The noise picked up considerably the closer they got to the hall, which adjoined the church but wasn’t strictly connected with it. The big old timber-framed building was a community project, and Hank had put a little labour into it himself. Once he’d built his own place and a few folks had seen it, everyone thought he was an expert.
Judging by local standards, he might very well be. The better houses around them didn’t look much different from what he had, and the poorer ones were definitely inferior work.
“Hello.” Hank nodded politely at a couple, who looked darned familiar but he couldn’t put a name to them.
The lady’s eyes took them in and Hank resolved to be polite above all else, but she said nothing.
The fellow stuck out a hand and they shook quickly.
“I haven’t seen you in ages, Hank.” The fellow took him by the left arm. “You really ought to stop around more often.”
Polly gave a tug on Hank’s other arm as she was anxious to get to the dance.
Hank tipped his hat and wondered about it at the same moment. He hadn’t been to a dance in ten years or more, and as he recalled they did have a row of pegs and places to hang things right by the door. It was a good hat and he didn’t want to lose it.
There was a small throng at the door, and the screech and wail of the band tuning up came out through the opening. The buzz of talk from inside the place was marvelous to hear, far different from worship, or even the quiet mutter of Greg’s Hotel.
“Who was that, anyway?”
“Oh. You mean Mister and Missus Murdock.”
“That’s right, Gerry Murdock. And Cynthia.”
“That’s them.” She took a long look at him. “You really should get around more often!”
They chuckled at that. Three or four people moved on in, and then it was their turn.
Hank bought two tickets for two dollars from a bored-looking young man with slicked-back hair. The fellow tore them in half and gave him the stubs, eyes taking in Polly with some familiarity.
Her eyes were demure, and she didn’t seem to want any part of the fellow, which Hank agreed with for his own reasons. The guy didn’t look too tough, when you got right down to it—no one in town really did, but Hank, all of a sudden, sort of wondered at the possibility of trouble or unpleasantness. The thought of someone making the wrong kind of remarks made his stomach tense up.
Hank nodded in as genial a fashion as he could muster, and they went in with eyes lifted to the far end, where there was a small stage and several colourful figures with instruments deployed but not actually making music yet. Two of them conferred centre stage and Hank thought he knew them both. The room was about fifty metres long, and about half as wide, and in this light his eyes weren’t the best. He’d left the glasses in his saddle-bags for safekeeping. He didn’t need them that bad.
These boys had the hillbilly outfits down perfectly, and he grinned at the sight.
Above their heads the trusses and roof beams were exposed, displaying the smoke and grease of many years. It was the same old place, all right.
It seemed like quite few people were looking at them, but the majority ignored them and for that Hank was grateful.
Of course all the young bucks would wonder, but hopefully they would keep their thoughts to themselves. On that score, Hank had just as much right as anybody. A bit of liquor loosened tongues, he knew that from personal experience. Even sitting at home alone he sort of opened up and spoke his mind once in a while. It could be surprising what came out sometimes.
“Well.” She turned to shrug off her knitted wrap, for the nights could get cool even in mid-summer and it always rained or drizzled, sooner or later.
Her glorious hair, jet black and hanging down below her waistline, contrasted starkly with her smooth, rounded shoulders and bare arms. Her lacy black gloves riding up over the elbow were pure elegance.
His jaw kind of dropped involuntarily but he put it back up as quickly as he could.
They’d already had a couple of drizzles today, although the sun had kept popping out.
“You look good, Hank.” He was wearing his new shirt and his best jacket, a grey linen one, woven of thick threads with a smattering of other yarns in it, blue, grey, charcoal, even a few odd pink and yellow ones.
“Who, me?” He regarded her with dead-pan expression. “I’m saving this to be buried in.”
She threw her head back and laughed, patting him on the upper arm.
“Ah, thank you. You look wonderful…Polly.” Her eyes lit up a little and she smiled, cocking her head to one side. “The belle of the ball, in my humble opinion.”
She twirled in front of him.
“Oh—you think so?”
He just had to laugh.
“Yes—I do.”
Yes, he surely did.
This might go all right, one never knew. All he had to do was sort of loosen up a little and go with the flow. This shouldn’t be so hard. But for whatever reason, it was.
Hank had danced with women before, a lot of single males showed up at the dances. Married men had learned to sit back and be polite when someone asked their wives to dance…it was a question of socializing. A man couldn’t take it too personal, although from time to time there was trouble, usually started by some drunk who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Or yes, in the case of a drunken husband. He cast the thought aside.
He took her hand after hanging up her wrap, putting his hat on the peg beside it. The crowd swelled, and another bunch of strangers came in the door, with loud voices and faces oddly darkened as if by sunburn. They were all young and muscular, looking pretty fit and wearing matching uniforms, Imperial working outfits being common to all ranks.
His heart began to thud deep in his chest just at the very sight of them.
Strangers.
They ignored Hank and Polly, and headed off to the front in a gaggle, no doubt looking for the bar by the sound of them.
“They still have a bar here?”
“Of course.”
Hank peered off over the tops of heads as there were at least a hundred people already there and there was one big clump of folks in the far right corner. That must be the bar, it was more or less in the same spot he remembered it.
Just then a man Hank thought was Glenn Scranton stepped up to the front of the stage. In a deep and lustrous voice, and with the band easing up into the tune, he warmed up the early comers with an old love song, holding his hand over his heart and swinging his hat wide in the other hand.
With the lanterns lit and all doors and windows open, the room was still warm and smelled of many different perfumes, beer and tobacco. A couple of young kids ran past, playing tag and Hank grinned. It was always the same.
“How about a slow dance, just for starters, or do you want to have a drink first?” The local wine wasn’t bad, it was made from small pink clustering berries that grew on shaggy-barked bushes that always seemed to sit at the base of a hill where they could get the most runoff, and yet the land never flooded, being partway up a valley wall.
Hank hadn’t had a beer in a few days, but he might try the wine. He’d pretty much ruled out whiskey for his own part, but some of the folks would no doubt be having it. These shindigs tended to peak at a certain psychological moment, when people were half-lit but still in control and it wasn’t time to go home yet.
“Sure. Then we can mingle a bit.” Smiling, Polly raised an arm and Hank took the proper stance.
She was light and supple in his arms and she knew how to dance. The urge to stare at her constantly must be avoided, and so he kept his eyes neutral, up a bit, and aware of their surroundings. All he wanted to do at this point was to dance successfully and steer clear of collisions.
He’d always kind of figured she would know how to dance.
Chapter Fourteen
The Wild Reel Called Far Out Into the Night
The fiddle and the rest of the band were getting into it, and the wild reel called far ou
t into the night.
Four hundred shuffling feet sort of pushed it into the background, but the sound came through. More couples moved out onto the floor under the dim light of lanterns, upon recognizing the song. It was an old standby, one that went back centuries.
“Swing your partner, round and round.”
The rhythm was good and they knew how to play their instruments. The band was on to their second drink, bottles and glasses stationed here and there on spare stools and such.
Polly, her eyes flashing and her hair spinning, whirled around on the end of his up-stretched arm.
Their feet shuffled and couples all round them whirled and twirled to their own time, a unique time sometimes, but the young soldiers right next to them had never done this dance before. They tried to watch and follow along.
They were giving it their best, but collapsed in giggles halfway through the song and decided to leave the floor, and right beside them were two more soldiers, girls in their sock feet dancing merrily away without a care in the world. It was kind of surreal, if that was the proper word for it.
Hank was getting used to the sight of them by now, and anyways it was all he could do just to focus on the dance, his own demeanor, and on Polly.
“Round and round and round we go…”
“…will you waltz me ‘round the hall?”
Hank began nodding in an exaggerated fashion as the expected words came.
“Did you know you’re the belle of the ball?” Polly, blushing slightly, but her eyes not leaving his, bit her lip and then smiled gaily.
“Of course!” And she spun away and came back again, as his lifted arm signaled her moves.
She came in close and her breath was hot in his face, her smell clean and fresh in his nostrils, not cloyingly sweet but a combination of things, all soap and perfume and hair.
“When they call the last waltz, do you know what to do?”
His heart leapt strangely at the look in her eyes.
“Kiss your partner, kiss your partner…” Hank tried to look away, but found he couldn’t do it or they would crash.
She was giggling and snickering at his discomfort as the dance concluded and the band came to an abrupt halt, as befitted their amateur status. Not that they weren’t appreciated, for a round of applause came and one or two onstage acknowledged it, carelessly, in passing. There was brief talk up there as they considered what to do next, amid calls and suggestions from all over the dance floor. Hank clapped along as well, grateful for a second to think.
Snuggling quietly as the pair made their way off the floor, Hank cleared his throat.
“Sorry, I forgot about that last part.”
She chuckled, taking a good hard look at his face.
“Sure you did. Anyways, I guess there’s nothing else for it.” And she stopped, turned and faced him, up close, brushing up against the front of his trousers and holding onto his hips.
Taking her in his arms, he looked down in sheer, miserable wonder, but her eyes were closed and her head was tipped back and if that wasn’t some kind of signal, then he sure as hell didn’t know what one was.
With an even deeper sense of wonder, he carefully planted a kiss on those strawberry-red lips and, closing his eyes, drank of this moment to the full, only opening his eyes to see her staring up at him, calmly but also sort of appraisingly. She was totally relaxed and seemed comfortable in his grasp. Her own hands went roaming up through what was left of his hair and clasping at the nape of his neck…he hadn’t kissed a woman in twenty or so years.
The whole world sort of came to a stop. When it picked up to the normal level, it was somehow muted as if things would never be quite the same again.
“Why thank you, sir. That was lovely.” She smiled impishly up at him, secure as it seemed in her power.
Hank didn’t move a muscle, it was like he couldn’t…or maybe he just shouldn’t. Not just yet.
She just stood there, waiting in his arms, as the band picked up a new number…he didn’t know what to do.
“Oh, boy. Are we in trouble now…”
Hank stared into those eyes and could not help but agree.
***
Patricia Kane made some kind of remark and Newton noted it for future reference. Something about everyone else got to go. When Jeff Roy sort of disappeared for a while and had no good explanation upon his return, Newton looked at his watch.
“Gentlemen, and lady.” They regarded him with bland faces and secret thoughts.
“Kane and Roy stay with the trucks. Oscar and Barnes come with me—full kit, weapons loaded but not cocked, full safety, and helmet visors up.” The faces showed it.
More boredom, more work, more bother. They were all big, tough soldiers, a ludicrous notion in Barnes’ case, and they didn’t like it. Still, there was nothing else on. He could read them like a book sometimes.
“You in the vehicles can listen to music, fall asleep, talk to each other on the radio. However, I would prefer if you would keep an eye on us. We’ll be going live in a minute or so. Please don’t wander off, okay?” This was for Roy’s benefit.
He looked at his small detail, the only law and order for three hundred kilometres in any direction and smiled. There was some irony in the situation, any man could see that. There wasn’t likely to be much trouble. He was sort of itching to see what the locals did on a Saturday night in a hopping town like this.
People had come and gone from the dining room. The bar had a few patrons, most looking bored as hell but obviously not the dancing sort. Every population had a percentage that were serious drinkers.
They would be here every day, and sort of keep the place going, and vice versa.
“Let’s go.” Newton turned and stepped out the door and down the walk and out into the darkness of the street.
“Kane?’
Her response came promptly in his headpiece.
“Sir?”
“Can you see anything?”
“Ah. A couple of lights. Not much otherwise.”
“It will get better when we get indoors again.” He went on for the benefit of the troops. “At least we’ve confirmed the system is up.”
The dance hall was two blocks away according to his information and this had been confirmed by quick directions from Mrs. Gregory. He turned left down the street and followed the predominant noise.
Gravel crunched underfoot and local talk was mostly grateful for a dry spell. Newton was grateful for it as well, it was the first time they’d had a chance to see the country in its glory, for surely that’s what it was—a vast, green panorama, in fact reminding Newton of brochures and advertising posters in a train station, as he recalled. Those posters were for other worlds, and enough people flocked to them…the night was pitch black at the end of the street, which trailed off into nothing, just blackness and stars coming right down to the tree-tops.
They turned right and up ahead, light spilled into the street, revealing a fair number of folks, none of them apparently armed according to his reading. They were just milling around and loitering and talking away in front of a brightly lit doorway. The music was interesting, a fit backdrop to the dark of the night, the cold blue pinpricks of the stars in the sky and a faint glow in the southeast to show where a moon would soon appear.
Something primeval and atavistic stirred deep within him. It really was an adventure, he supposed. That was one way of looking at it.
Someone spotted them, and the talk quieted suddenly, they all turned and looked, and then the talk picked up a little artificially in volume again.
“Oh! I can see things now, sir.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Thank you, Shapiro out.”
A minute passed.
“Good work.” There was a perceivable smile in his voice as Newton said it.
The four of them chuckled and mumbled back and forth but it subsided quickly enough. Too many people on live microphones required a fair amount of both discipline and discretion. In that
sense, this bunch wasn’t so bad—they were sort of in the doghouse and they knew it, but he was pretty easy on them and the shift had to end at some point. They were just people.
That was one way of looking at it. The three of them marched along at a comfortable pace past lit and unlit buildings, some of them little more than walls, gable ends and nothing but tent-cloth for a roof. The odd fabric roof glowed from some small inner light. Probably tallow candles or oil lamps, and he wondered just how often these small towns burned down. The place at its best had a certain picturesque beauty of its own, or so Newton was finding. It had just taken a while. It’s not that he would miss it, but Newton would certainly remember it. In that sense, it really was a kind of an adventure.
Travel broadens a man’s mind, or so they say.
“I hear music.” She was just trying to be helpful. “All three. Audio pickups are working well.”
Roy confirmed that he had them as well from the other truck.
“Yes, thank you.” The intervening thirty metres passed quickly enough and Newton raised a hand in greetings.
“Hello. Lovely evening.” He nodded pleasantly as one or two people responded politely enough, with his two crewmen behind with their weapons slung on their backs, looking out from under their smoky visors as if they didn’t have a care in the world.
It was better than sitting alone back in the trucks.
Pushing his way in through the crowd after a brief but unanticipated pause to buy tickets, Newton resolved to teach his people another lesson. He put the stubs into his side-pouch for later accounts.
The place was bedlam, but when people became aware of them, they moved back and shuffled aside readily enough. With the two of them literally right on his heels, he finally located the bar.
Off to their left, the dance floor only seemed less crowded as the wheeling, rotating mass of people danced. Some people were in shoes and some were in socks but they were all pretty nicely dressed, compared to some of what they had seen during the workday. The dancers passed by in a frenzy of some kind of unknown passion. He recognized his people here and there, oblivious to them so far and apparently having a good time.
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