‘The storm’s great return.’”
I smirked. “You make it sound like it’s a living thing.”
“Who knows?” Frank said. “Maybe it’s a prompt to look back in time. To see what we missed….” His voice trailed off.
“Frank,” I said, sighing, “your sentimentality about weather is adorable, but don’t get too excited. I’m still wondering how I’m going to write six thousand words on snowmen.”
“Blackberry winter,” he muttered.
“I’m sorry?”
“The storm,” he continued. “It’s called a blackberry winter. It’s what meteorologists call a late-season cold snap. Interesting, isn’t it?”
“I guess,” I said, flipping the wall switch to the gas fireplace. Frank’s weather lesson had me craving a slice of warm blackberry pie. “If nothing else, we’ll have a great headline.”
“And hopefully a great story, too,” he said. “See you in the office.”
“Frank, wait—have you seen Ethan this morning?” My husband, the paper’s managing editor, beat me to work most days, but he had been starting his mornings progressively earlier.
“Not yet,” he said. “It’s just me here, and a few folks in news. Why?”
“Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to hide the emotion I felt. “I was just worried about him getting in all right, with the snow and all.”
“Well, you be careful out there,” he said. “Fifth Avenue is an ice skating rink.”
I hung up the phone and looked down to the street below, squinting to make out two figures, a father and his young child, engaged in a snowball fight.
I pressed my nose against the window, feeling the cold glass against my skin. I smiled, taking in the scene before my breath fogged up the pane. A blackberry winter.
Chapter 3
VERA
“You’re late,” Estella said, eyeing me from behind her gray steel desk when I walked into the maids’ quarters at the Olympic. A single lightbulb dangled from a wire in the dimly lit basement room. She nodded toward a mound of freshly laundered white linens in urgent need of folding.
“I know,” I said apologetically. “I’m so sorry. The streetcar was late, and just before I left I had a confrontation with my—”
“I’m not interested in your excuses!” she barked. “The fifth-floor suites need cleaning, and quick. We have a group checking in tonight. Dignitaries. The work must be done fast and with attention to detail. And watch your corners on the beds. Yesterday they were sloppy, and I had to send Wilma in to remake them all.” She sighed and returned to the paperwork in front of her.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, stowing my purse in a cabinet and tightening my apron before heading to the service elevator. “I’ll do better.”
“And Vera,” Estella said, “you didn’t bring the boy again, did you?” She craned her neck as if she expected to find him hiding under my skirt.
“No, ma’am,” I muttered, suddenly wondering if I’d left a water glass out for Daniel. Did I? Will he be thirsty? I repressed the thought as Estella’s eyes bore into me.
“Good,” she said. “Because if you mistake Seattle’s finest hotel for a nursery school again, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to give your job to any number of women who would love to have it. You ought to be grateful to be gainfully employed when so many people aren’t.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I am very grateful. It won’t happen again.”
“Very well,” she said, gesturing toward a silver tray that held two enormous slices of chocolate cake and a champagne bottle. If only Daniel could have a slice of chocolate cake. I made a mental note to scrape together tip money to make him one. Every child deserved a taste of cake, even poor children. “Take that up to room 503,” she said. “Manuel’s out on another delivery. It’s for an important guest, so look smart about it, won’t you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said, wheeling the cart out the door.
As the service elevator pushed upward, I studied the cake—dark chocolate, with fudge wedged between each layer—and the bottle of French bubbly, its label printed with exotic words I did not understand. I felt a pang of hunger, but willed myself to look away from the cake. With any luck, I’d come across a bit of cheese or a dinner roll in one of the rooms I cleaned that night. Last week I found a steak sandwich. It had been nibbled at the edge, but I didn’t mind, having not eaten at all that day.
I steadied the cart when the elevator came to an abrupt stop, wincing as the champagne flutes clinked together, narrowly avoiding toppling to the ground. What would Estella