Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Chicago in winter wasn’t just cold. It was determined.
Wind swept between buildings as if trying to sharpen them.
Snow lay in small drifts along the streets, and in many places feet and wheels had churned it into gray slush.
Ivy kept her head down as she walked, cradling the rabbit’s small cage to her body to shield it from the worst of the wind.
She hurried past storefronts with iced windows and men stomping their feet before going inside, their hands shoved deep into their pockets.
A woman and several children hurried past with a basket of supplies, a scarf pulled up to her eyes.
Somewhere a street vendor called out about roasted chestnuts, his voice swallowed by the wind.
Ivy kept moving. Wabash Avenue was busier than her own street, the buildings taller and the sidewalks more crowded. At least here she was less likely to be targeted by a pickpocket. She’d already spotted more than a few police officers patrolling.
She slipped on a patch of ice and nearly dropped King Alfred. Catching herself, she sucked in a breath that came out in white puffs. “Sorry, Alfred.”
King Alfred had nothing to say.
Ivy looked ahead and spotted the sign for The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company.
It was modest, hanging over a short set of steps that led to a door.
“All right, Alfred. This is it.” She started up, her heart thudding in her chest. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
This is ridiculous. It’s just a job. She knew better.
This wasn’t just work. It was a way to keep Edward Grimsby at bay.
Ivy squared her shoulders and opened the door, stepping into a small vestibule. A staircase rose to her right, leading to a landing with a single door. There must be an apartment over the office. Did the sisters live there?
She pushed the thought aside as warmth washed over her, mingled with the comforting scent of paper, ink, and tea. She heard furniture scrape and a female voice call, “For crying out loud, George, come back here!”
A windowed door to her left rattled as a large sheepdog barreled across the room like a fur-covered cannonball. Ivy froze, not daring to open it. She listened as the dog skidded, nails clicking on the wood, eyes locked on her, then hit the door with a loud thud.
“Oh goodness,” Ivy exclaimed, clutching Alfred’s cage tighter. The dog jumped up, peered through the window, and barked. King Alfred spun in a tight circle. “It’s all right, Alfred. He can’t get to you.”
Three elderly women hurried toward the dog, one grabbing its collar and dragging him across the room. They disappeared through a door at the far side of the office. Ivy sighed in relief and reached for the doorknob.
Then she opened it.
A white cat streaked out of the same door the women had taken the dog through and tore across the office. The sheepdog twisted free of his captor’s grip and lunged after it. The cat skidded, leapt onto a chair, and launched itself toward a bookcase.
“Cleopatra!” one of the women cried. “You come here this instant!”
The sheepdog barked again, barreling after the cat and nearly colliding with one of the women. Ivy clutched Alfred’s cage to her chest as he thumped one foot in alarm.
“George!” another woman snapped. “For heaven’s sake, get him away from, oh no, not again!”
Unable to stop, the dog crashed into the bookcase with another loud thud, rocking it. Books tumbled to the floor, but the cat remained perched smugly on top.
A young boy burst into the office, took in the chaos, and shouted, “Come on, you shaggy menace, you’re going with me!”
Ivy didn’t have time to think, only react. She jumped out of the way as George spun toward the boy, barked once, then skidded to a stop before him. Rising onto his hind legs, he slobbered all over the boy’s face. The boy laughed. “All right, George, that’s enough. Cut it out. Oh, stop!”
Ivy couldn’t help smiling. “Is he your dog?”
“Oh no, miss.” The boy wiped his face with his coat sleeve, still grinning. “He belongs to the Merriweather sisters. I just come to walk him.”
George finally calmed long enough for the boy to snap a leash to his collar and steer him toward the door. “I’ll take him on his usual route, Miss Merriweather.” With that, he disappeared outside.
“Oh goodness gracious,” one of the women cried. “What a nuisance!”
“I’m sorry,” Ivy said, though she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.
All three women turned to her.
“Oh, hello,” one said, moving behind a desk and picking up a pen. Her irritation smoothed into composure. “How may we help you?”
Ivy stepped forward. The woman’s hair was neatly pinned, her eyes kind. Another woman stood beside her, adjusting a pair of spectacles. She looked equally kind, and equally overwhelmed. The third hovered near the back with her hands on her hips, clearly still annoyed.
“I hope George didn’t cause any damage,” the woman at the desk said. “Are you hurt?”
Ivy shook her head. “No, ma’am.”
“Oh, thank goodness,” the woman with the spectacles sighed. “George can be a hazard.”
“We really must do something about him,” the woman at the desk agreed.
The woman near the door huffed. “We have done something. We’ve done twelve somethings. George is simply determined to be… well, George.”
All three glanced toward the front windows. Ivy followed their gaze and spotted the boy and the sheepdog entering the nearby park. The room fell quiet, and Ivy resisted the urge to fidget.
After a moment, the woman with the spectacles came around the desk and peered into Alfred’s cage. “Oh my. Is that a bunny?” She bent down. “It is! He’s adorable.”
Ivy smiled just as the third woman approached, eyeing the cage. “Why is there a rabbit in our office?”
Ivy’s cheeks warmed. “He’s mine,” she said quickly. “No one would be home, and I had to bring him with me.”
“We understand, dear,” the woman at the desk said. “It’s not easy owning pets.” She glanced around the disheveled office and winced. “As you can see.”
Ivy followed her gaze to the scattered papers and fallen books and nodded at once.
The woman straightened. “Where are my manners? I’m Augusta Merriweather.” She gestured to the others. “This is my sister Margaret.” The woman with the spectacles smiled warmly.
“And this is Josie,” Augusta continued.
Josie gave Ivy a curt nod, her eyes drifting back to the front windows, as if wondering whether the boy might already be returning with the dog.
Ivy gave them a wan smile. “My name is Ivy Goodhart. I saw your advertisement in the paper. I’ve come about the position.”
At first, the sisters’ faces fell into disappointment, then they smiled.
“So you’re not a bride?” Augusta asked.
“No, ma’am. I’m looking for a job.” Ivy held Alfred’s cage a little tighter. “Is the position still open?”
Augusta’s gaze swept over Ivy, and she was glad she’d worn her best dress, pinned her hair up, and even put on her worn gloves.
“Well,” Augusta finally said. “Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll talk?” She arched an eyebrow at Alfred’s cage, and Ivy hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.
Josie eyed the cage as Ivy sat and carefully set Alfred on the floor. Thankfully, she said nothing as Augusta began. “You saw the advertisement. Do you have any office experience?”
Ivy’s heart sank. “No, ma’am. Not in an office. But I read and write well, and I’m very good with sums.”
Margaret smiled. “Are you now?”
“Yes, ma’am. Very good.”
Josie leaned forward. “Are you organized? Are you fast on your feet?”
Ivy blinked, then nodded. “Yes, on both counts.” She thought of the dog and cat and nodded again.
Augusta studied her. “Are you a rule follower?”
Ivy straightened in the chair. “Yes, ma’am.”
Josie’s mouth twitched, but the smile never fully formed. “Easy enough to say. Can you follow through?”
“I’m not just saying it, ma’am.”
Augusta watched her a moment longer. “What’s brought you to us, Miss Goodhart?”
Ivy’s throat tightened. She needed this job, and she didn’t want to picture the disappointment on Grandma Evie’s face if she failed. She chose honesty. “We’re behind on rent,” she said quietly. “My grandmother and I. I’ve been trying to find work, but it’s been difficult.”
Margaret’s expression softened. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“How old are you?” Josie asked.
“Eighteen.” Ivy held her gaze, refusing to look away.
“So young,” Margaret murmured, hand to her chest.
“I’m of age to marry,” Ivy pointed out. “So not as young as you think.”
Josie made a sound that might have been agreement, or irritation. Ivy ignored it.
Augusta’s eyes flicked to Alfred’s cage and back. “And your grandmother?”
Ivy blinked. “What about her? She’s well, smart, and stubborn. Always has been.”
Margaret smiled at Augusta. “That sounds familiar.”
Josie leaned against a desk, arms crossed. “And your rabbit?”
Ivy glanced down. “He’s very well, thank you.”
Augusta clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. “Glad to know. Tell me, my dear, are you stubborn like your grandmother?”
“Sometimes. But I’m also steadfast and forthright.” Ivy met her gaze.
Augusta’s mouth twitched. “We value steadfastness here.” She exchanged looks with her sisters. “Our work involves young women in difficult situations. We need someone who can remain calm under pressure.”
Ivy thought of Mr. Grimsby. “I can do that.”
Margaret stepped closer. “We also need someone discreet. Sometimes women come to us on the run, and men come looking for them.”
Ivy gasped. “Oh dear. How horrible.”
“It can be,” Augusta agreed. “And we need someone who won’t create complications.” Her gaze flicked to the cage again.
Ivy pressed her foot lightly against it. “What do you mean, complications?”
Margaret waved a hand. “She means romance.”
Ivy gaped. “What?”
“We have a rule,” Augusta said firmly. “No fraternization with clients or fellow employees.”
Ivy glanced around the room. “Yes, ma’am.”
Margaret sighed in relief. Josie remained watchful, and Augusta looked thoughtful.
Before anyone could speak again, the office door banged open and the boy burst in, panting.
“Oh no,” Margaret said. “Again?”
“I swear, I don’t know what happened,” the boy said. “He must’ve seen a squirrel. I lost the leash. Can someone help me catch him?”
“Whose turn is it?” Augusta asked.
Josie rolled her eyes and reached for her coat. “Come on. Let’s fetch George.”
They left together.
Ivy stared after them. “The boy’s name is George?”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “George the sheepdog and George the messenger boy. It gets confusing.”
“Oh dear,” Ivy murmured.
Before anything else could happen, Cleopatra sauntered in and sniffed Alfred’s cage. Alfred sniffed back.
“Oh look,” Margaret said happily. “They’re making friends. What’s his name?”
“King Alfred,” Ivy said.
Margaret giggled. “A king! Should we bow?”
Augusta eyed the cage. “Enough playing. He’s going to be a temptation for George.”
“I can keep him in his cage,” Ivy said quickly. “He won’t be a bother.”
“Oh look,” Margaret said, delighted. “Cleopatra likes him.”
Cleopatra sat, staring at Alfred, who was nearly her size.
“Couldn’t we let the bunny out?” Margaret begged.
Augusta glanced toward the windows. “All right, but the minute we see George returning, he goes back in.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Ivy opened the cage. Alfred hopped out, sniffing Cleopatra, who sniffed back.
“Fast friends,” Margaret said.
“If only George and Cleopatra behaved so well,” Augusta turned to Ivy. “Very well, Miss Goodhart. We’ll start you on filing. Margaret will show you the ledgers. When Josie returns, she’ll explain intake forms.”
Ivy’s heart leapt. “Yes, ma’am.”
“We’ll tolerate the rabbit for today,” Augusta added. “Occasionally after that. We’ll need a longer-term solution.”
“Understood, ma’am.”
Margaret smiled. “Come with me, dear.”
Ivy followed her, glancing back once to see Alfred hopping away with Cleopatra close behind. As Margaret explained the filing system, Ivy realized that for the first time in days she felt something other than fear. Hope. A small, cautious flame, but one that, with care, might burn bright again.