Kitabı oku: «Family Stories», sayfa 3
From the color that rose in Marian’s cheeks, Frank deduced that the widow Bartlett was a young woman. He lifted one eyebrow in question and when Marian glared at him, he had his answer. This town was filled with pitfalls.
And the most dangerous was sitting right across from him.
He excused himself, saying he needed to fetch his bag before supper. When Marian gave him a worried look, he smiled and watched her settle back on the sofa.
Once he’d retrieved his bag from the barn, he considered striding into the night and putting the Cooper family behind him. Even if Marian did cry herself to sleep for a few nights, she would forget him soon enough.
As he hesitated at the edge of the village, the scent of a rose floated toward him and he felt again her arms around his neck, her soft lips pressing against his. With a moan that startled several birds in the tree above him, he turned toward town and the Coopers’ house.
Supper was a quiet meal, cold leftovers from lunch served by a silent Mrs. Cooper and a still-glowering Marian. Reverend Cooper kept up a monologue based on his readings of the afternoon. He obviously didn’t expect anyone to respond to his observations. Frank found his mind drifting, returning to the conversation with a jerk when Reverend Cooper asked him a pointed question about his family.
“Two sisters, sir, one older, one younger.” Frank sipped from his glass, waiting for the next comment.
“Sisters. I have a younger sister and four younger brothers.” Reverend Cooper shook his head with a reminiscent smile. “She never let us intimidate her, though. Like my Marian here.” He touched a loose curl on Marian’s shoulder, his expression filled with pride.
Frank held back a shudder. This man loved his daughter but more than that, she was a prized possession, if that proprietary look was anything to judge by. The reverend might welcome a passing traveler into his home for a meal, even offer to find him work. All of that would be in keeping with his spiritual calling. But he would not easily give away his only daughter to that same man.
Frank suddenly felt hot and surreptitiously mopped at his forehead. He was relieved when the meal was over, so he could escape to the room under the eaves.
After bidding everyone good-night, he climbed the stairs, shutting the guest-room door with a thankful sigh. It was simply decorated, with the barest of necessities, dominated by a large bed in the middle. He turned back the heavy blanket and sighed happily. Clean sheets! He didn’t often have a bed at night. Now and then, he slid between the sheets of a bed with a housewife or a maid left alone in the house but seldom at night and never for very long.
He pushed such images away. Marian was in the room next to him. He could hear her moving around, making her own preparations for sleep. The vision of her smooth skin, naked beneath his hands, made him groan and he stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed, pulling the pillow over his head and ignoring the sounds from the room beside his.
He met Reverend Cooper on the stairs the next morning. “Sleep well, my boy?”
“Yes, thank you.” Frank had finally settled into a dreamless sleep, waking only once at the howling of coyotes nearby.
“We’ll have breakfast and then I’ll take you to see Adam Bates.”
The reverend was as good as his word. Adam, the middle-aged, rough-hewn owner of the feed store, studied Frank for a few moments. “If Reverend Cooper vouches for you, you’re fine by me, ” he said, extending his hand. “You can start tomorrow.”
“I could start this afternoon, ” Frank said. He needed hard work, something to keep his mind and his hands busy—to distract him from the minister’s daughter.
Adam Bates leaned against the counter and nodded. “Fine, after lunch then.”
Widow Bartlett had a room available in her narrow house. She was a tall, slender woman with a weary smile and even wearier eyes. Frank smiled politely when she showed him the common living quarters and he accepted her terms. With the money he made from the feed store, he’d have enough to begin saving.
For what? he asked himself as he carried his bag to his new home. He had thanked the family for their hospitality and promised to be a visitor one day soon. Marian had stood behind her mother, eyes aglow. He’d needed every ounce of control to keep from staring at her.
In his new room, he unpacked his meager belongings, his mind still on his change of plans. He’d never considered his future before. He enjoyed the different towns he visited and the freedom he had to leave them.
He sank down on his new bed. The bedsprings squeaked. The mattress wasn’t as soft as the one in the Coopers’ guest room, but it was his room. He hadn’t been in his own place since his departure from his parents’ house five years earlier.
The work wasn’t hard. Adam Bates kept him until only a thin sliver of the sun was left in the sky. Jamming his hat on his head, Frank walked back to his new home, ready for a hot bath and a long sleep.
He ducked his head under the water and washed the dirt and grime off his body, whistling tunelessly as he did. Marian said she loved him but what could she know of love, young as she was, stuck in this little town? No one could really love someone after such a short time together. The idea was preposterous.
Maybe she was exercising her ability to charm men with nothing more than a smile. Was she practicing on him so she could entice some young man in the village who was her main objective?
Dressed in his slacks and a clean shirt, he went down to the kitchen, hoping his dinner would fill the suddenly painful hollow in his stomach.
Chapter 3
He soon adjusted to the easy pace of the village. Every Sunday, he dressed carefully in his new suit and marched down the road to the white church. While his sole interest in attending lay with the minister’s daughter, he found himself paying more attention to her father’s sermons every week.
After the service, Marian and her father greeted the congregation while her mother disappeared, presumably to fix the noonday meal. Frank didn’t receive another invitation to the house but he didn’t mind. He often ate his Sunday meal with his boss and family; it was easier to relax under the roof of the boisterous Bates family.
He’d just started his second week in the village when Marian came into the store with her father. “How are things going?” Reverend Cooper asked.
“Fine, sir.” Frank didn’t glance toward Marian, afraid that his emotions would show in his eyes. His heart pounded under the canvas apron he wore and he swallowed to relieve the pressure in his throat.
Satisfied that his good deed was still producing positive results, Reverend Cooper sat down on a stool near the front of the store. Mr. Bates took a stool opposite him and soon they were engaged in a lively discussion of politics, the weather and the state of the country.
Dismissed, Frank returned to his work, stacking bags of grain near the back wall. He almost dropped one when he heard Marian’s soft voice behind him. “I’ve missed you.”
He swung around, the bag clutched in his hands. “Marian, what are you doing?”
He peered quickly around. Tall sacks of grain separated them from the two men, and he could hear their animated conversation, but it was only a matter of time before her father started looking for her.
“I miss you, Frank.”
Her forlorn voice pulled at him. Setting the bag down between them, he framed her face with his hands and tilted it up until he could see her eyes. “I’ve missed you, too, ” he whispered. “But we can’t meet here.”
“Then where? You never come to the house and I can’t go to the widow Bartlett’s by myself.” She sniffed loudly, then let her breath out in a long sigh.
When he chuckled, her eyes flashed. “You think it’s funny that we can’t meet?”
He bent down and kissed her on the lips. “No, I think your playacting is funny.” At the mutinous look in her eyes, he kissed her again, a hard kiss that left them both breathless.
“Frank, what are we going to do?”
When her shining face tipped toward his, he knew he was lost. He wouldn’t call it love but he couldn’t imagine living without her.
“I don’t know yet, but I’ll come up with something, Marian.” At the scraping sound that signaled the stools were being pushed aside, he nudged her toward the front of the store. “Until then, trust me.”
The tremulous look she gave him was full of trust. No one had ever regarded him that way before. His chest swelling with pride, he flung a bag to the top of the pile, her tempting smile urging him on.
That night, he wrote to his mother and told her about his new job and the village. He made only a passing mention of the Coopers, including them in a list of families who’d invited him into their homes. The letter sealed, he lay back on his bed. For the first time since he’d gone on the road, he felt a burning desire to return home, to try again with his father, to see his mother and ask her about his feelings for Marian.
The next Sunday, he saw Marian at the church. When Frank would’ve walked down the steps, she laid a gloved hand on his arm. He paused, his eyes going from her somber face to that of her father. Reverend Cooper didn’t hesitate to offer him an invitation to dinner.
“I appreciate it, sir, but I couldn’t impose—”
“Nonsense, ” Reverend Cooper interrupted with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been remiss in our duty to you, young man. Only the other day, Mrs. Cooper asked how you were getting on. Come to dinner and set her mind at rest.”
“If you insist…”
He didn’t look at Marian during the short walk to the house. Once inside the parlor, he sat across from Reverend Cooper and answered his questions about work. “This is a fine town, ” he assured the older man. “I feel as if I’m already part of the community.”
Reverend Cooper beamed. “Wonderful place, Winston. When I left the seminary, I realized immediately that this was where I wanted to raise my family.” He reached over and touched Marian’s hands. “My family is second only to God, Frank. I hope you feel the same way.”
Startled, Frank wondered if the reverend referred to his feelings for Marian. After a moment’s reflection, he decided the older man was questioning Frank’s relationship with his own family.
“I’ve written my mother about my situation here, ” he mumbled, glad that in this, at least, he could tell the plain truth.
“Good, good.” Reverend Cooper released Marian’s hand as Mrs. Cooper announced the meal.
When dinner was over, Frank excused himself, ignoring the frustrated look Marian sent his way. He couldn’t sit in the parlor again, not with her father watching him. Even though he was sure the earlier comments were just ordinary conversation, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that a warning had been implied.
The next Friday, Adam invited him home for dinner. The entire family greeted him, and he recognized several friends of the Bates children already sitting at the table. After a filling meal, he joined the large brood around the piano, letting his tenor mingle with the bright voices of the Bates family. They sang round after round of song. When they broke into “Button Up Your Overcoat, ” the group roared as Mrs. Bates tugged at his top button before kissing his cheek and sending him home for the night.
Whistling, he pushed open the gate at Widow Bartlett’s house. She was gone for the weekend, which meant he had the entire house at his disposal. No new tenants had arrived to rent the other spare rooms and he relished the thought of several hours to himself.
Loosening his tie as he entered his room, he frowned at the sight of a letter on his bed. He tossed his tie over a chair and picked up the envelope. Seeing his mother’s firm handwriting, he slit it open, then pulled out the single sheet.
She wanted him to come home. The people he mentioned sounded like good company, she wrote, but wouldn’t he rather be with his family?
“We miss you, all of us. Even your father wants you home.”
He dropped the letter on the bed and stretched out, his legs crossed at the ankles. Was that true? He couldn’t remember anything but arguments with his dad in the years before he left. Everything he’d done had upset his father—his friends, the job he’d pursued, his grades. His mother and older sister had often stepped in to stop the two of them from fighting. He couldn’t remember a single relaxing evening such as the one he’d just spent with the Bates family.
Something struck his window and he sat up, frowning. He heard the faint rattle again and crawled off the bed, yanking the curtain aside and peering into the deepening gloom.
“Frank?” A throaty whisper spilled into the open window.
“Marian?” He leaned on the ledge, unable to distinguish her shape from the shadows in the yard.
“Please, Frank, come outside.”
She met him at the bottom of the steps and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Frank!”
He disentangled himself from her hold, then led her into the protection of the large oak trees surrounding Mrs. Bartlett’s property. Even though his landlady was away, anyone walking by the house would be able to see them. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Father. Oh, Frank!” She flung herself back into his arms. “He says it’s time for me to get married and he’s already picked out my husband!”
“Get married? Isn’t this rather sudden?”
She hiccupped and he could feel her nod. “I turned eighteen on Tuesday and he decided I’m old enough.”
Frank leaned back until he could see the outline of her face. He traced her cheek with his thumbs, wiping away the tears. “And who has he selected?” he asked quietly.
“Martin Applethwaite.”
Frank frowned, trying to place the name. Was it one of the men who’d come into the feed store? After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t know him.”
“You wouldn’t.” She sniffled and he took out his handkerchief, waiting while she blew her nose. “Father met him when they both attended a special session at the seminary last year, and they’ve been writing to each other ever since. Mr. Applethwaite wrote that he’s coming to visit next month. He’s a widower and I don’t know if they hatched this plan together or not, but Father’s determined that I’ll be his next wife.”
Her voice rose in a loud wail, and Frank gathered her close to muffle her words. “Marian, surely you can talk to your father. Who knows? Besides, maybe you’ll like this Appleton guy.”
“Applethwaite, ” she corrected with another hiccup. “And I don’t like him. He’s old, Frank, almost forty, and he smells, and he never stops talking. Anyway, I don’t want to marry him. I want to marry you.”
Frank’s heart pounded. Marian lifted her head. “What’s the matter, Frank? Don’t you want to marry me? Isn’t that why you’ve stayed in town, so we could get to know each other better?”
“Well, it is. But marriage…Marian, I can’t offer a wife very much.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s all right, Frank, I don’t need very much. But I refuse to marry someone my father chooses for me.”
“He wants you to be happy.”
“Why are you agreeing with Father?” Marian stared at him, her eyes almost black in the fading light. “Do you want me to marry another man? I thought you loved me.”
Her declaration echoed in his ears. Did he love her? He’d never said the words. But why was he staying in the area?
She struggled to get out of his arms and his hold tightened. “Marian…”
“No, let me go! I thought you’d help me because you cared about me. But I guess I was wrong.” She pulled free of his grasp and stepped away, her chest heaving with each angry breath. “I should’ve realized what was happening when you never came over to the house.”
“But, Marian, how could I? What would I say to your father?”
“You could ask permission to court his daughter.”
One corner of Frank’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “And of course your father would’ve accepted me with open arms. I’m just the man the reverend Cooper would want for his only child—a salesman who appeared on his doorstep one day.”
She stamped her foot. “You’re the man I love, Frank Robertson. Isn’t that enough?”
Oh, Marian, darling, he wanted to say, you’re such a sweet child, with your dreams of romance, flowers, candlelight. At least your father understands marriage requires more than that.
His lips tightened. Would this widower give her the romance she needed? Or was he just looking for a drudge to care for his house?
“Marian, does Applethwaite have any children?”
She nodded against his shirtfront. “Two boys. Father says they’re absolute angels.”
Frank grimaced. Usually when two boys were described as angels, they were either the exact opposite or dead bores. He couldn’t see Marian mothering either of them. No doubt these boys were hellions and the reason their father was going farther afield to find a wife.
“Marian, when is he coming?”
She must have sensed the change in him because when she spoke, her voice sounded stronger. “The end of August. His sister will be visiting him and he’s leaving the boys with her.”
A sure sign that the boys weren’t angels. The man was smart; he didn’t plan to ruin his prospects with his friend’s daughter by bringing the future stepsons with him.
“All right.” He bent down until his face was level with hers. “Dry your eyes and go home. Don’t say anything to upset your father but don’t agree to the marriage, either.”
She nodded and blinked several times. “What will you do, Frank?”
He wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t stand the idea of her with another man.
Her hand brushed against his cheek. “I do love you, Frank.”
He kissed her lips, then turned her toward the road. “Go home and stop worrying about this. Everything will work out.”
He watched her walk down the road, her shoulders drooping and her pace slow. His heart thudded in his chest. Short of marrying her himself, what could he do to save her from Applethwaite or someone else like him?
Disgusted with her father, he climbed the stairs and entered his small bedroom. When he sat down on the bed, a piece of paper rustled under his leg. He stared at the words his mother had written. Come home.
Home. He could pack his bags and catch the next train north. By tomorrow night, he could be back with his family, sleeping in his own room, eating his mother’s cooking. He could leave the traveling life, go to work for his father.
He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped behind his neck. If he went home with a wife, his father would have to see him as a man. He could rescue Marian and, at the same time, provide himself with a way to convince his father he’d grown up.
The next afternoon, he ran down the street as soon as the feed store closed. He bathed quickly, washing away the smell of grain and smoothing down his thick hair. Dressed in his new suit, he walked over to the Coopers’ house, his back straight and his lips clamped together.
Marian answered the door; when she saw him, her hand flew to her throat. “Frank, what are you doing here?”
“I need to see your father, Marian.”
Her eyes widened. He tapped one finger against her lips. “Trust me, Marian.”
She nodded and led him into the parlor. A few minutes later, her father joined him. “Well, young man, Marian tells me you’ve requested a few minutes of my time. What would you like to talk about?”
Frank took a deep breath. Now that the moment had arrived, he didn’t know what to say. He swallowed more than once before the words came out.
“Sir, I would like to marry your daughter.”
The words were soft but their effect was the same as if he’d shouted them. Reverend Cooper advanced on Frank, his normally placid features distorted. Frank took an involuntary step away from the fury in the older man’s face, then forced himself to stand still.
“Marry my daughter? How dare you? After the hospitality we’ve shown you, welcoming you into our home, finding you a job. Why, I should throw you from this house!”
Reverend Cooper strode around the room, hands clenched into fists at his sides, body rigid. Afraid to move, Frank watched in awe. He’d been prepared for some anger when Reverend Cooper realized what he wanted but he hadn’t been ready for the extent of the older man’s rage.
Reverend Cooper stopped by the window, his shoulders heaving. “I suppose my daughter told you about the proposal from Martin Applethwaite, ” he said without turning around.
“Yes, sir.”
“And no doubt you have some romantic idea of saving her from this fate.” The man’s words were heavy with sarcasm.
“That’s not my only reason for proposing.”
“No, I’m sure it’s not.” Reverend Cooper whirled around, his eyes narrowed and his hands still clenched at his sides. “She isn’t pregnant, is she?”
Frank gasped and his own eyes narrowed. “No, sir, ” he snapped. “You insult your daughter by implying she could be.”
Cooper’s lips were pressed tight. “At least that’s one worry I won’t have when she goes to Applethwaite.”
Frank took a deep breath, trying to restrain his anger. If he could calmly convince this man that he was the right choice for his daughter…
“Sir, Marian doesn’t want to marry Applethwaite. She loves me and wants to marry me.”
“And you? Do you love her?”
A sneer followed the word love. Frank stared at the man, then slowly nodded. “Yes, I do, sir. And I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”
“Happy! Bah!” Reverend Cooper turned back to the windows and placed one hand against the glass. “And what can you offer her? Applethwaite is a respected member of his community, a man already settled with a lovely home and two boys. What do you have?”
“I may not have a home yet, but Marian and I don’t need much. We’ll make our own way.”
Reverend Cooper shook his head. “Young love. Do you have any idea how many couples I’ve counseled after young love disappears? You barely know each other and have little in common. You breeze into town one day, see a girl who catches your eye, and fancy you’re in love.” He swung around, his hands more relaxed. “I’m doing you a favor, young man. Pack your bags and leave tonight. My daughter will cry for a few days and then, when Applethwaite shows up with his offer, she’ll be happy to marry him.”
Frank scowled at him. “Is that what you want for your daughter? A marriage without love?”
“I want my daughter to be secure.” He waved his hand around the room. “I’m old, Mr. Robertson, and I won’t be here forever. With Applethwaite, my daughter will be cared for. She won’t have to worry about her next meal.”
“I can take of her, ” Frank said stubbornly.
“How? You live hand-to-mouth. You came into town with all your belongings in one bag. Have you even saved a penny?”
Frank thought of all the money he’d sent to his mother. He would’ve had a tidy nest egg if he’d kept that money. But his father was stingy, and Frank had assumed he’d have years to start saving for himself.
His pride held him back from saying this. If the reverend had suggested they talk, man to man, about Frank’s prospects, his ability to care for Marian, he would’ve happily explained where his earnings had gone. But he would not let the man reduce him to begging.
“I forbid my daughter to marry you, Robertson.” Reverend Cooper’s voice was low and gruff. “Leave my house now and get out of town tonight.”
As Frank listened, the old man’s threat registered deep in his brain. He spun around and slammed out of the room.
He yanked open the front door, which crashed against the entryway wall. Behind him, he could hear Reverend Cooper’s furious voice calling for his daughter and wife. A couple stood on the sidewalk in front of the house; Frank brushed past them without an apology.
Once at Widow Bartlett’s house, he went over the confrontation again, pacing the long hallway. How dare that man refuse him! Who was he, anyway? Nothing but a small-town minister. And Frank had plenty of prospects. Wasn’t his father a respected businessman in Davenport, Iowa? Why, this little village would fit in one street of Frank’s hometown.
His breathing more normal, he sank onto a low bench and buried his head in his hands. After the scene in the parlor, he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Marian. She was probably locked in her room and Reverend Cooper was already informing the community of his edict. With his local influence, he’d be able to destroy Frank’s reputation. If Frank didn’t leave town tonight…
He would leave town. He’d pack up and leave on the next train. And Marian would be with him.
Summer 2004
“I’m going over to see G.G. and Grandpa.” Hannah stopped outside the guest room that her brother used during visits to their grandmother. “You coming?”
“I can’t.” He was digging through his suitcase. “I’m supposed to mow the lawn today.”
“Fine. Just don’t tell Grandma where I am.”
“What’s with the secrecy?” He tugged on the worn T-shirt he had unearthed. “And what are you going to tell Grandma when she asks why you’re taking her car?”
“I’m not taking her car.” She held up a purple bicycle helmet. “I’m riding Mom’s old bike. It’s not that far. And the exercise will be good for me.”
He followed her into the garage, where a dusty bike leaned against one wall.
Preston pulled the lawn mower out to the driveway. “You could mow for me—get your exercise that way.”
“Nice try.” She fastened the helmet and hopped on the bike. “I should be back before you finish mowing.”
The retirement development was a mile away. The property had once been on the edge of Lincoln but with the resurgence of building in the community, Winter Oaks was now just another part of the sprawling east end.
She parked her bike, then went inside the main building. Tiny cottages dotted the property. One had been Frank and Marian’s home when they’d first moved to the community. But after Marian’s hip fracture four years earlier, the family had encouraged them to move into the residence lodge, where they would have resources at hand if needed.
“Hi, Hannah.” The woman at the front desk gave her a big smile. “They’re in the sunroom.”
A long room opened onto the back lawn, which separated the more independent living quarters from the lodge. There were bright summer flowers along pathways wide enough for wheel-chairs, with several benches tucked among large old oaks. Floor-to-ceiling windows brought the outdoors inside for those who couldn’t go out or weren’t in an adventurous mood. Little groups of people sat in the sunroom, a few with books or newspapers. Several were gathered around a piano, where one elderly man was playing what Hannah recognized as a musical show tune.
Her great-grandparents sat at the other end of the room, near a table that could be used for family suppers. A newspaper was open on Grandpa Frank’s lap. His head was down, his glasses almost slipping from his nose, and Hannah suspected he’d fallen asleep.
Her impression was confirmed by G.G. “Don’t wake him.” Marian’s smile tightened a few of the wrinkles in her face. “He was reading me the most boring article about the city council’s last meeting. Why he thinks I’d be interested in that…” She shook her head in loving exasperation.
Hannah pulled a chair from the table and placed it next to G.G., careful not to wake Frank. “How long will he sleep?” His neck was crooked toward his chest and she didn’t want him to be stiff when he woke up.
“About ten minutes. He’s been dropping off to sleep like this for the last few weeks. The doctor isn’t worried, says it’s due to age.”
Hannah could hear the worry, though, in G.G.’s voice. And Grandpa Frank was ninety-six. “The staff here will keep track of him, G.G. You said yourself they’re very responsible. And he could just be tired. Or he could’ve bored himself to sleep with that article.”
She was rewarded by the soft chuckle that was one of her favorite memories. G.G. and Grandpa Frank had moved into the retirement village before Hannah was born. The short visits Hannah and her brother made to the complex were always full of special treats, movies on the big-screen television and walks through the grounds.
“So, why are you here, Miss Hannah-banana? Not that we aren’t happy to see you.”
“I think I’ve outgrown my nickname, ” Hannah muttered. G.G. gave another chuckle and patted Hannah’s hand. The touch was light and fleeting, like that of a butterfly landing on skin. “Darling, once you have a nickname in this family, it sticks. Do you suppose anyone will ever call me anything besides G.G.? Even your mother uses it now.”
Hannah grinned. She’d coined the nickname for her great-grandmother when she was little, trying to put her mouth around the longer name of Great-Grandma Marian. She’d recently learned to recognize her letters and when her mother showed her the name on a birthday card, Hannah had pointed out the two Gs. From then on, the great-grandchildren and soon the other relatives had started referring to Marian as G.G., distinguishing her from the other grandmothers in the family.
“Do you think you could just call me Miss Hannah instead?” she asked hopefully.
“I’ll try. Now, I can see purpose written all over your face.”
Hannah cleared her throat. If she didn’t want Grandma Anne to ask questions about her whereabouts, she needed to finish her errand and get back quickly. “It’s about your party.”
G.G. sat back in her wheelchair, her fingers twisting the crocheted lap rug that protected her legs from the air-conditioning drafts. “What party?” Her smile was gone and her eyes were blinking rapidly behind her glasses.
Hannah frowned, worried by G.G.’s agitation. Frank stirred in his sleep, as if aware of his wife’s discomfort. “For your seventy-fifth wedding anniversary, ” Hannah said slowly.
