Circled Heart (15 page)

He seemed to find whatever emotion he was looking for on my face and looked relieved, giving the distinct impression that my approval was necessary for success, a gratifying but unlikely idea because he must have been working on this plan before he ever met me.

“This is a place for women, Johanna, women like your Henrietta and your Betsy. I looked around for a company that was on the market to be sold and discovered Cox’s literally right under my nose. Do you know the name?” I shook my head. “Cox’s was once a very well-known manufacturer of women’s night dresses, undergarments, and lingerie. I can remember my mother receiving the boxes engraved with the white signature name of Cox, so it was no second-rate company. Then the recession of the late nineties hit—the same crash that caused the demise of the city of Pullman—and Cox’s never recovered. It limped along for the last fifteen years or so until Mr. Cox, Senior, died, and Mr. Cox, Junior, was finally able to sell the place. Douglas started the acquisition before he left and when I found the papers of ownership on his desk, everything fell into place.”

“You had the idea for a communal work place altruistically and out of the blue?” I asked with some skepticism. My question had the unusual reaction of causing the unflappable Drew Gallagher to color faintly, a phenomenon as curious as it was rare.

“Not exactly,” he answered without explanation and then hurried on to say, “The women can work on the first floor and live in these apartments on the top floors. The second floor is reserved for childcare. Nothing’s free, Johanna. This isn’t charity, but I’ll pay a fair wage and they can pay the rent and the cost of childcare out of that. I think there should be some kind of renters committee to oversee the apartments and collect the rents, and we’ll need to find someone who can supervise the children.”

Mrs. McElhanie, I thought instantly but didn’t want to interrupt Drew’s explanation.

“We’ll need good security for the place, and I know there are other details to work out, but that’s where you come in. Social work is your field, not mine. What do you think?”

I understood that for whatever reason Drew wanted my approval and I was eager to give it. He’d come up with an innovative idea and acted on it, and he deserved more approval than just mine.

“I think it’s brilliant. Simply brilliant. To offer poor women a safe living and working environment for both them and their children reflects progress at its finest. As the business owner, you’ll have a content, secure workforce that will be able to devote all their energies to work because they won’t have to worry about their children, their home, or their livelihood. I don’t know what to say, Drew. I am truly impressed.” Watching him, I knew I’d said the right thing, and we talked about the Cox Experiment—as we quickly came to call it—all the way back down the four flights of stairs.

Back in the auto, Drew said, “I need another month, Johanna. Can you hold on at the Anchorage that long?”

“We’ll have to somehow, but we’re so crowded we’ve had to set up beds in the hallway. Still, Ruthie’s going back to her family and Elena’s going back to Greece so that will free up some space.” After a pause, I asked, “Whatever made you do this, Drew?”

He looked at me. “You’re surprised.”

“Well, yes, I am. By your own admission, you don’t have much interest in either commerce or the plight of poor women. Now suddenly you’ve become an entrepreneur of both.”

With a wry twist to his mouth, he answered, “I like to be different, Johanna, and I sometimes get an unnatural pleasure out of acting in ways that run against the norm. My reaction to Mrs. Trout’s speech is one example of that quirk. I often do the unexpected simply for effect.”

“Somehow I don’t think that’s what the Cox Experiment is all about, but I could be wrong.”

He agreed easily. “I’m glad you realize that because yes, Johanna, when it comes to figuring me out, you could be very wrong about me and my motives.” Smiling, I settled back in my seat to enjoy the remainder of the ride.

“With all due respect, Drew, your motives don’t concern me one way or the other as long as I get what I want.”

He gave me an amused look. “Perhaps they should.”

“Why?”

“Maybe my motives are the exact opposite of noble and altruistic. Maybe I don’t give a damn about poor women. Maybe I simply want something, the same as you.” He waited for a question I was not about to ask and when I remained quiet, settled back in his seat, equally quiet. After a while, ignoring that I had refused his challenge to question his motives, Drew continued to make plans with business-like composure. “I can employ eighty women to start with. How many can the Anchorage supply?”

“Twenty easily in the next four months but I doubt eighty.”

“Then if I put an employment ad in the local papers, are you willing to hire the workforce? I’m not inclined to wait four months to get started. Once the word is out, my guess is women will come in droves, and I’ve done my part by supplying the building and the work. I have no intention of sitting through meetings with hundreds of women, some of whom will probably not even speak English. That would be your field.”

“Yes, it would be and I can do that. I’ll meet the applicants at Cox’s and make the selection. Just let me know what day and time. How many women do you think can live on site?” The trip back to the Anchorage passed quickly as we discussed the details, and I was surprised when Fritz pulled to the curb. I wanted somehow to let Drew know how grateful I was, but when I tried to tell him, he brushed me off, seemingly tired of the topic.

When he came around to stand next to me on the sidewalk, I said, “I can tell you don’t want me to say any more about the Cox Experiment, Drew, so I’ll only repeat that it’s a brilliant idea and I’m pleased to be a part of it.”

He shrugged, then asked abruptly, “What’s the occasion for wearing red?”

I stared at him. “I beg your pardon.”

“You said you were wearing apple red tomorrow night, and I wondered what happy occasion prompted that selection. You brought it up,” he added defensively; my expression must have shown a certain incredulity at his question.

“I brought it up hours ago,” I pointed out, “but you’re right, it is a happy occasion. My cousin Jennie turns nineteen tomorrow, and her parents are hosting a gala reception for family and friends in her honor.”

“Your Mr. Goldwyn will probably attend.”

“Allen? Yes, I invited him and he is coming. He’s been my friend since college and has become a friend of the family as well. Are you angling for an invitation?”

“If I were, would I get one?”

“Well, I—”

“Never mind,” he said, grinning, “I can see you’re trying to figure out a way to say no graciously so I’ll spare you the effort. I’ll be out of town for the weekend and couldn’t attend even if your cousin Jennie and I were best friends.”

“I’m not sure Aunt Kitty would allow you to get near Jennie. She has her daughter’s future all mapped out, and I’d be surprised if it would include you. You have a fortune, of course, but Aunt Kitty’s standards are very high.”

“Ouch. You’ve done it again, Miss Swan. It’s a wonder I have any self-confidence left at all after spending time with you. Fortunately, the friend with whom I’m sharing the weekend is very good for my ego.” He hopped in the back of the auto without another word and it pulled away, the beautiful coupe as smooth and sleek as its owner.

Trudging up the walk, I was dismayed to find that the idea of Drew Gallagher spending the weekend with a friend, undoubtedly a woman friend, probably that brunette with the crimson mouth, made me quite cranky.

Eulalie met me at the door. “I thought you were the doctor, Johanna. There’s a baby coming after all, and I’m glad you’re here.”

I hurried upstairs to help with the delivery, and it wasn’t until the train ride home later that afternoon that I thought of Drew Gallagher again. I had to admit I found him attractive but unpredictable and contradictory, too, a man who, with a glance or a smile or a tone, knew how to make a woman feel she was the center of his world. I tried to compare him with Allen Goldwyn but couldn’t bring the two men side by side in my mind. Allen’s quiet creativity had appealed to me from the start, and I always felt safe and comfortable with him. I seldom felt comfortable and never exactly safe with Drew Gallagher, but with my unfortunate contrariness I wished Drew were coming to Jennie’s party. His presence would brighten the occasion in a way Allen’s never could. The realization should have made me feel guiltily disloyal to my old friend, but I was conscious only of a vague regret without a hint of guilt anywhere.

Levi drove Grandmother and me to Jennie’s party the next evening. Grandmother still looked unnaturally pale and I tried to insist she stay home, but she would never consider missing Jennie’s birthday. Still, when I came to her side as we ascended the steps, I gently tucked her hand under my arm and instead of protesting, she gave me a grateful look and leaned against me for a brief moment. Considering her usual independence, that small gesture was enough to increase my concern.

“We only have to stay a little while,” I murmured, “and not at all if you’re feeling unwell.”

“Thank you, Johanna. I’ll let you know if I need your nursing services.” A tart response as usual, but I detected an unexpected vulnerability in her voice that made me give her a quick look. By then a maid had opened the front door and Aunt Kitty descended on us in all her striped-satin glory, a woman pleased with her surroundings and anticipating the evening with enormous satisfaction.

After ritualistic cheek kisses, Aunt Kitty turned to Peter, who stood in the doorway of the study.

“Peter, your grandmother’s here.” As an afterthought, she added, “And Johanna.” My cousin came forward and planted heartier kisses on both Grandmother and me as his mother continued, “I need to check with the kitchen, dear. Help Gertrude and Johanna find their way to Jennie and then to a comfortable table.” To us she added, “We’re eating out on the lawn. Wait until you see how lovely it is. The evening and the lake are both perfect. And Jennie, too, of course, even if I am her mother.”

Aunt Kitty was in high color, very lady-of-the-manor, and very happy. She was never more pleased with her life than when she had the opportunity to display her beautiful lakeshore home and her handsome family. The combination of the two that evening brought her to euphoria. Peter came to stand between Grandmother and me so we could each take an arm.

“Mother’s been like this for days: beside herself with anticipation.” Turning to Grandmother, he asked, “Would you like to sit outside or in, Grandmother? You don’t have to see the lawn right now if you’d rather not. I’m pretty sure it’s not going anywhere.” Peter was his typical pleasant, thoughtful self, more like his father every day.

We ended up outside on the lawn, which, as Aunt Kitty promised, was beautifully landscaped and set with small canopied tables. Large candles under crystal globes sat on marble pedestals and dotted the lawn everywhere, their flames flickering in the warm, dusk air. With the lake as a darkening backdrop and the opposite western sky in its last stages of indigo and deep rose, the scene seemed magical. After Peter left to find refreshments, I heard Jennie before I saw her. She was surrounded by a small cluster of young men, all standing under a gaslight on the terrace, and her laughter carried clearly.

“I don’t want to be followed anywhere, thank you, so please don’t. I see my grandmother and my cousin Johanna and I must go say hello.” An undecipherable low male voice responded and Jennie laughed. “What nonsense, Frank! Have you been dipping into the punch already?” She detached herself from the huddle of admirers and walked in our direction, her progress interrupted periodically by other people on the lawn who stopped her to extend greetings. Jennie was always gracious and courteous, but lately I’d detected a noticeable edge to her manners, an impatience with the demands of polite society, and a recognition that the necessity for prescribed propriety was slightly ridiculous. But perhaps I attributed those feelings to Jennie only because my own attitudes often reflected the same.

My cousin leaned down to kiss Grandmother.

“You look lovely, Jennie,” Grandmother told her and put a hand to Jennie’s cheek, an unusually tender gesture.

Jennie was touched by both the action and the words and replied with warmth and obvious sincerity, “Thank you, Grandmother.” She sat down with us at the small table.

“You look wonderful, Jen,” I agreed. “ Not too much the ingénue at all.”

Jennie, dressed in pale peach chiffon and a long string of pearls doubled around her neck, grinned and with her usual generosity said, “I thought my dress was becoming until I saw yours, Johanna. That red puts every other woman here to shame. It’s fabulous on you. Have I ever seen you wear that color before?”

“I’ve turned over a new fashion leaf. The pastels are gone—the dramatic is in. Next to you, though, I’m still the plain cousin. I’d resent anyone else, Jennie, but because it’s you, I don’t mind. You’re a beauty.”

She was, too. Her striking hair, golden but interwoven with contrasting strands of rich, burnished chocolate brown, was piled onto her head in loose, soft curls, and her flawless skin seemed to reflect the creamy peach of her dress in a muted glow. With sparkling eyes, an adorable nose, and a perfect bow of a mouth, it was no wonder she’d been surrounded by a throng of admirers. Like moths to a flame, and who could blame them?

Jennie turned toward the terrace doors. “There’s your friend Allen, Johanna. He looks lost, poor man.” She stood up and crossed the lawn in a moment, took Allen’s arm, looked up into his face, and said something that made him smile. Then she drew him over to us.

“There you are, Mr. Goldwyn. I’ve found you a familiar face. Grandmother, are you up to a walk inside? Father was asking about you.” Just like that, Allen and I were sitting companionably alone. I had to admire Jennie’s style.

“I wondered if you’d come,” I told him. “Was it the lure of the buffet again?”

Allen looked briefly puzzled. “Buffet?” Then he remembered my earlier welcome home party and smiled. “Food,” he said, “had nothing to do with it.”