“You’re wrong there.”
“No. He wants you and Daniel to come back to his house. On your terms. Everything agreed. He wants to look after the two of you.”
“Not a chance. We’ll never go back to him.”
“Never is a long time, Mrs. Miller.”
“If there was a word longer than never, that’s the word I’d use.”
“If you don’t go back, what will you do?”
“I’ll find a job.”
“For a woman, there are no jobs in Connaught. At least none that aren’t taken. Maybe you could work at the hotel as a waitress, a cook, a barmaid, a chambermaid – but your father owns the hotel.”
“I’ll find something.”
“Maybe you could clean houses. There isn’t very much money in it but it’s something a woman can do. You could clean the lawyer lady’s house, the doctor lady’s house, the druggist lady’s house. Would you like that? Cleaning houses and those ladies being so good as to point out to you the spots you missed?”
“I don’t miss spots.”
Mr. Stutz smiled knowingly. “Mrs. Miller mightn’t miss spots – the cleaning lady always does. It’s a fact of life. You ought to consider that.”
“I’m past considering.”
“Then you better be past pride, too.”
Vera didn’t respond. She was listening to the axe thud on the chopping block.
After a time Mr. Stutz sighed and said, “The old Bluebird Cafe has been empty now for two years. No one could seem to make a go of it after the Chinaman died.”
“And?”
“And did you ever think of going into business for yourself? Two thousand dollars, more or less, would get it operating again. You’re a good cook. You could manage a cafe, I’m sure. Your father claims you’re clever, at any rate.”
“My father never claimed any such thing.”
“You don’t know everything about your father. Your father claims you’re clever. I heard him,” repeated Stutz with emphasis.
“All right, so I’m a genius without two thousand dollars. A lot of good it does me, brains without money.”
“Your father will give you the money if you ask him.”
“What? Give me money to set up in competition with him? The Bluebird’s directly across the street from the hotel and its restaurant.”
“Do you think he cares about competition? When’s the last time he gave a thought to his businesses? He leaves the running of them to me, or they run themselves. Alec’s got enough. If you ask, he’ll set you up.”
“Haven’t you heard a word that I’ve said? You’ve got to be crazy if you think I’d ask. Especially after you’ve sat at this table and heard me say exactly what I think of him. Don’t mistake me for a hypocrite, Mr. Stutz.”
Mr. Stutz took a deep breath, shifted himself on his chair seat. “All right,” he said, “then I’ll lend you the money.”
Vera was so taken aback that she doubted she had heard him correctly. “What’s that? What did you say?” she demanded rudely.
“I’ll lend you two thousand dollars to give The Bluebird a whirl. If you want,” said Mr. Stutz, twisting his neck uncomfortably in his shirt collar.
She was incredulous. “And why in the world would you do that, Mr. Stutz?”
This question only increased Mr. Stutz’s discomfort. “Well, Mrs. Miller,” he said, “you’ve got the boy to look after and I know you’re an honest woman and…” here he broke off, cast around desperately for a conclusion to his speech, and blurted out, “and if Christ was in my shoes, I think he’d give you the money!”
Vera could not restrain a smile. “I never thought of Christ as a money-lender,” she said. “It was the money-lenders he whipped out of the temple, wasn’t it?”
“He wouldn’t have done it if they were doing good,” replied Stutz with a stubborn look.
“So you want to do some good, do you?” Vera teased.
Stutz, deaf to her frivolous tone, nodded his head soberly. “Yes.”
“And what if it gets you in trouble with my father?”
“Why would doing good get me in trouble with Alec?”
“It might seem to him like you were switching sides.”
“There are no such things as sides for me, Mrs. Miller.”
“Come, come, Mr. Stutz, you’re not that innocent.”
“You don’t hurt a man by helping his daughter.”
Vera gave him an appraising look. “The question is: Why do you want to do this, Mr. Stutz? For whose sake are you offering help? His or mine?”
“For everyone’s sake I would like to do good,” said Stutz.
“And that’s it?”
Stutz chose not to answer. The monotonous chop chop chop of the axe striking wood penetrated the kitchen. Mr. Stutz seized the opportunity it presented. “What’s that?” he asked.
Vera did not renounce her suspicions but she allowed them to relax. Stutz could be a deep one, perhaps too deep for her ever to see clear to the bottom of. “It’s Daniel splitting wood,” she said. “He’s been out there forty-five minutes already, but by the sound of it he doesn’t seem to be making much headway.”
“Oh, I thought maybe… you know… we were alone, that Daniel was out with friends.”
Vera said nothing, watched her fingers fiddle with the charred matchstick in the ashtray.
“It’s a chance to be independent,” said Mr. Stutz encouragingly.
“The reason he’s still out there chopping,” said Vera, “is that he doesn’t know how to go about it. Plenty of wasted effort when you don’t have the knack.”
“He must be getting cold. What if I send him in and finish up for him?” suggested Mr. Stutz. “I could split you a woodbox full in no time at all.”
“Yes, maybe he should come in. It wouldn’t do to have him freeze his face.”
Mr. Stutz got up from the table. “Think about it, Mrs. Miller,” he urged, stooping over and pulling on his overshoes.
“And what if I lost your money, Mr. Stutz?” she said playfully, attempting to make light of his proposal so it need not be faced.
Stutz straightened up and considered her question. His deliberation, his grave manner of answering, denied Vera a flippant escape. In his dumb, fumbling way he made it impossible for her to avoid taking him seriously.
“It’s only money,” he said, “and I’ve got nobody to hurt by losing it. I’ve nobody to leave it to. No wife or anything.”
“But there’s always family. You must have some family.”
“No family,” he said, shaking his head.
“None?”
“None.”
So much for that. Vera struck a match and lit one of Stutz’s Millbanks while she collected and marshalled her thoughts. She couldn’t help being both excited and afraid. The old christer, the old do-gooder meant every word he said. It could be read plainly in his smooth, innocent face. The money was hers for the asking. The only difficulty was that Vera was not much good at asking; she lacked the talent. And the way he had presented it to her, implying that she had no choice but to take his money because it was the only way out for someone in her position, wouldn’t make asking any easier. What Stutz had suggested to her might be God’s unvarnished truth, but Vera didn’t welcome having it brought to her attention. Besides, she knew there was always a choice, even if it was only choosing not to choose. She still had that left to her.
Vera bit at a speck of tobacco clinging to her bottom lip. Stutz stood patiently by the door, waiting. The last word she could recall him saying was “None.” A barren, lonely word. Poor devil, Vera thought. Poor kind devil.
“Do you need kindling?” he asked, resting his hand on the doorknob.
“Pardon?”
“Do you need kindling for the stove?”
“Do I need… yes. Please.”
He nodded and went out.
So what was she going to do? The truth was she didn’t know. Her mouth was dry with the desiring of it and dry with the fearing of it. Over the years she had let the lie of confidence carry her through most situations. She wasn’t sure she could make that work for her anymore. Too much strength had been used up. Worn down as she was, could she survive disappointment and failure if they came?