Janet Barton - A Home for Her Heart

“I hope so. We need one or two who are willing to give us the truth about the conditions they’re living in. I know it’s not always easy for people to reveal what they know when they’re afraid of the consequences if they are found out. But I don’t know how we are going to be able to help any of them, if no one tells us who owns the buildings.”

“We’ll discover who does. It will just take longer if we don’t get the information from someone on the premises. I’ll have to go to city hall and do some research. It’s long and tedious work and sometimes people have been paid to hide records. But we’ll unearth the owner.” John seemed determined and excited all at once.

“I hope so.” She also hoped he’d share his findings with her. “I’ve never had to do that kind of research.”

“And you don’t have to now. I’ll do it and let you know what I learn.”

“Why, thank you, John.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Do I? I didn’t mean to.” Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief that she was able to tell the truth, even though she did wonder if he really would share his findings with her. Then she felt bad for doubting that he would. He might not like working with her, and it might be his career he was thinking about, but he usually kept his word and she truly had no reason to doubt that he wouldn’t do so now. “I imagine it’s a lot of work.”

John shrugged. “It can be. But sometimes the only way to find the truth is to dig for it and that’s just part of a reporter’s job.”

Elizabeth’s heart did a little twist as she once again regretted hiding her true identity from John and the other boarders. Was it time to tell them?

The waitress brought their order just then and Elizabeth was glad for the interruption. She wasn’t ready to make that decision just yet. The thought of disappointing those she cared about was something she didn’t want to face, but she knew the time was coming that she’d have to—just not today.

Chapter Five

John wondered at the look in Elizabeth’s eyes just as the waitress brought their meal. Not for the first time, he had a feeling there was more to the woman sitting across from him than what he knew.

There was something about her that set her apart from everyone else, even as she was the same—working for a living and making a life for herself in this huge city.

But what about the aunt she visited so often? And what kind of life did Elizabeth live when she visited her? All he really knew about Elizabeth was what he saw at Heaton House. He did know that she was from Boston, but many young women from other places came to the city to work. That wasn’t unusual.

“This turtle soup is delicious, John. Thanks for recommending it.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

She nodded. “It was a favorite of my mother’s, too. I remember having it quite often before she passed away. Funny how some memories stay with you, isn’t it?”

“It is. I don’t have many of my mother, though. I was only five when she passed. I don’t remember special meals or anything like that. Just the warm feeling I have thinking about her reading to me, listening to my prayers and tucking me into bed at night.”

“Oh, John, I’m so sorry you lost her so young.”

“Thank you. There is a certain scent I connect with her, too”

“Oh? Some kind of toilet water? Lavender, maybe?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s more like a combination of lilac and...now, don’t laugh, but baking bread. Either one triggers what few memories I have.”

The look in Elizabeth’s eyes softened and she smiled, but she didn’t laugh. “I love the scent of lilacs. We had several bushes around our house in Boston and Mother always filled vases with them in the spring.”

“How old were you when your mother passed away?” John asked, and then regretted doing so as the expression in Elizabeth’s eyes saddened.

“I was twelve.”

“That had to be tough.” He reached across the table and touched her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up sad memories. I shouldn’t have asked.” As usual his timing was awful.

She pulled her hand back and shook her head. “No need to be sorry. I love remembering her. I just wished I had her longer, but you... I wish you’d had your mother longer, too.”

It saddened John that they’d both suffered similar losses. At the same time, knowing that they’d both experienced the same kind of pain seemed to have created a bond of sorts—at least for him. Was it possible Elizabeth felt the same way?

* * *

By the time Elizabeth and John started back to Heaton House, they were both frustrated. Even on a Monday afternoon, the managers of both buildings they checked into were nowhere to be found and the tenants they were able to speak to didn’t know who owned the buildings.

The conditions in both were every bit as bad—if not worse—than the building they saw on Saturday. Rickety staircases, no air ventilation, filth built up in the corners—one could see which tenants tried to keep their places clean—but there seemed to be no care of the area the landlord would be responsible for. Elizabeth took photos of it all, but was sure none of them would be the same quality of Millicent’s.

When she mentioned as much to John, he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I just realized we need to have proof of the condition of the buildings when we find the owners. If they don’t do anything once they are notified, the city will need proof to go into action.”

“That’s true.”

“I’m sure whatever you have will be fine. We just need to keep good records as to which buildings the photos come from, no matter who takes them.”

“If you’re going to do the research on who owns the buildings, I can at least keep a record of where the photos were taken.”

John surprised her by agreeing readily. “Sounds like a good idea to me.”

“I’m still having trouble with what some of the tenants told us about hardly ever seeing the managers except during the week the rent is due.”

“I know. Even though they have apartments in the building, I wonder if they live somewhere else.”

“Which means there is no one in charge, if a fire breaks out or something else awful happens,” Elizabeth said, her heart heavy just thinking of the squalor the children lived in—playing in trash-filled streets, dark stairwells and hallways.

Her long sigh must have alerted John to her feelings as they got off the trolley and began walking down the clean streets of Gramercy Park. “I know. It’s hard to accept that people have to live in those conditions.”

“It’s awful. It breaks my heart to see children trying to make the best of things.”

“I don’t think they know any better.”

“To be born there and never leave— Oh, John! Hopefully our articles will do some good.”

“I think they will.”

“Oh, I do hope so.” Seeing the surroundings so many lived in made her feel guilty for being born into a well-to-do family. She’d never had to worry about a roof over her head, much less the condition of it. Never had to worry about dust building up anywhere for that matter. And she’d never had to wonder about having enough to eat.

As they entered Heaton House and were greeted by the tantalizing aromas wafting in from the kitchen, tears sprung to Elizabeth’s eyes remembering several children they’d seen who were much too thin. Dear Lord, please help our articles serve to help those in the tenements. Please help us to find the owners of these buildings who have let them fall into such disrepair.

“Are you all right, Elizabeth?” John asked, as she stood in the foyer, her head bowed.

“I’m fine. Just thinking how blessed we are to have Heaton House to come to at the end of a day.”