around him to smile.” Then, looking rather sheepish, she turned to Dessa. “I hope it’s all right?”
Dessa smiled. “Perfectly. That was the last one holding any freshness. I meant to carry them out this afternoon.”
“Still from the dinner party?” Mr. Hawkins asked.
She nodded. “A Mr. Turk Foster had them sent over. Do you know him?”
“Foster.” The single name came with more than a frown; it came with obvious dislike. “I do know him. Do you?”
She shook her head. “I can’t imagine why he sent the flowers, except the boy who delivered them said they were to welcome Pierson House to the neighborhood.”
Mr. Hawkins turned to take his leave, but hesitated. He looked at Dessa. “Miss Caldwell, you may rightly think I have no business offering you advice, but let me assure you, Mr. Foster’s interests aren’t likely to be compatible with yours.”
Then he placed his hat on his head, bid them both a good day, and left the house.
15
“MISS CALDWELL? Miss Caldwell?”
Dessa stirred at the sound of her name. It took a moment to realize the voice was not at her door, but came from the open bedroom window facing the back of the house. Throwing off her covers, she glanced at her watch on the bedside table to see that it was just past two in the morning. With some alarm, she went to the windowsill and knelt beside it to look out.
A girl not more than fourteen years old stood on the weedy grass that grew between the laundry-line poles and water pump. “Oh, Miss Caldwell! You remember me, don’t ya? Nadette. I took ya over to Cora, to help her with her baby? I’m still deliverin’ the laundry to places like hers ’til I get me a spot in the business.”
Dessa had been hoping Cora might turn up to ask about her baby—safely placed in a good home—but so far she hadn’t. Perhaps Nadette had come to find out.
“Cora’s baby is just fine, Nadette. Living in a home with two fine parents right here in Denver.”
“That’s good. Cora woulda liked that.”
“Would have?”
“She’s dead. Swallowed the carbolic she used to ward off the syphilis ’stead of usin’ it like it shoulda been used. Found out it didn’t work to prevent syphilis anyhow, but it worked all right to kill her.”
Dessa sank back on her heels. “Oh no. That’s just awful, Nadette. Why didn’t she come here instead?”
“Why would she? You couldn’ta helped her get rid a the burn.”
“No, but . . .” Dessa, fully awake now, wanted to scream at the pain and waste, but only allowed herself a swipe at her tearing eyes. “Why don’t you come in, Nadette? You can live here and never join the Line at all.”
“You got yourself a pie-ano in there?”
“A piano? No, I’m afraid not. But maybe someday we will.”
“Well, it don’t matter anyhow. I come because there’s somebody else who might want to stay here, not me. Only she ain’t ready just yet. She don’t—I mean doesn’t—want nobody to know she’s even thinking about coming. She’s only three doors down from here, Miss Caldwell! She promised to put in a word for me over there if she ever left, and so I’m trying to hurry it up. If I get to talkin’ better, I can take her spot straight off, and as you can tell, I’m workin’—working—at it. You reckon those beauty lessons you’re startin’ might teach me how to talk better? Or is it just for lookin’ prettier?”
“It’s for inner beauty, Nadette. Come on Tuesday and find out all about it.”
“I don’t know if I can, ’specially if it won’t make me prettier on the outside. . . . So you’ll go and see my friend tomorrow, then? Right down the street? She goes by Miss Remee, only she ain’t no madam like the name sounds. She’s just a sportin’ girl, same as I wanna be.”
“No, Nadette! Come here instead. I’ll find a job for you, and pretty clothes, and you’ll have a safe place to live.”
But Nadette was already shaking her head. “You want me to be some kind of shopgirl? Pshaw, I’d make barely twelve dollars a week, and I don’t talk good enough for that anyways. You can’t get me a job that’ll bring in the kind of money I can make at one of them nice houses—like the one down the street! That Miss Remee can make fifty dollars in one night. I aim to hold out ’til I can get me a spot like