Confessions to Mr. Roosevelt Read online

  The anger Nettie felt toward her father receded. He had her best interests at heart, after all. When Malcolm returned, he wouldn’t find her burdened with a husband. She would be waiting for him, and they would go away together just as he promised.

  Hovering on the edge of consciousness, Nettie heard the doctor say something and a woman’s voice answer. She wished they would go away. Tuning out the voices, she gave herself over to a luxurious sense of well-being. Somewhere, Malcolm was waiting for her.

  CHAPTER 26

  ELLEN

  At precisely nine o’clock on Sunday morning, Grover Calley rapped on the boardinghouse door. He wanted a word with Ellen, if Miss Jewell would be so kind as to fetch her.

  Ellen wasn’t altogether surprised that Calley sought her out and said so when she joined him.

  “I like walking around town on nice Sunday mornings like this one,” he said, stepping off the porch and indicating with a swing of his arm that he expected Ellen to join him. “Walking gives me time to reflect, and to indulge in a good cigar.” He pulled a plump Havana from his jacket’s inside pocket. After inspecting the cigar with some care and biting off one end, he brought a silver lighter to the tip, puffing his cheeks in and out like a squeezebox.

  Ellen waited for him to finish, stuffing her hands into the side pockets of the beige dress with elbow-length sleeves that covered the scratches from the night before. Satisfied that the cigar was burning, Calley set a leisurely pace down the quiet street. “I’m still writing my story for Monday’s paper about what happened over at Mrs. Bright’s yesterday. Nobody answers the door at the Vine house. When I stopped by Ivy Hamilton’s this morning, she said she was too flustered to talk, which is a pile of horse manure. I don’t think you could ruffle her feathers if you tried. Why, she once shot a coyote trying to carry off a calf. Didn’t bat an eye. Her son Dell told me that story and was real sorry it wasn’t in her interview.” He puffed. “Mrs. Bright politely told me, through her cook, who glared at me through the screen door, to go away.

  “Then, I talked to Sheriff Logan again. Last night he said, and I’m paraphrasing here, ‘Miss Nettie Vine, for reasons known only to herself, entered the kitchen of Mrs. Agatha Bright without invitation. She brandished an old firearm, which accidentally discharged. No one was injured.’ He said the same thing this morning.”

  Ellen willed her expression to show nothing.

  Calley glanced at Ellen as he took a long pull on the cigar. “The sheriff wouldn’t tell me who was in the house at the time, but I talked to some of the neighbors. They saw Tom Junior leave about half past seven. You left with Thelma Weaver a little later. I know for a fact that it was the Weaver girl who called the sheriff. I was wondering how you happened to be there.”

  “Did you speak with Thelma?”

  Calley nodded. “She told me to go fly a kite.”

  Ellen didn’t try to hide a smile. “I was invited to supper.”

  “Like I said the other day, you’ve made some interesting friends in this town. Mrs. Bright and Mrs. Hamilton are well-liked around here.”

  She gave the man a big smile. “Yes, I enjoyed interviewing them very much.”

  “You interviewed Miss Vine, too. Want to tell me what happened yesterday? Any idea of why she went busting in like that with a gun? Surely, you formed some impression of the woman.”

  Ellen refused to be pulled in so easily. She’d give Calley something else to stew over. “Did you know Miss Vine has been going to the depot?”

  Calley nodded. “I play poker with the stationmaster and a few other gentlemen most every Thursday night at the Elks Lodge. He mentioned it. Then, reading her interview, I recalled my father talking about her going down to greet newcomers. He thought it was a fool thing to do. I was also reminded of the fact that she’s done that off and on for years but stopped; that is, until recently.” Calley puffed. “Any ideas?”

  Ellen wasn’t going to share what she really thought, not after what she’d heard last evening. Nettie wasn’t reliving the days when she waved to passengers. She was expecting to meet someone who would never show up. Ellen shrugged at Calley’s question. “I’m thinking that sometimes she doesn’t know if she’s in the past or present. She gets confused, and these interviews with all their talk of the old days reignited memories.”

  Calley eyed her. “What sort of memories? Did you leave out things she said in the interview?”

  “I wrote it down exactly as she told it,” Ellen retorted.

  He believed her and took another tack. “Neighbors also said Doc Fox and Tom Junior arrived about the same time as the sheriff. When I called Tom, he asked me to leave it be, and the doctor isn’t home. His wife said he was called out of town, and she doesn’t know when he will return. Any ideas about where he might have gone?”

  They were now three blocks from the boardinghouse. Ellen stopped. “You’ll have to talk to the doctor or Tom Junior.”

  Calley eyed her for a moment. “Listen, kid. “He tapped the cigar, sending ash spiraling into the gutter. He was clearly annoyed with her. “You could write up this story with an insider’s view. I bet the bigger papers would pick it up. This could be your ticket to a real job as a reporter.”

  Ellen turned to walk back. The man was right. In her mind’s eye, she saw the byline, her name in bold print. Above it was the headline “Secrets and Confessions in a Kansas Town.” The story was sensational enough to be picked up by other newspapers, maybe all over the country. Who could resist a mystery skeleton and a gun-toting woman? Her mind swirled over the possibilities. Maybe she could change the names in the same way she did when writing those stories for pulp magazines. But, no, that wouldn’t work. As a reporter, she had to tell the facts. Ivy and Agatha would understand.

  “Well, what do you say?” Calley stumped alongside her, frowning.

  His voice snapped her back to the present. Overwhelmed with shame that she had considered for even a moment betraying the women she cared about, Ellen straightened her shoulders. She was disgusted with herself and upset with the newspaperman for dangling a carrot in front of her face.

  She took a deep breath. “Mr. Calley, there’s no big story here, unless you want to read about an elderly woman who, I would guess, is unstable and has been for a very long time. You could write about how she’s always had people looking after her. She’s been protected from the world outside her door. I wonder if she even knows there’s a Depression.” Ellen paused. “I can’t add anything to your story, except to say that the hardware store can expect a visit from Agatha Bright in the next few days. She needs a new linoleum covering for the kitchen.”

  Ellen reached out to shake the man’s hand. “Mr. Calley, I’ve enjoyed this Sunday morning walk, and I truly want to thank you for giving me the names of those editors. Maybe something will work out.”

  He shook the offered hand, then paused. “Indulge me one more minute, if you please.”

  Ellen crossed her arms, as if to ward off what he had to say.

  “When I was a young man, my dad sent me off to work on a big-city newspaper. He said the experience would be good for me. It was. I met all sorts of reporters, and I found there’s one type that’ll do anything for a big scoop. They’ll sabotage their colleagues, lie to their families, and misuse their friends to get the story.” He stared at the cigar, which had gone out. “You’re never going to be that kind of reporter.”

  Ellen kept her arms crossed. “You’re telling me I should look into another line of work.” She couldn’t hide her disappointment.

  “You’re trying my patience,” Calley almost growled, before calming himself. “What I’m saying is that you just discovered you can’t be a hard-hitting, damn-everyone-else journalist. Now that you’ve eliminated that, concentrate on what you can be.”

  “Okaaayy,” Ellen drew the word out slowly.

  “Now, before I continue my little trek around town, I’ve got a piece of news for you. I got a call from my friend in Chicago. Wanted to know a
bout you—if you were reliable, that sort of thing.”

  Ellen nodded numbly.

  “He’s going to call you this afternoon at three. I gave him the boardinghouse number. I should let him tell you himself, but I thought I’d give you time to think this over before he calls. He doesn’t want you in Chicago. He wants you to stay out here and write the kind of things you sent him. Stories about real people, ordinary people. He’s going to call it ‘Correspondence from the Plains,’ or some such rot.”

  She asked him to repeat every word. “I can’t thank you enough,” she stammered.

  He waved his hand, refusing to accept any gratitude. “I should head back home. The wife will be wanting to get to church.”

  Ellen almost ran to the boardinghouse. Ten minutes ago, she wouldn’t have bet a nickel on her chances of finding this kind of job, and then suddenly there was this opportunity. She slowed her steps and told herself to take deep breaths. She had to be prepared for the call with some ideas for future articles.

  The man in Chicago called exactly at three. Ellen was anxious but felt prepared. She’d spent part of the afternoon practicing with Audrey what she would say to the man. And Audrey helped soothe her nerves by playing her part to the hilt. She asked rapid-fire questions as she expected a newsman might do, and when she decided the best thing for Ellen was to relax, Audrey affected a Donald Duck voice that had them both laughing.

  Ellen hung up the phone, took a deep breath, and walked slowly through the dining room and kitchen. The conversation had been surprisingly easy. The man was certainly businesslike as he laid out what he expected for publication, and she felt she held up her end by asking the right questions and offering her ideas for articles.

  She was still thinking of what had been said when she stepped onto the narrow back porch. She took another deep breath and reached for the banister post to steady herself.

  Audrey gave a cry and ran to her side, slipping an arm around her waist. “Don’t tell me that man called all the way from Chicago just to give you the cold shoulder!”

  Ellen let herself be led to a lawn chair, where she collapsed with a nervous laugh. “No. It’s all set. A contract for ten articles. Another one if those catch on. On top of the paycheck, there’s a little travel money to cover going to Oklahoma or Nebraska or wherever I want to look for a story.”

  Ellen stopped, staring wide-eyed at Audrey and Miss Jewell, who was hovering in the background. “I can hardly believe it!”

  “Whew!” Audrey dropped back into her chair. “The look on your face had me scared out of my wits.”

  “You need iced tea.” Miss Jewell hurried to the house.

  “With a beer chaser!” Audrey called after her.

  Ellen fell back in the chair, laughing.

  “Everything okay now?” Audrey still looked worried.

  “Fine. I was just overwhelmed for a minute. This has been quite a weekend. A job comes along when I least expect it, and then there was last night. That was the last thing anyone would have expected. One minute, we’re having a lovely time at Mrs.

  Bright’s, and, in the next instant, there’s Nettie Vine.”

  Miss Jewell returned with the tea. “Sorry, no beer.” She glanced at Audrey and giggled. “I heard what you were just saying. I hope the ladies have recovered today.”

  Ellen took a long drink before answering. “Tom Junior called while you were at church. His mother and Miss Ivy were at his house. They were going to have Sunday dinner and then go for a ride in the country.” Ellen didn’t add that he had again expressed his gratitude.

  “It’s all anybody talked about after church. Most of what they were saying was pure nonsense, of course, but folks are wondering where Miss Vine got to.” Miss Jewell settled back into her chair and looked at Ellen expectantly.

  “Dr. Fox took her to his surgery. I guess he’s still looking after her.” She knew that, sooner or later, people would realize Nettie was no longer home and would not return, but they would not hear a whisper about it from her.

  Ellen drank the remainder of her tea. She still felt a little shaky when she thought of wresting the pistol from Nettie, but she certainly didn’t regret her actions. Ivy and Agatha were safe, and, in her own way, so was Marie Antoinette Vine.

  CHAPTER 27

  ELLEN AND JASON

  On the Thursday evening before their last official day of employment with the WPA, Ellen and Audrey arrived at the Smith house for a farewell party being thrown by Jess’s parents. Neighbors, Jess’s friends from high school, and the WPA workers crowded into the family’s backyard to congratulate Jess, offer advice on life in the big city, and, in some cases, slip a little spending money into his shirt pocket.

  People stood in small groups, talking over one another. Laughter mixed with exclamations at the variety of sandwiches, cold salads, and desserts—many brought by friends—arranged on a table constructed of a long board resting on sawhorses. Ellen and Audrey’s offering to this potluck supper was a raisin and custard pie, prepared by Miss Jewell, who refused to relinquish her kitchen to her boarders despite their reassurances they knew their way around a stove.

  Ellen thought of this as a going-away party for all of them. Cowboy Joe was on his way to Topeka. So was Audrey. She had the job at the historical society and, with Nancy’s help, had found an inexpensive furnished apartment. In the serendipitous way things sometimes happened, Ellen mused, she was going to stay in Opal’s Grove at Miss Jewell’s. Although Nancy begged her to return to Topeka, Ellen had given it considerable thought and decided she could work from a small town just as easily as from a city. Certainly, she would be more productive than if she went home to the distractions of family and the soon-to-arrive baby.

  Ellen nibbled on a pimento cheese sandwich. She nodded to Mae Swenson, who’d been invited because Jess didn’t have the heart to leave her out. The woman seemed to flit from one party guest to another, like a butterfly that couldn’t seem to find a place to land. Mae stopped for a moment beside Ralph, said something, and moved on.

  Ellen was pleased to see the professor had finally exchanged his shabby jacket for one more suited to the summer heat. That was Audrey’s doing, dragging Ralph to the church clothing bank. Audrey’s influence seemed to have paid off in other ways, too. The man was still without a teaching job, but he was less prickly. In fact, he looked almost relaxed as he chatted with the science-fiction writer about staying on with the WPA to collect material in western Kansas for the state guide.

  Iris Hewitt sidled up to Ellen. With her WPA duties reduced to packing up the interviews for transport to Topeka, Iris informed Ellen she had temporarily dropped her quest to locate the Indian village.

  “I know it’s there, but identifying the remains takes priority.” Iris was sure the sheriff had overlooked some vital bit of information, and she was determined to put a name to the bones, which were recently reburied in the town cemetery.

  Ellen listened with only half an ear until the woman began to name the six possibilities she’d found in her newspaper search. She waited tensely for the name of Malcolm Mahan to come. When it didn’t, Ellen breathed out a sigh of relief.

  She mumbled that it was all very interesting and tried to politely step away from the woman, but Iris was not finished.

  “Have you heard anything about Miss Vine? There’s a rumor she’s left town for good.” Iris didn’t wait for Ellen to respond. “If she’s gone to a hospital, like some folks are saying, I wonder what will become of her home. The Vine mansion would make a wonderful museum. You’ve been inside the house; what do you think?”

  Grover Calley came to Ellen’s rescue. “Excuse me, Iris, I wonder if I could steal Miss Hartley away for a moment.” He lightly took Ellen’s arm and maneuvered her to a spot away from the crowd.

  “Thank you.” Ellen nodded toward Iris, who had latched onto a woman bringing another tray of sandwiches to the table. “She’s always planning something, isn’t she? Since I’m going to live here for a while longer,
I better learn how to avoid her. Otherwise, I’ll find myself on a committee trying to talk Tom Bright into turning the Vine house into a museum.”

  Calley laughed and shook his head. “Is that what she’s up to? I wouldn’t think she’d have the time, but Iris always has to be doing something. Between her and Constance Hamilton, this town never lacks for projects and committees.” He raised his glass and took a taste of the ginger-ale punch being served by Jess’s aunt. Calley made a face, turned away from the crowd, and tossed the remainder of his punch into a nearby peony bush. “Blah! Almost the same as that stuff the Ladies’ Literary Club serves at its annual spring tea, except theirs has scoops of sherbet ice cream swimming on top.”

  “I’ve had that. It’s called ‘Floating Island Punch.’ ”

  “Well, I call it ‘Carrie Nation Punch’; not a drop of alcohol in it. Mind you, I’m not much for drink, but it seems to me a little vodka would go a long way toward improving the taste.” Calley huffed. “Now that I’m thinking of it, I best give Jess a lecture on the evils of drink before he leaves. Some reporters can really toss it back.”

  “It’s a nice thing you did for him. I know I said it before, but I’ll say it again. The same goes for all the help you gave me. I am so grateful.”

  “Stop being grateful. I’m sick of hearing it. I’d hire you if there was money for it. Maynard gave me an earful about bringing you on. Surprised me no end, but he thinks you’ve got what it takes.”

  He raised a hand to stop Ellen from interrupting. “Then, there are those friends of yours. Before they heard about that Chicago arrangement, I was invited over to Mrs. Bright’s. I had hopes she was going to tell me about that ruckus with Miss Vine; I should have known better. Mrs. Bright set out a very nice afternoon tea, complete with cucumber sandwiches, and had Ivy Hamilton there, too.