“Mrs. Houston? Who’s Mrs. Houston?” Jo was looking forward to meeting Mrs. Linton, and hopefully being introduced to her son.
“She’s the housekeeper, Jo. Rich people don’t bother with the likes of us.” Glen snorted.
“They don’t?”
“Wait here, I’m going to be late otherwise.” Glen disappeared behind the house, leaving Jo alone on the sidewalk. She looked up at the enormous house, removed her hat, and patted her carefully created bun. Reality struck with the thick, icy fog. She had about as much chance of marrying the wealthy, young Linton chap as she had of being struck by lightning in a city where it was rare.
“Are you waiting for someone, Miss?”
Jo was startled by the voice. She turned to see a dapper young gentleman sitting in a shiny Duesenberg with all the windows rolled down. The man maneuvered the auto against the curb, twisting the wheels until they ground themselves into the curb on the steep street to keep it from escaping. He emerged from the car dressed in a tuxedo, a camel’s hair overcoat, and velvety black top hat. Tipping his hat elegantly, he spoke again, “Good morning. Mr. Winthrop Linton at your service.” His voice was a low growl, as though tinged with intention.
Jo stood up straight, smoothing the folds of her thick, wool skirt. She had dressed in her finest that morning, but suddenly she felt as raggedy as a street urchin. Winthrop Linton’s finely tailored clothing was just another reminder that he was well out of her reach. His charms were an eerie reminder that she wasn’t versed in fine society. Her marital aspirations disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared.
“Miss Josephine Mayer,” she stammered.
“What brings such a young beauty to my doorstep this fine Wednesday morning?” Under his top hat, Winthrop Linton boasted a mop of curiously sloppy brown hair. He had light brown eyes and nondescript facial features, including a complete lack of chin. Jo scrutinized his face again, but there was no shadow or clothing across his face, he simply lacked a chin. Although small in stature, his dress made him appear bigger and more important.
“I, um, I was waiting to speak with Mrs. Houston about a job,” she blurted nervously.
“Well then, you must come in, she’ll be waiting.” Mr. Linton took her arm and began leading her up the front path. Jo now understood enough to know her presence would not be welcome in the front parlor at such an early hour.
She tried to pull herself from his gentle grasp. “No, Mrs. Houston doesn’t know I’m coming. I mean, I haven’t been invited in yet.”
“Nonsense. I’m inviting you in. I think you’re a ripe little beauty, and Mrs. Houston always hires such plain-Janes. It would be nice to have an ornament for a change. Come in.” With one final tug, Jo was standing in the extravagant foyer. The marble entryway, covered by a domed, glass ceiling, was larger than Jo’s entire flat—a family of three could have easily lived in the foyer.
“Glen Bechtel is asking—”
“Ah, so you’re Glen’s girl.” Winthrop Linton clicked his tongue. “Well, I’ve had enough of my girlfriends wag their tongues over him; it’s only fair he should end up with a beauty like you.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned against the great mahogany banister.
“I’m not Glen’s girl, I’m just a friend,” Jo said hastily. She didn’t want him to think she was unavailable. “He lives in the flat upstairs.”
“Winthrop, is that you?” an operatic voice called. A large, elegantly dressed woman who appeared to be about fifty years of age came down the stairs. Her deep violet clothing shuffled with the sound of expensive material and was clearly styled in the latest fashion.
“Yes, Mother. Come see who Mrs. Houston’s hired.” Winthrop Linton wore a devious grin as his mother lumbered down the great stairwell.
Mrs. Linton scrutinized Jo, then summarily ignored her presence. “Were you out all night again, Winthrop?”
“Oh, Mother, you know the parties hardly begin before sunup. I had a marvelous time.” He kissed his mother’s cheek, and her expression immediately softened.
“When it’s time for you to take over your father’s business, you won’t be able to keep such hours, Son.”
“Nor will I, Mother. Mother, this is Miss Josephine Mayer. She is a friend of our own Glen Bechtel. The carpenter?”
“Well, Miss Mayer, I’m sorry Glen didn’t explain certain things to you, but the hired help uses the rear door and stays out of sight of the family. Otherwise, well, otherwise we might not be the genteel sort of family we are. We’d be common, do you understand?”
“Yes, Mrs. Linton. I understand perfectly. I’m sorry to have bothered you this fine morning. If you’ll just point me in the right direction, I’ll be happy to find Mrs. Houston.” Jo felt a shaft of irritation that Winthrop had placed her in such an awkward position, but if it helped her get the job, she was grateful.
“Nonsense, I’ll take you. I’ll meet you in the dining room, Mother.” Winthrop once again took her arm chivalrously and led her to the back of the extensive house. “Sorry about Mum, Sweetheart. I’m afraid she’s living in a very Victorian age. She hasn’t quite realized we are all of equal stature here in the twentieth century.”
When they reached the cavernous kitchen, Glen was waiting with a scowl. He stood beside a particular-looking, stout woman who simply appeared angry. “Mrs. Houston.” Winthrop placed a kiss on her irate forehead. “I met this little woman on the sidewalk in front of our home. It appears she’s looking for work. You’ll take care of her, won’t you?”
“Yes, Sir,” Mrs. Houston replied curtly. Her eyes thinned at Jo. “I’ll take care of her, indeed.”
The disappointment in Glen’s eyes could not have upset her more. He had placed his job on the line for her, and however misinterpreted, she had risked his apprenticeship with her folly. Why hadn’t she told Winthrop she was walking to the streetcar or something else? Remembering the inane thoughts of marriage to a wealthy magnate that she’d entertained, she wondered if she hadn’t done it on purpose. Perhaps her own foolishness had led her here. Another dead end for work, and now Glen, her only connection, was upset by her foolishness.
She reached for Glen’s broad shoulder. “I’m sorry, Glen, I didn’t—”
He flinched and pulled away. “I’ve got work to do. Here’s a quarter for the streetcar.” He tossed it at her, and his crystal, gray-blue eyes disappeared as he backed out the door.
“You haven’t got the sense of a puppy if you don’t know enough to use the service entrance,” Mrs. Houston bellowed. “And I promise you no work. This is my house, and I run it accordingly. Mrs. Linton understands that. She trusts my worthy opinion.”
“Yes, Ma’am. You’re right, and I’m so sorry about my entrance. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, you’ll have to learn to think if you plan to work here. Girls without a lick of sense mustn’t work for me.”
“Ma’am?” Jo questioned.
Mrs. Houston sighed. “It isn’t every day we see the likes of a worker like Glen Bechtel. You’re a bit too attractive for the job, but if Glen is your beau, I can’t say you would be tempted by the likes of Winthrop. If Glen recommends you, I’m capable of forgiving one mistake, but let it be your last.”
“Yes, my last mistake. Absolutely, Mrs. Houston.” Jo knew better than to correct the housekeeper about Glen, but she’d also probably hear about it later.
“You’ll begin today with dusting and bathroom shining. You’ll receive two dollars a day, six days a week, with Sundays off.” Jo nodded pleasantly, trying to keep her disappointment at the low salary from showing. “I’ll get you a uniform immediately, and Miss Mayer …”
“Yes, Mrs. Houston.”
“The Lintons are a very private family. You’ll keep your presence out of theirs, do you understand? No more appearances in the family rooms when they are present unless you are called as a servant.”
“Yes, Mrs. Houston.” Jo’s joy over employment was overshadowed by Glen’s frustration with her. She finger
ed the shiny quarter in her hand, knowing the owner of it cared enough to get her back home, but that was probably all he cared. She’d make him understand her mistake. Certainly, he wasn’t unreasonable.
Chapter 3
Every muscle in Jo’s body ached. Darning socks was child’s play next to scrubbing bathroom fixtures with a vengeance. Mrs. Houston was a stickler for the smallest details, and she noticed everything. If there was the slightest smudge, Jo was forced to scrub the fixture as though it hadn’t been touched. She found herself cursing indoor plumbing by the time the day was up.
Glen met her at the back door. “How was your first day?” His voice was far too cheery, his muscular body unmatched by the day’s work.
She nearly fell into his arms as an answer. Her weary body clamored for the sanctity of her bed, and the idea of the trip to the streetcar overwhelmed her. “Good,” she replied feebly.
He laughed out loud. “You don’t look all that good. Mrs. Houston has exacting rules, but she’ll soften up. Once she knows you’re capable.”
Jo’s legs buckled underneath her as she tried to walk down the steep hill toward the streetcar. Glen noticed her stumble and gave her a pitying glance. He tucked his metal lunch box under his arm—the same arm that held his heavy toolbox. Then he took her hand and held her up by just his presence.
“Is this why you said a year? Does anyone make it through the first week?”
He chuckled. “Oh, Jo, you’re just not used to hard work. Give your body two weeks to adjust, and you won’t even notice anymore. I think if you work for a year for Mrs. Houston, there won’t be a challenge you can’t meet.”
“Will my arms look like yours?”
Glen had his work shirt folded above the elbows, and the material stretched precariously where it needed to hold his muscles. “I don’t think so, Darlin’.”
He helped her to the streetcar stop. Jo thought she’d cry at the sight of the full cabin; her body ached with desire to sit. Luckily, a gentleman gave up his seat, and Jo thanked him profusely.
“Seriously, Jo,” Glen said, leaning over her, “I know the Lintons aren’t an easy family to work for, but I think you’ll find if you stick it out, it will be worth your while. They’ve been so good to my boss and me. They’ve kept us working for nearly two years now. Soon I’ll have my carpentry apprenticeship finished, and I’ll be able to go wherever I want. The union is paying about eight dollars a day now.”
“Where is it you want to go?”
Glen shrugged. “Nowhere in particular. I’m happy with my life here. I’d like to move out of my sister’s apartment, though. That flat can get awful cramped with three of us.”
“Try it with four,” Jo replied miserably.
“I doubt you’ll care how crowded it is tonight.”
“That’s the truth. I’m exhausted.”
“Tomorrow will be easier.”
The streetcar rolled to a stop, and Glen hopped off, holding up his arm to help her down. As she stood, Jo found out just how sore she was and tumbled off the streetcar. She fell into Glen’s arms, and his lunch box clattered onto the street. He pulled her to the safety of the sidewalk before returning for his dented lunch box. As he put the contents back into the box, Jo smelled the stench of strong drink. Prohibition made the alcohol scent even more obvious since it had been so long since she’d smelled it. She looked around her nervously to see if there were other witnesses, but only she seemed concerned.
Glen looked up with a guilty shrug. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” He placed a broken bottle back into the lunch box.
Jo’s strength returned. “I don’t want to know anyway.” She dusted herself off and walked resolutely toward their building.
“Wait, Jo. It’s not what you think.”
What else could it be? Jo had long since heard of men addicted to strong drink during Prohibition, but she’d never met one. “You’re carrying liquor in your lunch box?” Jo’s downcast head just shook. “I can’t believe it, Glen. My sister trusts you.”
“Please just let me explain. Winthrop—”
“You yourself told me the Lintons don’t socialize with the likes of us, and now you’re going to try to blame this on Winthrop?”
“No, I’m not blaming Winthrop. Just please let me finish.”
“Never mind. The less said, the better. Just stay away from Davy, or I’ll tell my sister you carry strong drink to work. I doubt she’d want a drunk near her child.” Jo slammed the door to her apartment, scarcely hearing Glen’s last protest. It was well known that men who drank must have frequented the illegal speakeasies, and flappers, or loose women, were known to be there as well. Jo was indignant. She knew speakeasy life was a form of rebellion that many young people had taken to, but she wouldn’t have believed it of Glen. Not unless she’d seen it for herself.
“But it’s not mine, Jo!” Glen called through the door.
“Not mine. As though someone would carry an illegal substance for someone else.” She answered in a whisper, rolling her eyes. The recent Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago had shown Jo vividly that alcohol was nothing to play with. Just days ago, seven men, who thought they were undergoing a routine police inspection, were killed in cold blood by a rival bootlegger.
“How was your first day, Jo?” Marian’s tired expression tried to muster up some enthusiasm.
“It was fine. I’m tired, but I’ll survive.”
“Where’s Glen? He was coming for dinner.” Marian shut the oven door, wiping her brow with a dish towel in her hand.
“You don’t want him here, Marian. He’s not the right sort to be around Davy. Debauchery is contagious, after all.”
“Debauchery? Jo, I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but Glen is not capable of such a thing. Your hard day’s work has gone to your head. Now go upstairs, apologize, and bring him back here for dinner. We’re having pot roast. It’s his favorite. Besides, his sister will be looking forward to the quiet night with her husband.”
“I will not go, Marian. He’s … he is simply not the man you think he is. Trust me. Just please trust me.”
“Jo, you always were so dramatic. You’ll be starring with Gary Cooper one of these days in those moving picture shows,” Marian said through clenched teeth. “Go upstairs and bring Glen back down here. Mitch looks forward to their evenings and their card games.” Marian wiped her hands on her apron, clearly frustrated with the conversation.
If only Jo could tell Marian what she knew. Glen got her the job, and she owed him her silence. If he wanted to ruin his future with strong drink, that was his business, but she wouldn’t let him near Davy. But neither could she afford to lose this job by offending him. Not now. Claire could come out within six months if pennies were counted. Free rail fare would make only room and board necessary. Although the money would be tight, they’d manage.
“Jo, I mean it,” Marian barked.
Jo let out a heaving sigh. “Does Mitch approve of alcohol?” she hissed.
“My husband has never taken a drink in his life, and neither has Glen. Go upstairs and get him.”
Jo reluctantly climbed the concrete steps, only to find Glen sitting on the stair landing. He didn’t even look up when she approached. “What are you doing out here?”
“My sister made a special dinner for her husband. I’m trying to give them some privacy.” He looked up, his steely blue gaze meeting her own. “Why can’t you just listen? I listened to you when you came through the front door with Winthrop.” Glen dropped his head again. “You are so spoiled, and you’re just determined to think the worst of people.”
Jo, incensed by his accusation, railed at him. “I’m not spoiled. Cut that out! I worked hard today, and you know it! Don’t try to turn this back around on me. Liquor, last time I checked, was illegal in this country. You are carrying it around in your lunch box like it was apple juice. What would my sister think if—”
“Your sister would think there was some misunderstanding, bec
ause your sister doesn’t jump to ridiculous conclusions.”
“Ridiculous? You still smell of it, how ridiculous is proof?” She sniffed again. “Ninety proof!”
“You know, I could jump to some conclusions of my own. Like how you managed to worm your way in the front door with Winthrop Linton easily enough. The servants’ entrance wasn’t good enough for you, was it? You know, Winthrop has a notorious reputation with the ladies.”
“Funny, that’s what he says about you.”
Glen’s crystal blue eyes thinned. He stood up, walking toward his apartment door. “Is it?”
“Where are you going? My sister wants you for dinner!”
“What do you want, Josephine?” He came close. Uncomfortably close. She felt herself gulp, and she made the motion to square her shoulders. Unfortunately, they didn’t heed her call.
“I want to understand what people see in you. What do you do to fool them into thinking you’re a decent guy? We both know better.”
“I am a decent guy,” he replied softly. He was still close. She trembled in his proximity but tried to hold her uncompromising stance. She couldn’t let him know he affected her. Besides, what was it her sister said? He was a carpenter’s apprentice, with three dollars a day to his name. She rolled her eyes.
“A decent guy who just happens to carry liquor in his lunch box?”
“Yes,” he answered. “Now, what about you? You tell me you’re not spoiled, where’s my proof?”
“Your proof is that I’m here in California. I’m earning enough to bring my sister out here, and then I’ll support her, too. Would a spoiled brat do that?”
“Depends,” he answered, crossing his arms, “on why you want your sister out here. What are you three running from? All three sisters come to California with times as tough as they are?” he asked treacherously.
“I’m not running from anything. I’m simply trying to give my little sister a future. The one she deserves. The one our mother would have given us if she’d lived.” Jo had had enough of this conversation. “Dinner’s at six-thirty.” She started down the steps, but she felt his firm hand grasp her arm. His touch startled but intrigued her, and she halted. Looking into the depths of his eyes, she tried to see his villainous ways, but there was nothing—only purity, in clear blue, gazing warmly at her.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 60
