and adding numbers on a sales sheet.
But what about Ida?
Mr. Boney’s mule, Sal, stood tethered to the hitching rail in front of Miss Hattie’s. As Willow approached, Sal bobbed her head and brayed.
“I’ll tell Mr. Boney you’re getting impatient with him. But I wouldn’t expect him anytime soon.”
Talking to a mule? It wasn’t necessarily a symptom of melancholia, but conversing with animals probably didn’t bode well for good mental health. Willow shook her head and stepped onto the porch.
She needed more friends. Like Ida. And right now it was important she be a good friend herself. She couldn’t abandon Ida when her sister-in-law needed her, even if Ida’s siblings would have been better candidates in the showroom. But Kat was a writer with a daughter to care for and a baby on the way. Nell had a toddling son and her benevolent work with the Sisters of Mercy. Vivian was plenty busy designing clothes for Etta’s Fashions and would soon deliver her first child. They all had families to care for.
Willow stepped into the entryway and was welcomed by a robust march coming from the Edison phonograph, which meant her landlady was in the parlor with Mr. Boney. Again.
Perhaps it was time she turned the tables on Miss Hattie and did a little matchmaking herself. Hattie and the old miner had been spending more and more time together. Still sparring like good friends, but wasn’t friendship the best foundation for a lasting relationship?
Thanks to Tucker, Willow and his friend Sam Peterson had started out as sparring partners at the age of twelve. Then quite suddenly, friendship grew and blossomed into a love she still craved. Granted, Miss Hattie and Boney were older, but Willow believed the same could happen for them.
“Willow, is that you?” Miss Hattie’s voice rang out above the staccato beat of the march.
“It is.” Willow shed her shawl.
The phonograph went silent, and Miss Hattie stepped into the entryway. “Dear, you look like you’re all in but your shoestrings. A busy day?”
Nodding, Willow laid her shawl and the wrapped portrait of Sam on the entry table beside a vase of daisies. “The man who came to the showroom while you were there ordered fifteen iceboxes. Two different kinds.”
“Oh my.”
“Thankfully, Ida stopped by in time to complete his order form.”
“She didn’t stay?”
“Only long enough to send Mr. Davenport on his merry way.” Willow raised her finger to emphasize an important detail. “After she told him I would telephone him with the delivery date for his iceboxes.”
Hattie sighed, deepening the lines framing her mouth. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Her blue-gray eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell her about—”
“How could I?” Willow carefully removed her hat. “What kind of a sister-in-law … friend would I be if I were to walk out when she needed me?”
“Dear, what kind of a friend would you be if you didn’t tell her the truth?” Miss Hattie brushed Willow’s arm. “You and Ida are like sisters. She would want to know about your opportunity.”
Willow laid the pins in the bowl of her hat and set it on top of her shawl. She glanced out the window at the mule that stood outside, then toward the parlor. “I see that Boney is here again. He can’t find good coffee elsewhere?” She pressed a fingertip to her chin and grinned. “Must be the company.”
“A woman can have a good friend who happens to be a man.” Hattie clucked her tongue, her face turning pink. “I’ll go see about our meal and pour you a cup of tea. Could you let Boney know I’ll return momentarily?”
“Certainly.”
“And no teasing allowed.” Her landlady wagged her finger, then sashayed toward the kitchen.
Willow couldn’t help but smile. Hattie Adams was a woman with a servant’s heart. She deserved to be happy, to have a man who would love her andhelp her around the house. Boney seemed to fit the bill to the letter. Well, a little crusty
But what about Ida?
Mr. Boney’s mule, Sal, stood tethered to the hitching rail in front of Miss Hattie’s. As Willow approached, Sal bobbed her head and brayed.
“I’ll tell Mr. Boney you’re getting impatient with him. But I wouldn’t expect him anytime soon.”
Talking to a mule? It wasn’t necessarily a symptom of melancholia, but conversing with animals probably didn’t bode well for good mental health. Willow shook her head and stepped onto the porch.
She needed more friends. Like Ida. And right now it was important she be a good friend herself. She couldn’t abandon Ida when her sister-in-law needed her, even if Ida’s siblings would have been better candidates in the showroom. But Kat was a writer with a daughter to care for and a baby on the way. Nell had a toddling son and her benevolent work with the Sisters of Mercy. Vivian was plenty busy designing clothes for Etta’s Fashions and would soon deliver her first child. They all had families to care for.
Willow stepped into the entryway and was welcomed by a robust march coming from the Edison phonograph, which meant her landlady was in the parlor with Mr. Boney. Again.
Perhaps it was time she turned the tables on Miss Hattie and did a little matchmaking herself. Hattie and the old miner had been spending more and more time together. Still sparring like good friends, but wasn’t friendship the best foundation for a lasting relationship?
Thanks to Tucker, Willow and his friend Sam Peterson had started out as sparring partners at the age of twelve. Then quite suddenly, friendship grew and blossomed into a love she still craved. Granted, Miss Hattie and Boney were older, but Willow believed the same could happen for them.
“Willow, is that you?” Miss Hattie’s voice rang out above the staccato beat of the march.
“It is.” Willow shed her shawl.
The phonograph went silent, and Miss Hattie stepped into the entryway. “Dear, you look like you’re all in but your shoestrings. A busy day?”
Nodding, Willow laid her shawl and the wrapped portrait of Sam on the entry table beside a vase of daisies. “The man who came to the showroom while you were there ordered fifteen iceboxes. Two different kinds.”
“Oh my.”
“Thankfully, Ida stopped by in time to complete his order form.”
“She didn’t stay?”
“Only long enough to send Mr. Davenport on his merry way.” Willow raised her finger to emphasize an important detail. “After she told him I would telephone him with the delivery date for his iceboxes.”
Hattie sighed, deepening the lines framing her mouth. “That doesn’t sound promising.” Her blue-gray eyes narrowed. “You didn’t tell her about—”
“How could I?” Willow carefully removed her hat. “What kind of a sister-in-law … friend would I be if I were to walk out when she needed me?”
“Dear, what kind of a friend would you be if you didn’t tell her the truth?” Miss Hattie brushed Willow’s arm. “You and Ida are like sisters. She would want to know about your opportunity.”
Willow laid the pins in the bowl of her hat and set it on top of her shawl. She glanced out the window at the mule that stood outside, then toward the parlor. “I see that Boney is here again. He can’t find good coffee elsewhere?” She pressed a fingertip to her chin and grinned. “Must be the company.”
“A woman can have a good friend who happens to be a man.” Hattie clucked her tongue, her face turning pink. “I’ll go see about our meal and pour you a cup of tea. Could you let Boney know I’ll return momentarily?”
“Certainly.”
“And no teasing allowed.” Her landlady wagged her finger, then sashayed toward the kitchen.
Willow couldn’t help but smile. Hattie Adams was a woman with a servant’s heart. She deserved to be happy, to have a man who would love her andhelp her around the house. Boney seemed to fit the bill to the letter. Well, a little crusty
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