Chapter 14 Isadore
Cast-iron slats pressed against Izzy’s back, the chilly air biting through her coat, but the bench was the only place between the spit-and-polished homes that offered a view of Simon’s front door.
A bunch of professors lived on this fancy row, just blocks from the college, and she’d spent the past four evenings walking down their sidewalk to knock on Simon’s door. No one answered, even tonight when she knocked twice, and now she was all in a dither, worried about whatever detained him.
He should have phoned the dormitory—or at least sent her a letter—if he was traveling through the weekend, so she wouldn’t worry. He didn’t think, of course, that she might need him. Once they married, she’d know all the details of his work including where he had gone and when he’d return home.
According to the glow from her watch, she had twenty minutes until curfew, and she dreaded going back. Her roommates hadn’t stopped asking questions about her illness, concerned that she might spread whatever ailed her. While she’d assured them she wasn’t contagious, neither girl seemed convinced.
Even now her stomach taunted her, pretending it was hungry, but she knew exactly what would happen if she dared eat. Food had become her nemesis. The enemy of all enemies.
Oh, she had to speak with Simon right away.
Before someone discovered the reason for her nausea.
And she didn’t trust Professor Farrow one bit.
Not as a teacher and certainly not as a messenger since Simon hadn’t visited her on campus all week.
She’d tried to catch his father after class on Monday, to make sure he’d spoken with his son, but the professor skirted right around her to talk with another student. As if he was avoiding her.
No matter. Simon could speak to his father after he found out that she was in a family way. Because she knew, based on what she’d read from a borrowed library book, that her doctor was right. She only needed a husband to complete the family.
Simon would console her, the moment he returned.
They didn’t have to tell another soul besides Dr. Gauldin about the baby.
Not even the professor. He’d told her to do what needed to be done, so she had.
She bought herself a beautiful dress for her wedding and now she needed to marry Simon before her stomach grew.
While Professor Farrow didn’t seem to like her much, he’d soften up, especially if he wanted to remain with them.
His son had already been generous enough, offering the old man a roof over his head until he found another house.
While Izzy didn’t like the man much, thought he took Simon’s generosity for granted at every turn, he always spoke kindly of his deceased wife.
Forty years was a long time to live with a person.
Perhaps that’s why he had been so wicked to Simon lately. He must miss Mrs. Farrow a great deal.
What would she and Simon be like after four decades together? The many dinners and movie nights and more babies, perhaps, in the first years.
She giggled at the thought.
A drop of rain splashed her skirt, followed by another dot on her nose. Swell. She really would take ill if she stayed out here much longer.
Tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders, she fixed her gaze again on the warmly lit house across the street.
It wasn’t right, really, for her to be waiting outside on a dreadful, drizzly night like this.
Once they tied the knot, Simon would simply telephone and tell her he was delayed.
She’d build a roaring fire and then warm his meal when he walked through the door.
They’d have the most perfect of lives.
A light blinked in the mist as a blue convertible rushed up the street. Izzy leapt to her feet when it rolled into the Farrow driveway, Simon hopping outside to open the garage.
She’d planned to run across the road, right into his arms, but the whiff of exhaust, the clotting smell of diesel, clogged her throat, then wrecked her stomach. Her hand pressed against a tree, she struggled for a clean breath as the little she’d eaten for dinner emptied itself on the ground.
The garage closed before she wiped her mouth, leaving her no choice now but to ring the bell again. So she did. Three times. Even then, no one answered the door.
Ten minutes until curfew now. The housemother would be furious at her tardiness, but she must speak with Simon tonight.
Not a moment longer. If Dr. Gauldin was correct, it wouldn’t be long before her roommates and the housemother suspected her predicament.
She most certainly was not going to be unwed when that happened.
She’d have to enter through the back door, the one Simon usually left unlocked so Izzy didn’t disturb the maid.
Light streamed out a window, halfway around the house, and she heard voices, growing louder as she leaned into the glass, the damp coolness soaking her cheek while she listened to the men.
Words flew like bullets from Dr. Farrow’s mouth.
Cleveland. Bank. Ruined. And then—
Girl.
Were they arguing about her?
Another woman might shout to get Simon’s attention, but as soon-to-be mistress of the Farrow home, she must act like a proper lady.
She brushed her hand over her skirt and rolled back her shoulders.
Neither man needed to worry about his reputation.
And no one was ruined. Once she straightened out the truth between them, she would promise discretion.
And Simon knew she could be discreet. All of her time here, away from school, and no one except Professor Farrow suspected what had transpired between her and his son.
She tested the knob on the back door but didn’t bother to knock when she discovered it locked. Instead, the routine familiar, she opened a tiny slot under the bird feeder to remove a key. When the lock clicked, she let herself inside.
The men were still fighting, and she hated the professor for it. How dare he berate his son? Simon had done so much to help the old man. He shouldn’t have to bear the weight of his father’s failings.
She found the men in the parlor with Simon leaning against the black mantel, his handsome lips pressed together in frustration, a cigarette glowing orange in his hand.
Professor Farrow sat stoic in his high-backed chair, hands folded on the lap of his worn smoking jacket as he stared at a portrait of his wife.
Izzy had no hope now of passing his literature class. Nothing to lose but so much to gain on behalf of the man who’d stolen her heart.
“Simon,” she whispered as she stepped into the room, not wanting to startle him.
He whirled so quickly that he almost fell. Then his gaze swung between her and his father. “Why are you here?”
A chill replaced the familiar warmth in his gaze, and she was livid at the man sitting beside him, sucking the life out of his son. “I was worried that you didn’t get my message.”
If he had, Simon would have already found her on campus and made things right.
His loafer tapped the rug like he was pumping gas into his engine. “I’ve only just returned.”
“From Cleveland?”
The strain of a smile stretched across Simon’s face. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to help with your studies.”
What did he mean? She cared little about schoolwork anymore. Only about him.
Smoke clouded Simon’s face and then swept up to the chandelier when he took a drag on his cigarette.
Professor Farrow leaned forward. “You can stop the facade, Simon.”
“I don’t know—”
“Tell him your news, Miss Brooks.”
Darned if she was going to share any such thing with the professor in the room. While he might suspect, all she’d said was that she must speak to Simon, nothing else.
Simon released the mantel and took another drag. If they were alone, he would offer one to her, and how she could use it. Her nerves were all a jangle.
Then again, as the acrid haze billowed toward her, she eyed the path toward the bathroom. And she held her breath so she wouldn’t retch. Some things, this in particular, were a private matter.
“What news?” Simon asked.
The nausea passed with the clearing of smoke, and she straightened her scarf. A clear breath, her gaze steady on Simon. “I would like to speak with you alone.”
Professor Farrow stood, his back bent. “Did you spend the money?”
“Some of it,” she said, proud that she hadn’t squandered his cash on something frivolous like another girl might do.
The professor reached for the armchair to balance.
If she didn’t know about his cruelty behind closed doors, she would feel sorry for the man.
But Simon had told her the truth about Professor Farrow’s spitefulness, and she would defend her future husband against any enemy, including his own father who acted like he was still master of this place.
Which he wasn’t. The house had passed down through Mrs. Farrow’s family, straight to her youngest son when the woman died earlier this year.
Izzy would never insist that Professor Farrow be evicted, but once she and Simon were married, the professor could relocate to the former caretaker’s house behind the garage so he wouldn’t harass either of them.
The men faced each other, Professor Farrow speaking first. “You’ve managed to find yourself in another bind.”
Simon crushed the cigarette in an ashtray. “Kindly stay out of my business.”
“I wish I could, but you keep roping me into your trouble.”
She held her breath, uncertain if these men might come to blows. Then what would she do?
Simon waved her toward the door. “I’ll drive you back to campus.”
The breath trapped inside her escaped. She didn’t linger in that parlor, gladly following Simon to the garage. All she wanted was to feel his arms around her, holding her tight.
They had no reason to rush back now that she was late. Nor would he want to hurry once he heard her news. They had plans to make and not a moment to waste, especially if he was needed back in Cleveland soon.
He reversed down the drive. “That was a dangerous move, Izzy.”