We rode along the railroad tracks for a while before turning onto a side street. After a short distance, I saw a long, two-story redbrick building that took up at least half a block. Tall white letters painted above the front door read KRAFT FINE FURNITURE. I drew in a long breath, trying to get my courage up. The driver parked in front of the building and I fumbled with my purse as he lifted my suitcase from the trunk. I handed him a bill, thanked him, and headed toward the front door of the building. This is really happening, I told myself, but my idea suddenly seemed poorly thought out. Henry Kraft could be up in Washington right now, for all I knew. He could be anywhere other than in this building.
I walked through the main entrance and found myself in a small, square foyer. The walls were covered with framed articles about the history of Kraft Furniture, but I barely noticed them. The black-and-white tiles on the floor blurred in my sleep-deprived eyes, and although the foyer was separated from the rest of the building by a set of double doors, a strong chemical smell nearly overwhelmed me. Varnish, maybe. Paint. Glue. Somewhere beyond those doors, machinery whirred and thumped and clicked. I wondered how the workers stood the assault on all their senses.
There was no directory on the wall, but as I took a step toward the double doors, a woman stepped through them. She wore a hairnet and a leather apron and she looked surprised to see me. I suppose I looked completely out of place in my coat, hat, and gloves, carrying a suitcase.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“Yes.” I smiled. “Can you tell me where I can find Henry Kraft?”
“Upstairs.” She pointed to a door I hadn’t noticed until that moment. “His office is at the top of the stairs,” she said. “Can’t miss it.”
I thanked her and opened the door to the stairwell. At the top of the stairs, I found another set of double doors. I pushed one of them open and saw a door directly in front of me, the name HENRY KRAFT painted on the wood. The sounds of the factory were muted up here, no more than a distant hum. I walked up to the door and could hear laughter coming from inside the room. Taking off my gloves, I lifted my hand to knock.
“Yes?” a voice prompted.
Tentatively, I pulled the door open and poked my head inside. Henry Kraft sat behind a large, elaborately carved desk, leaning back in his chair. Smoke rose from the pipe on his desk and the scent of tobacco seemed to erase all chemical smells from the air. A light-skinned colored man sat in a chair opposite Henry, holding a broom upright at his side. He’d been smiling, I could tell. Both men still had laughter in their eyes. The colored man got to his feet when I entered, though Henry remained seated.
“Yes?” Henry said again. He glanced at my suitcase, then back at my face. I could tell he didn’t recognize me.
“I wondered if I might speak with you?” I asked.
“And you’re…?”
“Tess DeMello,” I said.
I saw the recognition flash across his face. He stood up, his expression giving nothing away to the other man, who hadn’t budged from his stance by the chair.
“Come in.” He motioned me toward the desk, then turned to the colored man. “That will be all, Zeke,” he said.
The man began walking toward the door. “Miss,” he said, tipping an invisible hat to me as he passed. He had a limp, I noticed, and remarkably long, thick black lashes above his dark eyes.
“Shut the door on your way out,” Henry said to him. His gaze never left my face. I could tell he was not pleased to see me. His outside world was suddenly colliding with his home turf.
“I’m sorry to just barge in this way,” I said.
“Don’t you live in Baltimore?” he asked, and I nodded. At least he remembered that much about me. “How did you get here?”
“I took the train,” I said. “I needed to talk to you and it was something I didn’t want to discuss over the phone.”
His eyebrows shot up for a second before falling into a frown. “Oh no,” he said, and I knew he already understood the purpose of my visit. “You’re…?”
I nodded and lowered my voice on the chance someone might be listening. “About two and a half months,” I said.
For a charged moment, he said nothing and I stood up straighter. I would not let him wheedle his way out of his responsibility. Finally, he motioned toward the chair the other man had vacated. “Please,” he said. “Sit down. You look exhausted. That’s a terrible train ride. You had a roomette, I hope?”
“No, unfortunately,” I said. I could barely afford the train ticket, much less the cost of a roomette. I put down my suitcase and crossed the room to sit on the very edge of the chair. I could imagine how I looked. The little bit of makeup I’d put on the day before had to have worn off by now. My hair probably looked a sight beneath my hat and I surely had bags under my eyes. “I didn’t sleep well on the train,” I said. It was warm in the room and I was beginning to perspire beneath my coat. I folded my hands in my lap. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you,” I said. “I only—”
He held up a hand to stop me, then sat down and pulled open one of the top drawers of his beautiful desk. “I’ll give you a check for you to have it taken care of,” he said, pulling out a checkbook.
I was taken aback. “I’ve decided to have it,” I said quickly. Firmly. “The baby. I tried, but I couldn’t go through with … getting rid of it.”
His face clouded, his hand frozen on the checkbook. “What do you want from me, then?”
I licked my lips, preparing my speech. “I’ll have to move away from my … from where I live. I can’t have a baby out of wedlock where everyone knows me. I thought I’d move somewhere else and say my husband is in the army. But I need money to be able to do that. I’m sorry to ask.” I cringed at my apologetic tone. I hadn’t meant to grovel. This situation wasn’t entirely my fault. “It’s a terrible dilemma, but—”
“How much do you think you’ll need?” He interrupted again. He wanted to be done with me, I could tell. He was not a patient man, but it was clear he would help me, if only to shut me up. To get me out of his office. Out of his life.
“I don’t know, exactly,” I said. “Enough to rent an apartment and support myself and a baby until I can find work, I guess. I have a nursing degree, but I probably won’t be able to work until he or she’s old enough to leave with a sitter. And then I’ll need to pay the sitter. And of course I’ll need to be able to pay for—”
“Where will you live?” he asked. “Geographically?”
I imagined he was worried I’d want to live close to him. “I haven’t figured that out yet,” I said. “Probably in Maryland, but far from Baltimore.” How would I ever leave my mother? I was going to break her heart, in so many ways.
“Are you sure the baby is mine?” he asked. “I remember your ring.” He looked at my bare hand. “You were engaged, weren’t you?”
“My fiancé and I never had…” My cheeks burned. “You were the only one.” I wondered if he remembered that small, bright red stain on the bedspread.
“Have you told him?”
I shook my head. “He would never understand. I’ll need to break off our engagement.” I was amazed my voice didn’t crack. If Henry had any idea what that meant—my life as I knew it coming to an abrupt, sad end—he gave no indication.