Love Comes Calling Page 6

  “What are you trying to say?”

  My mother had come to stand beside us. “Ellis, I think that—”

  “I’m just saying if I were sent all of these . . . I just wonder if they’re really going to be very useful, that’s all.”

  “People who are destitute aren’t in a position to be choosy.”

  “Then maybe that’s why we ought to be careful what we send them.”

  “Are you saying our charity isn’t appreciated?”

  Was I? I guess . . . maybe . . . “Yes. I suppose I am.”

  Her mouth fell open.

  “We ought to collect money next autumn and send it to them so they can buy the kind of clothes they’re used to wearing. They’d be new then . . . or at least not quite so old.”

  She gasped. “But do you know what they wear over there?”

  “No.” But it had to be something more fashionable than all of these discarded clothes. “Do you know?”

  “Well . . . no. But I’m sure we wouldn’t be sending barrels of clothes to them if their own clothing were adequate and appropriate.”

  “I really think I should pack up all of these and have someone take them down to Radcliffe, and we could store them at the theater until next term when we can . . .” But we wouldn’t be doing anything with them. I wouldn’t be there next year.

  Mother was tugging on my arm. “I think what would be nice is if you could sit down in this chair, Ellis.” She swung one away from the table and pushed me down into it. “And you can read to us from the Scriptures as we finish packing these barrels.”

  “But I only wanted to—”

  She handed me a Bible. “Why don’t you read Romans?”

  I made a face before I could stop myself. Reading Romans was like taking cod-liver oil. It was the kind of thing people always said to do because it would be good for you, but it was never any fun while you did it. All it talked about was sin, sin, and more sin. If I had talked about sin that much at home when I was younger, I would have gotten my mouth washed out with a bar of Ivory soap. But Mrs. Cooper was nodding and all the other women seemed to be in agreement, so I took the Bible and opened it. At least it would be better than sorting through all those old clothes. The inside of my nose was still tingling from all that camphor.

  I read about the apostle Paul wanting to visit Rome and the wrath of God and then about some things that made the ladies hurry me along to the second chapter. After that there were lots of verses about the law followed by another passage I was kindly asked to skip, which made me wonder why all those verses were there in the first place if they weren’t meant to be read. I started to despair of ever getting to the end of it all when the words suddenly started to make sense. “‘So the trouble is not with the law, for it is spiritual and good. The trouble is with me, for I am all too human, a slave to sin. I don’t really understand myself, for I want to do what is right, but I don’t do it.’”

  I did that kind of thing all the time! I read that part aloud twice, hoping Mother was listening.

  “‘And I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. I want to do what is right, but I can’t. I want to do what is good, but I don’t. I don’t want to do what is wrong, but I do it anyway.’”

  That’s all I ever seemed to do: the wrong thing, all the time.

  “‘Oh, what a miserable person I am!’”

  Was that ever the truth.

  I kept on reading and got through most of the rest of Romans before the barrels were pronounced packed. We didn’t reach home until after eleven, and as we walked into the front hall, the maid bobbed a curtsy. “There’s a Miss Winslow to see you, Miss Eton.”

  Mother was eyeing me. “Would that be Janie?”

  “Janie? . . . Janie!” And all at once I remembered. I’d promised to meet her at ten for some reason so important I knew I couldn’t possibly ever forget it, but then I had. Why did I always have to be so stupid? “Where is she?”

  “Downstairs. In the kitchen.”

  Oysters and clambakes! In the kitchen? Where her mother used to work? “For goodness’ sake, don’t leave her there!” She was probably crying her eyes out by now. And it was very nearly noon. “Bring her up to my room along with some tea and something to go with. Sandwiches, maybe?”

  “There’s a lovely brown bread just come from the oven.”

  “Just as long as it has something on top of it. Or in between it.” I was famished and goodness knew Janie probably was too.

  I had just enough time to pull the covers up over my bed and take off the hat I’d borrowed from Mother when the maid knocked on the open door, set a tea tray down on my desk, and then left.

  I drew Janie into the room. “I’m so sorry I forgot, but I’m here now.”

  She just stood there in the doorway, wringing a handkerchief between her hands.

  I poured a cup of tea and held it out to her. “So . . . what did you need to see me about?”

  A frown settled between her eyes. “You—you promised to help me. Don’t you remember?”

  “Yes. Of course. Of course I remember doing that! It’s just—I don’t quite remember what it was I promised to help you with.”

  “Ellis!”

  “But I’ll still do it. Don’t worry. I can do it.”

  “If you can’t remember to meet me at your own house, then how are you going to remember to fill in for me at work?”

  “Do what?”

  “Fill in for me. Down at the switchboard. For two weeks.”

  “Two weeks! You want me to work for you for two weeks?”

  “Yes!” She said it with no little exasperation.

  “Doing what?”

  “Replacing me. Pretending to be me. I already told you all this, don’t you remember? I need to take my mother back to Maine to be buried and find my father to let him know what’s happened.”

  “You have a father?” There was a Mr. Winslow? “How long have you had a father?” And why hadn’t I known about it?

  “Of course I have a father. Where do you think we went all those summers when you were down at the shore?” Now she was looking as if she were mad. As mad as a person like Janie could look. Her mouth was pinched in at the corners and her neck had gone red in splotches.

  I’d never seen anyone look like that, so I tried to make my mouth do the same thing, but I don’t think I succeeded. I’d have to practice in front of a mirror. It might come in handy to be able to pull a face like that.

  “He’s a fisherman up in Maine. And this time of year, he’s probably already gone—”

  “Gone where?”

  “Fishing! Which is why I need some time.”

  Time? “In order to . . . ?”

  Throwing up her hands, she stalked to the door. I’d never seen her so mad! “Never mind. Forget the whole thing. I need someone I can count on, and I can see you’re not that person.”

  “Wait. I know I’m not the most . . . I know I mess things up, but I can do this. I want to do this. I feel terrible about your mother, and I want to help you, I really do. Please. Let me try.”

  It was fascinating, watching suspicion and desperate need war in her eyes. As soon as she was gone, I’d practice that look too. Finally she sighed. “I don’t know who else I’d get to do it. You’re the only one I know who doesn’t already have a job or isn’t married, and you’re the only one I know who could even pretend to be me.”

  I threw my arms around her and gave her a hug. “I won’t let you down!” This was a perfect opportunity. The role I’d had in my own play had been make-believe, but this was real. And I was going to make sure I succeeded!

  6

  Ellis?” Janie was frowning as she disentangled me from her neck.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Stop looking like that. Every time you look that way, something bad happens.”

  “Nothing bad is going to happen. I promise. Only . . . you’ll be away two weeks, and I’ll be working your job . . . do you think . .
. could I keep the money I’ll be earning for you?”

  “All of it?” Her voice wavered. “I guess . . . I suppose that’s only fair. . . .”

  This was perfect! It would solve all my problems. I’d work for two weeks, I’d earn some money I would not spend—no matter how badly I wanted to—and then I’d leave for Hollywood! I’d be gone before we even left for the summer house at the shore. I could have laughed out loud, I was that excited, but I didn’t think it would be proper. I had a job to do, and judging by Janie’s face, it was no laughing matter. People with jobs had to be serious, reliable, and dependable. In short, I would need to be the very opposite of me. Everything would depend on how well I played this role. I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. “Talk to me for a minute.”

  “ . . . why?”

  “So I can get your accent down. I’ll have to be able to do it if you want me to pretend to be you.”

  “You’ll have to do more than talk like me.”

  You’ll have to do more than talk like me. You’ll have to do more than talk like me. “You’ll have to do more than talk like me.” No. That wasn’t it. It didn’t sound like she sent her words through her nose the way I did. I reached out my hand and cupped her nose. “Say that again.”

  She batted my hand away. “Pay attention!”

  Pay attention. Pay attention. “Pay attention.” I had it! “How was that?”

  “Ellis, how are you going to keep my job for me if you sit down at the switchboard and don’t even know how to work it?”

  Oh. Well, I hadn’t gotten round to thinking about that part of it yet. “What do I have to do?”

  She opened up her pocketbook and took a sheet of paper from it. Unfolding it, she walked over to my bed and spread it out across the blanket. “This is what my position board looks like.”

  I went over and took a look. “What’s a position board?”

  “It’s my switchboard at the Tremont Exchange, down by Washington Street. It’s where I patch through calls. I’m a B operator at position board number 10.”

  “Maybe I should take some notes.” I rifled through my desk to find a bit of paper and a pencil. “Position board 10. And how will I know where it is?”

  “It has a 10 at the top. See?” She pointed toward her drawing. “And my shift starts at seven.”

  I felt my hopes sink. “In the morning?”

  “In the morning. And you can’t be late, or you’ll get me fired.”

  “Don’t be late.” I wrote it in big letters on my paper.

  “When you come in, you’ll sit on the stool in front of the board. It’s a high one and it spins, but you’re not supposed to turn around. And you can’t wrap your legs around it either.”

  “Fine. I’ll just sit there.”

  “I mean it.”

  I wrote down about the stool in big letters too.

  “Just in front of you will be a headset looped over a hook. It’s connected to the board. You’ll put it on over your ears and adjust the mouthpiece to sit about right here”—she pointed to her collarbone—“so you’ll be able to speak into it. It’s like a receiver.”

  “So I come in, I sit on the stool, and I put on the headset.”

  Janie nodded. “Are you sure you’re getting all this?”

  “What could be simpler?”

  She eyed me with doubt, but then she turned back to her drawing. “The A operator receives the telephone call, asks for the number, and then passes it to you. Since you’re the B operator, all you have to do is connect that caller to the number they’re calling.”

  “How?”

  “Do you see this switchboard? Right here, along the bottom, close to the board, are pairs of jacks.”

  “On that part that looks like a little desk?”

  “Yes. If the A operator is passing you a call, a white light will flicker somewhere up on the board in front of you. You’ll take up a jack from the bottom of the board—any one you want—and you’ll plug it in beneath the light. It will have a long cord attached to it.”

  “And what do I do with that?”

  “Nothing. Just ignore it. So after you plug the jack in, you’ll flip the switch beneath the pair of cords.”

  “But . . . it’s not a pair anymore if one of them is plugged into the board.”

  “Right. But the switch is located beneath where they both were, on that desk in front of you.”

  I nodded.

  “That switch connects you to operator A. You’ll say, ‘Number, please’ and she’ll respond with the number you need to call. All you have to do is pick up the second jack and plug it into the right number. Don’t forget: You always have to work with pairs in order to complete the circuit. Plugging in that second jack connects the call.”

  “And how will I know if it’s the right number?”

  “My board only has a hundred and twenty telephone numbers. They’re all marked. If a call comes to you, then it has to be to one of them.”

  “Right.”

  “So you connect that second jack and you listen for the other end to pick up. If someone picks up, then you flip the switch again to pass the call. If it’s busy, then you tell the caller. And when they hang up, you unplug both jacks and put them back.”

  There seemed to be an awful lot of jacks involved in this.

  “Just remember, you always work with pairs of jacks. You can’t connect just one and expect anything to happen. Understand?”

  I nodded. I thought I did. I hoped so.

  “But you still have to know how to talk to the callers.”

  “That’s what I was practicing!” Although I still wasn’t sure I’d gotten her accent right.

  “You have to talk with a smile in your voice.”

  “A smile in my voice? Should I write that down?”

  “Yes! No matter what a caller says to you, under no circumstances can you reply with anything but ‘I’m sorry, sir.’ Or ‘ma’am.’ You have to be polite.”

  “Of course I’ll be polite.”

  “‘A soft answer turneth away wrath.’”

  “I’ll be good. I promise.”

  She gave me a long look. Then she sighed. “I wouldn’t ask you to do this if I didn’t have to.”

  “Of course you have to. Everything will be fine.”

  She took a deep breath as if she needed extra courage. “Let’s talk about these jacks here.” She was pointing to a row that was at the very bottom of the board, just above the desk. “This far one is for the chief operator. If a caller has an emergency, then just connect the call there and flip the switch to pass it through. She’ll know what to do. And the rest of that line is for operators passing calls out of the exchange. The first three are for long-distance calls and the rest are for other exchanges in the city.”

  Oh dear. I hoped I would remember all of that.

  “But don’t worry. You shouldn’t have to use them because you’re a B operator. You really should only have to patch calls through to the numbers on your board.”

  Good.

  “Just . . . pass through the calls like you’re supposed to and avoid the chief operator and the supervisor.”

  “How will I know who they are?”

  “The chief, Miss Hastings, sits at a desk behind the bank of switchboards, and the supervisor spends the shift walking up and down the boards. If you keep your head down and don’t talk too loudly, then neither of them should notice you’re not me. Please try not to be noticed!”

  “I will. I mean . . . I won’t. I won’t be noticed.”

  “Sometimes Miss Hastings listens in on the calls. Just . . . try to talk like me, with a smile in your voice. That’s the most important thing.”

  Smile in my voice. I drew a line underneath that on my paper. She held up her drawing and told me to explain to her how to patch a telephone call through, and then she coached me in talking with a smile in my voice.

  “It helps if you actually smile.”

  I smiled. “Is this better?”
>
  “Ye-es . . . but . . . could you not sound quite so much like your mother?”

  I tried again. And again.

  “Could you do it one more time?”

  I did it one more time, and then she asked me to explain again about patching calls through. I traced the steps on the drawing as I explained and then she asked me to close my eyes while I explained. And then she asked me questions and I explained. And still she didn’t seem quite satisfied. “If you could only—”

  “I think I patched through about a day’s worth of telephone calls just now.”

  Janie was standing there, biting her lip as she looked at me. “I warned the girl who sits next to me on the shift about you. Doris is her name. I’ve been living at her place until I can find somewhere else. She knows to expect you and said she’d try to help you if she could.”

  “If?”

  “You’re not supposed to turn around, remember?”

  “Right.”

  “Or talk to anyone except for your callers. And the A operator.”

  “But . . . what if I have to use the bathroom?”

  “Raise your hand and ask the supervisor before you go. Oh—and the lunch room is one floor up. And I have to warn you—”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “But—”

  “Really. I’ll do it all perfectly. I won’t get into any trouble at all.”

  “But Miss Hastings is—”

  I grabbed her hand and put my other atop it. “Trust me.”

  “I guess . . . I guess I have to. Just promise me you won’t be late.”

  “I won’t be late.”

  “And you won’t forget: two weeks. Starting on Monday.”

  “This Monday?”

  “Ellis!”

  “It’s fine. I’ll be fine!”

  “I’ll return on Sunday. I’ll meet you here when I get back into the city in case there’s anything you need to tell me before I go back to work.”

  Monday was rather short notice, but I couldn’t go back on my word now.

  “So . . . are you going to be ready, Ellis?” Mother was staring at me from the end of the table as we ate supper that night. My father, my brother, my sister, and my nephews were staring at me too.