A Love Story with a Little Heartbreak
Page 9
CHAPTER TEN
A couple of months passed. A nasty winter was underway, the one that everyone had predicted. It arrived earlier than usual, just as the farmers knew it would, and didn’t let go. It delivered its first snowfall in mid-October and several more week after week. It was a Halloween that the trick or treaters would never forget; every one of them was bundled up, with their costumes buried under layers of sweaters, which were encased under heavy woolen coats, which were knotted at the collar with woolen scarves to seal the heat in and protect young, vulnerable necks.
The snow wouldn’t melt; instead, it layered up through Thanksgiving and into December, with a fresh snowfall every week. No one was dreaming of a white Christmas; they were dreaming of just getting through the winter—a winter that hadn’t even hit the midway point. The prospect of five more months of snow actually scared a lot of people, especially the farmers. It could mean bad flooding in the spring. Snow was everywhere, piled high alongside every driveway and roadway, sometimes as high as twelve feet. The snow had become burdensome, although few could resent the crystalline beauty brought on by each new snowfall.
Carl returned to their apartment after stepping out for ten minutes. He left to get the car out of the garage and drive it to the front curb, where it was parked with the engine idling so that he could have the heat on and ready for their departure. Earl had kept the sidewalk clear of snow, making for a nice path from the building’s front door to the car. “Connie will like that,” he thought to himself, as he stepped up on to the walkway leading to the building’s front door. His breath vaporized around his head as he walked up the sidewalk to enter the building. The sun had set, and the beastly cold already had its claws out.
Carl stood in the center of the open door of their apartment, impatiently waiting for Connie. His tall, manly stature nearly filled the doorway, his coat on and a fedora perched on his head, its peak not far below the lintel of their door. He was looking rakishly handsome and ready to get the evening started. His love for her was measureless, and at this moment, it was palpable. He felt as he had often felt, like he could be content in life doing nothing more than holding her in his arms, but at the moment, they were running late for a big Christmas party forty miles away.
It was a big bash, all the way down in Fond du Lac, which was at the other end of Lake Winnebago. Big. Carl and Connie had spent many hours spreading the word among their friends. This party, to be held at a popular roadhouse just north of the town, quickly became the Christmas party of the season for their broad circle of friends, many of whom had been at their wedding the previous March. Connie and Carl loved their friends, and their friends loved them. They were the “it” couple, with endearing personalities and an entourage of friends that made them so alluring that everyone wanted to be around them.
Carl was tall, broad-shouldered, and handsome, with a charismatic presence that stopped every conversation when he entered a room, and Connie was very beautiful, although not in a big-city, stylish way. Hers was a natural, wholesome beauty that captivated every man who had ever looked into her golden hazel eyes.
They were a fun couple and laughed a lot in each other’s company. Carl had a terrific sense of humor and engaged everyone who came in contact with him. If there was anyone in a room that he didn’t know, you could bet he would befriend that person. Everyone said he was a great conversationalist, but if you asked Carl what made him that way, he’d kind of shuck it off and say, “All I do is ask people questions about themselves.”
Carl and Connie radiated warmth and had looked forward to this party all month. It was a chance to be with friends, many of whom they hadn’t seen since their wedding, and there wasn’t anything they liked more than being with dear friends. They loved their friends almost as much as they loved each other.
Carl, framed in the doorway, called into the apartment gently, in a sing-song voice, projecting his smooth baritone voice across their living room and down the hallway through the open bedroom door. “Connie… I’m missing you. We have to go, sweetheart!”
“Coming Carl… be there in a minute!” she called out, in a voice so loving that Carl’s impatience melted and was replaced by the anticipation of seeing his beautiful wife all dressed up for the evening.
A minute later, Connie floated out the hallway and across the living room, dressed in a black cocktail gown with long sequined sleeves and high heels that would make them the tallest couple at the party. She was radiant.
Connie opened the closet door and reached in for her coat. “You know, Carl,” she said, smiling and looking beguiling, “tomorrow will make it one year since we met.”
Carl stepped into the room and helped her with her coat. “Yep,” he said, “December fifteenth last year at The Manitowoc Hotel—a day that will live in infamy.” He laughed at his words, which mimicked Roosevelt’s statement just after the Japanese viciously bombed Pearl Harbor. Connie ignored it. He slipped her coat up her awaiting arms and stepped into her back, putting his arms around her from behind. He leaned forward, his lips moved to her cheek, and whispered, “I remember… I saw you at the edge of the dance floor, and you took my breath away,” and then started nibbling at her ear, “and you still do, baby.”
“Carl, stop that! You’re messing up my hair.” She wriggled free of him.
He stepped into the open doorway again, placing one foot into the hallway, and turned to look at Connie, as she paused at the mirror that was built into the antique coat caddy just off the front door to look into it for one last double check of her makeup and to assure herself that her lipstick was perfect.
Carl looked at her adoringly as she leaned toward the mirror and pushed a strand of hair from one perfect location to another.
It was at that very moment, the moment that Connie altered the placement of a few strands of her blonde hair, when her eyes locked into the eyes of the image staring back at her in the mirror, her image. The image had an intensity she wasn’t feeling, and suddenly it spoke to her, although her own face remained perfectly still. It said, “You will never see me again.”
Carl saw her face unexpectedly register a momentary and entirely unexpected look of shock, as she froze, perfectly motionless, in front of the mirror. “What is it, sweetie? Are you all right?” he asked, perplexed and concerned because obviously something just happened to her. And then whatever had induced that inexplicable look on her face passed as quickly as it had appeared.
Connie said nothing, letting several seconds pass. She had no explanation for what had just happened to her and wasn’t sure it had even happened. The words from her reflection certainly didn’t make any sense to her. She regained her composure and turned to Carl, who was standing four feet away, waiting for her. “It’s nothing, Carl,” she said, excising that most strange occurrence out of her mind as nonchalantly as plucking a strand of fallen hair from her shoulder.
She turned from Carl and glanced into the mirror again, seeing nothing but the beautiful face of a young woman radiating happiness because she was going to a party with the man she loved. “Come on, honey, let’s go or we’ll be late!” With those words, they walked into the hallway, locked the door behind them, and officially began their evening out. It was Saturday, December 14, 1946. It was only until sometime later that she came to understand the meaning of those words that had come from the mirror.
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