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“Clay seals. They are affixed to the entrance of any pharaoh’s tomb. You said the tomb had never been opened before, but the seals at the entrance had been broken sometime in the past. Fortunately for Mr. Carter and the Cairo Museum, the contents appear to be largely intact.”
Anna could hardly breathe. Not only did he look distinguished, but he knew everything about the excavation. He must be a professor. Or an archaeologist. Maybe he’d take her to Egypt. Stupid idea. He’d never trust a girl who stammered and talked to herself. He certainly wouldn’t take someone poor. Expedition members had to pay their way.
She bit her lip to force away the disappointment and tried to say something intelligent. “Why is it fortunate for the Cairo Museum?”
His smile deepened. “They will receive the tomb’s contents after Mr. Carter inventories them.”
“How do you know so much?” She was gushing, but how could she help it? A pharaoh’s tomb had been discovered, and this man knew all about it.
“I read the archaeology journals and reports.”
“You do? Do you think...?” She hesitated, but the twinkle in his eyes persuaded her to ask. “Do you think I might borrow your journals someday? When you’re done, of course.”
“You may,” he corrected. “Come by my new bookstore, The Antiquarian, when it opens next month.”
Next month? January was two weeks away. She didn’t know if she could wait that long, but she had no choice. He hadn’t offered to loan his precious journals a moment earlier.
“Thank you, oh thank you,” she said a bit too eagerly.
If he found her schoolgirl reaction amusing, he had the kindness not to mention it. “I suggest you begin with Dr. Davis’s book on Tutankhamun.”
She nodded dumbly.
“Until then.” He turned to the meat counter.
“Until then,” she whispered, unable to tear her gaze from him.
“Oh, good, you got the meat. Thank you.” Mariah gently took the string-tied package from her hands. “We should be going. I just need to sign the account first.” She tugged Anna toward the sales counter where the rest of her purchases were already piled into a crate.
Anna reluctantly followed, but her mind lingered elsewhere. She glanced back at the butcher counter. This fascinating man was opening a bookstore. And he read archaeology journals.
“Deliver it to the house with the rest,” the man said to the butcher. He grasped an ivory-headed ebony cane in his right hand. A cane like that could only have come from Africa. The Dark Continent. He must have traveled the world. She would do that one day.
He limped toward the sales counter, and Anna turned away so he wouldn’t notice she’d been staring at him. The cane. The limp. Perhaps he’d been gored by a rhinoceros or barely survived a tiger attack. Maybe natives shot a poison dart into his calf, and he’d lost the use of his foot.
“I’ll have Josh drop this off,” the clerk said to Mariah.
After thanking the man, Mariah asked Anna if she wanted to come over for a cup of tea.
Anna shook her head. “I’d better go home. Ma wanted me to make supper.” She sighed. “Cleaning and cooking. Does it ever end?”
“When you’re doing it for your loved ones, it’s a joy,” Mariah started. “Goodness, is that the school bell?” She hastily buttoned her coat. “I’d better hurry.”
“Go ahead. I want to look around a little.” And read more of the article.
After a final farewell, Mariah left.
Before Anna could drift back to the newspapers, the door opened with a rush of icy wind, and none other than Sally Neidecker entered. Sally had graduated from high school a few years before Anna and went to college the following year, which is where she should be now. Mrs. Neidecker hadn’t expected her daughter’s return until the end of the week. Her appearance now meant trouble.
Anna pretended to be engrossed by the candy selection and hoped Sally wouldn’t spot her.
No such luck. Within seconds, the girl had ferreted her out.
“There you are.” Without so much as a greeting, Sally flounced toward her, the hem of her scandalously short skirt barely peeking out below the bottom of her fur-trimmed coat. “How could you leave Mother without help on the day of her Christmas party? She was beside herself. Absolutely hysterical. I thought we’d have to call in Dr. Stevens.”
Anna’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “I, uh—”
“Is that any way to treat a friend? I thought we were friends, Anna. Haven’t I always helped you?”
Not always. True, she’d looked up to Sally when she was younger, and Sally had taken her under her wing, but not like a friend. More like a foot soldier.
“I, uh, thought you were still at the university. Your mother said Michigan didn’t let out for the semester until the end of the week.” It wasn’t much of a distraction, but it worked.
Sally lifted her nose even higher. “I finished my coursework early, and my new guy drove me here.”
The familiar way Sally mentioned her beau made Anna’s skin crawl. She acted as if he was some swell from the big city. Maybe he was, but driving all the way from Ann Arbor alone with a man?
“He’s perfect,” Sally continued, her stained lips bright against the fox fur, “much too good for the girls around here.”
Anna didn’t bother to point out that Sally came from here. Instead, she glanced toward the newspapers.
That reminded Sally of her purpose. “You have to come back to work.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“But then who will clean up after the party?”
Anna stared at the candy jars. “I don’t know.”
“What is wrong with you? It can’t be the wages. Mother pays better than anyone else in town.”
“I’m not a servant,” Anna said through clenched teeth.
Sally snorted. “You’re a maid. Maids are servants.”
“I clean houses.”
“Just like your mother.” Sally lifted her nose. “We would have hired her, if we could. She’s more reliable. You should be grateful we gave you the job.”
Anna struggled to choke back her indignation. “I’ll get another job. Someplace where I don’t have to wear a humiliating uniform.”
“Is that what all this is about?” Sally flicked her hand dismissively. “I’d think you’d be proud to wear it. Mother bought them directly from Ashton’s. They cost a fortune and are in the latest fashion, something you wouldn’t know a thing about.”
No one could misconstrue Sally’s meaning as her smug gaze raked downward from Anna’s threadbare coat to her sagging wool stockings.
Anna blinked back tears of angry humiliation. The Bible said to turn the other cheek. It didn’t mention how tough that could be.
Out of nowhere came the warm masculine voice of the distinguished stranger. “If the uniform is that fashionable, perhaps you should wear it.”
Anna’s jaw dropped. She could have hugged the man for lobbing that volley at Sally. He’d come to her rescue in as spectacular a fashion as Mr. Rochester had lifted Jane out of the driving rain and onto his horse.
“The nerve,” Sally said under her breath, before pasting a smile on her lips. Cocking her head until the ostrich feather on her stylish turban swept downward, she fixed every ounce of feminine wile on Anna’s hero. “How witty you are, sir. I don’t believe we’ve met.” She extended a hand.
He ignored it. “At least you’re correct about that.” He nodded curtly. “Good afternoon, ladies.”
Without another word, he strode out of the store and straight into Anna’s heart.
* * *
Despite the blustery December weather, Brandon Landers felt hot. He couldn’t stop thinking about the young woman in the store. Her friend had called her Anna. Intelligent, lively and unspoiled, her enthusiasm reawakened hope—and a much more frightening emotion. No woman had generated such feelings since before the war.
Anna clearly hadn’t two dimes to rub together, but she had the nerve to walk away from a degrading job. He had to admire a woman who put ideals ahead of money. Add to that her interest in antiquities, a rare quality for someone her age, and he could soon find himself attracted to her. That was precisely the trouble. She couldn’t be much more than twenty. Pretty young women paid no attention to wounded war veterans chasing the other side of thirty.
At least for a few minutes she’d helped him forget the painful task ahead. He must evict the tenants from the property his father had sold shortly before his death. Worse, they didn’t know the house and business had been sold. Apparently Father had overlooked that little detail.
He fingered the envelope in his pocket, and tension rippled through him. He hated delivering bad news and would never force a family to move on such short notice if there had been any other solution. MacKenzie, Father’s attorney and new owner of the property, insisted they vacate the house by the end of the month or Brandon must return the purchase price. Since Father had already spent that money, and Brandon couldn’t acquire such a sum, MacKenzie had offered to take the family’s Pearlman house as payment.
Brandon’s gut clenched. That house was all that Father had left him. He must evict the tenants from their home or lose his own.
A gust of wind struck, and he tucked the envelope deep into his pocket. That loathsome task could wait until the man of the house arrived home from work. Until then, he’d look over the storefront where he planned to open his bookstore.
He hurried along the boardwalk, shoulders hunched against the wind. The leaden sky hadn’t yielded snow yet, but it threatened. The cold weather had frozen the puddles and forced him to spend more for coal than he’d anticipated. At this rate, he’d run through his meager savings before spring. He needed to get the bookstore up and turning a profit soon, but the storefront required work. A lot of work.
To turn the old harness shop into a viable bookstore, he needed to replace the front window, install bookshelves and build a sales counter—none of which he could manage himself. That meant hiring a carpenter or handyman.
He unlocked the door and stepped into the dim interior. It smelled like a tannery. Dust, dirt and debris filled every corner and crevice. He poked his cane into the wall, and the plaster crumbled onto the plank floor.
“I need help,” he muttered.
“I might be able to assist you with that,” answered a painfully cheerful voice.
Brandon turned to see a man of middling height with unruly hair standing in the open doorway. Informally dressed in a mackinaw coat, he looked every bit the workman Brandon needed.
“You’re looking for work?”
The man laughed and shook his head. “I already have a job as pastor at the church across the street, but I know pretty much everyone in town and can put out the word for whatever you need.”
The man sure didn’t look like a clergyman. “Aren’t you dressed a little informally for a minister?”
The pastor laughed again and extended a hand. “Call me Gabe.”
Brandon stared at the outstretched hand. Ever since the war, he couldn’t set foot in a church. Too much had happened—things he didn’t want to remember, things no one could forgive. But he also couldn’t deny basic civility.
“Brandon Landers.” He completed the handshake. “I’m settling my father’s estate.”
“My condolences. We heard he’d passed away unexpectedly. Will you be staying in Pearlman?”
“At the family home.” This conversation was already taking too long. Soon the man would invite him to church, and he’d have to make up an excuse. He eyed the dark street with its glimmering streetlamps and checked his watch. Five o’clock. Best get his unpleasant task done before it got too late. “I need to leave.”
“But didn’t you want to hire someone?”
An inquiry couldn’t hurt, if the price was right. “Do you know a young man who needs a job?” A youth would cost less than a skilled carpenter.
Pastor Gabe glanced at the filthy interior. “I’d think you’d want someone to clean the place first. I know a lovely young woman who could do the work for you. She’s a first-rate worker and could use the money. The family is struggling to get by, and I learned today that her widowed mother had her hours reduced.”
“I beg your pardon, Pastor. I feel for them, but it’s not a job for a woman. I need shelves built and the window replaced.”
“I see.” The minister tapped his chin. “Her brother and foster brother are excellent with their hands. I’m sure they’d step in for any construction required.”
“That means hiring two people when I could simply hire one.”
“I doubt either one would take money away from their sister. Hendrick Simmons is busy starting up his new aeroplane-engine plant, and Peter is managing the garage, but I’m sure one or the other could make time for a little construction.”
Simmons? Brandon stiffened. That was the last name he wanted to hear. Once he delivered the envelope, none of them would have a thing to do with him. They certainly wouldn’t work for him, not at any price.
Chapter Two
“You quit?” Ma froze, her soup spoon poised in midair.
Anna pushed her chair away from the rickety kitchen table. The potato, rutabaga and salt pork stew that had smelled so good minutes before now turned her stomach.
“You can’t just walk out,” Ma insisted.
“I’ll get another job.
“That’s not the point, dearest. Mrs. Neidecker was counting on you.”
Anna couldn’t look her mother in the eye. “I finished the day’s work. Everything’s ready for her Christmas party. All she has to do is hire someone to clean up.”
Ma shook her head. “A Simmons always finishes the job. I’ll take care of the cleanup.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Why not?” Though Anna’s mother was short on stature, she was long on resolve. “I’m perfectly capable. Mrs. Vanderloo doesn’t expect me until Thursday.”
Anna hated that Ma was always right. “Well, you can’t wear that skimpy uniform, for one thing.”
“Evelyn would never ask me to wear something that wasn’t modest.”
Anna wasn’t so sure. Mrs. Neidecker had got it into her head that her house should look like the Rockefellers lived there. That meant maids in fancy uniforms and Graves, the butler, in a tuxedo. Apparently she’d seen pictures of some rich person’s house in a ladies’ magazine.
Ma squeezed Anna’s hand. “We need the money.”
That much was true. Ma’s hours at the Vanderloo house had been trimmed, and the Williamses dropped her in favor of a girl who accepted half the pay. Now, Anna had quit her job. She ducked her head. “I’m sorry.”
“Now, don’t you fret. We still have the money your brother gives us each month. I hate to accept it, now that he has a family to support, but it can’t be helped.”
“I’ll get a job at the Belvidere cannery. I heard they’re paying a dollar an hour.”
