Married by Christmas (25 page)

She grabbed Jen’s arm, her hat forgotten. “Look at that. I wonder who owns it. He must be rich to afford an automobile like that.”

Jen dug her hands deeper into her coat pockets. “I suppose.”

“I’ve never seen the car before,” Minnie mused. “It’s not Mr. Kensington’s or Mr. Neidecker’s or anyone else’s from the Hill.” Everyone referred to the wealthy neighborhood above Green Lake as the Hill. “He must be a newcomer. He could be a motion-picture actor.”

Jen rolled her eyes and started toward the dress shop. “In Pearlman?”

“Why not?” By the time Minnie retrieved her hat, the frigid air had numbed her cheeks and fingertips. She hurried after Jen. “Maybe he’s a new student at the airfield.”

“There won’t be any new students until spring.”

“Then who could he be?” Minnie leaned over the frozen street, trying to see where the car went, but she lost sight of it after it passed the bank. “Maybe he’s just passing through.”

“No one just passes through Pearlman.”

Jen had a point. That meant a newcomer in town—an important newcomer. Hopefully, he was a bachelor.

* * *

Minnie had smiled at him.

The thought warmed Peter on the short walk to the orphanage. Not only had Minnie smiled at him, but she’d also said nice things.
Mariah’s lucky to have a brother like Peter.
That was just about as close as Minnie had ever gotten to giving him a compliment. Didn’t matter that Mariah wasn’t really his sister or even his real sister-in-law. She’d married Peter’s foster brother, Hendrick. Seeing as Peter didn’t have kin—leastways none he wanted to acknowledge—that made Hendrick and Mariah as good as family. He’d do anything for them. Still, it was good of Minnie to notice.

The orphanage was in chaos, the older kids chasing the younger ones around. No wonder Mariah had reached the end of her patience. Those kids needed something to keep them busy. When he’d been in the New York orphanage, he’d learned carpentry and how to fix things. The older kids needed something like that—a place to go and someone to teach them. But this was Pearlman, not New York. There just weren’t that many places a kid could go.

Peter dropped off the medicine and scooted out, saying he had to get back to the garage. That was kinda true. He’d closed the doors while he ran the errand and hoped Hendrick would understand. Business was slow this time of year, both at the motor garage and in the factory. His almost-brother had gotten edgy lately, but he refused to take a cent from Mariah’s family. Peter respected that. A man had to have his pride.

He dug his hands into his jacket pockets and trudged down Main Street. Kate Vanderloo and her friends entered the new department store, still giggling and chattering like a flock of blackbirds getting ready to head south.

Why did Minnie have to see him fetching female tonic for his sister-in-law? He didn’t mind the likes of Kate Vanderloo snickering at him. She was a selfish snob. But Minnie was good, through and through. He was gonna ask her to join him at the church supper on Wednesday, but after the way those girls teased her, she got all jumpy. Minnie couldn’t seem to hold up to that kinda talk. She was always wanting to look like some movie star, but to his way of thinking she had them beat a hundred times over.

A throaty car horn jerked Peter out of his thoughts. He knew every car in Pearlman, and none of them had a horn that sounded like that. This blast came from a gleaming new Pierce-Arrow touring car that inched down Main Street alongside him.

“Hey there, Stringbean,” shouted the man behind the wheel.

Peter squinted into the glare of the late-day sun. No one had called him Stringbean since the orphanage. Even there, only one person used the nickname.

“Vince?” The driver sounded like Peter’s old friend, but this man had slicked-back hair and a fancy suit. Gold cuff links flashed in the sun. “Vince Galbini?”

“You got it, kid. I said I’d look ya up, and here I am.”

Peter couldn’t get over it. “How’d you find me? Mariah said Mr. Isaacs closed the orphanage.”

“I got my contacts in the old neighborhood. They told me you were sent here.”

That made sense. Mariah had gone back to the orphanage after all the orphans on the train were placed in families. She’d probably told everyone working there that he’d found a home with the Simmons family. From there, the news would have spread through the neighborhood.

“You kept your promise,” Peter said in astonishment. “I can’t believe it. You said you’d find me again, and you did.” Pleasure surged through him at the thought. “You remembered.”

“’Course I did, kid. Vincent Galbini always keeps his promises.”

Vince rapped his hand against the car door, a gold ring clinking against the metal. “Let’s catch up on old times. Where do you call home?”

Peter didn’t want his old pal to see that he was living in an orphanage, even though he wasn’t there as an orphan. Vince had clearly risen in the world. Peter, on the other hand, was just trudging along.

“I’m headed back to the motor garage.” Peter pointed down the street and puffed out his chest. “I’m a mechanic now, and I manage the place.”

Vince whistled. “I heard you were working on cars, but I didn’t know you were the man in charge. You’re doing all right, kid.”

Peter stood a bit taller under the compliment. Vince was proud of him. Vince Galbini, the man who’d taught him how to measure and cut two pieces of wood so they joined without a gap. Peter had learned how to plane and sand and finish from him. Most of all, he’d learned to respect each piece of wood, to feel the flow of the grain and use that to make the perfect cut.

Vince had sure changed in four years. He’d been a hard-luck carpenter from the neighborhood who liked to help out at the orphanage. His trousers were always patched. His stained shirts looked more gray than white. His cap had hidden a mop of wiry hair that rarely saw soap and water, but he’d always had time for the kids, especially Peter.

A couple months before the orphan society plunked Peter on that train, Vince had stopped by to tell them he was leaving.

“I got a real good job,” he’d said with a grin. “They’ll be throwin’ buckets of money at me.”

Vince loved to exaggerate. No one believed he’d really get that kind of money. Except Peter. When Vince promised to come back for Peter after making his stake, Peter clung to that promise. He waited at mail call. He prayed for a telephone call. He sat in the front window and watched the street. No letter, no call, no Vince. Then Mr. Isaacs put Peter on the train, and he figured he’d never see his friend again.

Yet here Vince was, and it sure looked like the company had thrown those buckets of money at him after all. A new Pierce-Arrow cost more than Peter could earn in a decade. Its quiet, powerful engine was the envy of every man who longed to show others he’d made it big. Vince had done just what he’d promised.

“Hop in, kid,” Vince said. “Passenger seat’s empty.”

As he rounded the car, Peter’s pulse accelerated. Maybe Vince hadn’t just shown up to keep a promise. Maybe he was gonna spread a little of his good fortune around. That sure would get Minnie’s attention.

By the time they reached the garage, Peter and Vince were chatting as if it was old times.

Vince whistled when he pulled up in front of the garage. “Nice place. You’re doin’ good for yourself, kid. How many cars can you work on at once?”

“Two inside. Three if they’re small. Let me show you around.”

“Sounds like a good plan.” Vince pushed open his door.

Peter hopped out, taking care to close his door without slamming it, and then hustled to pull open the big doors to the work bay.

His friend moseyed forward. “Looks like you do a good business.”

“Good ’nuff.” Peter dug his hands into his pockets and kicked an ice ball toward the gasoline pump. It banged against the metal case and stopped. Compared to Vince, he’d come plumb against a brick wall. No gal. No fancy car. No car at all. He’d been reduced to fetching female tonic for his sister-in-law.

Vince took a gold cigarette case from his inside jacket pocket. He flipped it open, removed a cigarette and offered it to Peter.

“No thanks. Don’t smoke. Yet.” Peter was too embarrassed to say he found the habit disgusting. His uncle Max smoked, and he wouldn’t do anything that rotten man did.

“Give it a try.”

Peter shook his head and toed the ground. “Maybe some other time.”

Vince snapped the case shut, slipped a lighter from another pocket and lit the cigarette. After a couple draws, he pointed to the garage. “Let’s take a look.”

Once they got inside and Peter started showing off the machine shop and all his tools, the old Vince came back. Excitement lit his eyes, and he asked dozens of questions. He got especially excited when he saw Peter’s wood shop and heard how Peter made the shelving and counter at the bookstore.

“Sounds like you can build anything.”

Maybe it was the lighting, but Peter thought he saw a gleam in Vince’s eye. “Most anything. Can’t make a spark plug, of course.”

Vince laughed and ran his hand over the fender of Mr. Kensington’s Packard. “Have you ever done custom work on the body of the car?”

Peter thought back to the luggage rack Mariah had insisted they make for her Overland after returning from Montana. “Some.”

“Think you could redo an interior?”

Peter wasn’t sure what his friend was getting at. “Not the upholstery.”

“But anything in metal or wood?”

“Sure.” He tried to sound more confident than he felt.

Vince’s grin broadened, and he clapped Peter on the back. “Then I’ve come to the right man. I told the boss that I knew someone that could do the job.”

“What job?”

“It’s more like an opportunity, old sport, a chance to get yourself some of this.” Vince flicked his gold cuff links. “My boss is lookin’ to get his car customized to his particular needs.”

“What kind of needs?”

“He needs room for...er, luggage.”

“I made a luggage rack for an Overland.” Though many touring car manufacturers offered luggage racks with a trunk, Peter figured the car in question must not have that option.

Vince shook his head. “My boss don’t want a trunk outside, where his stuff might get wet. Do ya know what I mean? He wants storage inside the car.”

“There’s storage under the rear seat if it’s a sedan.”

“But it’s not quite the right size. And he wants a place for his valuables, say underneath the main luggage compartment. Is that something you can do?”

“You mean a hidden compartment?”

“That’s it,” Vince said with a grin. “Glad we understand each other.”

Peter supposed a man rich enough to run a company that paid Vince high wages would want to hide his valuables. “Depends on the car. What make we talking about?”

Vince motioned to the Pierce-Arrow. “How about that one?”

Peter ambled over and peered inside. The rear seat was spacious and had decent depth. He popped his head out and wiped his fingerprints off the polished door. “I can do it, but it wouldn’t fit a full steamer trunk.”

Vince waved that off. “The boss wouldn’t bring anything that big. I’m thinking about like this.” He demonstrated something almost twice the size of a vegetable crate.

“That’d fit, but I might have to raise the seat a bit depending on the size of the hidden compartment. How big do you need it?”

Vince explained the dimensions. They even pulled out the seat cushion, and Peter measured the space. He penciled the figures on a piece of paper and sketched a rough design.

“Look all right?” Peter asked.

“Perfect! Just what the boss wants.”

For some reason, Peter got a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe because Vince never said who he was working for. “Your boss?”

“An up-and-comer out of Brooklyn. He moved to Chicago a few years ago and set up shop. Furniture. Antiques. That sort of thing. Since coming to these parts, business took off, and he’s setting up other locations.” Vince wandered around while he talked, seeming too fidgety to stand still.

That made sense, but the strange feeling wouldn’t go away. “Is this a paying job?”

“Of course.” Vince laughed. “Would I ever cut you short?”

Peter thought back to those long days waiting for Vince to come back to the orphanage. “I guess not.”

“Tell ya what, kid. Do a good job, and the boss’ll make it worth your while.” Vince pulled out a money clip fat with bills. “Maybe he’ll even have more work for you.”

Peter’s jaw dropped. The outside bill was a hundred. There had to be fifty of them in the wad.

Vince grinned. “That’s right, kid. I seen the way you worked with your hands back in New York. Figured you still had the talent, but I had no idea you got a shop like this.” He whistled. “Far as I’m concerned, you’re the man for the job.” He pulled one bill off the clip and slipped the rest back into his pocket. “Is this enough to start?” He waved the bill before Peter and then snatched it back. “One question. What about the upholstery? You got anyone who can handle that if you gotta change the seat?”

Minnie’s face flashed into Peter’s head. She did sewing at the dress shop, and her family could sure use the extra money with her pa sick and all. Maybe if he got Minnie some work, she’d be so grateful she’d see him as more than a friend.

“I know someone who could do it.”

“Good.” Vince grinned and handed him the hundred-dollar bill. “We got a deal, then, Stringbean?” He extended his hand.

Peter hesitated. Something still didn’t feel quite right, but it was a lot of money. It would help at the orphanage, and Minnie’s family could use a little extra. Maybe she’d even stop chasing after no-account swells and notice him. Besides, Vince was a good guy. Peter had known him for years.

He grasped Vince’s hand and shook. “Deal.”

Copyright © 2014 by Christine Elizabeth Johnson

ISBN-13: 9781460341209

Married by Christmas

Copyright © 2014 by Karen Vyskocil

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