Love Comes Calling (22 page)

I started out in that direction.

“Ellis Eton!” My mother's voice cut through the murmur of polite conversation. There was no point in trying to hide now. I squared my shoulders and turned to face her.

Everyone else in the room did too.

“Ellis Eton . . .” At least she'd lowered her voice as she'd approached. She indicated the door with a twitch of her head. “To the car. Now!” She was eying my ear as if she'd like to take a good tug on it.

I covered it with a hand. “Wouldn't you care for some punch?” As long as we stayed at the asylum, she wouldn't dare to berate me.

Lawrence was making faces at me behind Mother's back.

“No, I would not. We're going home.”

I
t was a very silent, very torturous ride back to Beacon Hill, and it was made worse by Lawrence poking me in the ribs.

“We'll discuss this when your father gets home” was the only thing my mother would say.

“But I—”

She held up a hand. “I only wish to hear your explanation once.”

I'd assumed Julia and the boys had stayed at the beach, but when we got back to the house, I discovered I'd been mistaken.

“How was it?” Julia didn't even wait until the front door was closed until she asked.

Mother told her exactly how it had been.

“She what?” Julia's eyes were nearly popping out of her head.

“She wasn't there. She lied to us.” Mother looked significantly around the room. “To all of us.”

“But—you mean—!” Now Julia's eyes were being swallowed by her eyebrows. “I can't believe—” She stamped her foot and then turned and marched up the stairs. A long
moment later, we heard a door slam somewhere up on the second floor.

Mother was looking at me in that straight-lipped way she had. “It was a bit of a trial dislodging the boys from the shore in order to come back here for what we thought would be your pageant.”

“I'm sorry. I never actually said I was working at the orphan asylum. You just kind of assumed . . . and then you kept saying how proud you were of me, and I just couldn't . . .” There was no point in saying anything else.

“You'd better go apologize.”

“To Julia?” I'd much rather apologize to the boys. To practically anyone else but her.

Mother inclined her head in the direction of the staircase.

I went. Shrieks from the attic told me where the boys had gone. I wished I could have walked past my sister's room and gone to play up there with them instead, but I threw back my shoulders, gritted my teeth, and tapped on Julia's door.

“What!” She threw the word at the door like a dart.

“I just . . . it's me. I wanted to apologize.”

“Fine. You have. So now you can go.” Those words were less vehement and muffled somehow.

I turned the doorknob and pushed the door open. She was lying on the bed, her arm flung over her face. Her hair was splayed about her head, and she looked very un-Julia-like.

“I just . . . I didn't realize that . . . I didn't . . . realize.” I hadn't realized anything. I'd thought drinking didn't really matter as long as I wasn't doing it, and I'd thought working Janie's job would be easy and that letting Mother believe a lie would never harm anybody at all.

“What you don't realize, Ellis, is what it's like to be me, at the beck and call of two small boys, married to a husband who always begs off doing anything with your family. What you don't realize is how most of the time I just want to throw back my head and scream. What you've
never
realized is that you have absolutely no idea what it's like to be yanked out of school in order to be married and then wake up with children. And
responsibilities
! What it's like to always feel you'll have to apologize forever for a momentary indiscretion. I would like to say I have a sister I can count on to help out with things now and then, but she's too preoccupied and selfish to even notice me, let alone help me. I hate my life. And it's all your fault!”

“
My
fault? You're blaming me for having to marry Clarence? And having children?” I was used to being blamed for things, but normally I'd actually done them first. “I don't know why you always have to bring the boys along everywhere or why you always have to be here. You're married, for goodness' sake, with a house of your own.”

“What else am I supposed to do with the boys? I'm not going to leave them somewhere when I know they'd be laughed at or scorned. The circumstances of my marriage aren't their problem. And why am I always here? Why should I spend any time with Clarence's family? All they ever do is look down their long blue noses at me and make jibes about Clarence's hopes and dreams coming to nothing, as if it were my fault he . . . well . . .”

“The Otises have always been like that! They look down their noses at everyone. Still, I don't think it's fair that—”

“
I
don't think it's fair all my plans and dreams were cut
short by one thoughtless, stupid indiscretion. Everyone was doing it, but then I got pregnant and—” She let that sentence hang in the air for a moment before she clapped a hand over her mouth.

She . . . ? I heard myself gasp. “But . . . I'd always thought you
wanted
to get married to Clarence.”

“Wanting to get married and having to get married are two different things.”

“But . . . where?”

“Where what?”

“Where did you do it?”

“Ellis!” A blush had swept Julia's face.

“I mean . . . well, I just . . . can't quite picture . . .” In the movies people were always falling all over themselves onto a bed or some conveniently placed sofa. It seems like you'd need a room to do that sort of thing, wouldn't you? And it's not as if they would have just excused themselves and gone to Julia's room after Sunday dinner. Besides, I'd been a regular brat; I'd always followed them around everywhere they went. Except when they went on their drives on Saturday afternoons in order to get away from me and—oh! “It was in his car, wasn't it?”

Julia's face flamed even brighter, but she refused to answer.

It was. They'd done it in his car. And—oh! I'd heard girls at the dormitory talk about the backseats of their beaux' jalopies, but I'd never actually . . . now my face was the one to flush. Had they
all
done it? Even—even—oh my goodness! Is
that
what was going on back there?

“I thought going to Europe would let people forget about it. But people
know
, Ellis. I know they know, even if they
don't say anything. And the worst of it is Father and Mother know. And how is Clarence supposed to feel about coming over when he knows they know and . . . and how would you feel? Knowing people were whispering about your wedding? Knowing your parents paid for your tour because they were ashamed of you?”

They had? They were? Then why were they always bringing up Julia and throwing her in my face whenever I did something wrong? And—hey! No wonder they always sent the driver to take me to and from school.

“Would
you
want to go around out in society with everyone knowing all those things about you?”

“Why don't you move away?”

“To where?”

“I don't know. Calif—” No!
I
was going to California. If she was going to California, it would defeat the whole purpose of going away. “What about Texas?”

“Texas! We're from Boston. And Boston people stay in Boston!”

She didn't have to sound so huffy about it. I was only trying to help.

“Besides . . . wouldn't that be like lying?”

“It's not like anyone there would ask you when you got married and how many months later Marshall was born.”

“Ellis . . .”

“And it's not like you're ever going to introduce yourself by saying you're Julia Otis and you got pregnant before you were married and Marshall was the result and what do you think about that?”

“Ellis!”

“I don't see why it's anyone's business but yours.”

“It wouldn't be . . . if we hadn't . . . done what we'd done.”

“But you love Clarence . . .”

“Of course I love him. He's a good man. He did the right thing. It's just . . . complicated. Now we're not quite respectable. And once you're not . . .”

Once you're not, Boston never let you forget it. Which is exactly why I was headed to Hollywood. “I've always thought Clarence was a good sort.”

“He is! But we might have waited a few more years to marry. And I would have graduated from Radcliffe like all my friends, and he might have been able to find a better position. But now . . .”

Now he was still one of the down-on-their-luck Otises. “Well, good grief! You're married to the guy, so stop apologizing for him. What's done is done. It'll all work out. I'm sure it will.”

She half-laughed, half-sobbed. “When? When will it work out? Because I'm tired of being this—this—scarlet woman. I'm tired of always apologizing for myself. And I'm just . . .
plain
tired
.”

“Then don't be.”

“You don't understand, Ellis.”

“Sure I do. You're only some shamed woman because you think you are. And if you think you are, then why wouldn't everyone else believe you? The trick is, you have to decide to believe something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like . . . in the new Corinne Griffith movie. You might be a woman with a sordid past—”

“Ellis!”

“—
but
you can put it all behind you. It's not like anyone can blackmail you about it like they did in the movie because everyone already knows, so you can just skip over the entire second act, but the point is—”

“Ellis, I don't have time for—”

“—the point is, sometimes you have to
make
people give you a second chance. They're only treating you that way because it's the role you're playing. If you start playing a different role, they'll treat you differently.”

“But I've never been good at acting like you are.”

“You won't be acting. You'll just be yourself. You aren't meek and mild, Julia. No wonder you're so tired! You're good and smart, and you've never minded telling people so. You have to start being yourself again. Don't you see? People only snub you because you let them. If you didn't let them, they wouldn't be able to do it.”

“And how am I supposed to not let them?”

“Ignore them. Whenever they try, think, ‘That couldn't possibly be a snub because I'm Julia Otis, and I'm here to help, and who wouldn't want me as a member of their committee?'”

“Just . . . like that?”

“Just like that! And you'll see: They'll start to believe it.”

“Julia Otis. I always thought I would be different once I actually married Clarence. But I'm not. I just wish—”

“You can wish or you can do.” That's what the dean always said. “You might have done the wrong thing in the first place, but you don't have to do the wrong thing in the second place.” That's what
I
always said.

“If only we hadn't—”

“But you did. So it can never be the same as it might have been, but it
can
be different.”

There was a loud crash somewhere up in the attic, followed by the patter of feet on the back stairs.

Julia sighed as she pushed to her feet. And then she did something she'd never done: She embraced me and kissed me on the cheek. “Thanks, Ellis.” She left me standing there, mouth hanging open as she intercepted the boys in the hall and took them by the hands and led them off toward their room.

“You're . . . welcome?”

F
ather came into the parlor after work with a merry salute. “So how was it?” At least he didn't seem perturbed by anything . . . although I was sure he soon would be.

“It wasn't.” Mother didn't mince words when she was mad.

“What . . . wasn't?” He'd paused in his step and looked as if he wasn't quite sure where to put his foot down next.

“The pageant. Ellis wasn't there.”

His brows sank toward his nose. “But . . .” He turned his gaze to me. “You left the house this morning. I saw you go.”

“She hasn't been there ever. Have you, Ellis?” There seemed to be a hopeful, wistful glimmer in her eyes.

“No.”

The glimmer disappeared.

Father had run a finger across his mustache, then crossed his arms over his chest, nodding as he'd listened to us. But now he was shaking his head. “I'm afraid I don't understand.”

“She lied to us.”

He fully understood that.

“She's been lying to us this whole time.”

He was frowning now. “Ellis? Is this true?”

“I . . . hadn't meant to.” That was the truth, at least.

“Hadn't meant to what?” Mother's words exploded with frustration. “Be precise, Ellis. Because if you tell me you hadn't meant to work, well then, I'd say you had succeeded.” Clearly it wasn't a success she particularly admired.

“I hadn't meant to lie. And I
have
been working these past few weeks. It just wasn't . . . there.”

“Then where was it?”

“I would rather not say.”

“But you said quite a bit two weeks ago. And those words convinced me you had turned a corner. I was, dare I say, quite proud of you. And now both my girls . . .” She let her words trail off.

“I
am
working a job, and I
am
helping someone less fortunate than me.”

Mother scoffed.

“It's just not a real orphan. I mean, I thought she was at the time. But I never did say I was working at the asylum. You just assumed it. And I have to finish up the week at work. I have to go in tomorrow. I have to!”

“And how are we to know you're telling the truth this time?”

“Because I am.”

Mother just kept looking at me with those sad, woeful eyes. And then she shook her head. “I'm going back to the shore tomorrow with Julia and the boys. Do what you want. You will anyway.”

“I'm . . . sorry.”

Mother raised her head as if she were imploring heaven
to help her. “At some point, I would like to hear something else come out of your mouth. You have so much potential, and you've had so many advantages. If you would only—”

“I'm sorry I've been such a disappointment to you.”

Her face softened. “You're not the disappointment. It's just your complete failure to—”

“To do anything at all? I know. Nothing I do ever comes out right. May I leave now?”

“Ellis—” My father held out a hand as if to restrain me.

I left the parlor and ran up the stairs to my room. Pulling my Hollywood scrapbook out, I went over my plans once more. I couldn't wait any longer. After this, knowing I'd lied, the next time I went to the shore my mother would keep me there for the rest of the summer. The moment Janie returned, I would have to leave. That meant I only had a few days left to discover exactly what that telephone call had meant.

The next morning, I tried to decide what to say to Miss Hastings. She seemed like one of those people who was used to getting her way. A lot. In fact, she was really bossy. So I should probably apologize first thing to get it over with, then promise to do better in the future. And really, I would, because in just a few more days, I wouldn't be me anymore. Janie would be back and everything would be perfect again.

I wondered if the supervisor would yell at me. Hopefully not. At least she didn't know my real name; I wasn't in danger of receiving another, “Oh, Ellis.”

Humming a tune, I picked up my timecard. At least I meant to, only it wasn't there. That was funny. Maybe I'd put it in
the wrong slot the day before. When—oh! I hadn't punched out the day before. It was probably in the wrong slot then. It had to be. I sorted through all the cards, but Janie's wasn't one of them. I'd definitely have to talk to Miss Hastings. Only I couldn't right now—my shift was about to start. I'd do it at lunch.

I flung my beads around to the back of my neck and tangoed down the hall and into the switchboard room, but I stopped when I saw my stool. Someone was already sitting in it . . . and it wasn't Janie. I walked over and tapped her on the arm.

She looked over her shoulder at me with a frown.

“You're sitting on my stool.”

She took her headset off. “But . . . the chief just put me here.”

“She must have been mistaken.” I pulled the headset from her hand and put it on my head.

Beside me, Doris had slipped off her stool. “Actually . . . Miss Hastings hired her to replace you.”

“Replace me? Why?”

“Because of yesterday.”

“I know I was gone for a while, but—”

That girl tugged the headset from my ears and put it around her own neck. Of all the nerve! I tried to take it back, but she ducked away and wouldn't let me.

I put a foot to the stool step and tried to push her off with a shove of my hip. “I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding. Why don't you go talk to the supervisor and straighten it out while I get to work?”

She wouldn't budge. “Why don't
you
go straighten it out?”

“Because I have a job to do, that's why!”

“Well, so do I.” She gave me a shove of her own.

I shoved back.

Doris pulled on my arm. “Janie, you were fired!”

I tried to ignore the stares of the girls around us. “I was not fired. Something came up. I had to leave, but now I'm back.” I addressed myself to the girl. “I'm sorry for the inconvenience and I hope you didn't have to come far, but I'm here now and I'm ready to work if you'll just . . .” With a heave of a hip and plop of my bottom, I pushed her off the stool.

She landed on the floor with a cry, and I might have felt bad except she'd been so stubborn about the whole thing. Really, there was only one job to be had and I already had it. Why couldn't she understand that?

As I adjusted my headset, a light started blinking. Pulling a jack out, I moved to plug it in. But the girl shoved at me with both hands, nearly knocking me from the stool. I had to drop the jack to hold on to the board. “Of all the—!”

“This is
my
job.”

Why did she keep saying that? “No, I don't believe it is. And if you're uncertain, then I think the person to ask is—”

“
What
is the meaning of this!” Miss Hastings was standing, arms akimbo, glaring at us both, which really wasn't fair. It wasn't my fault that girl seemed to think she'd been given my job! “You!” She was pointing her finger at me. “You were fired yesterday. And you—” she now swung that finger toward the girl—“were hired yesterday.”

“What!” She'd hired someone? For
my
job?

“I don't know how you have the nerve to return after running out the way you did yesterday afternoon.”

“The nerve—? But—it's
my job
!”

“It's my job. And I can give it to whomever I like.” Miss Hastings yanked the headset from my neck and put it on the head of that other girl.

While they were fiddling with the adjustments, I launched myself at the stool, landed belly-first, wrapped my arms around the seat, and clung to it for dear life. “You can't fire me!”

“I already did.” She put a foot to the stool step and started peeling my fingers away from the seat.

“You can't fire me because it's not my job.”

“Exactly. It's not your job.”

“It's Janie's. Please!”

“It
was
yours, Janie. Now it's hers.”

I pushed my toes against the floor, using them to turn the seat around so she couldn't get at me.

“Stop moving!”

“I will if you give me my job back.”

“This is not some child's playground, Miss Winslow. And if you think you'll ever work for this company again, you're sorely mistaken!”

“Never?” She couldn't do that to Janie, could she?

“Ever!” She marched off.

I followed her into her office, drawing the door shut behind us. “Please. You can't fire me!”

“I most certainly can.”

“But I promise I'll do better.”

“You promised that last week and look where it got me yesterday.”

“But you don't understand! Janie's mother just died and she, well, there's a Mr. Winslow, you see, and Janie just wanted
to make sure he knew because he's her father, you know, and all she wanted was—”

Her face seemed to soften for a moment. She rose from her desk, walked over, and patted my arm. “I can see you're overcome with emotion. Perhaps you need to see one of those analysts who can provide some kind of . . . clarity . . . for your grief.”

“But I promised Janie I could do this job!”

“And clearly,
Janie
, you can't.” She leaned forward. “You do realize you
are
Janie . . . ?”

“Please!”

“I must ask you to leave now. There's work to be done and telephone calls to be patched through. By girls more competent than you.”