Rainy Day Dreams: 2 (12 page)

Had he not been watching closely for a reaction he might have missed the sudden bulge in Will’s jaw, indicating clenched teeth.

“No.” The word clipped short. “Never met a woman by that name.”

He was lying. Jason was sure of it. But why?

It was none of his business, of course. As he himself had thought not half an hour past, a man’s privacy should be considered his most prized possession. If Will wanted to conceal the reason for his abrupt departure, that was his right. And if he chose to avoid the presence of an annoying, cloying woman, Jason completely understood and even applauded the desire.

But the secrecy was curious, nonetheless.

“I think I should tell you that I don’t intend to stay in Seattle.”

Kathryn didn’t meet Madame’s eye as she delivered the news. Instead, she focused on pouring tea into two matched cups, their
finish crazed with fine, spidery cracks that crisscrossed over the entire surface. She set the pot down and covered it with a quilted cozy before sliding one filled teacup across the small table in Madame’s sitting room. There were no saucers in evidence.

Madame had invited her to breakfast here, where it was her custom to cook a morning porridge over her small stove. Though she directed her guests to Evangeline’s Café for their meals, she told Kathryn since she was to be the
assistant manager
—she spoke the title with a scorn that set Kathryn’s teeth together—she could at least share her employer’s breakfast.

“Running home to Daddy’s house, are you?” The woman spoke in something akin to a jeer as she spooned a liberal amount of sugar from a crock, dumped it into her cup, and repeated the process twice. “I figured as much the moment I laid eyes on you. Flibbertigibbety gal like you doesn’t have what it takes to last more than a week here.”

Kathryn eyed her with distaste, both at the idea of drinking tea-flavored syrup and at the implication that she was somehow lacking the ability to succeed in an environment where Madame thrived.

She picked up her tea and aimed a cold eye over the rim. “What do you mean, flibbertigibbety? I am quite levelheaded, thank you.”

Madame made a rude noise and added a glug of cream directly from the jug. “You’re spoiled. Not your fault. Your parents encouraged it. When Philip saw you were too plain to attract a husband, he should have put you to work in his business instead of letting you spend your days playing with a paintbrush.”

The teacup clattered to the table, and Kathryn stiffened her spine. What an ill-mannered thing to say, and directly to her face!

“I do not spend my days ‘playing with a paintbrush.’ Monsieur Rousseau at the San Francisco School of Fine Art says I have a fledgling talent unlike any he has seen before. Papa is discerning enough to want to encourage me in that pursuit.”

At least, he had been at first. Their last unpleasant conversation
threatened to replay itself in her mind—the one where Papa insisted that she spent too much of her time in artistic pursuits and not enough in social activities that might one day lead to finding a suitable husband. He expressed the opinion that Monsieur Rousseau seemed far more interested in collecting his fees than in furthering his students’ artistic ambitions. Kathryn had objected to his assessment, and had become rather more heated than she intended. The conversation had ended with his pronouncement that she was being sent to Seattle.

No reason to detail that conversation with Madame. She only hoped Papa had not shared his reasoning too freely in his letter to his cousin.

“And I am not plain,” she added for good measure.

Madame cocked her head, eyes narrowed. “You may be right about that. You’re no beauty, for sure, but you’re not homely either. Good, high cheekbones. No pockmarks. Nose not too long, though it does turn up a mite. And at least you don’t have a squint.”

Uncomfortable at being the object of such scrutiny, Kathryn opened her mouth to object.

Madame continued before she could. “If you were to make a little effort, you might even be pretty. You’ve got good hair, but pulling it back that way makes you look like a schoolmarm. And that blouse hangs on you like a sack. Why don’t you put on a little rouge and a nice dress, pretty yourself up a bit?” She leaned over the table and fixed a gleaming eye on Kathryn. “Be friendly to the men, if you know what I mean.”

The outrageous suggestion was accompanied by a waggling eyebrow that Kathryn found nearly as distasteful as Madame herself. Without a doubt, Papa had shared his intentions that his daughter would find a husband among the hundreds of unattached men living in Seattle. And apparently Madame was ready to accept the challenge.

Oh, Papa, of all the places in the world you could have sent me, why did it have to be here? And especially to
this
woman?

Her appetite was completely ruined. The mere idea of attempting to choke down porridge while seated at the same table with this odious woman threatened to send her stomach into revolt. Moving with extreme grace and composure, she rose and scooted her chair neatly beneath the table.

“I believe I’ll begin work now. Thank you for the tea.”

An amused grin twisted Madame’s mouth sideways. “As you wish. Before you start on the rooms, though, go next door and fetch a tray for Miss Everett. She’s paid extra to have her meals delivered.”

“Very well.”

Kathryn kept her chin high and her eyes averted as she left the room. Perhaps her dwindling resources would allow for a decent breakfast at Evangeline’s Café every now and then. Beginning her day in the company of the cheery Evie was certainly preferable to suffering Madame’s advice on how to attract men.

A little later Kathryn climbed the stairs carrying a covered tray. Her mood was considerably improved after half an hour in Evie’s company. The restaurant owner’s chatter was pure delight after Madame’s sarcastic barbs, and Kathryn had accepted her offer of tea while the tray was arranged. For the duration of her short stay, she would endeavor to spend as much time in the restaurant as she could, thereby escaping the Faulkner House.

Miss Everett had been installed in a second floor room at the opposite end of the hallway from Jason’s. Since her hands were full, Kathryn used the toe of her boot to tap on the door.

A muffled answer came from within. “Yes?”

“It’s me, Kathryn.” Fresh from the cheerful atmosphere at Evangeline’s, she adopted a lighthearted tone. “I’ve brought your breakfast tray.”

There was a scuffling sound and then the door cracked open. A brown eye peered cautiously at her for a moment, and then the door swung open.

“It’s flapjacks with butter and jam. And there are fresh eggs and bacon—fried crisp.” She smiled into the solemn face. “It looks better than anything the ship’s cook served us, I can tell you that.”

A brief smile appeared on the woman’s thin lips and then evaporated. During the voyage on the
Fair Lady,
Miss Everett had barely spoken five sentences. Kathryn’s initial attempts to strike up a conversation met with no success, and she’d finally given up. The aura of sadness she’d sensed then was still apparent in the woman’s rounded shoulders, her downcast expression, and the way her rare smiles affected only her lips but failed to dispel the heaviness in her eyes.

She reached for the tray, but Kathryn pulled it backward out of her reach. Last night she’d delivered supper into Miss Everett’s hands and left her at the door. This morning she was determined to prove Madame wrong. She
could
succeed in Seattle, if she wanted, and that included succeeding at her job. The decision to leave wasn’t a matter of being incapable. It was a matter of desire.

“I’ll bring it in for you and keep you company for a minute if you like. While you eat I can tidy up your room.”

Another shadowy smile acknowledged the offer. “Thank you, but as you can see I’ve already straightened up.”

She stepped back to allow Kathryn an unobstructed view inside. Curious, Kathryn peered around her slight figure. The room would be considered small by most standards, but compared to the closet in which she slept, it was palatial. Though crowded. Two beds dominated the cramped space, the coverings of both neat and straight. An old, scratched trunk rested between them, and she spied the edge of Miss Everett’s satchel peeking out from beneath the bed in the far corner. A book lay on the mattress, splayed open and facedown.

“I’ll take that,” the lady said softly, reaching again for her breakfast.

Since there would hardly be room for both of them to maneuver
within the confines of the small space, Kathryn released the tray into her hands. She set it on the surface of the trunk, which she apparently intended to use as a makeshift table, and then turned to face Kathryn, her hands clasped tightly together in front of her.

“Madame Garritson promised to have someone remove the extra bed this morning, though she seemed unhappy about having two private rooms at one time.” She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed on a place on the wall somewhere off to Kathryn’s right. “I hated to mention it to her, but would it be possible to request a chair in its place?”

Yes, a chair would be a good addition. Situated there in the corner, she would have plenty of light to read by. That is, if the sun ever decided to put in an appearance in the dull, dreary, cloud-covered sky. She glanced around. A picture on the wall would work wonders in here, and some nicer curtains. Those dreary ones looked like they’d been made from worn-out burlap sacks.

“I’ll pass along the request.” She turned to go and then paused. “Tomorrow, leave the bed for me to make. I’m happy to do that for you.” To her amazement, she meant it. She felt an urge to do something to bring a smile to this sad woman’s face.

Miss Everett’s solemn expression did not change as she shook her head slowly. “I’m accustomed to looking after myself. It”—she bit down on her lower lip—“gives me something to do.”

“Perhaps tonight you could join me for supper.” She displayed an encouraging smile. “The proprietress of the café next door is a lovely woman, and she would enjoy meeting you.”

Best not to mention the deluge of eager men who would also enjoy making her acquaintance. That would scare this shy violet off for sure.

A look of interest flashed across Miss Everett’s features, and Kathryn thought she might accept. But in the next moment, the sad mask returned. She shook her head. “Thank you, but I think I’d prefer a tray here. At least for now.”

Should she insist? Pull the woman out of her self-imposed isolation and into the only society Seattle had to offer, whether she liked it or not?

With a sigh, she nodded and turned to go. Miss Everett was a grown woman, older by several decades. Certainly old enough to make her own decisions. Whatever events had turned her into this sad, reclusive person were none of Kathryn’s business.

Promising to return for the tray after she finished her duties, she left.