The Butter Brickle Bond

By Kathy Sattem Rygg

It’s 1926. Twelve-year-old Millie Johanson and her family have just moved into the Blackstone Hotel in Omaha where her father is a wealthy banker at the new Livestock Exchange Building. She meets Fronie Maude, whose mother is a cook at the hotel and whose father works in the stockyards. The girls bond over their secret dessert discovery—butter brickle ice cream. But when Millie’s mother forbids the friendship and threatens to move out of the hotel if Millie sees Fronie again, she must decide what’s more important—pleasing her mother or her friendship with Fronie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kathy Sattem Rygg
• Release date: Jan 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005854294

Kathy Sattem Rygg

Kathy Sattem Rygg is a children's book author and corporate writer/editor. She was graduated from Iowa State University with a degree in Journalism and Mass Communications. She has worked for the Mcgraw-Hill Companies' Business Publications division in New York City and is currently the Executive Editor for Edge Publishing. She is an active member of the SCBWI and lives in Omaha, NE with her husband and two children.

Book preview

The Butter Brickle Bond

By Kathy Sattem Rygg

Copyright 2021 Kathy Sattem Rygg

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

Ice cream. Cold, creamy melt-in-your-mouth ice cream. That was the only thing on Millie’s mind as she stood on the pavement outside of the Blackstone Hotel.

Can I please have some now, Mother? You said we could get ice cream as soon as the train let us off in Omaha. The ends of her braids stuck against her sweaty neck like wet paintbrushes in the Midwest July humidity.

Millie’s mother directed her attention to the bellhop by motioning toward their bags. Mildred, don’t be so melodramatic. I’m sure the hotel dining room will have ice cream, but we need to check in and see our new residence first.

Millie’s younger brother, George, tugged on the knee-length hem of his sister’s new blue chiffon dress. Millie, can I have ice cream too? he whispered. She nodded and grabbed his hand, which felt dry against her sweaty palm. He probably wasn’t worried about whether or not he’d make new friends, or what he’d do all day living in a hotel without anyone to play with.

Their father walked up and offered Millie his arm. Shall we? She hooked her arm through his and glanced up at the six-story, mahogany brick building with white stucco that would be their home for the next year. It looked like the kind of place that would serve ice cream out of crystal goblets.

They followed Millie’s mother inside to the lobby where a grand, sand-colored marble staircase greeted them. Her mother’s new black heels click-clacked against the matching marble floor, and the beading on her chemise dress swished as she walked. She had insisted all the women would be wearing this new style, but so far her mother’s was the only one Millie had seen.

They approached a woman behind the front desk who was wearing a solid black dress. All she needed was a habit to look like a nun.

Welcome to the Blackstone. She tilted her head like a dog and smiled. Name?

Johanson. Millie’s father’s chest puffed out an inch underneath his dark suit. He had to be warmer than any of them, but he was the only one who hadn’t complained the entire trip. He was too happy about getting to Omaha and starting his job as a banker for the new Livestock Exchange Building that had just opened a few months earlier.

Millie let go of his arm and turned her back on the nun lady. The square-shaped lobby had four maroon-colored velvet couches, also in a square. A long hallway lined with glittering chandeliers led to what looked like a dining room. Soft music floated down the hall accompanied by the occasional clink of silverware and glass. Her mouth watered at the thought of ice cream again.

The serenity was interrupted by her brother’s pounding shoes against the marble floor as he darted down the hall.

George! Mrs. Johanson’s whispered yell through clenched teeth filled the lobby. Mildred, go get your brother. They’ll evict us before we even get to our rooms, she finished under her breath.

Millie scurried down the hall but slowed when she approached him. Her experience trying to subdue an overactive seven-year-old told her not to be forceful. Appease his curiosity and he’d eventually come willingly. He was peering into the dining room. She placed one hand on his shoulder so he knew she was there, but she didn’t make him move.

Only a handful of people sat at the round, white-clothed tables. Mostly businessmen, but a few women too. Their voices were hushed underneath the piano music, as though the navy and maroon patterned carpet sucked the volume out of it. A door in one corner of the room swung open, and a waiter dressed in white with a black bow tie hurried out, carrying a silver tray full of plates covered in silver-domed lids. It had to be heavy, but his arm didn’t flinch above his head. The door swung back and forth several times, giving Millie glimpses of the kitchen. And that’s when she saw it.

A cream-colored tower perched on top of a caramel-colored cone. The scoops had to be as big as Millie’s hand. Her gaze followed the line of the cone down to the arm of the person holding it: A girl, about Millie’s age, wearing a dull brown long-sleeved tunic that hung off her skinny body like a potato sack. Millie felt the urge to find a brush and rake it through her frizzy, dirty-blond hair. The girl licked the ice cream like a dog drinking water. Was she even tasting it? Millie would have been scolded on the spot if her mother saw her lapping at her dessert like that. But it didn’t matter that this girl didn’t have manners or realize how shabby she looked. Jealousy reached across that fancy room and nearly strangled Millie.

The waiter hurried back through the door, causing it to swing back and forth again. As though she knew someone was watching her, the girl turned and looked directly at Millie, mid-lick. Millie stood up straight and smoothed the skirt of her dress out of habit. Then she smiled, just as her mother had taught her to do whenever someone noticed you. The girl, with her tongue still on the ice cream, cracked a smile. Maybe she did have a few manners after all? Then she took a slow, long lick and scooped a blob of ice cream onto the end of her curled tongue. Next she smeared it across her upper lip, leaving a moustache of melted white cream. She threw her head back and laughed, then wiped her mouth with her forearm. The swinging door stopped and came to a close, blocking Millie’s view.

How rude, Millie whispered. Georgie, let’s go. She put her hand on his back and guided him out of the dining room, down the hall, and found their parents.

There you are. Mrs. Johanson patted her hair even though not a piece was out of place. Mildred, please keep a closer eye on your brother and don’t let him run off like that again.

Millie wanted to protest. Ever since she had turned twelve years old it, Georgie had somehow become her responsibility. It wasn’t fair, but she knew better than to argue.

See anything interesting? Mr. Johanson winked at Millie, his eyes gleaming in the yellow glow of the lobby chandeliers.

Millie had seen something very interesting. Can we please get some ice cream now? She was not about to be shown up by the grubby girl in the kitchen.

Georgie jumped up and down. I want to eat it in the room with the piano and the big fat chairs.

Let’s go see our rooms first and get settled, Mr. Johanson said. Millie suddenly worried that everything she’d hoped for with this move would be met with disappointment.

We’re in suite 601, Mr. Johanson said. I bet we’ll be able to see all the way to Chicago from up there!

Millie already missed her home town. She doubted the view from a sixth floor hotel could be as stunning as the view of Lake Michigan’s cobalt blue water in downtown Chicago.

I get to push the button! Georgie darted toward the elevator.

What about our bags? Millie had images of the girl from the kitchen eyeing them, her sticky ice cream fingers pawing through Millie’s silk hair ribbons.

The bellhop will bring them up, her mother said without looking back.

They crowded into the elevator and waited for the operator to close the door.

Six please. Mr. Johanson straightened his tie in the reflection of the elevator door. Welcome to the Blackstone. I’m Charlie. The operator wasn’t much taller than Millie’s mother and looked old enough to be Millie’s grandfather. He glanced down at her. On a hot day like today, I bet you could use some ice cream. We have some of the best vanilla around. He winked.

How did he know? He must have worked here his whole life. Probably knew and remembered everything about everyone who has ever stayed at the Blackstone. Charlie seemed like a good person to get to know. Someone who could get things done. Someone who knew how to get ice cream even after the dining room closed at night.

The elevator chimed. Sixth floor, Charlie said.

The doors opened, revealing a hallway with tan carpet and smaller versions of the chandeliers in the lobby. It smelled like laundry soap. The maids must have just been through. Suite 601 was the first door to the right.

Mr. Johanson slid in the key. Welcome home. He turned the knob and opened the door, bowing as his family filed in past him.

Mrs. Johanson walked in first, stopping in the middle of the small living room where she hovered like a hummingbird. Georgie squeezed past Millie in the cramped entry and flopped onto the navy colored sofa, bouncing up and down on its stiff cushions.

George, mind your manners, their mother scolded. She walked over and ran her hand along the sofa arm, leaving a dark imprint on the fabric where she had smoothed it the wrong way.

Mr. Johanson walked to the two side-by-side rectangular windows. Will you look at that view? You can practically see the river from here!

Millie walked up behind him and peered out. It was like looking right over a ledge since there was no balcony outside. No Lake Michigan, either. What’s the Woodman? The only building that resembled any sort of skyscraper had large black letters across the top like an ugly name badge. The Sears Tower back home was much more sophisticated.

The Woodman is the tallest building in Omaha, her father said. You can see it for miles.

Her mother walked up and ran her hand up and down the thick navy and maroon-colored tapestry drapes. She still hadn’t said anything about the place.

Millie, why don’t you and Georgie go look at your new room and decide who’s going to sleep in which bed. Mr. Johanson put his arm around his wife and she let out a long sigh. You’ll love it here, he said in a low voice. Millie looked at her mother’s pursed lips and knew this town would have to prove itself.

When Millie walked into the smaller of the two bedrooms down the short hall, Georgie was already jumping on the bed closest to the single window on the opposite side of the room.

This one’s mine! he yelled.

Millie rolled her eyes at him and walked around the room. A small lamp with fringe hanging off its shade caught her attention. She ran her fingers through the fringe, the silky strings tickling her palm. Omaha might not have the Sears Tower like Chicago, but her old bedroom never had a lamp this fancy.

The crisp chime of a doorbell sounded throughout the apartment. Georgie didn’t let up from his bed jumping, but Millie walked back out into the living room. Her mother was in the kitchen, holding a tea cup in the air. Millie knew her mother was looking to see the manufacturer on the bottom. She did that with everything. It was especially embarrassing when they were shopping.

Mr. Johanson answered the door. It was the same bell hop who had carried their bags into the hotel. Where would you like these, Mr. Johanson?

In the master bedroom, please. Mr. Johanson pulled his money clip out of his pocket.

As the bell hop hurried in, Millie noticed his name badge read Ralph. His cheeks were flushed and sweat dripped down his temples, but he smiled the whole time. He came out of the bedroom to make a second trip. He propped the front door open with his foot while he tried grabbing more bags. Millie ran over and held the door open for him.

Thanks, he breathed. He fumbled past her, arms and hands full. I’ll be back for those last two. He nodded at two stray bags still sitting in the hall, one of which was Millie’s.

She held the door open by leaning back against it, her gaze on her suitcase. She wanted to make sure it made it safely inside. The only sound in the hallway was the hum of the mini chandeliers. Then she heard another chime, followed by the grinding of the elevator door opening. Millie peered down the hall, wondering who was getting on or off, but nobody was there. Maybe the elevator operator had pushed the wrong button? He didn’t seem like the type to do that though. After a minute, the elevator door closed, still without any passengers. She turned back around to man the door and froze. The shabby girl with the ice cream stood three doors down.

The girl looked directly at Millie, expressionless. Not a smile, but not a frown either. Millie eyed her bag, wishing Ralph would hurry up and come get it. She looked back at the girl. Why was she just standing in front of an apartment door? She couldn’t possibly live there. Not on the top floor. Not right down the hall.

As if to answer, the girl reached into the front of her dress and pulled out a string around her neck. A key dangled off the end. She removed it and stuck it into the door knob. Before going in, she looked back at Millie, her finger to her puckered lips in a shhhh