As Luck Would Have it

Later that week, Henry arrived at Betsy’s apartment in above a bakery. He kissed her neck after entering the small apartment. “I wish we could stay in here forever.” Betsy’s flat looked like any other New England flat, expect for the apothecary and the bottles of potion. Betsy kept any books on witchcraft hidden. The bookcase in the parlor had only respectable titles like Darwin’s Origin of Species and the Bible.

Betsy placed a hand along the bookcase and straightened her volumes of Mathematics. “No, you don’t. You have your textile mills to manage.”

“I have managers to do the everyday running of my mills. With your magic, you could make people bow to your feet. And yet, you rather work at your loom silently all day. You keep your genius hidden.”

“Like the other members of my sex.”

“You could do some much more.”

“Like teaching at a woman’s college.” Betsy took a seat on one of the two chairs in the tiny apartment.

“Aren’t you parents equal partners in Logan Products?” Henry walked behind her and put his hand on her shoulder then planted a brief kiss on her naked shoulder.

Betsy turned her face away not wanting to be associated with her parents’ snake oil business; they made lewd products not fit for respectable society. Betsy rose from her seat and looked at her reflection in her mirror over the dresser. She combed her hair allowing it to fall from its formal workplace bun and buttoned up her jumper. As she entered her small kitchen, she waved a come-on-in to Henry. “Let’s eat. I went to the bakery on the way home from work. I know how much you love to eat. I couldn’t let you starve as I cooked.”

“I should give you something toward the grocery.”

“A pay raise would be nice. I’m sure the other girls would agree.” Betsy knew he meant a little cash to cover the food that he ate at her apartment, not a pay raise, but it was worth asking. She still felt uncomfortable dating the boss. She wondered if the other girls knew and if they did what did they think of her. In her eyes, she was the homeliest girl in the mill. Betsy rubbed the dark hairs on her chin angry that she didn’t tweeze them early in the day not that it mattered on a girl as ugly as her.

“I’m sure with your head for figures I could get you a job in bookkeeping.”

“I rather stay at the loom. I like my independence. Just because I let you into my bed doesn’t mean you owe me.” Betsy didn’t want the other women thinking that she was getting favors by dating the boss. She didn’t even want the other women to even know that she was dating the boss. She felt ashamed that the owner of the plant took pity on a girl as homely as her and feared that she might cry or scream if another woman at the factory took notice of her indiscretion. A man as well off as Henry would never marry a poor ugly factory girl so she must have been a casual fling to him and she didn’t want the other women to laugh when he tossed her aside.

“You aren’t one of those Suffragette weirdoes, running around Concord yelling ‘votes for women.’”

Betsy laughed. “I’ve voted in last election under my brother’s name. He was too drunk to vote anyway. I met Susan B. Anthony in Syracuse.” She put potatoes, carrots and a small roast into a pot.

“How did you manage to vote?”

“I dressed like a man and used a sex change potion.”

“There are supposed to be a man at the door that can tell if a woman is using magic.”

“He was able to perceive magic and that was about it. I told him tit wit wasn’t his business what magic I had and other men at the polling place were losing their temper with him.”

“Betsy, I’ll go march with you in Concord. My sister, Kate, has gone up there a few times. Her husband and I argue about women’s votes all the time. I think all people over twenty-one should vote. I have three sisters and all of them could debate me under the table.”

“I doubt that.”

“You haven’t met my sisters. I’m only this ornery because I grew up with them.” Henry walked over to Betsy’s cabinets.

“Don’t touch anything. I have potions that can turn you into a white mouse.” Betsy did her best witch’s cackle.

“We should go dancing after dinner at your flat. You never let me treat you. What good is it that I make tons of money if I can’t spoil my girlfriend?”

“What does it matter? No matter where I go, I can’t touch you in public. We have our reputations to consider.” Betsy placed her arms around Henry.

“We’ll go a place that the girls at the mills couldn’t afford.”

“That’s any place.”

“Let them be jealous.”

“I could just hear it at work. They would all be laughing at the ugly witch that trapped the boss. They would think I gave you a love potion. It doesn’t help my case that my father sells those kind of things.” Betsy didn’t use a love potion on Henry. Those things had only a temporary effect of euphoria. In the morning, they wore off and the victim usually d thd the perpetuator for the deception. Betsy couldn’t understand what he saw in her; she was a large ugly coarse woman more interested in her books than men.

“You didn’t give me a love potion. Take the bookkeeping job. Let the factory girls gloat. I know you didn’t slip me a love potion.”

“I’ll take the job. Love potions never work more than a day.” Betsy stirred the pot roast. “Let’s visit my parents on Sunday. I want them to meet you.”

“They won’t turn me into a frog.”

“Not if you behave yourself.”

Betsy took the few belonging she left at the loom to the front officere sre she would have a desk for her new job. She hoped she remembered what she learned in her college classes. One of the other women came up to her as she was collecting her possession. “Still dating the boss.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” Betsy sneered.

“Where are you going?”

“I was hired in bookkeeping.” Betsy held her head up high as she walked hoping that the other women wouldn’t gather around her as she left her position.

“I don’t know what he sees in you.”

“I’m not dating anyone.” Betsy wanted to state that she had a brain and the boss dated her for her ability to hold an intelligent conversation but she didn’t want to admit that she was dating him until she had an engagement ring on fingfinger. Betsy walked toward the office as a group of the women followed bantering her about dating the boss.

“You’re so lucky. I don’t remember Henry ever dating a woman from the floor before,” an older woman said. “I can’t remember his ever dating anyone.”

“He wouldn’t talk about his personal business with his employees,” another woman said, protecting Betsy’s honor.

“It seems so odd in my fifteen years under his employ that the first time he dates anyone to our knowledge, it’s ugly Betsy, who rather keep her wart covered nose in a book,” the older woman said. Betsy thought that the woman well into her thirties and having no options marry should keep her mouth shut. Maybe if she put her nose in a book more often, men would enjoy her conversation. Her pretty face was fading; Betsy’s intelligence would remain.

The foreman yelled, “Girls, return to work. Miss Logan, report to your job promptly.”

“Yes, Sir.” Betsy continued to the office without saying another word.

Henry and Betsy took the train to the small town where Betsy’s parents lived; the taxi took them to the house on the top of the hill. A man in silk leisurewear and the sameg sig sideburns as Henry opened the door. Betsy gave the older man a quick embrace. “Pop, this is my gentleman friend, Henry Newcastle.”

Betsy’s father shook Henry’s hand. “Thaddeus Logan, it’s nice to meet you. Please, come into the parlor.”

Henry folloMr. Mr. Logan into the parlor then offered his hand to the older gentleman. “Betsy says you’re quite the wizard,” said Henry, as they shook hands.

Mr. Logan sat on a hand-carved couch. “Betsy, help your mother serve us some of that fresh lemonade.”

\"Sure, Pop.” Betsy left the two men alone, not too alone she stood by the wall to listen in a few seconds. Her mother’s wallpaper had faand and peeled over the years. The reflection of the windows divided the sun-bleached wall into patches of dark and light. Henry had lit one of his stinky Cuban cigars, reminding Betsy how she hated the way smell traveled from room to room.

“I don’t like to brag,” said Mr. Logan. “I manage. There’s always a market for potions, especially love potions, if you get my meaning.”

“I thought love ons ons don’t work.”

Mr. Logan fondled the arm of the couch. “Not in the long run, but they’re fun while they last.”

“Betsy and I aren’t in need of love potions. We can make our own fireworks.”

Betsy walked to the kitchen, smiling. She felt a bit bad for Henry as she recalled him telling all his poker chums that he had a new ladylove. The way the men looked at her made her ill. Only Richard Baker was kind, then again, Nancy and her were becoming friends and he didn’t want to appear rude in front of his wife. Nancy was very down to earth and not at all like she believed society women she imagined, dressing and behaving no more proper than the working girls beside her at the mill. However, many of the girls in the mill wore clothing with holes and didn’t have a coat to keep out the cold in the winter. Betsy had always managed to budget her meager income well and always had clothing in good repair although she occasionally ran out of food money mid-week.

Betsy opened the icebox and poured some cold water into two glasses. Then, she cut a lemon and squeezed the juice of one half into each glass and added sugar to the mix until it tasted sweettsy tsy returned to the parlor with the fresh lemonade. She sat by Henry and gave him one of the glasses of lemonade. “I see that Pop didn’t change you into a toad.”

“Not yet,” said her father taking a glass of lemonade. He took a small sip. “A little sweet. Henry, if you ever hurt my child.” Mr. Logan smiled without showing his teeth.

Henry tried to smile, but it looked more like it was gritting his teeth as his cigar dangled loosely in his right hand.

“Darling, get your fiancé an ashtray from the kitchen. Only Frank smokes in this house.”

Betsy returned to the kitchen dragging her feet and mumbling under her breath that she wasn’t a servant.

Henry took the ashtray from Betsy and flicked his ashes in it before putting it on the coffee table. “I would never hurt your precious daughter. I just wish she could be a bit more ladylike. She has more textbooks than I do.”

“Nonsense. Henry has a whole library in his house in Dunstable. My books would be lost in his collection.” Betsy sat near Henry on the edge of the sofa as careful as she could to avoid the smoke from his cigar. “Henry reads noven thn three languages and has dozens of texts of philosophy. We spend hours arguing Kant and Locke. We talk about morality and law for hours.”

\"Sit on my lap. I won’t bite,” Henry said.

Betsy tried to make her voice more feminine. “I like it when you bite. Put down the cigar and I’ll sit anywhere you like.”

Henry laughed as he put the cigar into the ashtray. “You sound like you\'re gasping for air.”

Betsy punched his shoulder. “I don\'t sound that bad. If Henry wanted a lady, he could have found a debutante and he would have never dated a girl from the backwoods of Maine. Most the women in his social circle have never chopped wood in their lives.”

“They wouldn’t admit it,” Henry said. “I’m not into frail little women. I want my soul mate to be my equal in all things.”

“A man not afraid of a strong woman,” Mr. Logan said. “I like that.”

“Betsy’s magic enticed me. I like that she can take care of herself. I don’t want a weak woman that will scream at the sight of a mouse.” Henry took a long sip of his lemonade. “Your father is right; it’s too sweet.”

“I try.” Pretended to whine, Betsy gave him a brief kiss ignoring the taste of tobacco on his breath.

“I’ll buy you a cookbook,” Henry said.

“Among the other hundred things you promise to buy me.” Betsy moved to his lap and put one arm around his shoulders and the other hand is tis thigh to balance herself.

“I think your Betsy is charming.” Henry put his arms around her to steady her on his lap.

Betsy sat on the loveseat near Henry pushing him aside, not wanting to be too close to Henry in front of her father, but at the same time not too far away. Betsy wanted her father to see that Henry and her were affectionate, but not too affectionate. “Henry is more interested in my mind than my body. We talk all day and night.”

“I was sure our Betsy would die a virgin,” her father said.

“I’m happy I had this talk.” Henry kissed Betsy’s hand.

“If you hurt my daughter, I’ll hunt you down and change you into a toad.”

Henry and Betsy stayed for dinner. As all the food sailed from the kitchen into the dining, Henry was amazed by the flamboyant use of magic. “Why don’t you have servants in this big of house?”

“I value my privacy,” said Mrs. Logan. “I can’t have a servant stumbling into my potions.”

\"Betsy told me the same thing,” Henry said.

“So how did you meet Betsy?” Mrs. Logan sipped her sherry.

“Betsy works at my factory. When my men started to vanish from a worksite, I asked her to come along,” Henry said.

“Henry gave me a bookkeeping job. oth other girls are jealous of me dating the boss,” Betsy said.

Henry smiled at Betsy. “I could use someone with your calculation skills. It isn’t a charity job. In fact, you do a better job than the last person who held that position.”

“You better pay me a man’s wages. I’m doing just as much work as the man that I replaced,” Betsy said.

“I’ll pay you a man’s wage,” said Henry. “I don’t want your father turning me into a toad.”

Mrs. Logan nodded at him. “Smart man.”

Betsy snuggled near Henry on the train ride back to New Hampshire. “Should I see a herbalist to get something to keep me from getting pregnant?”

“I’ll be forty in two months maybe it\'s time I settled down to have a family. My best friend Richard married when he was thirty-nine. His son was born when he was forty-two and no one thought he would get married. Funny, Nancy is no spring chicken herself; I think, she\'s a year younger than I.”

“You never dated before.”

“I read a lot of books. I go to concerts and shows occasionally. Would you like to see Gilbert and Sullivan with me?”

“I would love to. You don’t go to these shows by yourself.”

“I go with my friends sometimes. Richard was my best buddy before he got married. Sitting over a pile of textbooks, we spent long hours talking about the nature of the universe. Richard wanted to get his doctrine in philosophy but he had to manage his father’s banks. I really don’t have much of a social life. Betsy, I’m as boring as they come.”

“Not to me.” Betsy put her hand on his hand.