At Every Turn by Anne Mateer Read Free Book Online

domestic service courses. Hearty working girls. Friends who accepted me in spite of—not because of—my father’s success. Girls with whom I often attended the Moody Church.
    I rolled my fork through my fingers. “The girls I knew in high school are mostly married now, with little ones to tend and not much money or time to spare.”
    “That is true.” Grandmother picked up another tiny sandwich, but then set it down again without a taste. “I wish I had some money of my own to offer you. Isn’t there anyone else who would help?”
    I pictured myself in town, sorting through faces as I would recipes while planning for a dinner party. One visage stopped me. Attentive. Concerned. Friendly.
    Mr. Trotter.
    He could help me advertise my driving services. After all, he and I shared a desire to see the gospel spread into all the world, did we not? Then again, he had seemed irritated with my pledge of money. Though perhaps he’d been offended because I hadn’t included him in my scheme right off.
    “Mr. Trotter will help me.”
    Grandmother’s expression relaxed as she wiped her fingers on a napkin before pressing it to her lips. “See? I knew you’d think of someone.” Her chair inched backward. “A lovely lunch, Ally, but I think I’m ready to rest now.”
    She wobbled to her feet. I reached her side in an instant, holding her upright, calling for Betsy to help me guide her back up the stairs and into her bed—though with the renewed energy of a solid plan, I probably could have whisked her up the stairs all by myself.
    Gathering three thousand dollars still seemed a far-fetched prospect to me, but if Grandmother and Webster thought I could do it, maybe I could. And if it turned out I’d gone motoring down the wrong road, I’d trust God to step in and change my direction.

    As I completed my household duties, I jotted down a list of businessmen in town who might be willing to pay for the services of a car and driver. Then on Wednesday morning I rang Father’s office. But Mr. Trotter was out for the day. Replacing the earpiece on top of the wooden box, I pondered the options. Wait for his help or head out on my own? I scanned the list I held in my hand. Having Mr. Trotter’s support would certainly boost my credibility. Or would he just make me feel less alone? As Harry Benson’s only child, my name carried some weight in Langston. And the Lord would be with me, as well.
    I charged upstairs and donned one of my more elegant costumes. A jacket-style dress with elbow-length sleeves and a feather-accented hat. At the last moment, I pinned Grandmother’s cameo on my chest. If I couldn’t employ her assistance, I could take some part of her with me.
    The mirror confirmed my verdict. Feminine and refined, yet businesslike. Satisfied, I hurried to the garage and drove myself into town.

    “What a generous heart you have, Mr. Morgan.” I folded the bills that added up to a two-hundred-dollar donation and deposited them in my handbag. “You are storing up for yourself treasures in heaven, I feel sure. And don’t forget, if you ever need to get somewhere in a hurry, just ring me up. Only fifty cents a mile and no hassle of driving your own motorcar.”
    Mr. Morgan, attorney and much-sought-after widower, shook as he laughed, his hands finding their way into his pockets and jangling the coins hidden there. “Does your daddy know about all this?”
    My eyes stretched open wide. “Which part?” I’d approached Mr. Morgan precisely because I knew he wouldn’t talk to my father. Mr. Morgan considered himself the most prominent man in town. Father considered himself the same. They’d circled around each other like two tomcats on the prowl ever since I could remember.
    “Striking out into business on your own. And asking for money from me, of course.”
    I bit the inside of my cheek. Best to be honest. “No, sir, he doesn’t.”
    Mr. Morgan’s striking blue eyes gleamed like Lake Michigan on a summer day. “You