She would never tell her mother what she had endured for their family. Her fears and mistakes were better left untold. Some secrets should stay on Douglas Island.
Geoff waved good-bye from the dock. She stood by his side.
Tubby suddenly disembarked, huffing through pipe-gritting teeth.
“Your mail,” Tubby said. “That magazine you like came a few weeks ago, Jo.” He handed her March’s Companion. Late, of course.
Mr. Hennessey’s dream-crushing story would be inside.
“There’s a letter for you, too. Is your subscription due?” Tubby held up an envelope.
Adrenaline surged through her body. She didn’t have a subscription to the Companion. Geoff did. Her eyes focused on the return address—Woman’s Home Companion, editorial office.
25
Josephine clutched the envelope and magazine to her chest, waiting until the Maiden disappeared before reading them.
Geoff jostled her up and down. “That was one of the best days ever. Thank you, Runt.”
She didn’t know if it was the emotional good-bye with her mother, the letter from the editorial office, or the dizzy feeling from being flung around like a rag doll, but as her vest dragged against Geoff, she felt lighter than a sea breeze. She couldn’t blame the wine for this delightfully woozy sensation.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” Geoff stepped away giving her room. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing. I haven’t seen your eyes pop like that since you flattened me in the tub.”
“I didn’t…” It was no use defending her actions again. “It’s probably nothing.” She quick-stepped to the lodge.
Geoff gave chase.
She ripped open the envelope, flung it on her chair, and scanned the letter. Excitement exploded inside of her.
“Tell me.” Geoff swept a hand through his wind-tossed hair.
“They want to print my story. Greg and Daria. The whole thing.” She squealed like a mouse.
“But I thought the guy in Pennsylvania won?”
“He did, but they liked mine, too. Especially, since I take care of someone like Greg.”
“How did they know that?” His congratulatory smile faded.
She nervously creased the folds of the letter. “On the entry form. My occupation. I listed that I’m a caregiver to a veteran. They want to run my story in June and July with the article running in May.”
“Article? What article?” Geoff leaned on his walking stick.
“They’ve asked me to write about what it’s like taking care of a veteran.”
“A cripple.”
“Someone injured in the war.” She offered him a look at the letter.
He declined.
“I’m sharing what I’ve learned with others. And they’ll pay me thirty dollars.”
Geoff stroked his cleft chin. “I’ve got to make another trip to the mine. Look over surveys. I don’t have time to type.”
“But I can write the article, can’t I?”
“I won’t be much help. Tubby’s returning Wednesday to take me out to Kat Wil.”
The low burning fire crackled in the hearth. She wished a record played on the Victrola something upbeat and melodic to boost her confidence. The article was supposed to be about real life. Her real life. Geoff’s real life. Their life together. She didn’t know how much to reveal about bedsores, nightmares, walking lessons, and withdrawal?
“Jo.”
She looked up to see him staring down at her.
“Write it. If not for me, then for all the men stuck in hospitals.”
“You don’t mind?”
He shook his head. “Right now, all I care about is getting in my chair. These wooden stumps have worn out their welcome.”
“They’d like a picture of us.” She took hold of his arm and helped him to his room. “I was thinking we could send one of Bradley’s. The one of us together with the lodge in the background.”
He cocked his head. “You didn’t mention my picture would be sent all over the country.”
“You do have an accomplished tailor and photographer.” She stood at attention and saluted him. “We’ll make sure you look mighty fine.”
“I’ll make sure we get the picture.” He pinched the back of her vest. “I’m proud of you, Jo. Not many eighteen-year-olds can brag about having a serial published in a national magazine.”
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Sure, you could. Greg would be a Leonard with long tapered legs.”
She laughed, relieved he had taken the news so well. “Would you mind if I didn’t accompany you to the mine? With the delay in getting the mail, I only have a few weeks to finish.”
“What? And not see your future brother-in-law?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
“You know?” I should have told him.
“Marty confessed,” he added. “We serve excellent wine. Too bad you don’t imbibe, or I would have found out sooner.”
She cleared her throat. “I was sworn to secrecy. And Ann’s boyfriends usually don’t last long.”
“Oh,” was all he said.
“About the mine.” She licked her cracked lips. “I want to stay home and write.”
“What did you say?”
His gaze made her more uncomfortable than the talk about Marty and Ann’s secret.
“I need time to write the article.”
“So, you want to stay home?” He grinned, turning it into a fake yawn.
“Yes.”
“Sure. I’ll be able to make it to the mine offices. I’m an expert with this walking stick.” He grabbed the bed frame and twirled the stick in the air.
“Thanks, Geoff.” She pulled back his bed cover.
“Just make sure you say some nice things about me, especially since my face will be plastered above the article.” He sat on the bed. “Otherwise, I’ll be forced to type a rebuttal.”
~*~
The next morning, Geoff reclined on the couch, eyes closed, hands resting on his stomach.
“Don’t worry about breakfast,” he said when she had finally made it downstairs. I found the extra rolls and pie.”
“Surprised you didn’t top it off with a ginger snap.”
His eyes opened. “You know me too well.”
“You didn’t.” She tied on her chicken-coop apron. “You’ll be on that couch for a while.”
“It’ll give me time to reminisce about the party. We organized a topnotch affair.”
“We?” She gave him a strict schoolteacher stare.
“I ordered the wine. Your mother liked it.”
“My mother enjoyed herself. No one should suffer on a perfect day.”
“Almost perfect.”
“What do you mean almost? Your brother can hardly wait to come back.”
Geoff pulled himself into a sitting position. “Marty. The audacity of that…man inviting you to my mine. I’m the owner, and you’re my caregiver.” Anger simmered in his words.
She thought Geoff had forgotten about the incident in the kitchen yesterday. She hurried to check on the hens.
A bow-topped box on the dining table caught her eye.
She read the tag. It said, “For Jo” in Geoff’s handwriting.
“What’s this?” She held up the box.
Geoff sat straighter on the couch.
“It’s not my birthday. I thought we decided not to give gifts.”
“You never agreed to that.” Now he sounded like the teacher. “You insisted on homemade gifts.”
She balanced the lightweight rectangular box in her hand. “This doesn’t look or feel like a homemade gift.”
“I assure you it’s as homemade as I can get. Besides, I was too ill to celebrate your eighteenth birthday. After all the work you put into hosting the party, I owe you a gift.”
Off came the box top. A navy blue hinged case lay inside. She recognized the jeweler’s name. Shooting him an awed glance, she opened the case. Her mouth gaped. An exquisite gold lo
cket—square with a capital “J” engraved on its front, lay in the box. “This is definitely not homemade.”
“The gold is from Kat Wil, and I told my father exactly what I wanted, so I followed your rule as best I could. Now, stop grumbling about the rules and tell me what you think.”
The smooth-linked chain slipped through her fingers as she admired the locket. “It’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen such a necklace. The engraving even sparkles.”
“Happy belated birthday, Josephine Primrose.”
She unclasped the chain and hurried over to where he sat.
“Put it on me.” She lifted the hair from her neck.
He clasped the locket.
She pressed the golden square against her skin. “I can’t believe it’s mine. I’ve never owned anything this stunning.” Her eyes celebrated with his. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But before you start writing for the day, could I have a real breakfast.”
“In a minute. I want to see how it looks in the mirror.” She ran upstairs holding the locket in place.
“It’s the same. Backward maybe.”
“It’s beautiful,” she called from her room. Did Mr. Chambers’s mind wander the same path as Ann’s after Geoff ordered the locket? Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to face the Chambers for a while. Explanations could wait. Her feet pounded down the steps. She flung her arms around Geoff, gently resting her lips on his cheek. “Thank you, so much.”
“Now you can’t say you’re eighteen and never been kissed.” He adjusted his pounced-on position.
“A peck on the cheek doesn’t count as a first kiss. Besides, I was the giver not the receiver.”
“So, you’re waiting for a Gregory kiss?” He grinned. “And not on your arm?”
She looked at the fringe on the rug not knowing how to respond. Not knowing much about kissing.
“If you keep fingering that locket, you’re going to rub the corners round,” he said.
She stilled her hand and excused herself to start breakfast. If truth be told, and she wasn’t telling, she was thinking more about kissing Geoff on the lips than kissing Gregory.
~*~
Josephine rose early Wednesday, March 26, to get a few hours of writing in before Tubby arrived to whisk Geoff off to the mine. Sun filtered through the sheers, but no noise filtered from Geoff’s bedroom. She knocked on his door.
“Tubby will be here soon. Looks like you caught a break with the weather. No storms.”
“I’m not going to the mine.” His voice was much too loud and his tone much too short for this time of morning.
Concern emboldened her. “I’m coming in.” She opened the door. He reclined on the bed bare-chested, his wooden legs askew on the rug.
“What’s wrong?”
“Some bug bit my stump. It’s too swollen to fit into its wooden case.”
She examined the red-pimpled leg.
“You need to soak this. The rash is spreading. I should be able to fix you up before Tubby gets here.”
“Don’t trouble yourself. I’ll go another day.” His fist pounded the bed.
He tilted his head back against the headboard. His eyes dulled. They reminded her of the first time she had sneaked into his room at the mansion.
“If it’s urgent for you to get out to the mine, take the chair.” She tried to sound encouraging, but even she knew that wheeling cut-off legs down the dock couldn’t compare to proudly strolling the planked ramp.
“I’m not going to Kat Wil in the chair.”
She envisioned Geoff as a robust soldier crossing roaring rivers and scaling trenches, determined to crush the enemy and return home whole and handsome. It was a cruel hoax. He had returned the same man but in a changed body.
Her gaze bore down on him. “They know about your loss at the mine. If they can’t handle seeing your cropped body in a wheelchair, then too bad for them.” Pride and a touch of anger roared inside of her. “Now, wash up while I warm some saltwater. I’ll dress while you soak the bite, and then we’ll see to your wardrobe.” She wedged the wheelchair next to the bed.
“You’re not coming.” He shifted toward the chair. “I don’t want you frightened by Edgar Young.”
“Oh, I’m coming. With the way you screamed at that man, he won’t come near me. And I don’t plan on leaving your side. If anyone so much as raises an eyebrow at your legs, I’ll unleash a string of words fit only for a Yukon saloon.”
“Don’t you go accosting any more of my miners with that prickly tongue of yours.”
Her face pinked as she remembered her outburst.
Geoff wheeled into the bathroom. His muffled laughter reverberated through the wall.
At least someone found her rebuttal of those awful accusations funny.
She hurried to get ready, and a few hours later, Tubby was docking the Maiden at Kat Wil Mine. She and Geoff disembarked right on schedule. Marty and Mr. Collins greeted them at the end of the platform. Chiseled mountain cliffs loomed in the background dwarfing the welcoming party. Marty’s cordial greeting had vanished, leaving his welcome businesslike and aloof.
Wearing sensible shoes with her calf-length skirt and long-sleeved jacket, she hoped to avoid a repeat of her blistered toes. She sat in the office while Geoff pored over accounting statements and payroll ledgers. In the afternoon, Geoff, Marty, and Mr. Collins left the office. Their raised voices echoed off the hollowed earth of the mine.
Heels clickety-clacked on the walkway. The noise grew louder, coming closer to the office. Josephine’s attention piqued. Women didn’t work at the mine. Especially not in heels.
The office door flung open. A petite, curly-haired woman stormed into Marty’s headquarters. Her onyx-eyed stare surveyed each desk, and then her gaze scrolled up and down Josephine’s suit as if seeking an imperfection.
“Marty around?” The woman sauntered to the cupboard where Marty stored his liquor.
“He stepped out.” Josephine tried not to stare at the wavy black and white-striped stockings covering the woman’s calves. They looked like slithering snakes peering out from a shorter-than-average skirt. A slip of black lace hung below the hem of her dress. The woman appeared to want to entice more than snakes.
“Want a drink?” the woman asked as if she had a right to offer Marty’s whiskey.
“No, thank you. I don’t drink.” Josephine listened for the men’s voices, but all she heard was the squawk of a crane.
Clack, clickety-clack, clack. The woman’s cream-strapped heels hammered the floor. A waft of bourbon and smoke and peppermint made Josephine breathe through her mouth. The woman sat awfully close to Josephine.
“How old are you?” The woman’s gaze settled on the hint of cleavage below Josephine’s locket.
“Eighteen and a half...almost.” Josephine softened her voice, trying to sound polite.
The woman glanced at Josephine’s hands. Was she looking for a wedding ring? Josephine noticed a lack of a band on the woman’s ring finger.
“Could I make some money with you?” The insult purred from the woman’s glossed lips. “I haven’t seen you in town. Do you live in Douglas?”
Was the woman insinuating what Josephine thought she was insinuating? Josephine thrust her shoulders back in disgust. She knew what type of woman worked at the mine. “I take care of Mr. Chambers. We live up island.”
“I see,” the woman said, “it’s a private arrangement.” She seemed happy to clothe Josephine in the same soiled sheets as herself.
Josephine’s cheeks flushed. “I assure you, ma’am. It’s not like that.”
“A man and a woman alone in a lodge?” Her bushy eyebrows rose slightly. “Surely?” The stranger cackled and tapped Josephine’s shoulder as if they had shared a joke.
Josephine stiffened.
Footsteps interrupted their conversation.
Mr. Collins held the door open as Geoff wheeled into the room. Marty stilled when he saw the garish woman waiting in his office. A touch of
scarlet covered his cheekbones.
“Martin,” the woman drawled. “I’ve come to collect for some of the young ones who believe in IOUs. Can’t start the weekend in the red.”
“Uh, Wanda. We were—”
“Leaving,” Geoff broke in. “Looks like you have some other business to attend to, Marty.”
Geoff wheeled to the coat rack. “I have what I came for. Ready to go, Jo?”
Josephine rose to help Geoff gather his things.
Wanda grasped her arm. “I understand now, dear.” The woman motioned ever so slightly to the vacant space below Geoff’s thighs. Her nose wrinkled as if she smelled a stench.
Acid burned in Josephine’s stomach. How dare this woman judge Geoff? Did she think him unworthy to share her squeaky bed?
“No, you don’t understand, Madam.” Josephine pulled free from the harlot’s clutches. She draped her arm over Geoff’s shoulder and slid her hand down the front of his coat. “I’m ready to go home now.” She patted Geoff’s chest and ignored any glances from Marty Hill.
Geoff looked at the woman and then at her and then at Marty. “Wheel away.” He rubbed his jaw to conceal a grin.
When they were a good distance down the dock, Geoff asked, “What the heck went on back there? Did that woman say something inappropriate to you?”
Josephine laughed at his curious outburst. “There was a misunderstanding.”
“Hers or yours?”
“Definitely hers.”
“Did you stand up for my honor?” Geoff shifted in his chair so he could see her face. “Like one of those gallant men in your magazine?”
“Not exactly.” She swallowed twice trying to moisten her throat. Her cheeks plumped with embarrassment as she pushed him toward the Maiden.
“Aren’t you worried about your reputation?”
She scanned the dock to see if anyone was watching their departure. No one was.
“I don’t think that woman is too concerned about reputations,” she said.
“What if Ann hears about this?”
“She won’t. Then Marty would have to explain why a brothel madam calls him Martin.”
Geoff shook his head and smirked. He reached up and took her left hand.
“Merci, Josephine.” Soft kisses grazed her gloved knuckles.
Until June Page 16
