LITMIR.BIZ

      Chapter Three

      Kathleen went down to breakfast for the first time the next morning to find Mrs. Heaton, Elizabeth and Ben already at the table.

      “Good morning, Kathleen.” Mrs. Heaton smiled from the head of the table. “I’m glad you felt like coming down this morning. As you can see, we all eat breakfast at different times. Just help yourself, dear.” She motioned to the sideboard.

      Kathleen was a bit disappointed that Luke wasn’t there, but tried not to show it as she picked up a plate on the sideboard and chose some fluffy scrambled eggs, bacon and a biscuit. She was going to have to watch that she didn’t gain weight living here, for the fare was much more than she was used to.

      “Good morning. Have the others already had breakfast?” Kathleen took the seat she’d sat in the night before and was happy to see the utensil setting was one she could manage—one knife, one fork and a spoon.

      “I’m not sure, but possibly,” Elizabeth said. “I slept in today.”

      “Luke ate earlier. I ran into him on my way in,” Ben said. “He went down to get some writing done so he could go on the outing with us.”

      Kathleen was glad Luke was coming. She really didn’t know him any better than the others, but she felt safe when he was around. “What does he write?”

      “He writes dime novels,” Mrs. Heaton said.

      A writer? Somehow that surprised Kathleen.

      “I’m glad you feel up to going to the museum, Kathleen,” Mrs. Heaton continued. “Have you ever been before?”

      Kathleen shook her head and swallowed the bite she’d just taken. “No, ma’am. But I’ve been told it’s wonderful.”

      “It is. You’ll love it,” Elizabeth said. “Some of my friends have said that the Michelangelo collection is magnificent.”

      “Yes, I’ve heard that, too. Mrs. Driscoll has talked about it.” She didn’t mention that she really wasn’t familiar with Michelangelo or his work as she’d never been to a museum of any kind. Hopefully she would be well acquainted with it by that evening.

      “You can all tell me about it at dinner,” Mrs. Heaton said, pushing back her chair. “You know, I don’t believe you’ve seen all of this floor, Kathleen. Would you like a tour so that you know your way around?”

      “Oh, yes, I would, please.” She was finished eating and she pushed back her chair.

      “Let’s start with the kitchen,” Mrs. Heaton said, leading her through the door on the other end of the dining room.

      It was large and sunny and smelled wonderful. Gretchen turned from the sink to say, “Good morning, Miss Kathleen. It’s good to see you this morning.”

      “It’s good to see you as well, Gretchen.”

      Mrs. Heaton led her back to the hall and to a room across from the kitchen. “This is the back parlor where you may bring a guest. Gretchen and Maida are always happy to prepare refreshment for you and your company. It’s a nice place to come to read or write letters or just a place to relax.”

      It was a very inviting room, smaller but just as beautiful as the larger parlor, and done in blues and greens with a homey feel to it. After that was a smaller room, very cozy with a wall of shelves filled with books.

      “This is my study. You’re welcome to borrow any book you’d like,” Mrs. Heaton said.

      “I do like to read, but haven’t had much opportunity to in a while.” Kathleen couldn’t remember when she’d last had the time to read for pleasure.

      “Feel free to help yourself anytime.”

      “Thank you, I will.”

      They walked out and Mrs. Heaton showed her where the telephone was in an area under the staircase. “Mrs. Driscoll has this number in case she needs to call you in. And I have hers if you should need to speak with her.”

      They were back to the foyer and Mrs. Heaton said, “That’s about it for this floor—except there is a small garden out back. Downstairs is where the men’s rooms are, and the next floor up from yours is where Maida’s and Gretchen’s rooms are, with a few other rooms that are used from time to time.”

      “It’s beautiful, Mrs. Heaton.”

      The telephone in the cubby behind the staircase rang just then and Mrs. Heaton took it on herself to answer. She put her hand over the receiver and whispered, “This is a call I need to take. I’m sorry, I—”

      “Oh, no, please take your call. I’ll see you later.”

      Kathleen gave a little wave and hurried upstairs to her room. A room she’d never thought to live in and wasn’t sure she could afford to, until after she knew what Mrs. Heaton would be charging her. The woman had refused to discuss it until after Kathleen went back to work, telling her that she didn’t owe a penny until then.

      She’d hate to leave, but after seeing the rest of the house, she couldn’t imagine that she could actually afford to stay. She might have to look into the YWCA. Kathleen made her bed—refusing to let Gretchen and Maida do it for her. They had enough work to do.

      The bathroom was empty and she decided to wash her hair for the outing that afternoon. She toweled it dry as best she could and combed it out, knowing it would dry into near-uncontrollable curls.

      When she entered her room, she noticed the door to her armoire was open slightly and went to close it. But color caught her eye and she opened it to find it full of clothing and a note attached to a gold dinner dress. At least that’s what she thought it was from the magazines some of her coworkers had brought to work.

      She unpinned the note and read, “Kathleen, these are the outfits I told you about. As you can see, the colors are much more suited to you than to me. This gold dress will work nicely for dinner tonight. I hope everything fits. If not, we can alter them. I took a sewing course from Violet Heaton last summer.”

      Kathleen hurried back into the bathroom and knocked on Elizabeth’s door. When her new friend opened it with a smile, Kathleen threw her arms around her neck.

      “I don’t know what to say, except thank you, Elizabeth. I’m not sure I can accept your generosity though—it’s too much.”

      “It is not too much, Kathleen. Aside from my buying on a whim, I have an aunt who buys clothes for me without taking into consideration the colors or styles I like. I wore them each once for her. I’ll not be wearing them again. If you don’t like them—” Elizabeth

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