Read The Hope Chest for Free Online

covered in red velvet.
    A man was sitting in one of the chairs, absorbed in a book. He had a thin, harried look, as if he hadn't gotten enough sleep in several years. Violet stepped hesitantly into the room. She could feel Myrtle following just behind her. “Excuse me …,” she began.
    The man started, although Violet noticed he closed the book on his hand to keep from losing his place, just as she would have done.
    “Good evening, ladies.” The man stood up, as if Violet and Myrtle were in fact ladies. “How do you do?”
    “Very well, thank you.” Violet curtsied, and Myrtle did the same. All this politeness was such a waste of time—she just wanted to see her sister! “I was wondering if you might know where I can find Miss Chloe Mayhew.”
    As soon as she said Chloe's name, the man dropped the book.
    He bent to pick it up, examining it carefully for damage. Violet wondered if he was going to answer her. She studied him while he wasn't looking. He was about as tall as Father, nearly six feet, but much thinner, and was wearing a ready-made brown suit and a soft-collared shirt that Father wouldn't have been caught dead in. In fact, Violet wasn't sure she had ever seen a man out in publicin a soft-collared shirt. He had light brown hair that was just a little longer than it should have been, but the strangest thing about his face was an angry white scar that ran from the corner of his left eye down into his bushy mustache. Violet found it difficult to keep her eyes off it, though of course she knew that good manners required her to do so.
    Finally he decided the book wasn't damaged. “I hope you ladies won't think me discourteous if I express some curiosity as to who might be inquiring for Miss Mayhew,” he said. “Won't you please be seated?”
    Violet sat down on the edge of the sofa that the man indicated. The cushion creaked as Myrtle sat down beside her. Violet wanted him to hurry up and go find Chloe for her. But of course it wouldn't be polite to say so, and Violet could see that this man was very polite. He spoke in the polite way that the boys had to talk to the girls at the dancing school that Mother made Violet go to, but unlike the boys at dancing school, he seemed quite comfortable doing it.
    Violet glanced at Myrtle, wondering what she was making of the stranger. Myrtle raised her eyebrows in a sort of facial shrug.
    “I'm Miss Violet Mayhew,” said Violet to the man. “I'm Miss Mayhew's sister. And this is Myrtle, um …” She had forgotten Myrtle's last name.
    “Davies,” said Myrtle.
    “And I am Theo Martin,” said the man, sitting down.“It's a pleasure to meet you.” He clasped his book between his thumb and forefinger, and Violet realized with surprise that those were the only two fingers he had on his right hand. She looked quickly away and saw Myrtle trying not to notice the missing fingers as well.
    “I'm afraid Miss Mayhew isn't here,” said Mr. Martin. “She isn't in New York, actually.”
    Violet felt as if she'd just been punched in the stomach. That Chloe wouldn't be in New York was a possibility that hadn't occurred to her.
    “But I have letters,” she protested, starting to reach for them and then remembering that they were in her bloomers, not really a place you could reach for in a public parlor. “I thought she lived here.” She could feel tears starting in her eyes and fought valiantly to keep them from spilling out. A lady never cried in public. She felt someone touch her and looked with surprise to see Myrtle's hand resting on her arm.
    Mr. Martin leaned forward, looking concerned. “I'm sure your sister is in excellent health, Miss Mayhew; she's simply not in New York. Please don't worry.”
    Violet tried to smile to reassure him and accidentally jarred one of the tears loose. It trickled down beside her nose.
    “She went to Washington, D.C., over a year ago to work with the National Woman's Party on the Susan B. Anthony Amendment. She drove off in that