The Hatmaker's Heart: A Novel (22 page)

“You dolls up for the whole weekend?” Steve asked. “We’ve got a sailing party set for in the morning. You’d be welcome to join us.”

“Just here for the evening,” Nell told him, trying to add a little sass to her voice.

A trio of girls came from the refreshment tables and said the pie-eating contest was about to begin, which drew several of the guys away from the table, and Claudia said there was oodles of food if they wanted to eat. Mittie jumped up, saying she was starving, and disappeared into the crush of people.

Claudia went to watch the pie eating, so Nell asked Iris about college and what she wanted to study.

“Fundamentals at first. Maybe go for a degree in education. Or music. How about you? You’ve not said much about your trip to England. What was it like going back?”

“Highs and lows. We were frightfully busy in London. Seeing my grandmother was probably the best part.”

“What about that friend of yours you used to write? Did you see him?”

Her stomach lurched. “Quentin? I did see him. He’s en-en-engaged.”

Iris patted her hand. “Oh no. I always thought you had a soft spot for him.”

Emotion bubbled up. “You know, I did. And I guess I still do, even though I know I should be happy for him.” Her lips trembled as Iris kept patting her hand and changed the subject.

“You know everyone in Louisville is just as proud as punch of you. Getting to go to England and all. You’ve done us up proud.”

Nell blinked to keep the tears at bay, but then Mittie’s laugh rose above the hum of voices. Iris pointed at her twin in the middle of a group of people, her long hair floating in the ocean breeze. “Looks like someone is having a good time.”

Iris said, “You know, I am getting hungry. Let’s see what they’re serving.”

They loaded their plates with chunks of fresh lobster, skewered pork, and several kinds of salad and were looking for a new place to sit when Mrs. Benchley called to them.

“Oh, girls, Claudia said you were here.” She glided across the lawn and gave Nell a peck on the cheek. “I saw your other cousin earlier, talking with Daphne and her pals. So glad she’s jumped right in.” She leaned in close. “I’ve been telling some of the women about the stunning creations you’re making for the girls and me for next Saturday for the big show.”

Nell smiled and groaned inwardly. They still weren’t finished, but they would be. “They’re turning out lovely. Would next Thursday work for you to pick them up?”

“That will be perfect.”

Nell thanked her for inviting them and told her how much she liked her house. “Is your husband here? I’d like to thank him for his part in all of this.”

“Porter? Heavens, no. The man has an aversion to fresh air and mosquitoes and the country in general. You girls have fun.” She tottered off to greet someone at the next table.

While they ate, Iris looked around and asked if Nell had seen Mittie.

“Not in a while.”

“Drama always follows her around. I hope she’s all right.”

“I’m sure she is.”

Steve came back and sat with them, playing twenty questions it seemed. And when the sun dipped in the west, casting golden shadows across the lawn, a few people started dancing. Iris accepted Steve’s invitation to have a whirl at the fox-trot, and one of his friends asked Nell to dance. Nell laughed and tried to keep her eyes on her dance partner, but she kept thinking about Mittie and found herself looking through the crowd with every turn.

Nell nearly bumped into Iris who said she, too, was getting worried. They went in opposite directions to look for Mittie. Nell found Claudia and asked if she’d seen her.

“Probably over there with Daphne and her friends. Last I looked, they were playing charades and howling over how clever they were.”

Nell found Daphne who said, “Hey, come on, join in the fun.”

“I’d love to, just not now, I’m looking for my cousin. Tall. Long, dark hair. She’s wearing an emerald dress and several long strands of pearls. Southern accent.”

“Darling girl. She was here a while ago. Talking to some guy I didn’t know, but I thought they were old friends the way they were chatting. Sure you don’t want to play charades?”

Nell shook her head and hurried off, the food in her stomach now churning. It would be dark in another hour or so and impossible to find her. They should have stuck together. She searched for Iris, and as she looked across the lawn, a roar from overhead filled her ears. Everyone stopped and looked up as an airplane approached, flying low.

Shouts went up, “Look at that! Holy smithereens, that’s one way to arrive at a party.”

It flew so low it looked as if Nell could reach up and touch the wings, and like everyone else, she watched until it passed before she and Iris went back to looking for Mittie.

The roar came again, as if the plane had circled back, even lower this time, and one of the goggled people, with hair streaming behind a leather helmet, waved furiously from the open cockpit. Nell’s heart went to her throat.

Mittie.

“Mittie Humphreys, what were you doing? Do you know how dangerous that was? Of all the stupid things.” Nell’s voice shook, but her body shook even harder at the relief of seeing Mittie loping across Mrs. Benchley’s lawn. It had been more than an hour since the airplane flew over, and both Iris and Nell were convinced it had dived into Long Island Sound and sunk. Then there Mittie was, her hair a rumpled mess, her face beaming in the light from the Japanese lanterns strung across the yard.

Iris glared at her twin sister. “How could you?”

“How could I not? I mean, goodness gracious, my heart is still dancing at the thrill. It’s the most freeing thing you can ever imagine.” She held out her arms like she was floating.

“It’s the most outrageous thing I can imagine. Mother and Daddy will be livid when then find out, and you can be sure I’ll tell them.”

“You don’t have to. I’m telling them myself. And I’m going to fly again. Again and again.”

Iris yanked Mittie’s arm. “We’re leaving. I’m just glad the airplane didn’t crash into the party.”

The rest of the night and all the next day, Mittie talked of nothing else. The freedom she felt and how she gave her phone number to the guy who’d convinced her to soar with him. Ames Dewberry.

“Sometimes you just have to take a chance.” Mittie’s dreamy-eyed look sent rivulets of apprehension through Nell. Those were the very words Nell had used to convince her mother that coming to New York was a good idea. That if she didn’t take a chance, she’d never know if she could become a successful hat designer. With the show in less than a week, success still dangled like a hypnotist’s bauble. Swinging. Swinging. Back and forth. Success on one side, losing everything she’d worked for on the other.

When Oscar strolled through the conference room on Monday, Nell asked if he was feeling better.

“Whatever gave you the impression I was ill?”

“Just something Mrs. Benchley said, the reason you couldn’t go to her party last Saturday.”

He snorted. “That. Matter of fact, I’ve recovered quite nicely. With this show breathing down our necks, I had to work out a few details.”

Nell braced herself, determined to let his comment roll past her. “If you needed help, you should have asked.”

“What, and disturb your little reunion with your Kentucky kin? Quite the show one of them put on from the sounds of it.”

“They did have fun trying on the hats downstairs. I hope none of the customers complained.”

“Don’t be daft. I’m talking about the exhibition at Mavis’s party. Going off on an airplane ride with a stranger.”

Nell wondered how he had found out so fast, but told him not to worry, they would be on their way back to Kentucky tomorrow.

“Going out again tonight?”

“No, I told them my place was here. Working.”

It was nearly midnight when Nell got home from work. She had finished the hats for Mrs. Benchley and practiced her presentation. It was better, but not perfect. She was so tired she thought of crawling into bed with her clothes on, but changed into her nightgown anyway. When she reached to click off the lamp she saw the letter propped against it.

Quentin.
She scrambled out of bed and got the letter opener from her desk, then slid under the covers and slipped the letter from the envelope. Two pages.

Nell held her breath, hoping…praying…that he was going to tell her he was no longer engaged, that he’d made a mistake. She held her breath and continued reading.

Nell stared at the pages, her limbs numb, her heart as well. Like a puzzle, a few of the pieces fell into place. Quentin’s reluctance to talk about his job, his lack of enthusiasm over it. He’d always had a tender spirit toward others, those he somehow sensed were in need of a gentle touch. A friend to lean on.

Even on that day when he’d rescued her from Simone and the boys in the confirmation class, Quentin had a pastoral quality. Strength of character. Kind, uncondemning words. And with others, too. Taking Simone to the theater as a favor. His faithfulness to visit her grandmother.

She read the letter again. Then yet again, all hope of sleep for the night gone. Quentin had seen in her eyes and heard in her voice what he regarded as happiness. Had she been honest with him? With herself? All she’d thought of in London was how pushing herself to succeed and bowing to Oscar’s demands would gain her recognition as a top designer. Would that bring her happiness?

The answer pierced her.

Making women look and feel beautiful did make her happy. Learning new techniques and perfecting her craft still thrilled her. Catching a whiff of inspiration made her float for days. Did she view all of those things only as a means to the end—making a name for herself?

She switched off the lamp and watched the shadows of the night. The curtains riffled through her open window, shifting the faint light from outside. A familiar knot filled her chest, her arms prickly. Not all of the puzzle pieces fit. Some were missing.

Did her need for success overshadow the true desires of her heart and the life God had designed for her?

A thought niggled. In her selfishness, Nell hadn’t seen her mother’s need to start a new life in the States. When Oscar Fields appeared that day at the derby, he’d been utterly charming, luring Nell away, feeding her insatiable appetite to make something of herself. A bitter taste came in her mouth.

While she chased a flimsy dream, she hadn’t even given Quentin a chance to open up to her. How could he be frank with her when she babbled on about herself and the time constraints Oscar put on her.
Oscar.
He’d played her like a kite string, giving her a taste of success, then reeling her back in. A spidery feeling crawled up her arms. He’d even tried to lure her grandmother into his web. Hazel had a point—Oscar had a decent salon, but how many others had paid a price? She owed Quentin the same honesty he’d given her.

She went to her desk and retrieved her stationery supplies, took them back to her bed, and began writing. She told Quentin about Mr. Fields, his unkept promises from the very beginning, his controlling nature, which only increased her own lust to succeed. Her fingers cramped from clenching the fountain pen, her breaths labored. She thought of ripping the letter to shreds, but continued writing.

She read over what she’d written, put it in an envelope, and sealed it. She sighed as the first light of the dawn peeked through the window.

On Thursday, Mrs. Benchley called and said she wouldn’t be in until right before closing time, so Nell spent the bulk of the day tidying the conference room and running supplies back to the notions room. At half past four, she went to the showroom to wait on Mrs. Benchley.

She bustled in at straight-up five and leaned on the counter to catch her breath. “Oh, sweetie, what a day this has been. I have been running myself ragged all over the city. Do you have the hats?”

“In the consultation room. I thought you might want to try yours on in private.”

“I’m sure it’s fine. Just leave them on the counter, and I’ll pick them up after I deliver this envelope to Oscar. Soren asked me to drop it off. Poor man’s prancing around like his pants are on fire, fretting about the show.”

“I know what you mean. I saw him yesterday. If you’d like, I can take the envelope to Oscar, and you can be on your way.”

“Sweet of you to offer, but I’ll take it up. Oscar is expecting me.”

Nell joined her in the lift, and when they got to Oscar’s office, Harjo waved them in, saying he was just leaving.

Oscar greeted Mrs. Benchley with a kiss on the cheek. “Ah, here you are. Soren said you have the seating arrangements.”

Mrs. Benchley handed them over as Nell backed toward the door. “If you don’t need me, I’ll be going.”

Oscar said, “Splendid. And you can knock off early tonight. You deserve a little time to relax after the month we’ve had.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that. I’ll see you on Saturday, Mrs. Benchley.”

Nell slipped into the conference room and gathered up another armload of ribbon and lace for the notions’ bins, and after putting them away, she stopped off at the second-floor workroom to return a pair of Hazel’s scissors and thank her for her hard work.

Hazel said, “At least someone appreciates us.”

“I’m sure Mr. Fields does, too. Men just have a different way of showing it. I believe there will be a rise in your paychecks tomorrow.”

“Certainly do hope so. Have a seat while I finish up here.”

Nell sat and chatted with Hazel, marveling at the skill with which her fingers worked the hat rim, caressing it into shape until at last she was satisfied. “Another one done. Six to go.”

“Not tonight, I hope.”

“No, just calculating out loud. Here, I’ll get my pocketbook and walk out with you if you’re leaving.”

“I’ve still got a couple of loose ends to tie up. See you tomorrow.”

The lights were off in the hall outside the conference room, no sounds of Oscar and Mrs. Benchley behind her boss’s office door. Nell made a final inspection of the hats for the show, praying she hadn’t forgotten anything. She would box them up in the morning for the courier to deliver to Soren. She sighed and looked around. Done. She’d done it. With a lot of good help. Now if she could just get through the speaking part at the show, she would be at peace and decide where to go from here. And this time, she would seek God’s counsel and wait on him.

She picked up a counter mannequin to return to the consulting salon on her way out. There was a certain calm she’d learned to enjoy in the evenings when she worked late, and she walked softly, without hurrying. Still, her heels echoed like the tick of a clock. She set the mannequin on the floor and inserted the key for the consulting salon, reached around the corner, and flipped the light switch. Then bobbling the head form she stepped into the room.

Her mouth gaped open, her heart instantly in her throat. The mannequin tumbled from her arms as Oscar Fields bolted from the davenport, his shirttail flapping against his bare legs.

Reclining in an equal state of undress on the brocade was Mavis Benchley.

Nell froze as heat rushed to her cheeks. Without a word, she turned, pulled the door shut with force, and fled the salon.

Why can’t I stop shaking?

She tried to bleat out the question, but it was no use, and as Jeanette and Calvin hovered over her, she explained again, in halting words, what had happened.

Jeanette’s face glowered. “I’m not surprised at anything that man does.”

Nell raised her hand. “Yes, but…what Oscar…does is none of my b-business.”

“It could have been you.”

“Not without my consent, and I would n-n-never.” A harsh laugh screeched against her vocal cords. “And Mavis Benchley wasn’t being f-f-forced.” It infuriated her that she couldn’t spit out the words. Mrs. Benchley? She was Nell’s friend. Her mentor. Oscar’s lover?

Calvin crossed his arms and sat on the settee, his eyes looking about the flat. He ran his tongue over his lips as if he wanted to say something, then thought better of it and fiddled with the fringe on the throw pillow.

Jeanette sidled up to him. “What’s your opinion of this?”

“Hey, I’m not going to get caught in the crosshairs of this. I work for the competition and am sorry I have knowledge of anything.”

Nell scowled. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dragged you into it. What I do know is that it took courage for you to leave Oscar’s salon. A courage I wish I had.”

Jeanette ran her finger along Calvin’s forearm, but she looked at Nell, her eyes drooping at the corners. “So, what will you do?”

“The only thing I can do—pretend I didn’t see anything. Go through with the show. I owe that much at least to Soren.”

Jeanette cringed. “That will be awkward. Gee, I wish I didn’t have that recital after all on Saturday. There’s no telling what kind of fireworks I’m going to miss at the runway show.”

Nell assured her she’d be missing nothing. “Except watching me stumble over the script.” Her hand went to her mouth. “That was supposed to be a surprise, Calvin. But now, with all this tension in the air, it’s likely to be a mess.”

At least having Jeanette and Calvin to lean on had helped Nell through the shock. Having a double helping of Angelo’s gnocchi later that evening helped even more. But when she rolled over to go to sleep that night, all she could think of was facing Oscar and Mrs. Benchley.

The courier loaded the last hatboxes onto his dolly and presented the invoice to Nell to sign. Oscar, who’d been holed up in his office all morning, stepped up and said, “I’ll sign for them.”

Silence hung in the air when the courier left—Nell on one side of the conference table, Oscar on the other.

Nell spoke first. “I’ve c-cleared everything out, so if it’s all r-right with you, I…I’ll go back to the studio.”

“Not so fast.” In a half-dozen strides, Oscar was next to her. “About yesterday…”

“Wh-what about yesterday?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about.” His eyebrows bristled over smoldering eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

Nell took a step back, a wedge in her throat that allowed only a whisper. “I know what I saw.”

His jaw tensed, his muscled hand grabbing her wrist. “You saw nothing. You hear me? Nothing.”

Nell gasped, the whiskey on his breath like plumes of fire, the grasp on her wrist a steel trap. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”

“I’ll do more than hurt you if you breathe a word to anyone. Anyone. You hear me?”

Nell massaged her wrist, remembering how the vile man at the Emerald Jungle had threatened her and the man at the bus stop had grabbed her, innocently trying to help her.
Grandfather.

Nell stumbled back and collapsed into the nearest chair, her insides a mass of jelly. Oscar was nothing more than a shop owner’s version of her grandfather. Pushing to get whatever he wanted. Berating anyone who stood in his path. Shaking an iron fist at the upstart who dared disagree with him. The only difference was that Oscar hadn’t committed murder. Yet.

She lifted her chin. “I heard you. And I know what I saw.”

“There’s an explanation, if you can bring yourself out of that stupor you seem to be in and hear it.”

“I’m listening.”

His voice was distant, and it took every ounce of concentration she could muster to follow what he was saying. “As you know, our fortunes have been less than stellar for quite some time, and Mavis is a woman of considerable means in her own right.”

“Mavis?”

“Yes, Mavis. Mavis Benchley. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Mrs. Benchley must be ten years older than you.”

“Not quite. And age has nothing to do with attraction and desires. I won’t disgrace Mavis by divulging details of her personal life, but you may rest assured our arrangement is mutually beneficial.”

He had Nell’s full attention, but she hadn’t quite connected what Mrs. Benchley had to do with anything. “Arrangement?”

“I provide her with something she’s in need of, and she’s been most supportive of the salon. A quite suitable collaboration, which ensures not only the fiscal soundness of Oscar Fields Millinery, but also ensures your future here, my dear.”

Her future here? He had to be joking if he thought she meant to stay under the current circumstances.

Strength and honor are her clothing.

Oscar stared at her, expecting her to grovel. Or cower.

“I wasn’t aware that bedding preferred customers was a business tactic.”

“You know nothing of business, and obviously know even less about discretion. May I count on your silence?”

“The only thing I can offer you now is that I will take it under consideration.”

An hour later, Nell had collected her wits and called Dr. Underwood. “I’d like to make an appointment for this afternoon, please.”

The receptionist told her the first available appointment was next Thursday.

“Please tell Dr. Underwood it’s for Nell Marchwold. An emergency.”