4

“I’ll warn you,” Sally whispered as she opened a closet in the back room, “no one likes working on Martha Livingston. She’s a horrible gossip, and she likes to complain. The only reason I’m not worried about letting you take her appointment is that Beulah probably wouldn’t care if we lost her business.”

“Hopefully that won’t happen.”

Sally chuckled as she handed Amelia a pale pink smock. “Good luck just the same.”

“Thanks.” Amelia tied the smock’s belt snugly around her waist as they went back out.

“You can use Peggy’s station.” Sally pointed to a vacant pink chair. “She’s out sick today.”

Amelia, remembering she was still trying to fight off her own bug, hoped she wouldn’t share it with Mrs. Livingston. She quizzed the older woman about her hair expectations as she carefully tested the water temperature in the shampoo sink. Soon Amelia was gently but firmly massaging shampoo into the older woman’s scalp. It felt right to be doing hair again, but the whole while Mrs. Livingston talked nonstop. Some was just idle chatter, but the woman was also very curious, asking where Amelia came from in California and what had brought her to Rockford.

Amelia attempted to keep her answers as vague as possible, but while towel drying Mrs. Livingston’s hair she realized she might be missing out on an opportunity. “A friend of mine has relatives in Rockford,” Amelia said in a nonchalant tone. “The Bradleys. I’m not sure what the parents’ names are, but I believe they have a daughter named Grace and a—”

“You don’t mean George and Helene Bradley?” Mrs. Livingston said suddenly.

“Well, I don’t know if—”

“Their daughter’s name is Grace. They had a son too. But poor James died in the war. Not that long ago. He’d been a pilot in the Navy for a couple of years. A bit of a wild hare as a kid, but he turned out to be a very nice young man. Such a loss.” She made a tsk-tsk sound.

“Yes.” Amelia concealed her eagerness to hear more. “That sounds like the family.”

“So did you say you’re friends with Grace?”

“No, not exactly. My friend, uh, is related to the family.” In order to not feel deceitful, Amelia decided that her “friend” must be Jimmy. After all, he was related to the Bradleys—and what better friend did she have right now?

“So you’re spending Thanksgiving with the Bradleys?”

“No, no. I don’t even know them.” Amelia needed to backtrack. “I just mentioned them because of my friend’s association . . . and I thought they lived here.”

“Well, take it from me, Doc Bradley is the salt of the earth. You’d have to look far and wide to find a nicer man. But that wife of his, well, you can have her.” She chuckled. “Not that you’d want her. But to be fair, I’m afraid Helene can’t help her unfortunate disposition. It’s the family she came from. You know what they say: the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

“Really?” Amelia was starting to snip now, trying to stay focused on the haircut as she listened intently to each word.

“You see, Helene was a Jackson—they were one of the original founding families of Rockford. Made their money in copper mines. And when I was a girl, it seemed like the Jacksons owned most of the town.”

“Some of them still do,” the woman in the next chair said quietly.

Mrs. Livingston laughed. “That’s for certain. I’m sorry if you’re a friend of Helene’s, but that woman sometimes acts like she’s the queen of Rockford. No doubt she could buy and sell most everyone in town, but she doesn’t need to lord it over the rest of us. Doc Bradley certainly doesn’t.”

“Maybe it’s because his wife is the one with the money,” someone else said.

“I’m sure Helene keeps poor Doc Bradley in his place too,” Mrs. Livingston said.

“Oh, Martha, she’s not that bad,” Sally’s client argued. “It’s just that Helene is, well, as my Bernice would say, she’s a very straight stick.”

“She’s a hard-nosed, stuck-up snob,” Mrs. Livingston declared. “Did you hear what Helene Bradley did to young Jeannie Campbell last week?” She turned her head so sharply it nearly resulted in losing a piece of ear. “Helene heard that Jeannie missed curfew last Saturday, and she used that as an excuse to dismiss Jeannie from volunteering for the American Red Cross. Can you imagine?”

“As chairwoman, that’s Helene’s right,” the other woman said. “Though it is a bit harsh.”

“Since when does staying out late mean you can’t roll bandages?”

“Mrs. Bradley definitely has some high standards,” Sally said. “But I’ll give her this: she tips generously.”

“Maybe so, but did you know she didn’t speak to her very own daughter for two years?” Mrs. Livingston continued. “She was so mad that Grace married Harry Griffin I heard she wrote her daughter out of her will.”

“Why was she so mad?” Amelia asked meekly.

“Helene didn’t think Harry’s family was good enough for Grace. The Griffins live in Missoula. They’re firefighters. You know the fellows that jump out of airplanes to put out forest fires? Very exciting, I suppose, but Helene did not approve. Not at all. And she was fit to be tied when Harry got James interested in flying too.” Mrs. Livingston locked eyes with Amelia in the mirror. “James was the son that got killed in the war. The reason he went in as a pilot was because he’d been working for Harry’s family in Missoula. I heard he was a very good pilot. But I’m sure Helene feels that Harry is to blame for her son’s death.”

“That’s ridiculous,” the other woman protested. “It’s the war that killed James, and Harry is fighting that same war. Along with so many of our boys. If you want to blame anyone, blame the Axis. Blame stupid Hirohito and Hitler and Mussolini!”

“I know that well enough,” Mrs. Livingston said irately. “But Helene Bradley might not see it quite like that.”

“Was Mrs. Bradley on good terms with her son?” Amelia rolled the first curl around her finger, securing it with a pin. “I mean, before he died?”

“Hard to say. The truth is Helene Bradley isn’t on good terms with much of anyone. No one measures up to her standards. And from what I hear, she’s been more cantankerous than ever after losing her son.”

“I think that’s understandable,” the other woman said. “I’d be out of sorts too if I lost a child. No parent wants to outlive their children. It’s not right.”

“That’s true, but Helene was like that even before James died.”

Hearing them speaking so openly about James made it harder than ever to maintain her composure, but now instead of listening to them going back and forth about the Bradleys, Amelia knew she needed to focus on getting Mrs. Livingston’s hair properly set. To her relief, the old woman’s thinning locks didn’t take long to curl.

“We’ll just put you under the dryer for a few minutes,” Amelia told her as she wrapped the hairnet around the pin curls and led her to the dryer area.

While Mrs. Livingston’s hair was drying, Amelia swept up the station, taking care to leave everything there in even better shape than she’d found it. Then, seeing that Mrs. Livingston’s hair was dry, Amelia brought her back to the station and carefully removed the pins. She brushed and styled it, applied some hairspray, and finally spun the old woman around to face the mirror. “How’s that?”

Mrs. Livingston’s brows arched as she reached up to touch her hair. For a long moment, Amelia couldn’t guess her thoughts. Then she smiled. “Well, it’s different than the way Peggy normally does it, but I think I like it better. Is this some new California style?”

Amelia wasn’t sure how to answer, so she just nodded. “It looks lovely on you.”

“Thank you.” She patted the back of her hair with satisfaction. “I’ll tell everyone that it’s a California style.”

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I should probably go. I still have errands to run.” Amelia could see that Sally and the other beauticians had things under control now, and feeling like her head cold was getting the best of her, Amelia went over to Sally. “Thanks for letting me step in like that,” she quietly told her.

“Thank you!” Sally beamed at her. “I think Mrs. Livingston actually likes you—and believe me that’s no small thing.”

Amelia returned the smock to the back room, then came back to see Mrs. Livingston carefully pinning on her hat. “Do you happen to know where the Bradleys live?” Amelia asked quietly as she slipped on her coat.

“Oh, sure, everyone knows the Bradley mansion.” She gave quick directions. “On Oak Street. That’s just two blocks east of Main Street.”

“Don’t go before I pay you.” Sally looked up from where she was just starting to apply hair dye to a young woman’s roots.

“You’ve got your hands full,” Amelia told her. “How about if I stop back by here when it’s not so busy?”

“That’d be great! Thanks!”

Amelia had severely mixed feelings as she exited the beauty parlor—and it wasn’t just the shock of leaving the warm, bright salon to be hit with a gust of ice-cold wind either. As she buttoned her coat up to her chin and hurried down Main Street, she attempted to sort things out. On one hand, she was encouraged about the possibility of finding employment so quickly. But on the other hand, hearing about James’s mother . . . well, it was unsettling to say the least. Helene Bradley sounded like a witch!

Even so, Amelia was determined to find the Bradley home. She had no plans to speak to anyone. She only wanted to see it for herself. The place where James had grown up . . . and where Jimmy’s grandparents still lived. She was simply curious.

However, as she got closer to the neighborhood Mrs. Livingston had described to her, she could sense the affluence. The houses were bigger and grander and set farther apart, with long, tree-lined driveways and ornamental statues and ironwork. And, like Mrs. Livingston had said, the Bradley house was easily recognized. A three-story plantation-style white house with a large front porch and big round columns—it looked out of place in Montana. More like something from Gone with the Wind.

It wasn’t just the overall grandness of the estate that impressed her, but the fact that everything about this place looked like perfection. It was a very well-maintained property. It was clear to see that the Bradleys were a family of influence in this town. But based on what Mrs. Livingston had said, Amelia didn’t think Mrs. Bradley’s influence was exactly positive.

Amelia hated to imagine Mrs. Bradley’s reaction to the news that James had gotten involved with someone like Amelia. Besides the fact that her family was nothing to brag about, Amelia knew that someone like Helene Bradley would disapprove of having a grandbaby born out of wedlock. She would probably be so ashamed of Amelia that she’d disown Jimmy too.

Amelia walked quickly down the sidewalk that bordered the front of the property. She tried not to stare, tried to act like someone on a casual stroll. Although why anyone would want to stroll in this freezing-cold wind was a mystery to her. She paused by the hedge that grew alongside the wide front yard, taking refuge from the wind and a moment to carefully study the big white house. She wondered which window might have been James’s when he was growing up there. Or perhaps his room had overlooked the backyard. She also wondered why he hadn’t told her that his parents were so well off. Perhaps it was because she’d confessed to him about her sad mess of a family. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to come across as boastful and proud. Or maybe it was because he knew that his mother was a potential problem.

She was about to leave when a creamy yellow car came down the street and turned into the driveway. Seeing the face of a pretty young woman behind the wheel, Amelia couldn’t help but stare. Fortunately the woman appeared preoccupied with driving and didn’t seem to notice she was being watched. The car pulled right in front of the house, and the woman, who wore dark green trousers and a plaid jacket, got out from the driver’s side. A little girl wearing a fur-trimmed red coat leaped out from the other side. In the same instant the front door opened, a golden retriever dog came bounding out. The beautiful dog gave off some happy yelps as he ran back and forth, joyously greeting them. Then a tall, older woman with brown hair pinned in a sophisticated bun came out. She had on a plain charcoal-gray dress and was followed by a tall, white-haired man in a dark suit. They had to be James’s parents—she just knew it! Dr. and Mrs. Bradley. So dignified looking . . . so respectable.

As the older couple went out to meet the young woman and girl—they had to be Grace and her daughter—it looked like the happy reunion of a perfectly normal family. Nothing like what Mrs. Livingston had described. Dr. Bradley swooped up the little girl in his arms, then hugged the young woman. Although Mrs. Bradley was more reserved, perhaps a bit on the cool side, she acted eager to welcome them.

As the four of them, followed by the energetic dog, went into the house, Amelia felt a wave of sadness wash over her. Like a child with her nose pressed to the toy-store window, she felt she was seeing something she could never have. She would never belong to these fancy people. They would never accept her. Besides the fact that they came from two completely different worlds, they would probably perceive Amelia as the wanton woman who’d borne an “illegitimate” child. Someone who wanted to tarnish their deceased son’s sterling reputation. And, really, who could blame them? It sounded horrible.

There was a chance they might not even believe her about her relationship with their son. What if they saw her as a gold digger, just out to get what she could from the bereaved family? Even if they did by some chance believe her, they would probably assume that she had been the bad influence in the relationship . . . that she was the one responsible for bringing James down to her level. Wasn’t that how her own mother had treated her, back when her stepfather had taken advantage? Was Amelia prepared to face accusations like that?

Stifling the urge to cough, Amelia turned away and hurried back toward Main Street. She realized this damp air was probably not helping her cold. And she had a responsibility to take care of herself . . . in order to take care of her son.

As she walked, she replayed what Mrs. Livingston had said about the young woman who’d been kicked out of the Red Cross for missing her curfew. How much worse was Amelia’s situation? How could she possibly expect the prim and proper Helene Bradley to welcome her and Jimmy with open arms? Amelia suspected that even if she presented the marriage license application that she and James had filled out on that Monday—in the hopes of standing before a judge the next day—Helene Bradley would still condemn her. But James had insisted on her keeping the application. He’d called it their guaranty that they would finish what they’d begun on his next leave of absence. Just the same, she didn’t think it would make any difference for someone like Helene Bradley.

Of course there was James’s father. She remembered how he’d swooped the little girl into his arms, the way he’d warmly embraced his daughter. Plus Mrs. Livingston had called him the salt of the earth. Maybe Amelia would have a chance with him. Although she knew better than to come between a married couple—it backfired to set one partner against the other. In the long run, they would both resent it . . . and then they would resent her, and probably her child as well.

On Main Street she found a store where she could do some very frugal shopping. Just the bare necessities, more formula for Jimmy and some nonperishable foods to get her through the next few days, plus a small, much-needed box of laundry soap. Her only “splurge” was a bucket that cost a quarter and would serve as a diaper pail. Tomorrow she would need to wash diapers as well as attempt to figure out her life . . . and her next steps. But as she carried her purchases home in her shiny new bucket, she couldn’t help but feel she’d come to Montana on a fool’s mission. Such a cold place to feel this lost and alone. What had she been thinking?