Chapter Sixteen #4
“Sit down and let him do the work. He does not have to suffer through high heels on his feet.” Her own shoes, Vivian noticed, were flat and practical.
Danny rolled his eyes, but he didn’t seem offended as he laid out the food.
“Don’t tell your father I gave you the newest batch of buns,” she whispered as he laid the final dish on the table.
“You’re the best, Ma,” Danny said, giving her a quick, one-armed hug.
“Of course I am,” she agreed, smiling and giving him a pat on his cheek as she took a seat at their table. “Introduce me to these girls.”
“Ma, this is Florence Kelly and her sister, Vivian.”
“How do you do, Mrs. Chin?” Florence said politely, holding out her hand.
“Oh, no,” Danny said with a chuckle. “We don’t—”
“Mrs. Chin is fine,” his mother said, nodding as she shook Florence’s hand.
“They are polite girls, at least.” She shook Vivian’s hand, too, and she gave each of them an assessing look, her eyes lingering on their carefully sewn clothes, catalog shoes, and old suitcases.
Florence’s pinned-back curls earned a nod of approval.
Vivian resisted the urge to touch her own bobbed hair, hoping she wasn’t making a bad impression.
“So,” Danny’s mother said once he was done. “Some people in your neighborhood are causing trouble, yes? And you need to get away for a bit while it dies down?”
Danny started to answer, but she held up her hand. “I want to hear it from these girls, please. I need to know whether they are people we want living here before I say yes, and I can’t do that if you never let them open their mouths.”
As nervous as if there were a spotlight shining on her, Vivian glanced at her sister.
Florence stared back with an expression that clearly said she was out of her depth.
So Vivian took a deep breath and answered.
“That’s the idea, yes. We’d really appreciate a place to stay, just for a few days. They aren’t nice folks.”
“Lots of those in the city these days,” Danny’s mother sniffed. “This trouble, is it likely to follow you here?”
“We’re hoping no one will know we’re here,” Vivian said.
“That’s why they came to me, instead of someone in their own neighborhood,” Danny put in, before Mrs. Chin shushed him again.
“We don’t want to make things difficult for anyone else.” Florence’s voice was soft and polite as she spoke up for the first time in several minutes. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Mrs. Chin gave her a look that was not completely disapproving before she glanced at Vivian. “I can see you are the one my son knows from work. But I do not picture you there as easily,” she said, looking back at Florence.
“I’m a seamstress,” Florence said quickly. “Vivian is too. Or, she used to be. She does deliveries to women who order the dresses now. We work in a shop uptown.”
“Clothes for rich people?”
Florence smiled a little. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Chin sniffed again but looked pleased. “It’s good for a woman to know how to work. We don’t have anyone sitting around doing nothing in this house. What can you do here?”
“We can wash dishes,” Florence suggested. Apparently Mrs. Chin’s brusque manner didn’t bother her at all. “I don’t know that I’d be able to cook without you standing over my shoulder telling me what to do, and that’s not less work for you. But washing dishes we can manage.”
Danny’s mother nodded. “All right. Feed these girls,” she said to her son. “They’re too skinny. I will talk with your father while you eat and see whether we can help them or not.” She stood, giving them one more assessing glance before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Vivian sagged back in her chair, feeling as exhausted as if she’d been through a police interrogation instead of a few reasonable questions from a short, cheerful cook.
“I like your mother,” Florence said, a little smile still hovering around her lips in spite of her obvious nerves.
“She’s easy to like,” Danny agreed as they all settled in to eat. “And she’s a fantastic cook.”
As soon as she took her first bite, Vivian agreed enthusiastically.
Florence nodded her own agreement but didn’t answer; she was too busy eating with unladylike concentration.
Neither of them had had any food yet that day, just a cup of coffee each before church, and for a few minutes they were silent as they filled their plates with rice, vegetables, eggs, and the contraband buns.
Danny, eating more slowly, regarded them with satisfaction as he poured them cups of mild, fragrant tea that were far more pleasant than the bitter coffee Vivian was used to drinking.
At last, Danny’s father emerged from the kitchen, still frowning. Vivian stood up as he approached, and she felt Florence’s hand sneak into her own behind her back. Vivian squeezed, trying to offer some comfort.
“All right,” Mr. Chin said as he stopped next to the table.
He might have been frowning, but Vivian could see that his eyes were kind, and they rested on his son with no small amount of pride.
Some of the tension in Vivian’s shoulders relaxed.
“Your mother has browbeaten me into submission. And we do not, as she forcefully pointed out, turn away young ladies who need help. So you may stay, girls”—he held up a hand to forestall their thanks—“as long as there is no trouble.”
“There won’t be,” Vivian promised quickly. “Thank you, really.”
“It’s very kind of you,” Florence added. “Would you like us to come back to the kitchen now?”
Mr. Chin waved away the offer. “Get settled in first. There will be plenty of dishes to wash when we reopen for dinner. Yu-Chen, show them upstairs. And carry their bags for them,” he added, a twinkling look coming into his expression as he saw the girls pick up their suitcases.
“We have raised you to be a gentleman.” He hesitated, then added, “You seem like nice girls. And my son is a good judge of character.”
“You have to be, in my line of work,” Danny put in, smiling at his father.
His father shook his head. “Yes, I imagine that’s true.”
“Yu-Chen?” Vivian asked once Mr. Chin had returned to the kitchen. “Is that what your parents call you?”
Danny raised his eyebrows at her, the expression somehow both a look of discomfort and a challenge. “My Chinese name. Daniel was the English name they picked for me when I was baptized.”
“Does it mean anything?” Florence asked.
Danny took her suitcase out of her hand over her mild protest, then scooped up Vivian’s as well.
“All names mean something, don’t they?” he said, his voice teasing.
“My parents picked mine to mean that every day with me is like a precious gem. Which is true.” He gave her a wink, which made Florence look away, though she smiled as she did so.
The upstairs apartment where Danny led them wasn’t fancy, but it was nicer and more spacious than their own home, filled with the sort of cozy clutter that collected over years and that Vivian assumed was part of belonging to a family.
Danny led them up a second flight of stairs to a small room that was half storage but had enough space for both of them to sleep.
“I’d offer you girls my own room, but I share it with my cousin Lucky, and he’d throw a fit if I kicked him out. ”
“This is swell, Danny, really,” Vivian said, looking around. “You’re a peach, and you’ve got the nicest parents I’ve ever met.”
“I’m glad to help you out,” Danny said softly, but his eyes were on Florence, who was running a hand over the gauzy material of the curtains. When she turned and found him watching her, she fell still, a shy smile creeping over her face.
Vivian, who had finally begun to relax for the first time in hours, felt as though someone had squeezed her heart.
She might as well not have been there, so focused were they on each other for that brief moment.
Vivian found herself remembering her argument with Honor the night before, and loneliness began to prickle behind her eyelids.
She turned away quickly, not wanting to let the feeling linger, and cleared her throat. “Well, we’re glad to help out in return. Which means we should probably get downstairs and do our part in the kitchen. Come on, Flo.”
“Of course.” Florence glanced around, on edge once more, but her smile returned when her eyes met Danny’s. “Are you coming, Mr. Chin?”
“Danny,” he suggested.
Florence hesitated, then nodded. “Danny.”
“Come on,” Vivian said, yanking the door open, angry that she could feel anything other than relief and gratitude. Florence was safe, and that should have been all that mattered. “Let’s go down.”
It was late—after the dinner rush—and Vivian’s hands were wrinkled from hours spent washing dishes when she finally started dressing for work.
Florence was already sitting on the room’s only bed, which they would be sharing, her knees drawn close and tucked under her chin.
She watched as Vivian shimmied into one of her dancing dresses and rubbed Mrs. Chin’s lotion into her hands to soften them.
“Are you sure it’s safe for you to go to work tonight?” Florence asked quietly, fiddling with the hairbrush that was lying on the bed next to her. “If it’s not safe for us to be home, then shouldn’t … shouldn’t we just stay here?”
“No one’s going to get me at the Nightingale,” Vivian said with more confidence than she felt. “And anyway, I don’t think whoever wrote that letter will be coming after me yet. They want that dress, right? They’ll be waiting for us to hand it over.”
“But the note said tonight,” Florence reminded her. “So after today—”