Gratefully, Ellis followed her into the neighboring office. There, Mr. Millstone sat at a mahogany desk that neatly displayed a pencil holder, prism paperweight, files, and more. He was packing tobacco into a sleek wooden pipe—not his first time that day, based on the smell that blended with the scents of ledger ink and old East Coast money.
“Mr. Millstone.” Ellis extended his hand, which the man accepted this time, even rising from his wingback chair.
“I was beginning to wonder if I’d see you again.”
“I apologize, sir.” Ellis was doing so much of that lately that one would think he was trying to set a record. “Before I could go, my editor needed me for some pressing items.”
“Well, bosses can be troublesome that way, can’t they?” The reply held a hint of levity as Mr. Millstone nodded at his secretary, who yielded a partial smile before closing the door. “Please, sit down.” He indicated a visitor’s chair facing his desk, and they both settled in. “The truth of it is, Mr. Reed, I owe you an apology as well.”
Ellis paused while pulling his notepad and pencil from his coat pocket. He hadn’t anticipated this bit. “How so?”
“A good number of people are still enduring rough times, as you know. When you’re a banker, and a stranger comes knocking, it can make you a little nervous.”
“I imagine so.” Ellis gave a reassuring smile, and Mr. Millstone’s eyes warmed behind his glasses. Then he lit his pipe, stoking the tobacco with a series of puffs as Ellis waited.
“So,” the man said, snuffing out the match, “what can I tell you today?”
How about an update on the kids you bought in Pennsylvania?
Ellis stored the thought. As with cracking any big story, he’d work his way in gradually.
“Well, for the profile, Mr. Millstone—”
“Alfred will do.”
“Alfred.” Not a shock. Bigwigs often figured a personable exchange meant a more favorable article. “To start off, I was hoping to hear a little about your job here as president.”
“Sounds innocent enough.”
The choice of words was a bit curious, all things considered. But as soon as Ellis opened his notepad, Alfred launched into a description of his daily tasks, followed by a list of his overarching duties. He presented himself as a genial gentleman, just as the cabbie had said, though with a spark of passion over his occupation. So much so, he took only momentary breaks, solely to stoke his pipe, while delving into the importance of banking in the community, stressing the necessity of efforts to help honest, hardworking citizens succeed.
Ellis had to scribble to keep up. When he flipped to a fourth page, Alfred stopped and shook his head. “By golly, I did ramble on, didn’t I?”
He’d probably gone for a solid fifteen minutes, but now wasn’t the time for him to go quiet.
“It’s refreshing, actually. With a person of your stature, it can be hard to pry out more than a sentence or two for a quote. Unless it’s election time.”
Alfred laughed a little. He returned to his pipe, its sweet, woodsy scent filling the room, and Ellis glanced down at his notepad.
“Let’s see now,” he said as if referring to prepared questions. As if details of Alfred’s life weren’t already embedded in his brain. “I’ve heard you hail from the West Coast. Is that right?”
“Yes. That’s correct.”
“California, was it?”
“You’ve done your homework.”
Ellis smiled. “Requirement of the trade.”
Alfred nodded, amused. “It was the Los Angeles area.”
The answer wasn’t terribly specific, but truthful. Ellis didn’t push on that one. “I’m sad to say I’ve never been west of Ohio. That’s gotta be quite a change, from one coast to the other.”
“It certainly is.”
“Something in particular bring you out this way?”
Alfred took another puff, blew it out. “Family reasons more than anything.” When he didn’t elaborate, Ellis had to nudge.
“Family, huh?”
“My wife and I had long talked about living closer to relatives in New York. When the position opened up here at Century Alliance, I finally had the opportunity to make that happen.”
“That’s dandy.” Ellis jotted a note, neither of them mentioning his predecessor’s grim end. “And how’s the rest of your family been with that? As far as adjusting to the move.”
Alfred gave a small shrug. “You know how kids are.”
In a friendly manner, Ellis displayed his left hand, bare of a wedding band. “You’ll have to enlighten me.”
Alfred hummed in acknowledgment and leaned back in his chair. “As parents, I suppose we can’t help but worry…about new schools, new friends. We want to protect them. Keep them safe from the world, from anything that could possibly hurt them…from what we can’t see coming…” His voice gained a distant quality, same for his eyes.
After a moment, Ellis wondered if he should speak, cutting short Alfred’s evident drift into the past. But then the man continued. “In the end, of course, they’re the ones who adapt and persevere without batting an eye. We can learn a lot from our youth.” He looked straight at Ellis. “Don’t you agree?”
Ellis nodded before the sentiment rang with familiarity. In essence, it echoed his own article that had accompanied the Dillards’ picture.
Had Alfred, too, done his homework?
“Mr. Reed, I’m going to be honest with you.” Alfred suddenly lowered his volume, followed by his pipe. “And this is off the record.” He shot a glance toward the door, as if confirming its closure.
Ellis tucked his pencil in his notepad, his neck muscles tensing. “It’s off.”
How much did the man know? How much was he willing to share?
“A bank in New Jersey,” Alfred said, “would not have been my first choice.” He confided this in all seriousness, though he trailed it with a smile.
From the release of tension, Ellis couldn’t help but smile back.
There was no mention of a fatal car accident, nor of how Ruby and Calvin had joined the Millstones. There was also nothing, as best as Ellis could tell, in Alfred’s manner that merited alarm.
“Sometimes,” Alfred added lightly, “we have to make sacrifices for the ones we love. You understand.”
Ellis thought of Geraldine. What she’d chosen to give up, purely for the benefit of her children, was a prime example. “I do, sir.”
A knock came then, announcing the secretary’s return. In the doorway, she held a brimmed hat and overcoat. “Mr. Millstone, it’s time you departed for the station.” A suitcase and cane was posted outside the door.
“That late already.” He sighed and returned to Ellis. “Business trip to Chicago. I’m afraid we’ll have to wrap up for today.”
“No problem at all. I think I got everything I needed.”
“Excellent. Well, I’ll be back on Sunday. Feel free to ring me if you have any other questions.”
“I will, sir.” They both stood to shake hands, and Ellis thought to slip in a disclaimer. “Naturally, it will be up to my editor when, or even if, to run the piece, but I’ll certainly keep you updated.”
Alfred smiled. “I do hope so.”
• • •
Ellis had conjured the profile idea solely as an excuse to assess the banker. Now he was actually tempted to pitch the thing to Mr. Walker. No matter how horribly inconvenient, the reality was that Alfred seemed to be as nice a fella as they came.
Something Geraldine might have pegged from the start.
Clearly she wasn’t the type to hand off her kids to just any stranger, even a wealthy, dapper one. She’d chosen them a good home in every way, it appeared. With Ruby and Calvin settled in after all these months, perhaps they were genuinely happy where they were.
And really,
wasn’t that the most important thing? That they had the best life possible? Harsh as it sounded, it wouldn’t take a bookie to calculate the odds of which future held the most promise. Geraldine no longer even had a home of her own. Her only requests were to know her children were all right, and that the arrangement be left alone. In going further, wouldn’t Ellis and Lily be overstepping largely for the sake of their own consciences?
After all, the sanitarium director had gone so far as to declare Geraldine deceased to protect her from unwanted attention. A court battle would inevitably lead to a swarm of reporters, photographers, and readers outspoken with their opinions. And when it was all over—when the kids and Geraldine and the Millstones had all been dragged through the legal and public muck—the judgment would most likely be the same.
Ellis dreaded to admit any of this to Lily, of course. Based on her experience with Samuel, he understood why she wouldn’t want to hear it. But the fact remained that similar dilemmas could have different solutions. And, as Ellis could vouch for, a common bloodline didn’t guarantee a thriving, loving family.
Maybe Geraldine was right.
Maybe life was just how it should be.
Chapter 26
Without a doubt, the situation was not how it should be. This Alfred Millstone fellow could hang the moon, and Lily’s stance wouldn’t budge.
“Lily, at least consider it.” These were Ellis’s words on the phone, but his tone said Woman, you’re being stubborn.
It was as if he could see her at her work desk, shaking her head at his reasoning.
“Lily?” he pressed.
Over the afternoon noise of the newsroom, she answered, “All right, I’ll consider it.”
And she would. For two full seconds, she reviewed his summary of the meeting he’d just had with Alfred Millstone, and still she disagreed.
“Listen, I gotta scoot,” he said. “My editor will have my hide if I don’t get a story going. Just promise you won’t do anything rash. Not without talking to me first.”
“Yes. Fine.”
He sighed over the line, as if reluctant to leave someone who claimed to simply be admiring the view—from the ledge of a building.
“I promise,” she said. This was the truth, in the literal respect. She had no plans to do anything she deemed rash.
Only…necessary.
• • •
The trip there and back would take half a day at most. Lily would catch the earliest train to New York so as to return in plenty of time for supper.
“I give you my word on that, sugar bug.” She knelt before Samuel, still in his pajamas, inside the deli’s entrance. Through the windows, the waking sky colored his pouting cheeks with a soft orange glow.
“But, you said we’d do a picnic.”
At the counter, Lily’s mother was readying the register for the shop’s opening in an hour. Her father’s whistling drifted from the back kitchen.
“And we will soon, Samuel. I swear it.” Lily brushed a powdery brown smudge from his check, remnants of his breakfast cocoa. He jerked back a little, his eyes down. “Please understand. I truly hate being away from you. But there are two other children out there, and they don’t get to be with their mommy at all. I want to try to fix that.”
Samuel’s gaze remained on his loafers, both polished by himself. It was one more skill he had learned from her parents, a small milestone conquered in her absence.
The thought would normally have baited her to stay, but she couldn’t ignore the countless milestones Geraldine stood to miss.
“Come now, give Mommy a hug goodbye.” She opened her arms to him. “I need to catch my train so I can hurry right back.”
He glanced up at last, but pinched his mouth in frustration and rushed off through the deli.
“Samuel,” she called out, his sprint continuing up the stairs.
Lily’s mother stepped out from behind the counter. “Not to fret. He’ll be all right.”
Rising to meet her, Lily insisted, “You know I’d never cut into our time together if it weren’t important.”
“I know that, dear.”
Clayton had been occupied for the weekend, leaving Lily more time to ponder during her bus ride to Maryville. Once settled in, she had divulged a portion to her mother in confidence, but only the basics, not wishing to violate Geraldine’s privacy.
Granted, some would say she was about to do just that.
“I’ll be back soon,” she said and kissed her mother on the cheek.
“Have a safe trip.” Her mother offered a strained smile. She was either weary from waking or dubious over Lily’s plans. Before Lily could determine which, she grabbed her handbag from the floor and left for the station.
• • •
It was just after eleven when Lily arrived on Maple Street. She had walked from the depot in Hoboken, saving money on a taxicab. The round-trip train fare was costly enough.
She referred once more to the address inscribed on a scrap of paper—secretaries were as skilled as anyone at locating such details—and stopped at the designated home. It was light green with white trim and as perfect as a dollhouse.
Too perfect, she decided.
At the park across the street, children reveled in the rare freedoms afforded by a temperate Saturday morning. The chorus of their giggles, a reminder of Samuel awaiting her return, sent Lily straight up the steps to reach the front door.
After pocketing the address and her traveling gloves, she knocked.
Birds chirped from trees that dotted the area, and a rattling car passed on the street. The possibility of the driver being Ellis—which certainly it was not—caused her palms to perspire. And what for? He wasn’t her father or her boss, and certainly not her beau. She didn’t require his approval to come here. Still, guilt niggled at her.
She pushed it away as she rang the doorbell. A direct appeal to Mrs. Millstone was the answer. She was a fellow mother who understood the loss of a child. With her husband away on business, Mrs. Millstone would be free to meet Lily alone.
Unless she, too, had traveled for the weekend.
Lily clutched her purse, clinging to her hopes. She reached out in a final attempt to ring the bell. Before she made contact, the door opened. A young housekeeper stood in greeting. In a black dress and white apron, she wore her hair pinned up tight.
“Sorry to keep ya waitin’, ma’am.” Her lilting accent pegged her as an Irish immigrant. Fittingly, her pale skin held freckles more pronounced than Lily’s. “I was knee-deep in the wash and was slow to hear the door.”
“That’s quite all right. I’m just delighted somebody’s home.” Lily smiled in partial relief. Even if the lady of the house wasn’t in, the housekeeper would likely know her whereabouts.
The girl smiled timidly in return. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. “Is there something I can help ya with?”
“There is, in fact. I’ve come to see Mrs. Millstone.”
“Is she…expectin’ ya, ma’am?” Her tone said she doubted that was the case, as the girl would have been alerted to prepare for company.
“She’s not,” Lily affirmed, “but it really is an important matter. You see, I’m an old work colleague of Mr. Reed. I believe he was here recently.” At the girl’s uncertain look, Lily added, “He’s a reporter, from the New York Herald Tribune, and came to speak with Mr. Millstone.”
“Ah, I see,” the girl said. “And you’re with the paper too, are ya?”
“I am. Well…the Philadelphia Examiner, that is.” The girl’s eyes brightened, impressed by this, but Lily remained steadfast. “Is Mrs. Millstone available to speak?”
“I’d be glad to check. If you’ll wait here a minute.”
Lily nodded and soon discovered the estimate wasn’t an exaggeration. After less than a minute of disappearing inside, the housekeeper r
eturned. “The missus would be pleased to receive ya. Do come in.”
In the foyer, the girl offered to take her coat, but Lily politely declined. Given the purpose of her visit, it seemed too casual, too friendly. Moreover, depending on how the conversation went, she might not be welcome for long.
Following the girl over the white marble floor, Lily surveyed the wide, sweeping staircase, the chandelier overhead. The air held an almost sweet, powdery scent. Though Ellis hadn’t been past the front door, he was right about the residence.
But Lily wasn’t here to admire the decor.
Rather, to block out visions of the children running about, unencumbered by the vastness of space, she trained her focus on a darker thought. She considered the disparity of fortunes between bankers and too many of their patrons, those with little choice but to live in shantytowns or to beg on the street.
Or, God help them, to sell their own children.
When the housekeeper entered the parlor, a woman gracefully rose from a claw-footed love seat, ready for a greeting. She appeared to be in her midthirties. In a cream silk blouse and a black A-line skirt, she wore her dark-blond hair sleek around her face, with soft pink touches on her lips and cheeks. A string of pearls looped her neck.
“Ma’am, may I present…” The girl suddenly winced. She had neglected to ask for Lily’s name.
“Mrs. Millstone,” Lily kindly jumped in, “I hope it’s all right to introduce myself. I’m Lillian Palmer. I appreciate you agreeing to meet with me.”
“Call me Sylvia.” She smiled and invited Lily to sit in the ornate chair across from her, its striped upholstery boasting a satiny shimmer. As Lily obliged and set her purse down, Sylvia signaled to the housekeeper. “Claire, some tea for our guest.”
With a grateful glance at Lily, Claire scurried over to the service cart parked next to the upright piano. As she filled a blue-and-white colonial teacup, a match to the one on the end table beside Sylvia, Lily noticed the framed photos on the fireplace mantel. From a distance, she could best make out the details of a portrait in the center. Indeed it was Ruby, cleaned and cared for just as Ellis had described.
Sold on a Monday Page 17
