Jo slapped him hard across the face. “How dare you!”
Glen grabbed his reddened cheek. “Convictions are something you stand by despite the cost, Jo. If it’s worth fifteen dollars for you to forget your convictions, you go right ahead. I won’t stop you.”
“How dare you lecture me! You carry liquor in your lunch box. Are you going to stand here and preach at me?”
Glen pulled his billfold from his back pocket and casually pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. It was more money than Jo had ever seen at once. “Take it. Don’t worry, I earned it. It’s mine fair and square. Take it and bring Claire out here before you do something you regret.”
“Where did you get this kind of money?”
“I earned it, like I said. Now take it, and let’s go. Tell Mrs. Houston you’ll see her in the morning.”
“I can’t take your money!”
“But you’re willing to take it from a gang of drunken, rich fools? Take it, Jo! Before you take it from someone who expects something in return.” The disgust in his voice held her riveted. He turned and walked resolutely to his work shed. Soon, the consistent pounding emanated from the room, a constant reminder she was back at the beginning with Glen Bechtel.
Chapter 7
Jo fingered the bill in her hand as she slowly returned to the kitchen. She had what she needed to bring Claire to California, so why did she hesitate? She could pay Glen back with some of her savings, and give him the balance soon. So why this annoying guilt? “You can leave now,” Mrs. Houston huffed.
Jo stuffed the bill into her apron. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Houston. I didn’t know alcohol would be served. I—”
“Just never you mind. Let me tell you something though, Missy, for your own good. Wealthy people live a life of privilege. We have no right to judge them. They are our bread and butter. The sooner you learn that, and get over this high opinion of yourself, the better off you’ll be. You’re a maid, not even a housekeeper, Josephine, and with that attitude of yours, it’s all you’ll ever be.”
Jo looked to the floor. “You’re wrong, Mrs. Houston,” she said gently. “I don’t think I’m better than anyone. I simply am trying to be the woman I promised my mother I’d be. I can’t do that and serve liquor when she fought so valiantly to keep it from America. I can, however, scrub floors with dignity.” A surge of guilt rose in her throat. After all, Jo had considered the offer. She’d considered it seriously and may have given into the temptation had it not been for Glen’s discerning words.
“It’s a good thing you appreciate washing floors, Missy, because it’s all you’ll ever do.” Mrs. Houston’s hands left her hips as she prepared the last of the appetizer trays.
“Do you want me to leave, Mrs. Houston? For good, I mean.”
Mrs. Houston only huffed, her patience clearly waning for what she considered Jo’s self-righteous indignation. Mrs. Houston walked away without another word. For now, Jo had a job, but she had no idea how long it would last. Glen was right, though; a conviction was nothing unless you really stood for something. Jo mumbled a prayer and left it to God. She wouldn’t be anxious for something she couldn’t control. Embarrassed by her behavior in front of Glen, she longed to make her peace with him. To let him know she was ever so grateful for his reason.
The sun had long since hidden itself behind the hills of San Francisco. Darkness filled every crevice of the Linton exterior. Only a lone light in the work shed shone as a beacon, calling her to it like a lost ship in the night. Silence greeted her, and she wondered if Glen was still there, or if he was angry with her, too, and left. She approached the work shed and heard voices. She peeked around the door frame, her eyes wide at the discovery.
“I got her out of the party, Glen. I can’t promise any more than that. My mother runs this house as she sees fit.” Winthrop Linton’s sober voice hit her like a fist. His sobering words, even more so.
“Your mother runs this house as you tell her to, Winthrop, and you know it. Jo needs this job, and she needs to keep her reputation. She is not your typical flapper with bobbed hair and naked knees. You can’t drink all night with her and dispose of her presence easily. She’s young, Winthrop, and full of goals and aspirations. I won’t let you harm her.”
Jo bit her thumbnail at the realization—she was the topic of conversation. She didn’t know whether to run or listen closely. Curiosity won and she leaned in closer.
“It seems to me you haven’t much choice in what I do.” Winthrop snorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, you work for us, too.”
“In case you’ve forgotten, Winthrop, I know your secret. You can threaten me all you want, but if you want your secret kept, you’ll find a way for Jo to keep her job. Your money means nothing to me. You ought to know that by now.”
“What do you care about her, anyway? You’ve got enough missies following your every move. What’s so special about her? I daresay a few of the society women would come down a notch or two to have you for awhile.”
Glen shoved his hammer into his toolbox, the loud clanking breaking the unbearable night silence. “I don’t know what she means to me. Nothing so special, I guess. I just want her safe because she’s my responsibility. I promised her sister.”
“You’re quite the promise keeper, aren’t you, Glen?”
“Winthrop, I’ve been a friend to you. I know you can’t see that from your viewpoint, but you need to get right with God. You think only money has power. Understand this.” Glen ground his forefinger into Winthrop’s chest. “I haven’t kept your promise because I feel compelled by my employment. I can get carpentry work at the presidio. I’ve kept your secret because I care about your eternal future. You can scoff at that all you want, but I will leave if you pursue Jo. And your secret won’t go with me. She’s an innocent, Winthrop. Find another hobby before someone gets hurt. You’ve got time to make things right.”
“I only offered her a ride home.”
“Don’t fool with me, Winthrop. We both know what your rides home mean. I’m going to get Josephine, and I’d appreciate my money.”
Winthrop held out cash, and then snatched it back when Glen reached for it. “Did you make her promise to be here a year, Glen? Did she fall for your ridiculous requests?”
“Give me my money, Winthrop.” Glen held out his palm, his face red with anger.
“Who’s taking advantage of her really, Glen? She knows I don’t intend to marry her.” Winthrop reluctantly handed Glen another twenty-dollar bill. In return, Glen handed Winthrop a clear glass bottle with a honey-brown liquid inside.
Liquor. Jo bit her fingernail clear away at the ends. Glen did have liquor, and worse yet, he sold it to a drunk. Right in front of her eyes. What was all that talk about getting right with God? How could anyone handing alcohol to such a troubled man be right with God?
“You’re taking advantage of her, Winthrop. Don’t try to fool yourself into believing anything else. Your hero image in front of your mother, your concern for her welfare at the speakeasy … I know what it all really means. I’ve watched you before, remember? I think of Jo as a little sister, nothing more.”
“I saw you kiss her, Glen. You’re going to deny that, too?” Winthrop’s smile curved up one side of his face.
“I kissed her. It didn’t mean—never mind.” Glen latched his toolbox, shoved the twenty into his billfold, and headed for the door. Jo raced down the walkway near the entrance to the house.
She pulled the twenty-dollar bill from her own pocket—the one Glen had handed her earlier. What was the difference between this money, and her “tips” had she worked the party? It was blood money, and she didn’t want it—and she didn’t want this job. She’d learned that much this evening. She had no reason to keep her one-year commitment to a man that bootlegged liquor. She’d go back to Michigan and beg Agnes for her old room. She’d see to it that she and Claire were cared for under Agnes’s nose. Even if she did have to endure the strap occasionally.
“Jo?” Glen’s tone w
as normal again. Smooth and gentle, not excited and angry as he’d been speaking with Winthrop. Jo tried to regain her composure, to act innocent of the conversation.
“Yes?”
“Are you ready to leave? I am finished in the shed. Anything else can wait until Monday. I imagine no one will be too fond of the hammer tomorrow after the party.” He smiled slightly, and his straight teeth appeared. Glen appeared to have everything to offer a woman, maybe not money, but everything else. He was charming, handsome beyond compare, and chivalrous to a fault. What a pity it was all a desperate illusion. She’d heard by his own admission she was nothing special, and she supposed it was true. She was seventeen, uneducated, with little talent and fewer means. Being no great beauty, her youth was her only asset, and it wouldn’t last long. She could hardly blame Glen.
“Why did you keep Winthrop from driving me home? Did you think I was unable to handle myself? That I am so inept at life I could have fallen prey to such a drunken man?”
Glen looked behind him nervously, putting his hand in the small of her back and forcing her down the path. “Let’s not discuss that here.”
Once at the sidewalk in front of the mansion, she stopped him, placing her hand on his chest. “No, we need to discuss it. I am not staying for a year here, Glen. I’m not even finishing the week. I’m going home where I belong, to take care of Claire and deal with my stepmother like I should have done from the beginning.”
Glen’s jaw flinched, but there wasn’t even the slightest twinkle of surprise in the blue of his eyes, which reflected the streetlight. He’d been expecting her resignation, that much was obvious. She pulled his twenty-dollar bill from her pocket again. “Here, I won’t be needing this, but thank you for your generosity.”
She felt him grab her hand, forcing the bill back into her pocket. “Take it, Josephine. You deserve it. Get back home and make a life for you and Claire, but get out of this city. It will corrupt you faster than a bootlegger’s man.”
His eyes avoided her, and she touched his cheek, her finger tracing his jaw. She wanted—no, she needed, a reason to believe that his words to Winthrop were a lie. They’d shared something in their kiss. She couldn’t believe the alternative. “Is that what happened to you, Glen?”
He raked his rough hands through his clipped curls and specks of sawdust released themselves. Little pink shavings fell to his feet. He slapped his hands together. “No,” he finally said. “It isn’t what happened to me, but I’ve seen it happen to a lot of men. There are so many temptations, so little cash for the workingman. If you’re satisfied with the simple life, it seems fine, but if you have an ounce of ambition, postwar America can be harsh.”
“So what’s your ambition, Glen?”
“To finish my apprenticeship and be a full union carpenter, then build myself a little house at the edge of the city near the streetcar. That’s my dream. Ain’t much, is it?” He laughed.
Jo felt as though she was listening to his very soul speaking. There was no façade, no foolish games playing out. Glen really was a simple man. A simple man who dealt in liquor, she reminded herself. But his honesty, the true blue of his eyes—in them she saw nothing but a man she wanted to know more about; to be with for a long time to come. The honey-brown liquid faded into the deepest banks of her memory. Something else was filling her mind.
“What is it you want, Josephine? Have your dreams changed since coming here?”
“Woefully so,” she said while keeping her eyes on his. Her breath left her, and she waited for his kiss, but it didn’t surface.
“Here.” He handed her another twenty-dollar bill. “Take this and get home to Michigan.”
“I–I don’t want to go back to Michigan.”
“You just told me you did. What is it you do want, Josephine?” He said her name in a whisper, and she knew he felt the sparks between them, like one of the electric streetlamps that reflected in his blue eyes.
“I promised you I’d work a year in the Linton household, and I know I sound flighty, but I’m going to work that year, Glen.” How could she tell him her convictions all stemmed from the concern in his blue eyes, from her desire to be near him? She forced the twenty into his large hand, and he grabbed her wrist with one hand. She felt his other trace her cheek, and she looked up to see the emotion in his eyes. He bent toward her slowly, and they shared a kiss. First, a small gentle touch to the lips, and then something far more passionate. She anticipated more, still gripping the money in her hands, but throwing her arms around Glen’s wide neck. She tried to kiss him again, but he pulled away.
“Go back to Michigan,” he said sternly. “I have nothing to offer you. Those two twenties you hold are all I have to give a woman.”
“I don’t want your money, Glen. I want answers. Why do you work in this creepy house? Why don’t you finish your apprenticeship elsewhere? Why did you ask me to work for a year in that mausoleum?”
“Because I made promises. Promises I have to keep.”
Josephine stepped back, her shoulders straight. “Then I have promises to keep. I promised to keep working here, and I will, Glen. I’ll make you bring me here every day, and I’ll figure out what your secret is. I know how you’ve been looking out for me, protecting me. Something is going on, and I intend to figure it out.”
Glen turned from her. “There’s no deep mystery, Jo. You’ve seen too many Gary Cooper movies. I’m just a workingman of no importance whatsoever. Any secrets I have aren’t worth two nickels rubbed together.”
“Kiss me again and tell me that.” She baited him, not allowing his eyes to leave hers.
He just cleared his throat, looking back at the house. “Let’s go, Jo. Before we both lose our jobs.”
Chapter 8
Marian, you must know where he gets this kind of money.” Jo flashed the forty dollars in her hand. A king’s ransom for the residents of Eighth Avenue, indeed. Jo moved her gaze to the sleeping Davy and lowered her voice. “I’ve seen him with liquor, Marian. Is he a bootlegger?”
Marian’s hands kept busy. “Heavens no, Jo. He’s probably just saved the money. He’s a hard worker, and he’s been working for a long time. Take it and send for Claire. Glen wouldn’t have parted with it if he needed it, and he wouldn’t have had liquor without a reason. I’ve fed that man two nights a week for years now. Not once have I ever smelled liquor on his breath. It’s not the sort of thing you can generally hide, Jo.”
“You think I should take it then?” Josephine’s mouth dropped open. It was so unlike Marian to suggest charity. This was charity, wasn’t it? “I thought you wanted us to work for everything we have.”
“Glen doesn’t want anything from us, Jo. He knows we have nothing to give, and he’s been a good friend to us, especially to Davy. I wouldn’t question a man who has a heart for children as Glen does. He probably feels for young Claire, alone in that house with a madwoman. Take the money; you can pay it back. We’ll do what we can as well. Mitch has just been saying it was time to get Claire here, too. Her letters are sounding more and more desperate. It’s just too bad we have to sneak her out here, rather than using Father’s free rail pass. But Claire is so young, and Agnes would never let her come without a fight. Agnes would miss the live-in maid she’s created.”
“I’m going to wire her the money first thing in the morning, Marian!” Excitement fluttered in Jo’s chest. Perhaps she hadn’t accomplished things the way she planned, but Claire would be out of danger. The money was a simple loan; if Glen’s conscience had something to worry about, let his heart be troubled, not her own. His image raced through her mind: his steely blue eyes, his intense work ethic, his three-dollars-a-day salary. None of it made sense, but she pushed such thoughts away. Ignorance provided her a clear conscience and her sister’s safe delivery.
Since it was Sunday afternoon, Glen would be arriving for dinner soon. His church got out a bit later than their own, and she used the time to help Marian in the kitchen before freshening up at the sink. She w
ished there was a way to thank Glen for his generosity, but she felt he probably preferred her quiet gratefulness.
At his knock, she opened the door to see him standing before her with a black eye. The blue of his pupil shone brightly against the dark purple splotch surrounding his upper face. “Glen!” she exclaimed. “What on earth happened?”
“Come on outside, Jo. I don’t want Davy to see me like this. It will probably frighten him.”
“Davy’s sleeping,” she explained. “Let me get you a cold compress to put on that. It looks dreadfully painful.”
“No, just please come outside, Josephine. I want to talk to you.” He looked around at Marian. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”
Jo followed him outside, intrigued by the nature of his visit, but fearful at the same time. If he was going to tell her the money came from an illegal source, she’d have to give it back—and she was so set on Claire’s arrival. She closed the door behind her. They sat on the landing, as they now did every night following the dinners they’d shared in Marian’s home.
“What happened?” She allowed her fingers to gently touch the swelling.
Glen flinched at her touch. “I’m in trouble, Jo.”
Her stomach turned at the admission. “Do you need your money back? I have a few more dollars saved in the house—can I help you in any way?” She took his hand without thinking, only wishing there was a way she could dissipate his troubles as easily as he’d done for her.
“No, it’s nothing like that, Jo. It’s Winthrop Linton. This shiner was intended for him, and far worse, I suspect. Apparently he used my name to hide some business dealings from his father. He’s dealing with dangerous men.”
Jo shivered at the admission. Glen wasn’t the dramatic sort. If he said dangerous men, it probably meant far worse than he was allowing. Thinking back to the recent Valentine’s Day massacre in Chicago by bootlegging thugs, Jo was consumed by the thunderous beating of her heart. If there were any doubt left as to how she felt about Glen, it was gone now. The thought of him in trouble sent her mind stirring. She wanted nothing more than his protection, his safety. She’d do whatever to ensure it.
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 63
