To Find Her Place Page 3

  Jane hesitated for a fraction of a second. It would serve no purpose to be at odds with this man. If she worked closely with him, she’d be in a better position to figure out exactly what was going on here. And also to see just how serious he was about applying for the director’s job. She forced her lips into a smile and shook his hand. “As long as I can expect the same courtesy from you.”

  He gave her an appraising look and nodded. “Fair enough, Mrs. Linder. Fair enough.”

  3

  After an hour at his desk in the windowless cubbyhole that now served as his office, Garrett rose and stretched. Time to see the rest of the building. He plucked his suit jacket off the back of his uncomfortable chair and put it on. First impressions in meeting the staff were of utmost importance. They needed to know that although he wasn’t officially in charge, he did hold a position of some authority.

  He headed down the narrow hall toward Mrs. Linder’s office. Paying better attention this time, he noted the nameplate beside the door read, Robert Mills, Managing Director. So, this wasn’t Mrs. Linder’s actual office. Where did she normally sit? And what had her position been before she became acting directress?

  He knocked on her door.

  “Come in.”

  She was on the telephone and gestured for him to sit down.

  “I’m glad Miss Dupuis was able to help.” A pause. “That’s sweet of you to say, Olivia. I miss working with you too, but right now I’m too—” Mrs. Linder’s gaze swung to him. “In my new role, I’m afraid I have to leave the maternity homes to my caseworkers. But as soon as I have a day off, I’ll come for a visit and we can catch up. In the meantime, my staff are always happy to help.” Another pause. “You too, Olivia.” Mrs. Linder replaced the receiver and looked up with a smile. “That was one of the matrons from Bennington Place, a local maternity home we serve.”

  He frowned. The conversation—or what he’d heard of it—sounded like two friends rather than a professional exchange. “Rather chummy with them, aren’t you?”

  She bristled like an annoyed peahen. “When I was a caseworker, I visited the maternity home often. We developed a friendly working relationship. What’s wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, I suppose, as long as you’re able to remain objective.”

  Red patches bloomed in her cheeks, and she pressed her lips into a hard line. “Was there something you needed, Mr. Wilder?” she asked between clenched teeth.

  Garrett inhaled and let out a breath. He would have to remember not to be so blunt. He wasn’t among the soldiers in the trenches anymore, and Mrs. Linder deserved to be treated with more sensitivity. “I’m ready to see the rest of the building and meet the other staff members, if you don’t mind.”

  Her nostrils flared as she got to her feet. “Certainly. I would have taken you around earlier, but I thought you’d appreciate a bit of time to settle in first.”

  “Well, consider me fully settled.”

  She stared at him as if uncertain whether he was serious or not. Then she moved by him into the hall, where she stopped by the narrow front room. A variety of people from all walks of life filled the seats—adults as well as children, some nicely dressed, others more bedraggled-looking.

  “This is our waiting area where clients wait to meet with the caseworkers. Across the hall is our stenographer pool. Any of our volunteers who come in to help with clerical duties also work in there.”

  “Do any of these volunteers have access to the agency’s financial records?” He hoped the question sounded casual enough so as not to arouse suspicion.

  However, Mrs. Linder’s brows rose slightly. “Yes. Mr. Bolton is a bookkeeper who volunteers his time to help balance our ledgers.”

  “I assume someone oversees his work?”

  “If you mean once he’s finished, then yes. That job belonged to Mr. Mills, who was quite fastidious about the finances.” She shrugged. “That responsibility now falls on me.”

  Garrett bit his tongue to keep from blurting out more questions. There would be plenty of time to delve into the minutiae of the operations later. But this nugget of information could prove vital to some of his investigations.

  “Upstairs you’ll find the rooms where the caseworkers meet with the parents.” She headed to the staircase and started up. As they reached the top, she glanced over her shoulder with an almost embarrassed air. “I should warn you that the space limitations are even worse up here. Once you see this, you’ll probably appreciate having your own area to work in, even if it is cramped.”

  He snorted. “And here I thought you were trying to punish me.”

  A strangled sound met his ears, and for a second, he could have sworn she was smothering a laugh.

  She stopped at the first open door and made room for him to peer inside. He stared open-mouthed for the second time that day. Nothing could have prepared him for the overcrowded quarters and the cacophony of conversations within. He’d heard the comings and goings of people in the building, but he’d never expected this crowd.

  In the middle of the room, three tables were pushed together to form one large working area, surrounded by at least ten chairs. More tables and chairs lined the walls around the perimeter, along with a row of filing cabinets and some sort of storage cupboard. Every available space was taken up with people—parents with young children on their laps and staff members writing on notepads. Some were on telephones, speaking loudly to try and be heard over the din.

  How did they accomplish anything in such chaos?

  He turned to Mrs. Linder. “Is this how your day-to-day operations are normally handled?”

  “I’m afraid so. This is a rather tame day. It sometimes gets far more crowded, depending on the number of children involved.”

  One tot let out a piercing yell.

  Garrett cringed, repressing the urge to cover his ears. “This doesn’t seem like a good time to introduce myself.”

  “You’re right. The best time might be after closing, when only the staff remain to finish their paperwork.”

  He stepped back into the corridor and moved several paces away.

  “There’s another room similar to this on the opposite side of the stairs. That room holds about seventeen workers, while this one generally holds ten to twelve.” Mrs. Linder walked ahead and pointed out the washrooms as well as a small closet where one worker sat on a stool, balancing a notepad on her knee.

  Mrs. Linder shot him a wry look. “People use whatever space is available to them. Even a closet.”

  “What plans are being made to solve this crisis?” Garrett couldn’t believe the agency could function at all in such disorder.

  “The board is saving toward an eventual new office complex, but plans were put on hold for reasons I’m not privy to. You’d have to ask Mr. Fenmore about that.” She shrugged. “In the meantime, we make do.”

  They made their way slowly down the stairs.

  “Some of our problems are likely temporary,” Mrs. Linder said. “The war is to blame for a great deal of our overcrowding and increased workload.”

  Garrett frowned. “How so?”

  “For one thing, the number of neglected and abused children has risen greatly. With the men away, the mothers are finding it difficult to cope. Most are taking some sort of work to bring in money while still fulfilling all the usual duties at home. We also have fewer volunteers to help with the workload as well as fewer foster families willing to take in extra mouths to feed. Everyone is focused on their own problems, striving to keep their families afloat. Understandable, but unfortunate.” She paused at the foot of the staircase. “I imagine the economic upheaval from the war is also part of the reason why the expansion plans have been put on hold. In such uncertain times, it seems unwise to invest in real estate.”

  Garrett nodded, impressed by her perceptive views. “You’re probably right. No one thought this war would last so long, and now it seems never-ending.”

  “I know.” Sadness washed over her features. “
It seems like forever since I’ve seen my brother.”

  Garrett discreetly rubbed a hand over his chest, attempting to quell his guilt over the fact that he wasn’t still overseas with his fellow comrades. If fate hadn’t intervened, he might be fighting alongside Mrs. Linder’s brother at this very moment.

  Jane attempted to shake off the feeling of melancholy that talk of the war always evoked. From Mr. Wilder’s grim expression, she imagined he felt the same. However, now was not the time to focus on anything other than work.

  They stopped outside Jane’s office.

  “Could you clarify something for me, Mrs. Linder?” Mr. Wilder flipped the page on his notepad. “I understand Mr. Mills reorganized the agency into three separate areas: the shelter, the child placement department, and the family protection department.”

  “That’s right.”

  “What exactly does the family protection unit do?”

  Jane leaned against the doorframe, affection for her mentor softening her mood for the moment. “Mr. Mills was passionate about preventing cruelty to and neglect of children. We receive countless calls about parents abusing their children or simply neglecting them, leaving them without proper food and clothing. We investigate every claim and determine whether it’s safe to leave the child in the home or better to remove them to foster care. We also do regular inspections of our foster homes to ensure the parents are living up to their promise to care for the children entrusted to them.”

  Mr. Wilder scratched his chin. “This is a more complex organization than I realized. My estimated time for a complete study may have been somewhat optimistic.”

  Just then, the front door of the agency burst open, claiming Jane’s immediate attention. A stout woman entered, dragging a scowling boy with her.

  Jane recognized the child and immediately rushed toward them. “Martin. Mrs. McElroy. What can I do for you?”

  The woman propelled the boy forward. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Linder, but I’m afraid I have to return Martin to the shelter. Mr. McElroy and I can no longer tolerate his shenanigans.”

  Jane’s stomach sank, along with her hopes for the boy. She’d prayed the McElroys would turn out to be Martin’s permanent home. What had gone wrong this time?

  The boy crossed his arms in front of him, his mouth curved down in a permanent scowl.

  Conscious of the people in the waiting room nearby and of Mr. Wilder hovering behind her, Jane made a quick decision. “Martin, I’d like you to go with Mr. Wilder here. He’ll take you to the staff room while I talk to your . . . to Mrs. McElroy.” She lowered her voice and leaned toward Mr. Wilder. “The staff room’s down the back hall. There’s a cookie jar on the counter and drinks in the refrigerator.”

  If he was surprised, he hid it well. He simply nodded and waited for Martin.

  As the boy stalked by her, Jane resisted the urge to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Mrs. McElroy, won’t you come into my office and we can discuss the situation?”

  “There’s no point.” Mrs. McElroy’s shrill voice echoed through the hall. “I’m leaving the boy here and no discussion is going to change my mind.”

  Jane stiffened and summoned her sternest demeanor. “Ma’am, you have a responsibility to this child. You signed papers that say so.”

  “You can just tear up those papers.” She glanced at the wall clock. “I have to go. I need to get back before school lets out and the rest of the young’uns arrive home.”

  Jane followed her to the door. Short of tackling the large woman, she had no way to make her stay. “Are you sure you won’t change your mind? Maybe once you—”

  “I won’t.”

  From the grim set to the woman’s jaw, Jane realized that arguing would be a waste of time. “Then I’ll have someone come by tomorrow with release forms. When would be a good time?”

  “Anytime when school’s on.” The woman waved a hand as she sailed out the door, slamming it behind her.

  The air whooshed from Jane’s lungs, and she fought the urge to sink against the wall.

  Mr. Wilder appeared from the back hall. “Martin is eating cookies in the staff room.”

  “Alone?” Her voice came out as a screech.

  Mr. Wilder frowned. “He’s perfectly safe in there. . . .”

  “You don’t understand.” Alarm spurted through her as she raced by him. “You can’t leave Martin alone.” Why hadn’t she stressed that point? Told him that Martin had a tendency to run off?

  Her fears were confirmed when she reached the staff room. The cookies and juice sat untouched on the table, the room empty.

  “Oh no.” Jane flew down the back corridor to the rear entrance and out the door. “Martin! Martin, come back!”

  Finding nothing but a few dead leaves lying on the patio stones, she continued down the side alley between the buildings where the trash cans were stored. “It’s all right, Martin. Mrs. McElroy is gone.”

  She stood still, her ears strained for any sign he was near. He couldn’t have gotten far, could he?

  Out on Isabella Street, she scanned the sidewalk in both directions. No sign of the boy anywhere. Taking a breath to calm her racing heart, she retraced her steps into the alley. A slight movement by the trash cans caught her eye, and she quickly moved to peer behind them. The collar of Martin’s blue shirt was visible between the cracks.

  Relief spilled through her tense muscles. She inhaled slowly as she took a minute to consider the best course of action. The boy used to trust her, but after several unsuccessful foster placements, she understood why that might no longer be the case.

  “I’m sorry things didn’t work out with the McElroys,” she said quietly. “Would you like to come in and tell me about it?”

  Silence reigned for a moment, then a sniff followed. “No.”

  She bent closer to the trash cans. “How can I help you, then? You can’t stay out here all night.” Even though it was the beginning of September, the temperature had already turned cooler, especially at night.

  “You’ll make me go back to the shelter. I don’t like it there. Mrs. Shaughnessy hates me.”

  Jane held back a sigh. “She doesn’t hate you, Martin. If you obey the rules, you won’t have any trouble with her.”

  “The other kids don’t like me either. They make fun of me.” Another sniff followed.

  “It’s getting chilly out here.” She rubbed her arms. “Come inside and we can talk there.”

  “Is Mr. Mills here?”

  Jane paused. The last time Martin had been sent back, Mr. Mills had lost patience with him and had raised his voice at the boy in a moment of exasperation. Even though he apologized later, the damage had been done. “No. Mr. Mills is . . . away right now. I’m in charge for the time being.”

  “You are?” A note of hope rang in Martin’s voice.

  “Yes, I am.” Jane held her breath, praying her past connection with the boy would win out.

  Finally, the metal cans rattled, and Martin stood up, his brown eyes staring at her in silent accusation.

  Jane’s heart pinched with regret. Oh, Martin. I’d do anything to give you the family you deserve. How she wished someone could see past the anger and the surly attitude to the hurting child beneath. With a little love and understanding, she was sure Martin would blossom. She held out a hand. “I could use something warm to drink. How about some cocoa?”

  He nodded and reluctantly took her hand.

  Jane longed to pick him up and hug him. But at eight years old, Martin considered himself too old for such gestures. She contented herself with clasping his small hand in hers and giving it an encouraging squeeze.

  When she looked up, her steps slowed. Mr. Wilder stood at the end of the alley, his arms crossed in front of him, a mixture of puzzlement and disapproval on his face. How long had he been watching them?

  Garrett scratched his head as Mrs. Linder led the unruly boy back into the building. Why wasn’t she scolding the child for his outrageous behavior? A good spanking would
be in order if one of his nephews had pulled such a stunt. Instead, Mrs. Linder intended to make him cocoa?

  He followed them into the staff room, an area only slightly larger than Garrett’s so-called office, where a round table and six odd chairs occupied most of the space. Beside the narrow stove and tiny refrigerator, a tiled countertop held a kettle and some ceramic jars.

  After seating Martin at the table where his juice and cookies remained, Mrs. Linder looked up. “This is Martin Smith, one of our favorite residents.” She winked at the boy. “Martin, this is Mr. Wilder. He’s working here for the next few weeks.”

  “Nice to meet you, Martin.”

  The boy only shrugged a shoulder in response.

  Jane pulled a pot from a lower cupboard and got out a jar of milk from the small fridge. She shivered as she turned on the burner and stirred several tablespoons of cocoa powder into the milk.

  “You keep the kitchen well stocked, I see,” he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder. “We like to have refreshments on hand. You never know when a hot drink or a cookie will come in handy.”

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup, if you have enough,” he said.

  Martin glared at him. “Why are you here?”

  Mrs. Linder whirled around. “Martin, mind your manners.”

  “Sorry.” The boy dropped his head toward his narrow chest.

  Garrett glanced over at Mrs. Linder, who shook her head, an expression of pleading in her eyes. He gave a slight nod of understanding. Martin looked to be around the age of his oldest nephew. How would his sister handle this situation with her son? Cassie was always more tactful than Garrett or his parents, doling out spankings only when absolutely necessary.

  Garrett pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sounds like you’re having a rough day,” he said.

  Martin speared him with a glare.

  The sound of a metal utensil whisking against the pot seemed to increase. Time for a different tactic.

  “Do you play baseball, Martin?”

  The boy shook his head.

  “How about soccer or football?”

  “No. I like hockey.”