Free In Need of a Good Wife by Kelly O'Connor McNees Page B

Turning to look back was far too dangerous.
    On her way out of the building she had to pass the office of the asylum’s head clerk, Mr. Harrison, who stood waiting by the door.
    “Mrs. Moore,” he said, stepping toward her. “I was hoping chance might lead our paths to cross today.”
    Rowena sighed. “Well, there is only one way out of this building and you have been planted here for some time. I don’t believe we can credit fortune for our meeting.”
    He smiled as if he were highly amused by her remark. “Mrs. Moore, we must discuss the balance of your account.”
    Mr. Harrison was the worst sort of man to owe money, and Rowena owed an awful lot to all sorts of men, so she should know. She preferred the terse, impersonal collectors, with their firm deadlines and strongly worded letters, to a man like this, who feigned patience and compassion when what he was really doing was figuring out how to punish you for your transgressions.
    “Yes, sir, we must.” Rowena pressed her heels together and planted them into the floor, straightening her back. She imagined she was a tree climbing up, up, up out of this place.
    “As you know, we are deeply honored to count such a respected man as your father among the people we serve.”
    “I’m not sure, Mr. Harrison, that he is so respected any more. I have yet to see a single of his former colleagues come to visit.”
    “The insane, are … well, a troubling group of people for those who don’t understand them.”
    “They are a troubling group for those who do ,” Rowena said, then softened her voice. “I don’t blame them for not wanting to come.”
    “You father is more fortunate than some, in that he has a devoted daughter who comes to him each week to oversee his care.”
    Rowena bit the inside of her cheeks to keep the bitter laugh inside. She didn’t want to think about how they might neglect her father if they didn’t know she would be there, faithfully, every Saturday. What would happen to him after she left New York?
    “But, as I’m sure you understand, Mrs. Moore, the level of care we provide here is very costly.” Rowena appraised Mr. Harrison’s suit: rich brown wool, a gold Albert chain, freshly polished.
    “Oh, I understand very well where all the money goes.”
    Mr. Harrison narrowed his eyes. “I am going to ignore that rude remark because I am a man of beneficence . It is what makes me so good at my job. The fact is, Mrs. Moore, that you have not responded to our requests for payment that is long overdue. I would hate to see your father’s care suffer because his daughter was capricious with his money.”
    His money , Rowena wanted to scream, is in the fire pit in the backyard . The idea that Mr. Harrison, through orders to his nurses, might take his angst out on her father was more than Rowena could bear. But instead of screaming, she conjured once again the image of a tree, swaying just a bit in the wind. Rowena reached into her pocket for the thick envelope of banknotes and handed it to Mr. Harrison.
    He blinked at it in surprise, then lifted the flap and counted. “Well, very good, Mrs. Moore. We are settled then.”
    “For now,” Rowena griped, buttoning her cloak and pulling the hood up over her hair. Outside, sleet had begun hammering on the diagonal. It would be a long and treacherous walk home over icy cobblestones.
    “Godspeed, Mrs. Moore,” Mr. Harrison said from the doorway of his carpeted office, where twin fireplaces on either side of his desk warmed the room and a silver pot of coffee steamed on a tray.
    Rowena felt her jaw tighten. “If you could refrain, sir, from speaking to me anymore, I should very much appreciate it.”
    She stepped out into the weather, feeling relief tempered by an eerie recognition that, once again, the world’s sense of balance had asserted itself over disproportion. For who would have guessed that the value of her gold wedding band was exactly, to the dollar, the amount she owed Mr.