The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  “Jo, maybe this job is too difficult. Maybe you ought to think of looking elsewhere,” Glen suggested.

  “When would I go look for another job? I have to be there at six-thirty in the morning, and I’m not home until just about the same time in the evening. I need to focus on Claire, not myself. She has it harder than I do, Glen.”

  Only two days of work, and she was ravenously unhappy. Who could blame her? She looked bedraggled. Her hands were a chapped mess. The real Josephine Mayer was wilting away behind a disciplined servant’s body. If she kept this up, she’d be an old maid before she was twenty.

  Glen’s guilt got the best of him. “I know, Jo. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I got you into this mess.” He placed an arm around her, and they began walking again.

  “Sorry? Glen, this is the only hope of work I’ve had in a month of being here. I have no experience, no references. I’d have nothing without your help. Neither would my sister, Claire. When she comes, Glen, it will be because you helped me. Even if I was too stubborn to realize it at first.”

  For the first time ever, Glen left his toolbox, his very livelihood, out in the work shed. He prayed they’d still be there in the morning, but he also felt a responsibility to have a free hand for Jo. Last night she’d been so bone tired she could barely lift herself onto the streetcar. Today, he’d be there if she needed him.

  “I thought you were a spoiled child who was looking for easy work. I didn’t realize you really knew what it meant to work for a living.”

  “Marian gave me no dreams about what it’s like out here. I knew when I came that making the money for Claire and myself would be difficult. Life at home was worse, Glen, or I wouldn’t be here. I just pray that my coming out here is helping Claire manage.” Her voice dropped a bit. “I hope she’s staying free of the strap.”

  Glen wondered what kind of woman their father married. Certainly Claire, at thirteen, would have outgrown the strap. Josephine’s eyes were filled with apprehension. Glen knew life after the war wasn’t easy; he knew many children who’d gone to work to help their families. It was different with girls, he thought. Young women should have been sheltered. He felt a bolt of anger toward Jo’s father before remembering the man was only doing what he needed to do to provide for his family just like any other man in America. Work was hard to find, and war was looming in the rest of the world. The war to end all wars had done no such thing.

  “Your father’s only doing what needs to be done,” Glen said in support.

  “I know, Glen. So am I. Father and Agnes are bound to start a new family soon. After that, it will be too late for my sister. Claire will be expected to stay and care for the baby. She’ll become nothing more than the family maid when that happens. I’m certain of it. Won’t it be ironic?” Jo said with a sarcastic laugh. “My father will have hired a maid for his daughters, only to have his own daughter become the maid’s maid.”

  “You have to look at Marian’s life, too, Jo. Life isn’t much different on your own. It’s no picnic right now for the workingman. We scrape and struggle to keep food on the table while the rich get richer. They make sense out of all those stock numbers, and we are just thankful to have their scraps and to build their office buildings and houses.”

  Jo’s eyes softened, and she faced him again. “I know, Glen. I don’t blame my father one bit. President Hoover has big plans for this country. He said no American shall ever starve, and look what he did for the Allies. He kept them fed without ever rationing portions in America. I know we can expect things to get better soon, but until then, I feel responsible for Claire.”

  Glen admired her optimism, and he wished he shared it. In July of ’28 he’d watched the Lintons panic over a big stock market drop. This gambling was a false economy, and he worried its days were numbered. When the rich suffered, the poor were bound to suffer more.

  “I’m waiting for you tomorrow night, Jo. The party may go late, but I’d just feel better knowing you got home safely.”

  “But, Mrs. Houston said—”

  “I don’t doubt Mrs. Houston, and I don’t doubt their good intentions, but all the same, I’d like to see you home.”

  She smiled. It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile in a way that he felt was meant for him. “I’d like that too, Glen.”

  Chapter 6

  Jo’s hands trembled as she held the letter. More bad news. I just can’t take any more bad news, Lord. Please let things be getting better for Claire. Jo ripped open the envelope on the crowded streetcar, ignoring prying looks from standing passengers.

  Dearest Jo,

  How I wish I were older. How I wish Father would let me come to California and supply for me there. I took your advice. I’m trying so hard to make Agnes happy. I am doing the wash after my schoolwork and have even taken to preparing some of the family meals, but nothing seems to please her. When Father is off the railroad line and here, things are almost worse because he does not give her enough attention. Or so she tells the ladies at afternoon tea. Grandmother Faith has been here a time or two, and I’ve been very careful to shelter her from the true happenings here. Her health is very frail, I’m afraid. I’m dreadfully sorry for my lamenting. I know things are tough for you, too. It is just that I’m so anxious to see you and Marian and especially to see precious baby Davy. I miss you all and long for the time when the Lord sees us together again.

  Love, Claire

  P.S. Mother’s wedding chest has miraculously returned to the house. Agnes keeps it in her room. She’s taken down the pictures of Mother, and I cannot seem to find them anywhere. I’ll find a way to get the chest, Jo. If it kills me.

  Jo’s eyes closed as she heard her name called. “Josephine! It’s our stop.” Glen roused her from the correspondence, and Jo stepped off the car at the last possible moment. “Is everything okay?” He took her hand, and she felt herself pulled off the street.

  Jo’s words surprised her. “I’m simply not making enough money, Glen. I think I need another position.” Jo stuffed the letter into her apron pocket, looking to Glen for some kind of answer. As if he had one.

  “Jo, you’re lucky to have this job. They’re not easy to come by these days.”

  “Oh, I know, Glen. I know.” Jo knew better than to feel sorry for herself, but she battled to fight the tears in the back of her throat. Life was tough for everyone right now. Everyone but the rich. However, she knew Claire was enduring the strap at home. She could read between her sister’s lines, and she knew Claire’s quest for the wedding chest could only lead to more trouble. Some legacies, no matter how treasured, were best left alone. The Holy Grail of her family—that would be all that remained of her mother’s gown and family Bible, but certainly Grandma Faith would understand.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Glen stopped on the street corner and gazed at her. His blue eyes seemed to offer her everything, yet she knew he had nothing. Nothing except three dollars a day and a rent payment to his own sister.

  Biting her nails, Jo tried to think of a way. “No, Glen. There’s nothing that time and a savings account won’t cure. My sister Claire will be here. I just have to be patient.”

  Glen reached over and gave her a small kiss on the cheek. “God will provide, Jo. His timing is perfect.”

  “It doesn’t feel that way today.” His kiss was gentle and fatherly, but Josephine felt so much more within her. She stirred at the sight of his concerned brow, and suddenly wanted to kiss him. To let him know everything would indeed be okay. She couldn’t explain why his gentle kiss and concerned words soothed her so, but they gave her courage. The more she looked into his sincere expression, the more she knew there had to be an explanation for the liquor. She should have taken that explanation when it was offered.

  “Sometimes, God’s timing doesn’t always feel right.” Glen smiled again. His perfect, rugged smile highlighted his strong features. “I’ll wait for you out at the work shed. Come out when the party is finished.”

  “I will.”
Jo let his hand go and walked into the Linton kitchen, thoroughly aware of Glen’s eyes following her.

  Preparing for a party made the workday feel even longer. Minute details seemed so unimportant when Claire was suffering. Both Mrs. Houston and Mrs. Linton put everything to the test. Jo wished to burn their white gloves over the perfectly arranged logs on the fireplace. Everything had a proper arrangement, and Jo wondered if rich people noticed such details as how the fire logs lay.

  “Josephine, did you get the glasses down from the dining room cabinet?” Mrs. Houston’s voice called.

  “Yes, they are on the table. Where shall I put them? In the kitchen?”

  “Heavens no. We can put them in the bar now. I’ll get the key.”

  Jo looked up for a moment, only to shake her head. She must have misunderstood. Bars were illegal in prohibitionist America, and although the eighteenth amendment was controversial, it was still the law. “Mrs. Houston? Where did you say I should put the glasses?” Jo walked into the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.

  “Silly me,” Mrs. Houston laughed. “In the bar, Dear. I’m going to open it soon. The guests will be arriving, and we’ll want to be prepared. Mrs. Linton will stand for nothing else. You did bring your clean uniform for serving, right, Josephine?”

  “The bar, Ma’am?” Jo was still lost in Mrs. Houston’s first comment. Were the Lintons setting up a bar for the party? Would Jo be put into a real speakeasy? The thought sent her heart racing like an out-of-control streetcar down a steep San Francisco grade.

  “Josephine, you didn’t think a state-of-the-art mansion like this would be without a bar, did you? You’re not uneasy about the drinking, are you? Certainly you know that refined people take to the privilege of mirth. Although, these days, we can only get that rotgut from Canada, so we have to mix it with juice. People of society have a right to their pursuits, and why shouldn’t they? Simply because a few do not know how to enjoy such things in moderation and with decency?”

  Jo was too naive; she had no idea people of “refinement” pursued what her mother had fought so vigilantly to end. “Mrs. Houston, they must be aware of the law. The Volstead Act declares that the purchase and consumption of alcohol is illegal.” Jo straightened her shoulders. She may have been innocent, but she was not ignorant.

  “For the common folks, perhaps prohibition is necessary. I can see why when so many are dependent on their working men for their livelihood, but for the upper echelons of society, Josephine, you must see that they have a right to their pursuits.”

  “Why? Are they above the law?” Jo heard the indignation in her voice and bit her lip to keep more angry words from escaping.

  Mrs. Linton appeared, laughing while covering her mouth discreetly. “We have a temperance league member on our staff, do we? You know, young lady, if the police find nothing wrong in our actions, neither should you. Rest your conscience, Dear.” Mrs. Linton opened a locked closet, and to Jo’s astonishment, a fully stocked speakeasy appeared. Bottles of every size and color filled Jo’s view. She felt in the pit of her stomach a sickly, filthy feeling.

  The room was newly built behind a great mahogany wall. Glen’s apprenticeship had probably been spent building it. The plans, she thought. The plans he was hiding. Were they for another speakeasy elsewhere? Was Winthrop involved in building more of these dens of iniquity? Worse yet, was Glen? This must have been why he asked for her year’s service.

  Unwillingly, Jo walked somberly into the small room. It was a miracle she hadn’t noticed it before, for the stench told of its oft use. Polished to a shine, Mrs. Houston herself must have seen to its care. Gold faucets and mirrored shelves reminded Jo of her mother’s words: Sin is usually wrapped in a pretty package, never forget that.

  Winthrop appeared at the doorway, and for once, he was strikingly sober. Jo’s eyes must have appealed to him for assistance, because his comment suggested they had. “Mother, I don’t think it’s proper for Jo, a young woman of genteel upbringing, to work this party.” The use of Victorian language was not lost on Jo. Clearly, Winthrop made a profession out of deceiving his mother. And it obviously worked. “Why don’t you hire one of the men from the club? I bet Jo has never even heard of a cocktail, much less served one.”

  Mrs. Linton’s outrage at Winthrop’s suggestion was obvious. “Because, Winthrop, Josephine is our employee, and as such she is expected to work our social gatherings.” Her stuffed chest stuck out just a bit farther than normal. Jo had no idea why Winthrop would try to help her, but she appreciated it just the same and remained quiet, knowing the young man would get much farther with his mother than she. Winthrop wasn’t deterred by her dominant reaction.

  He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me, Mother. I was just thinking about you. If you have any thoughts of matchmaking tonight, you might want to keep her out of the way. You know how Dad’s associates can be around the hired help. The young female hired help.” He stated the last with special emphasis. “Seems to me you’ve been in trouble with some of the wives before, especially when their husbands part with their money during the evening.” Winthrop scanned Jo up and down. “And none of those women were anything to look at, whereas Jo here …” Winthrop began to take a glass down from the wall, when his mother slapped his hand.

  “Don’t touch that. You know better.” Mrs. Linton opened her mouth to speak to Winthrop but snapped it shut quickly. Then she hobbled off, mumbling to herself. “I’m going to call someone from the club. I’m sure this simpleton has no idea of the latest cocktails anyway. Her serving skills are still appalling. What was I thinking?”

  Mrs. Houston followed hurriedly behind the mistress of the house, and Jo was left alone with the youngest Linton. His lecherous gaze was gone, replaced by an apparent longing for the odd-shaped bottles in the bar.

  “Thank you, Winthrop. I don’t know why you did that, but I appreciate it. My mother would have been appalled if I worked such a party.”

  “No need to thank me, Jo. Glen told me the favor you did us yesterday, with the plans. I certainly appreciate it. Mother and Father would never understand my plans. They think I’m destined for the family steel business, but I have other ideas. Big ideas.”

  “What are they, Winthrop? Do you mind my asking?”

  He laughed. “Nothing to worry your pretty little head about. Let’s just say it’s going to be very profitable. Say, Glen’s planning on working late tonight; would you care for a ride home? Have you ever ridden in a Duesenberg?”

  “Glen was planning to work late to see me home. I think I’ll try and catch him now.” Jo looked to the door as if it was her escape from sin. The one God had promised to provide. Her hands trembled as she approached the door. Winthrop may not have done her any favors after all.

  Winthrop grasped at her arm and cooed his words. “I’ll get you home safely, Miss Jo. I haven’t had any complaints yet.” He grinned, then winked almost imperceptibly. “Besides, I saved you from working at our den of iniquity tonight.”

  “I suppose you did, but Glen made special arrangements. He promised my sister to see me home, and I’d hate for Marian to worry.” The door was so close, she longed to lunge for it and find Glen. Yet the opening was fading from view. A virtual black tunnel darker than a miner’s pit.

  “You know, Jo. Working the parties is in your best interest. The revelers often have a few too many cocktails, and then they tip big. You might have made fifteen dollars or so.” Winthrop’s face curved into a half-smile, and Jo felt herself swallow hard.

  “What were you saving toward?”

  Fifteen dollars. That was more than a month’s rent on her sister’s flat. It was certainly enough to get Claire out to California. The tunnel disappeared when the door opened and late afternoon light streamed in, blinding Jo. Glen closed the door and stood in the doorway, his blue eyes staring warily at her.

  “I finished up early.” Glen looked at Winthrop, and then back to Jo. “I’m ready to take you home as soon as Mrs. Houston is fi
nished with you. I won’t be staying late after all.”

  “How did you know I wasn’t working the party?” Jo searched both the men for answers, but they seemed to be having a silent conversation that didn’t involve her.

  “I’ll wait for you outside,” Glen answered.

  Winthrop said nothing of the ride in the Duesenberg, and so Jo ignored the offer and followed Glen outside. “Glen, Winthrop says I might make fifteen dollars in tips if I worked tonight.” She didn’t hide the hope in her voice, or what that money might accomplish.

  “He did, did he?”

  “What do you think, Glen? Fifteen dollars is a lot of money.”

  “I think you either have a conviction or you don’t, Jo. I suppose it’s your place to decide. I’ll wait for you if you want to work the party, but I won’t support you. I know what Marian would have to say about it, and I would never go against a woman who cooks like Marian.”

  “I do have a conviction; drinking is illegal!” Jo cried. “But fifteen dollars, Glen! Claire could be out by the end of the month, and I could have a place of my own.”

  “Where would you come up with the rent for next month, Jo? Did you think of that?”

  “I make enough to support Claire and myself if we lived frugally, I just needed a stash to get us started. This could be the answer to my prayers.”

  “You could make a lot more than fifteen dollars, depending on what you’re willing to do, Josephine Mayer.”