Secrets of the Heart (11 page)

“What?”

“The Stallworths are providing uniforms for me to wear while I’m working both places!”

Hattie clapped her chubby hands, “Oh, honey, that’s wonderful! This calls for a celebration!”

“What do you mean?”

“I have a couple of women here in the boardinghouse who fill in for me, cooking the meals, when I go visit my son and his family in Indianapolis. I’ll have them cook supper for the boarders tonight, and I’ll fix us up a special meal to celebrate your new jobs. A nice big meal! How’s that?”

“It’s great, Hattie, but I don’t want you to go to all that trouble.”

“Trouble!
Honey, it’s no trouble. I
want
to do it. Now, you’ve probably not had any lunch, have you?”

“No, but if you’re going to prepare a big meal for tonight, I’ll pass. I need to get me a good bath and maybe rest these feet for a while.”

“Tell you what. My apartment has a nice big bathroom, and a big bathtub. You go get your clean clothes and I’ll meet you upstairs.”

Kathleen felt a special tenderness toward Hattie Murphy, who was filling an empty spot left by her mother. She gazed fondly at the little round woman whose snow white hair was always worn in a perfect bun on top of her head. Her cheeks never lost their rose red color, and her bright blue eyes always had a twinkle.

“Mrs. Murphy,” said Kathleen, “you’re so good to me. I can never tell you how very much I appreciate you.”

Hattie’s features flushed. “Go on, now, honey. I’ve got hot water right here. I’ll bring a couple buckets up to my room.”

“I’ll come back down and help you carry it.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll have it up there before you get to my door. Go on, now. Get your clean clothes.”

In the privacy of Hattie’s bathroom, Kathleen sank down into the fragrant hot water and felt the tension of the past several days gradually seep out of her body. Hattie had slipped some kind of perfume into the water, and the sweet aroma filled the room.

She gave herself a good scrub, then soaped and rinsed her hair. She stayed in the tub to soak, enjoying the knowledge that she had two good jobs and could make herself a decent living. When the water began to cool, Kathleen reluctantly left the tub, dried off, and wrapped the towel around her wet, dripping hair.

Once she was in her clean undergarments and the robe Hattie had supplied, she stuck her head out and saw the little woman sitting by the fireplace in a rocking chair.

“Come on out, honey,” Hattie said with a smile. “Dry your hair by the fire.”

Knowing how long it took to dry her luxuriant head of hair, Kathleen gladly accepted the invitation.

A half hour later her auburn hair shone beautifully, and she returned to the bathroom to put on her clean dress.

That afternoon Kathleen took her much-needed rest. At suppertime, she returned to Hattie’s apartment. The little widow was humming an Irish tune when she came to the door to let Kathleen in, and after greeting her, hummed the tune some more.

Kathleen’s mother used to hum the same tune, but Kathleen couldn’t remember the name of it. The familiar melody shot a keen sense of longing through her.

“Okay, honey,” said Hattie as they moved into the kitchen, “its just about ready.”

The kitchen was warm and cheery, and the sweet aroma of Irish stew and soda bread smelled wonderful. Hattie had laid out dinner on a snowy white tablecloth that sufficiently covered the round table.

“I wish you had let me come down earlier to help you,” Kathleen said.

“You needed the rest, honey. Those boots doing your feet better than those
ol’
shoes?”

“They sure are. My left heel feels better already.”

Kathleen talked about her new jobs, and Hattie rejoiced with her. When they had eaten sufficient amounts of stew, the two women topped off the meal with hot tea and gingerbread.

After cleaning up the dishes, they sat by the fireplace and talked for a while. Soon Kathleen’s head began to nod.

“Okay, darlin’,” said the widow Murphy, “its time for little girl leprechauns to go to bed.”

Hattie walked Kathleen to her room, kissed her cheek, and told her good-night.

A short time later, Kathleen slid between the crisp, clean sheets and sighed. Things were so much better tonight than they had been the night before. Tomorrow she would begin her job with the Masseys, and on Thursday she would start her job with the Stallworths.

Though no one was there to see it, a small dimpled smile played on the Irish girls face.

P
ETER
S
TALLWORTH WAS ONE
of the Great Lakes Railroad Company’s three junior vice presidents, and the youngest at twenty-one. Behind his desk was a large window overlooking Chicago’s downtown area, with a far-off view of Lake Michigan to the east.

In front of his desk stood the other two junior vice presidents, twenty-eight-year-old Derek Walton, and Jack Ballard, who would turn thirty on his next birthday.

Peter looked up at them and said, “Really, fellas, you don’t have to say it just because I’m the boss’s son.”

“We’re not, Peter,” Ballard said. “We’re saying it because it’s the best idea.”

“Right,” Walton agreed. “Look, Peter, haven’t we already been over this ‘I have to walk on eggs because I’m the boss’s son thing? If my dad owned this company, I’d want to build my career right here, just like you are. Your dad has already proven to all of us that you get no favors because you’re Peter Michael Stallworth. You have to pull your own weight and do your own thinking, just like the rest of us.”

“And you’ve most certainly done your own thinking on the accounts receivable problem,” said Ballard. “My idea doesn’t come near yours.”

Walton nodded. “Neither does mine. And for that matter, the other ideas don’t appeal to me like yours does. I think what you’ve come up with will solve the problem of collecting from those customers who’ve been dragging their feet when it comes to paying us for hauling their freight all over the eastern United States. You’re sure going to get my vote.”

“And mine,” said Ballard. “And from what I’ve heard the other guys say, your idea is getting their votes, too.”

The handsome man with the sandy hair and cool blue eyes smiled. “You guys sure make it easier on me, I’ll tell you that.”

“Hey, we know it’s tough enough working for John Stallworth when you eat and sleep under his roof and wear his last name,” said Walton. “Why should we make things tougher for you here? You’re doing a good job, Peter.”

“Yeah, especially being the youngest officer in the company, and with no help from your dad,” put in Ballard.

“I don’t want him to help me. If he were to change his approach and decide to help me work up through the ranks just so one day his son could take over his position as chief executive officer, I wouldn’t want the position. I only want what I earn.”

“Everybody in this company knows that,” said Walton. “That’s why you’ve got so much respect around here.”

“I appreciate your kind words, guys,” Peter said, rising from his desk and picking up a folder. “I’ll see you in the meeting. Right now I’ve got some papers to deliver to Dan Clayton.”

Peter’s colleagues returned to their offices, and he headed down the hall. When he approached the door marked “Daniel Clayton, Senior Vice President,” he tapped on the door and waited for permission to enter.

Instead, Clayton opened the door. “Hey, Peter! Come in!”

“I have the papers ready on the Fleming Steel account, Dan. If you want to wait till after the meeting to go over them, I can come back then.”

“Let’s do that,” Clayton said, who at sixty-one was four years older than Peter’s father. “But if you’ve got a minute, I’d like to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Peter stepped inside.

Dan closed the door and laid the folder on his desk. He turned to face the younger man and said, “I like your solution on the accounts receivable delinquents. You pick that up at C.I.B., or is that your own masterpiece?”

Peter had graduated from the Chicago Institute of Business a year early at the head of his class. His father had given him the junior vice president position upon graduation five months ago.

Peter chuckled. “No, sir, they don’t teach you those kinds of things at C.I.B.”

“Well, I mean what I say, son, it’s a masterpiece.”

“Thanks, Dan. You and Derek and Jack have been very encouraging.”

“Just wanted you to know how I felt, and to tell you your idea will get my vote.”

“That’s good to know. Well, I’ll head on back to my office and get ready for the meeting. Afterward we’ll come back here and go over those Fleming papers.”

John Stallworth stood at the large window in the conference room with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down at State Street five floors below. Like his only son, he was an inch under six feet and had cool blue eyes and sandy hair, now showing a great deal of gray.

When his officers began filing through the door, Stallworth pivoted and greeted them with a smile. “Good afternoon, gentlemen,” he said, moving toward the long conference table.

They greeted him in return, and others came in behind them.

When Peter entered, sided by Derek Walton and Jack Ballard, John eyed his son furtively, feeling a great swell of pride. Peter’s idea was a colossal one.

As soon as all the officers had gathered and taken their seats, Stallworth sat down at the head of the table and said, “All right, gendemen. Two weeks ago today I presented you with the nagging problem the Great Lakes Railroad Company has experienced in making collections on delinquent accounts receivable. I asked each of you to come up with a solution that would not harm our image nor send our customers to Illinois Central or one of the other railroad companies.

“As I told you then, the solution would take some ingenuity on your part. All of you have turned in your ideas to me, and in turn I have had them copied and placed in all of your hands so you could study them. The best thing to do here is take a vote. If we have a tie, or anywhere near it, we’ll discuss the ideas we like the best.”

Dan Clayton raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Clayton,” Stallworth said.

Clayton rose to his feet. “Sir, every man here has taken the time to come and share his thoughts with me. I think we can conserve some time if I simply ask one question.”

“All right, Mr. Clayton, ask these gentlemen your question.”

Clayton looked around at his colleagues with a smile on his face. “Will everybody in favor of adopting Peter Stallworths collection plan raise your hand?”

The vote was unanimous.

Peter’s face reddened at the applause, and he glanced quickly at his father, relieved to see the pleasure on his face.

The chief executive officer and owner of the Great Lakes Railroad Company said, “Mr. Stallworth, you are to be congratulated. Every man in this room has discussed your plan with me, and we all feel it is the most sensible and by far the most acceptable of all. It meets every criterion I laid down when I asked each of these officers to come up with his own solution. Well done.”

“May I speak, sir?”

“Please do.”

Peter stood up. “Maybe all of you should hold off your congratulations until we see if my plan works!”

There was laughter all around, then Dan Clayton spoke up. “Peter, you’ve covered every possible loophole. Believe me, it will work. Go ahead and take your bow!”

There was more laughter and then a twenty-minute discussion on the induction of Peter’s plan into the bookkeeping system. When the assignment went to the comptroller to work it out, the meeting was dismissed.

On their way out, many of the officers took time to personally congratulate Peter.

Peter walked with Dan Clayton to the latter’s office, and they proceeded with their work on the Fleming Steel Company account.

At five o’clock, the officers and employees of the Great Lakes Railroad Company were starting to leave the building. Inside John Stallworths office, Peter looked on as his father shrugged into his overcoat and put on his hat.

“Son,” Stallworth said, “I couldn’t say this in the meeting, but I’m so proud of you for your good thinking that I’m about to pop my buttons.”