Peaches in Winter (5 page)

The thought flashed through his mind.
Could that have something to do with why she’s sad? Something about a party?
She was certainly uncomfortable—even though he hadn’t repeated his question. He told himself to stop wondering; it was none of his concern—whatever the facts were.

Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Betty, why don’t you take the day off early? I’m sure you must have things to do.”

“Really?” She turned to him, looking surprised. He couldn’t tell if she was glad or sad. Although it would be natural for a young secretary to be pleased if she was offered a partial day off work, he didn’t want to know if she was. He knew he’d only feel disappointed if she looked really happy about escaping from spending any more time with him.

This is for the best
, he told himself. “You don’t have to leave before we eat, of course,” he added. “You made the meal; you should certainly enjoy it.”

“Thank you, Mr. Watterson,” she said. She looked at his face again. He wished he could tell what she was thinking behind those suddenly cryptic, so-blue eyes.

~*~

Betty Ann thought the bean soup was pretty good, although not as good as her mother’s.

They ate in silence. Jake—Mr. Watterson—seemed unusually subdued after his talk with the publisher. He often seemed deep in thought when working on his stories, or when he felt generally gloomy, but now he seemed different. He fiddled with his food and didn’t eat much of it. Even the cornbread didn’t seem to wake him up, although he did mumble, “This is good,” after he tried it.

She wondered if Mr. Armstrong had said something to upset him. Jake had certainly seemed bothered by the idea of her going to the party. Perhaps the author who was receiving the award was someone he didn’t get along with. She hoped not. She didn’t like to think of Mr. Watterson as the type who had lots of enemies.

Maybe Mr. Armstrong was inviting me just to tease Jake. He sure looked like he was teasing Jake about something
. She took more soup, enjoying the pungent flavor of onion, beans, and spices in the spicy broth.

It was nice of Mr. Watterson to let her eat with him every day. So far it had saved her a lot of money on food, and it was better food than she’d have the time—or the ingredients—to make at her apartment.

She hoped he would be over whatever was bothering him by tomorrow. After she cleaned up the dishes and put away the food, it was after noon. She got her purse and lovely new coat and stopped at the entrance to his study.

“Goodbye Mr. Watterson,” she called.

He didn’t reply. That was different, too; usually whatever he was doing, he always stopped and said goodbye to her before she went. She peered into the room’s gloomy depths. He wasn’t working on writing but just sat sunken gloomily in an armchair
.
He wasn’t even holding a book.

Betty closed the door quietly behind her, prayed a silent prayer that Jake—Mr. Watterson—would be all right. She wondered what was bothering him.

She picked up her steps and gave her head a toss. It was a lovely day, even if Jake hadn’t noticed. The air was light and clean-smelling—unusual for the city. Although, of course, it was not a substitute, it reminded her of spring on the farm. It would be spring soon.
And then Jake will be happy.

She headed home in a peaceful mood, humming quietly.

She shared a small apartment in a decent area of the city. The only reason she could afford it was because four girls had gone together. Betty thought they were probably all at their jobs, and she’d be alone in the apartment for the first time since she’d been out of work.

Maybe she would stop and change and then head to the park, or go window shopping. Even though it was cold, it was just too nice a day to stay inside all the time alone, like Mr. Watterson did.

She opened the door with her key and went inside.

“Who’s that?” called a voice from the next room.

“Just Betty. Is that you, Mary?”

A dark-haired girl with reddened eyes padded into the kitchen. “You got fired, too?”

“What? Oh no!” Betty gasped. “Mr. Watterson gave me part of the day off. Are you okay?” She hurried forward and caught her roommate’s arms, looking with concern into her tear-stained face.

Mary Elliot nodded. She didn’t try to hide the fact she’d been crying. “Mr. Kidd got me fired.”

Betty Ann drew in her breath. “Did he—try to —” She couldn’t bring herself to say it, even though Mary knew what had happened between her and Mr. Kidd. The man who’d hired Betty—for one day—also worked where Mary did. In fact, that was how they’d met, and Betty had taken this apartment. Before that, she was living on her own in a far-too-expensive tenement.

Mary nodded again. “I didn’t think he’d dare try anything with me. I’m not even his secretary!” Mary had worked in the outer office, not far from Mr. Kidd’s room, but had not been directly responsible to him.

“He…tried to…get me alone in his office, and— Well, I got away from him. I thought it was all over, and I was going to speak wi-with my own boss as soon as he was out of his meeting. But Mr. Kidd got to him first, and the next thing I knew he-he fired me!”

“How awful,” said Betty. She gripped her roommate’s arms, wanting to give her support. “Did you tell your boss what happened?”

“Of course,” said Mary. “I don’t think he cared. Mr. Kidd is pretty powerful. He could have made trouble for Mr. Vernon if he’d refused to fire me.” She wiped at her eyes and seemed to make an effort to gain control of her feelings. “Well, I just hope I can find a new job, and quickly. I already spent most of this month’s salary when I went to see Bob.”

Mary’s boyfriend was in the military, and she’d traveled to see him earlier in the month.

“You will,” said Betty. “You’re a good typist.”

“What if Mr. Vernon won’t give me a reference?”

“He will. He’ll have to! You were a great secretary,” said Betty, “and it’s the very least he should do after firing you just on Mr. Kidd’s say-so.” She thought of her own boss and his publisher who had come by that very day. “I can ask Mr. Watterson to ask his publisher if they need any secretaries. They’d be lucky to have you.”

Mary wiped her eyes and smiled tentatively. “Thanks, Betty. You’re a real friend.”

Betty smiled. “Let’s have some tea. That’ll help you feel better.”

They were sitting at the dinky kitchen table sipping hot tea when they heard a knock at the door.

“I’ll get it,” said Betty, rising. Maybe it was her friend’s boss, coming to apologize and set things right by offering Mary her job back.

She opened the door. And saw Jimmy.

“Hello,” croaked Jimmy. He stood with his hand raised to knock again. His hat was in his hand—proverbially and literally. He was a young man, good-looking, not terribly tall, with light brown hair that always looked soft as spun flax.

Betty opened her mouth experimentally but found she couldn’t speak. She willed herself to say something—or at least shut him out. But she stood like stone with her fingers curled around the half-open door. The chilly outside air seeped in around her ankles. The breeze that had felt light and pleasant earlier chilled her now to the bone.

“I’m sorry, Betty,” Jimmy said. He wore blue jeans and a red and blue flannel shirt under his thick work jacket. She could see he’d worn some of his best clothing, but after her months in the city, it looked countrified and a bit worn.

He looked ashamed of himself, as well he might. But…but surely he wouldn’t have come this whole way just to apologize—again.

“We fell in love,” he’d said back then. “I’m sorry, Betty. It just happened.”

Now he ran his tongue nervously over his cracked lips. Being out in the cold weather never did do his complexion any good, she recalled, with a dim echo of that warmth she’d felt for him ever since they were children.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I don’t know what else I can say, but—”

Betty found she could talk. “What do you want?” Her voice came out raspy.

“I-I wanted to say I’m sorry, and—” He stepped forward, losing some of his awkward, artificial posture. He caught the edge of the door. “Peggy and I are getting divorced. It just wasn’t working out. Betty, I was a fool. Please, I-I know I don’t deserve you, but will you take me back? Please? Not now, of course, but once…once the divorce is through.”

Betty stood stock still in the doorway, staring at him. There was an odd buzzing in her brain.

“I came right away to tell you. I-I made a big mistake, Betty, but I know you can forgive me, if you want to.” He hesitated, his brown eyes clogged with sadness. “Will you? Please say you will. You’re the only girl for me, and I was a fool not to realize it sooner.”

Betty reeled from the news. Jimmy was getting divorced—free again—and he wanted her back. Strange fireworks seemed to go off in her skull. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t.

Then for one wild moment she imagined it—going back, being Jimmy’s wife, marrying one another just like they’d always planned.

She gripped the door so hard her hand hurt. She gripped it to keep herself from running to him.

“No,” croaked Betty.

“What?” Jimmy gaped at her in surprise. It was obvious that, for all his humility in asking, this was not the response he’d been expecting. “But Betty, didn’t you leave for the city because of me? Now I fixed it. Now you can come back, and-and we can get married. This time it will be right.”

“No,” repeated Betty.
Help me, God
. She had to say this right. She took a deep breath, and now she could speak properly—or at least as close to properly as she was likely to come. “I can’t let you divorce your wife for me.”

“But I’m not. I told you; it didn’t work out. Peggy’s not—” He tried again. “Peggy knows it didn’t work out.”

“I can’t marry you,” said Betty. Tears came to her eyes. Her heart was breaking—again. “Jimmy, don’t you see?” She could hardly see him through her tears. Her voice shook. “If you can run off and marry another girl, when you were already promised to me—not just promised when we were kids but actually
engaged
—how can I ever trust you again? How can I know you won’t run off and divorce me the first time we have a fight, or the first time your dinner’s cold?” She shook her head slowly. “No, Jimmy, it won’t work. I’m sorry. It just…won’t.” She started to shut the door.

Jimmy Peterson’s mouth hung open. He made a grab for the door and succeeded in holding it part way open. “But, Betty, you know it’s not like that!” He was strong, and she felt weak; she didn’t fight to close the door, just stood there as limply as a dishrag and listened dully to his words.

“You know why, Bet; you an’ me loved each other since forever. What happened with Peggy was just a mistake. I won’t change my mind about you again. It was a-a fluke, a crazy-kid thing to do. I’m grown up now. I’ve learned a lot, and I won’t make the same mistakes again—not ever. When I lost you, I, well, I finally realized what I was missing!”

Slowly, Betty shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just wouldn’t feel right about it, and I couldn’t trust you.”

Jimmy stared at her. When he spoke, his voice sounded hard. “You’re not the Betty I knew. The city’s changed you.” He spun away almost blindly and ran down the stairs with fast, heavy steps.

It was so hard to see him go. Betty’s heart was breaking all over again, but she watched him leave. She watched, and she didn’t run after him.

He shoved his hat back onto his head and clumped out of her life.

“Come on,” said Mary, taking hold of her shoulders. Only then did Betty Ann remember her roommate, who must have heard everything.

“You did the right thing,” Mary said, gently drawing Betty back into the apartment and shutting the door quietly.

It was good she was there. Betty didn’t think she could have moved from that spot, not if she’d been given a whole week to do it.

Tears made it hard for her to see. Mostly, she felt numb.

I thought I was over him.
How hard did life have to be? She’d lost him once, but now she’d lost him again, this time through actions of her own.

For one wild moment, she thought about dashing after him—grabbing her coat and just leaving.

But as Mary steered her to the couch and helped her sit, she knew she couldn’t have. She really believed what she’d said to Jimmy.

Despite what he’d said, she thought he was getting divorced because of her. Maybe now that she’d told him ‘no,’ he would rethink things. Even if he still divorced his wife, at least it wouldn’t be because of her.

Even if all that had been fine—if the divorce had nothing to do with her, and if she could somehow bring herself to believe it was all okay to marry him—the rest of her statement to him would still be true.

She still wouldn’t trust him.

But it was hard to tell him to go. It was so hard!

Betty put her head in her hands, and wept.

Chapter Six

Jake slumped in his armchair, scowling and thinking deep, revolving and unpleasant thoughts. He looked up to notice the gloom descending with dusk; he’d forgotten to turn on the lights. Only the dim, setting sunshine that limped between the curtains lit the room now. Betty Ann had pulled back those curtains earlier.

Betty Ann.

What had Jake gotten himself into?

For the past hours since Betty had left early, he hadn’t gotten a lick of work done. He’d sat in his depressed state, his mind going on a merry-go-round about “the Betty issue,” as he’d started to think of it.

Simply put, it was this. He was beginning to care for her, and that was wrong. Wrong, because he could never marry her. Even if he could somehow bring himself to move past his own wariness of marriage—and having a wife and probably children to support—it would be wrong, just wrong to ask her to throw in her oar with him. Betty Ann was everything he was not. She was friendly, outgoing, cheerful, and generous. Jake Watterson thought of himself as a curmudgeon among curmudgeons—someone who could cheerfully proclaim with Scrooge, “Bah, humbug!”

He was glad Christmas was over; glad winter was almost past. But even in the warmer months of the year, he knew he was no picnic to be around all the time. Betty earned her money working around him—probably more than earned it.

What right did Jake have to think of her as a man thinks of a woman? She was practically a child, compared to him. He was an experienced, some might say hardened, ex-soldier and college-educated newspaperman, and now he wrote mysteries revolving around murder for a living.

To do the right thing, he should let her go now before he did something foolish, like dig out his mother’s lovely amethyst ring and offer it to her on bended knee.

But I can’t fire her
. He sank deeper into the gloom and his chair.
She needs me, for a job. And I need her. Besides, I promised I wouldn’t.
And he certainly didn’t want to hurt her.

With a sigh, he rose wearily from his chair, his muscles and joints as achy as though he’d run a marathon, even though he hadn’t done much of anything but write and ponder all day.

He walked to the curtains and started to pull them. For a moment, he paused and looked out at the tree outside his window. He hadn’t looked at it—properly looked at it—for quite some time. It was a spindly thing, growing between his building and the next, in the thin strip of grass where he used to play as a boy. The tree looked cheerful despite its straitened circumstances. For some reason, it reminded him of Betty.

Did everything remind him of Betty lately?

He pulled the curtains quickly and turned away, swallowing.

“Brother, you’ve got it bad,” Matt had said. He didn’t agree with that—still didn’t—but could see how he soon might, if nothing changed.

For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a solution. Betty was a good girl, and he wanted to protect her—even from himself. He was definitely not the man for her.

Still, in the whole mess, there was one good thing: Betty. She seemed so innocent, and it must be admitted, clueless, that he doubted she’d even notice his growing feelings toward her. Certainly, she wouldn’t have any of her own. How could she? She’d seen him at some of his worst moments…

Although he tried to be kind and polite with her, letting her leave early today, complimenting her on her good food, and cleaning himself up for her, he knew he was no bargain, even at half price. He was gloomy and often rude without meaning to be.

Maybe that was a good thing; even though he cared about Betty, she would never know it.

But one thing was certain to him as he shuffled toward the kitchen to fetch a glass of milk and some of that wonderful cornbread. His life had certainly become a lot more complicated since Betty turned up on his doorstep!

~*~

Despite a night of little sleep and too many tears, Betty Ann showed up the next day for work, carrying an armful of potted plants.

She might not be cheerful or happy today, but that didn’t mean Jake—Mr. Watterson—couldn’t be. And if spring was coming too slowly, she would bring it to him.

She knew he’d prohibited her from buying him things, but today she felt brave enough to disobey. Besides, she didn’t have any other option. She needed to fill her whole mind and heart with his affairs—or else risk wallowing in thoughts of Jimmy.

She rang the doorbell.

Jake answered the door with a scowl. He looked scruffy and tired.
I thought he was taking better care of himself
. She struggled to keep disappointment from showing on her face.

Betty lifted the plants in her hands in a slight shrug. “I bought some plants to cheer up the house. I know you said not to, but—”

“Yes, fine,” he growled, turning away and leaving the door hanging open.

Betty Ann stared after him, the corners of her mouth turning down. He couldn’t stand the sight of her.

She knew she wasn’t much, just a not-very-bright farm girl and certainly not very worldly, or intelligent, or well-read compared to him, but she’d started to think he was at least a little fond of her.

She licked her lips anxiously. “I-I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you. W-what would you like for lunch today?”

“Whatever.” Jake skulked into the living room. It was tomb-like and dark again. He was having a relapse of grouchiness, wasn’t he? He didn’t seem to take care of himself properly when these depressive moods struck.

She knew from Mrs. Robertson that he was a war vet, like many of his generation. She wondered if that was the reason for his dark times.

Whatever the case, she worried about him. It wasn’t right for a healthy man to hide in the dark, or never go outside. That was something a sick person might do, and she hoped Jake—Mr. Watterson—wasn’t really sick, just sad. Not that that was much better.

She prayed for him every night, and she’d thought he was improving.

Now he flopped in the first chair he found and slouched there, head hidden in his hands as though he was fighting a bad headache.

“I’ll just put these around.” Anxiety for him drove the thought of Jimmy from her mind, but it also made her clumsy and awkward.

With her third step forward, she tripped over the carpet, sending herself sprawling to the ground.

“Betty!” He jumped up with an exclamation, catching her just before she hit the floor.

Unfortunately, her plants were not so lucky. Most of them hit the carpet; bouquets of daisies, small potted cactuses and ferns spilled their dirt as they went.

“Oh no!” Betty stared down at the damage, wide-eyed. Her eyes filled with unshed tears. This on top of everything else! It was her fault for not being more careful. What must Jake think of her?

His hand closed on her elbow. “Betty, what’s wrong?” Real concern warmed his voice. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Betty shook her head. She could hardly speak. How could she explain how rotten she felt —with this on top of everything?

But he looked into her eyes. His brown gaze was intense with concern, and somehow surprisingly soft, yet with an intensity that didn’t let her look away.

His voice was gentle. “Betty, what’s wrong? If you’re not hurt, then you’re upset about something, I’m sure of it.”

“D-don’t worry about it. I’ll clean these up.” Feeling the need to get away from his too-knowing eyes, she moved quickly to a side-table, put down the plants that hadn’t fallen, then knelt and began cleaning up the spilled plants, pots, and dirt.

He knelt beside her, helping, reaching out to pick up broken shards of pottery. She managed to avoid his gaze.

“Betty, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to, but if something’s wrong—if…if you need help—I want you to know you can tell me. All right?” For a second, his hand lightly rested on her elbow.

She dared to look at him, then, and nodded, tears still in her eyes. But somehow his words made her feel better.

She got up and ran to the kitchen to fetch a dustpan and brush and then turned on the lights and opened the curtains, so they could see better; all without tripping once. They worked in silence for several minutes. After they finished, he rose, drew some money out of his wallet, and held it out to her.

She stared at it and then him. “What? I can’t take this.”

“Nonsense,” he said gruffly. “You agreed to let me pay for any plants you bought. They’ll cheer up the atmosphere in my house, so there’s no reason you should pay for them out of your own pocket. I earn a lot more than you, you know.”

“But that’s good,” said Betty. “You do a lot more than I do. I only cook.”

“Here.” He tucked the money carefully into her hand. His hand was warm and slightly soft, much gentler to the touch than it appeared. It looked like an ex-soldier’s hand, rough and strong and manly. “I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

He hesitated, seemed to be on the point of leaving, but then stopped himself. “Betty?” His voice held less confidence now.

“Yes?” She looked at him with wide eyes, wondering what he could possibly ask her that he’d feel self-conscious about.

He hesitated before he spoke. “How old are you?”

Betty smiled. “Twenty-two.” She answered easily; she’d never minded people knowing her age.

He blinked and then gave a small, distracted nod. “I’m…I’m sorry to be nosy,” he added.

He didn’t usually sound so hesitant.
I hope he’s feeling all right
.

Not wanting to let on she was worried, she brightened her smile at him. “I thought I’d make chicken and dumplings today. How does that sound?”

Depressed he might be, but she didn’t mistake the spark of interest in his eyes. He was still hungry; he couldn’t be too badly off!

“That sounds great,” he agreed. He followed her out to the kitchen, helping her carry the rest of the plants to the sink to be watered or re-potted. She would position them around the house later.

Right now, it was time to start the meal. Her mother’s chicken and dumplings were always better when they were slow cooked, and she thought hers were, too.

While she worked, she was pleased to hear him tapping on his typewriter, at first slowly, then more quickly and steadily. It was a nice sound to work by. Betty smiled and stirred together the dumpling batter.

When they were eating several hours later, she broached the topic of a job for her friend. “Do you think Mr. Armstrong might have any spare secretarial jobs?” she asked after almost clearing her plate of the soft dumplings and tasty boiled chicken.

Jake’s hand twitched, making his fork clatter oddly against his plate. He did not answer or look up.

She stared at him, wondered if he’d heard. “Do you think Mr. Arm—”

“Yes, I heard you,” said Jake, shortly. “I’m sure he does.”

He sounded rather nasty. Betty tilted her head slightly and looked at him, a small frown on her face. He finally looked up at her, and she saw his blue eyes looked clouded, upset. What was wrong now? He’d seemed to be enjoying the food. Maybe he didn’t like to be interrupted while he ate.

But it hadn’t seemed to bother him yesterday...

“Well, I wondered if you could talk to him about it, maybe recommend my friend—”

“Your friend?” exclaimed Jake. “Why didn’t you say—” He bit off the words and quickly took another forkful of food.

She stared at him. “Yes, my friend Mary. Didn’t I mention her? She needs a new job. She got fired from her old one, but it wasn’t her fault.”

Mr. Watterson seemed to have recovered himself. He raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps you don’t know the circumstances.”

“Oh, but I do,” said Betty. “You’re the one who doesn’t know the circumstances.” She stopped, embarrassed.
I’m being rude again, aren’t I? And not talking right.
“I’m sorry. What I mean,” she said awkwardly and slowly, “is that she explained to me what happened, and I believe her.”

Jake gave a nod and did not seem particularly interested. “I’ll speak to Matt, of course, but I doubt he’ll hire on the word of someone else. Even if it’s you.”

“I promised I’d try to help her find a job, since I know it wasn’t—” She stopped. “Well, I just know…”

“Perhaps you’d better tell me what the horrible thing is that you’re trying to avoid saying.” Jake’s eyes sparkled at her wryly, like a smile.

Betty found herself smiling back. She didn’t want to tell him, not really, but still she found it a relief to get the words out. “My friend was ac-accosted, if that’s the word I mean?” She wrinkled her forehead.

“Go on.”

“Mr. Kidd tried to—well, he didn’t act much like a gentleman. Mary wouldn’t have any of that, but Mr. Kidd got her boss, Mr. Vernon, to fire her.” Betty blinked, surprised by the succinct way she’d been able to put all that. Usually it would have taken her five or ten minutes to give that much information. Maybe Mr. Watterson’s terseness was starting to rub off on her.