Five Brides (5 page)

She sighed in relief. “I could very much use one of those.”

He nodded once. “You look like the kind of girl who’d bring it back at the end of the day,” he teased.

Joan raised her hand as though taking a solemn oath. “On my word.”

They stepped outside where he opened the umbrella straight
out, then swept it up and over her head. “Here you go. If I’m not here when you get back, just leave it behind the counter over there.”

She placed her hand on his arm. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I’d do—”

“No need for all that. Just go on to wherever you were heading. And the good Lord be with you.”

Joan hurried along with a stream of others, the rain dancing around her, dripping off the tipped ends of a stranger’s gift. Water sprang from the tops of her open-toed black pumps, soaking her feet and pooling in the tips of her nylons. She could hardly walk fast enough to reach the train.

By the time she’d reached the Loop, and then the Hertz office building, a chill had penetrated to her bones. Determined, she ducked under the awning, lowered the umbrella and shook it, then brushed moisture from the shoulders of her coat. With a shiver, she opened the front door and stepped into the already-busy first-floor reception area.

She smiled at the same receptionist she’d seen the day before and walked purposefully to the elevator where she hoped not to leave a puddle on the floor. She waited with several others—three suited men and one finely dressed woman, her raincoat slung over her arm. She appeared to be a few years older than Joan and carried an air of sophistication Joan didn’t possess.

“Good morning,” Joan said.

The other young woman gave a wide smile in response. “Hello.” She shifted her wet umbrella from one hand to the other.

“Quite a storm out there.” Joan looked to the front. “I’m afraid I’m quite wet from walking in it.”

“Oh, dear. Where do you live?”

“Lancashire. England.” Joan chuckled at the error of answering
by habit. “Sorry. I’m
from
Lancashire. I’m
staying
temporarily at the Y.”

The woman’s expression brightened; a splash of blue burst across her green eyes. “And would your name happen to be Joan? Joan Hunt?” When the elevator door slid open, and the three men stepped aside to allow the women to enter ahead of them, the woman made eye contact with each of them. “Thank you, gents.”

“Miss Estes,” one replied, tipping the brim of his fedora glistening with rainwater.

The others copied his action, dipping their hats first to Miss Estes and then to Joan. The man closest to the doors pushed a series of numbers. As the elevator doors closed, the woman turned to Joan. “I’m Betty Estes. Mr. Ferguson told me you’d be coming in this morning.”

“Betty.” Joan pointed to her. “
You’re
Betty?”

She nodded with a laugh. The elevator doors opened again, this time to the nondescript Hertz offices.

“See you fellas around,” Betty said as she stepped onto the floor, and Joan fell in behind her.

“How about a cup of coffee, Joan?” she asked when they reached her office. “Or do you prefer tea? Being British and all.”

“Coffee is good.” Joan hadn’t even bothered with breakfast that morning. Drenched and cold, coffee would do more than just fill the emptiness in her stomach; it would heat her bones.

Betty hooked her coat on the metal tree by the door. “Get out of that wet coat and maybe you’ll warm up,” she said while opening a bottom drawer in her desk. “And you can put your purse in with mine for now.”

Joan did, nearly ashamed at how shabby it appeared next to what looked to be something straight off a showroom floor. In fact, Joan reasoned,
she
looked completely out of place next to the
woman who appeared somewhere between five and ten years her senior. She didn’t feel inferior, but Joan could see that Betty Estes would be someone she’d look up to during her time at Hertz.

“Let me show you to the break room,” Betty said. “Then we’ll come back, I’ll get your paperwork started, and then I’ll show you to your desk.” She eased out of the office, a light floral scent trailing behind her, and toward a door near the back of the building. “We’ve got coffee, a few pastries. Doughnuts, that kind of thing. Do you like doughnuts?”

“I’m not a big eater,” Joan answered.

Betty laughed lightly. “I can look at you and see that.”

They entered the break room—empty except for one other woman—to the rich fragrance of fresh-brewed coffee. “Oh, hey, Pegs,” Betty said. “This is Joan.” She motioned to Joan. “Joan, Peggy.”

Joan nodded at the older woman stirring cream into her coffee.

“Peggy is also in accounting, so you’ll be working together.”

“So you’re the new hire,” Peggy said. She took a sip of her drink. “Good to have you, Joan.” She walked toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you soon.”

Betty pointed to a cabinet where a few coffee cups had been placed in stacks of two and three. “A few employees brought some mix-and-match cups from home. If you have one you’d like to bring—”

“I’m afraid I didn’t bring anything like that with me.”

“From Lancashire or from the Y?” Betty asked, smiling broadly.

Joan returned the kindness. “Both. Or . . . neither. However it should be said.”

Betty waved her words away. “Well, of course not. Don’t worry about it.” She pulled two cups from the cupboard. “Someone always manages to get here early enough to start the coffee. Some
days that’ll be you,” she said. “We all pitch in—” she peered around the bleakness of the room—“to keep our break room clean.”

“Got it.”

She opened a small fridge. “Peggy left the milk out for us, but it usually goes here.” She closed the door, then pointed to a small table where a sugar bowl and a box of pastries were the only centerpieces. “Sugar and doughnuts.”

Joan poured two cups of coffee. “I drink mine black.”

Betty shook her head. “I’ve never understood how anyone could do that. But to each his own.” She prepared her coffee, grabbed a cocktail napkin from inside a drawer, and laid a doughnut on it. “Sure you don’t want one?”

“I’m sure.”

She took a bite and continued speaking around it. “So, you’re staying at the Y.”

Joan wrapped her hands around the warm cup, which sent a shiver through her. “Yes. Temporarily, of course.”

“Are you looking for a room to rent then?”

“I will be.” She smiled before taking a drink. “Once I have a paycheck.”

“I ask because I have a room coming up for rent. Some girls and I share a small place on Greenleaf. Two of the roommates are leaving in a couple of weeks if you’re interested in one of their beds.”

Joan immediately thought of Evelyn. “That would be great. I mean, if you have two.” She tossed her hair with a shake of her head. “I have a friend who is joining me here soon.”

“From England?”

“No. From Georgia actually. Portal. It’s a small farming community near Savannah.”

Betty placed the milk in the fridge. “A Southern girl? Well, I
don’t see why not.” She took another sip of her coffee, then rinsed the cup and placed it upside down in a nearby drainer. “Won’t we make quite the fivesome?”

Joan was both unsure what Betty meant and too elated at the notion of having a place to live to ask. “Will you need to talk to your other flatmates first?”

“Talk? Oh, heavens no.” She waved her hand again. “Say, let’s get you started, and we’ll talk about moving into the apartment in a week or so. How does that sound?”

Joan finished her coffee, rinsed and turned the cup upside down as Betty had done. “It sounds perfect.”

Hundreds of voices echoed in the cavernous waiting room of Chicago’s Union Station—some from new arrivals exiting trains and others from those relaxed or perched on the benches scattered throughout. Sunlight burst through the iron grating over the high window above massive doors leading to the tracks, directly across from where Joan sat, waiting. The brilliance was such that she could not see things clearly; they seemed, rather, shrouded in dust and smoke. People moved like apparitions through the beams of light—starting as shadows, then fully illuminated, and finally appearing human again.

Joan glanced at her watch, then up to the round face of the large clock for confirmation. Evelyn’s train would arrive at any moment. When it did, years of correspondence would give way to a new chapter in their friendship. And Joan would be able to tell Evelyn the secret she’d kept from her for more than a month.

From overhead, the announcement she’d waited for penetrated the cacophony of chatter and shoes clomping on the polished floor. She stood, wrung her gloves in her hands like a dishcloth, and walked toward the center of the Great Hall.

“Find the information desk,” she’d told Evelyn in her last letter.

I’ll be there waiting for you. I’ll be wearing a black pencil skirt with a white long-sleeved blouse. It’s quite cold here in Chicago, so I may be wearing a coat. But surely, after years of letter writing and picture exchange, we will recognize each other.

Who would have guessed that when our teachers matched us to each other as international pen pals, we would arrive at this day?

Within minutes, a sea of hats and suits moved toward her, and she realized how difficult finding Evelyn might be. The onslaught of passengers pushed and shoved, asking questions of the attendants behind the desk. Enveloped by the throng, Joan twisted her gloves again, repositioned the coat she’d thrown over her arm, and adjusted her hat. After what seemed an eternity, the crowd thinned and scattered, leaving only one person standing several yards away. Hatless, she wore a camel-colored wool coat with wide cuffs and a look of sheer panic in blue eyes that darted behind cat-eye specs. A worn suitcase rested at her feet.

Joan pulled herself upright. “Evelyn,” she called.

Evelyn’s face found hers. “Joanie!” She picked up the luggage and hurried toward her.

“You made it.” Joan wrapped her in a hug before holding her at arm’s length. “You look wonderful.”

Evelyn ran a hand over the mousy brown hair she’d always complained about in her letters. “I’m a mess.” Her eyes closed. “And so tired.” They opened again as she sighed. “I want a hot bath and a bed more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.”

Joan linked their arms. “Do you have any other luggage?”

Evelyn held up the small suitcase. “I’m afraid not. This was all I could pack that my mother wasn’t unpacking. To be honest
with you, Joan, I . . . I finally told her that I wouldn’t leave, but then . . . I slipped out in the night. With Daddy’s blood money in my pocket, no less.”

Joan pulled her close. “Oh, Evelyn. You didn’t.”

Evelyn blinked back tears. “Daddy said that even with Christmas only a few weeks away, it was the right thing to do. But like I told you before, Mama can only see life as it affects her. And her plans for me.” She sighed. “Daddy told her that I was destined for greater things than a husband whose idea of excitement was watching corn grow. But she wouldn’t listen.”

Joan suppressed a giggle. “Come on.” She tugged Evelyn toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

“Home?” Evelyn asked. “You think of the Y as ‘home’ now?”

Joan squeezed her arm. “That’s my surprise. I have a place for us to live
and
a job waiting for you.”

Evelyn stopped. “Are you serious?”

Joan held up a hand. “I am. And you’ll adore our flatmates. There’s Betty,” she said as they started walking again. “I wrote to you about her. Evelyn, I tell you she’s the most amazing person I’ve ever known. You’ll see. And then there are the sisters—Inga and Magda Christenson. They’re from Minnesota originally.”

“Twins?”

“Oh, no. They’re sisters, all right, but quite different.” They stopped at the outer doors where Joan slipped into her coat and gloves. “Did you bring gloves?” she asked.

Evelyn nodded. “They’re in my luggage. Will I need them already?”

“We’ve had bitter cold days lately.” She glanced through the glass doors to the buildings across the street where Christmas displays brought a festive air to the season. “But you should be fine between here and there.”

They stepped out into the crisp air. Evelyn glanced toward the cabs lined up on the street. “No taxi?”

“No, no. We can make it on our own two feet to the Loop. From there, we’ll take a train out to where we live.”

Evelyn sighed. “How far is it? I’m pretty tired, Joanie.”

Joan squeezed her arm again. “Come on. It’s not far. Lean on me and I’ll tell you all about the girls and your new job.”

“And I want to know more about this place where I’ll be living.”

“Oh, that,” Joan said with a laugh. “Wait till you see. We live in a basement apartment on Greenleaf. Two bedrooms with double beds and one little box room with a twin. That’s where Magda sleeps.”

“She doesn’t sleep with her sister?”

Joan shook her head. “No. Not sure why, though. I think maybe they shared a room when they were children and didn’t quite fancy it any longer, if you know what I mean.”

“Do they work with you and Betty? At Hertz?”