Nadine nodded, looking satisfied. “Yes, that’s exactly right.” She rose, crossing to stand directly in front of him. She reached out and plucked up his hand, squeezing it between her soft palms just as Daphne had done not long ago. “And, Thomas, that is what you must do with Mr. Watson—look below his surface for the truth of who he is. Then you decide whether he is worthy of your support and admiration.” Releasing his hand, she left the room without a backward glance.
Thomas sat staring at the doorway where Nadine had exited, processing her puzzling statement. Look below Watson’s surface to the truth? He’d already done so, or he wouldn’t be involved in the campaign to elect him to office. The man’s stand that farmers should be protected went straight to the core of who Thomas was—the son of a man who made his living from what farmers sowed. Supporting him made sense. Didn’t it?
He rubbed his hand down his face, suddenly very weary. His day in the sun, combined with the emotional upheaval of the final hours, had sapped his energy. He was too tired to pick through Nadine’s comments for nuggets of wisdom. Pushing to his feet, he started for the stairs, and once more someone calling his name brought him to a halt.
Mildred bustled forward, her brown face wreathed in a warm smile. “Here you go, Mr. Thomas—a letter came in the mail for you.” She pointed to the upper left-hand corner and winked, her double chin tripling with her broad grin. “From a lady, I see. Someone special?”
Thomas glanced at the name—Belinda! Yes, Belinda was special, but not the way Mildred implied. “A friend from home.” He took the envelope and slipped it into his breast pocket.
Mildred seemed to wilt for a moment, then shrugged her rounded shoulders. “Well, friends is a good place to start,” she said as if reassuring herself.
Thomas allowed a chuckle and headed up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time. Mildred’s parting comment rang through his mind. Pa and Summer had started with a good, solid friendship, and he’d never seen a more contented couple. However, when he thought of solidifying a friendship, it wasn’t Belinda he thought of—it was Daphne.
“Ollenburger!”
Thomas jerked upright and spun around in his seat. The advertisement he had been checking for errors skidded off the desk and floated to the floor. He picked it up before replying. “Yes?”
The wide-eyed errand boy waved his hand, beckoning Thomas to the hallway. “Mr. Severt wants a word with you. He says for me to bring you to his office.”
Thomas placed a glass paperweight over the advertisement and followed the boy up the concrete steps to the main lobby and then to the elevator. His heart pounded. In the month of his employment at the
Boston Beacon
, he had never been summoned to the owner’s office. As the elevator operator tugged the cable, carrying the enclosed box and its occupants to the fourth floor, Thomas’s hands began to sweat. He shoved them into his pockets, hoping to remove the moisture.
The elevator groaned to a stop, and the errand boy slid the iron door open. “Come on,” he said to Thomas in an impatient tone, as if urgency propelled him. The boy’s shaggy hair bounced with his jogging pace as he led Thomas to a pair of double doors at the end of a short, marble-floored hallway. “He’s in there.” The boy spun and trotted to a bench where he seated himself, his hands in his lap and his gaze aimed straight ahead.
Thomas knocked on the right-hand door. A brusque “Enter!” gave him permission to open the door.
The hinges made no sound when Thomas pushed the heavy door open. In the center of a spacious room lined with hip-high bookcases and narrow windows that stretched above the cases to the high ceiling, Mr. Severt sat behind a massive maple desk. He bent forward, his thick eyebrows low, his hand busily scribbling on a sheet of yellow paper. Thomas hovered in the doorway until the man set the pen aside and looked up.
“Ollenburger. Come in. Sit.”
Thomas lowered himself onto one of the guest chairs, grimacing when the joints creaked with his weight. He resisted the urge to tug at his tight collar. Mr. Severt’s collar had been unfastened, its pointed ends springing out on either side of his face. His jacket hung on the back of his tall chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing thick, hairy forearms. Even though Thomas had visited the Severt estate the past two Sundays—Mr. Severt’s lone day off—he’d not seen the man in such an informal state. The sight made him want to avert his gaze.
Mr. Severt linked his hands together and rested his elbows on the edge of his messy desk. “How long have you been with the
Beacon
, Ollenburger?”
“Four weeks now, sir.”
“Happy here?”
The man’s clipped manner of speaking, as if he considered Thomas an intrusive stranger, created an unsettled feeling in Thomas’s gut. Given the time they’d spent chatting over his cook’s elaborate breakfasts in his ostentatious dining room, it seemed odd he would be so stiff and cold now. Maybe, when in his office, he saved his words for his articles.
Thomas cleared his throat and replied, “Yes, sir, I’m quite satisfied with my employment.”
Mr. Severt grunted, and fresh sweat broke out across Thomas’s back. Had he said something displeasing? Suddenly his boss thumped his hands onto the desktop, scattering papers. “Satisfied? In proofreading? Have you no other aspirations?”
Thomas swallowed. “Well, of course, sir, I hope to eventually move into a higher position, but—”
“Good to hear that.” The man relaxed into his high-backed chair, his piercing gaze pinned to Thomas’s face. “I must say, I haven’t regretted Daphne coercing me into putting you on staff.” He released an indulgent chortle, shaking his head. “She’s been able to keep every penny of her allowance.”
Thomas blinked. Daphne had
coerced
her father into hiring him? And what did her allowance have to do with anything?
“Not a one of the advertisements you’ve proofed has printed with an error. And the occasional rephrasing has met my approval every time. You seem to have a keen eye and a way with words—a worthy combination in the newspaper business.”
Still reeling from the comments about Daphne, Thomas didn’t reply.
“Harry has spoken well of you, and what I’ve observed during your visits to our home has substantiated all of Harry’s claims.”
His mouth dry, Thomas remained silent. Unease prickled the hairs on the back of his neck as he thought about the man observing him, forming opinions, while Thomas was unaware of the scrutiny.
“I believe I’m wasting your talents as an advertising proofreader. I’d like to offer you a position as editorial copy editor. The position means a considerable pay raise and a private office on the third floor. Better than the basement, hmm?”
Despite his earlier confusion, Thomas couldn’t stop a grin from growing. Even without the pay raise, the change appealed to him—if for no other reason than the view. All he could see from the tiny window in the office he now occupied was people’s feet passing by and an occasional pigeon tapping at the glass. He glanced toward the windows in Severt’s office. A touch of blue sky over rooftops and—he stifled a chuckle—roosting pigeons. Some things would be the same.
“So . . . are you interested?”
Thomas swallowed. “I’d be foolish to say no, sir.”
“Indeed.” He rose abruptly, pushing his sleeves to his wrists and deftly clipping gold cufflinks into place. Thomas looked out the window as the man hooked his collar, huffing with the effort. Then Severt snatched up his coat, jammed his arms into it, and buttoned it across his broad middle. Rounding the desk with a brisk pace, he ordered, “Follow me.”
Thomas trailed Mr. Severt out of the office. When they entered the hallway, the errand boy sat straight up, his hands poised to push himself from the bench. Severt ignored the boy, stomped directly to the elevator, and pressed the brass buzzer. In moments the elevator doors squeaked open, and Severt gestured Thomas to enter.
“Floor three,” Severt barked to the elevator operator, his eyes on the doors rather than his employee.
A few tugs lowered the elevator, and Thomas followed his boss down a hallway lined on both sides by windowless doors spaced approximately twelve feet apart. Severt walked directly to the fourth door on the right and opened it without knocking.
“Perkins!”
Thomas remained outside the door, peering into the room. He experienced a lurch of sympathy when the man behind the desk nearly toppled out of his chair in surprise. Obviously he’d been napping.
Severt jerked his thumb over his shoulder to indicate Thomas’s presence. “This is Ollenburger. He’ll be taking your position. Pack your personal effects, collect your final pay from the clerk, and be out by four o’clock.” Without waiting for a response, he whirled on Thomas. “Ollenburger, if you have any personal items at your desk in the basement, see to them now. Plan on assuming this office Monday morning at nine o’clock.” His face retained its stern countenance as he asked, “I assume you will be out to see Daphne this evening?”
Thomas’s face flushed as he sensed Perkins’ fierce attention. It was Friday—payday—which meant Daphne would expect to see him. He offered a nod.
“Very well. Make sure you thank her for her persuasive recommendation.” Severt thrust out his hand.
Too startled to do otherwise, Thomas shook it.
The man clapped him on the back and broke into a smile. “Congratulations, son.” He strode away, leaving Thomas standing uncertainly in the office doorway with Perkins’ hard glare piercing him and the title “son” echoing in his memory.
D
APHNE
HELD THE CURLING TONGS
to her hair, counting to ten to be certain the heat would penetrate enough to create a curl without singeing her hair. She slid the tongs free, smiling in satisfaction at the perfect coil that fell along her neck to join the abundance of glossy spirals.
With a scowl of concentration, she separated another strand and twisted it around the metal barrel of the tongs. Her maid, Nancy, had offered to do the curling, but Daphne had refused. She and she alone would be responsible for every detail of preparation for Thomas’s arrival. Her arms ached from the effort involved in curling her hair—for over an hour she’d been alternately heating and using the tongs—but it was worth it. Thomas was worth it.
Her heart skipped a beat at the thought of his name. As had become their custom since their walk through the botanical gardens two weeks ago, he would soon drive out, pick her up, and take her to dinner. Her Friday evenings with Thomas were unquestionably the best part of her week because he was all hers—no sharing with Harry or worrying about a servant eavesdropping on private conversation.
Sometimes she wished he would splurge on days other than payday, but he had the notion that he needed to send a portion of his pay to the church his family attended in a little town in Kansas, a portion to Mrs. Steadman—even though she vehemently argued against taking it—and then set back a portion into a savings account. He didn’t spoil her with gifts or take her to extravagant locations, and sometimes she puzzled why she allowed him to get by with it.
“Because just being with him is enough,” she admitted aloud. The scent of scorched hair reached her nostrils; with a cry of alarm, she jerked the tongs free. She’d completely forgotten to count! Clenching her teeth, she gingerly fingered the strand, then slumped with relief. Although it felt a bit stiff, she didn’t think she had done permanent damage. Determined to stay focused, she set thoughts of Thomas aside long enough to finish curling her hair.
But the moment she released the final spiraling coil and dropped the tongs onto her messy dressing table, she allowed herself to consider the evening ahead. A smile grew on her face as she recalled Father’s nonchalant comments at breakfast that morning.
“Yes, Daphne, you were right about the Ollenburger lad. He’s proven competent. In fact, he’ll be offered a promotion. I’ve been looking for the right man to replace that inept excuse for a copy editor, Perkins.” Father shook his head in frustration. “
You
would do a better job than Perkins has done!”
She had ignored the insult in light of his final comment.
“Yes, indeed, Ollenburger has potential. I see a bright future in store for him.”
A delicious shiver slid down her spine—how good it felt to have Father’s approval! But how she wished she could have been in the office when Father told Thomas the news of his promotion. Tonight she would insist he replay every minute, every emotion.
Stepping in front of the mirror, she practiced her response to the appreciation she was certain he would shower on her when he learned of how she had helped him secure a prestigious position at the
Beacon
. Convinced she had found the perfect expression of humble acceptance, she turned this way and that, admiring her reflection. The summer frock of buttery yellow silk, embroidered with delicate daisies and a lavender-winged butterfly, provided a perfect backdrop for her black hair and dark eyes. Certainly Thomas would be so taken by her feminine appearance in this beautifully crafted gown, he would melt at her feet.
Daphne sank onto the little embroidered bench at the foot of her bed, carefully spreading her skirts over her knees to avoid creasing the fabric. Pressing her cheek to the downy comforter covering the thick feather mattress, she closed her eyes and released a sigh of pure contentment. Such a wonderful future awaited her and Thomas. With Father’s admiration of Thomas’s work ethic, other promotions would surely follow this first one. In no time at all, Thomas would have the means to propose to her!
Popping her eyes open, she looked at the clock on the wall. Another forty minutes yet before he would arrive. She willed the time to pass quickly.
The moment Clarence drew the carriage to a stop in front of the Severt estate, Thomas hopped out. “I might be a few minutes, Clarence.”
The man nodded, the silver streaks in his black hair glistening under the early evening sun. “I’ll be here when you need me, Mr. Thomas.”
Thomas gave a quick wave, then made his way slowly up the long brick walk that led to the ornately carved double doors. In past visits, he had trotted to those doors, eager to see Daphne, unwilling to waste a precious minute of time with her despite the discomfort that worried at the back of his mind concerning their relationship. The more time he spent with her, the easier it became to ignore the twinge of doubt.