Annie's Stories (18 page)

21

S
TEPHEN BEGAN WHISTLING
“The Stone outside Dan Murphy’s Door” again. It seemed to be his favorite.

Annie thought she might have reacted too strongly to Stephen’s taking the story without permission. She didn’t want to risk having the publisher dismiss her, because seeing her father’s stories in print truly would be a great honor. She listened to the postman’s whistling as she gathered her thoughts. If she could make it clear that she was the proper party to make the decisions about her stories without sounding too disturbed about his lack of good judgment in taking one of them to a publisher, perhaps this could work out. “Mr. Adams, about my father’s stories
 
—”

“I apologize. I have not been able to see Mr. Davis yet. But I promise you
 
—”

“I’ve thought about this. You should not have taken one of them without permission.”

“You are right, Miss Gallagher. I should not have. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m always trying to make things right for folks when perhaps I should not get involved. I know you want to do well here in America, and rightly so. These stories were your inheritance, weren’t they?”

“Mr. Adams, whether they were or were not is not pertinent.”

He glanced away like a scolded schoolboy, and she felt guilty. She needed to make her point, but perhaps she was going about it the wrong way. The publisher was not the only one she hoped would not reject her.

He turned back to her, eyelids half-closed. “I just thought, with my association with a publisher, I could . . . Well, I overstepped.” He pinched his lips together a moment. “You understand, don’t you?”

She smiled. “You understand I do not appreciate you trying to conduct business on my behalf?”

“Indeed I do.”

“I admit your motives seem worthy enough. Seeing as you meant no harm . . .”

“I truly did not. Please believe me.” His face softened. The curve of his smile was understated enough to convince Annie he was not overplaying his concern. Stephen was a man who could be trusted despite this error in judgment.

“I would like Mr. Davis to publish them, if he’s so inclined.”

“You would?”

“I have plans that the proceeds could assist me with.”

“I see. This is a splendid opportunity.”

“And for you as well?”

Stephen shook his head, his dark curls bouncing. “He sent me to look for something appropriate. Finding your father’s stories was happenstance, but fortuitous for you both, wouldn’t you say?”

“Indeed. While I admit I was miffed, I do in fact owe you my thanks. I don’t think I could ever have found a way to publish them on my own.”

The tight muscles in his face relaxed. “I want you to know, while I do receive pay for helping Davis, my main motivation is to see that you get what you should have, Miss Gallagher.
You want your father’s memory to live on in the minds of the reading public, isn’t that so?”

She liked how he expressed the sentiment. “’Tis. Like you said, a good opportunity.”

“Yes.” He rubbed his chin. “May I ask what your plans might involve, if you care to tell me?”

“You may. I’m to be the owner and chief administrator of a library, named in my father’s honor. I will specifically welcome girls who need the services a library can provide.”

“That is wonderful indeed. Is Mrs. Hawkins assisting you in this endeavor?”

“You don’t think I can do this on my own?”

“I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”

“She has been very kind, but this is my own undertaking.”

As they neared Hawkins House, he paused and opened the iron gate for her. “I will speak to Mr. Davis right away. As a matter of fact, he did ask that you come by to see him if you are able.”

“I would like that.”

“I would be happy to escort you there.”

“Will he see me today?”

“It’s Sunday.”

“I know ’tis Sunday, Mr. Adams. I would like you to arrange it, if you can. I am dutifully employed every other day. We do have a wedding to prepare for.” She knew she sounded bad-tempered, but she could not help it. It was time to move forward with this.

“He might possibly make himself available.”

“Good. Would you mind calling for me at the Thorps’ in two hours?”

“Certainly.”

They entered the house, and Stephen stood in the parlor while she fetched the pie. “You don’t have to wait,” she told him when she returned with the pie basket swinging on her arm.

“I would be without proper manners if I allowed a young lady to walk alone, Miss Gallagher. Please allow me to escort you. The Thorps live a block east of here, I believe. Three houses down from an apothecary.”

He was most assuredly the postman.

On the way he told her the names of the people who lived in various houses. “The Millers have at least six cats wandering about that they feed. I’ve counted the bowls of milk. And the Olsons have a boxer named Wilmer. Normally I do not care for dogs, but he’s a good fella. Of course in the tenements there is no counting the dogs and cats, but in this neighborhood it’s different.”

“How interesting.”

“Mrs. Jacobs bakes outstanding hot rolls. Folks like to feed the postman at times, you know.”

“Is that correct?”

He smiled again. “I have just finished
The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
. Are you done reading it?”

“You read quickly, Mr. Adams.” She thought she saw him blush. “I am nearly finished. Don’t tell me what happens, so.”

“All right. Tell me, though, who is your favorite character?”

She did not hesitate. “Why, Dorothy, of course. She is quite brave, wouldn’t you say?” Annie found she could not stay perturbed with him for long. His easy chatter so reminded her of her father.

“Dorothy? I suppose, although she depends upon her friends quite strongly. I am fond of Toto.”

“The dog? I thought you didn’t care for dogs.”

He chuckled. “That dog won’t bite me.”

Annie gave a dismissive shake of her head. “In all seriousness, I do hope Dorothy gets home.” She stopped walking and gazed at him. “But don’t you dare tell me, Mr. Adams.”

He laughed. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I almost forgot. I brought you something.” He reached into his jacket and produced a package. “It’s a sweet bun baked by my neighbor.”

A gift. Annie could not remember the last time someone other than her employer had given her anything. “How kind.” She turned away to hide her flustered face and stuck the package into her basket. “How did you know you would see me today?”

He blushed and tripped over his words. “I . . . uh . . . I thought I might see you in church.” His dark brows rose as though he’d made a huge error. “I did not intend to disturb you. I know where you attend because . . . Well, I know where you live because
 
—”

She laughed. “You deliver our mail. Of course you know where I live. It was very kind of you, Mr. Adams, to think of me. I hope Mrs. Hawkins hasn’t put you up to this.”

“Mrs. Hawkins?”

She might have guessed wrong. “Oh, never mind. Sometimes that woman seems to want to live my life for me, all the while keeping me oblivious to some things. I thought she might have sent you.”

“No. Not at all. I mean, she did not send me.”

“She is a kind soul, of course
 
—but she is, after all, my employer.”

“Oh, she is kind. She has a heart for helping others.”

“I did not mean to appear ungrateful.”

“Of course not. You just want to make your own decisions, is that right?”

So very right. “I’m happy you understand.”

They reached the brownstone with forest-green shutters and the shingle out front reading
Matthias Thorp, Physician
. This was where Stephen Adams had come the night Kirsten became ill.

“It was very thoughtful of you that night, fetching the doctor for Kirsten.”

“I hope she’s all right.”

“She will be in time.”

When the Thorps’ maid answered the door, Stephen turned to leave.

“Thank you for walking me.”

“I will return in two hours’ time.” He waved as he stepped away.

“Oh, Mr. Adams?”

He stopped.

She held up the brown package. “Thank you for the sweet bun.”

His face lit up. Emma was right. He was dashing.

22

A
S SOON AS
S
TEPHEN
and Annie approached the glass door at Davis Publishing, it opened.

“I’m so delighted you came to see me, Miss Gallagher.”

“Thank you for being available today, sir. I could not come any other time.”

“The pleasure is all mine. My door is always open for you. When Stephen told me you wished to see me today, I could not refuse.”

Refuse? Davis had been overly eager, Stephen thought. He’d even told him to get her there as soon as possible.

The man pulled out a chair for Annie and she sat. His eyes never left her as he circled around to sit at his desk. “I apologize for taking so long to be in touch about your stories, my dear.”

Stephen saw Annie’s shoulders stiffen. Davis should not be addressing her as though she were a child.

“Stephen couldn’t find me earlier because I’ve been in several conferences with the men over at
Harper’s
magazine.”

“Truly?” She sat up straighter.

Stephen stood in front of the cast-iron heat radiator under the window, from where he could study both of their faces.

“Yes. The folks at
Harper’s
would like very much to publish this story, if you would allow.”

Stephen interrupted. “
Harper’
s
? I thought you wanted to publish them.”

“I do, indeed. We’ve worked out a plan, and I would like to tell you about it and see if it is amenable to you, Miss Gallagher.”

“I would like to hear it, Mr. Davis.”

“You have more of these stories?”

“I have ten.”

Davis seemed delighted enough to bounce right out of his office chair. “Good, good.” He pulled some typewritten pages from a brown envelope. “We have taken the liberty to draw up an agreement. Allow me to explain.”

She nodded.

“
Harper’s
will publish one story every week for . . . eight weeks.” He reached for a pen and made a mark on the paper. “I’m filling in that number since we didn’t know how many there were. Then, once the public’s interest has been stoked, we at Davis Publishing will publish all ten in a book. We will have the last two exclusively.”

“The money, Mr. Davis? How much am I to be paid for this?”

“One hundred dollars for each story. And then we will negotiate again for the book.”

Annie held a hand to her chest. “What?”

Stephen slapped his knee. So they were Redmond’s. What a find. He couldn’t allow Annie to be taken advantage of just because she did not understand who her father was. “Two hundred!”

Annie spun around. “Mr. Adams. I will discuss this, please, if you don’t mind.”

“I . . . uh . . . You should get more.”

Davis spoke up. “He’s right. Two hundred it is.”

Obviously Davis had been given some negotiating power.

“And she will receive royalties from the book, in addition to some payment in advance,” Davis added.

“Certainly she should,” Stephen agreed.

Davis nodded in Stephen’s direction. “And you, my boy, will receive a finder’s fee.”

Annie stood. “I implore you both to stop talking as though I’m not in the room.”

Davis dipped his head. “My apologies, dear. We are positively giddy over these tales, and we only want the best publishing situation for them . . . and for you, of course.”

“I . . . I’m grateful, but I don’t understand how you can be so generous. They are just my wee tales.”

Davis took a deep breath. “Your father, Miss Gallagher
 
—it appears he wrote under a pen name. That is to say, he used a false name in the interest of privacy.”

“Why would he do that? Why would he not tell me if this was true?”

Even as she spoke this argument, she seemed weakened by the idea that it might be the case and slumped in her chair. Stephen understood how she must be feeling, and he wished he could make it better. His father had also hidden things. When the truth is revealed, you’re left to wonder how you could have been so gullible. Were you really so unworthy of the truth?

He pondered her posture and how moments ago she had held her head high. Annie Gallagher was a strong, determined, beautiful woman. He hated thinking she might have these doubts about herself. Hopefully, for her sake, there had been a sensible reason her father hadn’t told her he was really Redmond.

Davis stood at her side and tapped his fat fingers together. “Perhaps he wanted to spare you all this, dear. He wanted to provide for you without you having to be burdened with the details of business and
 
—”

Annie seemed to break free from her sadness as suddenly as
a hunted duck fleeing from cover. “I assure you I’m perfectly capable.” She buttoned the neck of her cloak. “I will accept the offer of . . .” She cleared her throat. “Two hundred dollars per story, and when the time comes for a book, I will engage a solicitor to assist me. However, I will only sign the contract for one story at a time.”

That was the Annie he knew.

Davis returned to his desk chair and fidgeted with his cigar. “As you wish. Thank you, Miss Gallagher. It is a privilege indeed. I’ll just change the number here.” Davis’s recovery was on par with finding the proverbial golden goose egg. He knew when he had a good opportunity in front of him. The man pushed the papers forward on his desk and handed her a pen.

“Let me see.” Stephen stepped in front of her.

“I know how to read, Mr. Adams. I appreciate your concern, but I can handle this.”

Stunned by her reproach, Stephen stepped back. “No offense, Miss Gallagher.”

“None taken.”

Stephen sat at the diner’s counter Monday after work and poured out his heart to Dexter.

“I thought I had broken ground with her, but then she made it clear she did not want my help. I only wanted to ensure she wasn’t taken advantage of.”

“Don’t take it so hard, buddy. These things
 
—courtships
 
—they take time. She’s just a bit independent, is all. You have to allow for that.”

Stephen sipped his black coffee. “Got any milk?”

“Like, for kids?”

“Come on. Got any for my coffee or not?”

“Hey, take it easy.” Dexter disappeared into the back room and returned with a glass bottle.

“Thanks. Look, I’m sorry.”

Dexter held up his hands. “No harm done. You’re one of the few fellas I know who puts milk in his coffee. I forgot.”

“I’m just a bit jumpy.”

“Say, why don’t you come by tomorrow and have supper with us. My Harriet’s cooking up creamed cabbage.”

Stephen gave him a thumbs-up. “I’ll be there with bells on.”

A lanky fellow came in, out of breath, and took the stool next to Stephen. “There’s a storm coming.”

Stephen nodded to acknowledge him. “I had not heard.”

“Down at the pier the fishermen are all coming in and tying up.”

“Fine and dandy. Nothing worse than delivering mail in a storm.”

“The mail must get through.” The stranger chuckled.

Stephen wasn’t sure if that had been a sarcastic remark or not.

Dexter returned after serving a customer an egg salad sandwich and received the newcomer’s order for a roast beef special. After pouring the man a cup of coffee, he turned to Stephen and handed him a slice of pie on a white china plate. “On me.”

Stephen grinned. “You’re a good friend, Dex.”

“I bet it will be no time before you’re having pie with the ladies over at Hawkins House.”

“That so?” the stranger asked. “I’ve heard of that place.”

Dexter handed the man some silverware rolled in a cloth napkin. “Stephen here is the postman. He befriends everyone on his route.”

The man unrolled the napkin and placed it across his lap. “Good. Then you have probably heard of a girl there named Kirsten Wagner.”

Stephen caught a glimpse of the man’s unusual tie. He’d seen a tie like that before, the other day on the street in front of Hawkins House . . . but maybe somewhere else too. He couldn’t be completely sure, but that day a man had been banging on the letter box. What were the chances? “Why do you ask?”

The man pointed to a metal badge pinned to his lapel. “From the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Just asking some questions and doing my job.”

Dexter frowned.

His wife called out from the kitchen. “Order up!”

He did not turn around. The Pinkerton man motioned toward the plate of food, but Dexter ignored him. “We don’t serve folks that come here causing trouble.”

The man smirked. “No trouble, friend. If this young man is the postman, then he’ll know whether or not he’s delivered a package at Hawkins House for Miss Kirsten Wagner.” He turned to Stephen. “Have you?”

“I . . . uh . . . I deliver lots of mail. Why?”

“I am not one to answer questions, boy, just ask them.”

Harriet marched around from the kitchen, grabbed the food from the pass-through window, and placed it in front of the man. Then she stomped back to the kitchen.

“I think I’ll have my pie at the table over there,” Stephen said, and Dexter nodded and followed him over.

“The nerve of some people, interrupting other folks’ conversations,” Dexter said when they sat. “Pinkertons! Everyone knows they break the law as much as the criminals they’re tracking. Untrustworthy snakes.”

“I never expected one of those fellas to sneak around here, Dexter.”

“Me either. And Harriet wanted me to feed him anyway.”

“I don’t know what he’s about, but I’ll warn Ann
 
—I mean, Miss Gallagher.”

Dexter grinned. “Of course. Now, let’s talk about something more pleasant. Like books . . .”

Stephen held up a finger. “I got a couple more to share with you.”

“Oh? What are they? I hear H. G. Wells has a new one.”

“No, sorry. Not that one. Later I’ll have
The Master Key
to loan you, but today just a couple books of poetry that Davis is distributing for a publisher in Boston.”

He groaned.

“They’re not so bad, really.”

“Right.” He tossed his tidying-up rag into the air and caught it. “Hey, thanks for bringing the
Wizard
book by the other day. I have been reading it, just so I know how it is before I give it to my kids.”

“Sure, that’s why. I know you were eager to read it. Like it so far?” Stephen had hoped to have conversations like this with Annie.

“That’s some story he wrote there. Just like folks have been saying. Davis ought to publish a book like that. It would make him a millionaire.”

Stephen shook his head. “A millionaire just from a book? You’ve gone mad, Dex.”

“Hey, I believe it. In the future that book’s gonna prove to be even bigger than it is now. I hear he’s writing more of them. Quite a talent, that Baum.”

Stephen talked around a mouthful of pie. “Well, I agree with you. Davis needs a book like that.” And he hoped it would be Annie’s. Not just for his finder’s fee, but for her. She had plans, and he wanted all her dreams to come true.

As Dexter chatted with other customers about ways to board
up their tenements against the growing storm, Stephen daydreamed about how it had been his doing that Annie’s stories were discovered and how that should eventually get him a spot at her supper table instead of Dexter’s.

Annie missed the postman’s arrival because she’d been out seeing to Mrs. Hawkins’s order at the florist. Just as well after the way he’d tried to speak for her in Davis’s office. He meant well, but she just couldn’t tolerate it. She had to do this herself. She would be a successful American woman once she proved to herself and others she did not need to scrub away her shortcomings.

She found Mrs. Hawkins and asked about Kirsten.

“Dr. Thorp advises us to stay away for a few weeks to give her time to rest. We will go visit her as soon as the wedding is past us. That will give Kirsten time to recover without the added excitement visitors would bring.”

“I do wish we could check up on her, though.”

“I do every day, love. Since Mrs. Jenkins has returned, she has been gracious enough to offer the use of her telephone line. I’ve just come from there, in fact, and the news is Kirsten is breathing a bit more comfortably. In fact, the doctor now believes that she does not have whooping cough after all, just a severe lung infection. That is good news because whooping cough would have meant a much longer recovery. So try not to worry.”