Isaac stood beside Charles, looking down at the production floor as hundreds of workers made shoes at a rate his father had once believed impossible. Like cogs on a wheel, everyone moved about in an organized way—raw materials, machine maintenance, packaging. They made shoes in every color and style, hundreds a day. The machines clicked and whirred, proof time was passing, bringing him closer to the moment when he would at last meet the one woman who had consumed his mind and heart for years.
“Your father got the better deal when the factories split,” Charles said, completely unaware of Isaac’s wandering thoughts. “Bradshaw’s factory isn’t nearly as nice. I heard they had to make major repairs this week just to stay open.”
“Good, I hope it shuts them down. It seems every time there is a new contract to negotiate, it is always Bradshaw we are trying to outbid. I wouldn’t be surprised if he is trying to convince Abel Fredricks to work with him. He’s probably dangling a carrot in front of Abel’s nose.”
“I don’t know how Bradshaw manages to make as many shoes as he does. His numbers are bound to top off before long. With the new repairs, maybe they’ll plummet. Besides, he’s getting older, and everyone says he’s a crotchety man with no one lined up to take over for him. I heard he threatens his employees. He tells them that if they so much as fraternize with a Campbell employee, he’ll replace them.”
“He may be stern, but we lost five employees to him last month. He’s doing something to lure them.”
Charles snorted. “He’ll crumble one day. Campbell will come out on top of this.”
“I do hope so. The man has caused enough trouble for us. If my father would let me do more, perhaps Bradshaw could be gone sooner. I could have us shipping shoes all over Europe.”
“You’ve got everything, and your father asks you for nothing in return. I wouldn’t complain so much. If I had a father insisting that I went bowling and watched the Buffalo Bisons, I would count my blessings. You’re always so restless. You should enjoy it, not spend so much time trying to find work to do or trying to figure out what happened between your father and Bradshaw.”
So much for Charles understanding. It wasn’t that Isaac didn’t appreciate leisure. But he wanted to know he played a vital role in providing for himself, and that his hands and brain were making a difference. And who wouldn’t want to understand why the company he worked for had split? But he’d never made any headway. No one knew what happened, and his father wouldn’t talk about it.
“Nothing wrong with a man wanting to earn his own way or understand the past,” Isaac mumbled, ready to change the subject.
“Keep trying to meet with Abel. Maybe that will open the door to more work for you. I’ve heard people talking. They say he’s a brilliant businessman. He knows all about stocks and the market, and the business he inherited is thriving.”
“If he ever returns my telephone calls, I’ll tell him you’d like to be his apprentice. Seems everyone is talking about him, but I can’t get a moment with him.” Isaac shrugged and stepped near the desk, pretending to busy himself with paperwork that didn’t involve him. He shuffled a few papers around, stacking them into neat piles. Orders, shipping manifests. He paused when an unopened personal letter fell out from among the business correspondence.
“Do you know a Mary Kensington?” he asked, tempted to open the letter right there and distract himself with its contents.
“No. Probably someone wanting a custom order. It’s ridiculous what some people will pay to have a pair of Campbell shoes made to their specifications.” Charles moved for the door. “I’d better get back to work. Your father is keen on you loitering about, but not me. And soon I’ll have a family to take care of.” He puffed out his chest, the thrill of his engagement still new and exciting.
Charles left the office and returned to the production floor, leaving Isaac alone to look again at the letter before tucking it into his pocket for later. A custom order was something he could easily handle, but not right now. The hands on the clock were at last approaching noon. His time for dallying was up. The Quarry Garden beckoned him to come and see the face that went with the words.
* * *
Laura awoke to sunlight streaming through her window, her dark dress from the night before twisted around her and the stagnant smell of smoke clinging to her skin. She sat up, stretched, and winced when her tight muscles screamed back at her, begging her to stay in bed. Tybalt tore at his breakfast, cocking his head when she forced herself to rise. Her rumbling stomach convinced her to leave her room. In the hall, before getting to the dining room, she came upon Mrs. Guskin dusting the sconces on the wall.
“Your father was in good spirits this morning.” Her hand stilled. “He said to let you sleep as late as you needed. I had no idea you’d sleep the entire morning away.”
“The walk home seemed much longer than the walk to the club.” She covered her mouth as she yawned. “I don’t know why he cares when I wake. Abel says Father is a brilliant businessman. I should have told him I know firsthand how good he is at giving orders.”
“I thought I told you to leave your sass at home.” She winked. “Did you enjoy yourself?”
Laura scrunched up her nose in thought. The night before had been new and intimidating, but she’d faced it head-on. She kept up with the music and giggled at the right moments, and when Abel brought her home, he asked to see her again. The night had been a success. She nodded slowly, still unsure how to put all she felt into words.
“You’re allowed to have enjoyed yourself, even if the night was your father’s idea.” Mrs. Guskin’s gentle words comforted her.
“I thought I did . . . I think I did enjoy it.” She groaned. It seemed nothing was simple. “I did enjoy it,” she said with more confidence. “It was thrilling. I’ve never seen so many elegant women in my life, and the men were just as fine.” For one second, she was back in the club again, looking around at the scores of beautiful people all laughing and smiling and free as birds with no cage. “It was like going to the theater, but rather than watching, I was part of the show.”
“And Abel was the leading man?”
“He stayed beside me the entire night. He was a gentleman.”
“Ah, so will you be seeing Abel again soon?”
Laura nodded, unsure why she felt any reservation over it. He’d been so kind when he brought her home. At the doorstep he put his hand on her waist, letting his touch linger as they said their farewell. Before she stepped away, he brought her a little closer and asked if he could see her again.
“I know we don’t know each other well, but I’d be honored if you’d dine with me again this week,” he’d said. And then he flashed his perfect grin, and her stomach filled with butterflies. She almost stepped closer and tipped her head up, like a princess to a prince. But when she went to put her hand on his arm, a small stain of dirt on her thumb caught her eye, and she wondered if he would want to kiss her if he knew she was still growing into the fashionable woman he believed her to be.
“I want to know him better,” she said to Mrs. Guskin. “And I want him to know me better.” Likely it was simply lack of sleep that had her confused.
“Excellent plan. Two people courting ought to ask a thousand questions of each other and spend as much time together as they can.”
“He’s going to take me out tomorrow night. We’re going to Valentino’s on Wellington Avenue. He says their Italian food is the best in all of Buffalo. That it’s equal to, if not better than, Chef’s on Seneca. It’ll be like a true trip to Italy. What do you suppose I ought to wear?”
“You could wear your beige. It’s flattering but not as ostentatious as some of your other dresses. I think you’d be comfortable in it.”
“I do love that dress. I don’t know why all dresses can’t be so simple.”
“It is a shame,” Mrs. Guskin said, almost absentmindedly. Laura looked closer at Mrs. Guskin. Something was different. Their conversation was light, but there were worry lines between her brows.
“Do you think it is too soon for us to be going out again?”
“No. A smitten man should want to see you any chance he can.”
“What is it then? Something is bothering you.”
“You are an observant girl.” Mrs. Guskin sucked in her bottom lip. She gnawed on it for a moment before saying, “Well . . . I . . . I don’t know how to tell you this, but I have a confession to make.”
“Did you tell my father about the letters?” Laura pressed her palm to her forehead. “Why? You know he’ll be furious. It’s over, it’s done with. He doesn’t need to know.”
“It’s not that. I would never—” Mrs. Guskin reached into the pocket of her apron. “I went to your tree.”
“I don’t understand.” It was Laura’s turn to stare like a dunce.
“You said it was in the part of the zoo that used to be in the park. I went early this morning and was able to find it. I was careful; I thought I might run into the zookeeper you told me about, but no one saw me. I hated the idea of you never going back, and I kept thinking about your letter friend. I worried that his response was just sitting there. I meddled, and I am sorry. I should have told you I was going.”
“You went to my tree.” Laura’s voice was breathless. “And he wrote?”
“It did take me a bit to locate your hiding spot. Seems providential that you ever found each other in such a way. I’d say the good Lord must have had a hand in it.”
“I know—it’s hard to believe.” Laura had often thought that a higher power must have known she needed a friend. She took the letter, holding it gingerly. “Did you read it?”
“No, though I wanted to.” Mrs. Guskin picked up her dusting again. “It’s your letter. Not mine to read.”
The letter dangled in Laura’s hand. She stared at it, afraid to open it. “I don’t know what to do with it. I am going out with Abel again. I closed this door. I already said goodbye. It’ll only hurt if I have to say it again.”
Mrs. Guskin held out her hand. “Give it to me then, and I’ll throw it in the fire for you. You can pretend you never saw it.”
“No!” She drew it to her chest. “I . . . I’ll take care of it.”
“Thought so! Go on, enjoy it.” Mrs. Guskin turned back to the sconces, but her shoulders shook. Laura retreated to her room, her treasure held tight. He’d written, and no amount of laughing from Mrs. Guskin could distract her from the fact. Like a bird in flight, her heart rose and sank, soaring high and drifting low. How could she ignore his words? But then how could she ever be done with him if his words kept coming?
She set the letter on her desk and scowled at it.
“You weren’t supposed to write,” she mumbled to no one. “You were supposed to go and live your life without me.”
Likely this was his farewell, she reasoned. She nibbled her thumbnail as she paced from window to closet, back and forth, mulling over what to do. Her eyes continually darted to the letter. “I suppose you are entitled to a farewell letter. I said my piece. It’s only fair . . .”
More pacing. More inner wrestling. More pull to open it. More fear. More longing.
Don’t be a ninny, she instructed herself, stilling her restless feet. Reading a few more words would change nothing. One more letter read did not make her unfaithful to Abel, with whom she’d shared no promises. In a swift motion she picked up the letter and settled herself on the window seat. Open curtains revealing the glistening green park below provided the backdrop for her final letter reading. It was decided. She would read his words and allow him his goodbye. And then she would stop thinking of him, and both would lead their own lives. This was the end.
No more waffling. She tore it open. Her hungry eyes raced across the page, skipping over words and freezing on others.
. . . Don’t say goodbye. That can’t be the right course of action . . . Agree to meet me, and let us find a way to go on with our futures without parting ways and never knowing each other’s names . . .
Meet me. I’ll be at the Quarry Garden in Delaware Park on Friday at noon . . .
He wanted to meet her. Oh goodness. He wanted to meet her!
“Mrs. Guskin!” She ran for the door, reacting rather than thinking. “Mrs. Guskin!”
“I’m right here. What are you fussing about?”
“I have ten minutes to get ready to go to the Quarry Garden.” Her eyes found the housekeeper’s. “Help me.”