The little girl giggled. “No, it’s not.”
“Then it's Rumpelstiltskin.”
“No, he’s a naughty man in a book.”
Maggie hung her head and pretended to think. She rubbed her chin, tipped her head to look at the girl. “I see it now, you must be Annie.”
Annie clapped her hands. “Yes, I am Annie, and you are Mrs. Benson. My daddy told me.”
“That’s true,” Maggie answered. “But can call me Miss Maggie if you like.”
“I do like,” she said. “Who’s that?” She pointed at Daisy. “She looks white and fluffy, like a bunny rabbit, but she’s a dog. And she’s fat.”
“This is Daisy,” Maggie explained.
Daisy sniffed Miss Annie and licked her hand making the little girl laugh again.
“Daddy, can I have a dog like Daisy?”
Mr. Hollinger got down beside his daughter and held out his hand to Daisy who sniffed his fingers and turned away to waddle back to the kitchen.
“We’ll see about a dog,” Mr. Hollinger said, and stood. “Another day we’ll talk about it.”
Maggie stood and took the child’s hand. “Come on, Miss Annie, let’s see what kind of dresses you like. And,” she said, shooting a look at Mr. Hollinger, “maybe a pair of bibbed coveralls for playing.”
She put Miss Annie on the sofa with the catalog open to the children’s pages and turned to Garth. “Can I interest you in some home-knit socks?” She picked up the two pairs she’d finished. “These are just samples, but I can make you what you want.”
Garth Hollinger examined the socks. “I’ll take two pairs,” he said. “They’ll be good for work.”
Pleased with his order, Maggie nodded. “If you don’t mind taking off your shoe and putting your foot here, I’ll trace the size.” She pointed to the low stool and the paper. “That’s the best way I’ve found to make sure socks fit properly.”
“Certainly,” he said, his deep voice seemingly deeper.
Placing her hand on his arch, she traced the foot. Secondly, she measured from the sole to the mid-calf point that he indicated as the height he preferred. Her cheeks tingled before she finished. If she planned to be a seamstress, she needed to become more immune to measuring people, even men.
“Thank you, Mr. Hollinger,” she said and turned away to write down the numbers.
She joined Annie. The little girl pointed out her choices complete with comments. “I like bows, but I don’t like the black and white.” A thoroughly engaging child. Would her children have been the same? A corner of Maggie’s heart ached for the babies she’d never have.
Maggie nodded seriously. “I agree, dresses with bows should not be black. Come on, let’s look at the colors.” At the fabric display, Annie ran her hand over the fabrics.
Mr. Hollinger suggested two dresses. “And a pair of the coveralls. It is becoming the style, although I don’t know what my mother will think of them.”
“I enjoy wearing mine,” Maggie said. “They are wonderful for gardening and cleaning.”
Miss Annie picked a pink, flecked fabric. “I like this,” she said, “it’s all kind of bumpy.” Maggie guided her second choice toward a blue fabric in a serviceable cotton duck. “Good for when you go to school,” Maggie told her. The third fabric, a dark brown, seemed suitable for the overalls. She stood Annie on the stool and took her measurements.
“When do you think they’ll be ready?” Garth Hollinger asked.
Maggie looked at the dresses. The simple shift style with bows she could make in a day each or less. The knitting would take three, maybe four evenings. “I’ll have them all ready by later on Monday. Is that suitable?”
“Most certainly so. How much do I owe you? I would like to pay you now.” He pulled his wallet out of his pocket.
Maggie added in her head, the price of the socks, the fabric, and the construction. “Ninety cents for the socks, and seventy-five cents for each dress and the coveralls. So a total of two dollars and forty cents. But you can pay me when you pick them up.”
He laughed. “I get busy and my mother may pick them up. I prefer to pay now and ask that you not mention prices to her. You know what mothers can be like.” He counted out the money.
She thought of Aunt Maude and her nosy ways and accepted the payment. “I do understand. Thank you.” She shook the little girl’s hand. “Well, Miss Annie, I’ll see you again some time. And I hope you enjoy your new clothes.”
Annie nodded vigorously. “I will. The pink is my Sunday dress. You can see me at church.”
“I look forward to that,” Maggie said and resolved to put an extra bow on the pink dress.
At the door, Mr. Hollinger retrieved his hat from the rack. “Goodbye, Maggie.” He paused. “If I may call you that.”
She smiled. “Certainly, Garth.” After all, they had known each other on and off for years.
She closed the door and leaned against it. Her second formal customer. I think I deserve a cup of tea. She took the bolt of pink fabric and the dress pattern to the table. She’d cut all three garments this afternoon and spend the next two days sewing and the evenings knitting. She hummed as she made the tea. She’d had two official customers. If this continued, she’d be fine.
Chapter Fifteen
When night assails my life,
And dark despair surrounds me
Then from deep inside me
Comes the courage to play my role.
Maggie checked both directions on the Riverport main road. Friday mornings were busy. Cars angle parked in front of the buildings. Mr. Willoughby Ritcey stood by the bank talking to one of the schooner captains, and if the local scuttlebutt held true, the conversation included rum running.
Maggie crossed the road headed for the bank, looking forward to her talk with Mr. Macfee. I’ll have two jobs. A month ago she couldn’t see how she’d manage and here she had reasonable expectation to be steadily employed with a side job for extra cash. Not to mention they were at least recouping basic costs on the store goods.
She found the bank just open and Mr. Macfee standing inside the bank’s front door, checking his watch and comparing the time to the big wall clock.
She stopped in front of him. “Good morning, sir.”
He pocketed the watch. “Mrs. Benson, what can we do for you today? Didn’t you make a loan payment just the other day?”
“I came to tell you, I have expectations of a permanent job and I’ll be able to pay off father’s loan.” She reached into her satchel and pulled out the ten-dollar bill. “Here’s an extra payment.”
Mr. Macfee turned toward his office. “Bring me Mr. Conrad’s file,” he called to the clerks. In the office, he waited until he had the file. Flipping it open, he checked the payment ledger. “Hmm,” he said. “And there have been two other extra payments recently.” He looked up and raised his eyebrows. “You’re doing well.”
He wants to know where we got the money. “Mrs. Kaiser is running the island store and selling what she can. A few people have paid off their charge accounts. Ivan is fishing with Mr. Roberts and working with a friend at another job. I’m getting sewing work and, come the end of the month, I’ll probably start the job I mentioned.” She leaned forward and, her heart pounding at her boldness, plucked the ledger page from his hand. “And Uncle Henry is helping in other ways,” like helping Ivan bootleg, “although I refused his offer of a loan.” She hoped he picked up on her implication that she could manage as well as any man.
She glanced at the sheet. The final balance after the current ten-dollar payment still left them with a way to go. She handed back the ledger. Satisfaction colored her words. “We’ll have it paid in full by the end of September. Are you able to extend us the one extra month?”
Mr. Macfee shook his head. “Actually, I can’t do that.”
“Why not.? After all, the end of September is three months earlier than my father had to pay the loan.”
Mr. Macfee stood. “I’ve been directed to
collect all monies owed by the end of this month.” He poked a finger into his watch pocket but didn’t pull out the watch. “If the loan is not paid we will take steps to fund it.”
Maggie’s chest tightened and her stomach sucked in. “How would you do that?”
Mr. Macfee stepped to the side of the desk and looked down at her. “We looked at confiscating the store goods, but as I said before, we are not in the business of retail selling. However, it came to our attention that your father’s estate owns half of the house you are currently living in. Correct?”
Maggie nodded and tightened her hands on her satchel. I don’t like where this is going.
“If need be, I’ve been instructed to put a lien on it and offer it for sale.”
She frowned. “But we, that is Dad’s estate, only owns half. Uncle Henry owns the other half.” The day that started sunny and bright was rapidly fading to gray.
“The process is usually to put it on the open market. However, since your uncle is the co-owner, we’d give him first opportunity to buy your father’s half. If he does so, the loan would be paid out of the money and the residue would remain in your father’s estate.”
“And if he doesn’t choose to buy it?”
“If he chooses not to buy your father’s half, the house would be sold and half the money would go to him.” He stood and took a step back, watching her.
Maggie knew the color had drained from her face. Was that even legal? She wished she had read more of her father’s law books. Her inners roiled, and she worked hard to take an even breath. “I see.” She stood and faced him, a whirling, whining noise encasing her. Gathering the last vestiges of her courage, she lifted her chin. “Then it seems we’d best pay the loan on time.”
She wheeled around, coming close to tipping over. With her back turned, she blinked away tears. Pay the loan by the end of the month? It looked impossible. But she had no choice. It had to be done. One way or another. So much for talking Ivan into giving up the bootlegging. They needed his bootlegging job for at least one more payment. She shuddered. Or she’d have to go begging to Uncle Henry.
* * *
Although her bank visit had chased away Maggie’s appetite, she prepared the vegetables for Ivan’s supper. He usually brought home cod tongues, but that evening he walked in with three good-sized cod steaks. And Charlie Roberts.
She shot an inquiring look at Ivan.
“You need to look at his hand,” Ivan said and put the cod on the counter. “It’s infected and he refuses to go to the doctor.”
She coated the cod steaks in the mix she’d prepared and put them into the frying pan with the onions. Leaving left Ivan to watch them, she turned to Charlie.
“Come and sit down.” She put a hand on his shoulder and urged him toward the table. A ragged gash on his palm oozed pus along red edges. Shocked, she pushed up his sleeve. Sure enough, a red line ran up his inner forearm. “Blood poisoning,” she said and ran a finger along the line that stretched to the crook of his elbow. “You really should go to the doctor.”
Charlie ran his good hand over his mouth and chin and shook his head. “No time, no money. Ivan said maybe you could fix it.”
She blew out forcibly. “Charlie, I’ll try. Ivan put the kettle back on the heat.”
Maggie fetched a basin from the summer kitchen, salt from the cupboard and a heel of bread from the bread box. She poured salt into the basin and added hot water. Using a clean cotton rag, she washed the worst of the dirt out of the cut and off the rest of his work-soiled hand.
Charlie sucked air through his ragged front teeth, first when the hot water hit his hand and again when the salt hit the cut. She sat beside him.
“Charlie, we need to get this clean and put on a poultice. Lucky for you, a heel of bread soaked in hot salt water and applied overnight might pull out the infection. But first, we’ll soak the wound. Keep your hand in the water.”
She put the back of her hand against his forehead. “You’re running a fever to boot. So, if this doesn’t work, we’re taking you to the doctor. You might think you don’t have the time, but if you don’t get it fixed, they’ll be cutting off your arm and then where will you be?”
Charlie paled. “They’d really have to cut it off?”
She nodded. “I saw more than one blood poisoned limb come off during the war. Now sit until I tell you to move.” She went to the stove. “Go clean up, Ivan, and set the table for supper.” She checked the fish. The edge flaked but the center didn’t. Not quite ready.
“You got that teacher fellow staying here, ain’t you?” Charlie asked and swished his hand.
She flipped the fish. “Yes, he’s renting a spare room.”
“I heard folks seen him all over. He’s a nosy Parker. What do ya suppose he’s looking for?”
Bootleggers. “Maybe he’s not looking for anything,” she said, her back to Charlie. “He does go fishing and he draws sketches. He says he’s always looking for ideas for his teaching.” Does honesty enter into that part of his job? Or is he not even a real teacher?
“Humph. If you say so. But Harry saw him up to the graveyard, going from stone to stone, checking the bases.” He sucked loudly through his teeth. “And he’s been seen with Johnny Mossman, our friendly local prohibition revenue officer. They was fishing, but fishing for Johnny is just a cover to search for the booze.”
“Do you think he’s collecting information for the prohibition officer?” Ivan stood in the doorway, his face pale. If Charlie noticed, he didn’t say anything.
“Could be. That Logan fellow, Mossman’s boss, is really pushing to stop the bootlegging.”
Ivan met Maggie’s gaze, but she couldn’t guess his thoughts. “Come on,” she said. “Supper's ready.” I’m having a stern talk with Ivan when Charlie’s gone. He can’t risk getting caught. One way or the other, he has to give it up even if we can’t pay the loan. Her stomach churned. Would it come down to her brother being arrested if he continued? Would they lose their share of the house if he stopped and they didn’t have enough to pay the loan?
During the meal, she left Charlie’s hand soaking. Halfway through, she added more hot water. The bottom of the pot showed sand and skin bits by the time they finished dinner. She sent Ivan away with the murky water and got a clean pan full and a cloth. Holding the hand under water, she gently cleaned away any bits of scab clinging to the cut. Pink edges showed on the cut and dots of sweat showed on Charlie’s brow. But he never complained.
She soaked a thick heel of bread in hot salt water, squeezed it out and applied it to the cut. The cloth went over it. She tied it in place with a strip torn off an old sheet and strapped his arm against his chest, the hand pointing up. “There now, you leave it until morning and come back and see me. It’s Saturday but you need to take the day off. I’ll change the poultice in the morning, and since you can’t be cooking with one hand, plan to stay for lunch. I’ll change it again after that. That should do it.”
She had Aunt Maude and the girls coming for supper but had already planned the meal. Having Charlie stop by wouldn’t disrupt anything.
Charlie examined his bandaged hand. “’Tis a big thanks, I owes you, Missus. I’ll be sending along some more fish with Ivan this week for your dinners.”
She patted his shoulder and saw him on his way. Turning from the door, she caught Ivan heading toward the stairs.
“Hold on,” she called to him. “Come back here. We need to talk.” She stood by the table. “Sit,” she ordered. “You heard what Charlie said.” And a good thing he said it. Now I don’t have to expose secrets or explain how I know.
Ivan sat and folded his hands on the table. “Yes, I sure did. Gave me a start for sure.” He looked at her. “Do you think Charlie is right?”
“It certainly sounds like it could be true.” She shrugged. “Don’t you think you and the boys should stop those deliveries?”
Ivan folded his hands and stared at them. “When I started, I only planned to stay with i
t until we paid Dad’s loan. One more delivery is all we need. I’ll give it up after that.”
“Ivan!” Maggie's voice carried her best big-sister condemnation. “What if you get caught? How would we pay your fines? I’ve heard they’re high.”
“I won’t get caught. No one around here will say a thing.”
The absurd confidence of the young. What could she say? He had a point. If I had the school cleaning job for sure. If the threat of losing our claim on the house didn’t exist. She shook her head. If I get more sewing. That’s a lot of ifs. “I want you to stop. If you insist on continuing, I won’t be happy. But if you do, you be darn careful. Keep your eyes open and your ears on.”
JM’s car chugged up the driveway. Both Maggie and Ivan looked out the window and sat silently lost in their own thoughts. When he entered the kitchen, she pointed at the stove. “Fish and potatoes left,” she said. “Help yourself.”
“Ivan, do the dishes before you turn in.”
I’m not talking to either of them. She walked out. It was so much easier when Ivan was four.
* * *
Saturday morning Maggie woke to the stillness of an empty house. She’d slept poorly with worries coloring her dreams. The men, if she could call Ivan a man, were gone. She could only hope that the one wasn’t chasing the other. A note in the kitchen said JM had left for the weekend. Another told her Ivan would be back in the afternoon. But when had they left?
Charlie arrived during breakfast and said he’d had a slice of plain bread for breakfast. She fixed him eggs and toast. The old man seemed happy to have hot food and someone to talk to. Charlie lived on the other side of the man-woman equation. A widower on his own. He had no one to look after him and make his meals. But no one expected him to move in with his children and help with things like child care.
The Left Behind Bride Page 15
