“All right, I will. Also, do you know an Isaac?”
“Isaac? Doesn’t ring a bell. Why?”
“Just curious. He’s handsome. I was hoping you knew him.” Harriet was lying about hoping he knew him—she already knew he did—but not about him being handsome.
“Sorry. I’ve got to get back to work, sis. Love you.” Michael kissed her cheek and sprinted down the stairs. Harriet quickly followed. He opened the door and to both their surprise, Isaac was behind it, about to open it from the other side.
“Isaac!” Harriet said. “I was just inquiring if my brother knew you. How chance that you just happen to be here, at his place of work.”
“Oh, this Isaac!” Michael said as he shook Isaac’s hand. “Harriet was just asking me about a handsome fellow named Isaac. I wonder if you are whom she spoke of . . . ”
Harriet smiled smugly. Michael was being clever and trying to rattle her. But now she had more questions than answers.
“I must be getting back to the Gazette. Mortimer will be checking up on me. Have a good day, gentlemen,” she said. She went out the door Michael was still holding open and passed Isaac closely, smiling at him haughtily. The only thing she knew for sure was that Isaac was a liar and her brother was involved with him somehow.
Isaac left the boathouse shortly after Harriet did. She waited at the end of the street, hoping he would pass.
“Isaac,” she said as he walked right past her, not noticing her. “You are still here?”
Isaac recognized the voice and turned to meet it.
“Miss Black. How nice to see you again,” Isaac said cordially. He paused his stride and turned toward her, but his body immediately tensed as his arms crossed his chest.
“I don’t want to be a pain, Isaac, but I am concerned for my family.”
“That’s wonderful you have a family to worry about,” he said sincerely.
“Do you not have a family?” Harriet frowned.
“Not like yours.”
Harriet felt a pang of guilt for even asking. “I want to keep my family happy. Now, I don’t wish to pry, but it seems as though you and my brothers would like to keep something from the rest of us,” Harriet said politely.
“I suggest, Miss Black, that if you don’t like to pry, then you don’t.” Isaac’s upright posture suggested he was confident, but his uncomfortable smile betrayed him.
“I don’t like to pry, but I will if my family is threatened.”
“I don’t pose any threat to you or your family. I am just a simple craftsman trying to look for work.”
“Fine, Mr. Isaac. I will just have to pursue you through other avenues. I work for the Gazette, you know. Perhaps a reporter would be interested in what you are doing here.”
Isaac shook his head and smiled. “You are the unmarried, older sister. Correct?”
“Yes,” Harriet admitted cautiously.
“I can see why,” Isaac said as he raised a brow. “Good day, Miss Black.” He turned and walked away.
Harriet seemed collected on the outside, but on the inside, she was self-destructing. Being single was a sore spot with her. She had many suitors, but all of them were the likes of Mr. Dixon, that strange reverend, or her pupil who was too young for her. There was never an appropriate match. She couldn’t understand why she couldn’t attract a man who was the right age, had a job, and wasn’t odd. Clearly men liked her; it was just always the wrong men.
Now she really would be late to return to work because she had waited to confront Isaac. If Mortimer noticed, he not only would embarrass her about it by pointing out to the other men in the office what incompetent creatures women were, but he would likely use it against her as leverage to get her to enter courtship with him. Her job was always on the chopping block.
After rushing back to the Gazette as quickly as she could, she peeked through the glass on the door to see if Mortimer was out of his office. He didn’t seem to be, so Harriet carefully entered. She tried not to bring any attention to herself as she walked to her desk and sat down. She straightened out a stack of papers, removed her hat pin, and set her hat on the end of her desk, thinking she had gotten away with it. But just as she started to type, she felt moving air on her neck, and she paused.
“I hope I’m not interrupting your fervent work, Harriet,” Mortimer whispered.
Harriet pretended it didn’t bother her even though his proximity made her skin crawl. “No, not at all. I was just dealing with family business before. I’m caught up on all my work. In fact, I’m ahead of schedule.” Harriet turned around in her swiveling chair and smiled at Mortimer, who was uncomfortably close still, but he moved back slightly as she turned.
He smiled back. “Don’t you have a father to attend to family business? And my my, you are mighty defensive.”
“I am not defensive, just stating the situation. And certainly, I have a father who attends well to all the family business, but it wasn’t anything he needed concern himself with.”
“Then women’s business?” Mortimer put a hand on his chin skeptically.
“No, it involved my brothers.”
“Then it shouldn’t really involve you at all,” he said as he folded his arms across his chest.
“How is that, Mr. Dixon?” Harriet asked with as much innocence as she could muster. But she full well knew what he meant by it.
“Sisters should stay out of the business of their brothers. Do you not have proper roles in your family? It’s quite disgraceful. As well, you should be putting in twice—nay, three times—the effort of our other editors and writers, Harriet. Because of your feminine mind, with its constant wandering and meddling, you must work thrice as hard.”
“Does it not make you pause, at all, that I finish my work in the same amount of time or better than any man here?”
Mortimer chuckled quietly. His rosy cheeks blossomed as he made a tight-lipped smile. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“You will not credit me for the work I do? You will not recognize my intellect or my work ethic?” Harriet asked helplessly.
“No one else asks for credit, Harriet. No man here asks to be recognized because they are a man.”
“I don’t want recognition because I am a woman. I want you to stop saying things that aren’t true! That I don’t work as hard or as well? Simply not true! I want honesty.”
“Honestly, we don’t need you. Honestly, I could pull any scamp from the street and he would produce work equal to yours. The only reason you are here is because you have a famous sister, and I like your pretty face.”
Harriet felt both anger and despair course through her. She was doing a good job, better than the other editors, but Mortimer chose to ignore it. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Well, how about we go to Heather’s and get some supper, and I’ll forget all about it.”
Harriet could find no way out of it. She couldn’t think of an excuse to give, especially since the alternative was to be terminated. “What if I say no?” she said weakly.
Mortimer nodded toward the door and blinked his eyes innocently, then shrugged as if he would have no choice but to throw her out of the office.
“Very well.”
“Good, let’s go now.” Mortimer held out his beefy arm for her to take. She stood and took it begrudgingly.
Harriet caught the look of Gregory, another assistant editor who looked put off. He shook his head in shame. Now she knew they would think she didn’t work as hard, or as well, and she was getting special treatment from Mortimer.
Mortimer opened the door to the little eat-in, and Harriet walked inside. She looked around at the half full tables and saw Mrs. Swenson, her mother’s friend. Now she would have to explain to her mother why she didn’t tell her she was courting Mortimer, as Mrs. Swenson would surely gossip about it.
Then she locked eyes
with the last person she hoped to see: Isaac. Here she was, hanging on the arm of one of the most despicable and detestable men in the county. Mortimer pulled out a chair for Harriet and she sat down. Isaac was seated behind Mortimer, a few empty tables away. He saw her. She saw him see her. Her heart sank. He smiled broadly and shook his head. She only hoped he wouldn’t come over and talk to them. Of course, he wouldn’t. He probably detested her after she confronted him in the street by the docks. Why did she do that? Why did she think it was appropriate to wait for a strange man and question him?
Heather came to the table. “Good evening, Mr. Dixon, Miss Black. What can I get for you tonight?”
Before Harriet could order, Mortimer spoke. “We’ll have two specials with mashed potatoes and green beans on the side.”
“Great choice,” Heather said as she wiped her hands on her apron out of habit.
“Heather, I’d much rather have steak and eggs,” Harriet said. “Fried chicken is messy, and I still have a long day ahead of me.”
Mortimer peered over his menu and seemed slightly irritated Harriet had spoken for herself, but he shrugged it off. Isaac smiled at Harriet again, as if laughing at her. She looked away and focused on Mortimer, but she quickly realized that she wished she could look at Isaac instead of Mortimer. With his crooked teeth and his rosy schoolboy cheeks, Mortimer seemed very unattractive to her. She glanced back at Isaac again. He was simply handsome. His eyes gleamed and his jaw was masculine and square.
“I’m happy to take you on as an assistant to the assistant editor, Harriet, even if I was forced to. But, I might be happy to take you on as something more.”
Harriet knew exactly what he meant. He had hinted at it many times. She never knew what to say, so she just nodded and looked at anything other than Mortimer.
“I don’t know how long I can secure your position, though. You aren’t my best editor, you know.”
Harriet spoke quickly. “I finish more words per day than anyone.”
“Maybe, but your quality is not the best.”
“I have near perfect accuracy,” Harriet protested. She glanced at Isaac. He was no longer smiling at her. He had dropped his head and was focusing on what was in his coffee cup in his hand.
“I’m not sure that’s true,” Mortimer said.
“Why do you refuse to see the truth?” Harriet sighed.
“Listen, like I said, I don’t know that we have a place for you for much longer. I know how much you love this job. Let me put it this way. You wouldn’t keep a dairy cow that didn’t produce milk, would you?”
“Did you just liken me to a dried-up old heifer?” Harriet gasped.
Mortimer dismissed her reply with a wave of his hand. “But family is always welcome at the Gazette. Even my mother worked there for a time. Until she was blessed with me, of course.”
What a warped proposal this was, Harriet thought.
“It’s not as if there is someone else. It’s well known you are a spinster. Time is not on your side. You should have a handful of children by now, but that’s no matter to me. I don’t want a handful anyway,” Mortimer said as he leaned on the table.
Isaac appeared next to the table.
“Isaac!” Harriet jumped.
“I sure enjoyed our walk earlier today. I hope we can do it again sometime,” Isaac said as he offered her his hand. Harriet took it because she was always polite, and polite people always revert to politeness when they don’t know what to do. He took her hand and kissed it. He winked at Mortimer and then headed out the door, only stopping to throw a dollar tip on his table.
“Who was that?” Mortimer demanded, his voice reaching a new high pitch.
“That was Isaac,” Harriet said. “He is a friend—of my brother’s.”
“I didn’t realize you had other suitors. You are making me look rather like a fool!”
“I’m making you look like a fool? You coerced me here by threatening my job.”
“I did no such thing,” Mortimer squealed, his round face becoming redder and his glasses beginning to fog.
Harriet shut her mouth quickly. If she did not tread carefully, she might lose her job and her dignity.
“I do not consider that man my suitor.” And she left it at that.
Heather brought their steaming plates of food.
“Thank you, Heather!” Mortimer chirped. He began to eat like a princess, pinky finger sticking up the whole meal. “I’m going to be a traveling reporter someday. I’ll go to New York and send back the news faster than anyone else. You would strike a fine figure in New York. There are better dress shops there. You wouldn’t have to wear secondhand clothes and hats anymore. We have a connection. Can’t you feel it? I am a catch for a spinster like you. I am the son of a successful paper man. You couldn’t do better. That fellow, the skinny one, what does he do?”
“Craftsman, I think,” Harriet muttered before she shoved a large piece of steak in her mouth so she didn’t have to talk.
“Of what?” Mortimer asked, wiping his mouth.
Harriet just shrugged.
“Anyway, my mother is very doting. She has always wanted a daughter, and I think you and she would get along well. She is—”
“I’m not feeling well. I should get straight home. I will see you tomorrow at work then?” Harriet interrupted as she left a large portion of her food on her plate and began to get up.
“Oh, done already. Such delicate femininity. Yes, you’ve been a lovely dinner companion.” Mortimer stood and kissed her hand, leaving fried chicken grease behind.
She left before Mortimer could pay so there was no chance he could follow her. She turned down the street and headed up the hill toward home. Twilight was approaching, and the lights of the town began to flicker on, one shop and home at a time.
She angrily wiped the back of her hand off with her hanky and was muttering to herself when she heard her name.
No. Please let this day be over! she thought to herself as she turned around and saw Isaac again.
“Harriet, are you all right?”
“No—you could have gotten me fired with that lie! I’m only hanging on by a thread there because he thinks there’s a chance.”
“I’m sorry, but I think being fired is better than you ending up married to Mortimer. Everyone knows he’s a rake.”
“You don’t have to tell me! I have to deal with him day in and day out.”
“And if you just sit there quietly you are agreeing to his proposal.”
“I didn’t agree! I would never!”
“He is a spoiled man, and if you do not object to his advances, he assumes he has your permission. That’s why I said what I said. So that it would plant some doubt in his confidence that you are all his. And because what he said to you, what he called you—it was despicable.”
“Excuse me! I . . . You said as much earlier today, claiming you know why I am still unmarried.”
“But I didn’t mean to say you are a hopeless spinster. I’m sorry; that was uncouth of me.”
Harriet took a deep breath. “I don’t thank you, but perhaps your heart was in the right place. I’ve been a thorn in your side today and you in mine . . . ”
“Yes, but even a rose has thorns.” Isaac smiled.
Harriet blushed. The truth was, she didn’t mind talking to him at all.
“I just wanted to make sure you were all right. Good night, Arie.”
“You can’t even remember my name, yet you claim to be my knight in shining armor.”
“My apologies. My best friend’s name was Harriet. We always called her Arie for short. I guess it just slipped out of habit.”
“Oh, that is the most beautiful nickname for Harriet I’ve ever heard.”
“Are you sure? I can call you Harry instead.”
“No, no. If I see you again, you may cal
l me Harriet. Good night, Isaac.”
“I’ll see you again.”
Isaac walked away in the opposite direction Harriet needed to go. She sighed again. Not like she had been sighing all day in frustration and grief, but in a contented manner.
Mary walked into Willis’s Grand Store. Gladys was busy but saw Mary come in. Raising her voice over the bustle, she called, “Mary! I just saw you yesterday. You must miss me, darling,” she said in her charming Southern drawl.
“Gladys, I do miss you, but it’s not you I am here for.”
“Well, give me a moment and I’ll be right over.”
Mary nodded. She walked aimlessly around the store, gazing at all the interesting objects to purchase. She had one object in mind. A gift for her dear, overworked, and with-child friend. It would be the ultimate expression of friendship. She expected it would be very pricey. She meandered past the fabric skeins and through the canned goods. She browsed the ladies’ perfume in the glass case and even walked past her own hat display. Hm, I am very good, she thought as she tapped a long pheasant feather with her finger. She adjusted a pink wide-brim hat that some customer must have returned to the stand carelessly. Satisfied her hats were displayed in the best light, she continued her meandering. There was something she thought she saw once, hiding in a corner somewhere. Finally, Gladys found her.
“All right, Mary darling, what can I get for you today?”
“Gladys, I need a typewriter!” Mary said with enthusiasm.
“For Sarah?”
“Yes! No, wait—Sarah? Why would I buy her a typewriter?”
“She was in here earlier asking about it. I showed her the one I’ve got, but she was not pleased with the price.”
“That strange girl. She’s been writing for a day, and she thinks she needs a typewriter.”
“You have to admire her ambition. What do you need it for?”
“For Liz, of course.”
“Of course!” Gladys waved her hand at Mary, beckoning her to follow. She led Mary to the corner of the store to the pencils, paper, charcoals, and other school supplies. In the middle of a display of stacks of paper was a shiny silver and black typewriter. It was much smaller than the one Harriet had at the Gazette.
Unbroken Promises of the Heart: (Promises of the Heart Book 2) Page 7
