The House of Closed Doors by Jane Steen Page B

had to open up anyway. The attendants from the sanatorium will come with the ladies, and we will have almost no extra burden save the cooking and laundry. And as soon as the modernization is complete, they will leave us.”
    “When will the women arrive?” was my next question.
    “On the first of June. Weather or no weather, on the first of April we must begin work on the rooms. They are not at all suitable as they are.”
    She was silent for a few minutes, making notes on a new sheet of paper. I watched her pen dipping into the inkwell, scratching across the page, and dipping again.
    “We are receiving a sizable payment from the sanatorium,” she remarked. “They have stipulated that all rooms be freshly painted and supplied with new bedding and curtains.”
    “By June?”
    “Yes, indeed. I will instruct the company in Chicago that supplies us to send bolts of cotton suitable for making sheets, and a heavier cotton that will do for the drapes. Nell, can I count on you to supervise the confection of the bed linen and curtains?”
    “Of course,” I said. “I will need to take measurements of the windows and to know the dimensions of the beds.”
    “You may start in two weeks,” Mrs. Lombardi said. “I will provide some help for you. It should be quite a straightforward task.”
    I nodded and then jumped as the door swung open and the superintendent walked in. He glanced for a second in my direction and then clearly dismissed me from his mind. One of the many things I did not like about Mr. Ostrander was his habit of only addressing those persons with whom he had business; he would ignore anyone extraneous to the conversation. Naturally that meant that he barely ever spoke a word to the inmates.
    “Can you not prevent the women from quarreling?” was his abrupt opening. “I do not wish to have my ears assaulted by squealing females whenever I enter this House, Mrs. Lombardi. Kindly speak to your staff about it.”
    Mrs. Lombardi rose and stepped out from behind her desk. Her expression wore the polite, wary smile she usually adopted when dealing with our superintendent, who was “wound up like a clock-spring” as Blackie put it. Mr. Ostrander was a tense, bony man with a mania for order and efficiency, and his regular demands for more regimentation of the women’s diet and routine ran directly counter to the kindness with which Mrs. Lombardi accommodated all the variations in the women’s abilities and needs.
    Without waiting for Mrs. Lombardi’s reply, Mr. Ostrander ran his fingers over his sandy fringe of beard and went straight to his point. “I need the contract for the sanatorium tomorrow.”
    “I was just instructing Nell about the preparations we must make.” Mrs. Lombardi sounded brisk and efficient.
    Mr. Ostrander’s eyes flicked in my direction, and then he glanced down at Sarah. His thin mouth tightened, and he returned his attention to Mrs. Lombardi.
    “Kindly do not delay the start of the work on account of the weather. We must not fall behind schedule.”
    “As I said,” Mrs. Lombardi’s smile faltered, “I have been instructing Nell that we will begin work on the first of April. She is most diligent and hardworking; we are getting far more done now that Edie does not have to work alone.”
    Again Mr. Ostrander’s gaze fell on me, and again he looked away without a word. I tried not to look as uncomfortable as I felt. I welcomed Mrs. Lombardi’s praise, but not in front of this man, and wished I could make myself scarce. But leaving the room would involve struggling with my work and Sarah’s basket all at once, and I knew I would make an ungainly exit at best. I did not want to do anything to lower Mr. Ostrander’s opinion of Mrs. Lombardi in any way; it already seemed to me that he went out of his way to prove her wrong wherever he could.
    Mr. Ostrander removed a silver watch from his vest pocket and pressed the button to open it. He scrutinized the dial and compared it with Mrs.