Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  “A lot of women probably feel stifled by a tradition that says certain jobs are for men only. Maybe some positions should stay that way, but God gave writing ability to both men and women. If a gal wants to write fluff, so be it. But if she wants to write hard news, she should be allowed.”

  Meg stared at him. Maybe he really wanted to help her. But if she wasn’t careful, he’d become a distraction, same as Matthew had been—a distraction that cost her the grades she’d worked so hard to attain and gave Dad more reason to pull her out of school. The only answer was to see Jack at work only. At least she’d have the weekends to gather herself for the next five days.

  Meg looked at his empty bowl and then at her half-full one. She’d lost her appetite. “If we don’t get back to the office, neither of us will have a job. But then, I suppose you’re safe, having an in with the boss.”

  He scowled. “But you’ve not finished eating.”

  “All this rushing took my hunger away. I’ve had plenty.” She picked up her handbag.

  Jack stood and grabbed the check. He came around the table and waited for her to stand. “By the way, can you tell your mother that I accept her invitation to join your family for services this Sunday? You’ll have to tell me where to find your church.”

  Chapter Ten

  Meg remained seated as though glued to her chair. Mom invited people to church all the time, but it never occurred to Meg that the practice would include Jack.

  “Meg?”

  She snapped her thoughts to attention and stood. “We’d better hurry.”

  Outside, as they headed past the movie theater toward Main Street, Meg resolved to adopt the positive view her mother heard recently on the radio: When fate hands you a lemon, make lemonade. She couldn’t help Jack’s arrival or the fact that he had gotten the job she wanted. She had to make the best of the situation. She supposed she could always use a friend. But what was she to do when her heart did flip-flops at his lopsided smile?

  “From the surprised look on your face, I presume you didn’t hear your mother invite me.”

  Meg stared at the cement under her feet and stuffed her hands into her coat pockets. “No, I didn’t.”

  “She asked me over dessert.”

  She forced a chuckle. “Maybe I dozed off.”

  “You okay with it?”

  “Of course. It’ll be fun to have you visit.”

  “Good. It’s probably best I meet you there…wherever there is.”

  Meg relaxed. He didn’t suggest he call for her like it was a date. This friend-only status would work fine. “It’s Faith Community Church on Madison Street, just before you come to the tracks. The service starts at ten thirty.”

  “Sounds easy enough. It’s been a long while since I’ve been to church. I’m looking forward to it.”

  They arrived at the office and stepped inside. Emily pulled her headset away from her mouth, the movement causing a strand of hair to fall from her bun. “Meg, your mother wants you to call home immediately.”

  Meg hurried out of her coat and hat and handed them to Jack, who offered to put them into the closet. Mom never called her at work unless she needed something from the grocery. That was probably all it was, but the “immediately” part had her on edge. Emily put her through.

  “Hi, Mom. I heard you called.”

  “Will you be home by five thirty?”

  “I can. Is something wrong?”

  “Your father called. You know how he likes his girls home for supper.”

  With their neighbor Mrs. Branigan, who shared their party line, likely listening in, Mom used the coded language she’d developed. Meg got the message. Dad planned a family meeting at five thirty. Probably his usual “Let’s pull up our bootstraps and support our merchants speech.”

  She agreed and hung up, and Jack came up to her desk. “Everything okay?”

  “She just had a question. Mom’s looking forward to your joining us on Sunday.”

  Jack answered with a grin and moved to his seat, while she took a want-ad call. Not exactly political intrigue, but for the first time in a long while, she was content to do her job no matter the task.

  Refreshed by her walk home, Meg stepped into the house and passed by the living room. She waved at Dad, who had his nose in the Beacon. In the kitchen, Laura stood at the counter mashing potatoes, while Mom spread tomato sauce on top of a meatloaf.

  Meg went to the sink and washed her hands. “How can I help?”

  “This needs a few more minutes in the oven. Can you set the table?” Mom opened the oven door and slid the meat inside.

  Meg gathered silverware, plates, and napkins and went through the swinging door. She gave the table a glance then returned to the kitchen. “The table is already set.”

  Mom wiped her brow with the bottom of her apron. “Oh. How silly of me. Just fill glasses with water.”

  Meg stared at Mom. “Is this meeting something more than the usual rally-around-the-storekeepers mantra?

  Mom shrugged. “I have no idea what’s on your father’s mind.”

  Ten minutes later, the family gathered at the table. Dad’s brown brows knit together as he peered at Laura. “Young lady, did you cut your hair?”

  Laura patted the waves framing her face. “I just used the curling iron a bit. But don’t be surprised if one day I get it waved.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “Not while you’re still in school, you won’t.”

  “I’ll pay with my own money.” Her lower lip protruded into a pout.

  Meg picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and slapped a mound onto her plate. After a couple of minutes Dad would give in and Laura would get her way—again.

  Mom frowned. “Louis, you know you never get anywhere with the girls when you start discussing their hairdos.” She handed Meg the carrots. “Would you start these, dear?”

  The family was occupied for the next few minutes as food bowls were passed around the table and plates were filled.

  Meg dug into her meal, extra hungry since she hadn’t eaten much lunch. She glanced at Dad. He appeared to be relaxed, eating and sipping on his water. If what he had to say was crisis-ridden, he didn’t seem rattled. Maybe he just wanted his family around the dinner table. She speared a carrot and popped it into her mouth.

  Dad cleared his throat. “I have an announcement.”

  Meg drew in a deep breath and set her fork on her plate.

  Her father scanned everyone’s faces with a penetrating stare. “I’m losing my secretary. Kathleen announced today that she and Richard are expecting a child.”

  Meg relaxed. Was that all? “They’ve been married three or four years already. I bet they’re happy.”

  “She was beaming. The baby is due in October, so I’ll be replacing her by the first of the month.”

  “She’s the best secretary you’ve had, Louis.” Mom kept her eyes trained on Dad. “Where are you going to find such a person?”

  He cast her a knowing smile. “I don’t need to look far, Margaret. She’s sitting right here.”

  “But Laura is going to college in the fall,” Meg said.

  Color rose on Dad’s neck as he turned toward her. “I didn’t mean Laura. I meant you, Meg.”

  She flinched. His words didn’t make sense. “I’m not a secretary. I’m a reporter.”

  “You’re a want-ad taker who also writes society news. I can pay more than what Oscar’s giving you.”

  She sat up straight and glared at him. “More money doesn’t matter. I don’t know the first thing about law. I know newspapers.”

  The flush had risen past his twitching moustache and into his cheeks. “You’ll know as much about law within a few weeks. You type at the paper, and you’ll type for me. You’ll start on the first. That’ll enable you to give Oscar three weeks’ notice.”

  Meg looked at Mom, sending an unspoken plea for help.

  Her mother peered at Dad. “Louis, Meg adores working for the newspaper. Why are you doing this?”

>   “If you must know, Margaret, I’m not pulling in clients like in the past, and I’ve had to grant pro bono to more people than before. I can pay Meg more than she makes now, but it will be a lot less than what I give Kathleen.” He picked up his fork. “It’s an economy move.” Stabbing a carrot, he lifted it to his mouth.

  Meg’s stomach lurched, and she threw her napkin next to her plate. “I am not a secretary.” She pushed back her chair and stood, keeping her eyes on Dad, who stared at his plate.

  He raised his gaze to meet hers. “You should be grateful. In this day and age, many girls would love to have such a job.”

  “Then you’ll have no trouble finding someone else.” Her hardened tone echoing in her ears, Meg stormed out of the room and scrambled up the stairs, nearly stumbling over Laura’s purse halfway up. She picked up the bag and slammed it onto her sister’s bed before going to her own room. Was this the sign from God she was looking for? What she needed now was a positive answer from Mattie.

  The sun flashed in Meg’s eyes the next morning as she turned and headed down Main, her heels clacking on the cement. After tossing during most of the night, she’d crawled out of bed at four AM and opened her Bible, hoping for answers. But all she encountered were more questions. God said He had a plan for her, yet her life was unraveling.

  With His help, she’d gotten through high school. Then, later at college, after seeing her grades drop—thanks to a six-foot-tall distraction—she’d raised her average to a B before Dad insisted she come home. When Mr. Zimmer offered her a job at the News-Trib, she was sure God had provided for her.

  Working at the paper at least kept her in journalism, and she had no intention of working anywhere else as long as she lived in Lake Geneva. She quickened her pace. Dad wasn’t going to determine her future.

  By the time she reached the center of town, her stomach gnawed against her insides. Too upset to eat, she’d left home without her usual cereal. She checked her watch then crossed the street and stepped into the café next to the Hotel Clair. People filled the four tables next to the wall, smoking and drinking coffee. She slid onto an empty stool at the counter.

  “Morning, Miss Alden.” Lester Zimmer plopped onto the neighboring seat. “I’ve never seen you in here this early.”

  “I’ve never come here for breakfast. I couldn’t sleep.”

  “What can I get you folks?” Joe Schenk, the café owner, rested his burly fists on the counter.

  Meg ignored the menu clipped to the napkin holder in front of her. “Dry toast and coffee, for me.”

  “Two soft-boiled eggs, toast, and coffee.” Lester pulled a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket.

  Meg scrunched her nose. “Would you mind waiting until later to smoke? The fumes don’t go well with my empty stomach.”

  He frowned but returned the cigarettes to his pocket. “If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should have stayed home.”

  She let out a soft sigh. “I’m fine.” If feeling like a forgotten corpse in the county morgue was normal, she was fine.

  “Dad liked the article.”

  “Good.” Meg dropped sugar cubes into the coffee Joe set in front of her. She waited until Lester stirred cream into his brew. “After you do the war-vet piece, you’ll be on your own.”

  He heaved a sigh. “Dad wants me to write an article next week on Wayne King and the other bands they’re booking for the summer.”

  Meg’s chest constricted. She could write that story in a wink. But she wouldn’t give him her file on the big bands. Best she cut all ties, even in sharing research.

  Her toast arrived, and she spread grape jelly over one of the slices. “Sounds like a fun article.”

  “For you, yes, but not for me. I don’t know the first thing about the music.”

  “Wayne King must have a booking agent in Chicago. Find out who it is and call him with your questions. There’s a file at the office.” She bit into her toast. She’d given him a morsel of help. No more.

  “Would you at least read the piece?” Lester’s soft-boiled eggs arrived. He turned them out into a bowl then broke pieces of toast into the yellow mixture.

  Meg gathered her thoughts. She wanted to say yes, but she shouldn’t. Some people might be able to skim it and hand it back, but not her. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Before we know it, we’ll be back to my rewriting the whole article.”

  He grew quiet as he ate. By the time she shoved the last of her toast into her mouth and washed it down with her coffee, he’d finished and was reaching into his pocket for his smokes. A good time for her to exit. She opened her purse and pulled out several coins. After leaving them on the counter, she stood. “See you later.”

  She headed for the door. She’d probably just cut herself off from any newswriting as long as she was at the News-Trib. It was time to go.

  When Meg arrived home that evening, she felt ill-prepared to face Dad. She went directly to the kitchen and grabbed an apron. “Hi, Mom. Need help?”

  Mom turned from the sink. “Not tonight. I’m keeping it simple. How was work?”

  Meg replaced the apron on its peg. “Okay.”

  “Did you talk to Mr. Zimmer?”

  “Not about quitting. And I don’t intend to.”

  “Did I say anything about your quitting the paper?”

  Meg shook her head and worked her lower lip between her teeth.

  Mom turned off the water and scurried over. She pulled Meg into a hug. “Did I ever tell you how I told your father I intended to keep working at the library after our wedding?”

  Meg stepped back. “You worked at the library?”

  “My dream was to write a novel, but my parents scoffed at the idea. Your grandmother was educated at the seminary that used to be on Baker Street. Practicing the refinements of painting on china and other ladylike aspirations was her idea of appropriateness for a young woman. Fortunately, my interest in reading got me a job at the library.” She smiled. “I have yet to use my china-painting skills.” She let out a sigh. “Your father was just out of law school and not making much money when we planned on marrying. Still, he insisted I stay home. My last day at the library was two days before the wedding.”

  “And you never wrote a story.” Meg brushed back a stray lock from her mother’s face.

  Mom’s face brightened. “I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve been working on a novel whenever I have a few minutes. Maybe someday I’ll finish it.”

  “Where is it?”

  “In my underwear drawer.” She went to the stove and stirred a pot. “Meg, if your dream is God’s plan for you, it will happen in His timing.”

  Meg stared at her feet. “All God seems to want for me is typing boring society news or briefs for Dad.”

  “Just because your father wants you to work for him doesn’t mean it’s God’s choice for you. Don’t give your notice just yet.”

  Meg stepped to the sink and stared out the window at the orange-and-yellow sunset. “But what will Dad think if I don’t do as he said? The last thing I want is to cause a problem between you and him.” She forced a smile. “I’ll be upstairs if you need me.”

  At Mom’s call, Meg followed Laura downstairs to the dining room.

  Dad already sat in his chair, staring into his bowl. “Margaret, what on earth is this?”

  “Tomato soup, dear.”

  Meg took her seat and inspected her serving. The red liquid looked nothing like the cream of tomato soup Mom usually made. She spooned some and brought it to her nose. Familiar aroma—but what was it?

  “Let’s pray.” Dad held out his hands to Meg and Laura.

  His prayer was the usual short version he used when they didn’t have guests. As soon as he uttered “Amen,” he released Meg and Laura’s hands then lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth and sipped. “This tastes like hot, watery ketchup.” He stared at the platter in the center of the table. “Are those sandwiches? This isn’t lunch.”

  “Since you had to cut back at the office, I
thought we should do so at home. We’ll only have meat on Sundays now.” Mom selected a sandwich then passed the platter to Laura. “We had some cheese in the icebox, so I thought we’d better use it up.”

  Dad shifted in his chair. “We’re not that bad off, Margaret. It’s an exercise in good budgeting, that’s all. Couldn’t the sandwiches have been grilled like they’re doing at some of the restaurants now?”

  “Not enough butter, Louis. I don’t get my food allowance until Friday. I’ll get some then.”

  Meg hid a smile as Dad harrumphed and passed her the sandwich plate. She took the last one and bit into it. At least the mustard made it palatable even if the American cheese was a little dry. She looked at her father. “I think this is a good reminder of what so many are going through every day.”

  The family ate in silence. When Meg finished her sandwich, she glanced at Mom’s bowl, then Laura’s and Dad’s. None had been touched. She still had her own ketchup soup to eat, but by then it’d grown cold.

  “I’m going to thank God for His blessings when we go back to normal.” Laura finished her sandwich and pushed her chair back. “I have play practice tonight. I’ll take my dishes to the kitchen.” She picked up her empty plate, soup, and water glass.

  Dad frowned. “I almost fell over your schoolbooks while coming down the steps, Laura. You’ve got to take things all the way upstairs, not partway.”

  The girl dropped her gaze. “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just that I’m always so busy.”

  Mom looked from Dad to Laura. “We know, dear, but you could cause an accident if you don’t keep the stairs clear. Go ahead to practice. We’ll be having a similar meal tomorrow night. Remember, I don’t get the week’s food money until Friday.”

  Dad leaned forward and pulled a leather billfold from his back pocket. He flipped it open and drew out a couple of dollars.

  “Louis, put that back. You need money for your practice. We’ll be fine until Friday.”

  Meg collected the empty dishes and took them to the kitchen, leaving her parents’ escalating voices behind.

  Laura stood in front of the open icebox. She pulled out a plate and peeked under the waxed paper.