Broken Limbs, Mended Hearts by Regina Jennings (10 best novels of all time .txt) 📗

“I’m recently arrived from St. Louis and am looking for work. I have experience with a designer, Madame DuBois. I have a letter of reference from her, recommending myself for the remodeling of your entertaining areas.” Whether the letter was legitimate or a forgery done by Pinkerton, Calista couldn’t say.

The secretary barely gave her a glance. “You’re from the Clarketon Hotel, aren’t you? Want to get a look at our rooms? No, thank you. If our staff wasn’t doing an admirable job, there wouldn’t be so many competitors trying to imitate us. Have a nice day.” She turned back to her typewriter and pulled another paper off a stack.

“Or maybe I could tour the place?” Calista persisted, “I think I have a relative who works here. I’d like to say hello to her before I leave, if that’s possible.” She knew she wouldn’t persuade the secretary, but she was buying time. First and foremost, she was watching every face for Lila Seaton, but beyond that, you never knew when a crossed path would prove fortuitous.

One young lady in particular caught her eye. Wearing a stern black skirt and tan blouse, she was dressed too somberly for her age and too modestly for a woman employed at this business. Her thick bangs were cut so low as to nearly brush against her spectacles. She stood at a respectable distance, waiting for Calista to finish.

Her wait would be short. The dragoon at the receptionist table ripped the page from her typewriter and held it out to another courier. “Barney, tell Mrs. Wilds that Dr. Stevenson has scheduled ten of our girls for their checkups tomorrow. Here’s a list of who needs to attend this time. And please get security to escort this woman out of my office.”

“Me?” Calista pressed her hand against her fitted jacket. “I don’t mean any harm.”

But the woman at the typewriter only rolled her eyes before addressing the prudish woman next to Calista. “How can I help you?”

With a nervous glance at Calista, the woman stepped forward. “I’m Mrs. Bowman from the Children’s Home,” she said. “I’ve brought news for Fredericka. Her child has recovered from her illness. We thought she’d like to know.”

The secretary grabbed a pencil and jotted a few words on a pad. “I’ll get the message to her,” she said.

A burly man entered, scanned the room, then started toward Calista.

Calista didn’t need to be warned again. Besides, she’d acquired an interesting piece of information—employees of the Children’s Home had interactions with the women at the House of Lords. Calista knew of a Children’s Home on the road leading to Granny’s ranch, but she’d never considered what children resided there. And if Mrs. Bowman was a courier between the ladies of the night and the Children’s Home, she could be a wealth of information. She followed the prim woman from the orphanage out the door.

“You’re from the Children’s Home?” Calista said once she and Mrs. Bowman had reached the sidewalk. “Do you know many of the girls who work here at the House of Lords?”

Mrs. Bowman bit her lip, then looked over her shoulder at the imposing building behind them. “Our records are confidential. Only our staff and volunteers know where the children come from.”

The copy of Lila Seaton’s photo was in Calista’s pocket, but this wasn’t the right place or time. “Perhaps I’ll find time to volunteer, then,” she said. “I’ve always pitied children from unsavory—”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Mrs. Bowman interrupted. “You wouldn’t be welcome, so better not to waste your time.” Then, as if embarrassed by her candor, she gave Calista’s wrist a friendly squeeze before trotting away.

Calista tilted her head in puzzlement. “I wasn’t expecting that,” she mused.

But neither was she expecting her cousin to round the corner.

“Calista York?” Olive Kentworth crushed a paper bag of groceries against her side and ran to hug Calista. Her small frame felt as fragile as the fuzzy blond curls pushing against the brim of her hat. “What are you doing in town?”

Calista turned her face away to keep from getting poked in the eyes with celery leaves. “It’s so good to see you,” she said as she took the groceries from Olive. “How’s Aunt Myra?”

“Not well,” Olive said. “The treatments don’t help like they used to. The doctors don’t give her much hope. We take each day as a gift.”

Olive was a saint. Her mother had been unwell her entire life. Because of her illness, the family had never had any money, and the two daughters had sacrificed much of their young adulthood nursing her. Life was unfair. Calista’s uncle Oscar had fallen in love and married sweet Aunt Myra, and they’d barely made ends meet since. On the other hand, Calista’s mother, Pauline Kentworth, had fallen in love with a land developer. True, they’d had to move to Kansas City to pursue opportunity, but the rewards had been great. Calista and her siblings, Corban and Evangelina, had never wanted for anything. Except maybe purpose.

“Well, I hope you have an afternoon free this week,” Calista said. “We could visit a tearoom. My treat.”

“A tearoom? Aren’t you going to stay at Granny Laura’s?”

Calista wrinkled her nose. “Granny doesn’t know I’m in town. In fact, no one does besides you. I’d like to keep it that way as long as possible.”

“I can guarantee someone saw you at the depot when you came in and has already informed Granny that one of her Kansas City grandchildren is in the vicinity.”

“I’m hoping for some time without all the family interference.”

“Time for what?”

Calista’s gut clenched. She hated lying to her family, but it was for Lila. Olive wouldn’t be harmed by not knowing the full truth.

“I’m looking for a job.” Calista winced, because it sounded false even to her.

“You? A job? And you left Kansas City and came to Joplin to find one?” Olive took her groceries out of Calista’s hands. “That’s hogwash, Calista York. You’d better not tell Granny that, or she’s like to