Chapter 1 #2
After half an hour, she packed up their things, put Junior in his baby carriage, and took one last look at the almost comically tiny bungalow with gingerbread trim.
She never thought she would make her parents’ vacation cottage her home, but what choice did she have?
Mama sold the big house right after Papa died and lived off the money.
Now, the cottage was all the inheritance Ann had.
Walking to the train, she wondered what would become of her. The best scenario she could imagine was a long, lonely life of hard work where she put her all into raising Junior and took what joy she could from being a devoted mother.
Right after Roger died, Mama urged her to consider remarrying, but she simply couldn’t imagine it. Roger was everything to her. How could she ever give her heart to someone else, especially so soon after his death?
Mama said to spend less time worrying about her heart and more about putting food on the table.
And then Mama had passed so suddenly, Ann still couldn’t quite believe she was gone. It was a wonder Ann managed to get out of bed in the morning after so much loss—not that she had a choice. She was all Junior had now.
How was she going to live on her teacher’s salary of seven hundred and fifty a year and raise a child? She had no one to turn to.
No, that was untrue. She had herself. No more moping, she told herself firmly. You have good health, a bit of intelligence, and an education. You are quite capable of making your way in the world.
She arrived at the station five minutes before the noon train, head held high.
A young man about Roger’s age glanced her way, but his gaze slid away as if she was a grim specter.
Her auburn hair used to attract attention, but her widow’s garb made her practically invisible.
The baby also shielded her from unwanted attention.
What man would want to take on another man’s grieving widow and infant?
Men left her alone, and she was glad of it.
After a never-ending train ride back to Manhattan, she was grateful to slip into the privacy of her cozy apartment.
She needed a moment’s rest before heading back out.
Junior fussed as she climbed the stairs, and as soon as they were inside, she unbuttoned the hidden panel on the front of her shirtwaist and offered her breast, where he slurped happily.
She sat in her favorite pale green wingback chair next to a large bay window, wishing she could pick up her crochet hook from the basket beside it.
She was nearly done with the elaborate bedspread she was making.
The room was already covered with examples of her craft.
A crocheted runner hung over the upright piano against the wall.
The piano bench cushion was covered in needlepoint roses.
Crocheted doilies protected the arms of her chairs and draped over the tops.
Embroidered pillows adorned the sofa. She found crocheting, knitting, and all forms of needlework deeply soothing, and she had taken great comfort in it since Roger’s death.
Her gaze snagged on the picture of her and Roger on their wedding day.
They’d been so happy, so in love. Blushing, she remembered the last time he was here with her.
That was when they’d conceived Junior. When they weren’t in bed, they spent their evenings singing together at the piano.
He had a voice like Al Jolson. Their voices blended together so well, his tenor and her smooth mezzo soprano.
She still had the thick book of Gilbert and Sullivan they were going through sitting on the piano.
She dusted it regularly but never moved it.
It lay there, a monument to better times.
Chin up, Ann. You have other things to worry about.
After burping Junior, she packed up for another outing, this time to see the Army’s civilian liaison.
It had been a long day, and she allowed herself the luxury of a cab, even though she knew she oughtn’t.
After spending the day hefting her mother’s garbage, she simply didn’t have the energy to carry Junior on a crowded subway where she probably wouldn’t even get a seat.
Fortunately, Junior slept through the short ride to a run-down office building near Times Square where the Army Civilian Liaison’s Office was housed.
She climbed the steps and entered the packed waiting room.
She was far from the only family member in need of information or assistance.
With a sigh, she added her name to the sign-in list by the door and settled into a vacant chair to wait.
Twelve names were ahead of hers. This was going to take a while.
She closed her eyes, needing a moment of rest before trying to wring some assistance out of an indifferent bureaucracy. It was only supposed to be for a moment, but…
“Mrs. Prince?” a stern woman in uniform called out.
Ann jolted awake. Darn it all! She must have dozed off. Fortunately, Junior was still slumbering peacefully on her chest.
“Yes, that’s me.” Ann rose slowly, trying not to wake Junior, as the woman pursed her lips and peered at the clock on the wall.
“Lieutenant Jones will see you now. Follow me.”
Ann hugged Junior tightly and followed through the busy, winding office corridors.
Entering Lieutenant Jones’s office, she stifled a sigh of disappointment. The lieutenant was younger than she was. How could he possibly help? He turned to her with the harried, helpless look of an underpaid, overworked bureaucrat. “Mrs. Prince?”
“Yes, my name is Ann Prince. My husband was Roger Prince, a member of the Air Service AEF.” She took a seat, and Junior stirred. Dear Lord, let him stay asleep for the next ten minutes!
Lieutenant Jones opened a folder. “Yes, my secretary gave me his file. I’m so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Prince.”
She did her best to smile through the hollow condolences.
“Thank you, Lieutenant. I’m hoping you can help me.
I lost Roger four months ago, and I received his life insurance, but I’ve been unable to arrange for new housing until now, and I’m afraid the entire sum has been eaten up.
I just inherited a house from my mother, who passed last month from a fever, but the house is in disrepair.
I need eight hundred dollars to repair the roof to make it livable.
I have no choice but to move. I can’t afford to stay where I am. Is there anything you can do?”
It was a relief to make it through her little speech without breaking down into tears. But she was made of sterner stuff than anyone thought, and a display of grief wouldn’t help her here in the least.
The Lieutenant took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “I wish there was, Mrs. Prince. The Army can’t pay out more than the amount allotted for every family in your situation. I’m very sorry.”
She bit her lip, needing the sharp pain to hold back her tears. “Do you know of any charitable organizations I might turn to? I have no family to support me. There must be somewhere I can turn for help.”
He looked up at her, a flash of what appeared to be genuine sympathy showing in his eyes.
“As it happens, I just learned of a new organization that was formed to assist in just this sort of situation. It’s called the Pilots’ Benevolent Association or PBA, and it’s run by Evelyn Carnegie and Aurora Belmont.
Would it be all right if I passed along your contact information to them so that they can reach out? ”
“Yes, please.” The Princess of New York! Imagine that! Perhaps her mother’s magazines would come in handy after all. A tiny shoot of hope sprung up within her. “I would appreciate it greatly. I don’t like asking for charity, but with a new baby, I can’t afford to let pride stand in my way.”
Lieutenant Jones handed her a clipboard with a list of names and addresses along with a pen. “If you put your information down here, I’ll see to it that it gets to the PBA. They are doing outreach now, so expect to hear from them within the next two weeks.”
She added her information to the list, hoping against hope that this wasn’t yet another dead end. Maybe this list was his way of placating her and getting her out the door, but she had to try if there was even the slightest hope.
“Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this,” she said, carefully standing with her sleeping baby and taking her leave.
As she left the office, she idled by a newsstand to look for the latest gossip headlines. Sure enough, big bold letters announced, THE WEDDING IS OFF, with a picture of Aurora Belmont and Senator Windham. The man who ran the stand shooed her away before she could read more.
“If you want to read it, buy it,” he called after her.
As if she’d be caught dead purchasing one of those trashy periodicals.
Nonetheless, it was good to know she shouldn’t congratulate Miss Belmont on her upcoming wedding if she happened to meet the woman when making her plea.
But surely, the Princess of New York had someone to interview applicants for funds for her.
It was highly unlikely she was going to meet the famous heiress.
Still, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony that all her hopes rested on the last woman she would have thought to approach.
Against all her expectations, a socialite from the scandal sheets was her best hope of making a safe and sound home for her son.
She could practically see her mother’s smug smile from beyond the grave.
Ann turned her gaze upward, as if she could see her mother sitting on a cloud with a halo hovering above her. “Thanks for looking out for me, Mama. I love you, and I miss you,” she whispered to the sky.
“Watch it, lady!” A man in a rumpled suit tromped past her, bumping her in the shoulder and bringing her out of her revery.
It was past time to get Junior home and make some dinner.
This wasn’t a neighborhood she should linger in.
Stepping to the curb, she flagged down a cab.
Another extravagance, but it couldn’t be helped.
The jostling of the subway would certainly have woken up Junior, and she was too exhausted to deal with a squalling infant in a packed train car.
As she gazed out the cab window at the bustling city, a tenuous hope began to take hold. She might not know what the future held, but if she could only get her roof fixed, she was certain she could figure out the rest. She would find a way to make a life for Junior, whatever it took.