When Tomorrow Comes Page 11

  She bathed hurriedly with no incentive to linger. She quickly dressed in what she hoped would be a fitting outfit for a job interview and took the stairs to the hotel’s street-level floor.

  She ordered toast and coffee. The toast was cold and stale and the coffee bitter—not at all like her mother’s. She ate breakfast in the same manner she had taken her bath. It was a necessary chore before starting her day. Clasping her purchased newspaper close, she took to the street.

  The morning chill was sharp. She pulled her collar up about her face and tried to twist away from the wind as she walked. She almost bumped into a hurrying gentleman in a dark overcoat. He mumbled something Christine did not wish to hear and hurried on.

  The first place of business was farther away than she had expected. By the time she arrived, she was chilled to the bone and wished she had spent the money on a streetcar.

  The place looked promising enough. She found herself hoping she would be successful.

  The small office included just one desk. A woman sat behind it studying long, polished nails.

  “Excuse me,” Christine said after a few moments.

  The woman turned her gaze to survey Christine from head to toe. She tipped her head but did not speak around the chewing gum in her mouth.

  “I came about the ad in the paper.”

  The woman looked blank.

  “The position. For a secretary.”

  “Oh, that.” She waved a hand with a flash of her nails. “It’s taken.”

  “Taken?”

  “Yep. That’s what I said.”

  “But it was in last night’s paper.”

  “Look—it’s taken. All right? I got it.”

  “You. . . ?”

  The woman nodded nonchalantly while working the gum even more diligently.

  “I see,” said Christine as she backed slowly toward the door. But she didn’t see. Not really.

  Christine went back to the street and managed to spread out her paper against the wind. She located the next address and started to trudge through the whipping snow once again.

  She didn’t see a streetcar, and this turned out to be a walk of several blocks also. Her face felt numb by the time she arrived. She wondered if her cheeks were red or frostbitten white.

  The building did not look as pleasant as the previous one. In fact, things seemed rather tacky. The floor was dirty, the curtain at the window bedraggled and hanging in a lopsided fashion, the chairs in the waiting area worn and askew. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to have a job in such an office. But she needed the work. She took a deep breath and approached the desk where an elderly, tired-looking woman presided. She looked up from bespeckled, watery eyes and asked in a weary voice, “Yes?”

  Christine felt an immediate sympathy.

  “I’m here about the ad in the paper. The position for secretary.”

  The woman’s eyes brightened. “Oh yes,” she said, and was soon on her feet.

  She crossed to a door and rapped. When there was a gruff call from inside, she opened the door and put in her head around it. “A woman here to see about the job.” She sounded excited.

  “Send her in.” There didn’t seem to be the same excitement there, however.

  “Go right in,” the woman invited, and Christine proceeded forward without even pausing to remove her coat.

  An elderly man looked up from the papers on his desk. His expression was not inviting. “Just as I feared,” he mumbled.

  Christine had no idea what the man was fearing.

  “You fresh out of school?” he grumbled.

  “No, sir. I’ve had experience. I’ve—”

  “So why you looking for work? You fired?”

  What could she say? She was fired—in a way. She certainly wasn’t going into a lengthy explanation of her broken engagement to the boss’s son.

  “There were . . . circumstances. . . .”

  “Circumstances? That’s what they all say. You didn’t do your job. That’s why folks get fired. Young people nowadays don’t seem to realize that. You gotta learn how to do a job if you want to keep it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Christine managed, her eyes lowering to the stain on his office floor.

  “My wife’s been doing this job for forty-three years. Never been fired. Forty-three years, mind you. Never had to look for another job her whole lifetime. That’s the kind of worker I want here.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Christine again, feeling like a child being scolded for breaking rules on the school playground.

  He waved a hand at her, then toward the door. “I’m not looking for some young thing to pretty up my office. I want someone who knows how to work.”

  Christine took that as her dismissal. She nodded his direction and turned to the door.

  As she passed the desk with the slump-shouldered woman, she noticed that her face looked downcast again. You poor soul, Christine thought. She was tempted to stop and offer the elderly woman a comforting hug, but she dared not. She might start them both weeping.

  Christine had nothing to do but to face the wind again. All the long, long way back to her plain little hotel. Where were the streetcars when one needed them?

  She decided to stop in a small café for a bite of lunch. Per- haps a cup of hot coffee would warm her up.

  A sign in the window announced, “Experienced Waitress Wanted.” She was tempted to offer her services. She could start immediately. But she wasn’t experienced. She would very likely be turned down flat. She couldn’t take another rejection. Not so quickly on the heels of her morning’s disappointments.

  Christine had no good news to share when she went to the lobby to call home, but she had to talk to her parents. She felt so alone. So isolated. And so deflated. She tried not to let her mood show as she reported on the weather and Edmonton and the room she had at the hotel, but she was quite sure she was fooling no one.

  “Are there jobs, dear?” asked her mother eventually.

  “Well, I’ve been buying the paper and checking things out. There are jobs available—but so far none of them have worked out. I’ll keep trying. I’m sure the right one will turn up.”

  She hoped her voice managed to carry a hint of optimism.

  “I’m sure it will. Those things take time.”

  They chatted of other things. Elizabeth had received a letter from Henry and Amber. Each had written—it was so sweet. And even young Danny had signed his name and added some hugs and kisses.

  There were changes at Henry’s office. Sergeant Rogers had been transferred out—to some place in B.C. A new recruit had been sent in, and Henry was busy teaching him the ropes. He wasn’t sure yet how the new fellow would make it. He seemed to have a chip on his shoulder.

  So Laray is still there, thought Christine. It was unlikely he would be transferred anyplace soon with one new recruit already in the office.

  “Henry is so thankful to have the steadying influence of Maurice” were her mother’s next words. Her mother had always refused the traditional use of officers’ last names. They are people, she had argued over the years, not just policemen. So if they were young, she called them by their first names. If they were older, she referred to the Mountie by his last name and rank.

  “Yes,” murmured Christine, “I’m sure he is.”

  “They think they have a buyer for the barbershop. Amber is quite excited about it. She says she will be only too glad to hang up her scissors. Henry says she’s not getting off that easy. After becoming used to the job she does, he won’t let anyone else touch his hair.” Elizabeth chuckled.

  Christine was thinking about the cost of the call. Just hearing her mother’s voice was such a comfort, but she really could not afford to continue. “I’d better go, Mom. This is adding up,” she finally said.

  “Is there a way we can phone you?”

  Christine found the number of the hotel and hoped the receptionist would handle a call. Then she bid her good-bye and hung up.

  She wasn’t sure if
she felt better or worse as she climbed the stairs to her room. It had been good to talk, but now her loneliness seemed even more intense.

  It will be different once I find a job, she promised herself. Then I will meet new people and have some contacts.

  What she must do immediately was find a church home. That would give her a connection that she sorely needed. She was glad that Sunday was only two days away. Surely there was a church within walking distance. Somehow she would find it.

  Christine did find a church, large and beautiful and filled with worshipers. She felt rather out of place when she stepped into the wide foyer on that first Sunday. But an elderly usher greeted her warmly as he presented her with the morning bulletin. She received many smiles and nods as she took her seat in the pew to which she was directed. The people seemed genuinely friendly. Thank you, Lord, she prayed as she bowed her head before the opening hymn.

  The music did more than lift her spirits. It touched her very soul. She felt the heaviness of the past few days drain away from her and found herself totally ready for the morning’s sermon.

  The kindly-looking minister in his aristocratic robes spoke engagingly but also from the heart. Christine felt drawn to God as she listened to the familiar account of the ten lepers, told in a refreshingly new way. She would be back. She had found a church home.

  But as she left the sanctuary, she longed for more than a nod, a smile, and a handshake. She longed for friendship. Conversation. Maybe even an invitation to dinner.

  “Those things take time,” she heard her mother’s voice. Christine knew it was true. But in her loneliness she prayed it would not take too long.

  CHAPTER

  Eleven

  Throughout the next days, Christine trudged the city streets following one empty lead after the other. Her funds were getting dangerously low and her spirits even lower. She began to fear she would need to concede defeat and return home. The thought was both inviting and humiliating. It would be good to again be surrounded by family love and support, but it would be very difficult to admit that she was not able to make it on her own.

  And then the daily paper had a promising ad. Wanted. Reliable person for well-established city business office. Must have typing and shorthand. Some experience preferable, but willing to train.

  It sounded perfect. She could hardly sleep for excitement. That night her prayers were more specific. She really wanted— needed—that job.

  The next morning she was up early and hurried through her frigid bath. She wanted to be the first in line at the office for the coveted position.

  When she arrived at the office building, the doors were not as yet opened. She paced back and forth, stomping her feet and clapping her hands for warmth. At length a gentleman with a key appeared. He unlocked the door, gave Christine a brief glance, then entered without a word. The door clicked shut behind him with a sound of finality. But she refused to give in to her flip-flopping emotions.

  It was not long until another well-dressed businessman appeared. He too had a key. He even gave Christine a nod and wished her a good morning. She moved a step closer to the door but was not invited to enter.

  A woman arrived, so bundled in furs and scarves that Christine could not see her face. She pulled a key from her handbag and opened the door.

  “Excuse me,” Christine dared say. “I’m here concerning the ad in the paper. For secretarial help.”

  “We don’t open until nine.”

  “Is there . . . is there someplace where I could wait . . . out of the cold?” Christine inquired bravely.

  The woman hesitated, then nodded her head. “I suppose it would be all right.”

  She held the door and Christine entered, grateful for the warmth that rushed to meet her.

  “You can use one of those chairs over there,” she gestured. “I’ll call you when Mr. Stearns is ready.”

  But as the morning wore on, Christine did not receive a call. It was almost noon before she got up courage to look for someone who might help. She walked down a short hall.

  There was the woman, busily handling both a phone and several sheaves of paper. Christine waited patiently until the phone was cradled.

  “Excuse me. I was to see Mr. Stearns.”

  The woman, startled, stared at Christine, her eyes wide. She ran a hand across her forehead in agitation. “Oh, gracious,” she said, “I forgot all about you.” Her tone indicated that Christine was indeed an intrusion into her busy day.

  Christine refused to cower.

  “I was to see Mr. Stearns,” she repeated.

  “He has just left for a luncheon engagement. You’ll have to come back.” There was no apology in the voice.

  “I’ll wait,” said Christine firmly. And wait she did. This time she did not return to the seat in the outer lobby. She took a chair in full view of the receptionist. She did not wish to be forgotten again.

  Almost two hours later Mr. Stearns returned. He was younger than either of the two men whom Christine had seen enter the building.

  The receptionist watched him remove his hat and hang up his coat.

  “There is an interviewee here to see you, sir,” she said abruptly. The man cast a quick glance Christine’s way, then spoke to the woman. “I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

  It wasn’t what Christine had wanted to hear. Before she could stop herself she was on her feet. “Sir,” she said, her voice sounding more forceful than she intended, “I have been here since before nine o’clock this morning, and if this job is not available, I’d appreciate the courtesy of your telling me so I can look elsewhere.”

  He looked at her a moment, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. “Come on in,” he said finally with a nod of his head. He led the way into his office.

  Christine took the chair indicated. Her face still felt flushed from her recent upset. She sat stiffly, nervously fingering her handbag. She was sure any chance she might have had was now forfeited.

  Mr. Stearns was very professional with the interview, and before long Christine felt the tension leave her. She would enjoy working for this man. He was courteous, concise, and clear, and seemingly well organized. Just the kind of boss she could appreciate. Oh, I hope I can get this position kept running through her mind.

  Though Christine did not ask, the salary was mentioned, more than she had dared hope. More than she had made when working for Mr. Kingsley. She would be able to afford decent living accommodations. The idea set her heart to racing.

  At the end of the session, he stood and reached across his desk to shake her hand.

  “Thank you for coming in, Miss Delaney. I have two more appointments with other interviewees set for tomorrow morning. I must follow through with those, even if they are a mere formality. If you’ll leave your phone number with the receptionist on the way out, I’ll see that you are promptly called.”

  Appointments, mused Christine. I should have thought to make an appointment. Well, that was a lesson learned for next time—should there be a next time.

  She thanked Mr. Stearns and stopped at the desk on her way out. The receptionist surprised her by giving her a smile— even though it looked rather weary. “I do apologize for taking so much of your time,” she told Christine. “I’m just so . . . so overloaded here.”

  Christine returned the smile. “I’d like to be able to help ease your load,” she said sincerely.

  The smile brightened. “I’d like that too. I hope you get the job.”

  Christine left the number of the hotel and started out for the return to her room. Though the day was still cold, she felt a warmth inside that lifted her spirits considerably. She felt that her prayers were possibly being answered. She was even thankful that God had spared her from one of the other jobs she had explored. They were not anything in comparison to the possibilities of this one.

  Of course, she knew nothing at all about the other candidates. Perhaps they were far more skilled and had much more experience. Still, the interview had gon
e well. She had been relieved that Mr. Stearns was so easy to talk to. So relaxed, yet efficient and professional. He had put her at ease almost instantly. Mr. Stearns is not stern, she quipped to herself as she walked. She hoped—oh, she so hoped—that the position would be hers.

  She was awfully tempted to telephone home with her great news. But she held herself in check. She would not call until she could actually say that this ideal job was hers. At the same time she reminded herself that though it wasn’t a given as yet, she felt confident. She would know soon. Tomorrow, after the other morning interviews. The receptionist had promised to call by ten o’clock.

  For now all she could do was wait and pray.

  Christine was just preparing for bed when she got a message that her mother was on the telephone. She hurried down to the lobby and the shared public phone.

  “I’m sorry to bother you so late,” her mother apologized. “I just had a call from your uncle Jonathan. Aunt Mary has had a nasty fall. I thought you’d want to know.”

  “What happened?” asked Christine, feeling her heart constrict.

  “She slipped on some ice. The doctor says nothing seems to be broken, but she’s going to need bed rest for at least a few weeks.”

  Christine went cold. “Bed rest? So she will be at home?”

  “That’s what Jonathan said. He’s not sure how they’ll manage. The girls can’t come, what with little ones at home. Jonathan says he’ll have to try to find some day help. He can’t leave her alone. It’s not that he can’t afford someone—it’s just that nursing help is so hard to find right now, with the war and all.”

  “I’ll go.” The words were out of her mouth before Christine could even check herself.

  “Oh, but, dear—”

  “It’s okay.”

  “You haven’t found a job?”

  “I . . . I think I might have. They’re to call me tomorrow.

  But it . . . it went well. Mr. Stearns said I have the right qualifications, and the receptionist seemed pleased.”