Legacy of Love. Christine Johnson

sky hadn’t yielded snow yet, but it threatened. The cold weather had frozen the puddles and forced him to spend more for coal than he’d anticipated. At this rate, he’d run through his meager savings before spring. He needed to get the bookstore up and turning a profit soon, but the storefront required work. A lot of work.

      To turn the old harness shop into a viable bookstore, he needed to replace the front window, install bookshelves and build a sales counter—none of which he could manage himself. That meant hiring a carpenter or handyman.

      He unlocked the door and stepped into the dim interior. It smelled like a tannery. Dust, dirt and debris filled every corner and crevice. He poked his cane into the wall, and the plaster crumbled onto the plank floor.

      “I need help,” he muttered.

      “I might be able to assist you with that,” answered a painfully cheerful voice.

      Brandon turned to see a man of middling height with unruly hair standing in the open doorway. Informally dressed in a mackinaw coat, he looked every bit the workman Brandon needed.

      “You’re looking for work?”

      The man laughed and shook his head. “I already have a job as pastor at the church across the street, but I know pretty much everyone in town and can put out the word for whatever you need.”

      The man sure didn’t look like a clergyman. “Aren’t you dressed a little informally for a minister?”

      The pastor laughed again and extended a hand. “Call me Gabe.”

      Brandon stared at the outstretched hand. Ever since the war, he couldn’t set foot in a church. Too much had happened—things he didn’t want to remember, things no one could forgive. But he also couldn’t deny basic civility.

      “Brandon Landers.” He completed the handshake. “I’m settling my father’s estate.”

      “My condolences. We heard he’d passed away unexpectedly. Will you be staying in Pearlman?”

      “At the family home.” This conversation was already taking too long. Soon the man would invite him to church, and he’d have to make up an excuse. He eyed the dark street with its glimmering streetlamps and checked his watch. Five o’clock. Best get his unpleasant task done before it got too late. “I need to leave.”

      “But didn’t you want to hire someone?”

      An inquiry couldn’t hurt, if the price was right. “Do you know a young man who needs a job?” A youth would cost less than a skilled carpenter.

      Pastor Gabe glanced at the filthy interior. “I’d think you’d want someone to clean the place first. I know a lovely young woman who could do the work for you. She’s a first-rate worker and could use the money. The family is struggling to get by, and I learned today that her widowed mother had her hours reduced.”

      “I beg your pardon, Pastor. I feel for them, but it’s not a job for a woman. I need shelves built and the window replaced.”

      “I see.” The minister tapped his chin. “Her brother and foster brother are excellent with their hands. I’m sure they’d step in for any construction required.”

      “That means hiring two people when I could simply hire one.”

      “I doubt either one would take money away from their sister. Hendrick Simmons is busy starting up his new aeroplane-engine plant, and Peter is managing the garage, but I’m sure one or the other could make time for a little construction.”

      Simmons? Brandon stiffened. That was the last name he wanted to hear. Once he delivered the envelope, none of them would have a thing to do with him. They certainly wouldn’t work for him, not at any price.

      Chapter Two

      “You quit?” Ma froze, her soup spoon poised in midair.

      Anna pushed her chair away from the rickety kitchen table. The potato, rutabaga and salt pork stew that had smelled so good minutes before now turned her stomach.

      “You can’t just walk out,” Ma insisted.

      “I’ll get another job.

      “That’s not the point, dearest. Mrs. Neidecker was counting on you.”

      Anna couldn’t look her mother in the eye. “I finished the day’s work. Everything’s ready for her Christmas party. All she has to do is hire someone to clean up.”

      Ma shook her head. “A Simmons always finishes the job. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”

      “You can’t do that.”

      “Why not?” Though Anna’s mother was short on stature, she was long on resolve. “I’m perfectly capable. Mrs. Vanderloo doesn’t expect me until Thursday.”

      Anna hated that Ma was always right. “Well, you can’t wear that skimpy uniform, for one thing.”

      “Evelyn would never ask me to wear something that wasn’t modest.”

      Anna wasn’t so sure. Mrs. Neidecker had got it into her head that her house should look like the Rockefellers lived there. That meant maids in fancy uniforms and Graves, the butler, in a tuxedo. Apparently she’d seen pictures of some rich person’s house in a ladies’ magazine.

      Ma squeezed Anna’s hand. “We need the money.”

      That much was true. Ma’s hours at the Vanderloo house had been trimmed, and the Williamses dropped her in favor of a girl who accepted half the pay. Now, Anna had quit her job. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”

      “Now, don’t you fret. We still have the money your brother gives us each month. I hate to accept it, now that he has a family to support, but it can’t be helped.”

      “I’ll get a job at the Belvidere cannery. I heard they’re paying a dollar an hour.”

      Ma’s gentle smile faded. “But I need you here. You’re my only daughter. What would I do without you?” She brushed a strand of hair off Anna’s forehead as if she were still a child.

      “It’s only Belvidere.” Ma meant well, but Anna hated being coddled. “I’ll take the train back and forth each day.”

      “But you wouldn’t be home as much. I hear the cannery works its people long hours and then the train ride on top of that. I’d hardly ever see you. Please stay. For me?”

      That was the problem. All of Anna’s friends had moved on to bigger and better things, but she was still stuck in Pearlman, living with her mother, with no future in sight. At the age of twenty, she hadn’t even had a real beau yet. Oh, she’d fallen for men, disastrously, but they either didn’t notice her or fell in love with someone else.

      That man in the mercantile, the one opening the new bookstore, would turn out just like the rest. She couldn’t wait for someone to sweep her off her feet. She had to take care of her own future. That meant getting a good-paying job.

      “The only jobs that pay well are at the cannery,” Anna pointed out. “If I get a job there, we won’t have to take money from Hendrick anymore.”

      Ma heaved a sigh, which signaled she’d come around to Anna’s way of thinking. “I suppose we have no choice then, but I hate the idea of you riding all alone on the train every day. I wish your father were here. He’d know what to do.”

      If Papa hadn’t died, Ma wouldn’t have had to struggle raising two children, and Hendrick wouldn’t have had to quit school in the eighth grade to take over the garage. Everything would have been different. Anna might have been able to go to college. She wouldn’t have worn homemade dresses sewn out of the scraps from Mrs. Fox’s dress shop. But Papa had died—horribly. She shuddered, and shoved the memory into a dark corner of her mind.

      Ma must have been thinking about him too, because she sniffed and dabbed her eyes.

      Anna