After seven more days of nine o’clock rendezvous, Isaac, who had believed himself smitten before, was entirely, one hundred percent, head over heels for Laura. Yet neither of them addressed the sparks that flew when their hands brushed together, or the harmony of their laughter when an old memory came to the surface.
If today followed their quickly established pattern, and he hoped it would, they would begin by discussing Mary Kensington and the split in the factory. After all, that was their justification for meeting. Once any new details were brought to light, their exchange would take a natural turn and become delightful conversation, the type of banter and fun that he wished could go on unceasingly.
He paced back and forth, careful not to step on the bits of manure that had rolled down the side of the mound. The thought of going to Niagara Falls enticed him. He wanted to go, but he did not know how long these meetings with Laura would continue, and he couldn’t pull himself away from her—not yet. Her father could return at any time. Already he’d been gone longer than they expected. When he returned, everything would be more complicated, and the blissful tête-à-tête they’d been sharing could end. For now, he was more than content having an early morning rendezvous with Laura, followed by a bit of menial work for his father, and then finishing his days scribbling articles for the newspaper.
Writing was proving more fulfilling than he had anticipated. Where his father had often found him inadequate or not ready for a job, the editor of the paper was thrilled with his work, begging him to write faster. Frank Mapleton was already making a name for himself. The harder he worked and faster he wrote, the more money he collected for his efforts. He patted the pocket of his pants, grateful that the money in his billfold was all his own and ready to help him reach not one but two important goals—finding Mary Kensington and buying Laura a gift.
His father had stopped pressuring him to befriend Abel Fredricks and had taken over negotiations himself. Normally such an act of dismissal would have left Isaac fuming for weeks, but not this time. He was happy to wash his hands of Abel and let his father broker whatever deal he wanted with the smooth-talking man. It was simpler that way. When Laura asked about Abel, he could honestly say he knew little of the relationship between him and Campbell shoes.
Isaac held a slice of carefully wrapped pineapple upside-down cake in his hand as he meandered around the manure, waiting for Laura. When he’d asked the cook to bake it, she’d turned up her nose, declaring it an atrocious newfangled recipe. He’d had to go to the store himself to get the canned pineapple, a luxury that had excited all of Buffalo when the Dole company first started shipping them around the country. With the cans already purchased, he’d been able to convince her to try something new, but it had required begging and a promise to sneak in after dinner and help with cleanup.
It’d been worth it. The cake was delicious, mouthwatering in all the right ways. The idea of bringing a slice to Laura had excited him, but now as he paced, he worried she may find it an odd gift. He would have to keep a straight face if Laura asked how he knew it was her favorite. He forced his lips into a straight line, practicing his reaction, but that seemed too serious. He made a half smile. Drat, he should have practiced in front of the mirror before leaving the house.
The sound of the wheelbarrow bouncing along the brick path only increased his anticipation. He leaned against the wall, pretending to be casually waiting and not as wound up as a schoolboy anticipating the summer recess.
“Isaac,” Laura said as she came around the corner, her dark dress already soiled with muck. “I have news.”
“You do?” he asked, eager to hear what had her so flushed. “What is it?”
“I’ve been wearing old clothes of my mother’s. I didn’t want to ruin anything fancy or new. Plus, how would I shovel manure in a beaded dress with a low neckline?”
“I imagine that would be difficult,” he said, trying not to dwell on the vision that flashed in his mind.
“I put this skirt on for the first time this morning, and I could tell there was something in the pocket.” She reached into it now and pulled out a torn slip of paper. “Look here.”
He shifted his gift to his left hand and took the note with his right.
“Read it,” she said.
“‘Meet Morton at ten o’clock. Delaware Park.’” He read it again. “Was there anything else?”
“No. I searched through all my mother’s old clothes. I found a few coins and a grocery list, but nothing else significant. But this proves that they knew each other. I’m surprised I don’t remember him. But this is her skirt and her penmanship. She was meeting him.”
“I’ll tell Mr. Cannon about it.”
“Could I meet him?” she asked. “I’m worried. The zoo and . . . and seeing you every day has been good, but this note.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand it. And the other night, when I was out with Abel, something seemed, well, it seemed off.”
“Did he do something to you?”
“No, he was nice enough. It’s just that when I asked him about his business investments, something about his answers felt off. I could be wrong. I don’t want to cause a problem if there isn’t one. If I asked Mr. Cannon to look into Abel, would he do it discreetly?”
Isaac nodded. “He won’t tell anyone about Abel, or about this.” He looked again at the faded note in his hand. “I could pick you up, and we could go this afternoon. What time will you be done here?”
“I’ve been leaving around two o’clock. The animals are all fed and their pens clean by then. It might take me a few minutes to clean up. I’d rather not smell like animals at the meeting.”
“I’ll phone ahead and tell Mr. Cannon that we are coming together. I’ll come by your house at two thirty.”
“You can’t just come to my house.” She sucked her bottom lip, and he became aware of his own lips. Without intending to, he imagined kissing her. When she spoke again, her words were muffled by the desire he felt to take her in his arms. He’d felt the urge before, many times, but each day it grew stronger. He cleared his throat and waited for her to say more. “I’ll meet you at the corner of Florence and Parkside. We need to make sure no one sees us. We may have a truce, but no one knows it. Will that work?”
He nodded, his mouth too dry to speak.
“I’ll be there.” She pointed at the plate in his hand. “What have you got there?”
“I . . .” He forced the words out. “I brought you this.” He took the cover off and held it out to her. “We had pineapple upside-down cake last night. I am told it is all the rage. I just . . . I thought you might like it.”
“Our housekeeper makes this. We found the recipe in a Good Housekeeping magazine.” She took the plate, their fingers touching as it exchanged hands. A thousand fireworks exploded, even from so small a touch. Like a fool he stared at his hand. What was wrong with him? He’d touched women before, when dancing or escorting them about, but no touch had ever leaped straight from his hand to his heart like hers did.
“Thank you,” she said, looking past the plate at him. “This is so kind. It’s as though . . .” She shook her head slowly, an inquiry in her gaze.
In an instant he made a decision. He was going to tell her that he was behind the letters and beg her to give him a chance. How could he not when her eyes were so full of questions and longing? She had to know, and then together they could find a way. Where once he had believed it impossible, he now refused to accept such a conclusion. He kept his eyes up, never looking at their shoes—his Campbell’s and hers Bradshaw’s—not wanting to think about feuds or chasms. Together they would build a bridge.
“Laura,” he said, his shaking voice betraying him against his will. “After we meet Mr. Cannon, can I take you to Centennial Park on the lake? It’s quiet—there are paths and benches no one goes to. We’d be alone and without the smell of animals. We could talk freely. Will you go with me?”
She gave him the faintest bob of her head. It was all the yes he needed; he nearly whooped aloud. Today it was really happening. The truth would be out, and they could be more than childhood friends, more than allies. Her mouth drew him in again, the perfect curve of her upper lip, the slight rise at the corners. If they were more than friends, someday the longing to hold her, and to kiss her, could be a reality.
“When we’re there,” she said, the quiver in her voice matching his. “I want to tell you something.”
“As do I.” He looked past her. “Someone is coming. I can hear them whistling.”
She turned in the direction of the sound. “It’s Mr. Shaffer. Quick, go behind the mound. I don’t want him seeing me back here with you. Or sitting around eating cake.” She stuffed one quick bite of pineapple cake in her mouth before handing him the plate and giving him a gentle shove toward the manure mound. Then she grabbed his arm, pulled him back, and kissed him on the cheek all in one motion. “Thank you for the cake,” she said before pushing him out of sight again.
The pungent smell grew stronger as he crept behind the back side of the decomposing mountain, but he didn’t care. He was too consumed by the warmth of her lips on his cheek and the desire to run to her and kiss her in return. It was an urge he could not submit to, and so he crouched behind the mountain, alternating between holding his breath and gasping for air. He looked at the plate in his hands and berated himself for bringing her cake to eat near manure—so odd a pairing.
“Laura.” The zookeeper’s voice traveled over the mound to him. “One of the gazelles has his horns stuck in the fence. I thought you might like to come and help.”
“I’d love to.” Isaac could hear excitement in her voice. “I read about a goat who was constantly getting his horns stuck in a fence.”
“What was done for it?”
Isaac’s legs began to cramp from squatting. He shifted his weight, but it didn’t help; his legs still begged to be straightened. He could only hope the story of the stubborn goat would not be lengthy.
“They took a stick and attached it across the horns so he could not find himself in such a predicament again. I believe, ultimately, it is a better idea to fix the fence, but in the interim, it kept him from injuring himself. Or damaging his horns.”
“It’s an excellent idea.” Mr. Shaffer’s voice grew softer, indicating to Isaac that they were walking away. The last words he heard were, “I’m impressed with all your book learning. It takes real ambition to be so well self-taught.”
His heart swelled knowing someone else realized how smart she was. Convinced he was alone, he straightened his legs, wincing slightly from the rush of blood to his limbs. A quick shake and he was feeling better. He wanted to mosey over to the gazelles and watch Laura help the poor creature, but he wasn’t sure if he would be welcome, and though he felt no malice toward Laura for being a Bradshaw, he knew that if they were caught together, the rumors would make their unusual friendship more complicated than it already was. A truce with the enemy was a precarious thing to navigate. For now, it was best for him to go and pass the time on his own until he met her at Florence and Parkside later in the day.
* * *
Isaac stared at his pocket watch and then brought it closer to his ear. Time was moving so slowly, he feared it wasn’t working.
“Something wrong?” Charles asked.
“I’m not sure my watch has the proper time. What does yours say?”
Charles pulled out a simple pocket watch. “It’s just past noon.”
Isaac closed his watch and shoved it in his pocket. The time was accurate. Still over two hours to get through before he could fetch Laura. Trying to appear relaxed, he leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the desk. “If someone wanted to climb through a second-story window without being caught, how would he do that?”
“Are you planning to rob a home or seduce a woman?” Charles said as though this were an entirely typical conversation.
“It’s hypothetical.”
“Sure it is.” Charles humphed. “I must warn you, as your friend, that sneaking into Laura Bradshaw’s bedroom is not a good way to woo her.”
“Why would I do that?” He let out an uncomfortable chortle. “That would make me no better than a Peeping Tom.”
“You’ve been acting strange lately, so I wouldn’t be surprised.” He yawned and stretched. “Elsie has decided that with her mother on the mend, she wants to have the wedding in two weeks. She called me on the phone last night and went over every detail.”
“I thought you were going to be married the very day her mother left her sickbed.”
“The church isn’t available, and Elsie is determined to be married in the church her parents were married in.” He smiled; his cheerful grin rarely faded these days. “Maybe you should climb up a ladder, knock on Laura’s window, and see if she would consider a double wedding. We could get your parents to cover the expenses, and it would be a victory for all of us.”
“Clever idea, but she still doesn’t know I’m the letter writer.” He took his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “I’m going to tell her today. I’ve been thinking about it for a couple of hours. I can’t decide if it would be better to just blurt it out or to do some grand romantic gesture.”
“Are you certain she would want a romantic gesture?”
“No . . . and yes.” He shook his head. “I believe she would welcome it—I hope she would—but then she’ll think about the rift between our families, and I don’t know what she’ll do.”
“So she likes you?”
Isaac’s lips twitched. He tried to hold back a smile, but it rebelled, the memory too sweet and powerful to contain. “She kissed me on the cheek. That has to mean something.”
“My grandma kisses me on the cheek, and over on Hertel Avenue, the Italians are always kissing everyone. It means hello, goodbye. I think it can mean most anything.”
Isaac’s smile fell from his face quicker than a drop of rain in a thunderstorm. “You don’t think it meant anything?”
“I didn’t say that.” Charles shrugged. “It could mean something. It’s a shame your letter girl wasn’t someone else.” Charles rubbed at his scruffy cheek. “You wouldn’t have to do so much secret-keeping and guessing.”
“I can’t change her lineage. All I can do is tell her about the letters, and after that . . . I don’t know. There must be a way for us to be together. We’re so much better together than we are apart.”
“In that case, I vote you do something romantic. It may be your only chance, and it’ll make for a better story later.”
“You only want a story so you can be entertained while you wait for your wedding.”
“Two weeks would go by much faster if I was entertained.”
Isaac opened his watch again. Only five minutes had passed. But something he hadn’t noticed before caught his eye. On the far side of the cover, a few centimeters from the engraving, was a symbol, shaped like two small letters merged into one. The symbol was so small it could have been mistaken for a dent. “Do you suppose I could find the artisan who engraved this?”
“You might be able to. My cousin is a jeweler, and he always leaves a signature on his work so he can recognize it if it comes back. You should ask him. He knows most everyone’s signature.”
Isaac stood, watch in hand. “Do you have an address? I’ll go now.”
“I don’t know the street number, but it’s the jeweler on Butler Avenue. It’s just a small storefront. His name is Richard Carlisle. If his wife is there, she’s Rose. Tell them I say hello.”
“I will.” He left in a hurry, eager to do something meaningful while he passed his time. The moment his father gifted the watch to him, Isaac had known there was a deep meaning to it, only he’d never been able to decipher what it was. The gentle curve of the letters seemed innocent enough. But why those words? And why had his father looked near tears when giving it to him? Yet another mystery to solve.
Charles had an extensive family tree, branches of cousins, aunts, and uncles. He proved an excellent resource in times of need. And today he’d done well again. When Isaac arrived at the small jeweler on Butler Avenue, he was welcomed in with warmth. Richard didn’t look much like Charles, other than their matching smiles, but he seemed eager to help.
With a magnifying glass, Richard studied the signature, then had his wife, Rose, look.
“It’s one of Cecil Bonetti’s,” Rose said, her eye still near the magnifying glass. “This signature is a little worn, but it’s his. He’s never changed his signature. It’s been the same from the start.”
“Do you know where I can find him?” Isaac’s heart beat faster. He could see why Mr. Cannon enjoyed the quest for answers. “It’s important. I’d like to see him today if I can.”
“He’s not far from here.” Richard took a scrap of paper from under his counter and drew a map. “You’re about ten blocks away. You can’t miss it. Cecil does mostly watches. He repairs them and engraves them. He can get anything working again.”
“But your piece is working,” Rose said. “It’s keeping excellent time.”
“It’s the engraving I hope he remembers. I’d like to ask him about it.”
“He keeps impeccable records. There’s a chance he will.” Richard pushed the watch back across the counter to him. “It’s an excellent watch. Very fine quality.”
“A gift from my father,” Isaac said as he tucked it back in his pocket for safekeeping. “Thank you for looking at it. Charles was confident that if anyone could identify the signature, it was you.”
“Charles speaks too highly of us. This city is getting so large that there are new signatures every day. I can’t keep half of them straight anymore. I’m glad we knew this one,” Richard said. “Tell Charles hello for us. We’re looking forward to his wedding.”
“I don’t think a man has ever been so eager.”
Rose laughed, a birdlike chortle. “He’s excited about everything. It’s how he lives his life.”
“Even when he was small,” Richard said. “He’d fall and bounce right back up. Never stopped smiling.”
“It would do us all well to take a lesson from him,” Isaac said, thinking of the many times he’d fallen and stayed down for far too long.
He thanked them again before heading off to find Cecil Bonetti.