21. Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-One
The inside of Arthur’s truck smelled of manure. The engine was loud and the ride bumpy, not that Jacquelyn was about to complain. As he drove, she thought about what it would have taken to walk the same distance. He’d saved her many steps over a snowy, uneven road, and for that she was grateful. It was hard to believe the girls from the home walked this way and back every school day, but that’s what Mary had told her so it must be true. She’d have no reason to tell false tales.
“Here we are!” Arthur said as they approached a cluster of buildings. She’d been warned by Mary that it was a small community and that most of the businesses would be closed because it was a Sunday, but still it was a shock to see that the downtown consisted of so few buildings. Arthur pulled up in front of the church, a modest red brick building with a tall steeple. “You’ll want to talk to the pastor. He’ll know what to do. ”
Now that they were there, Jacquelyn felt reluctant to leave the safety of the truck. She pulled Jane’s mittens out of her pockets and put them on. “What is the pastor’s name?”
“Pastor Mitchell. He’s a good man.” Snowflakes drifted, lazily landing on the windshield.
“And you think he’ll help me?”
“Yes, miss.” Arthur’s head bobbed an affirmative. “That’s what he does.”
Part of her wanted to ask Arthur to accompany her inside, but he seemed eager to have her leave the truck. “I hope he’s there.”
Arthur nodded. “He’s probably in his office in the back. If you don’t find him there, he and the missus live in the house directly behind the church.” He gave her a grandfatherly smile. “Don’t worry, miss. You’ll be fine.”
“Thank you.” She looped the cloth bag holding Nellie’s sandwich over her shoulder and waited a moment before realizing Arthur wasn’t going to come around to her side of the truck and help her down. With a sigh, she opened the door herself, then eased down onto the running board.
“Oh, and miss?” He leaned over.
“Yes?”
“I hope you have a Merry Christmas.”
That wasn’t likely to happen, not that it was his fault. Switching clothing with Jane Shaw had been a stupid idea. What had she been thinking? Arthur was looking at her expectantly, so Jacquelyn nodded and said, “Thank you.”
As he drove away, she felt utterly alone.
Inside, she found the church to be empty, but at least it was warm and inviting, with polished pews and wooden beams overhead. She stamped her feet on the mat and called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?” Her voice echoed off the tall ceiling.
A young woman with a long braid came through an open doorway on the far wall, a mop in her hand. “Can I help you?” Her tone was assured, as if she was used to greeting unexpected visitors.
“Yes, I’m looking for Pastor Mitchell.”
“He’s not here right now.” The young woman’s tone was almost cheerful. “Went to hand out Christmas baskets to some of the parishioners. He’ll be back before tonight’s service, though.”
That would be too late. “How about Mrs. Mitchell? I’m told she could help me.”
She shook her head. “Both of them went. They do most church functions together.”
“Maybe you can help.” Jacquelyn strode forward as she talked. “I have a huge problem. I need to hire someone to drive me to Whitefish Bay. It’s near Milwaukee. I’m willing to pay quite well. Would you happen to know someone with a car who could benefit from some extra funds this Christmas?”
“No, sorry.”
No, sorry? That couldn’t be right. There was a depression on. All everyone talked about was money, money, money and how there weren’t enough jobs for the working-class folks. It was in the newspaper every single day. Even at parties, conversations drifted into the state of the economy. At times it seemed as if the topic was all people could talk about. Sometimes Jacquelyn was so sick of it she felt like screaming. And now this woman— girl, really —was summarily dismissing her proposition out of hand without even pausing to consider it?
“I’m not sure you understand. I have money. Lots of money. I’m willing to pay and pay well for someone to chauffeur me to my home in Whitefish Bay. I’m Jacquelyn Sheridan. Surely you’ve heard of me and my family?”
The young woman leaned against her mop. “I’m sorry for your troubles, miss, but folks around here don’t have much. Not too many people have reliable cars for a long trip like that. And if they do, they don’t have the gasoline to get ’em there.” She shrugged. “Today’s not the best time either. Most people have plans the day before Christmas.”
“I understand that,” Jacquelyn said impatiently, “but surely someone can help? As I said before, I’m willing to pay.”
The girl raised her eyebrows. “You have the cash with you?”
“Well, no, but I can pay once we arrive at my home in Whitefish Bay. It’s a mansion with a view of the lake.”
“Not being able to pay up front is a problem.” She gave Jacquelyn a sympathetic look. “But if you want to stay here and warm up for a while, miss, you’re more than welcome. Pastor always says never to turn anyone away. He believes in being generous to the poor.”
“I’m not poor,” Jacquelyn said, but her protests appeared to fall on deaf ears as the girl had begun to mop. “I’m only dressed like this because I switched clothing with someone at the girls’ home. As a lark. I thought it would be funny. Now she’s wearing my fine dress and I’m stuck in this rag.” Earlier, the idea of the switch had struck her as being hilarious, but now she felt like crying. The hole she’d dug for herself was getting deeper by the hour. In the meantime, where were Eddie and Jane? She had a sudden thought that the Rolls-Royce had broken down or they’d been in some sort of collision. If that were the case, she could be stuck here for a long time.
The young woman flipped her braid over one shoulder and kept mopping. “The girls’ home. I thought you looked familiar. You’re Jane, aren’t you? One of the older ones who works there?”
“No, I’m not Jane, but there’s a resemblance. People say we look alike,” Jacquelyn said miserably, wishing she looked like anyone else in the world. She toed the floor, tracing around a swirl in the wood grain. “That’s why I thought it would be funny to wear each other’s clothing. To see who would notice.”
“If you’re really from that rich family, why don’t you call them and have someone come and collect you?”
Jacquelyn lifted her head. “Do you have a telephone?”
“Yes, indeed. Pastor has one at home. He doesn’t normally let folks use it, though.” She gripped the mop handle. “And you’re talking about calling long distance. That can get expensive.”
Jacquelyn said, “I have thirty-seven cents that I’ll gladly hand over if I can use the telephone. ”
The woman pursed her lips, considering. “That should more than cover it. At least if you don’t talk long.”
“Oh, thank you!” Progress at last. “I won’t talk long at all.”
She leaned the mop against the wall. “Follow me.”