Something Old (34 page)

“What did you do with it?” she asked.

He knew what she meant and quickly replied, “I took it out of the frame and stuck it in my high school yearbook.”

“What about praying for them?”

“Funny. After our spat, I realized it had become such a habit to pray for Erin that I didn’t need the photo to remind me.”

“Of course you can pray for Jessie, too.” She couldn’t be that controlling. Could she?

He gave her a lopsided grin. “Thanks. Here’s the site I was telling you about.” He pushed back from the desk. “You sit down.”

Feeling a tad nervous, for she hadn’t used a computer since high school, which made it a couple of years now, she took his chair and stared at the unfamiliar screen.

“You just type your ad”—he hovered behind her and pointed at a blank space—“there.”

“I see. But I’m still considering if I really want to do this.” She brought up a new argument. “By using the computer, it’s pretty certain anyone who replies to the ad will be an outsider.”

“The church bulletin board hasn’t helped you,” he reminded.

“I know. I just hate using the Internet.”

“If you get work with an outsider, you can always quit if you get a better position.”

She worried her lip. “Oh fine.” She started typing, surprised when her keyboard ability returned easily:

Need housecleaning jov,

“Oops.” She backspaced and typed again:

job, one or two days a week. Experienced with references.

She paused and glanced over her shoulder. “Now what?” He rested his hands on her shoulders. “You need to type in my e-mail address.”

“You have e-mail?” she snapped, instantly regretting her judgmental tone when she felt his hands tense in frustration. “Never mind. Give it to me.” She typed it into the appropriate space. “Guess you’re now my agent.”

He gently kneaded her shoulders and whispered, “That and anything else you allow me to be.”

His patience struck her. He was waiting for her to express her trust, her love. He was also waiting for her to initiate their next kiss. He could have stolen one earlier when they were stargazing, but he hadn’t. For years, Jake had carried the knowledge that Katy wanted to marry him—she had blurted it out to Lil at age ten—but now he had become the uncertain one.

She grinned. “I like that.” Katy filled in a few more spaces and took in a deep breath, hovering the mouse over the S
END
button. “You’re sure I should do this?”

He squeezed her shoulders. “Yes.”

“Here goes.” She hit S
END.
“I did it!” She threw up her arms. “And now the job offers will come rolling in,” he teased. “So will the money.”

“Ready for cookies?” Ann asked, stepping into the room.

Katy turned and rose from the chair. “Yes, they smell delicious. But do you mind if we eat them downstairs? We’re finished here.”

“Those look delicious,” Jake said, then leaned over his computer and placed it in sleep mode.

“Yes, let’s go downstairs.” Ann gave a relieved smile.

As they followed her down the stairs, Katy basked in the approval she’d seen in Ann’s eyes. It wasn’t that Jake’s family was hard to please, but just that she’d already made so many mistakes. She prayed that placing that ad on the Internet would not be another one.

Katy was cleaning at the retirement center for Mrs. Kline when she felt her apron pocket vibrate. Setting aside her dusting mop, she punched a button and placed her phone to her ear. “Oh hi, Jake.”

“You want to be a working woman?”

She chuckled. “I am one. I’m working right now.”

“I mean every day.”

Excitement coursed through her veins and quickened her pulse. “Someone answered my ad?”

“You have three replies. Want me to read them to you?”

She gave a happy sigh, as she imagined him sitting at his computer, his broad shoulders bent over his desk while working on her behalf—a rakish agent with his tousled hair and lopsided grin. “Yes.”

“‘Elderly woman needs a housekeeper for two days a week. Small house. Can pay $12 an hour. Barbara White.’ And she leaves her phone number.”

Katy found a pen and pad on Mrs. Kline’s desk and scribbled the information. “Interesting that she needs two days with a small house. Okay next.”

“‘Can hire for one day a week at $10. Widower with three children. Harry Chalmers.’”

“Not as appealing.” But she jotted down his information anyway. “Go on.”

“‘Looking for housekeeper. Can pay good.’ No phone number. You’ll have to e-mail that one back to get more information.”

“Great, thanks,” Katy said. “So what are you doing home in the middle of the day?”

“Figuring a blueprint. Pricing a job. A referral from Mr. Weaver.”

“That’s good. Guess we better both get back to work. Thanks for the information.”

“You bet.”

As Katy slipped her phone back inside her apron pocket, she read over her notes. She would start with Barbara. In her mind’s eye, she envisioned someone sweet and kind like Mrs. Beverly, who had moved to Florida.

K
aty stared at Barbara White’s tiny home in a downtown section of Columbus. The weeds thrived, but the grass was scarce. Nothing like Mrs. Beverly’s picture-perfect, country club home, but Katy tried not to judge Mrs. White by her home’s exterior. Maybe she was too old to do any gardening.

Through burning eyes, Katy observed that, indeed, Mrs. White was stooped, and her overall impression of the job didn’t improve when she was bombarded with a strong odor of cat urine.

“Come and sit. We’ll have tea.” A large-boned, top-heavy woman led her across the living room’s dirty carpet. The coffee table was laden with stacks of glued jigsaw puzzles. Boxes of unsolved puzzles filled every corner. A calico cat sat in a sunbeam, using its claws on a threadbare sofa.

Wide-eyed and venturing with trepidation into the kitchen, Katy was motioned toward a chair. The table had puzzle pieces spread over its surface. The sink held unwashed dishes.

Katy’s stomach clenched at the idea of taking tea in the midst of such filth and rank odor. Trying to keep her nose from wrinkling, she asked, “Have you had a housekeeper before?”

Barbara straightened a few inches from her bent position and let out an uproarious bout of laughter. Then she brushed at the air in front of her face. “Does it look like it? I wouldn’t be looking for one now except my kids threatened to put me in a retirement center if I don’t”—she twisted her lips in a snarl—“meet their high and mighty expectations.” Then she smiled, again. “Chamomile or Licorice?”

“Chamomile.”

Barbara eyed Katy’s covering. “Figured you for that sort.”

The older woman lifted a grimy teapot from a white cookstove cluttered with pots and crusty spatulas, allowing time for Katy to assess the room. Besides the dirty dishes, filthy hairballs covered the floor, and her chair felt sticky. Something touched her leg, and she jumped. Then she heard a purr and looked down at a Siamese cat that wove in and out between her chair and her legs. She gasped when a large white Persian jumped from the floor onto the counter.

“Stay away, Goblin. Stove’s hot.” Barbara scooped up the cat in her arms, patting its fluffy head, shuffled a few steps, and dropped the cat. White hair floated down over the stove and teapot. “She’s white like a ghost, but I liked the sound of Goblin better. Catchy, don’t you think?”

“Scary.” Katy nibbled her lip. She nudged the Siamese away from her ankle and, making a spur-of-the-moment decision, stood. “How many cats do you have?”

Barbara’s gaze skittered nervously from the Siamese to Katy. “Only three. And Sergeant spends most of his time outside. They’re sweet little kitties. You’ll see.”

“This isn’t going to work out for me.”

“I expect it’s the smell scaring you off, but if you keep up the litter box more regular than I do, that should fix that problem. I can’t smell it, but my daughter says it’s bad.”

“I’m sorry.” Katy shook her head and started toward the door. She wasn’t going to get herself in a fix like she had with Tammy. She would nip this disastrous job opportunity in the bud.

Barbara clambered after her, huffing by the time they reached the entryway. “You didn’t even give me a chance to ask you any questions. I thought the one doing the hiring was supposed to ask the questions.

I ain’t so sure I want some Amish person working for me anyway. You didn’t mention that in the ad.”

“I’m Mennonite. Don’t forget about your teapot, Barbara.”

With that Katy turned and opened the door. With a gasp, she reached down and caught the white cat just before it escaped and pushed it back inside. Behind her, she heard Barbara say, “What a shame. I liked her, Goblin. The kids ain’t gonna be happy about this, either.”

Katy regretted not being able to help Barbara, but there was no trying to fool herself. She was too fussy to fit in with the woman and her cats. And this had seemed like the best opportunity of the three replies.

Katy glanced across the truck’s cab at Jake and gave a tremulous smile. After a few e-mails, they had discovered the third response to Katy’s ad was a dud that ended up flooding his computer with spam. This added to her apprehensions about the entire Internet process and also about her interviewing with complete strangers.

Playing it safe with the widower, they had scheduled the last interview for a Saturday so that Jake could accompany Katy. Now his truck braked in front of a multilevel house in a nice neighborhood with huge lots.

“Wow.” She leaned forward to look past Jake. She’d never cleaned such a large, beautiful home. Surely Harry Chalmers could afford more than ten dollars an hour. She determined right then she’d ask for more. Then she remembered how Jake wanted to build better homes at more affordable prices and felt ashamed over her greed. But she quickly rationalized that, after all, she needed to be able to afford her expenses.

They opened an entry gate and walked up a long brick sidewalk flanked by camellia bushes with white blooms. Jake rang the doorbell.

They heard rattling on the other side of the door. Then little footsteps and a youngster yelling, “Daddy! Daddy!”

When the door opened, a tall, good-looking man in jeans and a polo shirt greeted them. One of his hands rested on the red head of a preschool-age boy. Harry Chalmers glanced at Jake and then at Katy’s covering. His eyes crinkled. “You’re Katy?”

She made the introductions, explaining that she’d brought Jake along as her escort.

“With the way the world is today, I totally understand. Come in.”

The entryway was impressive, two stories high with an iron-and-glass chandelier hanging from a domed ceiling. There were two armchairs, a table, and a large mirror. She looked up at the chandelier and wondered how she’d ever clean it. They went into a large great room and sat in dark leather furniture that was grouped around a fireplace and entertainment area. Katy had never seen such a huge television. The room was dusty, but not as cluttered as Tammy’s home usually was.

Her gaze rested on the little red-haired boy who was still plastered against his dad. The child’s stare had never left Katy.

She placed her references on the coffee table that separated them and folded her hands on her dark skirt. Harry Chalmers briefly scanned the page and nodded. “I just need the normal stuff. I don’t even know what that is. I haven’t done any cleaning since—” He broke off. “I’m a bit of a perfectionist, so I hate the house like this.”

It seemed his loss was recent. Katy gladdened to hear that he was the type who would keep things orderly. “I could clean your house in one day, but it would be a long day, and I’d need to rotate some of the cleaning. But $10 is low for this size of house.”

He studied her, his gaze slowly raking over her entire body as if trying to decide if she was worth the money. She tensed, instinctively knowing that he was using the wrong gauge. The uncomfortable moment was broken when an older girl, about Addison’s age, called down from the stairway, “Is Mommy here yet?”

Harry’s face colored. “Not yet, sweetie.”

The little red-haired girl started down, one small hand gliding along the wood hand railing, the other dragging a wheeled, pink-handled backpack behind her, allowing it to bump awkwardly on each step.