Escape From Purgatory

by Scarlet Darkwood - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  “Oh, yes, that’s fine with me. I guess we do need those, don’t we?” Claire grinned.

  “I’ve worked for many a slave-driver in the past, but Mr. Parker has made it clear he wants us refreshed and in good working order. Says we make more sales when we’re spry and perky.” Oma winked.

  “I guess he has a point.” Claire nodded, glancing around the store one last time before she headed to the break room. How she disliked the dullness of it. She would have rather skipped lunch and stay on the floor.

  “Claire.” The sound of a man’s voice sounded off right behind the two women.

  Oma’s face sobered as she squared up her shoulders, ready to speak. George cut her off. “Good, I’m glad I caught you. Have you had lunch yet?”

  “I was just telling her to take her break, Mr. Parker.” Oma grinned. “She’s done a nice job so far. A real natural, I think.”

  George waved her off, nodding in agreement. “I knew that from the start. I can pick a winner when I see them.” He smiled at Claire, tilting his head toward the back of the store. “Why don’t you get your lunch and we can eat in my office.” Oma lifted her brows, staring at Claire in silence.

  “Okay. I’ll bring yours too.”

  “Yes, please.” He turned to Oma. “Claire and I rode in together. She doesn’t have a car yet.”

  “That was nice of you to offer. Sure beats riding a noisy trolley to work.” Oma wore her ingratiating expression. “I’m sure she’ll settle in better as time goes on.”

  “I think so. We’re breaking her in good here.” He grinned one last time at Oma before turning in Claire’s direction. Together they walked to the back of the store. “I thought we could go over some things. I’ll only keep you about an hour.”

  “Sounds good to me. Whatever you need.”

  Inside the break room, she gathered up her modest lunch sack from the refrigerator. In the back, she spied his lunch box crafted of aluminum, sturdy, roomy. Her mind shifted to thoughts of him, standing in the kitchen, making his lunch after sending Anna off to school. What a lonely figure, she thought. No one should be alone, raising a small child.

  A swift pang of sympathy shot through her. In her mind men were nothing but overgrown boys, really. No matter how tough they presented themselves, a mere boy resided underneath. Oma had driven her point home about using the trolley. How long would George plan on bringing her to work every day? But then again, why not? They worked in the same place. So what if he happened to be the owner?

  She carried the lunches to George’s office. He sat behind his desk, and she sat in a vacant chair across from him on the other side. Claire watched, vision fixed on the box as he pulled out a sandwich, two small yellow apples, and something wrapped in waxed paper. A matching thermos held some juice, which he poured out into the top that doubled as a cup.

  “So tell me, Claire. You say the only thing you had to do with the factory back in Memphis was wearing the hats after they were created?”

  “Yes, just the prototype, to see how it looked, how it wore. Sometimes I helped with the designs too. I can do some simple sketch work. Nothing too fancy.”

  George swallowed a bite of his sandwich, studying Claire with such intensity that she sensed her cheeks growing warm. “Anna really took a fancy to you the other night. I’ve never seen her warm up to someone that fast.”

  “She’s a darling little girl. I liked her too.”

  “She’s asked me last night when we were having ‘Miss Claire’ over again.”

  Claire stared briefly at her sandwich. A dull ache roiled inside her stomach. She could have a child like Anna one day. She hadn’t given up on this notion at all. “Maybe I’ll invite you and Anna over, and she can bring Lulabelle.”

  His gaze remained fixed on her face. “Do you have any special things you enjoy doing? Any talent or skills?” He shifted in his chair and reached for one of the apples.

  As Claire thought of an answer, someone knocked on the door.

  “Come in.” George’s voice rang out.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Parker.” Ruby stepped inside the office.

  Claire caught the brief annoyed expression slipping over George’s face. “Yes, Ruby, can I help you?”

  “Thought you might want some fresh coffee for lunch. I made another pot.” Ruby politely acknowledged Claire with a light nod. “I’ll let you get back to your business. Sorry for the interruption.” She turned briefly to Claire, mumbling, “I know how he enjoys his coffee.”

  The door closed, and George spoke up. “Sorry about that. We were talking about things you like to do.”

  She thought a moment. “If I were given the chance, I could do a lot of things. I catch on fast. But there is one thing I’ve missed, and that’s looming.”

  George raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. I had a nice loom at home. Created several pieces. Even made up my own designs and patterns. I always wondered if I could sell them, if people like them well enough.”

  “Did you ever try? Maybe suggest that your work be included as a different product line when they were selling the hats?” George tapped his fingers lightly on the desk. “They could have sold your work, you know. I’m sure your husband had lots of accounts that were more than just hat shops.”

  “I sometimes made pieces for gifts. Simple towels. They were quicker to make and still had my special look, but everything else was just for family use.”

  “I see.” He popped the last bite of sandwich in his mouth and washed it down with some juice. “I guess you didn’t happen to bring some of your work, did you?”

  “Are you kidding? If things had been a little different, I definitely would have, even just for sentimental reasons.” Claire grimaced. “Mitchell and I were in a hurry. Didn’t know when Adrian might show up.” She shuddered at the memory of her husband and Mitchell’s flash of anger. How the look on his face terrified her in that moment. Any less sympathy, and he could have started her nightmare all over again. She turned an eye up at George.

  “It’s funny how important some things seem one minute, and how in other circumstances not so much.”

  “True.” George acknowledged agreement. A few seconds of silence, and he spoke again, “Claire, what’s happening with Adrian is a crying shame. I only thank my lucky stars Mitchell is around to see things are taken care of. Call me selfish, but when I have quality product lines that sell, I want them. I don’t want anything interfering. At the same time, I feel personal admiration for both of those men. To me, Adrian and Mitchell are the epitome of quality and class, and anything they touch, create, or make part of their lives echoes those traits.

  “In his good mind, several years ago, Adrian caught himself a star person. You. That alone is good enough for me. The truth is, I trust you. I’m sure whatever craft you do, you do it with vigor and perfection. I just sense that about you, the way you dress, speak, the way you carry yourself.”

  Claire gazed at him, attentive. “I’d say that about sums me up. I like nice things, I can pick them, have a good eye for it. And yes, I take pride in everything I do.”

  “Good. Just as I’d thought.” George smiled, thumping the small stack of invoices in front of him. “Here’s what I’m hoping you can help me with. I need a woman’s touch and intuition back in this store again. I’ve been making do with Oma, but it’s not enough.”

  “How’s that?” Claire’s eyebrows raised. “She seems like a nice lady to me, and very patient when training people.”

  George chuckled as he ruffled through a few sheets of paper. “Oma’s a great gal. I think she’d like to move up higher in position, though. She’s poured it on a little thicker since my wife died, offering to take on more responsibility. Being extra nice when she doesn’t need to. Honestly, I think she’s gone as far as she can in my store. Hate to say it, but I need someone more youthful and vibrant. Someone to liven things up.” He sat back in his seat and gazed at Claire.

  Now she knew the reason for the strain
ed expressions. Claire’s heart went out to the woman. Here poor Oma thought she’d nearly had it in the bag career-wise, only to have a stranger waltz in and take away any chance at climbing that payroll ladder one more time.

  “At any rate,” George continued, “I’ll always be grateful to her for helping out with Anna when I needed it. Sure took a load off me. Anna likes her okay, but she adores you. I’m a dad; I know these things.” He winked at Claire, voice dropping to a whisper when he uttered the last words.

  “I’m sure you do.” Claire laughed as she plucked a grape from the cluster in her sack. “Any ideas, then? What do you need from someone ‘more youthful and vibrant?’” She grinned back.

  “You could start out by being a buyer for this store. That would help me out a lot. I feel like I’m growing a little stale. I need some new ideas, change some things out. That sort of thing.”

  Popping another grape in her mouth, she considered his words, thinking about how she’d go about doing this. Making hats from furs and materials and glues was one thing, but how would she ever determine which blender was the best or which fancy perfume bottles and fragrances other women would like? But that wasn’t her biggest question.

  “There is something that bothers me, George, and I want your honest opinion.” Claire closed the sack with the remaining grapes. “I’m concerned about the war in Europe. Being away from a radio so long, I didn’t realize how out of touch I was with the world. Everything has been rush-rush until now.”

  George pursed his lips, nodding, his eyes locked on hers with a steady gaze.

  “This past weekend, I spent time relaxing, enjoying myself, but I also listened to the news. It’s not pretty over there, and I don’t know how this is going to affect us. Haven’t you felt some of the anxiety in your business? I know before I went to . . .” She stopped, glancing away. Any talk of the asylum bothered her now. Somehow, she felt it made her seem sub-par in the eyes of others. “I know Adrian and I were talking about it not too long ago, and we were seeing a little drop in sales even then. Not enough to scare us too bad, but just enough that we perked up and paid attention. You know?” Her eyes searched his face. He seemed like a man in control, but she knew quite well some things in life couldn’t be controlled, no matter how badly the desire to turn away and pretend the ugliness didn’t exist.

  George got up from his chair, overtaken by what seemed to Claire a quick fit of anxiety. His jaw tightened, and his brow furrowed while he struggled with finding the right words. At last he said, “I don’t know, Claire.” He ran his hand over his hair, pacing back and forth behind his desk. “By the grace of God, I don’t know what to do, really. Business as usual like there’s nothing going on?” He shot a quick glance in her direction. “I’d love nothing better than to bury my head in the sand, pretend it’s all silly hearsay, but that would be foolish. We all hoped the last war years ago would be the final one, but I’ll be damned if the ugly old Devil didn’t rear his horns again.”

  Claire turned her gaze on the sack in her lap, regretting she’d brought up the subject. “I’m sorry, but a responsible buyer for a successful department store needs to look at things going on around them. Beyond our world here at home too. Like it or not, it all affects us, or will at some point if things change. And sometimes life doesn’t change the way you want it to.” She hung her head, fighting with herself to keep her thoughts from wondering off in the recent past again.

  He came around from behind the desk, up to her chair, and covered her hand with his. She marveled at how warm and soft it was, yet strong. “That’s what I need right now, someone to talk to who has some good common sense and isn’t afraid to say what she thinks. Do I like dealing with it? No. But I need someone to keep me grounded and practical in these matters, especially in business.”

  “So, you have been thinking about this.” Claire loosened her grip on the sack.

  “Yes. I had really hoped to carry some European lines in here, maybe some fine china, some exotic colognes for men and women. I’m just not sure I’ll be able to get it shipped, for one thing. On the other hand, I could be sitting on all this merchandise until the cows come home. The uncertainty of times scares people. They don’t part with their money as easily.”

  “Then let’s keep it practical, neat, affordable. Let’s not overthink it so much.” Claire leaned forward in her chair. “I’m sure you have catalogs, don’t you? Ones you’ve ordered, or that salesmen have left? Let’s keep everything home-based, meaning here at home.”

  “I’ve got several different catalogs you can look through. Take another look around the store, really study it. Think about what you think you’d like to see or what you would buy or recommend for a customer.” George smiled that disarming smile of his again, the one Claire found her pulse quickening whenever she saw it.

  “The catalogues will be a great start. If it’s not too forward to ask, can I meet with the salesmen who stop in? I know they come by, peddling their wares.”

  George snapped his fingers. “Good idea. They’ll be surprised dealing with a woman, but don’t let that throw you. If they give you any lip, I’ll tell them they’ll have to talk to you if they want to sell anything to me.” His facial expression emphasized his sincerity, which relaxed Claire. She knew from experience with Adrian’s hats that salesmen could be a persnickety lot, sometimes taking their business elsewhere if they didn’t want to deal with a store owner—or a woman. “Besides,” he continued, “I’m a good buyer, and they know it. I have a solid reputation in this town.”

  “I don’t know how you buy, but I tend to go with my gut. I look at what calls out to me. Sounds odd, but that’s how I go about it.”

  “And that’s how I want you to do it. Let’s face it. Men and women think differently, but I always try and please the woman first because she’s a heavy influencer. Don’t let anyone fool you. A man who doesn’t pay attention to his wife’s judgement, especially a sound one, is a fool himself.”

  Claire’s eyes focused on George Parker’s face. “Do you believe everything you say?”

  His eyes snapped open wider. “I do believe it. I feel it in my bones, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.”

  Claire laughed. “Good to know.”

  The worn leather chair squeaked as George got up and headed for a sturdy wooden file cabinet in the left corner behind his desk. He spent several minutes opening drawers, pulling out various catalogues, until he had twenty in his hands. “These should get you started.”

  “Get me started? You mean there’s more in there?” Claire studied the file cabinet.

  “There’s several more in there, but I thought I’d go easy on you for starters.” His eyes twinkled as he placed stack on one corner of his desk. “Take them home, look through them, see what you think. In the meantime, I want you to spend the next two days getting a feel for the store, the customers, the merchandise. Keep an eye on what goes on. We’ll talk about what you think would be better as far as departments, how they should be set-up, that sort of thing.” He nodded with enthusiasm, grinning. “Sound good? Too overwhelming?”

  “No, not at all. I’m excited. I could only get involved so much in the hat making. Nothing like this.” Her eyes shined with enthusiasm. “Are you sure you don’t want someone more experienced, like Oma? She’s been at this a while. I haven’t.”

  “Nonsense.” He waved her off. “When we married, Anita didn’t have experience, either. But she had an eye for everything from the practical and utilitarian to the sublime. Experience colors our world up to a point, but it’s that inner knowing that transcends all. It drives the choices you make and puts the final touches where you need it. You can’t teach someone that. You’re either wired with it or not.”

  She sat listening, captivated. His words. His expressions of truth as he viewed them. They tumbled from his mouth without effort, each enunciated word igniting from the energy with which they were delivered. These personal revelations hit at her core. They gave her a bri
ef glimpse into his soul and the passion energizing it. The afternoon sun filled the office. The more she scrutinized him from across the desk, the more she found herself liking him.

  He cut a striking figure whether he sat easily behind his desk, or paced the floor, mulling over a problem. Even when he ate, the way he held his utensils or a coffee cup, contained a certain sophistication, an old-school charm—basic good manners. His voice struck her ear like the actors on the big screen, crisp, clear, vibrant. The way he walked, the way he held his shoulders erect, all stemmed from one who comported themselves with confidence, like they owned the world. That was George, and his ways drew her to him, stronger, closer as each day passed.

  In unison, each glanced at their watches. “I think our hour is up?” Claire smiled, her angling toward the stack of catalogs on the desk. “I won’t forget those at the end of the day.”

  “Here, take this pen.” He handed her a pen, along with a couple of sheets of paper. “Jot some notes down if you need to.”

  “Will do, sir.” She saluted him with a smile and got up from the chair.

  Oma greeted her from one of the racks of dresses. “Did you have a nice meeting with Mr. Parker? He was as good as his word. An hour on the nose.” The usual polite smile crossed her lips.

  “Oh, I hardly noticed.” Claire glanced at her watch, feigning surprise. “Yes, he surely did. Right on time.”

  “I’ll take my break now. Will you be comfortable by yourself with these departments?” Oma moved toward the aisle.

  Claire motioned for her to go on. “I’ll be fine. Leona can pitch in if I get too busy.” She watched until Oma disappeared. Just how the older lady would react when she discovered Claire doing certain jobs filled her with a certain discomfort. First day on the job, and already the stage set for beating out a co-worker. At least she’d focus her mind on what George had instructed. She’d worry about Oma and the others later.

  The day passed with Claire assisting several customers, including ringing them out at the register. That evening when the store closed, George dropped Claire off at her place, her arms carrying the prized stack of catalogues.