Read Online A March to Remember by Anna Loan-Wilsey - Free Book Online Page B

heard Mr. Harper say, “But, Arthur, you don’t expect me to let an opportunity like this go by, do you?”
    â€œI’m asking you not to offend my host,” Sir Arthur replied. Sir Arthur turned toward me when Mr. Harper indicated me with a nod of his head.
    â€œNeed something, Miss Davish?” Mr. Harper said, pulling a stick of chewing gum from his vest pocket.
    â€œWe’ll talk later, Hattie. And I’d like those new pages first thing Monday morning,” Sir Arthur said, closing the door.
    â€œOf course,” I said to the closed door. But I didn’t leave. What had Chester Smith and Simeon Harper been arguing about? Why did Mr. Harper think Chester Smith was newsworthy? It wasn’t simply because he was a senator’s son. I leaned a bit toward the door to listen. Sir Arthur said something, but it wasn’t clear. I pressed my ear to the door.
    â€œHe’s been in self-imposed exile for months. This is the first chance I’ve had to question him,” Simeon Harper was saying.
    â€œIt doesn’t bloody matter,” Sir Arthur said. “I’m his father’s guest and you are mine. Don’t embarrass me.”
    â€œOf course, it was never my intention to bring any of this upon you. Truly, I came tonight with a pure heart and good intentions. Nothing like this will happen again.”
    â€œSee that it doesn’t,” Sir Arthur said.
    â€œAren’t you even a bit curious, Arthur?”
    â€œNo. What Chester Smith does or did is none of my concern.”
    â€œWell, I’m going to tell you anyway. Maybe then you won’t judge me so harshly.”
    I was curious what Chester Smith had done even if Sir Arthur wasn’t and waited in anticipation. But it wasn’t to be. Footsteps sounded in the hall as Claude Morris approached. I immediately backed away and heard no more.
    â€œCan I be of some service, Miss Davish?” Mr. Morris called to me as I scurried away in the opposite direction.
    Not unless you can tell me why Chester Smith is of such interest to a newspaper man, I thought, knowing the senator’s secretary would never do any such thing.
    * * *
    Grrr . . . woof, woof, woof, woof! Grrr . . .
    I awoke with a jerk. I was sitting at my desk and had fallen asleep at my typewriter. What time is it? I wondered. I pushed my chair back and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. It was one o’clock in the morning.
    Despite the excitement of the previous day, Sunday morning had found me refreshed, relaxed, and almost giddy whenever thoughts of my engagement drifted into my mind. When Sir Arthur, despite being Anglican, had readily accepted the Smiths’ invitation to join them for services at St. John’s, a small, classical Episcopal church on Lafayette Square well known because every president since James Madison had worshiped there on some occasion, I had happily strolled the two blocks to St. Matthew’s. Walter had been waiting. As always, the light streaming through the stained glass windows, the incense, and the rhythmic cadence of the Mass soothed me, enveloping me with peace. And to have Walter with me, celebrating Mass with me for the first time, I couldn’t imagine feeling happier. And then we spent a most pleasant afternoon and evening together, strolling the Mall hand in hand, stealing kisses behind elm trees and basking in each other’s company. When I’d finally bidden him good night, after several lingering embraces, my heart had been light and I’d felt more at peace than I had for a long time. What did I care if I’d have to spend the night on my unfinished typing?
    Woof, woof, woof, woof, woof!
    But why is Spencer barking? I thought.
    I’d never been one for animals, never having had one as a pet. I had grown to tolerate Mrs. Mayhew’s cat, Bonaparte, while working for that lady in Newport last summer. The cat had a habit of stopping by my rooms whenever it was mealtime,