Circled Heart (23 page)

In my line of work, I was used to hearing unbearable stories, so I was able to say with admirable equanimity, “I don’t know,” displaying no shock or disappointment or surprise when in fact I experienced all three.

“Well, I know. Peter will be disgusted and his parents horrified. It is, after all, a disgusting and horrible story.”

“Crea, stop doing this to yourself.” The self-loathing in her tone was painful to hear. “You must have been very young.”

“I was, but why does that matter? I took the easy way out.”

“And paid dearly for it.”

“Yes, Johanna, I paid very, very dearly for it, but nothing more than I deserved.”

“Does it have something to do with the man we heard talking at the party at the Yacht Club? The man whose voice almost made you faint?”

“Of everyone in the world, I didn’t expect to see him there and I was afraid he would see me—or his wife would. It just hit me so hard to hear his voice.”

I remained quiet, thinking she wanted to continue but didn’t know how to start the story, and waited for her to speak in her own time and in her own way.

In a low voice Crea finally began, “My mother conceived me on the trip to America on board ship. Can you imagine? I try to picture how and where they found the privacy, and I just can’t. She said my father was a sailor—and Irish, which in her mind seemed to make her condition more acceptable. She told me they planned to marry, but I don’t think that’s so. My mother was a young and wild girl, off to America on her own, despite her da’s wishes, and I think she reveled in her newfound freedom. She didn’t have an ounce of fear in her. After I was born, she took to the streets for a living, but she was a bright woman and knew there was no future there, so when I turned five, she found work in the large house of a prominent Chicago family. How that happened, I don’t know and she never said, but she worked in the laundry and the kitchen and lived there with me for almost eight years. You’d recognize the family name, but that part isn’t important. I told you before that I was twelve when my mother died and at my wit’s end with grief and fear. I didn’t know what to do. I had no family but her, no education, and only the most common of household skills. One day not long after my mother died, he came downstairs and said he talked to his wife and they both wanted me to stay on—if I was willing—and work for them the same as my mother had. It was a blessing dropped from heaven, I thought. I could stay where I was wanted and where I felt comfortable and safe.”

I pulled up my knees and wrapped my arms around them, my attention fixed on Crea’s green eyes and the delicate shadows of memory that colored her complexion as she spoke. She must have been a lovely child.

“But it wasn’t much of a blessing after all, was it?” I asked.

“It isn’t what you think, Johanna. I wasn’t taken advantage of or brutalized or coerced. He was never unkind or even untruthful. In fact, sometimes he was quite tender with me. It was something I could do for him, a way to thank him for letting me stay on and for giving me a home. I could make him happy. He was always so grateful to me afterwards and that made me feel important and powerful in a way. I knew he had a wife, but he said he had the ability to love two women, and I thought, why wouldn’t that be all right? I wasn’t taking him away from her. He came to me, but he always went back upstairs.”

“How old were you, Crea, when it started?”

“He found me crying on my thirteenth birthday, missing my mother and scared of the future. It started then. For comfort.”

My face must have reflected my anger because she said quickly, “He never forced himself on me or threatened me. He was never anything but kind to me.”

“You were thirteen and he was a grown man.” I remembered the words “to Lydia” I had overheard at the Yacht Club. “Didn’t he have children older than you?”

Crea flushed. “Two daughters older.”

“And he still had the conscience to sleep with the thirteen-year-old orphan who worked in his kitchen? His conduct was indefensible, Crea. You were a child with no family and no one to counsel or protect you, and he took advantage of your situation.”

“Sometimes, Johanna, you wear blinders. You want to make all women victims, but sometimes women deserve exactly what they get. Sometimes they make bad choices or they disobey the rules on purpose, and what happens to them is what they deserve.”

“If you were a woman at the time, I might agree with you, but you weren’t a woman at thirteen, just a lonely, grieving girl.”

“I was raised a good Catholic girl, though, and I knew it was wrong. I just didn’t care. I loved being important to someone and having him pay attention to me and bring me presents. I’d still be there today because it was safe and easy, only I got pregnant.”

At first I didn’t know what to say at that, but as the silence lengthened I asked, “Is that what brought you to the Anchorage?”

Crea nodded. “I never thought it could happen to me, never considered the possibility. I guess I thought I was too young or he was too old. I really can’t remember what I thought. I didn’t even know what was wrong with me at first, but when I told one of the day girls about being so sick in the morning, she asked me a few questions and then said, ‘You’re having a baby, you simpleton, and don’t tell me the fairies brought it. You’ve been doing what you shouldn’t have.’ I remember how those words stuck in my head—doing what you shouldn’t have—and I knew she was right. Everything changed then.”

“I imagine it did. How exactly?”

“After I thought about it and got used to the idea, I was happy. I’ll have a babe, someone of my own to love and it’ll make him happy, too, I thought. He’ll take care of us and we’ll be our own little family. I was nearly sixteen then and I had all these dreamy pictures of what it would be like.”

“Let me guess. The baby’s father didn’t share your dreams.” I could tell by Crea’s expression that she still couldn’t believe what had happened, that the memory still surprised and hurt.

“He said, ‘Get rid of it,’ just like that. ‘I can arrange for you to get rid of it,’ he said. Then he reached into his pocket and tried to give me money. He was angry—but frightened, too, I could tell.”

“I imagine he was,” I commented. “A man like that would have a lot to lose.”

“I didn’t understand what he meant, and he explained that he knew someone who could get rid of the baby before it was born. He said I’d hardly feel anything and then we could continue just as we were. ‘You don’t need a baby to be happy,’ he told me. ‘Aren’t we happy just like we are?’ But the more he talked, the more I knew I wanted that baby. I wanted a daughter and I’d name her after my mother and we’d be a real family. I’d take care of her and she’d love me. I wanted that baby and no matter how he talked to me or tried to bribe me, I wouldn’t give in.” Crea curled herself into as small a ball as she could manage, feet pulled up into the chair and arms hugging herself. My heart went out to her.

“You don’t have to tell me any more, Crea. It’s past now and I don’t need to know the details. They won’t make me like or admire you less.”

“The only other person I ever told this to was Matron, and I didn’t go into all the details even with her. I’ll feel better if you know, Johanna, and I don’t mind talking to you. You never let anything you hear affect how you treat people. You never scold or judge. At first I kept waiting for you to act all high and mighty like some of the other women who came to the Anchorage, but you never did. That’s why we all took to you so fast. You make it easy for people to talk to you.”

“Thank you,” I said, touched, then in a brisker tone went on, “If you’re eighteen now, you must have been at the Anchorage at least two years.”

“I came to the Anchorage purely by accident. When I packed up the few things I owned and left the house, I didn’t know where to go or what to do. I knew I had to find work so I went downtown to ask at all the department stores, and when I was coming out of Scott’s, I slipped and fell on a patch of ice. I panicked and thought I’d hurt the baby. Of all people, it was Matron who helped me up and listened to my fears and took me straight to the Anchorage with her. Matron says it was the hand of God, but I don’t know if I believe that. There’s so much suffering and grief in the world, Johanna. It’s hard for me to believe in the hand of God at all.”

“I don’t think we should blame God for the world’s suffering and grief when ninety-nine percent of it is caused by humans.”

“That’s exactly what Matron told me,” Crea said with a wisp of a smile. “You two are cut from the same cloth.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. Hilda Cartwright is a strong woman who doesn’t let false sentiment get in the way of her duty to the women and babies in her care.” I remembered Flora’s baby placed into the hands of new parents before Flora was even buried. “What happened to your baby, Crea? Did you give it up?”

“Oh, no! Oh, no, Johanna! I’d never have done that. No. I carried her to term and she was a beautiful daughter, perfect in every way, except she was stillborn.”

“I am so sorry, Crea.” My heart lurched with shock and sadness, and I leaned forward to put my hand on her arm. “I am so very sorry.”

“I knew something was wrong, poor wee girl. I could tell. She stopped moving. For a long time I thought she died as a punishment for my sins.”

“But you know better now, I hope,” I responded sharply.

“It took a while, but yes, I know that babies born to perfectly respectable married women can be stillborn, too, that it’s just something that happens. But I didn’t understand it at first and I blamed myself. That’s why Matron let me stay on for all that time at the Anchorage—because I wasn’t strong enough to understand and accept that. I think she was afraid of what I’d do if she turned me loose. Then after a while, after I began to see things differently, I was able to be a help to her and to the Anchorage. I could help with the women who came and I could help with the babies. I suppose I’d still be there except you came along and blew through the place like a tornado and forced me to look at life differently.”

“Good. That’s my goal in life: make people see things differently, just like putting on a new pair of glasses.” Crea gave a weak laugh.

“I have never met a woman like you, Johanna, who’s most satisfied when she’s making people uncomfortable.”

“But it’s always for people’s own good,” I protested, my feelings a tiny bit hurt.

“Yes,” she agreed, “it always is, but so is castor oil and pulling a tooth so you shouldn’t be surprised when you meet with resistance or resentment.”

“I know. Always being right is one of my greatest flaws.” Crea laughed again, this time sounding more like herself, and we sat quietly for a while. She looked exhausted. Reliving the sad story seemed to have sapped her of all energy.

“I’m glad I told you, Johanna. I wanted you to understand why there could never be anything between Peter and me. I’m not the woman he thinks I am, and I couldn’t bear to see the look on his face if he knew who and what I really am. Do you understand now?”

I stood and stretched. “I understand that it’s late and we’re both tired.”

“Johanna—”

“Crea, you’re not a thirteen-year-old girl any more. You’ve grown and changed. Peter loves the woman you are now, not the child you were. I have no idea how your story will end, but you should give Peter a chance. He has a generous heart and he’s quite capable of listening and understanding. I think you underestimate him.” She started to speak again, but I continued inexorably. “I know it’s not my business. It’s yours and Peter’s. All I ask is that you be kind to him. My cousin Peter is the best person in the family.”

Crea rose and with a hand on the doorknob, turned to say softly, “Second best person, I think. Good night, Johanna.”

Maiden, that read’st this simple rhyme,

Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;

Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,

For oh, it is not always May!

Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,

To some good angel leave the rest;

For Time will teach thee soon the truth,

There are no birds in last year’s nest!

Chapter Eleven

Crea’s story stayed with me much longer than I expected and as often happened—because of the intensity of the story, I imagine—Crea materialized in my dreams. When she was not being chased by an ominous faceless figure who meant her harm, she wandered aimlessly through the city streets in the dead of winter searching pitifully for something important, yet she could not articulate what that something was. Regardless of the dream’s form, my odd role in it was to follow after Crea—skulk would be more accurate—and try to warn her of impending danger. “Don’t go there!” I would call to her in the dream, certain that something horrific waited in the shadow, but no matter how often and how loudly I called, Crea could never hear me and would disappear completely into the darkness, leaving me angry, fearful, and helpless. The images had the same nightmarish quality of my Titanic and my Cox dreams, and I was annoyed that no sooner had one troubling dream faded than another one took its place.

Plans for Grandmother’s late October birthday continued uninterrupted, Aunt Kitty doing her best to take over all the planning but meeting her match in Mayville’s truculent devotion to Grandmother. I stayed out of as many of the discussions as I could. Having either of those two women angry with me was a prospect that bred its own nightmares. Both understood that Grandmother was not quite ready for a dance band and so her party must be small and quiet. About menus, decorations, location, gifts, and guest list, however, there was less accord. Privately, I thought May had the upper hand because regardless of Aunt Kitty’s stated preferences, the refreshments must still come out of May’s kitchen. Nevertheless, I conveniently drifted out of the vicinity whenever the conversation turned to the party.

Autumn seemed to come to Chicago literally overnight that year. I awoke on the first of October to a vigorous, cold breeze rattling the window. As I walked to the train station, I saw only bare trees. Sometime during the night the wind had shaken all the leaves loose and scattered them into messy piles in the streets and along the walks.

“Summer’s gone, for sure,” I commented to Eulalie when I arrived at the Anchorage.

“Yes. Get ready to be busy.”

“Busier than summer?”

“My, yes. Winter’s rough here, and we always have a steady stream of women looking for shelter. Matron finds needy girls on every corner during the winter and she brings each one of them home with her.” Pride, not complaint, colored Eulalie’s tone. I thought of Crea, fifteen and pregnant and falling on a patch of ice at Hilda Cartwright’s feet. The hand of God, for sure, no matter what Crea believed.

At the end of the day, as I bundled up for the trip home, Drew Gallagher appeared without warning at the front door of the Anchorage. I didn’t particularly like the way my heart fluttered at the sight of him and must have scowled because he stepped inside and commented, “Ah, glad to see me as usual, Miss Swan.”

“I am glad to see you,” I protested, ending with a feeble “of course” that made him laugh.

“I don’t know what else I can do to get into your good graces. I’ve applauded women’s suffrage and built factories for you and still you scowl when you see me.”

“You applauded women’s suffrage before you ever met me,” I retorted, “and this is the first I’ve heard that Cox’s had anything to do with a desire for my good opinion. I don’t notice you offering to share the profits with me.”

“You told me you already had your fortune. I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t paying attention.” He eyed my scarf and the cloche hat I was in the process of donning. “I’m glad I caught you. I wanted to give you a ride home. You were on your way home, weren’t you?”

“Yes, and why?”

“I know this reverses the natural order of things but I have a favor to ask of you.” I wouldn’t have been able to tell from his tone but from the slightly self-conscious expression on his face, I thought he might be telling the truth.

“All right. No one can accuse me of being unfair, and after all you’ve done I suppose it is time for me to reciprocate in some fashion.” Drew held open the front door for me and I preceded him down the porch steps and onto the walk.

“How you flatter me, Johanna. Your tone held the definite ring of martyrdom.”

I chuckled at his dry comment and waited for him to crank the car and get into the driver’s seat before asking, “Why do you keep Fritz around if you always do the driving? Or have you let him go?”

“And risk the wrath of Yvesta? Not on your life. I told you I like to drive and for a reason that as yet remains a mystery, I especially like to drive you around. Obviously, it isn’t your heartfelt gratitude that motivates me, so I must have an unrecognized need to be humiliated.” The automobile, sleek and roomy enough for seven people, pulled smoothly away from the curb with just the two of us side by side in the front. “How is your grandmother’s health progressing, Johanna?”

I sat contentedly, mesmerized by the sight of his hands on the wheel, very nice hands, broad in the palm with long, tapering fingers and unexpectedly sun-browned. Perhaps he spent more time than he cared to admit cruising on the San Francisco. I pulled myself back to the moment.

“She’s coming along very well. Between Crea’s patience and my bullying, Grandmother can now walk a few steps with a cane and speak more intelligibly. Her right side is still very weak and she tires easily, but I hope a few more months will see her back to her old self with only a few residual effects of the stroke. Her birthday is this month and she’s actually looking forward to the little party we have planned, so I know she must be feeling better.”

“The party isn’t scheduled for October nineteenth, is it?”

“No, the weekend after. Why? Does that have something to do with the favor you want to ask?”

“It has everything to do with it, but let’s make small talk until we get to Hill Street so I can concentrate on the drive.” Which we did, chatting easily about progress at Cox’s and the imminent sale of the San Francisco, the latter topic causing a slight sigh from me, which Drew noticed.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” I admitted, “but what a shame to give up that glorious boat. I know it’s showy and pretentious, but the San Francisco certainly had an effect and left an impression. I hope you found it a good home.”

“I did. One of Douglas’s business acquaintances who long coveted the vessel snatched at the offer immediately. If everything goes through, the San Francisco moves into new hands November first. I didn’t know you possessed such a fondness for boating, Johanna. Have you ever been on a sailboat?”

“No. I’m not sure there’s enough boat between me and the water. Do you sail?”

“In my disreputable younger days at several eastern schools, I spent more time on the ocean than I did in class. There’s something about the challenge of a single sail against the elements that I enjoyed. You should try it sometime. You have the kind of temperament that would enjoy the contest.”

“I think I’ve had enough of the ocean for a while,” I said quietly.

He was immediately sympathetic. “Sorry. Does it still bother you? Are you still having those Titanic dreams?” I liked his quickness to understand.

“Sometimes. And no, I’ve moved on in my dreams to another dramatic highpoint in my life.”

“You certainly have your share.”

“None of them on purpose.” We pulled up to the curb in front of my house and I turned to face him. “At last. Curiosity is going to kill me. Come inside so you can tell me what’s so special about October nineteenth.”

Mayville met us as we stepped inside. “Just so you know, Johanna, Jennie’s upstairs with Mrs. McIntyre. Her father said he’d be back to get her as soon as he finished some business.” May gave Drew a speculative look. “Shall I set an extra place for supper for your friend?”

Drew answered quickly, “No, thank you. I can’t stay,” and I knew a fleeting disappointment. A meal with Drew always promised complimentary attention and intelligent conversation and I would have enjoyed both. If I didn’t take my evening meal upstairs with Grandmother, I ate either in solitude or informally at the kitchen table with Crea. His company would have been a rare treat.

We shed coats and hats and went into the front room, where I sat down with my hands in my lap. “Enough suspense. I think you’re enjoying this too much. What can I do for you, Drew?”

Instead of sitting, Drew stood with his hands in his pockets and gave me a quick, self-conscious smile that was quite endearing. I hoped my appreciation didn’t show on my face. He sounded embarrassed as he confessed, “As incredible as it seems, the city of Chicago wants to give me an award.”

“What kind of an award?”

“I know you’ll think this completely inappropriate, but I believe the Mayor and a consortium of high-level Chicago businessmen want to give me an award for being a good citizen of the city and for promoting the common good through business.”

After a thoughtful moment, I asked in awe, “Drew, are you getting the Starr Award?” He looked embarrassed.

“Yes, I am. You know of it, then?”

“Only because my Uncle Hal has spoken of it on several occasions. He’s often said it’s the only time in the year when the political and the business arenas intersect without rancor or graft. Why would I think such an achievement is inappropriate for you? Congratulations, Drew.”

“It’s not me, of course, Johanna, it’s Cox’s. Many of the men in the voting group knew Douglas, but they never heard of me until they began to hear whispers of Cox’s success. You haven’t visited Cox’s over the past few weeks, but if you had, you’d see one touring group after another. Everyone’s fascinated by the idea of housing and employing workers in the same building. At first there was a great deal of skepticism about the need to provide childcare, but I gave the visitors free rein to talk to anyone they wanted, and that was the one benefit every worker couldn’t say enough about. Productivity is up because no one wants to risk losing her spot, and there’s a line of qualified applicants just waiting to work at Cox’s. The place was a hit with every Chicago capitalist who visited and that’s why I’m getting the Starr Award.” At the end of his little speech, he sat down across from me.

“It’s a huge honor, Drew. I’m pleased for you. You deserve it.”

“No, I don’t think I do. I’m not sure I didn’t start the Cox experiment because you annoyed me and because I wanted to prove to you that I wasn’t the complete insensitive, self-serving oaf you thought me. Don’t argue, Johanna, because you know you did. I’m not sure your opinion’s changed much either, despite my altruistic behavior, but that’s beside the point.”

“I don’t see what difference it makes why you opened Cox’s. You spent your own money and your own time and risked your own capital and reputation. You should be recognized for it.” As an afterthought I added, “Insensitive, self-serving oaf or not,” which made him smile.

“Thank you, I think.”

“I still don’t understand the connection with October nineteenth, though.”

“That’s the night of the awards banquet. Quite a production, I’m told. Held in the ballroom at the Auditorium Building and very black tie. Everyone who’s anyone in Chicago attends. I can’t say it sounds like the kind of affair I’d ordinarily attend, but it seems churlish to refuse, especially for the guest of honor.”

“Of course, you should go, Drew. Your appearance will help your business reputation and perhaps motivate others to follow in your footsteps.”

“Will you come with me?” He asked the question abruptly.

I was speechless for a moment and then responded just as abruptly, “Why are you asking me? I won’t know a soul and I won’t add any glamour to the occasion. Wouldn’t you be more comfortable with the beautiful Viola?”

“More comfortable?” He gave the words some thought. “Yes, that’s true, I would, because when you’re not annoying me, you’re often making me uncomfortable, but that’s not the point. The point is that if you hadn’t prodded me into good works, the Cox experiment wouldn’t have happened. It seems only fitting that you should be there to bask in the glory, if only from the sidelines.”

I might have wished for a more complimentary invitation, something that included the color of my eyes or the pleasure he found in my company, but I supposed I should be content with being considered an annoying and prodding female. I looked up to find his gaze on me, a surprisingly anxious expression in his eyes and some other, more enigmatic emotion as well.

“I’d be honored to go with you, Drew,” I responded formally. “It was thoughtful of you to include me.” Then I spoiled the effect by asking, “I don’t suppose there’s a dance band on the program.”

“No. It sounds like a very staid and formal dinner with too many speeches, but we could find a club afterwards if you’d like. Someplace off the beaten path.”

“I would like. It sounds like fun and I’ll trust your judgment.”

“Good. Good.”

The silence that followed was awkward. Drew seemed at a loss for words, a situation so rare that I think we were both surprised by it. Then as we both stood and moved toward each other, Jennie appeared in the doorway. I was relieved to see her and simultaneously mentally cursed the interruption. When I introduced Jennie to Drew, I watched his reaction surreptitiously. Jennie was in beautiful form that afternoon, dressed in a pale blue wool suit and a particularly charming hat, the kind that would have looked absolutely ridiculous on me but that suited her perfectly.

I felt an unworthy satisfaction when Drew gave Jennie only a cursory look and polite greeting before turning back to me to say, “I’m keeping you from supper, Johanna. Will seven o’clock suit?”

After he left, Jennie looked at me mischievously. “What a woman of secrets you are, Johanna! How did you ever meet the innovative and progressive Mr. Gallagher?”