Always (10 page)

“There you are, young lady.” He pushed the small pile of currency across his desk. “One week’s wages less fifty cents for those broken dishes we discussed.”

As Emily reached for her earnings, something familiar on the corner of his desk caught her eye. “What’s that?”

Mr. Groff perused the piles on his desk, squinting behind the thick lenses of his spectacles and pulling a handkerchief from his vest pocket. “What’s what, young lady?”

Knowing the man was half blind but loath to admit it, Emily pointed to the sheet of paper that had taken her attention. It was a menu, handwritten in Mr. Groff’s illegible scrawl. Attached were instructions. Printing instructions. She had seen those hieroglyphics on Mr. Groff’s print orders for many years.

Jacob Groff blew his nose and stuffed the handkerchief back into his trouser pocket. “New menus, young lady. New menus and order pads,” he replied, sinking back down to his chair with a rheumatic grimace.

“Which printer are you using these days?” Emily tried to sound casual as she deposited her pay into her handbag.

“Denton’s.”

Emily pretended to be surprised. “Denton’s? They’re fairly expensive, aren’t they?”

Mr. Groff snorted disdainfully. “
Sopperlut
! They’re highway robbers, but it’s them or Malcolm Davenport, and I wouldn’t take my business to that old
glutzkupp
even if he managed to buy himself a seat at the right hand of God Almighty.” With that proclamation, he picked up his pen, dipped it, and resumed scratching numbers in his account book.

Emily had to suppress a sly smile as an idea formulated in her mind. Her mother had already sold one job press to Mr. Denton, but Emily had pleaded with her to hold off on selling the second. Why she had bothered with this effort, she didn’t really know. As Karen seemed so intent upon reminding her, she was only delaying the inevitable. The lease on the shop would be up in six weeks. Inevitable or not, though, all Emily knew was that she couldn’t bear to see her father’s business slip away from them piece by piece. Not just yet.

“I see your predicament,” Emily said, starting to turn to leave, then stopping and turning back. “Mr. Groff, I just had a thought.”

The old man looked up. “Eh?”

“I know my father’s shop is out of business, but it just so happens we have plenty of paper and ink in stock, and Mother still hasn’t sold the second job press.” She tried to smile sweetly, even though she suspected such feminine wiles were wasted on this codger. His idea of supreme feminine beauty would be Miss Liberty on a ten-dollar gold piece.

“It seems a shame for you to spend more than you have to for those menus when I could probably do it for, say...” Emily raised her gaze to the ceiling to calculate. She tallied a figure ten percent below her father’s rates and twenty percent below what she knew Denton’s would charge for the same order. This would leave her only a meager profit, but meager was better than nothing. And it was a start, wasn’t it?

When she looked back at her irascible employer, her tone was flat and businesslike. “Three dollars, fifty cents.”

Mr. Groff raised bushy eyebrows, recognizing a rock-bottom price when he heard it. “Three dollars, fifty cents, you say? Does that include order pads?”

“Certainly. It seems a shame to let all that equipment and paper go to waste when it could be put to good use while we’re waiting to sell it, don’t you agree? The price reflects little more than the cost of the paper and ink involved. The labor would come practically for free, but that’s only because I know what a valuable customer you were to my father, Mr. Groff.”

“Hmm.” The man blinked rapidly as he cogitated upon these cost savings to his pocketbook. “You know how to run a press, young lady? I won’t stand for shoddy work. That wouldn’t be worth the paper it’s printed on.”

“Mr. Groff, I assure you, I could run that job press in my sleep. If the quality of printing isn’t just as fine as what my father would have delivered, I won’t expect one penny in return.”

“Not one penny, you say?” Jacob Groff thought about this seriously before his liver-hued lips rearranged themselves into an uncharacteristic but very shrewd little smile. “Young lady, you’ve struck yourself a deal.”

Chapter Seven

It was Saturday, not her mother’s usual washday, but ever since the funeral two weeks before, routine chores were lagging behind schedule. That was why, when the knock came at the front kitchen door of her family’s rambling stone colonial home, Emily was in the summer kitchen, working up a sweat as she scrubbed petticoats over a corrugated board inside a washtub.

Knowing her mother would get the door, Emily reached for a dolly stick to transfer the soaking garments from the washtub into the rinse bucket. From there, they would go into the wringer, then out onto the wash line.

At the sound of her mother’s voice drifting in from the front kitchen, Emily lifted her head, suddenly alert.

“Why, Ross Gallagher, forgive my manners. I’m just surprised to see you. Come in. Emily’s in the back kitchen doing some, uh—Well! It’s been quite some time since you’ve come to visit.”

Emily stifled a squeal of dismay. What the devil was Ross doing here? Horrified, she gaped down at her threadbare gingham housedress.

His relaxed voice carried to her ears. “...four years or more, I figure. It was a long war.”

“Too long,” Marguerite agreed. “What brings you by, Ross?”

The dolly stick clattered to the floor. Emily’s hands flew to her hair to find that it was half up and half down, with wisps flying everywhere. She rubbed her cheek with the palm of her hand, noting that it came away smudged with coal dust she must have picked up while lighting the cookstove earlier.

“...come to see Emily if she’s home. I stopped by the hotel, but... ”

Emily shot a glance around the room, her attention catching on the back door. Maybe she could slip out before—

“…she’s in the summer kitchen.
Emily
!”

Emily tried to think of a hiding place. The root cellar!

“Emily! Now, where in creation ...?” Her mother appeared in the open archway of the summer kitchen. “There you are. What happened? You lose your hearing?”

“I was busy,” Emily muttered. Her gaze lifted to find Ross, who towered beside her petite mother. Carrying a black derby in one hand, he was dressed neatly, though casually by city standards. Beneath his short coat, Emily noted a crisp white collar and knotted necktie. She felt her cheeks warm as his sparkling dark gaze ran over her from top to toe, taking in her dishabille with maddening amusement.

“What’s
he
doing here?” she demanded.

“Emily Elizabeth!” Her mother’s tone was one used all the world over to admonish obnoxious ten-year-olds.

Emily snatched a towel from the stone sink. “You have a reason for stopping by, Ross? Or is this strictly a social call?”

“I need to talk to you about something.”

“Really?” Emily threw the towel back at the sink. “Something you neglected to mention at the cafe?”

Ross smiled, apparently undisturbed by her surly mood. “It’s something that just came up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two alone,” Marguerite said, but Emily didn’t miss the
be-polite
look she shot her before returning to the front kitchen.

Emily placed a hand on each hip. “So, what’s so all-fired important that it brings you out on a beautiful Saturday afternoon? I would have thought you’d be spending time with your lovely fiancée.”

Ross didn’t flinch at her mention of Johanna. “I’m meeting her later. I needed to talk to you first.”

“Hmm. You sure don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Waste time?”

“Back only three months and already you’ve gotten yourself ensconced at the
Herald
and all set to marry Lady Johanna.” Emily’s words came out more biting than she intended. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You always had ambition.”

“Yes, I always had ambition. And so did you. What happened?”

Emily was struck by his bluntness. Perhaps she deserved it. She had blindly set out on the offensive, not expecting him to bite back. “What happened?” she echoed, her hands slipping from her hips to hang limp at her sides.

“You’ve been reduced to waiting tables in a hotel cafe. That’s not what I would have imagined for you four years ago.”

Emily paused a second to study him. He was strong, smart, confident, and heartbreakingly handsome. Success was written all over him. There could be no doubt about it, even if he weren’t dressed in expensive city clothes. It was in his stance and in the way he carried himself. It was in that determined, get-out-of-my-way glint that came to his eye whenever he was frustrated at reaching some goal. She suddenly felt more slovenly than ever in his competent male presence.

“Times are hard,” she said. “Money is scarce. I do what I have to do to help my family get by.”

“I’m not talking about money. I’m talking about you, Em. You had talent. When Karen told me you’d moved to Baltimore, I assumed that you were going to art school or that you were working for a paper.”

“You assumed wrong.”

“Then she implied that you were getting married.”

“Wrong again.”

“What were you doing in Baltimore for four years, Em?”

She held his penetrating gaze for as long as she could bear before looking away. “I did some volunteer work at the soldiers’ hospital.”

“You could have done volunteer work here. Why Baltimore? Was there a man?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your concern.”

“No, I suppose not. I just can’t make any sense out of your moving away.”

He knew
. The realization hit Emily like a slap in the face. It was difficult enough to brave the busybodies in town when she went to work. She hadn’t considered how she would face Ross when someone inevitably told him of the rumors that had followed her departure four years before. Incredibly shortsighted of her.

She forced herself to return the silent challenge in his gaze.
Go ahead and ask, Ross. Ask me if what they’re saying about me is true. But be forewarned, you might not like the answer.

For a heart-stopping second, she was sure he
would
ask, but then something changed in his eyes, a shadow of indecision that was there, then just as quickly gone. Some essential part of him had backed down, and Emily understood then how it was with him. He didn’t
want
to know. Not if the answer wasn’t what he hoped, and something painful squeezed her heart.

“I suppose you aren’t obligated to tell me if you don’t want to,” he said.

“Darn tootin’ I’m not.” Struggling with a confusing mix of hurt and relief, Emily moved to grab two empty buckets from beside the back door. “You still haven’t said why you’ve come.”

Ross followed her out into the sunny backyard. “I’ve come to offer you a job. If you want it.”

Emily stopped on the flagstone walk that led out to the pump shelter. “A what?”

“A job.”

Emily eyed him suspiciously. “I already have a job.”

He gave her an easy smile. It was the same smile that had been turning girlish hearts to mush since their schooldays. “If you want to call it that.”

Emily bristled at this. “It pays enough. What kind of job would you have to offer, anyway?”

“Not the kind that involves waiting tables and washing dishes.”

“Hmm. Like I said, I already have a job.” Emily tried to quash her traitorous curiosity as she stomped down the walk.

“Oh, that’s fine, then. I’ll tell Malcolm he can put a sign in the window. I’m sure he’ll have no shortage of applicants. Jobs are scarce these days.”

Emily stopped again. “The opening is at the paper?”

“The ad department. I know it’s not the most prestigious job, but a good worker could find herself promoted to something else in due time. Especially if she’s a talented illustrator.”

Emily could tell by his smug tone that he thought he knew what she was going to say. How annoying. “If you think I’d consider working for Davenport, you mustn’t know me very well.”

“Oh, I know you well enough, Em. I know you’re miserable waiting tables at the Blue Swan. I know this job probably pays twice as much as what you’re getting now, and I know you were born to newspaper work.”

Emily scowled and moved to the water pump, setting her buckets down with a clank. Before she could proceed any further, Ross had donned his hat and was at her side, stepping up to snatch the tin pitcher of water that sat by the base of the pump. “Let me.”

“You don’t have to help.”

“I know,” he said, pouring water into the barrel of the pump to prime it for use. “But can’t you just let a fella act like a gentleman every once in a while?”

Emily stood by helplessly as he set down the pitcher, then swept one of the buckets up, depositing it into the trough before working the pump handle.

“You’ll get your clothes all wet.” Her anger was beginning to dwindle despite her best efforts to hold onto it.

Ross grinned as the spout sputtered, burbled, then spat its first splash of clear, cool water into the bucket. “Since when did a little water hurt anyone? As I recall, neither one of us was ever scared of getting wet. You remember, Em?”

As Emily watched him stroke the old pump handle, memories rose up like warm, loving arms to embrace her. Memories of lazy summer afternoons spent in the wooded shade by a shimmering creek, her sketchpad on her lap, soft breezes caressing her face. And Ross sitting somewhere nearby with his journal, scratching away with a pencil until the moment he would look up, wearing a bedeviling grin.
“Hey, Em, you wanna take a dip?”

Ross stopped pumping, removed the full bucket from the trough, and replaced it with the second one. He looked at her, one hand resting on the handle. “You do remember, don’t you?”

Emily imagined that she felt those dark brown eyes penetrating her soul, and she frowned, averting her gaze. She pretended to swipe at a gnat. “I remember.”
Damn him
. He thought he could get to her by reminding her of old times. Well, it wouldn’t work.