by Joani Ascher
Mrs. Canfield had raised her lovely arched eyebrows and frowned.
“Is there something I should know?” he asked, while doubting this society woman would know anything about Jane.
“I’m not sure. I saw her once with a young man at the Rainbow Room. It made me wonder if he was her beau.”
Inexplicably, Prescott felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “She’s seeing someone?”
“I don’t know,” Anne Canfield said. “But I’ve noticed the last few times I was at your office that she seems different.” She paused, frowning. “Not like someone in love,” she added.
Relief washed over Prescott, although he would not have been able to say why he felt it. “I’ve seen it, too,” he said. “It’s got me worried.”
Prescott felt as if her eyes were looking inside him. “Maybe it’s just the news from overseas,” she said. “Everyone is feeling so sad for the people in Europe. Does she have family there?”
“I don’t think so,” said Prescott. “But I’m afraid to ask her. If I ever mention anything sad she starts to cry and runs out of the office. It’s better if I don’t talk to her at all.” He took another drink off the tray.
“Hugh would say you should find a young lady and forget your troubles.”
“You sound like you don’t believe that’s a cure for what ails the world.”
“I’m not sure Hugh has all the answers.”
Prescott nodded. “Even if I found someone tomorrow, I would not enter into a courtship.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“If we do go to war, I’m going. And I couldn’t saddle a woman with a relationship with me when I might be killed—or worse, injured. I couldn’t have her taking care of me for the rest of her life, tying herself to an invalid. It wouldn’t be fair.”
Mrs. Canfield looked down. “We can’t go to war,” she whispered. “It would be so awful.”
Prescott shook his head. “We probably should have months ago. Then those damnable Nazis would leave everyone else alone.” He looked up as Hugh Canfield came to stand beside his young wife.
The man seemed annoyed. “We can’t have you monopolizing my wife, Weaver,” he said, and told Anne, “We must be off, darling.” He steered her toward a gap in the crowd, but turned back to Prescott. “It isn’t our business. We give enough aid with our weapons. We don’t need to get involved.” He turned back toward the door.
Anne Canfield looked around at Prescott as if to apologize, and they were gone.
****
Jane’s thoughts were always with Lloyd. She went over how she would tell him, in her mind, hundreds of times, each time imagining his reaction. He would fall to his knees and beg her to marry him immediately, saying all the obstacles could be overcome. Olivia would be her maid of honor, and maybe Emma could even attend. They would have a little girl, born just a few months sooner than expected, and they would name her Spring.
Lloyd’s business trip stretched to three weeks and then four. She did not expect him to write, because she knew he probably thought each day of the trip would be his last, and he would arrive home before any postcard could. Olivia, who had talked of the day of their picnic for a week at least, seemed to have found other diversions, and rarely spoke of Lloyd. When she did, it was clear to Jane she did not expect much of the relationship. After all, as far as she knew, Jane had only seen him twice, and there had been a gap of several months between those occasions.
But by the end of September, Jane herself was getting nervous. The stock market seemed to be in a steady decline, and she was sure that any minute her margin would be called. She had no way of covering it. Every day she stared at the ticker tape machine, willing it to show a turnaround.
She knew Mr. Weaver would never have let her take such a risk. For a while, she thought about confiding in him and seeking his help. But she decided against it, since he was increasingly wrapped up in preparing for the possibility of war.
If only Lloyd would come back, she thought. He would know what to do.
A new fear replaced her hopes. What if something happened to him? She did not even know where his office was. She realized no one would know she was waiting for him and so she would not be notified if he were detained. Once they were married, everyone would know, and she hung onto that thought throughout the mornings of nausea and the subsequent tightening of her skirts. Until then, though, she would not be informed of an emergency.
Finally she could not wait any longer. Her thoughts were increasingly filled with trepidation for Lloyd. The feeling got so strong that one Saturday she went to his apartment and knocked on the door, hoping he had come back. A woman from down the hall opened her own door.
“What do you want?” she asked, with her arms folded over her housecoat. “I’m the landlady. Are you looking for a room?”
“No,” said Jane. “I wanted to talk to Mr. Hammer.”
“Oh, him,” said the woman. “He moved out.”
That made no sense to Jane. He was only away on a business trip, after all. How would he have had time to move? “Where did he go?”
“I don’t know. He just took all his stuff in the middle of the night and left. He didn’t even pay me what he owed on the room.”
“When?”
“Back in July.”
Jane’s stomach clenched in panic. She turned to go, struggling to stanch the tears which threatened to flow.
There had to be an explanation. Maybe Lloyd had found a better place to live and had not paid what he owed because he forgot or something. He certainly was not the type to shortchange anyone.
She wracked her brain on her way home, trying to figure out how to find out where he had gone. And by the time she got to her own neighborhood, her overwhelming need to find him finally yielded an idea of how to do it.
She went to a public phone in the Rexall Drug store near her home and closed the door of the booth. Taking a deep breath, she called the one place she knew someone would have to call if anything happened to him—the Garden Acres Insane Asylum.
“I’m calling,” she explained, “about Emma Hammer’s brother. Have you heard from him?”
“May I ask who is calling?” said the officious voice on the other end of the line.
“My name is Jane Baldwin. I’m a friend of Lloyd Hammer, and I’ve been worried about him. I know this is peculiar, but I was wondering if you had heard from him.”
She did not really expect an answer, but she had been so desperate for news, she was willing to try anything. She knew this must sound ridiculous.
But it turned out she was wrong, about a lot of things.
“Emma was discharged,” the woman replied. “Her brother took her down to a residential hospital in Virginia, to be near him and his new wife.”
Chapter Seven
Jane felt pressure on her wrist and realized someone was holding it and rubbing her hand. Her head throbbed. “Are you hurt?” asked a male voice.
When her vision cleared she saw a middle-aged, gray-haired man kneeling next to her as she lay on the floor outside the phone booth in the drugstore. How she had come to be in that position was unclear to her.
The man wore an outdated suit with threadbare elbows, but he held himself with a demeanor of gentility. His battered shoes were polished. Jane recognized him as the man who sometimes filled in for the clerk.
She looked into his eyes and was reminded of her father.
The man helped her into a sitting position. His kind face, with its bushy eyebrows and the compassionate concern in his eyes, combined with her predicament, led to an outpouring of embarrassing tears. Without hesitation, he handed her his handkerchief.
When she was able to pull herself together, she saw that the worn fabric was embroidered with a D. She also noticed there was a small crowd of people standing around, staring at her. Someone handed her a glass of water.
“Are you feeling better now?” asked the man.
“What’s going on here, Dobbin?” asked the
pharmacist.
Jane looked from one to the other of the men, then took a second to assess the situation. She did not think she was hurt, and she was embarrassed at having fainted in this crowded place. “I’m all right.” She made an effort to get up but found she was still somewhat lightheaded. “I just need a minute.”
“She is well,” said the man, motioning for the crowd to disperse. “May I ask what happened?” he whispered.
“I’m not sure,” said Jane. But that was not true. She knew what had happened. She, four months pregnant, had just discovered that the father of her baby had abandoned her and married someone else. She could not possibly tell this kind gentleman that, particularly as he reminded her so much of her father. Instead, she explained that she had not eaten all day.
“I have had days like that, too,” said the man sadly. “Some of us have not recovered fully from the hard times. I’m lucky I can occasionally get some work here. Since I did this morning, can I buy you a meal?”
Jane felt even worse. Here the man was, still suffering the aftereffects of the Depression, yet he was willing to help a total stranger. She bit her lip to keep from crying again.
With an effort, and his help, she struggled to her feet. When she was standing, she realized he was only a little taller than she, possibly because he stood a bit stooped over. But he held his chin high.
“It isn’t that,” she said. “Truly. I didn’t eat because I just forgot.” Embarrassed again, she told him her first name and thanked him for helping her.
The man smiled, again reminding Jane of her father. “It was my pleasure.” He took her by the elbow. “I would like to see that you get home without further incident.” Jane thought of demurring, but did not. She felt safe with Mr. Dobbin and allowed him to accompany her out of the building, away from the wide eyes of the crowd. If she had to admit it, she was grateful he was there, just to keep her upright, since her head was reeling.
But once she was outside, she pulled away. “I would rather be alone now.”
She could feel his eyes staring at her back, and she felt worse, having so abruptly rejected that sweet man’s help. But she couldn’t talk to him, or anyone. She had to get away.
Jane walked for hours, going over and over the phone call. This was a nightmare. Why would Lloyd marry someone else? She turned a corner, realizing she was in downtown Brooklyn. She walked over to the promenade overlooking the East River and Manhattan.
Had he just been using her? No, it was not possible. He would come back. It was a mistake, it just had to be. He loved her and hated every minute they were apart.
Or did he? Hadn’t he been unreliable? Hadn’t he been happy to keep their meetings secret? He didn’t want anyone to know about them. It was not just Olivia. Had he been courting that woman while he was seeing her?
She had to find him. She had to make him do the right thing. If he knew she was pregnant, he would leave that other woman.
But maybe she had been wrong the whole time. Maybe she was such a pathetic creature Lloyd realized he could have his way with her and give nothing in return.
She looked down at the water in the river. Lloyd would not even care if she jumped in, killing herself and his baby. The realization hit her so sharply that she doubled over.
Olivia would care. Olivia would be devastated. And this baby inside her, whom she loved, would never have a chance at life. The one person who now mattered the least, Lloyd, would be the only one to benefit from her death.
Turning away from the river, Jane knew she would get through this. She would have to do it alone, but somehow she would work it out.
****
Jane’s head still reeled, when she thought of her own foolishness and what it had cost her, a week later when she ran into Mr. Dobbin on the street. He had just carried a very old lady’s box of groceries to her door, and he refused her offer of a nickel. “You always refuse me,” said the old woman. “It’s the least I can do when you help me so much.”
He smiled back at her and, turning, came upon Jane. He asked how she was doing, and seemed sad at her curt response.
She felt guilty watching him walk away. She had not noticed, when she had first met him, how his suit hung around him as if it were made for someone much larger. Despite his own apparent run of bad luck he had reached out to her. He was in no way responsible for her problems, yet she had treated him as if he were. She went after him.
Touching his arm, she said, “I must apologize.”
He turned his watery blue eyes toward her and smoothed back his gray hair. “It’s unnecessary.”
Jane felt tears coming on, but refused to let them fall. “If only everyone were as nice as you.”
Mr. Dobbin appraised her. “I wish there were something I could say to cheer you up. You remind me so much of my daughter, Caroline. It broke my heart when she was unhappy.” He averted his eyes. “That was too often.”
While there was nothing to smile about, Jane did not want to hurt this good man again. “Would you like to come for tea?” she asked.
Mr. Dobbin smiled. “I would be honored.” He straightened up, and linked elbows with Jane. She was shocked at how thin his arms were.
They walked along the sunny street. Mr. Dobbin chatted about the lovely weather, the Brooklyn Dodgers, and other things, never mentioning her faint nor prying into it.
Before long, they arrived at Jane’s door. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Jane nodded. “On one condition. We can’t tell my sister the exact circumstances of how we met.”
He smiled that warm smile again, but added a conspiratorial wink.
Jane led him inside and introduced him to her sister. “You’ve seen Mr. Dobbin at the Rexall, haven’t you? I’ve invited him for tea.”
Olivia nodded. “Please come in.” She seemed puzzled, especially since it had been a while since they had invited anyone to tea, but accepted Jane’s explanation.
For several years after their father died, Jane had invited some of his remaining friends to visit them, even after they moved to their small apartment. It was a way to remember their father, and both Olivia and Jane had looked forward to those afternoons. But there had been no visitors of that kind in years, not since Mr. Wingate moved to Florida
Olivia went to get the tea. Mr. Dobbin, who had been seated in the gentleman’s chair, the one that had been their father’s, leaned closer to Jane, and in a quiet voice asked, “Will you tell me what is wrong?”
Jane could not tell him about her predicament. “It isn’t important. Tell me about yourself.” She cleared the coffee table for the tray Olivia was just bringing in.
Mr. Dobbin took the cup of tea and the plate of biscuits and pears from Olivia, setting them down before he started to speak. Jane waited patiently, glad she could give this man some food, since he so obviously did not get enough on a regular basis. But he took just one biscuit, and she had to urge him to take more.
After some encouragement, he spoke of himself. “My wife died several years ago, in early ’31.”
“Our father lost three wives,” Olivia proclaimed.
Mr. Dobbin was so taken back by the revelation that it took quite a few moments for him to begin speaking again.
“Go on,” Jane prodded.
He had been hurt hard, as Jane thought, by the crash of ’29. He had lost his business and struggled to support his family for ten years. His children had all grown and moved away to start families of their own. “They are doing well, even though I failed them.”
Jane was well aware that many men felt the impoverished times were their fault. From the apple vendors on every street corner to every resident of Hooverville, it had been hard on so many people.
Some had coasted through, somehow making ends meet and avoiding eviction. That was their father. He had even managed to hold on to a few valuables, such as Jane’s mother’s cameo. But he had never been the same man.
Mr. Dobbin’s experiences were similar, but he had not found a new niche
. Jane wondered if she could help him. Some sound investments, even in tiny sums, might someday help him out of his predicament. But she knew her own investments would not do that for her. She brought up the subject in a general way, alluding to investing on margin.
“Buying on margin is risky,” he said. “That was what caused all those amateur investors, myself included, to lose so much in the crash.” His face showed concern.
“I am aware of that,” said Jane. But she had needed the money to provide a nest egg for herself and Lloyd, so she had taken the risk. For what? She would have to raise her child alone, as well as see her sister through college, and she was deeply in debt.
Mr. Dobbin smiled. “I’m happy to hear that. I wouldn’t want to see you and your sister out on the street.”
“The market was doing so well at the end of July,” Jane said. “But it has been going down steadily since.”
Mr. Dobbin put down his tea cup. “I hope you didn’t put any money of yours at risk in this market.”
Jane managed a weak smile. “Only a little. We’ll be fine.”
She was spared having to reassure him further when Horace, Olivia’s friend, came to take Olivia to the library. While Olivia got her books, Jane introduced the boy to the man.
Horace, still gangly, seeming all arms and legs at six-four, extended his hand politely. His grandmother had raised him to be well-mannered, and he remembered his training, even though the old woman was gone. He swept his other hand across his unruly sand-colored hair, getting it off his freckled face.
“Pleased to meet you, Horace,” said Mr. Dobbin. “You are lucky to have such congenial friends.”
“Oh,” said Horace, his smile revealing his chipped tooth. “I’m the lucky one. Without Jane and Olivia, I would be a lost cause.”
“Horace is studying to be a physician,” said Jane, proudly. “I know he’ll be a fine one.”
Olivia came back into the room, carrying several books and notepads. “Are you ready, Horace?”
He said goodbye to Jane and Mr. Dobbin, and carried Olivia’s books for her. They could be heard chatting happily all the way down the stairs.
