Chapter 18 #2
He stared at her blankly for a moment. “Uh…ma’am. That’s not possible either.”
“Why not?” she asked, dreading the answer.
“An unmarried woman cannot open an account.”
“I beg to differ.” She pointed at her bank book between them on the counter. “Right there it is?”
“The account ledger, please, George,” the manager said to the teller.
He had it ready and passed it to Mr. Simmons who folded the cover back and perused the first page. When he looked up at her, he delivered more bad news. “This too is— Excuse me, was, Mr. Sneed’s account.”
“But my name is on it,” she said, reaching across the counter to point it out. “See. It’s right there in black and white.”
“Alongside Mr. Sneed’s,” the man said with the utmost patience, which was beyond annoying. “It’s the same as the other account—with certain permissions granted to you. This should have been explained.”
“It wasn’t,” Charlotte snapped. “I remember your predecessor requiring Fen—Mr. Sneed—to sign for me when we opened it, but he was never involved afterward. I deposited money for years and years, and nobody mentioned this or even raised an eyebrow.” She gestured toward the teller.
“George can vouch for that, since I always came to this window.”
“Deposits are allowed, ma’am,” Mr. Simmons clarified. “Withdrawals are something that would need Mr. Sneed’s signature.”
“He’s dead!” she exclaimed, her voice sharp with panic.
“Yes. I’m so sorry about that.”
“This can’t possibly be legal.”
He puffed out his chest, tugging at his vest again. “We follow the law and bank policy to the letter,” he declared. “I’m afraid there is nothing I can do without a judge’s order.”
“There is something I can do,” Charlotte retorted sharply. “I can consult with an attorney.”
“I was just about to suggest that,” Mr. Simmons said, sounding relieved. He glanced beyond Charlotte. “Now. If you don’t mind. There is a rather long line forming behind you.”
Furious, and feeling utterly helpless, Charlotte snatched back her bank book. A heavy silence encompassed the room, and she felt the weight of every eye upon her—every male eye—as she stormed out.
Violet caught up with her on the sidewalk where she paced in agitation.
“This is why I keep my hard-earned money in a coffee can under the floorboards,” her friend muttered.
“I can’t keep thousands of dollars in a can!” Charlotte snapped.
“Thousands?” Violet asked quietly. “How many are we talking about?”
“Tens of thousands.”
“Holy cow,” her friend whispered. “What now?”
“I don’t know,” Charlotte admitted. “I suppose my first step is hiring a lawyer.”
“With what? They froze all your funds.”
“Not all of them, but I’m afraid an attorney will take most of what I’ve got.” She glanced down the street. “The post office is the next block over. I have a letter to post. Maybe someone there can recommend an attorney.”
They walked in silence, her mind racing. Without cash, she couldn’t pay her staff, nor could she afford the alcohol delivery. Lost in thought, Charlotte nearly collided with a woman exiting Mrs. Mayhew’s Dress Shoppe.
“I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, jumping back and nearly knocking Violet over. Thankfully, she recovered more quickly than the heavily pregnant woman might have.
“No worries. I’m fine,” Janelle Jackson assured her. “I didn’t expect to run into you in town again so soon.” Her gaze shifted to Violet, and she smiled. “You brought reinforcements, I see. Good for you.”
“Nothing is good for me, I’m afraid.”
“Oh, dear. What’s happened now?”
“The man at the bank was rude,” Violet answered for her. “He refused to give Charlotte her money.”
“Why?” Janelle asked.
“Because she has the wrong parts between her—”
“Violet!” Charlotte interrupted before her friend said something completely vulgar on the public boardwalk. “The manager wasn’t rude, but he spouted a bunch of unfair policies and laws. Suffice it to say, I went into the bank thinking I had money to run my business but came out with nothing.”
“I’m not surprised.” Janelle frowned, angry on her behalf. “That’s what’s so maddening about this time.”
“The time is 10 a.m.,” Violet advised. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Silly me, I meant ‘town.’” Janelle chuckled tightly.
“Women have the vote, but we’re far from equal, especially regarding money and property.
It’s nearly impossible for single women, and married women have practically no rights; they all belong to their husbands.
A hundred years from now, it won’t have changed much.
” She hesitated then added, “I’m, uh, guessing. ”
“Your passion shows,” Charlotte commented. “Perhaps you should run for office. A woman could get some of these ridiculous rules changed.”
“Sorry. One politician in the family is plenty,” Janelle stated. “But I have an advantage. I have my husband’s ear and can share my thoughts on women’s rights every chance I get. For now, back to your problem. You need your money.”
“Yes, except with Fenton gone, his funds have to go through the courts, something the bank manager called probate. Have you ever heard of such a thing?”
“I have, and where I’m from, it can be a very long process. Months, sometimes years,” she explained. “And it gets complicated if a lot of family or debtors come forward to make claims. It’s not just bank accounts, Charlotte, but property as well.”
Her heart sank into her already knotted-up stomach. “But half of Red Eye is mine. I have the paperwork.”
“That should speed things up. You’ll need a good lawyer. Mr. Bennett is the Jackson family attorney. He’s bailed a few of us out of trouble recently.”
“Do you think he’ll take my case?”
“I’m sure he will. Tell him I sent you.” A smile curled her lips as she suggested, “Or I can ask the mayor to intervene.”
“But isn’t he still on Sheriff Walker’s posse, hunting down Fenton’s killer?”
Janelle stepped closer, laying a hand gently on her arm. “Aaron got home late last night. It’s over, Charlotte. Thorn is dead.”
“Oh, thank heavens,” she breathed, her shoulders slumping and becoming weak in the knees at the news. Violet slid an arm around her waist to keep her from falling down. “I’m all right. It’s just that he’s haunted me for so long.”
“We’re all relieved. And they did it so fast. It’s only four days since the funeral.”
“The sheriff’s hunch paid off, it seems.” Janelle suddenly snapped her fingers. “That’s what you need—a man.”
“Uh, your pardon, Mrs. Jackson. We already have more than we want,” Violet deadpanned.
Color flooded Janelle’s cheeks. “That’s not what I meant. I was thinking more of a business manager. Someone to deal with bank managers and shop owners and do all the ‘manly business’ for you.”
“Good idea,” Violet agreed. “But he’d have to wield a big dick, like Fenton.”
“She means a big stick, someone influential,” Charlotte quickly corrected.
“No, she got it right,” Janelle said, blushing when they both looked at her wide-eyed. “Though it pains me to admit, it’s a man’s world. Sometimes a woman needs a man with a big, uh, personality,”—she blushed deeper as Violet chuckled—“someone other men respect.”
“Or fear,” Violet added. “That works too.”
“And since he’d be Charlotte’s employee, she’d still be in charge.”
She preferred handling things herself, but recent incidents proved she couldn’t do it alone. “Thank you for the suggestion, Janelle, and the lawyer recommendation.”
“Anytime. And I mean that. What you’ve been through is horrific, but you’ve landed on your feet the best you knew how.
Jenny, Wisteria, and I were talking. We’ve all been through our own trials, not even close to yours, but we understand.
Without the Jacksons, any of us could be in your shoes,” she said, then quickly added, “That isn’t a criticism.
It’s not your fault how...or what...or why… Oh, I’m making a mess of this.”
Charlotte reassured her, “I understand. An old friend of mine put it perfectly—‘there but for the grace of God go I.’”
“Exactly,” Janelle agreed.
“And I dare say you’re right. If I’d met a Jackson at the right time or place, things could be different.”
“Too bad there isn’t a fourth brother,” Violet chimed in.
A wagon pulled up behind them in a cloud of dust. “There’s my ride,” Janelle said, waving her hand in front of her face to clear the air. “Can I take you somewhere?”
“No, thank you. I have other errands and a letter to post.”
“Are you sure? I have a driver as required, so Aaron can’t complain. I mean, he can. And probably would—”
“No ride, but…” She looked down at the envelope. “Could I ask a favor?”
“Certainly,” Janelle assured her.
“This letter is to a solicitor back East. I’m hesitant to give him my last name and the Red Eye as my return address if I can avoid it.”
“Understood. Use mine,” she offered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. If it’s from a solicitor, what harm can there be? I need a name to look out for in the reply.”
She hesitated.
“You can trust me, Charlotte.” She raised her hand in a three-finger salute and said the strangest thing, “Girl Scout’s promise.”
Janelle had an odd twist to her, but she was so likable, also funny and compassionate. She never once looked down on her for her profession, instead treating her with respect and understanding. That Aaron, her husband, was among the few men she trusted was another point in her favor.
Therefore, she divulged her secret.
“Expect the reply from a Mr. Paul Abernathy. It might be addressed to Rowena Eldridge, or Dunn, my married name.”
Janelle’s face lit up with curiosity, but her questions remain unasked. “When it arrives, I’ll get it to you straightaway.”
Her driver helped her into the wagon, then she and Violet watched it drive away.
“She’s an odd bird,” Violet observed. “She said, ‘where I come from.’ Where do you suppose that is?”
“I can’t imagine.”