Maybe He had, Lilly thought. After all, God worked in mysterious ways.
Jack sported a rueful grin. “I put aside money for a sailboat, but there ’s no reason why that can’t wait until next season. Why it’s nearly August, so I wouldn’t have much use for it anyway, with autumn so soon upon us.”
Jack’s lighthearted explanation didn’t quite cover the disappointment he must feel. Lilly gripped her hands and resisted the urge to throw her arms around him and kiss him for his selflessness.
He twisted the top hat in his hands. “Well, uh, I’ll see that you receive the funds tomorrow, Miss Diller. Good day, ladies.” He headed for the door.
Miss Diller stopped him. “Please stay and eat supper with us in the dining hall. And if you’d like to see our facilities, I’m sure Miss Westbrook would give you a tour.”
“Yes, thank you. I’d like that very much.”
Lilly stifled a groan. She needed time alone to process all the disconcerting news Jack brought. Instead, he stood close by watching her every expression. And she knew she didn’t hide her feelings too well.
She forced her mouth into a smile. “Follow me. I’ll show you our classrooms before supper.”
As they paused at each doorway, Lilly commented on the different activities. They observed immigrants learning to read, write, and speak English. Another group practiced sewing on the Singer machines, guiding the fabric while their feet pumped the treadle.
“We need several more sewing machines. There’s a high demand for seamstresses in the garment industry. It’s low-paying and back-breaking work, but at least it’s employment. Sometimes I teach sewing.”
“You? Now that’s a surprise. Socialites are more apt to pore over their embroidery than a machine. Surely your mother didn’t instruct you.”
Lilly laughed. “No, of course not. I learned here. I discovered I had a knack for using the machine and I enjoyed it. Believe it or not, I’ve even made dresses for some of the little girls in the neighborhood.”
When they came to the door of the dining hall she gestured toward a black-haired, olive-skinned child carrying her bowl to the table. “I made Angelina’s dress from leftover material I bought from my dressmaker.” She gazed at the green plaid garment trimmed with white grosgrain ribbon.
“Now I am shocked. And impressed.”
Lilly pretended a reprimand. But really his compliment pleased her. “Really Jack, I’m not a helpless woman.” But she couldn’t keep from smiling at his surprise.
They entered the dining room where a long line was forming along the wall near the kitchen. Volunteers ladled steaming soup into bowls and handed them to children and adults garbed in old and soiled clothes. Mothers steered their little ones to the long trestle tables covered in clean red-and-white checked cloths and reached for the crusty bread piled high in baskets.
“Shall we get in line?” Lilly asked.
“I’d be delighted to take you out to dinner,” Jack said, his voice hopeful.
Lilly shook her head even though his invitation tempted her. She couldn’t think of anything more pleasant than spending an evening with Jack. “No, I can’t leave my friend Miranda Reid. I’m her houseguest while I’m in New York.”
“Of course your friend is invited as well.” But he didn’t look quite as enthusiastic as before.
“No, I think not. I appreciate your thoughtful invitation, but I’d like to eat here. Please join us. The food is quite good. In fact, I helped make the soup.”
“Truly? You continue to surprise me, Lilly.” His eyes lit with admiration.
She turned her head until her cheeks cooled. They took their soup over to a table where Miranda joined them a few minutes later. Lilly re-introduced Jack to Miranda. They’d met a few times when he’d visited George—and Lilly—during their college days.
Jack finished the generous portion and said, “Excellent soup, though a bit more meat would help.”
Miranda put down her spoon, her expression serious. “It most definitely would, but meat is expensive, so we can’t serve it as often as we ’d like.”
Jack nodded. “I can see the need for more money. But I’d say the Settlement House is doing a remarkable job.”
“Miss Diller is a tremendously dedicated Christian woman,” Lilly said.
“As are you ladies.”
Embarrassed, Lilly changed the subject. “Someday, we ’d like to enlist the services of another nurse to expand our hygiene program. And we desperately need more supplies.”
Jack nodded. “I shall ask Mr. Jarman to consider making a donation once the sale is complete.” He grinned at them both. “After all, my pockets will soon be empty, and his will be full.”
“Oh, thank you,” Miranda said, smiling at him.
Lilly reached for a piece of hot, fresh bread at the same time that Jack reached for one. Both of them stopped in mid-air. Lilly looked up and found him staring at her. Warmth flooded through her. She apologized, took a piece of bread, then continued with the meal. While barely conscious of Jack and Miranda’s conversation, she thought about and was shocked at Jack’s altruism. He used to covet things for himself without giving the less fortunate much thought. Not that he was any worse than anyone else she knew. In fact, she ’s always known she’d fallen in love with a generous man with a big heart. How wonderful that this visit caused him to stop and think. Thank you, Lord. She couldn’t resist smiling along with Miranda, but then a dark thought gave her pause.
“Jack,” she said casually, not meeting his gaze, “do you think it wise to purchase Jones and Jarman? Irene mentioned Miss Cole is being hounded by Talk of the Town, so your author may wish to stop writing for a while.”
He took time to answer. “It’s a risk without speaking to Fannie Cole first, but Jones and Jarman is a solid company with great potential for growth, and there ’s another buyer in the mix. If I don’t move now, I might lose the opportunity.”
“What about starting your own publishing house?” Lilly asked, her appetite suddenly gone.
“I’d prefer not to begin from scratch. With the newspaper and magazine, I don’t have enough time to develop a new company. Besides, Jones and Jarman already has Fannie Cole under contract.”
“I see.”
Would both Colonel MacIntyre and Jack soon be on her trail? Apprehension spun her into a tight coil. Dear Lord, don’t let them discover Fannie’s true identity.
After Jack departed for his apartment and the other helpers were busy scraping the dishes into the heap for the compost pile, Lilly whispered to Miranda, “What a shock to see Jack. But if I’m vigilant he won’t suspect a thing.”
“I’m sure you’re right. But Lilly, you may have another problem.”
“Oh, no. I don’t believe I can cope with one more difficulty.” She groaned as she washed the last bowl.
Miranda found a dish towel and dried. “A few days ago an awful fellow stopped me on the sidewalk and demanded I tell him everything I know about Lillian Westbrook. He promised to pay me for information. I’m afraid he was one of Colonel MacIntyre ’s spies. Fortuately, a policeman was coming down the street at the time, so the rogue fled.”
Lilly leaned hard against the counter and cradled her forehead in her hand. She glanced at Miranda. “Please pray all this will go away. I’m living a nightmare and I want to wake up.”
“Don’t fret. I shall pray for you, my friend, without ceasing.”
JACK HIRED A carriage to drive him to the Dakota out on the Upper West Side of Manhattan. As the tall building came into view, he stared, still amazed that he actually lived here among the elite. His four-room space was tiny compared to some of the twenty-room apartments, but that mattered little to him.
Even after residing at the luxurious Dakota for several months, its high gables, deep roofs, and dormers still awed him. The hired cab halted beneath the porte cochere and Jack disembarked. Luggage in hand, he strode through the courtyard and rode the elevator to the fourth floor.
After
visiting the Settlement House and viewing the surrounding slums, he scrutinized his own rooms with their soaring ceilings, carved moldings, and gilt. He ’d come a long way from his childhood home, but maybe this place was more pretentious than necessary. Sitting alone on a brocade sofa decorated with gold fringe, he once again looked over the Jones and Jarman financial statements, satisfied that the company’s potential trumped the risk. But the amount of money he’d spent on this residence troubled him for the first time. And he didn’t like the feeling. Lord, I’ve forgotten where I came from. Please help me to remember.
LATER IN THE evening his hunger returned, so he ordered a roast beef dinner from the downstairs kitchen, and soon, it was delivered via the dumb waiter just inside the door of his apartment. When he heard the bell, Jack lifted the door and carried his meal into the dining room where he ate sparingly before heading to bed. He wondered if those he had dined with at the Settlement House also suffered from stomach pains and rumblings. He suspected they didn’t have nearly enough in their larders.
Sliding between fresh sheets soon after, he pictured the faces of the people he ’d seen today. He pitied them, especially the children, and wished he could do something more to help. When he finally fell asleep, it was a restless sleep.
The following morning Jack bought Jones and Jarman and secured a contribution from Lewis Jarman for Miss Diller’s fine establishment.
Two days later he finished his work at the Manhattan Sentinel and headed for the train terminal, anxious to return to Newport to search for his novelist. As he strode toward the first class section of the train platform, he spotted Lilly and Miranda Reid sauntering toward the back of the train behind Mrs. Carstairs, one of the New York ladies who summered in Newport. On the side of the Carstairses’ private rail car, he glimpsed gold letters spelling out the name Beatrice. Not a bad way to travel.
Jack watched Lilly, Miranda, and Mrs. Carstairs follow uniformed porters to the door of their car. Lilly turned to speak to two small children, smiling at them as she did so. Miranda paused from the entrance of the car, looking back in her direction. Then without warning a man pushed his way through the crowd and stepped directly in front of Lilly, blocking her path. The fellow said something that seemed to frighten her because she glanced around, no doubt searching for help, then tried to sidestep to the safety of the train. Jack increased his pace, sprinting the last few yards. He feared the stranger in the plaid sack suit and brown derby might grab Lilly’s reticule and run.
As Jack approached he heard the man’s rough voice, but he couldn’t distinguish his words.
Lilly poked him in the leg with her parasol. “Leave me alone at once and don’t ever contact me again.”
Yelping, the man glared but refused to budge. Jack grasped him by his lapels and pushed him over to a pillar. “You heard the lady. Get out of here.”
The man stuttered, “All right. Let me go.”
As Jack released his grip, the man broke away and dashed through the terminal. Jack turned back to Lilly.
“Thank you so much,” she said with a shaky voice. “What a horrid rogue.”
Jack nodded. “Why was he harassing you? Did he want money?”
“No, actually. Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m just grateful you were here to get rid of him.”
Mrs. Carstairs came forward. “Are you quite all right, my dear? I thought you were directly behind me! One never knows the riffraff one might encounter . . .” She lifted her eyes from Lilly to Jack. “You’re Mr. Jackson Grail, aren’t you? I believe you’re acquainted with my daughter Eloise.”
He bowed. “Yes, ma’am. I am.”
“That was very good of you to come to Miss Westbrook’s aid. Are you returning to Newport on this train?”
“Yes. I’ve concluded my business in New York for the moment.”
“Please join us in my rail car,” she said gesturing toward the Beatrice.
Lilly blanched, but added, “By all means. We ’d so enjoy your company.”
He couldn’t pass up the opportunity to ride in a fancy rail car—with Lilly. “Thank you. I’d like that.”
Boarding the last car after the ladies, he gaped at the rococo interior. He noted a frescoed ceiling, tasseled damask curtains surrounding the wide windows, and a blue velvet sofa that matched two sturdy chairs. At one end of the car stood a piano.
“Come with me,” Mrs. Carstairs directed. She led them down a passageway with bedrooms on either side. Jack looked into the one she assigned to him, a compact room paneled in mahogany with a double bed boasting a brass head- and footboard, a chest of drawers, and a desk.
“The kitchen and dining room are at the other end,” she explained.
For all his altruistic intentions, he had to admit he still craved luxury, though not on such a grand and garish scale. Depositing his luggage on the carpeted floor, he looked about the room fit for a prince, or at least a captain of industry.
“This is quite luxurious,” he said.
“Oh, do you think so? I’ve about decided to refurbish the entire rail car. It’s not quite up to standard.”
Jack withheld a wry twist of his mouth. Would he soon adapt to this privileged life and fret over the most mundane inconveniences and imperfections? He certainly hoped not.
Lord, please help me to remember where I came from and where You want me to go. Don’t allow me to be sidetracked by things I’ve never had and don’t require.
“It’s impressive as it is, Mrs. Carstairs. But if you do remodel, perhaps you’d consider donating what you don’t want to the Settlement House. They’re always in need.”
“What a splendid suggestion. I shall do it.”
“Thank you.” Jack grinned. “I guarantee Miss Diller will be grateful for your generosity.”
The tiny woman touched his arm lightly. “You are a most unusual young man, Mr. Grail. Any young lady would be fortunate to have you for a husband.”
His smile dimmed. He didn’t like the gleam in her eye.
EIGHT
As the train sped through Connecticut, Jack watched the rain splatter against the windows and stream down the glass. Miranda entertained them with several piano pieces while Lilly read a Henry James novel. Mrs. Carstairs focused her attention on Jack until she finally admitted the dreary day had made her sleepy. She adjourned to her bedroom, much to Jack’s relief. The lady incessantly chattered about her unmarried daughter, Eloise, whom he vaguely recalled as eager to please but rather clumsy.
“Lilly, would you join me in a game of checkers?”
“Yes, of course.” She smiled politely. “Jack, I’m quite eager to help Miss Diller locate funds for the Settlement House. I thought you might be willing to help us. If you wrote an article about their achievements in your newspaper—”
Jack put up his hand. “I’d be glad to. A bit of publicity would surely bring positive attention to their cause.”
“Thank you so much.”
He set up the board he found on a small table by the window. The overhead and table lamps burned brightly, dispelling the gloom, and the low, domed ceiling added a touch of intimacy to the car. They each moved their pieces twice before Jack placed his elbows on the edge of the board and leaned across the narrow expanse.
“Lilly, I’d like to tell you about my new venture, if you don’t mind. As an avid reader, I’d appreciate your perspective.”
“Please, do,” she said, then lowered her gaze to the board.
Although her tone wasn’t encouraging, he forged ahead. “I’ve decided to take Jones and Jarman in a new direction. We ’re holding our own, yet we could be so much more. With a few changes we could become a premier publishing house and far surpass our competition.”
He moved his red checker toward her black one. She jumped it. She seemed to be concentrating more on the game than on his words.
“All I need to do is expand one of our lines. It’s a matter of which one, the romances or the westerns. Westerns are selling fairly well, but the love sto
ries are floundering—except for Fannie Cole’s novels. They’ve taken off because she ’s very gifted.” Jack moved his checker and jumped Lilly’s. Twice.
He watched her stare at the board, holding her breath. Her full lips went white, and a film of perspiration glistened on her forehead. A rather extreme reaction, he noted, to his double-jump— or was it because he mentioned Miss Cole? He pressed on, staring at her. “But Miss Cole ’s public is clamoring for more of her—more stories, more information of a personal nature. They want to get to know Fannie Cole, the real woman.”
Her mouth pursed. “That sounds intrusive to me.” She kept her gaze fastened to the board as if those red and black squares held the answer to all of life’s problems. But she didn’t make a move.
He shrugged. “Perhaps, but it would help us sell books if she came forward and met her public. And I’d see to it myself that she wasn’t exploited.”
“Going public?” She swallowed hard. “Don’t you think that’s asking a lot of her? She might cherish her privacy.” Fiddling with the jabot of her lacy white blouse, Lilly leaned away from the table, avoiding his stare.
“Our closest competitors, Atwater Publishers, flaunt their star, Mrs. Elna Price, and believe me, it’s paid off. Her writing isn’t half as good as Fannie Cole’s, but she’s a star. And that’s what I want Fannie to become, the brightest star in the publishing galaxy. She’s already a sensation. Stardom, that’s what I’m after for her.”
Lilly cheeks flared with color. “Obviously she prefers anonymity.”
“Yes,” he conceded, “right now. But I’m sure if we spoke, I could convince her to change her mind. A little dose of publicity would be in her best interest as well as mine.”
“When you locate her, you can mention it.”
Jack expelled a long groan. “As I’ve said before, I don’t know who she is. Lewis Jarman tells me even he doesn’t know her real name.”
Lilly leveled a glare. “Leave her alone, Jack. Obviously she doesn’t want to be found.”
Why was Lilly so defensive on Fannie Cole ’s part? What was it to her? Perhaps her sensibilities were offended by the genre. He bent over the board, leaning so close he could drink in her sweet breath and floral scent. Jasmine, he thought. “That’s the problem. If she doesn’t come forward and agree to some publicity, I’ll have to drop our line of romance dime novels and concentrate all our resources on the westerns.”
Love on a Dime Page 7
