| |
When Arthur left, after tea and some conversation about his travels in Europe, his feelings about the poor, his belief in God, and his interest in Josie’s advice in his efforts for an establishment in Newport, Josie’s mother shut the door gently behind him and went to the window to watch him walk down the path and towards the Cliff Walk.
Josie clasped her hands together to keep from wringing them as she waited for her mother to pronounce her opinion of him. She was fairly certain that there could be nothing negative stated about Arthur based on the time he had spent with them that evening. Joseph was collected by his mother at the back door, as she was rather grubby from her work in the gardens at one of the smaller hotels and felt inadequate to be calling at the front.
Josie and her mother had admonished her on several occasions for that habit, but as she was more comfortable at the back door, they finally let it go and mentioned it no more. Josie was relieved, as it kept prying eyes from their visitor and gossip from spreading. What would anyone say about the Warren ladies having a fancy man over for tea?
A walk home, concluded at the front door, would cause considerable talk, Josie expected, but the length of time he had spent inside was worth quite a conversation that could be passed along again and again.
“Well,” her mother began when she turned from the window, Arthur having left her field of vision a good minute or two earlier.
Josie watched her mother’s face.
“I don’t suppose anyone could be that good, Jo, but we shall see.”
Her mother walked into the kitchen and took a wet rag from the sink, wiping down the counters and then the table, as she did when she was thinking hard about something. It was a mindless activity, and as Josie was well aware, those were the best for allowing the mind to wander. It made her nervous, her mother’s words as well as her actions.
What could he have done wrong?
She had been sure her mother was thrilled with him, but she knew that sometimes her mother surprised her. She was unpredictable and often kept her own counsel. It felt as if this might be one of those times, but then her mother turned and faced her, one hand on her hip, the other gripping the rag.
If it had been alive, it would have been strangled by now. She pointed at Josie with an index finger and admonished her sternly, as if she were still a child.
“That man might mean well, but he’s as charming as a prince and that is a dangerous thing. I can see how you look at him. And him, well, he couldn’t take his eyes off your pretty face. It won’t do. Like should stay with like, or there’ll be trouble in it for the both of you. Friendship is a fine thing, but he doesn’t have friendship in his eyes when he’s staring at you, and I know you feel something more than a friendly affection for him as well.”
Josie was shocked, so much so that she pulled out a chair and sat down, holding her hands in her lap to keep them from trembling.
“Now, now, I don’t mean to scare you but this is a serious business. I won’t have romantic notions getting in the way of you making a decent match when the time is right.”
Her mother brushed a strand of loose hair back from Josie’s face and Josie fought the urge to slap at her mother’s hand.
“But he’s wonderful. Look what he means to do for Joseph and his family. He’s done nothing disrespectful towards me, and I don’t think he will.”
Her mother sighed and walked to the kitchen window. She looked out, watching the sun as it slipped into the horizon, the pink and yellow and purple blending into a rainbow river that slid ever more sideways as she kept her focus on it.
“Just be careful. Not just with your actions, but with your heart.”
⁕
Josie was confused. As she washed up for bed that night, she was overwhelmed by the variety of thoughts and feelings that pulled at her attention, but trying to make sense of them all didn’t help. It only muddled it further. Her first thought was how much she wanted to speak with Arthur and ask him directly what he thought, but that was ridiculous.
He was so sensible, though, and she wished she could speak to the friend in him about the one she liked so much. She smiled at the thought. Arthur, what do you think about my interest in Arthur? Do you think he returns my affections, and if so, do you think it improper for us to spend time together? She wondered what he would say to that, what he would advise.
He would most likely say that social rules didn’t matter, if the two of them were happy together, that was all that mattered. She felt the same way, but she didn’t want to upset her mother, or be disrespectful to her regarding her opinion.
How did one go about disagreeing with a parent, after reaching adulthood and wanting so much to honor that parent as God commanded? It was a tricky situation, and only added to her worry about her mother’s observation about her feelings for Arthur and the plainness she made of them.
She wanted to disregard what her mother said about him displaying any interest in her, for it was a silly wish for her to think he might think of her as more than a maid and a helper in his venture. Or maybe not. She shouldn’t sell herself short. She wasn’t beautiful but she did think she had a lot to offer as a wife and a mother – she loved children and knew how to care for them, she knew how to keep a house and yard and how to cook, and she knew how to be careful with her money.
She was a quick learner and was generally very level headed, at least until now. It was getting late and she knew it was absurd to keep thinking about him, but she couldn’t seem to settle her thoughts down and rest. She closed her eyes and set her mind to Christ, asking Him to take her concerns and help her decide what she should do. She knew that she would act in ways that would please Him, but she wanted her heart to be in it, not divided between what she wanted for herself and what was right.
If her desires did not meet with what would please God, she would always choose His path, but she wanted so much for her wishes to be a part of God’s plan. Only He knew what was ahead for her, she reminded herself as she finished her prayer, and giving her life over to Him was all she could do while she waited for her future to unravel, a future with or without Arthur.
Regardless, she did know that his plans to help the needy were worthy of her time and attention, so she resolved to continue to listen to his ideas and offer her suggestions. The rest would work itself out in time.
She was too tired to sleep, she was certain, but as she gave up the control of her thoughts and worries to God, her breathing slowed and sleep overcame her, and she slept as deeply as one of her mother’s young charges.
⁕
Arthur was waiting for her when she arrived at his house the next morning; he had a stack of papers in his hand and a brilliant smile on his face. She returned his smile but it must not have been delirious enough for him, for his faltered and he looked at her quizzically.
“Is everything well with you? How is your mother? Joseph?”
She sighed and nodded. They stood on the steps that led to the back wraparound porch and then into the back door. No one could see them from the inside of the house, and the backyard was a bit sheltered from the prying eyes of neighbors.
Still, she meant to be careful and not bring trouble upon either of them. She wouldn’t give up on helping him with his plans but it would do no good to make it more difficult with gossip.
“She, he, they . . . they‘re both fine. What do you have there?”
His smile returned and he held the papers in front of her and shook them a bit. Or his hands shook with excitement, making the papers rattle in her sight.
“Can we speak of this, of my plans, before you start your work for the day? My mother isn’t even here; she has gone on a shopping excursion with the girls, so perhaps you can take a few moments and read what I have written so far. I am sure you have some wonderful ideas to add, or corrections to my own thoughts.”
She shook her head.
“After work, please. Even with your mother out, she does pay me to complete my work, and it wouldn’t be right to leave my duties for any of the other servants.”
Servants.
That’s what she was, she mustn’t forget it, and he was the son of one of the wealthiest men in Newport, in New York, even, and this was a friendship that had to be handled carefully if their work for the poor would come to fruition. The sooner they could begin the better, but if they ran headfirst into it without a care, it might cause problems that not only cost her position but delayed his efforts and much needed assistance that could make all the difference in the world to families in need.
Sometimes that one meal, that one recognition of self as a person of value, was all it took. She knew this from experience, from her and her mother’s own struggles to reach a point where they could fend for themselves with hard work and God’s help.
She wanted to rush out and offer her knowledge, her words of encouragement and prayers, and a cup of hot coffee and a sandwich to everyone she could, right away, but they needed to contain their excitement for a bit longer until they could figure out the best way to approach others who could act as patrons in their endeavor.
She shook herself with awe. Where did all of these thoughts come from? Last night she had been unsure, worried by her own romantic feelings, her mother’s insistence that she must be careful with her heart, but now, she was all business and concern for those Arthur and she could reach, those who could have a better life with a little help from their project.
“First Steps.”
Arthur was confused, clearly. She had been silent for several moments and he had let her sift through her thoughts, watching her face work out a variety of expressions and feelings, feeling himself as if he did not know how he had lived so long without her.
It was a hot rush of recognition, something he had never felt before but could put a name to without a second thought. He loved this girl as he had never hoped to love a wife chosen by his parents, which was the norm for marital partnerships, loved her as a companion, a friend, as one who would walk with him towards Christ and help him, as he would help her, continue to serve God and fulfill His wishes for their lives. Together.
He barely heard the soft words she uttered, quiet but firm, interrupting his own consideration of the complication he had only just understood. He longed to take her hands in his and ask her if she felt anything for him, anything approaching his feelings for her.
It was inappropriate to bring up such thoughts, but they were there, in front of them, between them as real and alive as another living being. And it was, he thought, for God has brought us together. He had to wait, though, for she was all business with her mind suddenly set on their joint effort; he would have to wait until they had progressed further with that and perhaps she would trust him more on a personal level.
She did like him, though, he knew that by the smiles she gave him, by how she allowed him to walk her home and to spend time with her mother . . . well, all of that spoke for something. Here she was, speaking to him, and he was so far ahead of himself.
He brought himself back, rooted himself in the here and now, the time he had with her at that very moment.
“I’m sorry.”
She smiled gently at him, as she would a child, and touched the papers with her fingers, holding them at the edge, close to his own hand. He wanted to drop the papers and take her hand but didn’t dare.
“First Steps. The name for our shelter, our program. That’s what it is, what we could offer. The first steps towards a new, independent life.”
She was clever, his Josie. He couldn’t help feeling a sense of pride in her as if he had any place to do so.
“That’s perfect, and you are right. And really, it was those children in Italy who set me on the path with my own first steps back home, back here, back to this.”
She was listening carefully to him now, attentive and observant.
“Back to the opportunity to serve. And to meet you. To find a partner in service, if you will.”
This pleased her, he could tell. A partnership, they were, despite what anyone thought. He wasn’t worried about the opinions of others, only that they might count on them to help in their own ways; if he could convince others with resources of the need to contribute something in their own fields, their own specialties, that would certainly add up to a lot that the shelter could offer anyone in need.
That reminded him of his offer to assist Joseph with the brace.
“About Joseph’s brace . . .” he began.
She held up her hand to shush him.
“I know you mean to pay for it yourself. It is very admirable, and the story of a discount, well, very smart. I don’t know anyone who would want charity, but a discount, a good idea.”
“My family’s doctor had an interest in medical supplies at one time; I will check into having someone come out and set the boy up with a brace that would do him some good over the next few years. With an early start at correction, he might walk just like any other boy by the time he is old enough for any real teasing and trouble to begin.”
She gazed at him, unsmiling, deep in thought, as if she was carefully weighing every word that he said. And knowing her, she was. She smiled and looked down, suddenly flushed.
“What is it? Did I say something wrong?”
She took his hand in her own, very carefully, her touch soft and tentative. It was clear that she was worried how he would perceive this gesture. He made a firmer grip of their connection and she looked up at him, rewarding him with a smile that made him catch his breath.
“You are a very good man, Arthur Davenport. I hope I won’t disappoint you.”
⁕
He couldn’t imagine how she could ever do such a thing and was about to say so when the door opened behind him and they both turned their heads from each other to the furious figure in the doorway glaring at them.
“Arthur, inside now. Miss Warren, you are dismissed from my service. Leave my property at once.”
The two still held hands, each gripping the other tightly in light of the impossible words that had come out of Mrs. Davenport’s mouth. It was Josie who first found her voice, dropping her head and Arthur’s hand at the same time.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She turned away from him and he caught her by the arm, not willing to let her walk away so easily. They had plans; there was so much they were going to do together. He refused to let his mother get in the way of their future.
When she looked at him sideways, pulling her arm away from him, he saw the tears standing in her eyes, tears she refused to release in his mother’s presence, and realized that for her this was more than a meeting place for them to discuss their plans for the shelter.
This was her livelihood, her means to provide for herself and her mother. What would she do without the income? What had his impetuousness, his desire to see her, to talk with her, this morning, done?
He let her go, considering his selfishness, and stood still, watching her walk away, down the path to steps to the Cliff Walk that led to the short dirt drive to her modest home, where she would be obliged to explain to her mother how her income had been lost, all because some spoiled rich boy insisted on meeting her in such a conspicuous place without any consideration for her.
He heard his mother speaking to him, her voice rising in indignation at being ignored. He didn’t care. All he cared about was making this right for Josie and her mother, but he knew they would not accept money, in spite of his abundance of it and the fact that it would be no loss to him. He knew the two of them had struggled to keep themselves afloat, and their experience would be an excellent example for those who came for help to the shelter.
Their ability to cope with disappointment, hard work, and the continuance of their faith would speak to the hope that was available to all who were willing to work hard, move past defeat, and hold fast to the path to Christ. He needed them to make the shelter a success; he needed Josie because he did love her, he wanted to be with her and hear her laugh, he needed her encouragement, her wisdom.
He walked past his mother, who had stopped talking in amazement at her son’s behavior. He seemed as if he couldn’t see or hear her, so lost he was in some sort of daze over that girl. She should have known the girl was too smart for her own good.
She had hoped to promote her one day, after she had proven herself over the years and had grown out of the self-important ideas that the children all seemed to have nowadays. What was the world coming to?
She had no idea, but she did know that she wasn’t going to let the girl ruin her son’s life. She would make sure Josette Warren would not find employment in any home on this side of the town. She could stay on her side, away from Arthur, who needed to focus on following in his father’s footsteps.
If he persisted in this idea of hands-on charity work, he might be persuaded to assist in church in other ways that would not take up the majority of his time and still fulfill whatever this interest was he had in the less fortunate. Surely this Warren girl was a negative influence on him in that regard; perhaps she had been whining about her own plight or that of her neighbors, all and any of which could be relieved by their own church brethren.
The thought of her son getting his hands dirty on such an activity, well, it made her skin crawl. The unwashed masses were not a personal problem for him and she was still appalled that he would have come up with such a thought.
As she considered who she must contact to get the information along that Josette was not fit for service, her son, who had stomped in the house and up the stairs while she was wrapped in her thoughts, sat in his room at his desk with his head in his hands. He and his sisters had been invited to a variety of entertainments in the neighborhood, none of which interested him.
He was becoming a topic of conversation, his sisters chattered to him, or rather, his absence from social events was becoming that topic.
He didn’t care.
What mattered was reaching Josie in a safe place where she would listen to him, and they could find a way to make this work while allowing her to earn the money she needed to help her mother with living expenses. He couldn’t just walk over to her house and demand that she speak to him; she needed some time to discuss the issue with her mother, to recover from the brash treatment his mother had thrown at her, to hopefully still find a place in her life for him.
That is what he really wanted, not only a partner in his work at the shelter, but a place in her life. He focused his thoughts as he kept his eyes closed, his head cradled in his hands.
Please, God, if it is your will, I would have Josie as a helpmate in all things. Please keep her and her mother safe, and give me the wisdom to figure out how to set this right with her.
He almost laughed out loud as he finished his silent prayer, for at that moment he realized that he had never known that he had been missing Josie until he met her. He had been walking alone in his life until he found God in the poor children in Italy, and God had brought the two of them together to continue their walk.
His feelings of inadequacy, his selfishness, his desire to have and do more than others . . . these were all manifestations of the emptiness in his life, the void beside him where Josie would be.
He needed to give her time, though, he owed her that private time with her mother, and alone as well. He wanted so much to run after her, to apologize, to assure her that all would work out well, that he wouldn’t let her and her mother go without. Words, words . . . he had to do something to show her he understood how his selfishness had affected her.
He had to be true to his word in regard to Joseph, and that was a matter he could take care of that very day rather than wait around brooding and wasting precious time. The earlier the child had that brace fitted to his leg, the sooner the healing would begin, and the sooner he made efforts to put the well being of others ahead of his own wants, the sooner his own transformation could be visible, accessible to others who might be moved to take a serious look their own lives, at the lives Christ offered them instead.
He stood up and shook the ennui from himself as if it were a heavy, dark cloak. His mother waited for him at the bottom of the stairs as if she could stop him, but the determined look on his face made her keep her mouth shut. She didn’t understand what had happened to her son, who had always been motivated by recreation, money, leisure . . . some poor children a world away and now, this servant girl, had changed him in ways she could not imagine.
It was as if he were a changeling child. A part of her admired this new determination, this will that was so becoming in a man, but it would have been easier to take if it had a more respectable bent, perhaps a vested interest in the yacht club or in furthering his education with an internship at a bank, something that she could brag about to her neighbors.
Speaking of those neighbors, she had been militant about speaking with the two on either side of her right away, making sure the maids were close by so they could hear as well. They would do the work of spreading the word about Josette for her. The key word was ‘seductress,’ and while Mrs. Davenport felt a small twinge of guilt for the use of such a negatively charged word, she did mean it in a figurative sense, but she failed to make the distinction to the shiny-eyed women who tittered with interest as she told her story.
It was a lie, she would acknowledge later, although she hadn’t meant it to be one, and by the time it reached the other side of town Josie had become not only a seductress but a common slut and a destructor of respectable young men’s reputations. It was a small town and it did not take long for tales to reach Josie’s own neighbors, who were incredulous and reluctant to share the information with the girl in question.
It had to be done, though, if it was to be countered, and if they knew Josie and Mrs. Warren as they thought they did, both women would counter the rumor like prize-fighters in a boxing ring.
⁕
Mr. Davenport’s physician was a man of few words and very little curiosity, but the request young Arthur Davenport made of him was extremely unexpected. The boy had come unannounced, without an appointment, and offered a rather handsome sum of money to accompany him to a home on the other side of town, where many of the year-round folk lived.
His desire for the payment was not more than his concern for the child Arthur described, and he did have some spare time that afternoon to pay a visit. Arthur gave him the address and the name of the caretaker, a Mrs. Warren, and gave him a payment in advance for his time and trouble.
“Send a note ‘round afterwards, if you will and let me know the details of the treatment, including the price, but don’t mention money to Mrs. Warren, or ah, any other adults who might be present.”
Dr. Colt found the entire situation a great relief from the general monotony of the usual complaints he treated: sunburn, exhaustion, insect bites, among a bevy of nervous ailments that really were attempts to get attention from someone or other. The Davenports were usually just part of the general social crowd here, nothing different or interesting about them, rather predictable in their behavior and cookie-cutter tastes, so this was of prime interest.
He wondered why this lame child merited the attention of one of the Davenport clan. Could the boy be his natural son? No, he decided as he calculated where the younger Davenport had spent the last few years.
“I must be able to count on your discretion for now, if you please, Dr. Colt. This family is rather proud and would not like to know that I am accepting the bill on their behalf.”
The older man nodded in understanding.
“Of course. My work is always confidential and I will absolutely concentrate my efforts on the best way to assist the child in improving his condition.”
Arthur seemed distracted and yet still very pleased with the doctor’s assurances. Dr. Colt was stunned with the realization that the boy had seemed to age into adulthood overnight. It was refreshing, but there was a sadness to him that made the doctor wonder what had caused this change in personality. He supposed that he would find out, either during this visit or after.
Either way, here was a chance to help someone who actually needed him, needed his expertise and his training, rather than someone who merely needed a cold compress and attention. He straightened himself taller as he watched Arthur step out of his front door and turn down the street, relieved to be someone of true value to the family he was about to meet.
Josie had walked home in a stupor, the humidity in the air like waves in front of her face, her steps unsure and shaky. What would she tell her mother, and what could she make of it herself? It wasn’t Arthur’s fault, but she couldn’t help thinking that if he hadn’t waylaid her at the back door she would be folding laundry at the Davenports’ right now, instead of stumbling home to explain to her mother that she had been sacked.
Her mind worked furiously at other options for employment. Some of the other cottage owners had been in need of maids and garden help this summer, so she could apply to them, and there might be some openings for shop girls downtown. She would have to go back out this afternoon to pursue these avenues. For now she had to face her mother, as well as her own anger over her dismissal.
She stopped in front of her front door, her hand on the knob, listening to the sounds of children chattering and laughing. They would not be able to continue to take care of the children at the amount her mother was earning for keeping them, as she did so at a discount to the parents in order to make it affordable so they could work.
Without that option, the mothers could not work, and so Josie’s dismissal would have a terrible domino effect, not only on her own living conditions but that of several neighborhood families. Her mother, too, what would she do, without the children to care for, as there really was no other option, with her back troubles?
She couldn’t work for someone else, in a shop, or private home, with the expectations of physical labor that came with almost every position. Josie knew she would have to be willing to accept any position regardless of what her mother said or her comfort level with the responsibilities it might entail.
She had to keep her mother at home, and if at all possible, working by caring for these children, who had become precious to her, as well as helping to keep so many families employed. It was unbelievable, how one small action on her part, speaking to Arthur, could ultimately involve the fate of so many people. She blinked back tears of frustration as she pushed the door open, only to be greeted by smiles and squeals from the children, who rarely saw her, and the questioning gaze and confusion of her mother, who sat on the sofa with a toddler on each knee.
“Josie, what are you doing here this time of day? Is everything all right? Is Mrs. Davenport well?”
She couldn’t explain the situation in front of these shining, pink faces, chubby cheeks, tiny fingers that plucked at her dress as she stood there, tears threatening to spill out and over, tears that she was afraid would not stop if she let them fall. This would not be easy, whether she told her mother now or later. The details could wait, but she had to speak now, and then move on to look for a new job.
“I’m no longer needed at the Davenports’.”
It was such a simple statement, but what it did to her mother’s expression, even with the soft tone and lack of emotion with which it was delivered, was not what Josie had expected. She thought her mother would be worried, angry, upset . . . at her or at Mrs. Davenport, or both, but the older woman looked unflinchingly at her for a full minute before speaking.
“Do you have a plan to remedy this?”
Josie nodded. Her mother was calm in the presence of the children, which worked well on Josie’s own ferocity of feelings as she fought to maintain her composure.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m just going to wash up a bit after that walk, and then go back out to see what I can arrange.”
Her mother gently caressed the tiny fingers of a little girl as they rested in hers, the child watching her face carefully.
“Be careful. And be particular. We will talk about this later, when the children have gone home. Don’t be out later than that. And bring yourself something to eat, if you mean to go on until you find something definite. You may be out longer than you think.”
It wasn’t reassuring but it was true. Josie was aware that so little work was available, and without an excellent reference, which she did not expect from Mrs. Davenport after the way the woman had hissed at her only an hour or so earlier, it would be difficult to compete, especially since her experience was limited to house work.
She was willing to learn, though, and hoped, prayed, it would be enough for someone to give her a chance.