Circled Heart (12 page)

“I don’t intend to let him, May, and I will be careful. But he’s awfully handsome, isn’t he?” I gave her a broad wink that brought a smile to her face.

“Handsome don’t pay the bills, Johanna.”

We were talking practically in whispers so we couldn’t be heard downstairs, and I stepped back toward her long enough to respond, “No, it doesn’t. You’re absolutely right. But since I can pay my own bills, I’ll just enjoy his company without worrying about his intentions.”

“You’re so sure his intentions are honorable?”

I had to laugh at that. “Oh, I hope not, Mayville. I sincerely hope not.”

For a moment I knew I’d surprised her and then she gave a laugh, too, and made a shooing motion with her hands. “Johanna, you look like your mother but you’re your grandmother all over again. Go on now.” Complimented twice, I grinned and went downstairs.

Drew Gallagher had too much experience with women to allow anything but a pleasant smile to show on his face when he first saw me, and I had to laugh at myself. Had I expected him to clutch his heart and fall to his knees, overwhelmed by my metamorphosis?

After his courteous greeting, he paused, then narrowed his eyes at me. “What devious thoughts caused that expression just now, Miss Swan?”

“What expression?”

“You have a disconcerting and nearly rude way of appearing privy to a joke that no one else shares. I’ve seen it before on your face. Is my tie crooked? Am I missing a button? Tell me now, please, before we go out in public.”

I preceded him out onto the front porch. “Mr. Gallagher, I can’t imagine that any part of your attire is ever less than exactly right for the occasion. That’s not likely to happen with a man like you.”

“Which means what?”

“I have never seen you anything but perfectly dressed and in control, but even if you weren’t, I don’t believe you’d care. You are a man with a great deal of confidence in his own opinions and his own taste. Regardless of what the world believes, you will always think you’re right.”

He took my elbow to guide me gracefully into the front seat of his automobile, commenting as he leaned closer, “That’s the pot and the kettle if ever I heard it. Anyway, I was right about you wearing black, wasn’t I?” Although I couldn’t see the expression on his face, I was content with the words. He’d noticed after all.

On the way downtown, Drew Gallagher made easy small talk. “My brother loved this motorcar, but he never drove himself anywhere. Fritz always chauffeured him. I hope you’re not bothered by the fact that I left Fritz behind.”

“Not at all. I’m past the age of needing a chaperone. You drive with enjoyment.”

“I admit that I like the feel of the wheel under my hands. I predicted early on that the automobile would be the invention of the century.”

“More so than the airplane or the moving picture?”

“They have potential, too, but the automobile will open up the world for people, get them out of their everyday lives. It offers real freedom.”

“This one does, anyway,” I observed, running my hand over the interior. “It’s the quietest vehicle I’ve ever ridden in and certainly the most luxurious.”

“Douglas never did anything second class.”

“A Gallagher trait, I’d say. You don’t appear to be a person who’d settle for anything other than the best either.”

“We were raised to believe that happiness could be bought, and Douglas, despite—or maybe because of—his pragmatic nature never doubted that.”

“But you did?”

“I wanted to believe it was that easy, but I never saw the proof of it, not in my parents’ lives and not in my brother’s. In fact, with the years I’ve become more and more convinced that as trite as it sounds, money really can’t buy happiness.”

“I wonder.”

We pulled up to the curb directly in front of a handsome red-brick building with the words The Clermont engraved in elegant script on a small sign over the front door. Drew Gallagher turned to look at me.

“You wonder what? If money can buy happiness? I’m surprised at that. You seem almost too altruistic and charitable for your own good, and I thought you would agree with the sentiment.”

“I’ve seen too many poor and desperate souls, I suppose, so I know not having money doesn’t make one happy either. Perhaps it’s more about how you use your money than how much of it you actually have.”

He started to respond, but his door was opened by a young man at the curbside who said, “Good evening, Mr. Gallagher. I’ll take her from here.”

When Gallagher came around to my side and gave me his hand to help me out, I murmured, “Thank you. I’m relieved to know he was talking about the automobile and not me.”

He laughed and answered easily, “I’ve been looking forward to an evening in your company for several days, Miss Swan. I have no intention of sharing you with anyone else.”

I ignored the remark and pretended I wasn’t flattered by the comment, but inwardly I was surprised and warmed. May was right. If I wasn’t careful, this charming man could very well break my heart. His words may or may not have been sincere, but I was as susceptible as any woman to flattery. Combining business with pleasure was more difficult than I anticipated.

The Clermont was larger than its exterior predicted with plain walls, fine oak tables covered with pristine white linen, and electric wall lights that gave the room an unusual muted glow. A man met us inside the front door, approaching with a faint smile to shake Drew Gallagher’s hand vigorously.

“Mr. Gallagher, what a pleasure to see you! It has been too long. Please accept my condolences at your brother’s tragic death.”

“Thank you, Mario.”

Perhaps sensing Gallagher’s wish to change the subject, Mario smoothly continued, “I have your table ready for you and the young lady.” He turned to me long enough to say, “Good evening, Miss. Is this your first visit to the Clermont?” At my nod, he smiled. “Then welcome, and do not hesitate to let me know if there is any service I can offer you this evening.”

We followed him to a corner table set with gleaming silver and a small vase of delicate white flowers. Mario made a show of pulling my chair out with a flourish, offered me another compliment, and followed that with a small speech to Gallagher about his sincere desire to make our evening memorable. When he departed, I looked up and found my companion’s gaze on me from across the table.

“The food here is superb and although Mario may tend to excess, he’s very good at what he does, Miss Swan.”

“I would never be so foolish as to doubt your culinary judgment and please call me Johanna.”

“In exchange for Drew then.”

“Never Andrew?”

“Never.”

Mario filled our wine glasses after we reviewed the menu and placed our orders, and when he left, Drew raised his glass toward me.

“To business, Johanna.” I wasn’t sure if he was giving a casual toast or directing me to get to the point of the evening. “I know by the tone of the note you sent that you want something from me and you have devised a plan to get it.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself, then closed it abruptly and waited another moment before I spoke. “Yes and yes. I do want something from you and I do have a plan, but I believe my request will be so reciprocal an arrangement that you will thank me for the idea.” I went on to explain Betsy’s desire to share arrangements with Henrietta. “You must have a place for a good worker somewhere, Drew. Betsy’s young and bright and willing to work. She can do almost anything, sew, pack, slice, sweep, whatever, and she’s motivated to support her daughter by working as much and as hard as she can. The best part for you is that she’ll be more productive in her job because she won’t have to worry about her baby during the day. The two women can take care of themselves and their children, earn a living, stay independent, keep off the streets, maintain their self-respect, and help add to your profits. Don’t you agree it’s a perfect plan?”

In his usual attentive way, he had set down his glass to focus on me and my words, listening carefully but without expression. When I was done, he didn’t answer at first. Finally he stated, “If it were Douglas sitting here, he would tell you that he was a capitalist, not a social worker.”

“If it were Douglas, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, absolutely. Until he spied me on the deck that last night, he hardly noticed me, didn’t even know my name. He recalled I was from Chicago because he’d been introduced to Grandmother, and I was on deck with her. And you’re not your brother anyway, so why digress? I know you own enough industry to need workers. Why not hire someone who comes highly recommended?”

“By you?”

“Yes, by me.”

He had picked up his wine glass and was swirling the wine slowly as he sat looking down at the table, not speaking, hopefully pondering what I’d suggested. Mario, invisibly bidden, appeared to refill both our glasses.

After he left, Drew Gallagher said, “I’ll think about it. I may have a plan of my own.”

“What kind of plan?”

“I’ll let you know.” His tone told me he was done with the topic for a while, a circumstance that forced me to control my impatience. Drew noticed and smiled gently. “You can’t always have everything you want right away, Johanna. The most valuable things are worth waiting for. You must have been your parents’ darling girl and they spoiled you.”

“I don’t know what you mean by spoiled. My parents loved me and I always felt I was their darling girl, but they had a way of making everyone feel special so I don’t think I was particularly spoiled. I always had chores to do and rules to follow. It never would have crossed my mind to think I should have any kind of exceptional treatment.”

“You speak of your parents in the past tense.”

“They’re both dead.”

“I’m sorry.” I thought from his quick, sincere tone that he truly was sorry and I gave him a small smile.

“Thank you. They died when I was twelve, so it’s been a number of years.” At his serious look and continued silence, I surprised myself by volunteering, “They were murdered along with my younger brother.”

My words startled both of us. I could tell he had not foreseen anything quite so stark, and I had not expected to share my most private and painful memories with him. I never spoke of my family’s death, not even to Grandmother. Since coming to Chicago, the only person to whom I had unburdened my grief was Grandfather, and that was an unexpected and involuntary moment kept between the two of us. Before Drew could respond, Mario brought our dinners and for some time was occupied with arranging the table for the meal.

After Mario finished his fussing and left us alone, we ate quietly for a while until Drew asked, “May I ask what happened, or is it something you prefer not to talk about?” continuing our previous conversation seamlessly.

“It’s true I don’t talk about it, but that’s not because it’s too traumatic a memory for me to share, only that it’s a private and personal matter. I often reminisce with Grandmother and Mayville and my Uncle Hal about my parents’ lives but never about their deaths.”

“Who’s Mayville?”

“May’s the woman you met at the front door, my grandmother’s housekeeper, protector, and after Grandfather died, probably her best friend. When I first arrived in Chicago, May was already established as boss of the kitchen and the passing years have only entrenched her further. She’s the reason I don’t have one ounce of culinary ability: I was never allowed into her sanctum.”

“Where was your home before Chicago?”

“Cho Chou, China, in the countryside just southwest of Peking.”

“Why China?”

“My parents were missionaries.”

Drew eyed the half-filled wine glass currently in my hand. “Apparently not Methodists.”

I laughed. “No, Presbyterians—but very conservative Presbyterians. Until I stepped off the boat in San Francisco after leaving China, the only alcoholic beverage I knew of was a particularly strong wine called Shaoshing brewed by our rural population, certainly nothing that was ever served in our house. I remember catching its residual bitter smell on the breath of an old man and thinking people must be crazy to want to drink alcohol. But my grandparents were members of a much more liberal wing of the church, and when I turned seventeen and accompanied my grandfather on a trip to New York City, he introduced me to fine wine. I have been hopelessly corrupted ever since.”

“Now that you mention it, there is something latently missionary-like about you,” he remarked, observing me coolly, “but I can’t quite put my finger on the quality. I’ll have to give it thought. You don’t look like a missionary’s daughter tonight, though, not in that dress. It’s immodest of me to say it, but I was right about you wearing black. The color is spectacular on you.”

Flushing despite myself, I answered, “Thank you. I agree you were right. I would never have thought of wearing black socially, but that’s because I associate the color with funerals and very formal occasions. I’ve had too many of the former and too few of the latter.”

“What happened to your family then?” Drew asked abruptly.

“The Boxers killed them. We established a school to teach reading and writing and the basics of our faith. It was attended by both children and adults of the region. Father taught and Mother worked on health and hygiene issues with the local population. We were there over ten years and I believe had established credibility with the people. My father came originally from Kansas and was always a man of the soil, practical and generous, no fire and brimstone and nothing pretentious about him ever. He just loved helping people and most people saw his sincerity and responded in kind. Mother was—well, Mother was just Mother, lovely and kind and very strong-willed. They loved each other and loved the mutual goal they shared for doing good. My brother Teddy was four years younger than I. China was our home and the people of our village were our friends. Even when rumors of the Boxers’ violence reached us, Father didn’t believe it would affect us. Why should it? We were in a little backwater, quiet and out of the way, minding our business, helping people, and posing no threat to anyone. I remember my father suggesting to Mother that she take Teddy and me into Tung Chow for a while and I remember my mother firmly saying no. Families stay together, she said. You had to know her to understand how forceful and persuasive she could be. I expect she learned it from my grandmother. The two were exactly alike that way.”