A Lady in Attendance Page 3

  How was it that someone so agreeable and hardworking had no husband or beau? Sure, she could be loud. He’d been able to hear her laughter through the entire office when Cicily Saxton was in, and when Naomi Koster, an opera singer, was waiting, Hazel had insisted on trying to sing a song with her. She could also be presumptuous and overly bold. When Anthony Pewter was in, she’d told him if he’d been dating Ramona for so many months already, he ought to either marry her or let her find someone who would.

  Yes, she was bold and lively, but nothing she’d done all week had led him to believe she was unkind. It made no sense, her being unmarried.

  Gilbert shook his head. Women were a mystery, that was for certain. And Hazel was no exception.

  CHAPTER

  THREE

  “Why dentistry?” Hazel asked one day while writing notes in a chart.

  “Haven’t you heard the drill?”

  Hazel raised a brow. “The drill? The one that sounds like a sick animal as it spins?”

  “The way it squeals is soothing.” Gilbert’s face remained stoic, giving her no reason to think he was anything but serious.

  “I guess one could find it soothing, though I don’t think it’s generally thought to be,” she replied, masking her surprise. The dreadful squeal of the drill was piercing to her ears, leaving her wincing. “I would not have guessed that was the reason.”

  She looked closer at him and saw his shoulders shake ever so slightly—a suppressed laugh. Who would have thought the man had wit!

  “Oh!” She laughed, utterly delighted by his humor. “You’re awful. What is the real reason?”

  He met her laugh with his own.

  “Everyone hates the sound of the drill, but I don’t mind it.” He paused a moment, leaving her hungry for more and eager to understand the puzzle of a man she now worked for. “I knew someone would need to take over my father’s practice. He loved his patients, so I thought he’d want to know they were in capable hands. Dentistry didn’t excite me much at first, but soon I realized I would get to be an artist.”

  “An artist?” Hazel tilted her head, perplexed by his words. Mouths were filled with saliva, abhorrent smells, and rotten teeth, not with art.

  “Every day I get to build dentures and bridges. Tiny sculptures that may never be appreciated, but I know they make life better and easier for the receiver. I know I could do careless work or I could slow down and ensure they fit properly and look the way the patient wants them to. I consider myself quite blessed to use my hands to make such important art. I see great value in it, even if others do not. To give someone a smile and teeth to eat with . . . it’s rewarding.”

  “I’m glad it’s not the sound of the drill that keeps you coming in day after day.” She looked between the art room door and Gilbert and then down at her own hands. They’d produced so little to be proud of. She let her hands fall to her sides and forced a smile. “You are a fine artist.”

  He picked up a hand drill and fiddled with it. “Thank you. I could . . . I could show you how I make bridges. If you wanted to see.”

  Hazel looked toward the clock and groaned. Bridges and dentures had never intrigued her before, but now she wished she could stay and pepper him with questions. “I can’t.”

  “Of course. I shouldn’t have asked it. Your hours are done.” His cheeks filled with color. “It was wrong of—”

  “Some other time, please. I would like to see.”

  Oh, how she wanted to linger. A deep yearning to sit beside him and coax him into telling her about his ambitions and marvel over his artistic skill bubbled inside her. Instead, she bid him goodbye, offering no explanation for her rushed departure.

  The night before, she’d slept restlessly, waking again and again in a cold sweat. In her dreams she was a girl living at her parents’ home again, sleeping in the same four-poster bed with the lush, thick blankets she’d taken for granted. Her sisters came into her room and sat beside her, begging her to play with them. It was all so familiar and real, yet out of reach.

  And then the room went dark, and her dream filled with storm clouds and thunder. She saw the flash of a knife and heard a piercing shriek. Gone were the loving feelings, having been replaced by a tight grip of fear that seized her so firmly, she woke beaded in sweat and gasping for air.

  It was merely a dream, she knew that, yet the feelings were tangible. Darkness, loneliness, regret. Once fully awake, she’d resolved to try again to reconcile her past. Her sentence might always mar her record, but was there a way to escape the fear, to live free and honestly?

  “I’ll let Mr. Beck know you’re here. I’m not sure if he’ll see you or not,” a stout woman with a threatening look said after Hazel knocked and stated her reason for coming. The biting winds of autumn blew her skirts about and sent a chill racing through her. She’d chosen to solicit Mr. Beck’s help after asking another boarder if she knew any trustworthy judges. After work, she had hired a ride to Cheektowaga, hoping it would prove worth her time. “Wait here.”

  It was already midevening now, which was far from ideal, but there’d been no way around it. If she were to ask for time off, Gilbert might question why, and she didn’t want to lie to him again. Guilt already riddled her conscience every time she heard him use her alias, Miss McDowell.

  The intimidating woman returned and led her to an office on the far side of the house. In the center of the immaculate room was a giant desk covered in papers, and sitting behind it was a well-dressed man who didn’t bother to rise when she entered. A cigar dangling between his fingers held his attention.

  “Sir,” she said when he didn’t look up.

  “What do you want?” he asked, his mustache arched downward with an exaggerated frown. “Do you know the hour?”

  “Sir.”

  “I don’t take visitors.” He tapped his cigar on the silver tray on his desk. “You should have made an appointment during the day, not come begging at my doorstep like some stray dog.”

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience. I’ve recently taken a job and could not ask for time off.” Fidgeting, she looked at the empty chair, then back at him. Did she dare sit without an invitation? “It’s of the utmost importance. I assure you.”

  “Five minutes.” He took a long draw from his cigar and watched the smoke puff from his mouth and rise like a cloud.

  Hazel sat despite his never asking her to. The chair was lower than she’d expected. She sat as straight as she could, hoping to convey confidence. “I need a closed case opened, and I need to have the evidence reexamined. I was wrongly accused of a burglary. I stole nothing, and I’ve already paid dearly for it.”

  “A case from here? I know them all. I’ve been a judge here for twenty years.” The man’s brow formed a deep ridge down the center.

  “It’s from Buffalo. I can’t go back right now, and I’m not sure I even trust the law there. I need someone from outside to help. That’s why I came to you.”

  The man leaned back in his seat and drummed his fingers against the desk. “It’s not my jurisdiction, so I can’t help you. Besides, I’m not going to go stirring up trouble.”

  “I thought . . . I had hoped you would help me.” Emotion laced her voice despite her efforts to remain calm and unaffected. “My life was stolen from me. I spent five years in a reformatory and now I carry the mark of an ex-convict.” She paused, swallowing the lump that had risen when she said the words aloud. “I can’t go back to my family, not until this is set right. I need someone—”

  “If they closed the case, if the time’s been served, they had reasons for it. Without valid cause, I can’t go investigating whatever I want. Let it go or hire someone. Perhaps a private solicitor would help you.”

  “I don’t have money to hire someone.” She kept her spine tense, refusing to cower. “I’m asking you to hear the details. Let me show you my innocence.”

  “You’re telling me you’re a perfectly pious girl who happened to be accused of burglary?” He snorted. “I
imagine there is more to this story, but I don’t have time to sit and listen to your one-sided account of injustice.”

  Hazel frowned, reminded once again of her mistakes, like wounds that lasted much longer than the initial sting, forever leaving their scars. “I’m many things, but you’re right, I’m far from perfect. I’ve made mistakes, I own that, but I never stole. I had no reason to and—”

  “Best move on.” He puffed on his cigar.

  “No! Their reasons for closing my case were wrong and their conclusions unjust. It’s hurt so many people . . .” She stopped before she named names. He didn’t deserve to hear them, not if he wouldn’t stop smoking that cigar and start treating her like more than worthless chattel—disposable, unimportant. She wrapped her fingers around the arms of the chair and clenched tightly.

  “Don’t take it personally. The courts are overflowing. We’re overworked as it is.” He tapped his cigar on the tray. “Best cool your temper and accept that what is done is done. Go west and start over. The law’s different out there. No one would know your past if you didn’t tell them.”

  Even if her five minutes weren’t up, she knew her verdict was decided. He wasn’t budging—the set of his jaw told her that much.

  She forced one last plea. “My family is here, not out West. Please reconsider.”

  He rolled his eyes, confirming his lack of interest in her and her cause. Why should he care? Nothing was in it for him other than the pleasure of knowing he’d done the right thing. And she knew that didn’t matter much to a vast majority of the population. A majority whose ranks she’d once been included in. She stood. “I’ll find my way out.”

  “A word of advice,” he said without moving from his leather chair.

  She waited.

  “Bury the past and cling to whatever future you have. Some things are best forgotten, left closed.”

  She pursed her lips together, knowing she shouldn’t say anything. Her words would do no good, but she snapped back at him anyway. “Some things are best set right. I believe that is the purpose of the law.”

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  The sun was low in the sky and the streets nearly empty as Hazel stepped away from the judge’s house. Her heart raced, and she feared she wouldn’t be able to find a ride back to Amherst. With her skirts in hand and her feet moving briskly, she approached three different people and asked if she could pay for a ride and was rejected every time. She could waste no more time asking for aid that would not be given, as the sun would not wait and neither could she. She would simply walk the seven miles back. With her shoulders straight and her head forward, she set off, feigning composure. Beneath her façade, she shuddered from the cold, the growing dark, and the memories of other shameful solitary walks.

  An owl silent as the setting sun soared above her, a coyote yipped, and men argued in the distance. Hazel’s feet throbbed, but she didn’t slow. The reformatory had taught her to persevere, to keep going when she wanted to quit, and above all else, to find solace in prayer. The solace hadn’t come all at once, and she knew she still had far to go, but little by little she’d learned to give her burdens to the Lord. In the dark of night, with fear and heartache surrounding her, she whispered softly, believing her words were heard despite her solitude.

  When she finally arrived at Mrs. Northly’s boardinghouse, the moon was the only source of light in the sky. She banged on the door, rapping until her fist throbbed, desperate to be within the boardinghouse walls and away from nature’s eerie shadows. At last the matronly woman opened the door, slowly peeking out through the narrow gap, her face uneasy.

  “Who is it?” she whispered in a hoarse voice.

  “It’s Hazel. I’m sorry it’s so late. I lost track of the hour.” She looked over her shoulder at the long shadows created by the low-hanging moon and shuddered. “Please, may I come in?”

  “I don’t put up with such behavior. There will be no staying out until the wee hours and thinking there will be no consequence. You girls nowadays have no respect for propriety.”

  “Please, Mrs. Northly. I was doing nothing improper.” Hazel shifted her weight from foot to foot, trying to ease the pain shooting through them from the newly sprouted blisters, but it did little good. “The weather’s turning cold, and I’m ever so tired. Let me in?”

  “Do you have any idea the number of girls who have stayed here over the years? They always say they are virtuous, but I’ve seen enough to tell you nothing good ever happens when the sun goes down.” Mrs. Northly folded her arms across her chest and glowered at her. “You can’t pull the cloak over my head.”

  Forcing a penitent look, Hazel spoke through gritted teeth. “I am sorry I’m late. I realize I’ve interrupted your sleep and given you reason to question my character, but believe me when I say that I would never willfully submit your establishment to anything undignified. I promise you, I never meant to tarnish the boardinghouse’s fine name. I’ve too much respect for you to ever do such a thing.” She had several more sentences of apology on the tip of her tongue but was spared from delivering them.

  “Don’t get all mawkish on me.” Mrs. Northly softened. “I’ll give you another chance. But it can’t happen again. Be in before the door locks or you will need to find a new residence. I have plenty of interest in my rooms. I can replace you easily.”

  Mrs. Northly issued the threat softly, but it still stung. There was a time when Hazel had felt irreplaceable and important. But now, she was merely a rent payment. A wayward soul with no real place, and the reminder was humbling.

  “Thank you.”

  Hazel stepped past Mrs. Northly and made her way up the narrow stairs toward her rented room at the end of the hall.

  “Hazel. Is that you?”

  “Yes,” Hazel whispered through Ina’s door. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

  “Come in and tell me where you’ve been.”

  Hazel pushed the door open as quietly as she could. “I had to run an errand in Cheektowaga. I hired a ride after work, but when I was done I couldn’t find a ride home, so I walked. It was so far, and now my feet are sore and blistered.” She groaned. Would life ever get easier? Perhaps it was her tired state that made life’s injustices seem extra daunting. “Mrs. Northly has threatened to throw me out.”

  Ina sat near the head of her bed with her legs bent and tucked up near her chest. “You are always so mysterious. An errand, in Cheektowaga? Whatever would make you go all the way there? We have shops here for anything you need.”

  “I don’t mean to be mysterious.”

  “Then tell me where you were. What errand had you traipsing about so late at night? I can’t imagine what would possibly be so important that you would brave the dark for it.”

  Hazel crossed the floor and sat on the end of her friend’s bed. A sliver of moonlight shone through the solitary window, giving her enough light to see her friend’s face. “Well, I was—”

  “Were you with Gilbert?” Ina whispered. “Mrs. Northly fumed all evening. She was certain you were with him. She thinks it’s improper, the two of you spending so much time together.”

  Despite her melancholy, Hazel muted a laugh. “She thinks evil is lurking at every corner. But no, I wasn’t with him. I only ever see him at work. I was doing nothing improper, and I certainly don’t have a suitor.” She let her body fall back across the bed. “I don’t think I’ll ever have a suitor again.”

  “Does that mean you have had suitors before?” Ina’s eyebrows rose. “I envy you. Even if I never married, it only seems fair I should get a taste of romance. Something to dream about through the long winter nights. Don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know. What if your suitor broke your heart? Then you’d be left with tragedy for company.”

  Ina’s white nightgown shone in the moonlight as she left her bed and went to her window. “At least then I would never wonder. I could hold on to the ache and tell myself being alone was not so bad.”

  “I’ll p
ray hard that some dashing man comes along and sweeps you off your feet.” Hazel stood then, wincing not only because of her feet but because of the cruel realities of life and romance. “But I will pray even harder that you never feel the pain of a broken heart.”

  “Hazel, when you had a suitor, did you feel like the world had more meaning? Every story of love seems to testify to that truth.” Ina turned from the window. “What was romance really like?”

  “It’s not all moonlit walks and gentle caresses.” She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. “Remember when we played chess?”

  “Yes.”

  “My experience with courtship is much like chess. You spend half the game trying to figure out how you can win and the other half afraid you won’t. Romance is more of a battle than anything.” Hazel rubbed her tired eyes. This talk of love and possibilities only added to her weariness. The last thing she wanted to do on a night like this was relive her own heartaches. “Maybe there is a way to play where everyone wins. But I’ve never played it that way. It’s late. I’m probably not thinking straight.”

  Ina remained at the window, gazing into the darkness. “Get some rest, but someday I hope you’ll tell me all your secrets. I know I can seem simpleminded, but I’m not. I could handle whatever it is you are hiding.”

  “I believe you are idealistic and sweet, but I’ve never thought you a simpleton.” Hazel smiled softly. “We’ll talk soon. Not tonight though—it’s too late.”

  Once safely in the confines of her own small room, Hazel paused, letting her eyes roam over the space she called home. A simple room with simple furnishings. If Mrs. Northly kicked her out, what then? Other girls like her had done their time at Mrs. Northly’s. Where were they now? Had they married or taken new positions, or had they simply moved on because they did not want to admit there was nothing else for them besides life in a boardinghouse? Or had she sent them away?