The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “You know there’s a reason for that alcohol flask, don’t you, Jo?”

  Jo crossed her arms. She assumed as much, but she wasn’t willing to relent. She wanted an explanation.

  “I think you and I have a lot in common.”

  “I doubt it,” she answered curtly, but her heart didn’t agree with her snappy mouth.

  “Still, you agreed to a year with the Lintons. You’re not going to back out on your promise when your sister gets here, are you?”

  “I promised. I’ll be there for a year.”

  “No matter what?”

  “Within reason,” she answered.

  “That’s not what you promised. You should know me well enough to know I wouldn’t ask anything of you that would compromise yourself.”

  “On the contrary. I don’t know you at all, Glen. You play cards, carry liquor, and have the face of a Boy Scout leader. I haven’t figured you out at all.”

  He laughed aloud. “There’s nothing to figure out, Jo. I’m just a simple carpenter’s apprentice going to work every day and trying to make a future for myself.”

  “Somehow I find that hard to believe.” And she did, too. Hardworking carpenter’s apprentices didn’t carry liquor in their lunch boxes. Glen made her swear she’d keep her job for a year, yet by his very actions that day, he could have lost his own position.

  “Winthrop said the ladies—”

  “Winthrop says a lot of things, Jo. The sooner you learn to ignore most of it, the safer you’ll be. If he ever gets too close, you come to me, do you understand?”

  Jo laughed, “Winthrop’s a gentleman, Glen.”

  “Gentlemen ignore the hired help, Jo, and it’s worse when they don’t.” He skipped the steps beyond her, never looking back. Jo simply shook her head. They lived in America, not in the caste system of India.

  Chapter 4

  Glen and Jo rode the streetcar to work silently the next day. She felt his disdain, and he probably felt hers, so they both opted for silence. Glen apparently thought she was a foolish girl who couldn’t handle herself with the likes of Winthrop Linton, and Jo thought he sought his place in the bottom of society too readily. Submission was not something that came easily to Jo, and she found Glen’s easy example of it pathetic.

  The great house looked so spectacular from the front, it was hard to fathom such darkness dwelled within. Jo shivered at the memory of Mrs. Houston’s cold reception and Mrs. Linton’s outright refusal to acknowledge her. Winthrop drove up the street, honking the horn of his Duesenberg at the unholy hour. Once again, the young, enigmatic Winthrop appeared perfectly attired after his long night.

  “Good morning, Glen. Good morning, Miss Mayer.” The young man tipped his hat chivalrously, and Jo couldn’t help her sideways glance at Glen.

  “If gentlemen ignore the hired help, someone forgot to tell Winthrop,” she whispered through clenched teeth.

  “Winthrop is an exception. He’s from a different generation than his parents. He believes in the American dream, but his parents are still in the Victorian age. He’s watched many of his friends die from the postwar flu epidemic. Money is not a separator to him. Trust me, Jo, it’s not that way with his parents. It won’t do you any good to be mingling with the likes of Winthrop. His mother would have you shot down faster than an enemy biplane.” Glen smiled as well, giving the impression they were having a perfectly amiable conversation.

  Winthrop slurred inaudibly and stumbled forward. Glen rushed to catch him, and Jo realized that young Winthrop was decidedly drunk. His eyes were glassy and he wore a careless smile. He tried to say something else, but she heard only sputters of sound.

  “Jo, go get to work. Mrs. Houston will be expecting you,” Glen shouted. Jo averted her eyes, which is really what Glen meant. She scrambled up the back steps and entered.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Houston.” Jo gave a slight curtsy.

  “Good morning, Josephine. There’s coffee brewing if you’re of a mind to drink it.” Mrs. Houston had already assembled the elegant breakfast for the family and kindly had left a few scraps of bacon for Jo next to the coffee. “You’ll be working hard today so be sure and eat up. We can’t have you withering away to nothing.” Mrs. Houston maintained her solemnity, but she must have had a heart. To consider Jo’s hungry and tired state defied that callous front.

  Jo inhaled the rich coffee aroma and took a cup from the cupboard. “Thank you, Mrs. Houston. The coffee smells divine. It’s so frightfully cold out there. I didn’t think Michigan had much competition for its winters, but that ocean fog just cuts right through a person.”

  “Drink it up quickly. I’m going to teach you to serve today. You can practice on Winthrop. Most likely he’ll be needing coffee this morning, and he’s not particular if you make a mistake.” Mrs. Houston clicked her tongue. “Perhaps after some practice you’ll be ready to serve Mrs. Linton tomorrow.”

  “Yes, of course, Mrs. Houston.”

  The older woman assembled a perfect tray, complete with orange juice, a coffee cup, two eggs, and three strips of bacon. “Now, there will be a sideboard in the dining room. Set the tray on the sideboard and serve the coffee first. There’s a silver pot waiting over the warmer. Serve from the left. Pick up from the right. Winthrop takes his coffee black. After he’s been seated with his coffee, you may set the warm plate in front of him. Don’t bother to ask him what he wants, he won’t be of a mind to care. If he needs anything you don’t see in the dining room, come back to the kitchen, and I’ll help you. All right?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Houston.” Jo’s confidence waned. She would have actually preferred scrubbing bathroom fixtures to being thrown into proper serving techniques. Of course, her mother had taught her manners, which fork to use, and all that, but actually serving for an upstanding San Francisco family was beyond her mother’s skills.

  Jo watched the orange juice shake and sputter as she headed toward the dining room. “Head up, Josephine,” Mrs. Houston called.

  Jo straightened and followed voices into the elaborate dining room. The walnut-paneled room was laden with crystal electric lights, though the general darkness of the fog and day still dimmed the room immensely. Jo was shocked to see Glen sitting beside Winthrop at the great table. It didn’t coincide with his “hired help” persona. She did as Mrs. Houston asked and placed the coffee in front of Winthrop. He and Glen were looking at plans for some type of building project—the same schematics Glen had with him on the streetcar. At least, Glen was trying to interest Winthrop in the plans, but the weary man only wanted to sleep. She placed the plate of food alongside the schematics.

  “Would you care for coffee, Mr. Bechtel?” Jo asked sweetly. Glen nodded and she poured him a cup. “Cream or sugar?”

  “No, thank you.” Glen watched her for a moment, clearly hoping she’d leave. Something about his determination caused her own to muster. She settled in at the sideboard, rearranging items that didn’t need to be rearranged.

  Winthrop smiled his drunken smile her direction. Obviously, he had little interest in Glen’s plans, or business of any sort. Winthrop just watched her dreamily. “She’s such a peach,” he slurred in Glen’s direction. “I like good-lookin’ women.”

  Glen nodded as if to tell her to leave, but she didn’t. She lifted up the coffee urn again, hoping to refill Winthrop’s cup. The poor man was in such a sorry state. His glassy eyes couldn’t quite focus on her, but he gave her a sloppy smile anyway. Suddenly, Winthrop collapsed into his plate, his face a mass of yellow eggs when he finally turned to breathe.

  “Winthrop!” His mother’s opera-tinged voice bellowed.

  “Help me get him out of here,” Glen whispered. Jo wiped Winthrop’s face with a white linen napkin while Glen lifted the load up, throwing Winthrop’s lifeless arm around his shoulder. “Get the door, Jo. The back door!”

  Thinking Mrs. Linton would come in and find the unwholesome scene, Jo ran toward the door and let the two men out quickly. “What do I tell Mrs. Linton?”


  “You’ll think of something. Get the plans!”

  Without thought, Jo rolled up the schematics and hid them in the sideboard. Just as she shut the cabinet, Mrs. Linton’s shrill voice addressed her. “Is there something you’re looking for?”

  “I was just making sure there was enough silver on the table, Mrs. Linton. Teaspoons are a necessity.” Jo cringed at the mistruth. Why was she covering for Glen? Mrs. Linton had to have some idea of her son’s behavior if he came home in the morning every day.

  “Tell Mrs. Houston I’m ready for my meal. She can serve. Did young Mr. Linton dine yet? He went to bed so early last night.”

  Jo’s eyes rested on the plate of smeared scrambled eggs. The white of the china shone through where Winthrop’s face had been, while much of the breakfast entrée rested on the crisply ironed tablecloth. “Yes, Mrs. Linton. He wasn’t very hungry.” Jo’s eyes widened.

  The older woman looked at the mess, and back at Jo. “Well, no wonder. What type of slop is that for breakfast? Please ask Mrs. Houston to come in here presently. I’m sure she can find something useful for you to do.”

  Jo nodded. “Yes, Ma’am.” Jo would probably get her walking papers that very day, and then what would she do? This was all Glen’s fault. He should have just left Winthrop to deal with the consequences of drink. Jo hurried back into the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Houston. I’m afraid I ran into Mrs. Linton, and I didn’t impress her with my serving.”

  “Never mind, Dear. I’ll deal with Mrs. Linton. You start with the dishes. We’ll work on serving again this afternoon before lunch.”

  If there is an afternoon for me, Jo thought solemnly.

  “Psst. Jo!” Glen’s roguish frame filled the doorway. “Did you get the plans?”

  Jo put a finger to her lips. “Shh! Mrs. Linton is in the dining room. You’re going to get us both fired.”

  “Jo, you’ve got to get those plans. Mrs. Linton cannot see them. Please,” he pleaded. “If not for me, do it for Winthrop. You seem to like him.”

  “Fine,” Jo relented. “But only because I owe you both my job, and if you’re up to something illegal, you ought to be ashamed for bringing me into it. I’ll get them when I clear the dishes. Now get out of here before someone sees you.”

  He flashed his perfect teeth, with all the charm of a silent movie star. Jo pursed her lips, trying to remain unaffected by his captivating grin. “I owe you, Jo. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. If Mrs. Linton asks where Winthrop is, tell her he’s out back overseeing the building.”

  “I doubt Winthrop is overseeing anything.”

  “No, he’s awake, and he’s watching us build. I’m not asking you to lie, Josephine. I’m asking you to protect Winthrop. Give it a few weeks; you’ll understand.”

  “Winthrop doesn’t strike me as the type of man who needs protecting.”

  “He will, Jo. Just give it time. Thanks!” Glen planted a kiss on her cheek and shut the door without another word. Jo unconsciously touched her cheek. She should know better than to be affected by Glen’s touch, but someone forgot to tell her pounding heart.

  “Haven’t you started the dishes yet?” Mrs. Houston’s disapproving glare shamed Jo.

  “No, Mrs. Houston. I’m sorry. I’m getting to it right now.”

  “Well, get snapping, my dear. There’s no place for idleness in this household. Mrs. Linton opted for only coffee this morning. She’s finished in the dining room. You can clear the dishes and put the table back to right. Then, come back and finish these dishes.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” Again Jo curtsied in deference. She doubted it had any effect on Mrs. Houston, but her working situation was precarious enough without being proud.

  “And Josephine,” Mrs. Houston continued, “the last girl was fired for associating with Winthrop. Make sure you keep out of his way, especially where Mrs. Linton is concerned.”

  “Of course, Mrs. Houston.” Jo cleared the dishes from the table, filling the tray with the unused, elegant bone china. Jo sighed at the sight of it. Bone china. Marian and Mitch struggled for each day’s provisions, and they still managed to feed her and Glen, too. Pot roast, no less. It couldn’t be said that Marian didn’t know how to run a proper home. It simply wasn’t right that bone china went unused and prepared meals uneaten. All this waste sickened her. But she knew if she said anything about it, Mrs. Houston would have her gone before the day was up. The wealthy had room to waste.

  Checking to her left and to her right, Jo opened the sideboard and took out the rolled plans. She was tempted to look at the contents but thought ignorance might be best. She was in enough trouble, and Claire was waiting in Michigan. Waiting for the money and the means to come to California.

  Jo tucked the plans under her arm and opened the door. “Glen,” she whispered. The hammering outside stopped, and Glen appeared.

  “You’re an angel,” Glen said smiling, taking the plans from her. “I’ll see you tonight. I may be a little late, but wait for me. I don’t want you on the streetcar alone at night.”

  “I’ll be fine,” she protested.

  “Wait for me,” he commanded, and she saw something in his eyes she couldn’t refuse. Everything about Glen Bechtel was a mystery. From what he was building out in the garden, to his liquor-toting lunch box. But for some reason, getting on the streetcar without him seemed dire. As much as reason pointed in one direction, her heart was taken in another. Glen’s soft blue eyes and gentle touch with those around him made it impossible to believe he was up to no good even though all the evidence was stacked against him. Marian’s good opinion had something to do with it. Marian wasn’t easily taken in. She had a discerning nature.

  “I’ll wait,” Jo answered.

  “Good. I promised your sister I would not let you get on the streetcar alone.”

  Jo’s heart plunged. Glen’s chivalry went only as far as duty. “I’ll wait in the kitchen,” she added solemnly.

  Chapter 5

  Disgusted by the events of the day, Glen hammered with a vengeance. His aggression was well served by his job today. Winthrop Linton was an exasperating chap—too dainty to be useful, too strong-willed to be silent. Glen’s jaw clenched remembering Jo’s concerned look for the drunken Winthrop.

  Glen would never understand women. Seems they were all taken in by those sweet, schoolboy looks of Winthrop’s. Young, idealistic women had no idea the trauma that lay beneath his easy façade. Winthrop was a broken man; useless to his powerful father and yet trying to forge a place for himself before it was too late.

  Maybe it was the money that fooled them. Women seemed to think money changed things—that it solved problems. The Linton household was a prime example that it simply wasn’t true. Money just caused different sets of problems. Turmoil reigned in that household. Jo would see it quickly enough, if she hadn’t witnessed it already with Winthrop’s continual drunken state. Jo would soon relish her place in simple society. Not that he was without feelings for Jo. The school of hard knocks was no place for a girl of seventeen. Glen had admired men of means at one time, too. But never again.

  Glen wished he could teach her the lesson without her having to see it for herself, but it wasn’t his place. Glen promised Jo’s sister, Marian, he’d look after Jo until she figured it out. An easier promise he’d never made. He’d feel responsible for any young woman in the Linton household. Josephine Mayer was special, though. He’d known that from the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

  Glen was a man of few words. He didn’t know how to describe the rush of feelings Jo sent through him. Jo wasn’t a beauty queen, but she cast some kind of spell. She was an average woman of petite stature, yet solidly built for her young age, with dark brown hair always swept up into a neat bun. She had the lightest of green eyes. Something about her defied her average looks. Men were simply attracted to her. She had that magnetism that just made a man want to know more, as though an intriguing slice of heaven hid within. Certainly Winthrop was not immune, and n
either was Glen.

  He laughed aloud at the ridiculous notion of pursuing such a romantic thought. Josephine was a mere baby. Only seventeen and in need of a big brother’s protection. She was too young to marry. He was too poor. Three dollars a day and a lifetime debt he couldn’t shake. Courting was the last thing on his mind. Or at least, it should have been.

  Glen drove the last nail of the day. One swift whack and the nail was embedded firmly into the redwood. He packed up his tools and headed toward the kitchen. He knocked. “You ready?” he asked as Jo opened the door.

  She nodded. “Good night, Mrs. Houston.”

  “Night, Dear. See you in the morning. Don’t forget about the party tomorrow night,” Mrs. Houston called.

  “No, Ma’am, I won’t.” Jo shut the door behind her and smiled up at Glen.

  “Party?” Glen tried to hide his nervousness.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Linton are entertaining business associates tomorrow. I have to work late tomorrow night. They said if it runs too late, Winthrop can take me home.”

  “No!” Glen shouted. “I mean, I’ll wait for you. I have some extra work I can do. I have just one more thing to learn before I graduate to the next step. Step three of my apprenticeship.”

  “That’s nice, Glen, but it’s not necessary. The streetcar will have stopped running by then, and I’ve put you out enough. Mrs. Houston said the parties go well into the night.”

  That’s not all they do, Glen thought. He took Jo’s hand to help her down the steep walk, and rubbed her hand. It felt like sandpaper. She pulled her hand away, hiding it in her pocket.

  “I had to shine the silver today,” she explained. “The cleaning mixture was harsh on my hands.”

  He watched her in the fading sunlight, and they faced one another. Her pale green eyes filled with tears. Clearly, this wasn’t how she imagined life. Glen unconsciously brushed a loose tendril of hair behind her shoulder. Her neatly arranged bun was now a mass of tangled confusion. She’d never looked more attractive—her vulnerability, her beauty, it all hung between them like an unspoken whisper of love. With it came the realization that she would be as irresistible to Winthrop tomorrow night as she was to Glen that very moment. Glen felt a shaft of guilt. He’d promised Marian to help get Jo work, but at what price?