Circled Heart (28 page)

In response I said, in as quelling a voice as I could muster, “No, I seem to have forgotten that detail,” and then to Drew added, “Hello, Drew. How kind of you to join our little gathering!”

“Not as kind as the invitation,” he responded with a quick smile down at Grandmother—Drew Gallagher at his most appealing.

I had to admit that even without my inordinate bias the man was very handsome and at that moment unbelievably charming. Charming when he wanted to be, of course, and depending on how much mischief he planned to promulgate. I would have said something to that effect except Grandmother spoke first.

“Go make introductions on my behalf, Johanna. I can’t expect Mr. Gallagher to follow me as I shuffle him around to all the guests.”

“I have all the patience in the world, Mrs. McIntyre.”

“Yes, I do think you’re a patient man,” she responded thoughtfully, “but I still won’t ask that of you. Johanna can do the honors.”

Walking away with him, I commented, “Grandmother has become your biggest fan. I thought she’d be immune to your charm at her age but apparently not.”

“Age is no barrier to the enjoyment of good conversation and honest compliments, Johanna. Where did you ever get the idea it was?”

Instead of answering I stopped in front of Uncle Hal, introduced Drew, and left the two men together, hearing Uncle Hal congratulate Drew on the Starr Award as I walked away. Reverend Briscoe and his wife arrived next and by the time I returned from welcoming them and moving them to Grandmother’s side, Drew stood deep in discussion with Jennie. Carl Milford had shifted his attention to Aunt Kitty, who’d rejoined us from the kitchen, Allen spoke with Mrs. Florence, and Uncle Hal listened politely to one of Cousin Roslyn’s interminable cat stories. Like a game of musical chairs, all the guests seemed to have shifted places and partners. With a private pang I watched Drew nod and smile easily to Jennie. She placed a hand on his arm and gave him a warm look in response before she walked over to where I stood.

“I like your Mr. Gallagher, Johanna, but I must say I was surprised to see him here. Why would he be invited to our little gathering of family and friends, I wonder?” I found her teasing tone abrasively arch.

“Grandmother has taken a shine to him. She’s the one who extended the invitation, not me.”

“I don’t know if I believe that. When he thinks no one’s watching, his eyes follow you around the room. Quite smitten, I’d say.” I was not entertained.

Echoing Crea’s earlier sentiments, I told Jennie, “You should concentrate on your own love life, Jennie. I’m sure that would be enough to keep you occupied so you wouldn’t have to waste your time considering things that are none of your business.”

Unaffected, Jennie answered, “Ouch! I must have hit a nerve. Who would have guessed our free-thinking, independent Johanna would be attracted to a man like Drew Gallagher? I always pictured your great passion as a bearded socialist, the two of you carrying a banner down the street at the front of a labor rally or at best an intellectual professor who would spend his private moments whispering famous dates of history into your ear. Instead, you bring home a connoisseur of women, a man who undoubtedly knows exactly what to say and what to do to make a woman feel very satisfied.”

She bordered on offensive and I began warningly, “Jennie—”

“There’s no use looking at me like that, Johanna. I know something’s going on between the two of you and if you don’t share details, I’ll be forced to imagine all sorts of salacious activities.”

“Imagine all you like. I’m going to check on May in the kitchen. Maybe by the time I’m back you’ll have dispensed with that unattractive teasing tone. I recall your parents thought it adorable when you were younger, but I found it grating even then.”

When I returned from the kitchen, the room of guests had shifted yet again. Jennie, Carl, and Allen conversed together, and Aunt Kitty stood with the cousins, Uncle Hal with the Reverend and his wife, Drew beside Grandmother. No sign of Peter, so Crea must not have slammed the door after all.

Drew separated himself from Grandmother and came over to me. “This is an interesting group of guests, Johanna. Eclectic.”

“A very charitable comment,” I replied, smiling. “The cousins have been called many things but eclectic is not one of them. Thaddeus is a fanatic about flower gardens and Roslyn about cats. Allen looks unwell and Jennie is acting out of an unpleasant mix of mischief and malice. My aunt is up in arms and trying not to show it because Mayville had the nerve to change a menu item without asking her permission first. Uncle Hal, the family’s secret agnostic, has been trapped in conversation with the Briscoes for the last fifteen minutes, and my cousin’s fiancé, whom I’m trying very hard but unsuccessfully to like, treats Grandmother as if she were deaf, dumb, blind, and mentally impaired. I’d wager she’s sharper than Carl in almost every area, but he’s not bright enough to realize that.”

“You’ve left me out of the summary.”

“Oh, everyone’s busy speculating about why you’re here and if you’re my beau.”

“They can’t know you very well to imagine you would bring someone with no social worth or purpose into the family.”

“You won the Starr Award. They might think that’s made me starry-eyed.”

He laughed at the play on words and asked, “Are you starry-eyed? I hadn’t noticed.” I glimpsed Peter slip quietly into the room.

“No, I’m not, but my cousin Peter is.” Drew followed my gaze.

“He does have a noticeable flush on his face.”

“Poor Peter.”

“Why ‘poor Peter’?”

For answer I said, “Isn’t life funny sometimes? All Peter wants is to spend time with the woman he loves, but he can’t because my aunt would forbid it and absolutely refuse approval of the woman. Jennie, on the other hand, has her mother’s total endorsement of her husband-to-be and could spend all the time she wants with Carl, only Jennie doesn’t want to. She’s marrying for practical reasons, you see, none of which is affection.”

“That explains it, then.”

“Explains what?”

“Jennie’s flirting with me,” Drew answered carefully. “I wondered why she should hint that she was impressed by my motorcar, ask if it really rode as smoothly as it appeared, and then give me an unmistakable look of invitation.”

I had the instant desire to smack Jennie silly but instead replied, “Jennie is and always has been a beauty and cannot resist the challenge of a handsome man, but lately she usually waits until her mother is close enough to overhear her inappropriate remarks.”

“You mean she wasn’t bowled over by me?” I turned to view him dispassionately.

“She may have been, I suppose—you do look very cosmopolitan today—but don’t worry. Even if it was only Jennie being Jennie for contrary reasons, Grandmother is quite taken with you, so you’ve made at least one true conquest in the family.”

“But not the conquest I want, Johanna.” I looked at Drew quickly to see if he was still teasing. He gave me a serious look with a slight smile as follow-up, and I tried to gauge his intent. Teasing but not entirely, I decided and felt heartened.

Aunt Kitty took over, ushering everyone into the dining room where May had set a pretty buffet, bowls of fall chrysanthemums interspersed with mounds of small sandwiches, a spinach bisque, and a beautiful, multilayered cake as focal point. I could tell Grandmother was pleased and could have hugged May for braving Aunt Kitty’s disapproval—in her opinion sandwiches and chrysanthemums were entirely too casual for the occasion—and adding such lovely details to the table.

Finding a seat next to Allen, I asked, “Are you in the middle of any exciting building projects? Every time I take the train, I seem to see a new skyscraper on the horizon.”

“I’m not involved in skyscrapers, Johanna. I prefer the less contemporary. I am working on a renovation of St. Michael’s Cathedral, though. Have you ever seen the stained glass there? I’m going to keep the windows exactly as they are except use less ornate trim so the colors show to greater advantage. There’s a splendid blue in the leaded glass I’ve never seen anywhere else, so I’m edging the windows with a narrow band of muted orange. You should see what the contrast does.” I was pleased to hear Allen excited about his work and see the sparkle in his eyes as he spoke.

Putting my hand over his, I said, “This is the Allen I’ve missed seeing for a while. I wish I could be sure you’d tell me if something was wrong.”

He pressed my hand gently in return. “Nothing’s wrong, Johanna, except for the general vagaries of life that have no resolution. Now tell me about your Mr. Gallagher.”

“Not mine,” I corrected. “I met his brother on the Titanic and when I got home, I made it a point to look Drew up. The tragedy brought us together. Grandmother is his devotee, not me. She says he reminds her of Grandfather.” Allen’s gaze never left my face as I spoke.

“I’ve known you a few years, Johanna, and there’s something about you at the moment that doesn’t ring quite true. But before you glare at me and tell me to mind my own business, I’ll change the topic to the Anchorage. How are you managing there?” We talked comfortably until it was time to sing a happy birthday to Grandmother and watch her open her presents. By the time she finished, she looked pale and her hands trembled slightly, an indication she’d grown fatigued, so I shooed people out without compunction.

“That was a lovely gift you brought Grandmother,” I said to Drew as I walked with him to the front door. “She recognized the plaid immediately.”

“I’m glad she liked it. The McIntyre plaid is distinctive and with winter coming, I thought the shawl might have some practical worth. I do have my thoughtful moments, Johanna.” There was no mistaking the irritation in his voice.

“I complimented you, Drew. There’s no reason to snap at me.”

“I wasn’t snapping. I was stating facts.”

“Of course, you were. In a tone that sounded like you were chastising an especially annoying child.”

“I would never dare correct you. That would imply you were wrong, and if I know anything about Johanna Swan, it’s that she’s never wrong.”

His words surprised and his tone hurt so I snapped back, “If I knew what I did to deserve your bad temper, I’d feel better. You have the rare ability to spoil a perfectly nice afternoon.”

He stopped buttoning his topcoat and replied frankly, in the way I found so endearing, “I do, don’t I? I’ve only just discovered that ‘rare ability’ since I met you. You’re right. I was bad-tempered and I’m sorry. Will you forgive me?” When he gave that special smile of his, the appealing one without artifice or motive, I would have forgiven him mass murder.

“Yes. I’ve often felt the same way after being trapped in a room with very correct people for an extended period of time.”

“I like some of your family.”

“Not all?”

“Not all,” he replied firmly but would not give details. “I like your friend Goldwyn, too, but not as much as you apparently do.”

“What does that mean?”

Drew adjusted his hat to a fashionable angle without having to look in the hall mirror. Certainly a man of many talents.

“It doesn’t mean anything. I was just—”

“I know. Just stating a fact.”

“Exactly. Extend my regards to your grandmother, Johanna. You rushed us out of there so fast I didn’t say a proper good-bye.”

Later, thinking through Drew’s departing comments, I had the sudden idea that he might have seen me place my hand over Allen’s and had read into the gesture some emotion on my part. He might be jealous, I speculated, but eventually dismissed the notion despite the hopeful lift to my spirits the idea offered. How low I’ve fallen, I told myself with disgust, shamelessly searching through actions and imagining motives, looking for the slightest hint that Drew Gallagher viewed me as more than a social reformer or business partner. I wanted to be something to him other than a conscience, but I didn’t know how to get to that place in his life.

Filled is Life’s goblet to the brim;

And though my eyes with tears are dim,

I see its sparkling bubbles swim,

And chant a melancholy hymn

With solemn voice and slow.

This goblet wrought with curious art,

Is filled with waters, that upstart,

When the deep fountains of the heart,

By strong convulsions rent apart,

Are running all to waste.

Chapter Thirteen

Never having been in love before, I found the experience revealing, and when I was able to work up the necessary detachment, even interesting. Eventually I grew tired of thinking about Drew first thing when I awoke, reliving moments together, and remembering the nuances of his words and was both relieved and unsurprised to discover that being the mopey heroine of a Gothic romance was not for me. I definitely felt more edgy than usual, however, and to combat restlessness I rose earlier, took more frequent walks in the brisk autumn air, and spent longer days working at the Anchorage. My emotions were not going to hold either my will or my energy captive.

Election Day came early in November, another reason besides my personal emotions to make me feel powerless and frustrated. As an intelligent and informed Progressive, I would have voted for my candidate but, of course, was not allowed to vote and could only watch in disappointment as Mr. Wilson took his place as the twenty-eighth president of the United States. Theodore Roosevelt’s support for women’s suffrage and his impassioned defense of working people had impressed and inspired me, and I remained bad-tempered about his defeat for a good two weeks following the election.

One afternoon May lost all patience with my short temper and told me to find something worthwhile with which to occupy my mind. That’s when I had the idea of taking Thanksgiving to Cox’s.

“A Thanksgiving meal for a factory of people?!” exclaimed May. “Johanna, you have your share of outlandish ideas, but this one takes the cake. I’m only one woman, and I’ve only got one kitchen. Besides, we’ve got our own Thanksgiving to think about.”

“No, we don’t. Aunt Kitty has invited Grandmother and me to their house this year, but I just can’t make myself be thankful for Aunt Kitty. Cox’s will be a noble reason for refusing the proximity of family. I’ll help, May, if you think you can’t do it.”

“You in the kitchen, Johanna?! Heaven, spare me. And I didn’t say I couldn’t do it.” I could tell her culinary pride was engaged. “Let me think about it.”

I sent a note to Mrs. McElhanie to get a count of residents and families and went in search of Crea to see if she had plans for the holiday.

“I’ve been invited to the Anchorage, Johanna. I’m sorry. I can cancel.”

“Don’t be silly. I forgot about the dinner they had planned. You’ll enjoy yourself, see old friends, spend time with Hilda and Eulalie. They always ask about you.”

“But you can’t make a dinner for fifty people all by yourself.”

“All I have to do is transport the food, Crea. How hard is that? Levi can drive everything over and help me set it up on the first floor of Cox’s. I’ll be fine.” The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to the prospect, and Crea’s suggestion that I couldn’t do it alone made the idea even more inviting.

The Saturday before Thanksgiving, Fritz delivered a note from Drew to the front door. For the past four weeks I had pushed Drew Gallagher to a far corner of my mind and heart, where he was hardly allowed to make his presence known, but at the sight of his auto at the curb and his distinctive handwriting on the envelope, all my hard work of the past month was ruined. My heartbeat slowed as I took the note from Fritz, however, and tried not to let my disappointment at Drew’s absence show.

“He said I’m to wait for an answer, Miss Swan.”

I read Drew’s abrupt message: You could have told me about your Thanksgiving plans. What do you need? I think pies. How many and what kind? Anything else? Cox’s is my company, after all, Johanna. Drew.

I scribbled an answer on the back: Nothing in particular. A dozen. Ask Yvesta. Yes. Potatoes but don’t make Yvesta do all the work. Sorry. I didn’t think you’d notice or care. I hope you’re not making your employees work that day. Johanna. Hardly the stuff of love notes but hearing from him made me inordinately happy, regardless of the content of the message.

On the last Wednesday of November, May grudgingly conceded that I had been a greater help than hindrance, a remark I never thought to hear her say. I knew more than I really wanted to know about turkey and the inner workings of stuffing and gravy. Because I’d eaten my share of Thanksgiving feasts without a thought to the work involved in their preparation, I felt properly humbled. Fortunately, nothing fazed May, not even my amateur presence underfoot in the kitchen, so the feast was ready as promised. Thanksgiving morning Levi, May, and I wrapped all the pots and dishes in layers of newspaper and loaded them into the back of the automobile.

When I bemoaned the fact that everything would be cool by the time we arrived at Cox’s, May asked practically, “Didn’t Mr. Gallagher put kitchens into any of those apartments he built?” At my nod, she added, “Then you can have folks heat things up on that end if need be.”

“I never thought of that.” Sometimes with May I felt twenty-three going on ten.

“For a smart woman, Johanna, you don’t always think,” she replied, and I couldn’t argue the point.

Betsy and Etta waited at Cox’s side door, and I hardly had half a sentence out about warming up some of the dishes when the two young women took over. Before I knew it, Betsy had rounded up several women from the apartments to handle that issue and to set up serving tables on the first floor. We moved sewing machines out of the way and several women lugged down small kitchen tables from their apartments. Children watched wide-eyed and quiet from the sidelines. Within an hour of my arrival, the pans of meat and vegetables were laid out and the enticing smells of May’s cooking filled the corners of the first floor. I didn’t know when to expect Drew’s contribution but trusted Fritz would deliver them in time. Whether Drew himself would come for the occasion remained to be seen, but truthfully, once the tables were up and the food ready, I didn’t have time to give him much thought. Hungry people milled about the first floor ready to eat, the tables decorated with the women’s own tablecloths and dishes from upstairs.

“I suppose we should start with a blessing,” I called out into the room and was greeted by a quick silence. I repeated the one I’d learned as a child, and when everyone gathered with plates in hand, I said to Betsy, “You scoot now. Go find Etta and the babies and get in line. I can keep things moving without you.” She viewed me with enough skepticism to make me say, “I’ll be fine without you, Betsy. I can lift a spoon or stir a pan as well as anyone else. I’m not completely helpless in the kitchen, you know.”

“Close enough to helpless to make us all nervous, though,” commented Drew. I turned toward him, my heart lightening at the sight of his grin and those laughing eyes.

“You should talk,” I retorted. “I bet if we held a kitchen contest, I’d win.” Behind him, Fritz bore boxes of what must have been pies because a heavenly smell of autumn spices emanated from the crates. Drew took off his topcoat and suit coat then pulled off his tie.

“I won’t argue, but the outcome would be closer than you think.”

“Drew, what are you doing?”

“Rolling up my sleeves.”

“I can see that. Why?”

“I’m here to help, Miss Swan. This may be the only time you’ll ever hear these words from my lips but put me to work.” He was so engaging, hair casual, shirt open at the neck and the sleeves rolled up inelegantly to his elbows that I felt an attraction to him so strong and intense I turned away, ostensibly looking for something. Grabbing an apron, I turned back and tossed it to him.

“I treasure the moment,” I said, smiling in response, “so put this on. Did you bring potatoes?”

“When do I ever not follow your orders to the letter? Fritz just set them down at the end of the table.” The line of women and children began to move toward the serving table, ready to start.

All I had time to say in response was “Good. Make yourself useful then,” before I hurried away to keep a watchful eye on all the serving dishes. For the next hour I caught Drew only occasionally out of the corner of my eye. Of course, he was comfortable with a room full of women, cordial with them, joking but not disrespectful or condescending, charming enough to cause several of them to look back at him speculatively, a man obviously in his element. I might wish it weren’t so, but he had an unaffected and open ease with women that was impossible to miss. He’d learned that behavior through the years, I suppose, and now it came as naturally as inhaling. Wasn’t I living proof of its effectiveness?

Once everyone had been served and the room filled with the subdued murmur of dinner conversation and the intermittent clinking of utensils, Drew drifted over in my direction to ask, “Are you assigning me pie duty?”

“Only pie cutting duty. I think this crowd is capable of serving their own dessert. Aren’t you hungry?”

“By the look in your eyes, I’d guess I’m not as hungry as you are. Why don’t you find a plate and get started? I’ll cut a few pies and join you in a minute.” It didn’t take much to persuade me to follow his suggestion. I was suddenly ravenous, overwhelmed by the smells all around me, and I piled as much as I could on a plate, pulling a rickety chair before me to use as a small table. Tucking a napkin under my chin, I waited for Drew to join me. When he walked over with his own filled plate, something about me made him laugh out loud.

“What?” I asked. Shaking his head, he did the same as I, and set his plate onto a second chair.

“I wish you would have dared to tuck your napkin under your chin at the Auditorium the other evening. That would have caused more of an enjoyable stir than my few remarks.”

“What would I have tucked it into?” I asked practically. “You’ll recall I was wearing a considerably different neckline that night.”

“Oh, yes, I definitely recall.” Something gleamed from his eyes for a moment, salacious or admiring or a combination of the two, and then he waved his fork at me. “Why aren’t you eating?”

“I was waiting for you.” I tried to invest my words with dignity. “You remember good manners, I’m sure.”

“Johanna, that’s very courteous of you, but,” he speared a piece of turkey and stuffed it into his mouth, “no one asked you to wait for me.” With his mouth full, his last few words were hard to understand, but I caught the gist of them without much effort and followed his example. We must have looked like competitors in a gastronomic contest, hunched over our makeshift tables and forking in our food.

Later, after the sounds of focused eating were replaced by a contented murmur of conversation, both Betsy and Etta took over the clean up of the room. Children giggled and played games as their mothers returned sewing machines to their rightful places and carried off tables and chairs. I shared in the general feeling of well-fed contentment, perfectly satisfied to have no role in the bustle of activity. Betsy stopped by to say thank you on everyone’s behalf, spoiling the moment by telling me I had gravy on my cheek.

I replied with a dignified thank you, but after she left I asked Drew accusingly, “Were you just going to let me walk around with dinner on my face and not tell me?”

“In general I make it a practice never to point out to a woman any flaw in her appearance. No matter how kindly intended, such a gesture is never well received.”

“Ha! At our first meeting you told me I wasn’t pretty.”

“Not our first meeting, surely?” He was teasing, sprawled out in the chair with both hands clasped across his stomach.

“You said I shouldn’t wear hats because I wasn’t pretty enough for them.”

“That is not what I said.”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“I know you well enough to realize that you remember only what you choose to remember. What I said was that you shouldn’t wear those monstrous chapeaus that are so stylish right now because they don’t become you. I recall telling you your face was remarkable and it is. There’s always an abundance of pretty women, Johanna, and in ten years their looks will have faded or disappeared completely. In ten years you will be magnificent.”

I looked at him closely to be sure he wasn’t still teasing before I said, too stiffly, “Thank you,” then “Are you being nice to me for a reason?”

“Of course. I learned that trait from you and it seems to work pretty well.”

“So what do you want?”

He took time to answer, meeting my look with a slight smile before he stood to tuck in his shirt and reach for his jacket that hung over the back of a chair. Finally he said, “I want to kiss you again, right at this moment, gravy and all. What are my chances?”

I considered the question and briefly toyed with the idea of full cooperation before common sense kicked in. “Slim,” I answered regretfully. “Very slim.”

Drew gave a good-natured shrug. “I thought that might be the case.”

“Slim right at this moment at least,” I amended and stood, too. “But I believe that persistence is everything, Drew.” I smiled sweetly and directly at him.

“I’ve noticed that trait in you,” he replied mildly, refusing to react to my teasing. Drew took both our chairs and replaced them in their original positions, then stepped out the back door to return with Fritz. The previous topic of conversation apparently dismissed, he asked, “How are you getting home?”

“Levi will be here anytime now. And thank you for your generosity today, regardless of your reasons. It was a real treat for all your employees and who knows, you may even win another award for it.” I meant it as a joke but he didn’t smile in return. I thought he might be uncomfortable with the sentiment or was just bored. “Why don’t you go home, Drew? You don’t have to stay here any longer on my account. I’m fine without you.”

“Unfortunately, truer words were never spoken, Johanna. You owe me, though, and I won’t forget.” He threw his topcoat over his arm and left me standing in the large first floor room, now returned to the look of a factory despite the last, lingering smells of the Thanksgiving meal. All the light seemed to disappear from the room with Drew’s exit, and I had to stop myself from calling him back. Of course, that would never do, not yet anyway. Too much was still unsaid. What did I see in his eyes when he looked at me? Admiration or something even deeper? The gleam of challenge based on his male need for conquest? I was determined to find out but on my own schedule and in my own way.