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Authors: Shirley Tallman
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biting into it with obvious appreciation.
“I'm surprised to see you here at this time of morning,” I told him.
Robert continued chewing for a moment, then took a sip of coffee. “I'm due at the courthouse in less than an hour. Trevor Lansing is ill with catarrh today, so I am to take his place as Mr. Shepard's second chair this morning. I thought I'd stop by on my way to ask if you might agree to do a bit of work for me.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and set them on the table, well away from Eddie's sticky fingers. “I've fallen behind at the office and I'd appreciate your help. If you can manage it, of course.”
I was tempted to laugh. Naturally, Robert knew all too well how easily I could “manage it.” My professional self-respect was cut to the quick when I calculated just how much idle time I spent upstairs in my lonely two-room office. Although I knew he would never admit it, I was certain he had made off with the files without Joseph Shepard's knowledge. I am ashamed to confess that this afforded me secret pleasure. If Joseph Shepard were aware of Robert's subterfuge, he would surely have suffered one of his infamous bouts of apoplexy. Ah, yes, he certainly would. And glory be, I would no longer be obliged to stand helplessly by and listen to it!
This was not the first time Robert had pressed me to accept paperwork from Shepard's firm since I'd established my own law office. At first, pride had prevented me from availing myself of this extra income—although heaven knows the money was sorely needed. In the six months I had been in business, I had represented but two paying clients. One payment had consisted of an exquisite antique tea service—the kettle filled with cash. The other had been an old gold brooch which supposedly had belonged to Maria Alexandrovna, the wife of Russia's Czar Alexander. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, and despite my ailing finances I could not bring myself to sell it.
It was imperative, however, that I do something to fortify my dwindling savings. And as it says in Proverbs 16:18, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Admonishing myself to count my blessings, I accepted the papers from Robert. “Of course, I shall be more than happy to give these my attention.”
“Excellent.” Looking relieved, he helped himself to anotherdoughnut. “You have surpassed yourself this morning, Mrs. Goodman,” he told Fanny. “If you were to add a small bakery to your millinery store, your fortune would be made.”
Fanny's flushed cheeks revealed her pleasure at this praise. She was fast learning that the Scot's rare accolades were not to be taken lightly.
Tucking Robert's paperwork into my own briefcase, I rose from the table. “It is past time we commenced your lesson, Eddie. Come, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer awaits upstairs.”
Eddie's eyes went to the few doughnuts remaining on the table, then sighed and rose up from his chair.
“Don't know why we can't use the Police Gazette ,” he complained. Noting my disapproving expression, he hastily amended, “Although I guess Tom Sawyer ain't such a bad feller when you get right down to it.”
“He isn't such a bad fellow, Eddie,” I corrected. Then at his puzzled look, I said, “Oh, never mind, I'll explain it to you later. Before we leave—” I nodded my head at Fanny and gave the boy a pointed look.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, correctly interpreting my silent prompt. “Thanks for the doughnuts and hot chocolate, Mrs. Goodman.”
“you're very welcome, Eddie, dear.” My neighbor beamed at the boy. “Why don't you come by after you finish driving your cab this evening? I'm making shepherd's pie.”
“Yes, ma'am, I will,” he promised, eyes alight as he anticipated one of his favorite dinners.
I doubt that Eddie ever saw meals, much less pastries, like this at his own home. The boy spoke little about his family life, but from the odd comment he occasionally let
“I'm surprised to see you here at this time of morning,” I told him.
Robert continued chewing for a moment, then took a sip of coffee. “I'm due at the courthouse in less than an hour. Trevor Lansing is ill with catarrh today, so I am to take his place as Mr. Shepard's second chair this morning. I thought I'd stop by on my way to ask if you might agree to do a bit of work for me.” He pulled a sheaf of papers from his briefcase and set them on the table, well away from Eddie's sticky fingers. “I've fallen behind at the office and I'd appreciate your help. If you can manage it, of course.”
I was tempted to laugh. Naturally, Robert knew all too well how easily I could “manage it.” My professional self-respect was cut to the quick when I calculated just how much idle time I spent upstairs in my lonely two-room office. Although I knew he would never admit it, I was certain he had made off with the files without Joseph Shepard's knowledge. I am ashamed to confess that this afforded me secret pleasure. If Joseph Shepard were aware of Robert's subterfuge, he would surely have suffered one of his infamous bouts of apoplexy. Ah, yes, he certainly would. And glory be, I would no longer be obliged to stand helplessly by and listen to it!
This was not the first time Robert had pressed me to accept paperwork from Shepard's firm since I'd established my own law office. At first, pride had prevented me from availing myself of this extra income—although heaven knows the money was sorely needed. In the six months I had been in business, I had represented but two paying clients. One payment had consisted of an exquisite antique tea service—the kettle filled with cash. The other had been an old gold brooch which supposedly had belonged to Maria Alexandrovna, the wife of Russia's Czar Alexander. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, and despite my ailing finances I could not bring myself to sell it.
It was imperative, however, that I do something to fortify my dwindling savings. And as it says in Proverbs 16:18, “Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.” Admonishing myself to count my blessings, I accepted the papers from Robert. “Of course, I shall be more than happy to give these my attention.”
“Excellent.” Looking relieved, he helped himself to anotherdoughnut. “You have surpassed yourself this morning, Mrs. Goodman,” he told Fanny. “If you were to add a small bakery to your millinery store, your fortune would be made.”
Fanny's flushed cheeks revealed her pleasure at this praise. She was fast learning that the Scot's rare accolades were not to be taken lightly.
Tucking Robert's paperwork into my own briefcase, I rose from the table. “It is past time we commenced your lesson, Eddie. Come, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer awaits upstairs.”
Eddie's eyes went to the few doughnuts remaining on the table, then sighed and rose up from his chair.
“Don't know why we can't use the Police Gazette ,” he complained. Noting my disapproving expression, he hastily amended, “Although I guess Tom Sawyer ain't such a bad feller when you get right down to it.”
“He isn't such a bad fellow, Eddie,” I corrected. Then at his puzzled look, I said, “Oh, never mind, I'll explain it to you later. Before we leave—” I nodded my head at Fanny and gave the boy a pointed look.
“Oh, yeah,” he said, correctly interpreting my silent prompt. “Thanks for the doughnuts and hot chocolate, Mrs. Goodman.”
“you're very welcome, Eddie, dear.” My neighbor beamed at the boy. “Why don't you come by after you finish driving your cab this evening? I'm making shepherd's pie.”
“Yes, ma'am, I will,” he promised, eyes alight as he anticipated one of his favorite dinners.
I doubt that Eddie ever saw meals, much less pastries, like this at his own home. The boy spoke little about his family life, but from the odd comment he occasionally let
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