Page 12 of Ellen Found
Mrs. Quincy joined her. “‘Yes, my dear,’” she teased. “In case you wondered who wears the pants in that family.” Her voice hardened. “I only wish she had been nicer to me.”
“Maybe she regrets it.”
“Do you give everyone the benefit of the doubt?” Mrs. Quincy asked as she opened the door to her own room.
Do I?There’s no harm in that, shethought.It’s all I want. “I suppose I do,” she replied.
She searched for Plato and found him crouched over another mouse carcass in the pitch-dark lobby. “I saved some crispy elk pieces for you.”
“Any for me? I like crispy bits too.”
Funny how she already recognized his voice. “Mr. Penrose—”
“Charles.”
Hands on hips. “Mr. Penrose, you’re too quiet!”
“I learned that after Gwen was born,” he said. “Let sleeping children lie. She’s in her bed, and I come at Mrs. Child’s request. Well, perhaps her command.”
“Look out for Plato.”
Plato hissed. “Is it men he doesn’t like, or is it everyone except you?”
“Everyone,” she said, enjoying the mild banter. “What does the lady want?”
“I am to measure your foot for shoes.”
“I... suppose she couldn’t help seeing... I could use some good shoes.” It was true. Why protest? Everyone knew it, including this man with kind eyes.
“Take off your shoe and stand on the paper.”
She did as he said and stepped on the sheet. He grasped her ankle and outlined her foot. “Mrs. Child is observant,” she said, keeping her voice light, wanting to cut the odd tension.
“Not her,” he said quietly. “Me.”
The nuns had warned her about predatory men years ago. But as she stood there, one shoe on, one off, Ellen knew this man was no predator. She knew that she had fallen among friends.
“Thank you, Mr. Penrose.”
“Charles,” he reminded her. “You’ll have shoes. Winters are cold here.” He nodded toward the door, perhaps wanting to change the subject. “Feel that rumble?”
She followed him outside to the porch, rubbing her shoulders against the cold, to watch Old Faithful erupt.
Ellen watched, thinking of cold men on a steep roof. “Thank goodness the roof is done.”
“We’ll finish the inside this winter.” He sniffed the cold air. “Not a minute too soon.” He nodded to her as if she mattered. “Goodnight, Ellen. You will have shoes.”
Morning coffee with Ellen. Can I tell you, dear journal, how nice that is? I had almost forgotten.
THE SHOES ARRIVED three weeks later, along with uniforms. Since she was cutting up onions, her tears needed no explanation.
“Try them on now.” Mrs. Quincy looked around. “Be sure to close your door! The builders are indoors and drop in at all hours for coffee and whatever else they can scrounge.”
What a change three weeks had brought. Mr. Schmitz’s “Vee vill haff electricity” came true. Three steam boilers, brought earlier in August, were encased in their own buildingbehind the inn, voraciously scarfing down all the lodgepole pines that woodcutters produced. The steam powered the generators and produced electricity. Power tools and lifts went into action.
Inside the lobby, more scaffolding went up, which entertained Plato mightily. Now he could climb the scaffolding and threaten carpenters nailing narrow split logs high above the floor, covering the ceiling to match the walls below.
Now she had dresses. Ellen’s cautious mind had told her that Mrs. Child didn’t really mean it, but here they were, wrapped in brown paper.
