie and Amos had taken you in all those years ago, so I directed Mrs. Gorman to Glory Manor.”

  Ian lowered the knife he’d been using to cut up his steak. “Did Mrs. Gorman expand on what the children had been through?”

  Miss Norma gave a sad shake of her head. “From what I understand, they lost their mother a while ago, right around the time the youngest was born. Their father, Roy Duffy, seemingly tried to take care of them, but he eventually, as so many widowed men do, brought the children to the orphanage.”

  “I thought Aunt Birdie told me that the children were abandoned.”

  Miss Norma nodded. “Well, yes, they were, the second time. The first time they arrived at the orphanage, their father agreed to pay the orphanage fifty cents a week per child, which would ensure that the children got to stay at the orphanage together. However, according to Mrs. Gorman, he stopped paying the money at some point. The orphanage was then forced to track him down, and they found him working the night shift at one of the mills.”

  “So he was working?” Ian asked.

  “Indeed, and after learning the orphanage couldn’t guarantee the children would stay together without him paying their fee, he apparently told them his wages had been cut, which was why he was delinquent. But even knowing that, the orphanage still wouldn’t promise him the children wouldn’t be separated, so he fetched the children and brought them home with him.”

  Ian frowned. “It doesn’t sound as if he is a horrible father. Simply fell on hard times when his wages were cut.”

  “It’s a problem throughout the city, dear. Men who’ve lost their wives are often forced to use the orphanages to watch over their children while they work. But then, if the mills reduce wages, as they’re often known to do when productivity slows, the men are unable to pay the weekly orphanage fees and are either forced to see their children shipped out of the city, adopted by other families, or put to work as nothing more than indentured servants.” She sighed. “Many of these men fetch their children home but are forced to leave them to fend for themselves for hours on end when they go off to work their long shifts in the mills.”

  Something unpleasant settled in Ian’s stomach, and it wasn’t the steak. He was currently in the middle of negotiations with the labor unions, tasked with the job of getting the unions to accept a decrease in wages until demand rose again for the iron and steel they produced in the mills. He’d never once considered how that reduction would affect children, but now that he knew, it gave him an entirely different perspective on the matter.

  Taking another bite of steak, even though it was now tasting like leather, Ian followed it up with a drink of ale, frowning as he considered Miss Norma. “Do you know how it came to be that Mr. Duffy ended up abandoning his children?”

  “Mrs. Gorman thought Mr. Duffy tried to take care of his children for a while since he apparently hired on a woman to look in on them when he was working. But then, what with the long shifts at the mill and the appeal of drinking when he wasn’t working, he apparently forgot he had children at some point and neglected to return home to check on them, leaving the children on their own. The rent on their rooms came due, and when that rent wasn’t paid, the landlord contacted the police, who then contacted the orphanage. Mrs. Gorman then came to see me because the orphanage didn’t have the space to take in four new children.”

  Ian frowned. “And then I suppose that’s when my au
nt agreed to take the children. She’s decided she’ll provide them with a permanent home.”

  Miss Norma’s brows drew together. “Birdie’s a little old to be raising four children, Ian, especially since you told me Amos has been having difficulties with his memory. I would never have suggested Mrs. Gorman pay her a visit if I thought she’d do more than offer them a temporary home until other plans could be made, or if I’d known about her accident before Mrs. Gorman returned and told me about it.”

  Ian touched Miss Norma’s arm. “There’s no need to worry you’ve caused Aunt Birdie a hardship. She loves having children in the house again, and I can assure you I’ll be hiring on help to look after them.”

  “Or you could take them in and raise them here in Pittsburgh,” Miss Norma suggested.

  “I’m hardly in a position to take on a fatherly role.”

  “You could if you found yourself a wife.”

  “What is it with everyone trying to get me married off today?” he muttered to no one in particular, earning a smile from Miss Norma as she rose from the chair and exchanged looks with Victor.

  “You keep on him about finding a wife, Mr. Laughlin. Ian’s not getting any younger, and it seems a shame he’s living all alone in that big house he’s building in Shadyside.” With that, she took a step away from the table, faltering when Nigel Flaherty suddenly edged around her and stopped directly beside Ian.

  How long he’d been in the tavern, Ian couldn’t say, but he had the most curious feeling Nigel had been eavesdropping on his conversation, a suspicion proven true mere seconds later.

  “No wonder you said you had more than enough work these days if you’re taking in orphans,” Nigel said, sitting down in the chair Miss Norma had only recently vacated.