A Home for Her Heart (12 page)

“I think so, yes.” He could see her smile in the street lamp they passed under.

“When does your first article come out for the
Delineator?
”

“Should be in the July issue. I’m as excited as you’ve been about yours. I truly hope our articles help bring attention to the fact that the tenements need constant scrutiny by our city leaders. And that we can help bring more money in for the child-care homes.”

“Yes, so do I.” It felt good to say the words. It felt good to feel strongly about what he was writing about instead of feeling it was all just...fluff. He chuckled at the realization that he’d been writing the very same thing he’d told Elizabeth she wrote—didn’t matter if he thought he’d touched on a few more serious topics than she had—as in what the gentlemen talked about. It was still pretty much fluff.

“What’s so funny?”

“You might not think it is.”

“No?”

“Well, I hope you do, but...” He told her what he’d been thinking and the realization that he’d been writing the same kind of articles she wrote. Then he held his breath, waiting for her reaction. It wasn’t what he was expecting.

“You mean, you never meant my actual writing was fluff—but only the subject matter?”

“Why, yes, of course. What did you think I meant?”

At that she began to giggle.

“Did you think I was insulting your writing?” Surely not.

Her giggling stopped and she nodded. “Why, yes, I did.”

He stopped in the middle of the walk and turned her toward him. “Oh, Elizabeth, you’re a very good writer. I’m sorry you took it that way. I never meant to hurt your feelings or make you feel bad in any way. I just never truly realized that you could have said the very same thing about what I was writing until just now. Please forgive me.”

“Oh, John. You’ve done nothing to forgive. It’s me who should be asking your forgiveness for not realizing—”

“How could you? I am sorry, Elizabeth. I should have realized—”

“John!” Luke called. “You two coming?”

It was only then that John realized they were nearly home. “Yes, we’re coming. You two can go on in.”

“You sure? I’d hate to leave you unchaperoned.” Luke laughed and pulled Kathleen along with him. “Don’t tarry, you hear? Otherwise we’ll have to come get you.”

“We’ll be right there.” John took Elizabeth’s elbow and steered her down the walk. “And here we thought we were chaperoning them.”

“So much for jumping to conclusions—like I did.” Elizabeth began to laugh.

John joined her and then the laughter diminished as they gazed into each other’s eyes. “Elizabeth, I am sorry if I hurt your feelings with my remarks.”

“I—”

John stilled her words with his fingertips while his gaze took in her face and then settled on her lips.

He heard her quick intake of breath and realized he was holding his own. John’s heart began to beat rapidly as he realized he wanted to pull her closer, wanted to kiss her.

He reached out and tilted her face to his. His thumb gently caressed her soft skin as he lowered his head and heard her quick intake of breath just before his lips grazed hers, lightly and then more firmly.

For a moment, he thought she responded but then she pulled away and hurried up the steps. “We’d better get inside before Luke makes good on his threat to come look for us.”

John followed Elizabeth into Heaton House and into the parlor where Julia was playing the piano. What had he just done? What was he thinking? More important—what was Elizabeth thinking?

* * *

Elizabeth’s pulse was racing in time to the music and she hoped she didn’t look as dazed as she felt. What had just happened? He had kissed her, hadn’t he? It’d been so brief...and she’d wanted it to last longer. But had she imagined it? No. Her lips still tingled from the touch of John’s kiss, brief though it had been.

She couldn’t, wouldn’t, let herself read too much into it. He’d kissed her as an apology for how she’d taken his talk of her writing. He was just trying to make amends for that. That’s all it was. All it could be.

Even if she let herself care more about him, once he found out who she really was, things would change. He’d think she’d—

The music ended and she looked around. Had she been singing along with the rest or just standing there with her thoughts swirling about her? No one was looking at her oddly that she could see and she dare not look at John to see if he was. Her face flushed warm just thinking about him. But she couldn’t let on how much his kiss had affected her. That her insides were all fluttery just thinking about how his lips had felt on hers.

Julia started playing another song and Elizabeth forced herself to sing along, to act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. If her world had suddenly turned topsy-turvy, there was no need for anyone to know.

Chapter Twelve

A
s the clock inched nearer to noon the next day, Elizabeth wondered if John would be waiting for her in the foyer of the
Delineator
building. She’d forgotten to give him the slip of paper with the building’s address the night before, choosing to take the coward’s way out and hurry upstairs after the last song was sung.

It wasn’t like her at all, but then again, she’d never had quite this predicament to deal with, either. Fearing she’d see only regret that he’d kissed her in John’s eyes, she hadn’t looked at him. And she didn’t want to give him a chance to voice any apology, either.

Instead, she’d hurried into the bathroom and got ready for bed, knowing she had time before Luke and Kathleen said their good-nights downstairs. If Kathleen wondered why she wasn’t up to talking over the evening, as was their custom, she wouldn’t know it until the next day. And by then, hopefully she’d have her feelings under control...if that were possible.

She’d gone to her knees in prayer, asking the Lord to help her sort them out. She wasn’t even sure what she was feeling the most. Embarrassment that she’d begun to press her lips to John’s before she had sense enough to pull back? Or regret that she had pulled back?

Elizabeth caught her breath at that thought, for it seemed to be the strongest at the moment. Or was she simply confused about it all? What had she been thinking to let him get that close in the first place?

She hadn’t been thinking. She’d only been feeling. And that was something Elizabeth hadn’t let herself do about a man in a very long time. And she couldn’t afford to let herself feel anything more for John than just friendship. Not now, not ever, for she was sure he’d regret kissing her once he found out she wasn’t who he thought she was.

Elizabeth sighed and forced herself to get back to work, looking over the photos she might work into her next article for the magazine.

She picked up a photo of the children who’d been sitting on the stoop of one of the buildings in the tenements. They so reminded her of Kathleen’s nephews the first time she’d seen them in the park. That look of anguish that so many children in the tenements had. It broke her heart. She laid it aside to use. If it and others like it didn’t garner support for those in the tenements, nothing would.

She chose another of the horrible condition the buildings were in. Trash everywhere, probably rats hiding inside the piles. She shivered. Then she chose another photo she’d taken the day she and John went by themselves—John again! She couldn’t let herself keep thinking about how his lips felt on hers or how much she’d wanted to kiss him.

Perhaps it was a good thing she’d be going to her aunt’s for a few days. Maybe she needed some distance from John, some time to put the changes in their relationship into perspective.

The lunch bell rang and she gathered up her parasol and reticule and headed downstairs. Would he be there? Or perhaps he didn’t want to face her? He might not if he regretted the momentary kiss. Oh, she didn’t want him to apologize.
Please, Lord, don’t let him feel contrite about it or tell me he’s sorry he kissed me.

She reached the foyer and glanced over at the spot where he’d stood the afternoon before. He was there, but his back was turned to her and he hadn’t seen her yet. She let out a deep breath trying to prepare herself for seeing him face-to-face once more.

* * *

John looked at the large clock on the wall. Elizabeth should be coming down the stairs anytime now. She hadn’t come down to breakfast before he’d left for work and— What if she didn’t meet him as planned? His pulse slowed and his chest tightened.

He couldn’t blame her if she didn’t. What had possessed him to kiss her? Not that he regretted it—he didn’t. Couldn’t bring himself to. Her lips had been soft and sweet and he’d wanted to keep kissing her. Then she’d pulled away and he had no idea if she was upset with him or not. She hadn’t looked at him for the rest of the night and had hurried upstairs so fast he didn’t have a chance to say good-night to her.

He feared her opinion of him might have fallen and that was the last thing he wanted. But he didn’t know what to do about it. Did he apologize or act as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened last night? And could he pull it off if he did? Because kissing her, even for that brief few moments, had been anything but ordinary for him.

He didn’t know what had come over him but as he’d stood looking down at her last evening, he’d felt inexplicably drawn to her. Felt compelled to let her know he truly was sorry for making her feel her writing wasn’t important.

A man jostled him coming through the door and John realized he’d been pacing back and forth in front of it. He looked at the clock once more then turned and looked up to find Elizabeth coming down the stairs.

John searched her face and their gazes caught and held. He smiled and she smiled back, easing the tightness in his chest. He hurried to meet her at the bottom of the staircase.

“Did I keep you waiting?” she asked.

No mention of the night before. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not, but at least she didn’t tell him he had no business kissing her. “No. You are right on time. Do you have the address?”

“I do. I’m sorry I forgot to give it to you last night.” She reached into her reticule, pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to him.

He’d forgotten it, too, until this morning. His mind hadn’t been on anything but her last night. “It’s no problem. We have it.”

“Kathleen said it’s about a block or so down and across the street from the last one we checked out.”

“We’ll find it. Are you hungry? I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.” Which was one of the reasons why he’d wondered if she’d meet him at all today.

“Actually I am hungry. I was running behind this morning.”

Still no mention of the night before and he released a sigh of relief.
Thank You, Lord.
He certainly wasn’t going to bring up last night if she didn’t. He didn’t know how she felt about the kiss and thought it might be safer not to find out. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Let’s go get you something to eat, then.” He held out his arm and she took it without hesitation. He steered her out the door and down the street to a new café he’d been told about. Both men and women frequented it, and he felt she’d be comfortable there.

As they ordered and then ate their lunch there was no mention of the kiss and he didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. And if he didn’t bring it up would she be relieved or disappointed?

Elizabeth seemed the same as always, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t upset with him. It only meant she hadn’t let him know if she was. Obviously he couldn’t read her well or he would have known she thought his referring to her writing as fluff was a reflection of her actual writing style.

He didn’t know what to say or how to act right now and he was afraid if he alluded to the kiss at all, he’d be making a mistake. But then, he felt sure he’d make a mistake either way. He’d never been in a situation quite like this before. He’d never kissed someone so spontaneously as he had Elizabeth last night. And he hadn’t thought about the consequence...what it might mean for their friendship. He prayed he hadn’t harmed that relationship.

“John, is something bothering you? You seem miles away.”

The look of concern in her eyes reassured him that she cared about him at least a little. “I’m sorry. I’m fine. I was just woolgathering.”

“I’ve been doing a lot of that lately. Maybe it’s the heat?”

He chuckled and nodded. “It could be.” But in his case he was sure it only had to do with her and how pretty she looked today and especially how— No, he couldn’t let his thoughts go back to that kiss. “I suppose we’d better go check out the building.”

“Yes. I did bring my camera with me but I hope there’s nothing really terrible to take a photograph of.”

He stood and went around the table to pull her chair out for her. “So do I. Did Kathleen tell you what we should look for? I didn’t see her this morning either.”

“Just that it was appalling. Oh, and she said we should look up a Mrs. Oliver. She said she’d show us what she could. She’s on the fourth floor, apartment 4B.”

They walked out onto the street and to the next corner where they caught the trolley that would take them over to the tenements.

Children were playing in the streets and vendors were hawking their wares, ever watchful of the police that might shut them down. There was no telling where some of them got the things they sold, but Elizabeth suspected much of it was stolen for the prices they asked were not a lot.

But the people here couldn’t afford much. Like Kathleen’s family, it sometimes took everyone working to be able to pay rent and put food on the table. It was hard to see people who worked so hard living in these kinds of conditions and she had to keep reminding herself that it was possible for them to get out, to have a better life eventually. Kathleen and her sister had. She let out a sigh.

“I know seeing all this is hard. You don’t have to go with me if you’d rather not.”

“No. I’ll be fine. But thank you, John. I don’t imagine it’s any easier for you to see people living the way some of these people have to.”

“You’re right. What’s hardest of all is going back to Heaton House knowing how blessed I am.” John couldn’t believe he’d just said that. He barely even realized he felt that way. What was it about Elizabeth that had him telling her things he’d never shared with anyone? Had him wanting to share his thoughts with her?

“I feel the same way. John, there’s something I...”

He waited for her to finish what she was about to say, but she sighed and shook her head.

“Never mind. Let’s think of the bright side of things. Our article will help get the city leaders’ attention on the run-down buildings. And changes will happen. Probably slower than we want, but they will happen if we don’t give up.”

“We won’t.” Her words made him feel as if they were a team, wanting the same things and always there for each other. But history showed he couldn’t trust his feelings or his instincts where women were concerned. Could things be any different with Elizabeth?

* * *

The building was every bit as damaged as Kathleen had described. The manager wasn’t there, which came as no surprise to them. In these kinds of buildings they rarely were. There was trash in the stairwells, dirt in every corner of the stairs and hallways. Lightbulbs were burned out here and there along the halls and Elizabeth shivered at the very thought of anyone having to go in and out at night.

They made their way up to the fourth floor, found Mrs. Oliver’s apartment and knocked on the door. “Who’s there?”

“It’s Elizabeth Anderson and John Talbot, Mrs. Oliver. Kathleen O’Bryan sent us and said you’d be expecting us.”

“Hold on.” It took a few moments before they could hear several locks being unlocked, and the door creaked open just enough for Mrs. Oliver to peek out and see who was there. They must have passed her inspection for she opened the door wider. “Yes, you fit her description. Come in, come in.”

Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief to see that this woman’s small apartment was as clean as she could get it. Still, it wasn’t in good shape.

“Sit down. Would you like some tea?”

“Oh, no, thank you. We just ate.” The woman motioned for them to take a seat on the sofa and Elizabeth sat down in one corner of it. John sat down beside her, and Mrs. Oliver sat in what Elizabeth felt sure the woman considered
her
chair, as it had a ball of yarn and what looked like a mitten she’d been knitting.

“Did Miss O’Bryan explain why we wanted to speak with you, Mrs. Oliver?” John asked.

“She did. Said you two were writing articles trying to get something done about the condition of buildings like this one.”

“We are,” John assured her.

“Well, I hope it works. I don’t have much hope that the manager here will do anything, but perhaps in some of the other buildings...”

“She said something about windows not opening,” John prompted.

The woman nodded. “I can’t get mine to budge. Go see for yourself. I think most of the windows in this building are like mine.”

John got up and went to the window looking out onto the street. He tried to open it and inspected it from all angles. “It looks as if it’s been painted shut. Can you remember ever being able to open it?”

The woman shook her head. “Not since I’ve been here.”

“Elizabeth, let’s get a photo of this, if we may, Mrs. Oliver?” He looked inquiringly at the woman.

“It’s fine with me.”

Elizabeth took several shots of the window and the thick paint all around it.

John reached in his pocket and took out a folding knife, one like Elizabeth’s father carried. He scored the thick paint along the windowsill once and tried to open the window again. It gave a little but still didn’t open. He scored around it once more, and Elizabeth could see him putting more pressure on the knife. Then he went around it one more time.

He tried the window again and this time it opened, not all the way, but enough to feel a slight breeze.

Mrs. Oliver jumped up from her seat and hurried over to the window. “Oh, thank you, young man! Could you do the same to the one in the bedroom?”

“I’ll be glad to. Perhaps you could answer some questions for Miss Anderson while I do?”

“Certainly. What can I tell you, young lady?”

Elizabeth pulled a pad and pencil from her reticule. “Do you know who the owner of the building is? His name or where he could be reached?”

The older woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. I wish I could but I have no idea. The manager’s name is Smith, or at least that’s what he says to call him. He’s only here around the first of the month to collect the rent, although he’s supposed to live on the premises. We’re supposed to slip requests under the door of his apartment on the first floor, but a lot of good that does us. They never get answered.”

“I’m sorry. Do you live alone or is there family?”

“My husband died on the way over from England. My daughter and I live here. She works at the laundry and I take in mending. We’ve been here two years now and well...one day we hope to get out of here.”