Francie Comes Home by Emily Hahn
“So you thought I was engaged to Chadbourne,” said Lucky, going straight back to the subject.
“Yes, I did,” said Francie shortly.
Bruce said, “I guess I’m embarrassed. It was dumb of me not to think of the general impression, but I had other troubles on my mind, and a guy doesn’t realize how much people talk in a place like that.”
“Well, there’s no law against going around with a girl,” said Francie.
“No, but I’m sorry if I’ve caused any trouble for Chadbourne by being thoughtless.”
“Oh, I don’t think you did.” Francie was eager to be generous now. “Anyway, she certainly never complained, and of course she’s got a lot of friends around all the time; she has her own life … I’m telling you about Chadbourne!”
“She’s a good kid,” said Bruce carelessly. He really did seem embarrassed; he fiddled with the tableware and didn’t look at Francie. Then finally he did. He looked right into her eyes. His were hazel-green, with thick black lashes, and his gaze was full of significance. “Angel Face, can you be discreet? Can you keep a secret if I tell you something?” he asked.
Francie assured him that she could.
“I’m sure you can,” said Lucky. “But even so I don’t know … I don’t know how to begin. It sounds awful for a man to talk like this. Caddish.”
“Well, I don’t know,” she said tentatively. It was quite true of course—she didn’t know; but she wanted to encourage him, she was dying of curiosity. She had a hunch, anyway; he was probably going to admit shyly that Chadbourne was chasing him and that he didn’t know what to do about it. As he remained silent, she put out feelers.
“If the rumor had been right, people would have thought that you were only being reasonable,” she said. “I mean, it’s sort of convenient, isn’t it, and in the tradition, marrying your boss’s daughter. I should think Chadbourne might have got that idea about it herself.”
He shook his head. “Not Chadbourne,” he said.
“You sure?”
“Not Chadbourne,” he repeated firmly. “She has too much sense.”
This stung Francie, who said she’d never noticed that Chadbourne had all that much sense. “If you ask me, she’s not really a practical type,” she said.
“Well then, you’re wrong. She’s a lot more practical than you seem to think. For a kid with her training she’s got a lot of common sense, and she can see how things are a good deal better than—than some other people, evidently,” said Lucky.
“Meaning me, I suppose?” Francie picked her handbag off the table. “It’s late. I ought to be getting back,” she said, and Bruce suddenly reached over and took her hand in a strong, warm grip.
“Don’t go. Don’t be mad at me,” he said. “Let’s talk for a while. I do need your advice, and—oh hell, I might as well tell you, but it does sound funny. Listen, Angel, it’s not Chadbourne at all. She doesn’t know anything about it It’s just that Lottie—Mrs. Fredericks, that is—hopes that I’ll get interested in her daughter. Kind of imported me—for Chadbourne.” Francie stared at him. He smiled ruefully and hurried on, “Yes, I told you it sounded funny, and how do you suppose I sound to myself, talking this way? Like a heel, that’s what.… Listen. I’ll tell you just how it all happened. I was working in a pretty big place near Boston at this same kind of business—decorating, the better kind of furniture and so on—and Lottie Fredericks came in to buy a gate-legged table. That was, let’s see, oh, about three years ago. We got to talking the way you do over a high-powered purchase like that one. It was part of my job to take really good customers out now and then, and I took her out. And then she had me up to the house, where I met this skinny little kid, Chadbourne, and I began to get the pitch. In a lot of subtle ways she made the picture pretty dear—Chadbourne sooner or later would need a husband, and Lottie doesn’t think Chad has much appeal, and Fredericks & Worpels needs a man in the business.” He tried a devilish look. “And I’m good at this thing, you know.”
He was silent a while. “It’s a good business, you know, and will get even better. And Chad would never be able to run it all by herself when it’s all hers.”
“But that’s awful, Bruce,” said Francie, scandalized. “That’s like buying a husband—” Bruce started to speak and she rushed on. “And you have so much opportunity anywhere, you’re so young.”
“I may look it, Baby,” said Bruce, “but I’m no chicken, you know.… Oh, all right, all right, the whole thing may be a little offbeat. Okay. I thought so myself, but business is business, and when she came up with a good offer of a job here in Jefferson … maybe you’ll think I was wrong to accept it considering everything, but—” He broke off abruptly, and appealed to her with a confiding air that was very flattering. “Do you think I should have turned it down?” he demanded.
“Well-ll, I don’t know. It’s hard to say,” said Francie breathlessly. “How did she put it? Was it an ‘either-or’ proposition? Do you mean to say she actually asked you to marry her daughter?” She giggled in a shocked way. “I don’t see how she had the nerve to do it.”
“No, no, she’s never put it into words,” said Lucky. “She’s waiting for me to say something to Chad right now, I think. That’s the situation.”
“But in that case, how can you be sure?”
Bruce only gave her a pitying look.
“I don’t care what you say,” said Francie after thinking for a moment. “It’s not right, a woman so cold-blooded about her own daughter. I never heard of such a thing in my life.” Bruce’s face implied that this might be true, but it was a situation all too familiar to him. “No, really, Bruce, it’s just too crazy … and where does Chadbourne come in on all this?”
“All what?” asked Bruce. “You talk as if it amounted to something. It doesn’t. Mrs. Fredericks hopes it will happen, that’s all. She hasn’t mentioned our getting married, and you can bet your life I’m not going to mention it. There you are. When she gets tired of waiting around, she’ll probably throw me out on my ear; that is, she will unless I play my cards right.”
“But where does Chadbourne come in?” persisted Francie, not paying much attention to his last sentence.
“Why … just as you’d imagine. I’m there in the house a lot of the time, and so I take her around. I give her lifts; she gives me lifts. I’m part of the household furniture.”
“Oh, go on, I don’t believe that. You mean she doesn’t know about her mother’s plan for the two of you?”
“Oh, well … yes, I guess she does,” said Bruce with an air of frankness, “but naturally we don’t discuss it.”
“Poor Chad, with a mother like that,” said Francie.
“She’s not as bad as all that.” Bruce gave her a sidewise glance. “You see, these rich women—I’ve seen a lot of them, being in the kind of business I am. They get a feeling of power. Take Lottie, she’s as kind-hearted as they come, but what with having all that money and no husband to keep her in line, she’s got to make her own plans and feel that she’s accomplishing something. Some women, luckily for people like me, take it out in collecting things—jewels, or furniture, or houses, or racehorses, or whatever. Some go to the south of France. Some keep dogs. Lottie seems to have made up her mind to buy a suitable son-in-law and business partner rolled into one—namely me.”
“And what about you?” There was an apprehensive edge to Francie’s voice now. “Have you made up your mind that she is going to get what she wants?”
Bruce said nothing, but marked the tablecloth in careful squares with the tine of a fork.
“Have you?” she insisted.
“No. I mean, yes, of course I’ve made up my mind. I can’t do it,” said Bruce. “As I told you before, I haven’t any intention of doing it, not unless I change my mind about a lot of things. You see, Francie, being married under those circumstances doesn’t really get you anywhere.” He settled himself comfortably in order to expatiate. “The fact is, I’m ambitious. I don’t want just
“I see,” said Francie rather blankly. It wasn’t what she had expected to hear. She had hoped he would sound nobler than that and not quite so chilly.
“She’s a managing woman,” said Bruce. “I’m not a manageable man. At least I hope I’m not.”
“I see,” said Francie again, in lower tones.
Lucky was back at his tablecloth drawing. “Then, of course, there’s another thing,” he said. “When I do decide to marry, I’ve got other ideas. I’ve got my eye on somebody else. Want to know her name?”
“It’s none of my business,” said Francie.
“You look funny being shy,” Bruce remarked. “Okay, so I won’t talk any more about it just yet, kid. I’ll have to get out of this situation first, and believe me, it’s going to take delicate handling. If Lottie gets sore and kicks me out, how can I stick around Jefferson? I can’t. But I don’t want to go away just now; we won’t go into the reason. The way I figure it, if I stay nice and polite but don’t go any further than that, she’s liable to drop the whole idea—forget it and drop it. She’s changeable, you know. What do you say?”
“It’s none of my—”
“Don’t give me that again,” said Lucky. “Come on, what do you say? What’s your advice? Shall I play it this way and just string along and see what gives? You’re the doctor.”
Francie tried hard to be wise and cautious, but Lucky had really given her several shocks, and it was going to take time to assimilate them. She agreed at last that he was doing as well as possible, given the peculiar circumstances. Then she caught sight of the time, and was more shocked than ever: she almost ran when they were in the street on their way to the car.
“I certainly hope Mrs. Ryan’s asleep when I come in,” she said fervently.
“Oh, never mind her.”
Bruce drove fast through the deserted streets. Then, as if a new thought had just struck him, he stepped on the brake and drew up to the curb. He took Francie by the arms and turned her around slowly, staring into her eyes by the light of the street lamp.
“You know what I was getting at back there,” he said. “You know why I don’t want to pull out of Jefferson. You do like me, don’t you?”
“Yes,” said Francie.
They kissed. They kissed again. “Oh, darling,” said Bruce.
“Bruce, I’ve just got to get back,” said Francie at last. Her cheeks were glowing and she felt terribly mixed up and wonderful, but it was awfully late; she expected to see the sun rise any moment.
“Must you? Yes, I guess you’re right,” he said. He started the car again and drove very, very slowly, keeping her hand captive. “I feel a lot better,” he said. “Thanks, sweet.”
“But I can’t help being worried for you,” said Francie.
“Oh, I’ll manage. Don’t you worry; old Lucky’s used to looking after himself,” said Bruce. “There’s only one thing that irks me. I won’t be able to act the way I want to around you—not in Jefferson. That old girl’s got an eagle eye, and we’ll have to play it careful for a while. You’ll understand, won’t you?”
Yes, she said that she’d understand. It all seemed unimportant just then. They kissed good night out in the dark street, and at his suggestion she went ahead to pick up her key and take the elevator while he put his car away. She looked carefully at her reflection in the elevator glass. What now? Whatever would Jefferson say if they knew? What would Glenn think? Oh, why wouldn’t Glenn stay out of her thoughts?
And that was why, on their last morning in the hotel, Francie asked Mrs. Ryan her opinion of Lottie Fredericks.
CHAPTER 14
“Thank goodness you’re back!” said Chadbourne, blowing into the Birthday Box like a breeze next morning. “It made an awful hole in the rehearsals with you and Lucky both gone. Well, tell me about it; was it marvelous? Did you go out and have a wonderful time?”
“Oh, I had a good time,” admitted Francie, “but of course it was mostly work. I bought some cute clothes, though.”
“I do wish I’d come along. It was dull here except for the rehearsals, and Mummy’s been irritable,” said Chadbourne.
Francie looked at her searchingly, but was reassured; there seemed to be no hidden meaning in those words. It occurred to her in the midst of her self-centered thoughts that Chadbourne was actually getting pretty. It was partly a matter of expression; she looked gayer and more sure of herself, less like a poor little girl somehow lost in her clothes, as if such fine raiment couldn’t possibly belong to her. But she was better in herself, too—happier. Her cheeks were rounder, her eyes bright, her hair soft: what was happening to her that she looked so much like a lit lamp? She was chattering on about the play and her plans. Bruce had told her about the desk—anyway he had told her part of it. She knew he had bought it and intended to take it over for his own use when the play was finished.
“It’s a good idea. Saves us buying or renting that bit of furniture at any rate,” she said, and Francie noticed she didn’t mention that Lucky had used her own name and the Birthday Box’s in the transaction. She was just wondering if she should say something in order to assure herself that it was all right when Chadbourne changed to a subject that interested her more.
“That friend of your father’s, Francie, that nice Mrs. Clark, has been perfectly fabulous. She came to our last rehearsal with a lot of old magazines of the period that she says she found in her attic when she moved into the cottage. They’re just exactly the sort of thing we want. If you get a chance today, come on over to the shop and I’ll show you some I picked out for making. One is going to be for you. It’s exactly what an orphan millionairess would have worn, long and tight-fitting, and all pink and ruffly.”
“Good gracious,” said Francie. “I can’t imagine me in pink ruffles.”
“You’ll wear ’em and like ’em,” said Chadbourne placidly. “And she helped us figure out some of the other costumes too. Our maid is already knitting black lace things like mitts for Charley’s Aunt and we’re looking all over town for his bonnet. Mrs. Clark’s charming, isn’t she? A real lady.” For a brief instant her eyes flickered shrewdly at Francie’s face, but it was only an instant. “Oh, and young Marty joined the society, did you know she was going to? I thought it was probably your influence.”
No, Francie said, she had had nothing to do with it and she was surprised at Marty, who had always been scornful of the J.D.S.
“I expect you civilized her without knowing—” said Chadbourne, “didn’t know your own strength. Well, I’d better run along so you can catch up on your work. Don’t forget to come in and look at the fashion books. Lucky’s seen them and he’s crazy about them.”
Francie was glad to be left alone; she had some thinking to do. There had been no time last night, she realized, for Pop to break the news to her because she and Mrs. Ryan had got home so late there was no chance for anything but a glass of milk and a cookie in the kitchen while Aunt Norah and Pop listened to her stories of Chicago. But this morning, she felt, he ought to have said something. She got up early on purpose so that they might drink their coffee at leisure, alone together, but Pop hadn’t said a word—just sat there with the paper as if things were the same as ever. Francie couldn’t help but be hurt about it. As far as she could make out, she was the only person in Jefferson who hadn’t been told of Fred Nelson’s future. His daughter, his only child, his only near relative if it came to that, and there he sat reading the morning paper, deliberately concealing his plans to desert her. It was thoughtless at the very best. What was she supposed to do, what was she to say, if everybody mentioned it to her? Already she had been humiliated by Glenn’s knowledge when she wasn’t aware that anything was afoot: how many other people were in on the secret, she wondered. It wasn’t fair.
Of course, there might have been a good reason for Pop’s silence. He would naturally feel awkward about breaking the news.
They greeted her like the prodigal daughter when she went back to the next rehearsal of Charley’s Aunt. At least twenty minutes were taken up with a discussion of her adventures, Lucky’s donation of furniture, and the new idea, introduced by Mrs. Clark, of period costumes. But at last everybody settled down to rehearsing, and Francie was glad to see how well the play seemed to be going. She had so few lines of her own that she spent most of the evening sitting down in front, watching the performance of the others. She was there when Marty appeared. The younger girl came in quietly with her usual slouching gait, hands thrust into blue-jean pockets, and an expression that might have been sullen on her pert little face, though Francie recognized it for what it was—shyness and defiance. Marty sat down silently next to Francie.
“Hello,” said Francie in low tones. “I only just heard you’d joined us.”
“Yes,” said Marty.
“Too bad you didn’t come in earlier. You’d have had a part in this play.”
Marty grimaced. “I’m not too interested in acting. I just joined up for something to do. Jinx is getting to be such a pain in the neck.”