“How do you do, Mrs. Chin?” Florence said politely, holding out her hand.
“Oh, no,” Danny said with a chuckle. “We don’t—”
“Mrs. Chin is fine,” his mother said, nodding as she shook Florence’s hand. “They are polite girls, at least.” She shook Vivian’s hand, too, and she gave each of them an assessing look, her eyes lingering on their carefully sewn clothes, catalog shoes, and old suitcases. Florence’s pinned-back curls earned a nod of approval. Vivian resisted the urge to touch her own bobbed hair, hoping she wasn’t making a bad impression.
“So,” Danny’s mother said once he was done. “Some people in your neighborhood are causing trouble, yes? And you need to get away for a bit while it dies down?”
Danny started to answer, but she held up her hand. “I want to hear it from these girls, please. I need to know whether they are people wewant living here before I say yes, and I can’t do that if you never let them open their mouths.”
As nervous as if there were a spotlight shining on her, Vivian glanced at her sister. Florence stared back with an expression that clearly said she was out of her depth. So Vivian took a deep breath and answered. “That’s the idea, yes. We’d really appreciate a place to stay, just for a few days. They aren’t nice folks.”
“Lots of those in the city these days,” Danny’s mother sniffed. “This trouble, is it likely to follow you here?”
“We’re hoping no one will know we’re here,” Vivian said.
“That’s why they came to me, instead of someone in their own neighborhood,” Danny put in, before Mrs. Chin shushed him again.
“We don’t want to make things difficult for anyone else.” Florence’s voice was soft and polite as she spoke up for the first time in several minutes. “We wouldn’t dream of imposing if it makes you uncomfortable.”
Mrs. Chin gave her a look that was not completely disapproving before she glanced at Vivian. “I can see you are the one my son knows from work. But I do not picture you there as easily,” she said, looking back at Florence.
“I’m a seamstress,” Florence said quickly. “Vivian is too. Or, she used to be. She does deliveries to women who order the dresses now. We work in a shop uptown.”
“Clothes for rich people?”
Florence smiled a little. “Yes, ma’am.”
Mrs. Chin sniffed again but looked pleased. “It’s good for a woman to know how to work. We don’t have anyone sitting around doing nothing in this house. What can you do here?”
“We can wash dishes,” Florence suggested. Apparently Mrs. Chin’s brusque manner didn’t bother her at all. “I don’t know that I’d be able to cook without you standing over my shoulder telling me what to do, and that’s not less work for you. But washing dishes we can manage.”
Danny’s mother nodded. “All right. Feed these girls,” she said to her son. “They’re too skinny. I will talk with your father while you eat and see whether we can help them or not.” She stood, giving them one more assessing glance before disappearing back into the kitchen.
Vivian sagged back in her chair, feeling as exhausted as if she’d been through a police interrogation instead of a few reasonable questions from a short, cheerful cook.
“I like your mother,” Florence said, a little smile still hovering around her lips in spite of her obvious nerves.
“She’s easy to like,” Danny agreed as they all settled in to eat. “And she’s a fantastic cook.”
As soon as she took her first bite, Vivian agreed enthusiastically. Florence nodded her own agreement but didn’t answer; she was too busy eating with unladylike concentration. Neither of them had had any food yet that day, just a cup of coffee each before church, and for a few minutes they were silent as they filled their plates with rice, vegetables, eggs, and the contraband buns. Danny, eating more slowly, regarded them with satisfaction as he poured them cups of mild, fragrant tea that were far more pleasant than the bitter coffee Vivian was used to drinking.
At last, Danny’s father emerged from the kitchen, still frowning. Vivian stood up as he approached, and she felt Florence’s hand sneak into her own behind her back. Vivian squeezed, trying to offer some comfort.
“All right,” Mr. Chin said as he stopped next to the table. He might have been frowning, but Vivian could see that his eyes were kind, and they rested on his son with no small amount of pride. Some of the tension in Vivian’s shoulders relaxed. “Your mother has browbeaten me into submission. And we do not, as she forcefully pointed out, turn away young ladies who need help. So you may stay, girls”—he held up a hand to forestall their thanks—“as long as there is no trouble.”
“There won’t be,” Vivian promised quickly. “Thank you, really.”
“It’s very kind of you,” Florence added. “Would you like us to come back to the kitchen now?”
Mr. Chin waved away the offer. “Get settled in first. There will be plenty of dishes to wash when we reopen for dinner. Yu-Chen, show them upstairs. And carry their bags for them,” he added, a twinkling look coming into his expression as he saw the girls pick up their suitcases. “We have raised you to be a gentleman.” He hesitated, then added, “You seem like nice girls. And my son is a good judge of character.”
“You have to be, in my line of work,” Danny put in, smiling at his father.
His father shook his head. “Yes, I imagine that’s true.”
“Yu-Chen?” Vivian asked once Mr. Chin had returned to the kitchen. “Is that what your parents call you?”
Danny raised his eyebrows at her, the expression somehow both a look of discomfort and a challenge. “My Chinese name. Daniel was the English name they picked for me when I was baptized.”
