Safe Haven Read Online Free Page B

Theo realized was a typewriter.
    At supper the regular boarders had quizzed Mrs. Velo about the new arrival. “A reporter?” one man guessed.
    “Sort of,” Mrs. Velo hedged. “She’s a friend of a friend.”
    “A stranger, then,” the woman seated next to Theo huffed.
    “We are all strangers,” Mrs. Velo said softly, “until we become friends. She is here to write about the refugees.”
    “I hear the government has spent a lot of money fixing things up for them,” the woman—Hilda Cutter—said in a tone that sounded as if she were sharing some huge secret. “New refrigerators and ovens in every apartment and …”
    Theo had barely paid attention to the rest. Hilda Cutter struck him as a gossip and someone who was always looking for the negative aspects of any situation.
    But watching the new arrival as he gathered the tools he would need to repair the fan, Theo recalled Mrs. Velo’s vague description of this woman from Washington and he wondered what “sort of” meant. Was this woman a reporter or not? Maybe she was with the government and needed to keep her identity secret. Someone from the government might arrive with a typewriter. She might have connections. Maybe he could talk to her about how best to get his uncle and aunt and cousin out. He turned his attention to the repair of the fan as he planned his approach.

    Suzanne followed Mrs. Velo up the steps to the wide porch furnished with several wooden rocking chairs, a porch swing, and window boxes filled with bright red geraniums that lined the railing. The front entrance had a leaded-glass window set into a solid-looking wooden door behind a screen door that Mrs. Velo held open for the cabdriver.
    “Just set them down inside there,” Mrs. Velo instructed, reminding Suzanne that the cabbie needed to be paid and sent on his way.
    She fumbled through the contents of her purse, pushing aside her comb, compact, lipstick, several wadded handkerchiefs, a fistful of pencils held together with a rubber band, a small notebook, and finally her billfold. She paid the driver, adding a less-than-generous tip because she noticed that she had very little cash and it would be Monday before she could get to a bank.
    “You have a lovely home, Mrs. Velo,” she said, following the woman inside. She was standing in a large foyer with a carpeted stairway on one side leading up to a landing that featured a window seat under another leaded-glass window and then turned to continue the rest of the way to the second floor.
    “My late husband was quite handy. When we bought the place, it was a disaster,” Mrs. Velo replied as she picked up Suzanne’s large suitcase as if it were empty and headed past the stairway toward the back of the house. “Your room is back here,” she said.
    On the way Suzanne caught a glimpse of a large, dark dining room, its long table covered in a lace cloth, and a far more inviting kitchen with the window over the sink crowded with clay pots that appeared to be filled with herbs. She tried to pay attention as Mrs. Velo ran through the house rules.
    “Breakfast is at seven, supper at six. You’re on your own for lunch. No food in your room. No hot plates or candles, either. Here’s a key to the room.”
    “Does this also fit the front door?”
    Mrs. Velo blinked at her as if she had suddenly spoken in a foreign language. “Nobody in Oswego locks their houses,” she said. She crossed the room and raised the blinds before opening the window that overlooked the backyard and a shed. “You’ll get a nice breeze off the lake most nights, but in this weather you might want to run the fan.” She pointed toward a small table and wooden chair. “I know you asked for a desk, but this is the best I can offer. You’re welcome to use the desk in the living room, but be aware that that’s for the use of all the boarders.”
    “This is fine,” Suzanne assured her as she set her typewriter case on top of the table and unhooked her bag from her