Angels of Mercy by Duncan Alice

Author:Duncan, Alice
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: los angeles, 1920s, mercy allcutt, ernie templeton, alice duncan, angels flight, lost among the angels
Publisher: Alice Duncan

Chapter Eleven

Yet it seemed that my little lecture had some effect on Peggy after all. I’d considered her all but a lost child, but the Sunday following our meeting in the office—Lulu asked me about it, but I didn’t believe I should tell her another tenant’s business—she seemed brighter and more chipper than I’d ever seen her.

The Bucks had spent the morning at church as they always did on Sundays, and now I presumed they were visiting their son in jail. What a disheartening way to spend your day off. But Peggy helped brighten the day when she offered to make lemonade for Lulu, Caroline and me as we waited for Ernie to come over and give me another driving lesson.

“My aunt Margaret used to make this lemonade. It’s her recipe,” she said, acting for once like the adolescent she was. “She’s the one I was named after, you know. My real name is Margaret, but everyone’s always called me Peggy.”

“Thank you,” I said, pleased that she seemed on her way to reform. “That would be very nice of you.”

“Yeah,” said Lulu, who had been engrossed in the latest issue of Screenplay. “I could use some lemonade. It’s hot again today.”

I sighed. It certainly was warm again that day. And the calendar was creeping perilously close to October. Shoot. In New England, we’d all be getting out our woollies.

“I’d like some lemonade,” Caroline said. Shyly, I need not say. Well, I just did, but I’m sure I didn’t need to.

“I’ll be right back.”

Peggy all but skipped to the kitchen. I called after her, “Need any help?”

“No, thanks,” she called back cheerily. “I’m fine.”

I stroked Buttercup, who had curled up on my lap, and resumed reading The Mystery of Angelina Frood, by R. Austin Freeman. It was one of his Dr. Thorndyke mysteries, and I loved all of them. I wanted to be like R. Austin Freeman when I got published. Well . . . not exactly like him, but . . . you know, successful. I don’t mean the kind of success that brings in wads and wads of money (I already had that), but the kind of success that means people loved reading my books. Everyone loved Dr. Thorndyke. If I could create my own character, one whom people would want to read about over and over again, that would be my idea of success. Like Agatha Christie had done with Hercule Poirot. Or, on the other hand, perhaps I’d like to be another Mary Roberts Rinehart. Mrs. Rinehart didn’t write about the same person all the time, yet her books were wonderful, too.

But enough of that. Lulu, Caroline, Buttercup and I waited for Ernie, and Peggy went to the kitchen to make her aunt Margaret’s lemonade. Gee, from the way she spoke about the folks back home in Michigan, I was surprised she’d bothered to bring any recipes with her to Los Angeles. But mine was not to reason why, as they say. I was only glad she seemed to be coming out of her shell.

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