Livvie's Song (8 page)

“Well, that’s good, because I wouldn’t come anywhere near that bird’s nest,” Livvie retorted, then turned on her heel, marched out of the kitchen, and resumed clearing tables.

Cora Mae approached the counter and plopped down a piece of paper, directing her gaze at Will. “Got an order for steak ’n’ eggs. He wants the steak done medium and the eggs sunny-side up. Think you can handle that?”

What was it with these two women? Were they conspiring to make him miserable? Determined not to let her condescending tone test his patience, he gave her an overdone smile and snatched up the order. “Coming right up, Miss Cora Mae.” When she started to turn, he said, “By the way, that’s a mighty nice dress you’re wearing. The color suits you.”

Her eyes made a quick downward sweep of her blue gingham garb, and he detected the slightest hint of a blush as she swept a few strands of gray hair off her plain, round face. In truth, the dress had a couple of stains in front and looked to be about as worn as an old saddle. “Why—thank you.” She picked up a damp cloth from the bar and set to wiping empty tables. Within a minute, she’d started humming a little tune.

Will went to the icebox for a meat patty and the prepared potatoes. At the sink, Joe chuckled while he rinsed a chicken under the faucet. “You’re gonna do just fine ’round here, young man,” he said with a grin. “Just fine.”

***

Despite what little information she had on Mr. Taylor’s experience, Livvie found him to exhibit an air of confidence and know-how in the kitchen. She’d watched him fry up a batch of pancakes, crack and separate eggs, slice slabs of bacon and ham, and peel and dice potatoes, as if he’d done each task a thousand times before. And, little though she liked to admit it, it seemed that he would be a fair fill-in for Joe. He’d even started mingling more with the customers, winning them over with his charm, wit, and relaxed demeanor. Yet this made her suspicious. Plenty of people used their charm to gain folks’ trust, only to take off with their money the next minute.

She prayed that would not be the case with Mr. Taylor. Hoped it wouldn’t, rather. She hadn’t been much of a praying woman since Frank’s passing. How could she count on God to give her clear guidance if she didn’t ask for it? There had been a time when she would have prayed good and hard for the right replacement for Joe. Instead, she’d relied on others to find him for her. Yet it struck her as almost providential, the way Mr. Taylor had wandered into her restaurant when her need for a new cook had reached a state of desperation.

At two o’clock, they locked the front door, same as every day, not to reopen till five for supper. Of course, Joe and Mr. Taylor would return earlier than that to get ready for the evening customers. Few people dined there on weeknights, even though Livvie had long tried to lure more patrons into her establishment for dinner Monday through Thursday. She figured most people were too tired after a long day of work to go out again. Of course, the regulars never failed to show, but their orders often consisted of nothing more than a cup of coffee and an occasional bowl of soup. Some days, it hardly seemed worth the extra money and effort to keep the kitchen open from five to seven.

With her tasks completed, Cora Mae scooted out the door at two on the dot. On her heels was Joe, who waved at Mr. Taylor before exiting.

Livvie pulled down the shade on the front door, where the sign that read “Cook Needed” was still taped securely to the pane. In haste, she reached behind the shade and peeled it away, crumpling it into a ball.

“That mean I passed muster, ma’am?”

She pivoted, unaware that Mr. Taylor had been watching. His blue eyes sparked with amusement. “I suppose you handle yourself as if you know your way around a kitchen,” she conceded.

He tugged on that awful beard, as if trying to make it longer. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Go ahead, but don’t go getting all cocky and confident, Mr. Taylor. The true test will come once Joe leaves and you’re on your own.”

“Ah. I trust you won’t throw me out on my ear.”

“And I trust that you won’t leave us high and dry,” she muttered under her breath.

“What’s that?”

“Never mind. Would you like to see the apartment upstairs?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“Don’t get your hopes up. It’s nothing much to look at.”

“Does it have a bed?” he asked, untying the strings of the apron Joe had insisted he wear. My, he was a giant of a man!

“Well, of course!”

“Then, I’ll be happier than a dog with the biggest bone in the world.” He chuckled softly.

And she couldn’t help but return the faintest smile.

***

The stairway to the second and third floors was located just outside the back door of the restaurant. Olivia explained that he could access it either through the back door or from outside, through the narrow alleyway on the side of the building. This was how the partygoers accessed the third floor on Saturday nights. Will had heard that those events gathered good-sized crowds, and Joe had recommended he check them out. He just might.

As they climbed the stairs, Olivia reached inside her pocket and pulled out two sets of keys, each dangling from a short chain, and handed him one. When they reached the second-floor landing, she held up the largest key of her own set. “Use this one to unlock the outside door.” To demonstrate, she pushed on the door, which squeaked and creaked as it opened, and led him into a dimly lit hallway. “The only ones with keys besides you are my boys and me.” To his left was a door, which he figured led to her apartment, since it was adorned with two colorful drawings that had the signatures “Alex” and “Nate” scribbled in the lower left-hand corners. To his right was another door, and at the end of the hall was yet another.

Olivia opened the unlocked door to his immediate right. “This is just a small storage room,” she explained in a matter-of-fact tone.

He peeked inside. A window on the far wall revealed a two-story building next door, and another window overlooking the alley ushered in enough light for him to see a mishmash of chairs, a couple of rickety tables, precarious-looking stacks of crates and boxes, a cluster of fishing poles propped in a dark corner, and a few baskets overflowing with assorted Christmas decorations—strings of lights, tinsel, and some gaudy ornaments. A lightbulb with a long, dangling chain was affixed to the ceiling in the middle of the room.

Without further explanation, Olivia closed the door and nodded in the direction of the end of the hall. “That’s your apartment. Your other key opens the door. I’ll show you around, if you’d like.”

“That’d be nice,” he said, meaning it, as it would give him a whiff of her flowery scent now and again. Mrs. Olivia Beckman might be testy and tough, but she was feminine to the core.

Just like he’d done at the Dixie Hotel, Will rubbed his thumb along the rough metal edge of the key, feeling almost giddy. He’d gone more than ten years without unlocking a door. Now, he had a job, a place to live, and a key of his own. What more could a man possibly need?

The key worked like a charm. Will pushed open the door and stepped aside to allow Olivia to enter first. Then, he followed her inside and saw the tiny kitchen and the cramped living area beyond it. She’d said that the apartment was “nothing much to look at,” but to someone who’d spent the past ten years sleeping on a narrow cot in a cell behind locked bars, this place looked like a castle. Sure, it had some peeling plaster and a stain on the ceiling, probably caused by a leak, and could probably use a fresh paint job and a little sprucing up, but what did he care? This was home, and all he wanted to do was slump into the ancient-looking sofa with the popped spring, prop his feet up on the dilapidated footstool, and read a good book while breathing in the blissful air of freedom. He knew that he’d probably have little time for reading, but the mere thought of it was enough for now.

Of course, his all-business boss took no note of his inner gladness and just began pointing things out to him. “This first door is your washroom. It isn’t much, as you can see, but at least it has a tub, sink, and commode. I know it’s old, but I did the best I could to clean it up after old Mr. Fletcher left. You’ll soon learn the hot water takes a while to get up here, and it won’t last that long if you plan to fill the tub more than halfway.”

“I’ll be sure not to. Thanks.”

She craned her neck and fixed her emerald eyes on his beard. “Please, feel free to use up all the hot water tonight, if that’s what it takes. You may also borrow my barber shears.”

He lowered his chin and gazed at her, a teasing smile on his lips. “Well, that’s downright generous of you, ma’am, but I have no need of them.”

Rather than comment, she shook her head and heaved a sigh that sounded like it went clear to her toes. Why this bent to frazzle her intentionally? He supposed it had something to do with the way that spark ignited her hazel eyes—green one day, blue the next. The way those slender shoulders tightened. The way she pursed her pretty mouth, which, in turn, made her dimples deepen irresistibly. He would shave his beard at some point, had always planned to. Admittedly, the thing did resemble a dense timberland, and it bothered even him. But why shave it now when, by putting it off, he could enjoy Olivia Beckman’s fiery spirit a little longer?

“Here’s your kitchen, such as it is,” she said, gesturing to their left. “The stove doesn’t work that well, but, since you’ll be eating your meals downstairs, you shouldn’t need to use it often. Everything else is in working condition but old, as you can see.”

Next, she swiveled to the right and opened another door, which led to a small bedroom consisting of a three quarter bed with a stained, lumpy mattress and a stack of folded bedding atop it. If he lay down and stretched out, his feet would surely extend over the end by at least six inches, but that had been the case since he’d reached adolescence. As in the storage room, a single lightbulb with a chain hung from the ceiling.

“The sheets and blankets have been laundered,” Olivia said in her no-nonsense voice. “If you want to turn that mattress over, it might look a little better on the other side, but I make no promises.” She nodded at the armoire in the corner, its doors hanging open, and the straight-back spindle chair, the only other pieces of furniture in the room. On the floor in front of the armoire was a braided rug that looked like it’d seen better days.

The wall beside the armoire featured a rectangular mirror and some curved hooks, where he figured he could drape his coat and hang some belts and maybe a shirt or two. He’d have to pick up some hangers at a five-and-dime, as there was none to be found in the armoire. Of course, he’d also need to return to the Salvation Army store for some more clothes to put on those hangers.

“You’ll have to buy your own lamp and clock, as the ones that used to be in here belonged to Mr. Fletcher. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the whole place is sparsely furnished and could use a little work.” Olivia turned and gestured to the rest of the living area. “Of course, there’s your living room. Mr. Fletcher had a Victor Victrola, and I’m glad he took it with him. His hearing was going, so he always played it louder than a train rumbles up the tracks.”

Will thought of his harmonica, which he often brought out to play before going to bed. He’d have to ask her sometime if it kept her awake. Anything to stay in her good graces.

“And, speaking of trains,” she continued, “you’ll hear lots of them coming and going, what with the station being at the end of Market Street. I expect you’ll get used to it, though, just as everybody else in town has done.”

“Hm, yes, I’ve heard the trains, and I must say I enjoy the sound of them. I also understand there’s music above us every Saturday night?”

“Aargh,” she growled. “And dancing, loud banter, rowdy laughter, and, I suspect, Morris isn’t the best at controlling the illicit stills in Wabash County, not to mention the under-the-table sale of spirits.” She paused and looked at him, perhaps to assess whether he shared her disapproval of those who flouted the law, then went on. “The sheriff is well-known for keeping order, mind you, but he often looks the other way when it comes to issues he considers less important. Not that I agree with him, but that’s the way of it. You’ll meet him soon enough, I’m sure. Word will spread that Joe has been replaced, and he’ll want to check you out, especially since you’re new to Wabash. That’s what he does, after all. The fellow has an eye for trouble.”

Will didn’t miss the warning in her last sentence. But who could blame her for being hesitant to trust him? He’d come to town on the late train just a few nights ago, a bum, essentially. For all she knew, he could be a mass murderer, and yet she’d hired him, anyway, out of sheer desperation—and confidence in Joe’s intuition. He had to give her credit for going out on a limb for him. When the time presented itself, he’d be sure to thank her for that. But, first, he had to prove himself.

Thinking about the sheriff’s inevitable visit made his nerves as agitated as a swarm of bees ousted from their nest. Yet he had nothing to be concerned about, really. He’d committed a senseless crime, yes, but no one had been injured, thank God, and he’d paid the price. The problem was, he knew he would never fully recover his former innocence. Once other people found out his history, they would forever label him a criminal, no matter how “good” he appeared or how faithfully he attended church. Well, if they forced him out of town, he wouldn’t fight them. He would simply pull up stakes and head west.

Before leaving Welfare Island, he’d determined not to give in to worry, if he could help it. Only God knew his future, according to Harry—He even had a plan for him—and he should trust the Lord, no matter what. “You’re a Christian now, son,” Harry had said. “That makes you God’s child. You can go to your heavenly Father and know beyond a doubt that He will never leave or forsake you. The Word of God tells you that very truth.” Next, he’d rattled off a bunch of Scriptures to prove his point, but Will couldn’t recall any of them right now.

“Well, I guess that’s about it, Mr. Taylor,” Olivia said, jumping headlong into his reminiscences. “I’ll leave you to do as you please now. I expect Joe told you to return to the kitchen around four thirty to get ready for the supper hour.”