Secrets of Sloane House(5)

“Pleased to meet you.” He tipped his cap. “I’m a carpenter, miss. I do odd jobs, doing my best to make a dime, you know.”

“I’m Rosalind.”

“I know that. I do.” He winked. “As soon as I saw there was a looker new on staff, I asked about you.”

“Out with ya, Jim,” Cook exclaimed. More confidentially, she leaned closer to Rosalind. “His mouth is going to get him in trouble yet, you mark my words. But if you learn to ignore most of his silly flirting, you’ll see that Jim’s as good a man as they come. I’d trust him with my soul, I would.”

Before Rosalind could think of a reply to that, Jim started speaking. “Have you been to the fair yet?” When she shook her head, he grinned. “Didn’t think so. If you had, you’d be smiling.”

Still too rattled to even think about attending the World’s Fair, she murmured, “I doubt I will go.”

“You should. I mean, you should if you can get the time off.” Jim rested his elbows on the table as he continued. “It’s something to see, make no mistake. If you had seen Jackson Park before we got to work, you’d be right amazed at all the changes that have come about. Us carpenters have been right busy, making one building after another into a thing of beauty.”

“Beauty where there was none,” Cook interjected.

“I worked on several of the buildings, I tell you that. The Agricultural Building, Fisheries, even the Gov’ment one too.”

“They got carrier pigeons and a redwood in that one,” Cook interjected importantly. “I saw them meself.”

“I even helped with fourteen of the state buildings,” Jim continued, his voice sounding prouder than punch. “Maybe I even worked on yours. Where are you from, Rosalind?”

“Wisconsin.”

Jim frowned. “Sorry, can’t say’s I worked on that one.”

“Oh.” She was starting to realize Wisconsin sounded as foreign to these Chicagoans as Japan or Russia sounded to her.

“But I’m sure it’s there. Somewhere. You’ll have to see it, all the same.”

“The fair does sound special,” Rosalind murmured. “It’s hard to believe such a big event is taking place right here in Chicago.”

“We live in a wondrous age, for sure. And our city is plumb in the middle of it! You be sure you go and see the sights, if you dare,” Jim said as he stood up.

Rosalind was about to smile when he lowered his voice dramatically. “But if you do go, don’t forget to be careful, now. The city can be a dangerous place. For a young woman likes yerself, there’s trouble around almost every corner.”

In a flash, the cozy atmosphere of the kitchen darkened.

Cook scowled as she used a paring knife to cut the squash into long yellow ribbons. “Jim, there ain’t no reason for you to be bringing things like that up.”

For the first time, Jim looked embarrassed. “Martha always tells me to watch my tongue. Guess I should start listening. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be scaring you.”

Feeling apprehensive, but for the first time slightly hopeful, Rosalind struggled to keep her voice tempered. “No, no, I want to hear what you mean.”

“I was only thinking of another pretty maid, that’s all.”

“Jim’s speaking of Miranda,” Tilly, the scullery maid, whispered.

Rosalind’s heart slammed into her chest. “Miranda?”

She had to be careful. Because she went by Rosalind Pettit instead of Perry, which was her real last name, no one at Sloane House knew she was Miranda’s sister. And so far she’d been afraid to start asking questions. Now that the subject of Miranda had unexpectedly come up, she had to make the most of it.

Cook left her position and ponderously approached the table. After a second’s pause, she said with obvious reluctance, “Miranda was a maid who worked here.”

“But she didn’t last long, though,” Tilly said with a troubled expression. “Barely a couple of months.”

“Why such a short time?”

“She was real pretty,” Jim continued, ignoring her question. “She was about your age, now that I think of it.” He snapped his fingers. “And from Wisconsin just like you.” Eyeing her a bit more closely, he murmured, “Did you know her?”

“I . . . I . . .”

“Go on with you, Jim,” Cook scoffed before Rosalind could utter a lie. “Even though Wisconsin is no Illinois, there’s still a fair number of folks living there!”

While another of the maids snickered, Rosalind stared at Jim. “Wh–what about Miranda? What happened to her?”