Ned waited at the bottom of the stairs. When the squeak of the top step announced her presence, he glanced up, joy shining in his eyes. “Birdie.”
Birdie’s tongue tangled. He had asked her to call him Ned, but that felt too informal. Her stuttering tongue stumbled, and what came out was “Mister … Ne–Ninnegan.” She covered her mouth, embarrassed at the mistake.
He laughed. “Just Ned. Please.” He placed his foot on the bottom stair and reached for her. “Aunt Kate has promised us a perfectly cooked chicken dinner.”
“And no one cooks chicken like Miss Kate.” Birdie accepted his arm as he led her out the door, where the same carriage Mr. Keller had rented on the day of the fair waited for them.
“You rented the brougham?” Maybe he was courting her. Fear sent cold tentacles down Birdie’s arms, and she was grateful for the long sleeves in spite of the warm summer twilight.
“Of course.” Ned helped her onto the seat as if he rented a carriage every day. “I felt bad for making you face down your former place of employment last Saturday.” He climbed beside her, and they started forward.
“That’s all right. If God hadn’t brought us there at that time, who knows what would have happened to Michal?”
“We’ll have to trust God has no one else for you to rescue this evening.”
Birdie spotted Haydn Keller walking Gladys home. Gladys’s face beamed total happiness, inviting Ned and Birdie to join the party.
The brougham took all the space in front of the diner. When Ned handed Birdie down from the seat, she half expected a red carpet to spread out under her feet. Never had she ridden in anything so fine. A couple of curious faces glanced at them then turned away, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
Ned led her to a table at the side of the diner, where she could sit with her back to the rest of the room, looking out a window. Miss Kate bustled out of the kitchen, carrying her coffeepot. “Oh good, you’re here. I’ve got some fresh chicken fried up just now, and some of my best shortcake biscuits. Thank you for sending me the extra eggs today, Mr. Finnegan. I used every one of them in making the custard. Dessert’s on me.” She winked and bustled back into the kitchen.
Eggs? Dessert on the house? Fiddling with the strings of her sunbonnet, Birdie glanced at the chalkboard where Miss Kate had listed the day’s specials. Custard dessert 25 cents—almost the same amount he’d paid her for a dozen eggs only a few hours ago. She folded her bonnet and laid it beside her.
“Aunt Kate likes to tell everyone what to eat, doesn’t she?” Ned brought the coffee cup to his lips, oblivious to the anger coursing through Birdie’s body.
“You sold eggs to Miss Kate. My eggs.”
Ned’s mouth formed a perfect O. “She ran out this morning and asked if I had any left. It’s happened a couple of other times.”
“How much did you sell the eggs to her for?
Ned stared at the table instead of meeting her eyes. “Twenty cents a dozen.”
“The same amount you pay me for eggs.”
Ned’s smile turned into a grimace, and he nodded his head.
Birdie wasn’t sure who upset her more—Miss Kate, for buying eggs from Ned when Birdie would gladly have given her whatever she needed, or Ned, for charging the same amount to his customers that he paid her, not making any profit on their business exchange after all.
Miss Kate reappeared, chicken, mashed potatoes, and carrots steaming from two plates. She placed the first plate in front of Birdie with a flourish. Next she served Ned, but he didn’t look at either one of them, his chin pushing against his chest. “Oh my. Let me pull up a chair.”
No one disobeyed Miss Kate when she used that tone, and Birdie moved to her right. The cook plunked beside her and took both Birdie’s and Ned’s hands in her own. “You two young ninnies. You’re not going to let any little thing keep you apart, are you?”
Chapter 7
Birdie’s feet moved of their own volition, ready to take flight away from the mockery Ned and Miss Kate made of her efforts toward independence. Ned wrapped his intentions in a nicer package than Owen did, that was all. Like all the men she had ever known, he wanted to control her. What he and Aunt Kate didn’t seem to realize was that if she accepted charity, if she depended on someone else, she would never know if she could make her own way. What if she were tossed out on the street again, forced to find work in another place like the Betwixt ’n’ Between—or even worse? “I won’t take charity.”
The bell over the door jangled, and Miss Kate left to greet the new customer.
“I have to make my own way. Why can’t anyone understand that?” Birdie glared at the butter melting on her plate. Should she be polite and eat the meal she now had no appetite for? Or could she simply walk out? She started to turn around to ask Miss Kate to wrap up her plate so the food wouldn’t go to waste.
“Don’t.” Ned’s voice dug barbs into her soul. “You don’t want him to see you.”
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here, sitting as pretty as you please.”
Owen. Birdie froze, the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. Why, oh why, had she agreed to come to the diner with Ned, as if she had the same right as anybody else to have a nice meal in a public place?
Silence fell across the diner, and a heavy tread crossed the wooden boards.
“Mr. Owen, why don’t you sit over here?” Miss Kate did her best to divert his attention.
“Why, that isn’t necessary. I’m sure there’s room for me at Birdie’s table.”
Ned shot to his feet and blocked Owen’s path to Birdie. “Miss Landry and I are enjoying a quiet meal. I suggest you do the same.”
Birdie’s nose wrinkled at the odor of stale sweat, whiskey, and cigar smoke that followed Owen like a miasma, and she choked as acid rose in her throat. She pressed the napkin to her mouth and willed herself not to turn around, but she couldn’t stop herself.
Owen stood a little higher on his toes and peered at Birdie over Ned’s shoulder. “I just want a conversation, real friendly-like, with the lady.”
“She’s with me.” Ned’s voice deepened until Birdie could hardly recognize it.
Neither man moved. Miss Kate went from table to table, refilling water glasses and topping off coffee cups. She spoke quietly to the customers, and slowly the chatter of conversation resumed. She squeezed behind the two men and whispered in Birdie’s ear, “Eat. Don’t let him rattle you.”
Birdie didn’t know how she could chew, let alone swallow the bite, but she knew Miss Kate was right. She dipped her spoon into fluffy mashed potatoes smothered in creamy gravy that would slide down her throat without effort.
Miss Kate stood by the table until Birdie took a few bites. Then, nodding approvingly, she faced the two men. “Mr. Owen, if you have no intention of eating here tonight, I must ask you to leave.” For someone without a grouchy bone in her body, her voice bordered on angry.
With a single swift move, Owen ducked between Ned’s slender frame and Miss Kate’s more ample figure and came face-to-face with Birdie. “You can’t hide from me forever, girl. I know you had something to do with Michal’s disappearance, and you’re gonna tell me where she is.” Satisfied with his final volley, he swung in a circle and marched out the door.
The need for pretense gone, Birdie dropped her fork on her plate. She grabbed for the water glass to ease the dryness in her throat. A few customers sent surreptitious glances her way, but most kept their eyes on their plates or on each other.
Ned, her champion, sat, and the iron that had armed him gradually left. He brought a chicken leg to his mouth and crunched on the crispy coating. “I know you want to leave, and I don’t blame you. But you should wait until that man goes back to whatever hole he slithered out of. And please, don’t go anywhere alone for the next few days. He’s angry and frustrated because you’re winning skirmishes you and the Almighty have started. He wants to strike back.”
As much as Birdie wanted to make her own way, she recogn
ized the difference between self-reliance and foolishness. Nodding her agreement, she dug her knife and fork into the chicken thigh. The flavorful dark meat went agreeably down her throat, and the sweet custard pie made from the extra eggs slid down without effort. Ned ate more than she did, chasing the crumbs around his plate. Neither one of them spoke beyond “Pass the salt, please.”
Birdie took advantage of the quiet to formulate a plan. While Ned cleaned his plate, she folded her napkin in her lap and made herself look at him. “I know you want to help. But I have to make my own way. If you respect me at all, I beg you, let me do business in the way I see fit.”
Ned’s mouth opened and shut before he shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “I’ll give you eighteen cents a dozen, if that will make you happy.”
“Five cents for four eggs, or a penny an egg for less than that.” She pinned him with her eyes.
Squirming at first, again he nodded his head.
Birdie had kept an account of every egg she’d sold to Ned, and the number stuck in her head. She knew exactly how much she needed to reimburse him. She had spent most of the money already, on the fabrics and whatnots to make another dress for Michal, as well as fabric for another dress for Shannon, another woman ready to leave Owen’s employ. How could she pay Ned back?
As Birdie tied her sunbonnet under her chin, she wondered at the futile gesture. Owen had recognized her on the street in spite of the hat. In any case, she couldn’t have kept it on after she took her seat.
Once they made their way into the street, the setting sun continued beating on her head. Whistling softly, Ned used an alternate route to drive the brougham to the boardinghouse. When he acted like this, attuned to her inner feelings, protecting her, she could almost forget the things he wanted to do that threatened her independence. Part of her, more than she wanted to admit, hated to hurt him, to strain the relationship growing between them. Then she remembered the way his patronizing her had dimmed the shine from her new life. She couldn’t afford to be that dependent on any man ever again.
They reached the boardinghouse before she worked up the courage to tell him her decision. The porch swing invited her to enjoy a few stolen minutes with Ned, but they would be vulnerable to watching eyes. Ned must have sensed her unease, because he guided her around the side of the house where beautyberry bushes hid them from passersby but kept them within sight of the house windows.
Ned dropped his hand from her elbow. “You’re upset with me. I’m ready to listen.”
Birdie took a deep breath. How could she explain her abhorrence of depending on a man when she couldn’t quite explain it to herself? “This is something I have to do by myself. Not with your help or Miss Kate’s. God’s help, maybe.” She allowed herself a small smile.
“But you yourself want to help your friends. We—I—care about you. You’ve come so far in the past year, all on your own. It’s all right to accept a gift.”
“I can’t explain it.” Birdie shook her head. “If I had the money to pay you back today, I would give it to you. But I spent it already, on the fabric I bought yesterday. I won’t accept any payment for the long johns or the eggs until I pay you back.”
“It’s not that much.” Weak, Ned, that’s weak. Tell her you refuse payment of any kind.
“I’ll check my records to make sure of the amount.” Her face relaxed a little bit. “But I’ve counted it over and over, every penny and nickel and dime.”
Ned counted to ten. He could list any number of reasons, from spiritual to practical, to prove her wrong, but God’s small voice told him to let it go. Staying silent was difficult when all he wanted to do was to take Birdie in his arms and beg her to let him help. “It’s no hardship, you know. God has blessed my business.” A previous discussion popped into his head. Following up on her suggestion could do no harm. “My business has picked up, and I could use a clerk to help me. Would you like the job?”
Before he finished voicing the question, color raced into Birdie’s face and she backed up a step. “Not me. I’m busy sewing. But one of the girls is real good with numbers, and I think she’s ready to leave. As soon as …” The same defeated expression he had seen on her face earlier returned.
“Would Miss Clanahan be interested?”
The expression on Birdie’s face gave Ned her answer before she spoke. “She’s shy, in spite of everything she’s been exposed to. She’s handy with a needle, though. She’s already helping me with the long johns.” A small smile lightened her face.
As long as the women lived with Aunt Kate, they wouldn’t go hungry. Ned thanked the Lord for that much. “I will let you do this, Birdie. But don’t you try to repay me one penny more than one cent apiece. You’re not the only one who keeps records.”
The window curtains twitched, reminding Ned of how long they had lingered outside talking. The sky had deepened to the dark blues of twilight. A single strand of red hair dangled across Birdie’s forehead and cheek. His fingers itched to tuck it behind her ear, but before he could untangle his fisted hand, she found it and took care of it.
“Thank you for standing up to that man tonight.” Birdie played with the strings of her sunbonnet, and he wished she would remove it and reveal her glorious hair. “I will see you in the morning, when I bring the eggs.” A frown line creased the bridge of her nose. “The next time Miss Kate needs eggs, send her to me. Please. She should know she only has to ask.”
Ned nodded in resignation. Even when he and Aunt Kate came up with the idea of her buying eggs from the store for the diner instead of asking Birdie for more, he had known this day would come. “I will.”
“Until tomorrow, then.” Walking away, she removed the bonnet from her head, and the final golden fingers of sunset set her head afire.
Miss Birdie Landry might not accept his money. But there had to be something more he could do to help.
God would show him the way.
Chapter 8
How’s this one?” Ned held up an empty jar from the top shelf for Gladys’s inspection.
“Perfect.” Gladys accepted it and tied a bow in a red-and-white check around the mouth of the jar. On the outside she pasted a sign drawn on fine drawing paper that simply said: BUTTONS. She giggled. “Birdie will never guess what you have in mind. And she can’t complain about this.” She gave the jar a prominent place between the cash register and a container of lemon drops on the front counter. “Between Aunt Kate, Mrs. Fairfield, and me, this jar will be full in no time at all.”
“And the button count will be a real contest. Everyone will win.” Ned climbed down from the ladder. “I hope people will want to help.”
“Mr. Keller has enough money to make things happen. In fact, he wants to be the first contributor. I’ll buy some buttons, and you can put any change into Birdie’s account.” She pulled a ten-dollar bill from her pocket and studied the array of buttons with the sewing notions. “I know she loves pearl-like buttons, but they’re a little more expensive. So I’ll get wooden buttons in all different sizes and shapes, as well as in all different colors.”
As soon as Ned counted out the buttons, Gladys dropped them into the jar, where they hit the bottom with a ping. “You said you have some buttons at home that you wanted to add?”
Emptying his pockets, Ned dropped a dozen or so buttons of assorted colors into the jar. “If I find more, I’ll add them.”
Gladys tacked another sheet of drawing paper next to the jar.
BUTTON CONTEST. BRING ANY BUTTONS THAT YOU HAVE AT HOME AND ADD THEM TO THE JAR. ON JULY 1st–3rd, GUESS THE NUMBER OF BUTTONS IN THE JAR. THE WINNER WILL BE ANNOUNCED DURING THE INDEPENDENCE DAY FESTIVITIES. GRAND PRIZE: A BAG OF LEMON DROPS AND A YARD OF YOUR FAVORITE FABRIC
“I never would have thought of lemon drops.” Ned popped one in his mouth.
“The children will be excited. They’ll pester their mothers, who will remember the buttons. Mrs. Fairfield said they’ve done the same kind of thing at church. Get the children to come and the
adults will follow.”
Ned scratched his head. “Did it work?”
“It must have.” Gladys shrugged. “She wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.”
The bell rang, and the door swung open. “Oh, you have a customer.” Birdie spoke so quietly that Ned could hardly hear her.
“It’s just me, Birdie, come on in. I wanted to talk with you anyhow.” Gladys winked at Ned. “You’re just the right person to help with this campaign.”
“What is that?” Birdie came to the front. “Fifteen eggs today.”
She waited while Ned counted them. “Fifteen it is.” He nodded at the button jar. “I’m asking folks to bring whatever extra buttons they have, ones that they find on the ground or that they took off a shirt after it wore out.”
“There are some in here already.” Birdie leaned over and studied the contents of the jar. “You’re off to a good start. Let me check and see if I have any. If I do, I’ll bring them with me tomorrow.”
Behind Birdie, Gladys smothered a laugh. “So you want the lemon drops?” She let out her laugh this time.
“If I win, I’ll give the candy to Ruth for her schoolchildren. And fabric always comes in handy.” She tapped on the countertop. “I expect to have three pairs of long johns ready by Friday if anyone inquires after them.”
“That’s good.” Ned nodded. “You’re getting a lot done with Miss Clanahan’s help.”
That brought a smile to Birdie’s face.
“God is already using you to accomplish the mission He called you to do. I’m happy for you,” Ned said.
Birdie’s smile dimmed. “I don’t think there’s enough sewing for more than the two of us. Girls leaving the life need so much—clothes, jobs, a home.” She fixed her gaze at a point far away down the street, out to the farms lying east of town.
Gladys said with a smile, “I have an idea about finding jobs.”
Birdie spun around. “What’s your idea?” Turning to Ned, she said, “Gladys was the one who suggested the mission projects idea for our group. She’s a bit of a dreamer.”
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 26
