In the Company of Secrets (37 page)

As she rounded the final corner, the brisk November wind slapped at her skirt. She gathered her cloak against the biting chill and bowed her head, grateful she had only a half block more to walk. Mrs. DeVault wouldn’t worry about her arrival this evening. She’d departed work on time and hadn’t stopped at home, her anticipation being too high. If there wasn’t some response from Fred awaiting her, she’d try to hide her disappointment.

She knocked and immediately opened the door. Mrs. DeVault had given her instructions to simply walk in, but she couldn’t bring herself to act in such a bold manner. ‘‘It’s Olivia, Mrs. DeVault.’’

The older woman peeked around the door at the end of the hallway. ‘‘Hang up your wraps and come join me in the kitchen.’’

The older woman’s cheeks were flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Olivia imagined her own were pink from the brisk weather. ‘‘Um, it smells wonderful.’’

Mrs. DeVault lifted the lid from a kettle and spooned dollops of dough into the boiling broth. ‘‘Chicken and dumplings for supper. Good hearty food—not fancy like you can make, but it sticks to your ribs.’’

‘‘And tastes as good as what we make at the hotel.’’

The older woman beamed at the praise. ‘‘There’s a note from Fred on the dining room table. He said to be sure I gave it to you this evening.’’

Olivia’s attempt to act nonchalant failed. In her hurry to retrieve the missive, she tripped over her feet and nearly landed face first on the floor. Fortunately she managed to get hold of the doorjamb and remain upright, preserving a modicum of aplomb, although her feet continued to skitter as though she’d stepped upon a sheet of ice. Thankfully, Mrs. DeVault didn’t laugh at the spectacle she’d made of herself.

Her fingers trembled as she ripped open the envelope and removed the note. The paper was folded in half, but even before opening the page, she could see there were only a few lines of writing. The brevity surprised her, though he’d likely been in a hurry. At any rate, it would take only a few lines to say he’d be delighted to spend his Sunday with her. She unfolded the page and gasped upon reading Fred’s message.

I have plans to see Mildred Malloy on Sunday. In the future,
arrange to spend your free time with Mr. Howard or any other
man of your choosing. Fred DeVault

She dropped to the chair and reread the message. No salutation, no closing. No explanation. Only the barest minimum required to drive home the point that he was no longer interested in keeping company with her. She traced a finger over his signature. Why had he signed his surname? Was it to make his terse response even more cold and formal? Had someone reported having seen her in the restaurant with Mr. Howard? Fred had known she would be with Mr. Howard while conducting her search for a new apartment. Surely he couldn’t fault her for accompanying him into the restaurant. She could think of no reason other than the location of her new apartment. Had his mother told him?

Her throat constricted as she attempted to swallow down the panic that had risen in her chest. After inhaling several deep breaths, she regained a bit of composure. Remaining calm would help her maintain a clear mind.

She folded the note and tucked it into her pocket while she walked back to the kitchen. ‘‘Did you mention the apartment to Fred, Mrs. DeVault?’’ Her voice trembled slightly, but Mrs. DeVault didn’t seem to notice.

The older woman glanced up from the bubbling chicken broth and shook her head. ‘‘These dumplings are done. If Albert doesn’t arrive soon, he’ll be eating a cold supper.’’ She continued to ladle their supper into a china tureen. ‘‘Would you put the green beans in the vegetable dish, Olivia?’’

‘‘Yes, of course.’’ She absently scooped the beans from the pan. ‘‘You’re certain you didn’t say anything to Fred about my moving in with Mr. and Mrs. Barnes?’’ she asked as she placed the pan on the worktable.

Mrs. DeVault placed the lid on the kettle and frowned. ‘‘No. In fact, other than asking me to give you the note, your name wasn’t mentioned.’’ She turned to face Olivia. ‘‘Why do you ask? Did he mention something in his letter?’’

‘‘No. I just thought . . .’’ She shrugged. ‘‘It isn’t important. Did Fred mention anything about his job?’’

‘‘He didn’t receive a transfer, but he was pleased for Albert.’’ She carried the tureen to the table and returned for the bowl of green beans. ‘‘I’m praying his supervisor will recommend him the next time the company has an opening for a glass etcher. It’s a waste of his God-given talent.’’ Mrs. DeVault tipped her head toward the dining table. ‘‘Sit down and let’s enjoy our supper.’’

‘‘But what about Albert?’’

‘‘He knows what time I serve supper. If he’s late, he knows I forgive him, but he’ll eat a cold supper.’’ She grinned. ‘‘Similar to what we talked about the other night. Even though we’re forgiven, we can still suffer the consequences of our actions.’’ She grasped Olivia’s hand in her own. ‘‘Let’s pray.’’

Olivia lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. The covers were too tight and bowed her feet in an uncomfortable arc. She lifted her knees and tugged on the covers until they loosened enough for her to wiggle her toes, but even that didn’t help. Sleep wouldn’t come. She’d been unable to escape the recurring snippet of conversation with Mrs. DeVault—the part about paying the cost for sin. Though she’d attempted everything from planning next week’s menus for the hotel dining rooms to reciting the alphabet backward, nothing had helped her get to sleep.

Suffering the consequences of her lies wasn’t something she wanted to dwell upon, yet she’d been unable to force the comment from her thoughts. Truth be told, she’d rather not confess she’d been a willing participant in the web of lies. What purpose would it serve to confess her past misdeeds? After all, Charlotte had departed for parts unknown; Chef René had accepted her as his protégée; Morgan was safely in the care of his grandparents; the earl and countess had absolved her of any wrongdoing regarding the jewelry and blamed their daughter for the forged letter of recommendation. There was no need to divulge the truth now. Best to keep it tucked away like a horrible nightmare. She tossed to her side and plumped the pillow beneath her head. If only that still, small voice would quit nagging at her.

The following morning, she arose a half hour earlier than usual. Half awake and uncertain what time she’d finally drifted off to sleep the night before, she lifted her mother’s Bible from the table. If her drooping eyelids were an indicator, she’d not been asleep for long. She opened the book.
Proverbs
. She didn’t want to read from Proverbs. She’d located too many passages in Proverbs that troubled her concerning her own behavior.

She closed her eyes and edged her finger into the pages. Flipping to the New Testament, she began to read in the book of Ephesians. This choice should prove to be new and different. She scooted back in her chair and began to read after deciding upon the first five chapters. She was moving along rapidly until she reached verse twenty-five of the fourth chapter:
Wherefore
putting away lying, speak every man truth with his neighbour: for
we are members one of another
. She snapped the Bible together and slapped it onto the bedside table. The words seared her conscience like a hot iron. Why had she decided to read from Ephesians?

I led you there
.

Olivia whirled around. The words had played so loudly in her mind she wondered if someone had entered the room. She shivered and wrapped a shawl around her trembling shoulders. Her nightgown was threadbare; she’d merely experienced a slight chill, she told herself as she hurried into the kitchen to prepare her morning coffee.

Olivia contemplated attending a different church on Sunday morning or not going at all. After Mrs. DeVault’s comment about Fred’s presence, there was no doubt he would be in church. She wondered if Mildred Malloy would be seated by his side. The mere thought caused a queasy tug in the pit of her stomach, and she thought she might be sick. Looking into the hall mirror, she adjusted the faux raven’s wings that adorned the Persian-lamb hat. It was Charlotte’s hat, but she now considered it her own. Her features were wan and her complexion lacked color. She pinched her cheeks before slipping into Charlotte’s blue velvet coat. The lamb’s wool collar matched the hat and muff, though the lovely ensemble did little to raise her spirits.

The brisk north wind was too cold for a mere cape, and she had nothing else except the threadbare jacket she’d brought from England. There was little doubt she’d be overdressed compared to other ladies of the working class, but at least she’d be warm.

Edging through one of the far doors of the church, Olivia stood at the rear of the sanctuary and scanned the seated congregants. She sighed, pleased she hadn’t spotted Mildred. The usher led her down the aisle to the pew where Fred was positioned in the aisle seat with his mother alongside him. Albert and Martha leaned forward and waved from their usual places on the far side of Mrs. DeVault.

As the usher came to a halt beside the pew, Fred stood and stepped aside to permit Olivia entry. ‘‘Please move to the other side of my mother. I’m expecting Mildred.’’

The icy wind she’d endured walking to church seemed balmy compared to the chill in his voice.

She glared at him. ‘‘Of course,
Mr. DeVault
. I wouldn’t want to interfere with your romantic pursuits.’’

‘‘Nor
I
with
yours
.’’ Anger burned in his eyes. ‘‘Mr. Howard is several more rows toward the front of the church.’’

The usher remained in the aisle, awaiting further direction. He leaned close to Olivia’s ear. ‘‘Will you be taking a seat in this pew, miss?’’

‘‘Indeed I will!’’ The skirt of her velvet coat clung to Fred’s suit. Circling her arm around the bulk of fabric, she freed the coat from his pant leg and entered the pew as decorously as possible. Given the embarrassing circumstances, she silently applauded herself for ignoring the urge to stomp on one of Fred’s highly polished shoes.

Mrs. DeVault clucked her tongue and patted Olivia’s arm. ‘‘Don’t let him upset you, dear. He’s not in the best of moods this morning. Likely a lack of sleep.’’

Before Olivia could respond, the reverberating chords of the organ filled the sanctuary. Olivia and Mrs. DeVault shuddered. The instrument, a gift to the church from Mr. Pullman, was touted as the very finest available. Unfortunately, the organist was not. The man was in dire need of additional lessons before he would do the instrument justice.

The minister waved his arms for the congregation to stand, and Olivia glanced over her shoulder. Mildred had not yet entered the church, and Olivia selfishly hoped the young woman wouldn’t make an appearance. She desperately wanted to speak with Fred and discover what had precipitated his terse response to her note.

While still listening for the clank of the church door, Olivia scooted back on the hard oak pew. She folded her hands in satisfaction. It seemed improbable Mildred would make an appearance so late, especially since the minister frowned upon latecomers disrupting his sermons—a fact he didn’t fail to mention each Sunday.

As the preacher launched into his sermon, Olivia’s attention strayed to the front of the church. She stared at the stained-glass window and allowed her thoughts to wander. By the time the congregation stood to sing the final hymn, she’d not heard much of the sermon. Truth be told, she hadn’t heard any of it.

But she didn’t lament her inattentive behavior for long. Instead, she calculated when she might find a few private moments with Fred. One thing was certain: if and when she was alone with Fred, she
must
control her tongue. She didn’t want to say anything she’d later regret.

As they exited the pew, Mrs. DeVault took Olivia’s hand. ‘‘Come along. We’re going to have a nice meal today.’’

Fred stood behind his mother and shook his head, obviously hoping to discourage her. Ignoring his signal, Olivia stepped alongside the older woman and accepted the invitation. Though she realized her decision displeased Fred, it would likely prove the only opportunity she would have to see him for another week. Occasionally she looked over her shoulder to chat with Martha and Albert, but she carefully avoided looking at Fred.

When they neared the house, Fred came alongside his mother, hastened up the front steps, and unlocked the door. Once his mother had entered the house, he waved Martha and Albert forward.

However, the moment Olivia started toward the doorway, Fred grasped her arm. ‘‘Why don’t we remain out here for a few minutes? I doubt there will be any privacy inside.’’ Olivia patiently waited while Fred hurriedly explained to Albert that he’d be in shortly. ‘‘Tell Mother I’ll not be long.’’ He closed the door and turned to face her. ‘‘I want you to go home, Olivia. I think my note was very clear.’’

‘‘Your note wasn’t clear at all, Fred. I don’t know what has happened. Are you acting this way because I’m going to room at the Barnes’s house or because someone saw me at supper with Mr. Howard? You knew he was escorting me the other evening.’’

She took a step closer, hoping he’d understand she was determined to clear the air. Though he stood facing the stinging wind, his complexion was pale.

‘‘You’re going to rent rooms in the house adjacent to Mr. Howard’s?’’ His loud guffaw rang with sarcasm. ‘‘While the choice doesn’t surprise me, be assured I didn’t know anything about your new living arrangements until now.’’ He leaned against the porch railing and glanced down the street. ‘‘Let’s hope Mr. Howard doesn’t come looking for you. I’ll be given a lecture that the good citizens of Pullman shouldn’t loiter on their front porches.’’

She sighed. ‘‘This has nothing to do with the town rules. I want you to explain that note you wrote to me.’’

He raised his brows. ‘‘You do? Strange, because I think
you
owe
me
quite a few explanations. Too bad today’s sermon didn’t touch upon lies.’’

She took a step backward and leaned against the house for support. ‘‘Lies?’’ Her voice faltered.

‘‘Yes, Olivia. You know—falsehoods, deceit, untruths, dishonesty—
lies
.’’ His eyes turned dark and he clenched his jaw. ‘‘Lie after lie, neatly recorded. Am I helping you remember? Surely your memory isn’t so weak that you don’t recall your handwritten notes.’’