Secrets of the Heart (10 page)

Kathleen smiled. “I…I don’t know how to thank you.”

Maybelle chuckled. “You can thank me by eating till you’re full.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Kathleen hadn’t realized how hungry she was until she looked at the thick vegetable beef soup and the hot bread on the plate. She picked up her spoon with gusto and suddenly thought of Hennie Killanin and her family. They always prayed before they ate and thanked the Lord for their food. Kathleen was very appreciative of what had just been set before her, but she was not about to bow her head and pray in front of people. She dug in. After a few minutes, Maybelle came back and poured her another cup of coffee.

Kathleen didn’t put her spoon down, except to butter the bread, until she had eaten all the soup and all four slices of bread. When it
was all gone she sat back with a sigh, and for a moment she stared out the window and watched people passing by under the street lanterns. Then she rose to her feet and put on her shabby coat, buttoned it up tight around her throat, and went to the counter. Maybelle met her there, took her money, and said, “You come back again, won’t you, honey?”

“I will. And thank you. Thank you very much.”

Maybelle showed her big smile again. “You are so welcome. Bye now.”

The sky was overcast when Kathleen stepped into the cold and headed for home.

When she entered the boardinghouse, her landlady was in the hall about to enter her own room. Hattie Murphy was a short, stout, jolly widow of sixty.

“Kathleen! There you are. I recall you said you wouldn’t be here for lunch, but I expected you for supper. Come on down to the dining hall. I have some leftovers I can heat up, and—”

“I already ate supper, Mrs. Murphy,” Kathleen said politely, “but thank you.”

Hattie cocked her head to one side. “So did you find work, honey?”

“Not yet. But I’ll try again tomorrow. See you at breakfast.” As Kathleen spoke, she headed down the hall.

“Honey, why are you limping?”

“Oh, I’ve just got a blister on my left heel. I bought these shoes in a secondhand store, and they’re a bit small for my feet. I’ll have to go the price and buy a new pair.”

“Come in, child, and let me look at that blister.”

Kathleen entered her room feeling more cheered than when she’d first returned to the boardinghouse. She had a small container of salve in her hand and a bandage on her blister. There was also money to buy a new pair of shoes, which she would do as soon as she could.
Her landlady had told her not to worry about paying back the money until she sold her land.

Each room in the boardinghouse had its own potbellied stove. Kathleen kept her coat on while she built a fire, and soon the room was warm. She set a pail of water on the stove to heat up, then sat down and removed her shoes. The blister felt much better after Hattie’s doctoring.

She washed up, brushed her hair, then put on the only flannel nightgown she had—a used one shed purchased at the secondhand store. She snuffed the flame in the rooms only lantern, padded across the floor, and slipped between the cold sheets.

As Kathleen thought of her family, the tears began to flow. She forced herself to put her mind on what she would do in the morning. The first door she knocked on would be at 1402 Mockingbird Lane. If she got turned down there, she would keep on knocking on doors until she found work. She came very close to asking God to let her get a job at the house where the nice young man lived. Instead, she nestled her head deeper into the pillow. Her body was fatigued from all the walking she had done, and soon her eyelids drooped, ushering her into a dreamless sleep.

There wasn’t a cloud in the sky the next morning as Kathleen turned onto Mockingbird Lane. The blister had not hurt so much when she first left the boardinghouse, but after walking all the way to the wealthy section of town again, it was giving her some pain. No matter what happened today, she would make it downtown before closing time to buy shoes that fit.

The sun gave off little heat, and the wind off the lake seemed colder than yesterday. Kathleen tugged at her coat collar as she drew up in front of the posh mansion. Her mouth dropped open when she read the name on the metal plate attached to an iron post:
JOHN M. STALLWORTH.

Everybody in Chicago knew that name. John Michael Stallworth
owned the Great Lakes Railroad Company. He was one of the wealthiest men in the city.

Kathleen took a deep breath and limped onto the porch. She stared at the ornate knocker for a moment, then lifted it and let it fall. She expected a butler to answer, but the footsteps she heard were definitely that of a woman.
Probably the maid
, she told herself.

The door swung open to reveal a stately woman in her midfifties. Her dark hair was streaked with gray and pulled back in a lovely upsweep. “What can I do for you, young lady?” she said.

Kathleen’s stomach churned. “Are you Mrs. Stallworth, ma’am?”

“Yes. I am Maria Stallworth.”

“My name is Kathleen O’Malley, Mrs. Stallworth, and I just need to talk to you for a moment.”

Maria Stallworth took a step back, swung the door wider, and said, “Please come in out of the cold, dear.”

This was the first time Kathleen had been invited inside a house since she started canvassing the neighborhood. “Oh. Why, thank you, ma’am,” she said, moving inside.

“Come,” Maria said, “let’s sit down in the parlor.”

The dignified woman led Kathleen into a beautiful room where a fire was crackling in the fireplace.

Kathleen was directed to sit on a love seat, and Mrs. Stallworth sat down opposite her on an overstuffed chair. “Now, Kathleen O’Malley,” she said, “what did you need to talk to me about?”

“I don’t want to take up a lot of your time, Mrs. Stallworth, so I’ll be brief. My entire family died in that awful fire a week ago last Sunday. I am the only one left. Our house was destroyed.”

“Oh, you poor thing. Are you needing a donation to help meet your necessities?”

“I am not looking for a donation, ma’am. I’m looking for work. I can do all kinds of cleaning jobs, and any kind of housework. I’ve been knocking on doors here in your part of the city, but so far no one has needed my services.”

Maria squinted, tilted her head, and said, “Shouldn’t you be in school?”

“I am a senior this year, ma’am, but I can’t stay in school because I have to earn a living now.”

“I see. And you are willing to do any kind of cleaning? You know, bathrooms, kitchen, hardwood floors, windows?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Kathleen’s pulse quickened.

“You said your house was destroyed in the fire?”

“Yes, ma’am. My—my parents, brother, and sister were trapped in the house when it went up in flames.”

“I’m so sorry, dear. What I am wanting to know is, where are you living now?”

“I have a room in a boardinghouse just west of downtown.”

“And if you find work here in our area, you will walk every workday from there?”

Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, honey, no one can say you’re a lazy person, that’s for sure.”

Kathleen pressed a smile on her lips. Butterflies flitted in her stomach. Was she about to be offered a job?

“Tell you what, Kathleen, we had a live-in maid and cook, but quite recently we had to let her go. John—that’s my husband—and I have agreed that I would do the cooking, and we’d simply find a cleaning lady and have her come three days a week. The live-in situation just didn’t work. We’ve never had a butler because we’re such private people.”

Kathleen nodded, waiting hopefully.

“I can handle the cooking with no problem,” Maria went on. “There are only three of us in the house…John, our son Peter, and me. You do know who we are, don’t you, dear?”

“Yes. You’re the railroad people.”

“That’s right. The Great Lakes Railroad Company. Well, Kathleen, if you’d like the job, it’s yours. You would come Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays to do the cleaning. We’ll pay you a dollar a
day, and we’ll buy you a couple of uniforms. We’d like you to wear a uniform when you’re working here, so that when we have guests, they will be pleased at the way our cleaning lady dresses.”

A warm feeling washed over Kathleen. Smiling broadly, she said, “I’ll take the job, Mrs. Stallworth. Thank you!”

“And we’ll be happy to have you, dear. Now, before you go, let me take some measurements. One of my husband’s employees has a wife who makes dresses, and she also makes uniforms.”

When the measurements had been noted, Maria walked her new cleaning lady toward the door. “Can you start Thursday?”

“Certainly.”

“All right. Your workdays here will start at eight o’clock in the morning, and you will finish at four. I’ll see that you have some lunch each day. Your uniforms will probably not be ready till Saturday, so we’ll get by on Thursday with whatever dress you wear.”

“Fine, ma’am,” said Kathleen. “What I’ll try to do now is find a cleaning job on the alternate days.”

Marias hand went to her cheek. “Wait a minute! I think I can get you that very job.”

“Really?”

“Yes. We have some close friends who live just a couple of blocks from here on Sunset Drive. Are you acquainted with Massey’s department store downtown?”

Kathleen knew Massey’s was where rich people bought their clothes and other expensive items. “I’ve seen it, but I’ve never been inside.”

“Well, the Ralph Massey family owns it, and they’re looking for a cleaning lady. At least they were up till two days ago. If they haven’t hired one yet, I know you’ll get the job.”

As she spoke, Maria went to a small desk on one side of the large vestibule and opened a drawer. “Tell you what, Kathleen,” she said, taking out a sheet of paper, “I’ll write LuAnn a note and tell her I just hired you, and that if she hasn’t already filled the position, she should hire you.”

Kathleen could hardly believe how well things were going today.

Maria dipped a pen in the inkwell on the desk and scratched a hasty note. She blotted it, stuffed it into an envelope, and handed it to Kathleen. “Here you are, dear. Just ask for Mrs. Massey when you knock on the door. They have a butler and a cook, but their cleaning lady got married about ten days ago and quit her job.”

As she ushered Kathleen toward the door, Maria said, “I hope you aren’t getting married anytime soon.”

“No, ma’am. I don’t even have a beau.”

“Pretty as you are? That’s hard to believe. All right, Miss Kathleen O’Malley, I’ll see you on Thursday morning at eight o’clock.”

“You sure will, Mrs. Stallworth. Thank you for giving me the job…and thank you for recommending me to Mrs. Massey.”

“You are very welcome, dear.”

Kathleen tried not to limp as she walked toward the street, but she knew it was still obvious if Mrs. Stallworth was watching her. When she passed through the open gate, she looked back and saw Maria standing at the door in spite of the cold air. The woman waved, and Kathleen waved back.

When Kathleen limped away from 1440 Sunset Drive, a great burden was lifted from her shoulders. LuAnn Massey had hired her on the spot after reading Maria Stallworth’s note. Kathleen would work Monday, Wednesday, and Friday each week at the Massey home. This would give her Sunday to rest up.

Mrs. Massey said she would pay $1.10 a day since the Stallworths were furnishing Kathleen her uniforms.

This was a source of even greater encouragement to Kathleen. The use of the uniforms would save her having to buy as many clothes, and the extra ten cents a day over what the Stallworths were paying would help pay the rent for her room.

Kathleen entered the mercantile store in downtown Chicago where her parents had often gone to buy clothing and shoes. After trying on several pairs of shoes, she remembered that winter was near, and that meant there would be long walks on snow and ice. She decided on a pair of soft leather boots that buttoned up the side in a row of small buttons.

She left the secondhand shoes for the salesman to throw away and departed the store, wearing her new boots. They were wonderfully comfortable.

By the time Kathleen arrived at the boardinghouse lunch was over, and Hattie Murphy was washing dishes in the kitchen off the dining room.

The older woman looked up to see Kathleen limp into the kitchen and broke into a smile. “Hey!” she said. “You got some new boots!”

“Thanks to you.”

“You’re back earlier than yesterday,” said Hattie, as she stacked plates on the cupboard next to a tray of clean cups.

Hattie was small, silver-haired, and about sixty, but Kathleen figured she could outwork the average woman half her age. The older woman wiped her hands on her apron and turned around to look at Kathleen. “Does your early return mean you had success?”

“Oh, did I ever!”

“Wonderful, darlin’!” Hattie said, her Irish brogue quite evident in her excitement. “Tell me!”

Kathleen waggled her head in mock pride, “Well, Mrs. Murphy, you are now looking at the cleaning lady at the mansions of John Michael Stallworth and Ralph Massey!”

“No-o-o!”

“Yes! I’m doing the Stallworth house on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays. And I’m doing the Massey house on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays! I get Sundays off…and guess what!”