“What can I do, Glen? Please, tell me. Can I talk to Winthrop?”
“I want you to quit at the Lintons’. I’ll help you find something else, but I want you out of danger, Jo. Once those men figure out I’m not the one they are looking for, they are bound to come looking for Winthrop, and I don’t want you near there.”
“But, Glen, I need that job to support Claire. Do you want me to go back to Michigan? Certainly Winthrop has kept his wits to keep his identity sealed.”
“Certainly he has. Unfortunately, he’s used my name to do so. I came to tell you we can’t be in contact with one another anymore. Whoever these men are, they’ll be watching. If they think you’re important to me, well—”
She stumbled over her words. “Am I important to you?”
“Too important for me to get you involved in this.”
“Tell me the truth, Glen. Are you selling liquor? Is this your mess and not Winthrop’s? It won’t change anything between us. I just need to know. Even if you did something illegal, I know where your heart is, by the fact you gave me that money.”
He studied her face, the disappointment evident in his expression. “I’m a man of God, Josephine. I take that title with the utmost seriousness. I haven’t done anything illegal, I promise you that. And as for us, there is no us. You’ve got to stay away from me. I’m moving out this week to protect all of you from whatever, whoever is out there. This is my bed. I made it that fateful day when I listened to Winthrop Linton.”
“Tell me what you’ve promised Winthrop. What are his plans? What is his secret? Tell me, Glen, please!” She pleaded with him, longing to know what kept Glen at arm’s length, and why he made her promise to work a year and now was begging for her resignation. Nothing made sense anymore. Least of all, her impassioned desire to kiss this man and gently touch the throbbing purple bruise around his eye.
“It is for your own good you know as little as possible. I’ll explain your absence to Mrs. Houston tomorrow.”
“I won’t be absent tomorrow.” Jo faced him, conviction in her eyes. “I’m bringing Claire out this month. I’ve already written the telegram for the wire. I need this job, Glen.” Jo’s nose prickled with the urge to cry. “If you can’t give me a good reason to quit, I certainly won’t.”
“You don’t need this job, Josephine. Go home and live with your stepmother. Surely your father or your Grandmother Faith I hear you speak of—certainly she could help you.”
“No, Grandmother has an infirmity. She’s had it since she was young, and it’s only gotten worse with age. I can’t worry her over such a small thing. I haven’t even told her the wedding chest she passed to my mother has been taken.” Jo shook her head. She’d long since decided her grandmother’s health was too frail.
“Her granddaughter’s well-being is not so small. Tell your grandmother, Jo. Or better yet, your father. Claire shouldn’t be your concern. Not at your young age.”
“What is happening to this world, Glen? This seems such a lost generation, with the women cutting their hair to obscene lengths, illegal alcohol is so readily available, and now, a man begins teaching we evolved from monkeys and are not of God. What’s next? I just don’t understand, Glen. Is there no truth left in the world? I want to bury my head in the sand and protect my sister’s precious Davy from ever growing up and seeing the corruption we’ve created.”
“Josephine, no. Don’t cry.” Glen leaned over and kissed her gently. Their lips met in a firestorm of emotion, and soon their kiss developed into a passionate encounter. The importance of breathing suddenly paled in comparison to his light touch. She allowed her hand to follow the structure of his face, to hold him before her, willing him not to leave her again.
“No!” He pulled away, just as he’d done that night on the Linton walkway. When would he admit he loved her? That they were meant to be together? She tried to kiss him again, and he stood. “The Bible says to be anxious for nothing. Take that advice, Josephine, and run with it. Run back to Michigan and live your fate.” He headed up the street toward the streetcar, and she followed him desperately.
“No, Glen. Please don’t leave!” But he was out of her sight before she finished her plea.
Glen rushed to the moving streetcar, dashing on it like some kind of Buster Keaton movie poster. Glen focused on the floorboards, ignoring the curious looks and whispered talk over his beaten appearance. He looked as though he’d been thrown out of some speakeasy, and he knew the hushed voices said so. This was the will of God? Glen shot a glance at the clouded sky.
Why, God? I heard Winthrop’s cry for mercy, and I tried to help him. For what? Now I’ve lost Jo’s trust, probably my job, and Winthrop’s own parents think I’m corrupting their boy. I can’t make him listen to me, Lord! Only You can do it. Only You can humble Winthrop to see his need, but will You? Or will You let me fall into this trap?
Glen rode to the end of the line and stepped off the streetcar without a destination. He had nowhere to be, nothing to do, but he couldn’t stay with Josephine any longer. Josephine, and her trusting eyes and willing heart. He couldn’t even beat his anger out on the hammer today. It was Sunday. He walked toward the rocky cliff where the bay met the Pacific Ocean and looked at God’s magnificence.
The wild surf beat the shore with one unrelenting explosion after another. God’s power took on new meaning when watching the strength of the waves, the reminder that He was indeed in charge. The ferry to Sausalito sailed and returned multiple times before Glen knew what he had to do. It was time for Winthrop to quit hiding behind his mask. It was time his parents knew the truth, and Winthrop prepared for the inevitable. The men who came after Glen had only offered a warning; the actual punishment would be far worse.
With renewed resolve, he rode the streetcar up to the Linton mansion. His presence would not be welcomed on a Sunday, but some things were more important than formal etiquette. Knocking on the door, he waited for Mrs. Houston. To his surprise, Winthrop himself answered.
“What happened to you?” Winthrop stepped back at the hideous sight of Glen’s purple bruise.
“You should ask me what happened to you. This was intended for you.”
Winthrop’s small frame trembled as he opened the door wider. “Come in. Go on into the study; we can talk there.” His voice was hushed.
Turning, Glen witnessed the true Winthrop, the one behind the fine clothes and shiny Duesenberg. The Winthrop who cared nothing for people except as a means to get his way. Winthrop was more like his father than he’d ever know. The sight of him hurt Glen, even while filled with compassion for the sickly man. In the end, Glen felt a raw disgust.
In the past, Glen focused on the need, the spiritual dryness that the rich young man possessed, but today he could only see the sin, he could only feel the pride. Vanity emanated from Winthrop’s pores, and he wasn’t about to admit his need. Not to Glen, or God, or anyone else. The time had come for the games to stop.
“I’m done, Winthrop. I tried to show you God’s love by helping you make something of yourself. But you’ve squandered my help. You’ve chased the almighty dollar, and I’d hoped it would impress your father, that you might be seen as some type of success before your time came. Now I know I’ve just wasted my time. You haven’t appreciated a thing I’ve done for you, or you never would have given my name to those thugs.”
An evil grin inhabited Winthrop’s features. His lackluster chin and crooked smile came alive with malice. “I’ve seen you look at Josephine, Glen. You don’t fool me for a minute. You’ve impressed her with my money. I saw you throw a twenty at her just last night. You see how dazzled she’ll be by your measly three dollars a day. You’ve got no choice, Glen. Here.” Winthrop held out the formal currency-like piece of paper which was so familiar to Glen.
“No, you get it yourself. I’ve done nothing illegal. I only tried to help you. A useless cause I see now. God knows your heart, Winthrop. Don’t forget it. Even if you fool the entire city of San Francisco, y
ou’ll never fool Him.”
“Do you think your God scares me? Your God is only a substitute for the power of money. I can buy and sell your God, Glen. He’s only a figment of your imagination. A crutch for those of you who can’t make it in today’s world. We’ll see how religious your little girlfriend is come Monday when she’s fired.”
Winthrop’s threats held little power over Glen any longer. Glen had managed to pack away a tidy sum with his extra work. He had invested it in the stock market, made a killing on steel, pulled out the cash, and had enough to support a wife. Certainly not in grand style, but in the simple life he’d always imagined. He’d sent Josephine back to Michigan, but if she didn’t go, he’d know God kept her there for him.
Now if only Josephine would trust him again, if only she’d be his wife, they’d find a way to make it. He’d tried to tell himself she was only a flight of fancy, too young to be a bride. But her kisses had crumbled that wall he’d built—her kisses and her stolen glances. When she could have been looking at Winthrop, in his impressive suits and fancy Duesenberg, her eyes always followed Glen in his simple denim jeans and wrinkled shirts.
Chapter 9
Mrs. Houston’s coldhearted stare burrowed right through Jo’s heart. Jo tilted her chin and returned the gaze blankly. There were no words, and none were necessary; Jo’s employment was terminated. She curtsied before the older woman, not giving Mrs. Houston any more ammunition. Inwardly she winced as she slowly traipsed the walkway and the door slammed behind her. Mentally, she counted her meager savings at home in the coffee can. With no way to support Claire, Jo would have to focus on finding work, not on Glen. Failure decimated what she had left of confidence.
She couldn’t return to Michigan now that Claire was on her way. She silently blasted Glen for leaving her in such a fix, but she was unable to stir up any anger. She knew he was only trying to protect her. Feelings of betrayal didn’t surface, only an inexplicable longing for the muscular carpenter who had stolen her heart.
Summer ended quietly amidst the evergreen trees of San Francisco, and still Glen remained absent. She prayed for his protection every day. Finally, it dawned on her that Winthrop Linton might know where her love was and help put an end to her misery. Claire was due any day now, and Jo so wanted to share her arrival with Glen. One morning, after finishing the laundry and offering to go to the grocery, Josephine took the familiar streetcar route to the Nob Hill mansion in search of Winthrop, and, hopefully, some answers.
She drew in a deep breath and knocked on the front door, praying that Mrs. Houston wouldn’t answer. Winthrop appeared. His face was white as stale snow and his weak features more sallow than ever. He splayed his bony, feminine fingers across the doorjamb.
“Well, Josephine. I see you couldn’t stay away.” He smiled, forcing her to gaze upon his small, sickly teeth.
“Can we talk somewhere privately, Master Linton?” She strained to use his proper title, to bow to his station in life, but it made her sick to her stomach. His adamant trust in himself and in his own power was more evident than it had once been, and his false confidence in his power over her made her want to laugh.
“I knew you’d be back. Not much work out there, Miss Josephine?”
She strode past him to the dining room, knowing he’d follow. Even in her long, green corduroy skirt, the kind everyone wore, she knew she interested him, and she’d use that to her advantage today. If she’d learned anything during her time in San Francisco, she’d learned she wasn’t completely powerless. Certainly not to a weak-minded man like Winthrop Linton.
“I didn’t come to speak to you of a job. My brother-in-law is doing fine financially, and we’re managing just fine. I came to speak to you about Glen.”
“Glen?” Winthrop casually fixed himself a drink. “Do I know a Glen?” He tried to look down on her, to appear haughty, but Josephine stood to her full height. Although petite, she still towered over the spineless little man.
She walked toward him, forced the crystal glass from his hand, and plopped it on the shiny dining room table with a thunk. “Don’t play innocent with me, Winthrop. I didn’t come here for a job, and I don’t want anything you have to offer. I just want to know what you did to give Glen a shiner. Besides hide behind his name, of course. Where is he? Tell me, Winthrop, or I’ll tell those men at the apartment, the burly ones who have been looking for Glen, who they are really looking for. I think they would actually pay handsomely for the information.” She watched his arrogant smile disintegrate into fear. “They might make my money woes go away completely, possibly?”
The familiar sound of a hammer caught her attention, a steady beat she’d know anywhere. Winthrop’s anxious eyes gave way to recognition, and Josephine ran for the door. Winthrop tried to stop her, but his frail frame was no match for her determined self. She was at the door before he finished the thought. She flew down the steps to the work shed.
“Glen! Glen!”
The hammering stopped, and his steely gray-blue eyes met hers for the first time in months. Every emotion melted except one, and she ran toward him. He dropped his hammer and his muscular arms came around her tightly, clutching her in an embrace she once only dreamed about.
“Josephine!” His hands ran through her hair desperately, and he pulled her face back, looking at her momentarily, before she felt his firm lips on hers. All sense of decorum was lost as she returned his kiss frantically, searching for a way to tell him how she missed him. Her kiss grew firmer when words wouldn’t come.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” Winthrop’s voice tore them apart and Josephine’s eyes threw daggers. Winthrop. The man who’d kept them apart all this time, who’d stolen precious moments from their love affair.
Before she spoke, Glen put a hand to her mouth. “Winthrop, I told you how I felt about Josephine from the day you first fired her.”
“Winthrop fired me? I thought it was you, Glen. To protect me, remember?” Jo’s face twisted in confusion.
“Is that what he told you?” Winthrop laughed, that obnoxious, weasel-like giggle she’d heard one too many times when he came home in the mornings, drunk. “How many women have heard that line and believed it?”
“That’s enough, Winthrop! I’ve lived this lie of yours long enough. Leave us.” Glen stood to his full height. “We have some things to discuss.”
“Not at my expense you don’t. You’re not telling her the truth, or I’ll—”
“You’ll what, Winthrop?” Glen’s eyes narrowed, and Winthrop cowered behind a brick pedestal decorating the garden. At that minor show of strength, Winthrop left them alone, retreating for the safety of his mansion.
“Where have you been, Glen? We’ve been worried sick. Even baby Davy looks for you when I take him outside.” Her concern soon grew to feelings of betrayal at being left behind. “How could you just leave us and come back here—when you had me fired from a job I swore I’d keep a year?”
“Sit down, Josephine.” She found a place on a dusty sawhorse and did as he asked. His expression was grave, his words slow. “I was prepared to leave town, to let Winthrop get himself out of his own mess, but then God spoke to me. Clear as day, He said I wasn’t done here. I heard Him tell me not to desert Winthrop in this time of need. I couldn’t go, and I couldn’t explain it to you for your own good, but the time has come.”
“Yes,” she agreed.
“Do you know what this is?” He pulled an official-looking slip of paper from his back pocket. It had the appearance of currency but was headed by the title line “Original Prescription Form for Medicinal Liquor” and was attached to a stub reading the same. On the bottom it read in block, dollar-bill letters: National Prohibition Act.
“A prescription for liquor?” Fear rose in her like an untamed fire. “Are you sick, Glen? Is that why you had the liquor in your lunch box?”
“Not me, Jo. Winthrop. It’s cancer. First they thought it was tuberculosis, but his cough subsided, and now they feel it is cancer. They ga
ve him a year to live, just about the time when you started.”
“That’s why you wanted me to stay?”
Glen only nodded and continued. “He’s been in a lot of pain, and they’ve given him prescription liquor to fight it. I’ve been picking it up for him at the drugstore so his parents wouldn’t worry. I’ve been hoping my witness would show him that God’s love wouldn’t desert him. That’s why I’d hoped to keep order in the house during his bout, but that was not to happen.”
“Glen, there’s enough liquor in his house to keep him drunk for years. Why would he need a doctor’s prescription?” Jo shook her head, trying to make sense of the nonsense. Winthrop, although pale as a sheet, appeared in fine spirits when sober.
“His parents don’t know about the illness. He’s been building a neighborhood of small tract houses for the working folk with my help. That’s how he planned to make his money from the allowance his parents provide him with. He wanted to succeed before he succumbed to the disease—to prove to his parents he was more than just an ornament to take over his father’s steel business.”
“Why the thugs? He had to be involved in some nasty business to have those kind of men after him. You’re telling me it wasn’t the liquor?”
“No, Winthrop borrowed heavily to keep building the houses after the stock drop in July. He didn’t go to a bank to keep his father from knowing. It turned out to be a bad decision. Luckily, I’d made a little money in the stock market and was able to help him out.”
“So you’re out of trouble? And you still deserted me?” Jo stared into Glen’s eyes, looking for the deception she felt. His answers only brought up more questions. “How could you allow me to lose my job?”
“I was worried, Jo. Really. Those men meant business, and I wanted you safe. I figured the forty dollars would keep you set for awhile until you could find something else.”
The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection Page 64
