Just talk forever.”
Jane laughed suddenly. No one talked like this to her, without purpose, without instructions, just to entertain and flatter her, and it surprised her. She was normally the one to unspool talk to fill the space when ladies wanted to be entertained. She had not ever been the one worth entertaining.
“What?”
“Just talk to me.”
“What, just…what about?”
“What have you done today? What will you do today? What do you find most interesting about the world?”
Her eyebrows went up and she blinked several times before she laughed in embarrassment.
“It’s like music,” Tom said. “Laugh at me some more.”
And she did, but she did not mean to. “What should I say? I fixed up breakfast for the Toppans this morning, and then I cleared it when they finished, and then I walked up here to order this fabric for Mrs. Toppan.”
“You are not Mrs. Toppan?”
“No—”
“Praise Jesus.”
“I’m their servant, Mr. Higgins.”
“Oh, no. Tom, Tom. Call me by me given name. Go on! Go on!”
“What, you want to know the details about cleaning house?”
“Yes, yes, the details about the cleaning.”
So she told him in exaggerated detail every plan she had for the afternoon and through tea until dinners.
“And then you’ll come back here,” Tom said, “after dinner. To see me. And to pick up your order, of course.”
Jane’s brow furrowed and she deflected, “Well, no sir.”
“Only to retrieve your order, miss, I meant no disrespect.”
“It’s a large order,” she said, pulling a note from her sleeve. She noticed that he watched her too closely, observing as though infatuated like a child. Jane unfolded the paper on the counter between them and he watched her rough hands though he said nothing. “You may not be able to prepare it for this evening.”
“No, miss. For you we will have it ready this evening. What is it?” he looked at the paper and murmured the order aloud. As he picked up the slender pencil in his ham hand to take the order, he asked, “Miss Jane. Do you tire of waiting on the Toppans?” She stared at the top of his sun-bleached head, the thick curls pulling up from their combed-in place. Then he was looking straight at her.
“No,” she said, smiling, flustered. “I’m very grateful. They’re a generous English family.”
Tom looked incredulous and grinned, “I’ve never met a generous English family before.” He looked back down, and as he smudged out his errors on the form, he said, “America’s not for serving, miss. It’s for freedom. And I’d want to murder them all if I was you.”
Jane watched him figure in silence until she grew embarrassed for him. On a newfound courageous recklessness, she walked to the hinge in the countertop and lifted, passed underneath, and came to stand over his shoulder. “May I help?” she asked, and inhaled the air he occupied. It smelled of his sweat. He turned to look at her and smiled and held the pencil out to her. Jane was careful not to touch his hand when she took it. He pushed back from the desk and watched as she filled out the form in only a few minutes, hinging as slightly as she could at the waist. She was conscious of him behind her, watching her as she wrote, and she tried to be still, to concentrate, but as is always the case when one is being watched by someone worth watching, her mind wandered, and it took her much longer than it should have to complete the arithmetic. Tom said when she finished, as she crossed to the customer side of the counter, “You really don’t tire of coming here to make her new things all the time?”
She lowered the counter behind her without smiling. “The textile store is one of my favorite errands.”
Tom stopped smiling. “Why is that?”
Jane’s voice was too high, too casual to be believed. “Whatever fabric she’s replacing becomes my next Sunday dress.”
“So you get to wear what she’s bored with.”
“I get to wear what she hates.” Her eyes flashed a little at him, and Tom was delighted. “Are you certain the order will be ready this evening?”
“It’ll be prepared before sundown,” he said, and he stood.
“Thank you, sir,” she said with a small head nod. She turned to go, and some confidence possessed her and she said, “I’ll see you this evening.” Jane looked over her shoulder with her face too blank and too intense.
Tom nodded, his bravado vanished.
Elizabeth leaned in the kitchen doorway as Jane rolled up her dress sleeves and asked what took her so long. Jane explained that Katy had been sick, that the man filling in needed her help to make the order.
“A man?” Elizabeth frowned, and the wrinkles Jane so enjoyed chewed through her face. “That’s a woman’s job.”
“It’s temporary, Miss Elizabeth. I think he’ll eventually be more efficient. He said they would have the order ready by this evening. He normally works in the factory. Maybe they’re trying out a new tactic like all the other companies, having the one company do all of the steps to cut out the middle people,” Jane said, smiling.
“Oh, who can keep up with business tactics? Honestly, who has the patience for that kind of talk? Filling orders normally takes days. He probably just wants to see you again. Why else would he rush the order?”
Jane said nothing. She could not tell whether denying the plausibility or leaning into the joke sounded more guilty.
“Don’t you think?” Elizabeth examined her nail beds. “Do you want to see him again, anyway? How does it work among…I mean…How would he go about courting you, Jennie, if he wanted to?”
Jane dipped the washrag into that morning’s grease and wiped out the skillet. She cracked a grin across her face and said, “Miss Elizabeth, you know that my contract lasted till I turned eighteen. There’s nothing else after that.”
Flustered, Elizabeth said, “You know you don’t have to call me miss. I don’t know why mother insists on that. It’s so ridiculous. We’re sisters, after all.”
Jane held the silence intentionally too long, as if to say, It has been made very clear to me that we are not, and she almost did say it aloud, but Elizabeth interrupted her thought.
“Well. Do you like him? What is he like? How did he talk? Was he kind?”
“There’s nothing much to tell,” Jane said, turning her attention to the finer china. “He’s a nice man who did a fine job.”
“How nice was he? Was he
