Just as I Am Read online

  He trailed behind Miss Lucy and Daisy as they left the parlor. The two women turned toward the wide, spindled staircase, and he moved in the opposite direction toward the little entryway leading to the porch. As his hand closed on the doorknob, Miss Lucy’s bland voice reached his ears.

  “By the way, the name of the young woman with whom you will share a room is Cassandra Hooper.”

  Chapter 7

  By sunrise of her first morning in Sinclair, Daisy had nearly talked herself out of seeking employment at Dinsmore’s. As much as she wanted to be in the same building as Robby, she didn’t think her heart could survive watching Cassandra steal her very best friend. Cassandra had made it very clear she’d set her sights on Robby and she would do everything in her power to win him for herself.

  Last night as Daisy had put her clothes away in the wardrobe and bottom drawers of the bureau, Cassandra lay on her tummy across the bed and explained that she wore blue dresses because blue was the color of Rob’s eyes. While Daisy ran a brush through her short, coarse curls, Cassandra twisted her own black tresses into a long silky braid and commented on how her hair color contrasted so perfectly with Rob’s corn-silk hair. Once Cassandra was settled on the opposite side of the mattress with the lamp extinguished, her final words were of eagerness to sleep because Rob always entered her dreams.

  Even at breakfast with the other boarders, most of whom were employed at Dinsmore’s, Cassandra brought Rob into the conversation regardless of the topic. Finally Miss Lucy sent her a stern frown and said, “Goodness, Miss Hooper, your besotted state is a distraction I wish to avoid. May I have the pleasure of eating my poached eggs and toast without being forced to listen to your constant commentary?”

  Cassandra had ceased talking, but she’d continued to cast sidelong glances at Daisy, and her dark eyes flashed a warning. Now, as Daisy walked toward Dinsmore’s well behind Cassandra and the other factory girls, she considered whether she should seek employment elsewhere. Only her promise to Robby that she would see him at Dinsmore’s kept her feet aimed in the direction of the factory.

  As she rounded the final corner, she spotted Robby leaning against the brick wall near the entry doors. And he wasn’t alone. Cassandra stood so close it appeared her toes bumped against his. Hands locked behind her back, head tipped at an angle, the girl seemed to hold Robby captive. Daisy’s steps slowed, unwelcome thoughts filling her head.

  At the asylum she and Robby had banded together because they were the only two “older” orphans. She’d allowed herself to see their friendship as special. But now she wondered if it had only been convenient. At least, from Robby’s mind-set. Oh, he’d been happy to see her yesterday. She still tingled from his enthusiastic, breath-stealing hug. But here in Sinclair there were dozens of young people their age. Why did she think she’d hold an important place in his life anymore with so many others for him to choose as friends?

  Not once in Robby’s monthly letters had he mentioned Cassandra, but watching them together confirmed Cassandra’s statements about how she and Robby “fit.” The longer Daisy gazed at the two of them together, the more she realized just how out of place she must appear next to Robby. And how unattractive she was next to Cassandra.

  Her chest went tight, and tears stung fiercely. She didn’t belong here. Why had she come to Sinclair? Because she’d missed Robby. She needed her friend. But Robby had moved on without her. He no longer needed her. The desire to escape overwhelmed her, and she turned to dash away. But as she took the first step, Robby called her name. She froze, torn between responding to his call and running away as fast as she could.

  She hesitated a moment too long. Robby thundered up alongside her and caught her hand. He drew her toward the factory doors where Cassandra stood glowering. “C’mon, Daisy,” he said, his voice so bright and eager it raised another wave of sadness. “I gotta get checked in before the buzzer rings, or they’ll dock my pay. Soon as I punch my card, I’ll take you up to Mr. Hightower’s office so you can talk to him about a job. Cassandra was just tellin’ me one of the sorters quit last week an’ the spot ain’t been filled. So you got a good chance of gettin’ hired.”

  Daisy’s feet plodded clumsily along the poured concrete walkway. “Robby, are you sure I—”

  “From what I’ve seen,” Robby went on as if he hadn’t heard her, “sortin’ isn’t too hard. Takes a keen eye an’ a quick, steady hand. I reckon a girl as smart as you can do it.”

  They reached the doors, and Robby guided her straight through. The rich scent of chocolate as well as fruity essences filled her nose, and hisses and clanks and screeches filled her ears. Everywhere she looked, people were darting here and there, pushing carts, carrying crates, toting trays. The assault on her senses made her head spin.

  She turned to ask Robby how he managed to spend his day in such a noisy, busy place, but she spotted Cassandra sidling up on Robby’s other side. Unwilling for the girl to overhear her question, she remained silent. Robby and Cassandra both stamped their cards, then Robby caught Daisy’s hand again. Daisy feared Cassandra would set the two of them on fire with her smoldering glare, but Robby didn’t seem to notice.

  “Mr. Hightower’s office is in the loft.” Robby led her across the floor toward an enclosed wooden stairway. “He won’t be up there yet. He comes in at six, but he walks around the floor for a while first, makin’ sure everybody’s workin’ like they’re supposed to. But there’s a bench in the hall where you can sit an’ wait for him.”

  Worry smote Daisy. “Will you wait with me?”

  He clomped up the stairs, still holding her hand. “I’m sorry, Daisy. I gotta get to my station.” He guided her through an open doorway and closed the heavy door behind them, which muffled the factory noises. Daisy couldn’t resist releasing a quick sigh of relief. She’d thought the orphans were noisy around the dinner table at the asylum, but the chatter of their voices now seemed a whisper compared to the racket of the hectic floor below.

  Robby led her around a corner and up a wide hallway to a backless bench tucked next to a closed door. “There you go.” He released her hand and gestured flamboyantly to the unpretentious seat.

  Daisy remained standing beside the bench and wrung her hands together. “Robby, I … You …” She gulped.

  Robby frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  She wanted to ask him whether he wanted Cassandra to be his sweetheart. But fearful of the answer, she held the question inside.

  Understanding bloomed on his face. “You feelin’ nervous?”

  At least a dozen bats were flapping around in her stomach. She nodded.

  He touched her chin—a light, brotherly brush of his fingertips. “You’ll be all right. You faced up to Miss Lucy just fine last night. Didn’t need me there at all.”

  She could have argued, but a buzzer blared, making her jump.

  Robby jumped, too, and set off for the staircase. “I gotta get to work, Daisy, but don’t worry now. I’ll be prayin’ you get the job!” He disappeared around the corner.

  Daisy sank onto the bench and pressed her hands together between her knees to control their tremble. Robby had ended every letter with the words I’m praying for you, Daisy. For him to pray for her, he had to think of her, and she liked being in his thoughts. She’d always cherished the statement even while it made her feel a tad guilty. Because she’d never prayed for him. She thought about him—thought about him a lot—but thinking and praying weren’t the same thing. She’d learned that much from Ma and Pa Jonnson.

  The door at the loft’s landing opened, allowing in a blast of factory noise, then snapped closed. Daisy scrambled to her feet as a man in a brown tweed three-piece suit, complete with a speckled ascot at his throat, breezed around the corner. He settled his gaze on Daisy, and his steps slowed, his eyes sweeping from the hem of her yellow calico skirt to her face. He didn’t smile, but neither did he frown.

  He crossed to her and settled his hands on his hips, the pose intimidating. Daisy battled
shrinking away from him, but remembering Robby was praying for her gave her the courage to hold her shoulders square and meet his haughty gaze.

  “Miss Forrester?”

  Daisy nodded.

  “I am Gordon Hightower, the manager and hiring agent for Dinsmore’s World-Famous Chocolates Factory. Mr. Miller indicated you are seeking employment.”

  “Yes, sir, I am.”

  His lips twitched beneath his neatly trimmed mustache—with disdain or suppressed humor, she couldn’t determine. Still maintaining the stern pose, he lifted his chin a notch. “Before we proceed to my office, I need to understand your relationship to Mr. Miller. Is he your beau?”

  If only she could say yes. But she wouldn’t lie. Not to Mr. Hightower or to herself. She was Robby’s childhood playmate. Hopefully his friend. But with such beguiling young women here to capture his attention and his heart, she didn’t have a chance of ever being more. Not even God, if He cared for her a smidgen as much as Ma and Pa Jonnson tried to convince her, could make her beautiful enough to deserve Robby’s deep affection.

  She said, “No, sir.”

  Mr. Hightower slipped a key into the lock of the closest door. “Come into my office, Miss Forrester, and let’s talk.”

  Chapter 8

  Daisy’s first month at Dinsmore’s flew by. As Robby had indicated, being a sorter wasn’t difficult. She merely needed to stay attentive and exercise quick reflexes to pluck the less-than-perfect candies from the sorting trays before they were carried by toters to the packaging area. She learned quickly how to see at a glance whether enough nutmeats covered the tops or if the flavored creamy centers—raspberry, vanilla, buttercream, maple—peeked from beneath the coating of rich chocolate. Only the perfect candies went into boxes for sale. The others were divided up among the youngest factory workers on Saturday.

  Because Daisy was so close to sixteen years old when she hired on, she didn’t receive a bag of imperfects, but she didn’t mind. The younger children received even less pay than she did, so they deserved a little something extra. Robby bought her a box of Dinsmore’s chocolates for her sixteenth birthday—the biggest box available of chocolate-covered creams, caramels, and fruit-and-nut filled, all arranged in neat rows in a flat box wrapped in gold foil and tied with a big red ribbon. She thanked him, and she saved the box and ribbon even though red was her least favorite color, but she let Miss Lucy eat the candies. After smelling chocolate all day, six days a week, she had lost her appetite for eating sweets.

  Her weekly salary of $3.50 covered her expenses and would have allowed for a few extravagances if she’d chosen to indulge. Cassandra and the other girls browsed the shops every Saturday afternoon after quitting time and returned to the boardinghouse with items in hand—straw bonnets or lace collars or new stockings or earrings with screw-on backs that dangled from their earlobes. Daisy secretly admired the things they bought, but she saved her money instead. Why purchase items intended to call attention to the wearer?

  If she could, she’d wear her uniform apron and mobcap all the time. The mobcap covered nearly all her unruly curls, and with the apron over her dress like every other female worker in the factory, she blended in. She felt as though she fit. And that is what kept her getting up and walking to Dinsmore’s each morning, always well behind Cassandra and the others, even though much of her day was spent in Cassandra-caused misery.

  Daisy had never had many friends—growing up in the asylum, she didn’t have much opportunity—but neither had she had an enemy. Until now. And she was ill equipped to deal with one. Besides, Ma and Pa Jonnson had taught the children to treat others the way they wanted to be treated. Daisy didn’t like being snubbed and taunted, so she refused to exchange tit for tat.

  Consequently, when Cassandra made spiteful comments, Daisy nursed her aching heart and remained silent. When Cassandra openly flirted with Robby in front of Daisy, she turned her gaze elsewhere and pretended not to notice. When Cassandra carelessly tossed Daisy’s belongings aside in their shared room or—worse—used up Daisy’s scented talcum powder or broke her shoehorn, she pretended it didn’t matter.

  But it did matter. She maintained an unaffected front, but underneath, Daisy felt bruised by Cassandra’s treatment. She carefully avoided crossing paths with Robby in the factory, turned down his invitations to get something to eat at Miz Kesia’s, and discouraged him from walking her home, always hoping Cassandra would see she needn’t worry—Daisy wouldn’t compete for Robby’s affections. Why try to win something so far out of one’s reach? The only place she went with Robby was church on Sunday morning. Cassandra didn’t attend service, so the hour in the chapel with Robby was her one hour of peace each week, and she both anticipated it and savored it.

  The first Sunday in June, Daisy donned her best dress, which she’d washed and ironed the day before, and pinned her rose-bedecked bonnet over her hair. As she secured the pins to anchor the hat against the Kansas wind, Cassandra sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes with her fists.

  Cassandra lowered her hands and aimed a familiar scowl at the mirror where her gaze met Daisy’s. “I suppose you’re going to church with Rob?”

  “That’s right.” Everyone at the factory called Robby by the shortened name, but Daisy couldn’t bring herself to use it. He would always be Robby to her. She gave her hat a little tug, deemed it sufficiently fastened, and headed for the door. “He’ll be here soon. I need to go.”

  “Oh, you need to go all right but not to church with Rob.”

  Cassandra’s warning froze Daisy’s hand on the doorknob. She stood stiffly in place while Cassandra continued in an icy tone.

  “Where you need to go, Daisy, is back to Brambleville. You aren’t wanted here.”

  Oh, how the girl’s words stung. No one had ever wanted Daisy. Although she knew the truth, hearing it spoken out loud pierced her with a pain more intense than anything she’d ever experienced. She gritted her teeth to hold back a moan of agony.

  “Granted, Rob spends time with you, but only because he feels sorry for you. He’s told me how you don’t have any other friends, so of course out of kindness he pays attention to you.” Cassandra released a derisive snort. “You must not have even an ounce of self-respect.”

  Daisy spun around and gawked at her roommate. “Self-respect? Of course I do!”

  Cassandra angled her head like a rooster preparing for battle. “No you don’t, Daisy Forrester. Because girls with self-respect don’t settle for relationships based on pity. And that’s all you’ll ever have from Rob—pity.” Her disparaging gaze roved from Daisy’s straw hat to the toes of her scuffed boots and up again. Her lip curled in scorn. “I know why he feels sorry for you. All of us here in the boardinghouse pity you for the same reasons. Although of course you can’t help the way you look, you’re the most unfeminine girl we’ve ever seen.” Cassandra heaved a melodramatic sigh. “Surely you’re destined for spinsterhood just like Miss Lucy, which is so very, very sad.”

  Daisy wanted to argue with Cassandra, but there was no argument against truth. The image in the mirror of her narrow face topped by untamed red curls spoke too clearly of her shortcomings. Tears filled her eyes, but she sniffed hard and refused to let them fall.

  Cassandra continued, but she chose a sugary tone rather than the tart one she’d previously employed. “Well, I suppose you can avoid spinsterhood if you remain selfish and play on dear Rob’s tender-heartedness. Because he feels sorry for you and because you and he were children together, he might very well pledge himself to you. But honestly, Daisy, do you want to be with him, knowing he only chose you out of pity or obligation? Doesn’t Rob deserve the very best—to love passionately the girl who becomes his wife?”

  Of course Daisy wanted the very best for Robby. She always had. Cassandra’s questions penetrated to her very core and seared her with the realization she wasn’t and could never be the “very best.” She pawed clumsily at the doorknob and managed to twist it. “I … I have to go.”

&nb
sp; “Consider what I said, Daisy!” Cassandra’s voice followed Daisy as she fled down the stairs. “Do what’s best for Rob instead of selfishly thinking of yourself!”

  Chapter 9

  Rob, uncertain if Miss Lucy was in or had already left for the service at her chosen church, remained on the porch and waited for Daisy to come down. He paced, eager. Eager for a few minutes of time with Daisy and eager for service. The door burst open, and Daisy bounded onto the porch as if a nest of hornets pursued her. He couldn’t stop a smile from forming. She must be eager, too.

  “Morning, Daisy,” he greeted, moving toward her with a bounce in his step. “Are you ready—”

  “Robby, I need to talk to you.”

  He reached for her arm. “Sure. We can talk on the way.”

  “I’m not going.”

  Rob halted with a jolt, his hand extended midair. He loved going to church, singing the hymns, hearing the Bible read and a message taught. His earliest memories included walking to service with Ma—holding her hand, listening to her hum, looking up at her smile. In his little-boy mind, attending service meant happiness. After Ma died, going to service brought sweet memories of his all-too-short time with her. Ma believed the Bible’s teaching about Jesus dying on the cross for the sins of mankind, and he’d accepted it for himself when he was barely as high as Ma’s waist. He couldn’t imagine going through life without God’s help. Not go to service? He gaped at Daisy, too startled to speak.

  “I think it’s better if you don’t bother with me.”

  He found his voice. “If I don’t bother with you?” Balling his fists on his hips, he gave her his sternest look. “Grits an’ gravy, what’s gotten into you?” She set her lips in a firm line and turned toward the door, but Rob leaped forward and caught her elbow. “Oh no you don’t. You’re gonna talk to me.”

  “I have nothing more to say!”