Somewhere to Call Home. Janet Lee Barton
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to be openings before too long,” Elizabeth said.
“We can look at the classifieds in the morning paper, too,” Michael suggested.
Several other ideas were mentioned as they ate their meal and Violet felt her hopes for employment grow. Surely in a city this large, she could find something before long. At least Harlan Black didn’t have an influence here. He couldn’t stop people from hiring her.
Coconut cake was served with coffee, and Violet enjoyed it while she listened to the others talk about their day. So far everyone seemed nice, but Violet couldn’t help but notice that most all the women at the table seemed to hang on to every word that came out of Michael’s mouth. And if Lila Miller batted her eyelashes at him each time he looked her way, she wasn’t the only one doing so. Even with two other men at the table, Michael seemed to be the one who had the attention of every woman, and—much to Violet’s dismay—that included her. She couldn’t really blame them. Those dimples were hard not to watch for.
* * *
During the meal, Michael watched the interaction between the boarders and Violet. She listened more than she talked, and she seemed to be totally unaware that Luke and Benjamin were both taking in everything she did say. On the other hand, he hadn’t missed the way the two men watched her every move.
A new woman in their midst was always of interest to the male boarders. Just as he supposed a new man would be to the females sitting at the table. But Luke and Benjamin appeared to be totally captivated by Violet. While he couldn’t blame them—she was lovely and quite unpretentious—Michael felt a little out of sorts about the attention they were giving her.
He watched as Violet asked Luke about his writing and wondered, what would she think if she knew Luke sometimes did investigative work for Michael’s detective agency? It was something few people knew about, which worked to Michael’s benefit. No one would suspect one of his agents was the dime-novel writer living in his mother’s boardinghouse. Violet seemed interested in Luke’s writing—was she interested in him?
It shouldn’t matter. Michael had made up his mind never to become interested in any of the women living in his mother’s boardinghouse—an easy thing to do since he’d been burned once and was determined never to let it happen again. But Violet wasn’t just a boarder. They’d lived next door to each other, and their mothers had been best friends. He couldn’t ignore that connection. Nor did he want to.
He glanced her way as she spoke to Elizabeth, and realized how much she’d changed since he last saw her. She seemed to have lost the smattering of freckles that once graced her nose, and her skin was smooth and flawless now, but he found he missed those freckles.
It took some effort to pull his thoughts back to the present and he was glad to see that most everyone seemed genuinely interested in helping Violet find employment, with the exception of Lila. She didn’t seem enthused about assisting in the search—at least not where she worked. He was certain she’d mentioned that Butterick was expanding and needed more help just a week or so ago, and he’d almost laughed at the look on Lila’s face when he’d backed her into a corner so she had no choice but to say she would check on it. However, he wasn’t totally confident that she would keep her word.
He’d had no reason to check the classifieds, so he didn’t know if Butterick might have placed an ad. Hopefully they’d find something in the paper tomorrow, whether it be Butterick or some other place. It would make things easier if Violet found a position where one of the other girls worked. She’d be able to learn her way around a little faster if she had someone to go to work and come home with. But this was New York City, after all. Violet would find something. He was sure of it.
* * *
When everyone adjourned to the parlor, Violet excused herself saying she had unpacking still to do. That was the truth, but the real reason she felt the need to escape to her room was that she was quite overwhelmed by her whole day. It had been a very long one and she hadn’t had time to let it soak in that she really was going to make her home in New York City, in this house, with these people.
Mrs. Heaton followed her upstairs. “Are you all right, dear?”
“I’m fine. I’m just—”
“Not used to all that conversation and everyone talking at the same time, are you?”
“No, ma’am.” She smiled. The older woman seemed to have a knack for knowing what she was thinking. “But I did enjoy it. I think I’m just very tired tonight.”
“I’m sure you are. I wanted to show you where the towels are kept and make certain you weren’t feeling poorly.” She pointed out the linen closet in the hall and got out a fresh towel and washcloth for Violet. “My room is just across the hall from yours, should you need me. Please remember, Violet, that you are like family to me and—”
“I thank you so much for that. Your hospitality is more of a comfort than I can tell you. But that being said, I need to pay you my first month’s rent. It’s fifty dollars, isn’t it?”
“That’s the fee, but I want you to wait until the first of July to pay me.”
“Oh, no.” Violet shook her head. “I can’t let you do that, Mrs. Heaton.”
“You have no choice, dear. I don’t want you worrying about money until you have a paying position, which I’m certain you will have by then. You have enough stress trying to find employment and getting used to everything. Think of yourself as my guest at least until July. Then you’ll be a boarder.”
“But—”
Mrs. Heaton held up her hand and smiled. “Not another word about it, dear. It’s final.”
“Thank you. I am so blessed that you wrote me offering your help. I had no intention of ever leaving Ashland, but with Harlan Black making it impossible for me to find work, your letter seemed an answer to my prayers. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Your being here is enough thanks. You bring back happy memories to me of times past and I cherish them. As for Harlan Black...I do remember him as well, and I am glad you got away from that horrid man!”
“Oh, so am I.” The very thought of Harlan sickened her.
“Do you think he’ll come after you?”
Violet’s heart plummeted to her stomach at Mrs. Heaton’s question. Thus far, she’d not let herself think along those lines, but now she realized that same question had been lying at the back of her mind just waiting to torment her. “I don’t know. I certainly hope not.”
Mrs. Heaton placed a hand on her ample chest. “I am so sorry, Violet. I didn’t mean to bring up unpleasant thoughts for you.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Heaton. I’m just glad to be out of Ashland and away from him.” She shivered again thinking of the last time she’d seen him.
“Well, never you worry, dear. He won’t bother you here.” Mrs. Heaton waved her hand as if to dispel the thought of Harlan. “Enough of this depressing talk. I’ll let you have some time to yourself. Breakfast is from six to nine. It’s set out on the sideboard in the dining room. We’ll take a look at the classifieds and see if we can find some positions for you to apply for tomorrow. Good night, dear.”
“Good night.”
Violet heard the sound of the piano being played and voices singing “The Sidewalks of New York” as Mrs. Heaton went back downstairs. For a moment she wished she’d stayed with everyone. Then she reminded herself that there would be other nights and much more time to get to know the others. For now, she needed some quiet time.
Violet finished her unpacking and then took a long soak in the big tub in the bathroom. Once she was back in her room, she settled herself into the chair by the window and listened to the singing from downstairs. She loved to sing and would be happy to join them around the piano one day.
The music faded and she heard footsteps on the stairs, doors