The stricken look on her face gave the answer. Bernie bit on the inside of his cheek, his business side warring with his sympathetic side. He’d never recover even twenty dollars for the coin. Who would want it besides the Wolfe family? But the girl clearly needed money. A Bible verse flitted through the fringes of his mind: “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these…”
Bernie pulled three ten-dollar bills and two fives from the cash drawer then slammed the lid closed before he could change his mind. He picked up a pencil and quickly scrawled the amount—$40—on the ticket and added a description, reading it aloud as he wrote. “One twenty-dollar gold piece, inscribed with ‘Love never fails. W.W. Central Park.’” He looked at the girl, who hovered next to the stove, her fingers woven together. “Your name?”
“H–Helen Wolfe.” She skittered forward, her gaze on the short pile of bills. “You’re buying it?”
Bernie shot her a quick grin. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
She nodded, her drying curls bouncing around her cheeks. “Yes. Yes, that’s what I wanted.” Yet sadness lingered in her blue eyes. “Th–thank you very much, Mr. O’Day.”
“Bernie,” he said. At her puzzled look, he added, “My pop’s Mr. O’Day. I’m just Bernie.”
A soft laugh trickled from her lips. An enchanting, lighthearted sound that broadened Bernie’s grin. It pleased him more than he could understand that he’d brought that laugh out of her.
“Thank you, Bernie.”
He liked the way his name sounded in her musical voice. “You’re welcome. Now…” He turned the ticket pad to face her. “This is how things work. I put the coin away for thirty days, and anytime during those thirty days you can come in and reclaim it with this ticket and the same amount of money I gave you. After thirty days, I put the coin out as merchandise with a price on it, and if you want it back, you’ll have to pay the full price. Does that make sense to you?” The only way he’d break even on this deal was if she returned. Bernie didn’t hold out much hope of that happening, and it saddened him. But not for himself.
Her blue eyes dimmed, but she nodded. “Yes, that makes sense.”
“All right then. Sign here.” He pointed to a line at the bottom of the ticket and watched as she picked up the pencil and wrote her name in neat, slanting script. He tore the ticket from the book and handed it to her. “Don’t lose that now.”
She folded the yellow sheet and slipped it into her pocket. “I won’t.” Her gaze seemed to caress the coin, which lay on the counter. “I truly hope to reclaim it. It… it means a great deal to my brother since my father left it to him.”
Bernie wished he could coax another smile from her lips. He dipped down slightly, catching her eye. “I’ll say a prayer that it finds its way back to you. God has a way of workin’ things out even when we don’t think it’s possible.”
She didn’t smile, and when she spoke, her words chilled him with their finality. “I thank you for the prayer, Bernie, but it’s been a good long while since I felt as though I could trust God to answer my prayers.” Snatching up the bills, she wadded them in her fist and darted for the door. The bell clanged wildly when she departed, hurting Bernie’s ears nearly as much as her pained statement had hurt his heart.
Bernie lifted the coin and tipped it this way and that, watching the play of light on the carved surface. His gaze drifted to the doorway, where Helen Wolfe had disappeared. He didn’t know what hardships she’d encountered, but he did know God could bring healing. And he sensed the coin could play a role in her receiving that healing.
Crossing to his rolltop desk—the desk where Pop had sat to do paperwork, pay bills, and study his old leather-bound Bible—he pulled a silver key from his pocket and unlocked a tiny drawer. He placed the coin in the drawer and locked it again. Then, his hand on the drawer’s handle, he closed his eyes and offered a solemn prayer. “Lord, I’m trusting You to find a way for Helen to reclaim this coin. Bring it back to her, and when she holds it again, let it serve as a reminder of Your perfect presence in her life.”
Peace chased away the feelings of melancholy his brief encounter with Helen Wolfe had brought. With a smile on his heart, Bernie hurriedly closed the shop and headed up the back stairs for his supper, satisfied the Lord would work, as He always did.
Chapter 2
Helen waited until Carl had mopped up the shiny patches of grease from his plate with the last slice of bread before instructing him to get started on his homework.
The boy scowled and slumped in his chair. “But tomorrow’s Saturday! Got the whole weekend to do it. Why do I gotta do it now?”
Helen missed her parents the most in these moments when she was forced to be the disciplinarian. “Because that’s always been the rule, Carl. Homework before play.” She softened her tone. “Besides, if you get it tucked out of the way, you can enjoy your weekend without the task hanging over your head. Wouldn’t that be better?”
Carl grumbled under his breath, but he pushed away from the table and clomped to his bedroom. A door slamming let her know he wasn’t pleased.
Helen sighed and reached to begin clearing the table. Lois, her pale cheeks and thin hands giving evidence of her lengthy bout with pneumonia, picked up her bowl and spoon and started to rise. She wobbled. Helen rushed to her sister’s aid. “Here, honey, let me do that. You go stretch out on the sofa with a book and rest.”
Lois sighed and scuffed her way to the parlor where she flopped onto the sofa, the too-short hem of her nightgown exposing her skinny ankles. Helen’s heart caught. Lois had lost so much weight over the past month. Somehow she’d have to encourage the child to eat more than broth and crackers now that her fever was finally gone, hopefully for good. With the money she’d received for the coin, she’d buy some of Lois’s favorite foods. Perhaps that would entice her to eat.
Pushing aside her worry for Lois, she carried the stack of dishes to the kitchen and placed them in the sink. As she reached for the tarnished brass spigot, Henry moved in front of her. “I’ll wash,” he said.
Helen shot her brother a startled look. Henry hated housework. She had to battle with him to pick up his dirty socks. She teasingly pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “Are you sick?”
He offered a sheepish grin. “Need to talk to you. Figure this’s as good a place as any.” He angled a quick look over his shoulder toward the parlor, where Lois now snoozed on the sofa with a book open, upside down, across her knees. “Didn’t want to talk at supper and upset the youngsters.”
Helen’s chest ached. At fifteen, Henry was a youngster, too, but he was being forced to grow up too quickly. She put her hand on his shoulder, all teasing forgotten. “What is it, Henry?”
Henry snapped off the water and shifted to look at her. His face—still boyish despite the hints of impending manhood—turned serious. “I think I need to look for a job.”
Helen’s hand fell away, and she shook her head wildly. “No, Henry! You know how important school was to Mom and Dad. They’d roll over in their graves if—”
“But that money you got for the coin won’t last forever. Some groceries and a load of coal—that’s all it’ll cover.” Henry spoke in a fervent whisper, his brow pinched tight. “You’ve used up the money Dad saved for you to go to the Conservatory. And your job cleaning at the hotel… it doesn’t give us any extra. How’re you gonna go to the Conservatory now?”
Henry’s words stabbed as fiercely as a knife. Her dream, and her parents’ dream for her, had been to complete the music courses at the Music Conservatory and become part of an opera company. But Mom and Dad’s death two years ago had stolen Helen’s opportunity. She’d allowed the dream to fizzle and die, too. With her brother’s mention of the Conservatory, the dream tried to rekindle itself from the ashes in her heart, but she couldn’t allow so much as a flicker to rise. Only a selfish person would continue chasing a dream when she had three younger siblings dependent upon her.
“You know I’
ve given up on the Conservatory.” Helen angled her way in front of Henry and began slipping dishes into the sink before the water turned tepid. She scrubbed, the activity a means of dispelling the longing that filled her as she considered singing on a stage.
“But you shouldn’t give it up.” Henry lifted a coarse towel and dried the plate she handed him. “Even Richard said—”
Helen dropped the plate and dishrag and whirled to face Henry. “Do not speak his name again.”
Henry gawked at her, mouth open.
She drew in a breath, gentling her tone. “Richard Mason has no bearing on anything anymore, Henry. He’s gone. Talking about him is too… painful.”
Henry gulped and placed the dry plate on the shelf. “I just know he really wanted you to become a singer—the same way he’s doing.” Henry flicked a glance at her. “So you don’t think if you go to the Conservatory, he’ll change his mind and marry you after all?”
Helen frowned. “Is that why you want me to finish the music course? So Richard will marry me?”
Henry shrugged, his head low. “Thought that’s what you wanted. To travel together. Sing together, as husband and wife.”
At one time, it was what she’d wanted. How many nights had she lain awake considering her future with Richard? But Henry didn’t know Richard hadn’t broken their engagement because she had no money for the Conservatory. And she’d never tell Henry—or Carl or Lois—the truth. Why burden them?
She sighed. “Sometimes things just don’t work out.” A man who could callously demand that she place her beloved brothers and sister in an orphanage had no place in her life. “Besides that, singing on an opera stage is a rather childish desire.” Her voice caught. Childish or not, letting go of the long-held plan had proved much harder than letting go of Richard. “I’m twenty-one now. It’s time for me to let go of youthful daydreams. But as for you—” She sent him a stern look. “You are going to finish school. And that’s that!”
Henry drew back his shoulders. His jaw jutted stubbornly. “Helen, you might be the oldest, but I’m the oldest male in our family. That makes me the man. And I’ve made up my mind. We need more money coming in, so I’m going to find a job.” His eyes squinted as he glared at her. “And you can’t stop me.”
Wednesday afternoon, while Bernie assisted a customer in perusing his selection of gemstone rings, the little bell above the pawnshop door jangled. Bernie glanced past Mrs. Horton’s flowery, kettle-shaped hat to smile at a young man who hovered in the doorway, allowing in a rush of cool, damp air. Winter seemed to be sneaking up on them early this year.
“I’ll be with you in a minute,” Bernie called, gesturing. “Step on over by the stove, if you like, and warm your hands.”
The boy, gloveless, blew into his cupped palms for a moment before inching his way toward the potbellied stove. “Thanks, mister.”
Bernie nodded then turned his attention back to Mrs. Horton. The older woman already wore a ring on every finger, yet she searched the flat display case for another gem to add to her collection. Bernie appreciated Mrs. Horton’s business, but sometimes he wondered if she sought happiness in places that would never satisfy.
While Mrs. Horton fingered each ring by turn, Bernie flicked a surreptitious glance at the youth who hunkered beside the stove. Brown curly hair stuck out from beneath the brim of his newsboy-style cap. A tan jacket with patched elbows looked to be at least one size too small for the boy’s lanky frame. Despite the boy’s somewhat ragged appearance, his face and hands were clean, his clothes neatly patched. Bernie’d had trouble in the past with teenage boys pilfering stock, but he suspected he could trust this one. He turned his full focus to Mrs. Horton.
“All right, Bernie, I believe I’ll take this opal ring.” Mrs. Horton’s wrinkled face bloomed into a bright smile. “I counted eighteen stones in all, perfectly matched! How much is this one?”
“Thirty-seven fifty.”
The woman didn’t even flinch. She opened her pocketbook and withdrew crisp bills. Bernie noted the youth watching, his eyes wide. The boy almost seemed to salivate.
“There you are,” Mrs. Horton said. “And if you receive earrings that might coordinate with the ring, you send me a message, will you? I prefer drop earrings, with a back that screws into place rather than simply clamps.” She slipped the ring onto her right pointer finger, above a sapphire and diamond ring, and held her hand straight out. The opals shimmered with color in the light. “This ring will be lovely with my blue dress.”
Bernie gave Mrs. Horton her change and then walked her to the door. When he turned from closing the door behind the woman, he discovered the youth next to the counter, very near the cash box, which Bernie had left on top of the wooden surface. But even though his eyes were on the box, his hands were deep in his pockets, as if controlling an urge to snatch the box and run. Bernie hustled to the counter and put the box underneath before temptation overcame the boy.
“Now then.” Bernie brushed his palms together and fixed his attention on the young man. “What can I do for you?”
The boy whipped off his cap, revealing thick, tousled hair in need of a cut. He glanced around. “You run this place on your own?”
Bernie frowned, unease wriggling through his middle. Had he misjudged this boy’s intentions? He hoped the kid wasn’t scoping out his shop. Bernie chose to answer with a question of his own. “Why do you want to know?”
The boy raised his chin and met Bernie’s gaze squarely. “I was hoping maybe you could use some help. I need a job.”
Bernie looked the boy up and down. Tall, slender, with an open face holding a hint of defiance. Or desperation. Bernie couldn’t be sure. He examined the boy’s face more closely. No whiskers dotted the youth’s smooth cheeks. He frowned. “Aren’t you a little young to be job-seeking?”
His jaw jutted a little farther. “I’m old enough.”
“How old?”
For a moment, the boy pursed his lips, his eyes flicking around as if afraid to look directly at Bernie. If the kid lied, Bernie would boot him out in an instant. He couldn’t trust a liar.
The boy drew in a breath that straightened his shoulders. “I turned fifteen in August.” He rushed on. “But I’m strong for my age, and I’m a fast learner. I’m willing to do anything you need—cleaning, deliveries, anything you say. And I can start tomorrow if you’d like.”
Bernie rested his elbow on the counter edge. Pride nearly pulsed from the boy. Although he’d encountered many young men seeking employment and had turned down every one of them—he just didn’t need the extra hands in his small shop—there was something about this boy that tugged at him. He chose his words carefully. “Seems to me a fifteen-year-old ought to be spending his days in school instead of at a job.”
The boy hung his head. “I’ll finish my schooling… someday. But right now…” He raised his face, and the desperation Bernie thought he’d glimpsed earlier returned. “My family needs the money I can make.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I’ve been walking the streets since last Saturday, and nobody’ll give me a chance. If you say no, too, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
Bernie ambled from behind the counter and curled his arm across the boy’s shoulders. He drew him to the pair of rocking chairs that had sat in the corner for as long as Bernie could remember. He and Pop had sat there on evenings, sometimes talking, sometimes not, but always at ease with each other. Even though Pop was gone now, Bernie still viewed the rockers as a place of comfort. He gave the boy a gentle push toward one, and he sank into the other.
Holding his hand out in invitation, he said, “Why don’tcha tell me why your family needs money so badly. Might be there’s a solution that wouldn’t involve you dropping out of school.”
The boy sat erect in the chair, his feet planted wide. “My folks died a couple years back, and my sister’s been taking care of my little brother and sister and me ever since. She has a job, but it doesn’t pay as much as the one she had to give up when my
little sister came down with bad pneumonia. She was supposed to go to the Conservatory—become a singer—but she had to use her Conservatory money to pay our bills while my little sister was so sick. Now we’ve got hospital and medicine bills and not enough money to cover it all.”
Bernie’s scalp tingled. This story sounded familiar.
“Winter’s coming on, and the doc says if we don’t want Lois to get sick again, we gotta keep the house warm. Takes a heap of coal to keep the furnace going, and I don’t see how we’ll be able to do it on my sister’s measly salary. So…” The boy gulped. “I need a job.”
Bernie looked into the youth’s earnest face, the blue eyes glowing with determination. Suddenly another face flashed in Bernie’s mind’s eye. He sat upright. “Your sister—is her name Helen?”
The boy’s jaw dropped. “How’d you know that?”
Bernie set the rocker into motion, trying to combat his churning emotions. The sympathy that had compelled him to overpay Helen Wolfe now spilled over on her brother. Even so, a hint of suspicion tickled the corners of his mind. “Did she send you here to ask for a job?”
“No, sir.” The boy shook his head, making the brown curls—so like his sister’s—bounce on his forehead. “She’s plumb irate with me for even hunting for work. Wants me in school. We’ve argued about it every day, but we need the money, so…”
Bernie pinched his chin, thinking. The boy’s sister was wise to want the youth to finish his schooling. In these changing times, an education was becoming more and more important. But clearly the family needed help, and for reasons Bernie couldn’t begin to comprehend, he wanted to help them. “What’s your name?”
“Henry, sir. Henry William Wolfe.”
“Well, Henry William Wolfe, I could use someone around here to organize the stock room, keep the sidewalk outside cleared of leaves and snow, and do some general cleaning.”
The boy’s face lit. “Oh?”
Central Park Rendezvous Page 14
