She picked up her stool. “What was Owen’s favorite spot?”
“Tried ’em all, but he attracted fish wherever he perched. Kept me on my toes.”
She flashed him half a smile, but her eyes didn’t fill, as they had for so long. She walked a few steps and settled her stool in the sand. The upward curve of her nose below her dark, arched brows struck Al as particularly perky. It was hard to catch her lately when she wasn’t worn out from work.
“Choose your weapon.” He held out four poles, but berated himself. Why did he mention weapons, when that might bring up a bad memory about Bill?
But she didn’t seem to notice and chose an old bamboo rod he’d kept in his shed forever, most likely inherited from his father. Just like Dottie not to take a newer, shinier one.
He held out the bait can and she hooked a worm with her forefinger. “Need any lures?”
“Do you think so?”
“Some swear by them, others say fish know artificial when they see it.”
“Hmm. Maybe I’ll stick with the worm.”
Al attached a silvery lure above his worm. You never knew what would work. It all depended on…luck? No, the time of day had a lot to do with success, and the weather. But some people just plain had an uncanny “feel” for fish.
Squiggles marked the water, and a slap sounded. He lowered his voice just above a whisper. “Maybe we came at the right time.”
Dottie, already scrunched over her pole, gave no answer. He cast his line far from hers. A bevy of crows announced disgust at the human invasion and flocked away. Serenity fell over the scene.
As always when he came here, knots untied inside Al’s gut. He tried not to think of anything in particular. Dot seemed content, so he let her be.
Nan never took to fishing. She didn’t like bugs, for one thing. The image of Dottie holding that wooly caterpillar in her palm surfaced. When Charlie and Bill needed a home for an injured squirrel, it ended up at Dottie and Owen’s, not with him and Nan.
Once, they found a baby cardinal fallen from its nest, dead by the time Al got home from work.
“We want to take him for show and tell on Monday, but he’s gonna stink if we don’t keep him cold. Think Mom will let us put him in the Frigidaire?”
Al knew the answer, and so did the boys. “Go ask Dottie.”
Sure enough, she let them. He hadn’t noticed before, but she had on a pair of Owen’s blue and white striped overalls, a red bandana sticking out the back pocket.
She swam in them, for Owen was nothing if not thick and muscular. Dottie…Al peered from under his hat brim. He supposed she was what men called “stacked” at a younger age. Shapely, he’d rather say, and she’d kept her muscles. Probably helped that she worked at Helene’s, although he’d rather she didn’t.
Helene rankled him. That woman watched her boarders’ mail like a hawk. A time or two when he delivered the mail after Owen got sick, he’d reminded her that letters were personal. Her shrewish look made him wish he’d thought better of it. He didn’t like the idea of Dottie slaving for a woman like that.
A southwest wind shook the pine branches—good sign. Even as he thought it, Dottie’s bobber went under. She reeled her line in a bit and slowly stood. “Oh look, Al—I think I’ve got one!”
Her tone electrified him. He hightailed it back to the pick-up. Why hadn’t he brought the net along in the first place? He felt behind the grimy seat for the long wooden handle, jerked it out and raced back. Not a moment too soon, for Dottie’s shoulders matched her taut line.
“You might have to bring it in…”
“You’re doing fine.”
He poised, net ready. Energy bounded through his limbs as if he’d snagged the fish himself. His insides tensed as he prayed the line would hold.
In another few seconds, Dottie brought up a glittering bluegill, about as big as they grew. The creature put up a fight, but she forgot all about being quiet.
“Oh my…can’t believe I actually caught one!”
“You do most everything pretty well, Dot.” Her dark eyes shone. She dipped the bucket into the pond so Al could deposit the fish into its new home.
“Wow—that was quick. We haven’t been here long at all.” Her fingers already searched the worm can for more bait.
“You hungry yet?”
“Yes, but I don’t want to stop. Let’s fish a while longer.”
A smile split his face. “You betcha, Dot. Sure thing.”
****
Al pulled in his third fish, Dottie her fourth. Her stomach complained, loud enough for him to hear a few feet away.
“Trying to tell me something?”
Dottie rubbed her middle. “Guess so. We can eat fast, can’t we?”
“Hooked on fishing?”
“Maybe so.” She re-baited her hook and propped her pole. “I’ll get the bag.”
She rolled a log near him, distributed the sandwiches, cheese, and cookies, grabbed her stool, and plopped down before he could gather his wits.
“You going to bless the food?”
“Sure.” He leaned his pole against a stump. “For health and life and daily food, Father in Heaven, we thank Thee. Amen.”
By the time he picked up a sandwich, Dottie already chewed a big bite. “Does this ever taste good—you make a fine sandwich, Al.”
“Thanks.”
She took a second bite and looked up at him. “What?”
“You’re quite the fisherman.”
“You picked the perfect spot. If the fish are biting, anybody can be quite the fisherman.”
“Give yourself a little more credit. Not everyone can bring in a fighting one.”
“Aw, my Grandpa taught me that years ago. I was afraid I’d forgotten how, but it came back, I guess.” Sunlight broke through low-hanging clouds and framed her dark hair. Out here in the fresh air, she looked younger.
“You’re a natural.” Al chomped into his sandwich and Dottie took another.
Across the pond, a loud splash alerted them. Voices wafted over.
“Kids trying to skip rocks. You ever learn to do that, Al?”
“A little. Not many flat enough around here. I got some good practice when I was stationed in France, though.”
“Where was that?”
“With the French Army near Saint-Mahiel.”
“How old were you?”
“Barely seventeen, but I was so tall, they believed me when I claimed an extra year.” Al shook his head. “Don’t know what I was thinking.”
A leaf floated by, home to some late ladybugs. “Actually, I do know—I was trying hard to please my dad.”
“He wanted you to go?”
“Strange, huh? When Charlie enlisted, I would’ve given anything to take his place, but my Dad wanted me to serve. Probably because he never got to, and someone drilled into his head that you weren’t quite a man if you’d never worn a uniform.”
“Um.” Dottie’s forehead furrowed, and Al wondered how much she knew about the war. By the time Owen entered, the worst of the fighting was over, but his decades of mail delivery, no matter what the weather, warranted a medal.
****
Mellow late-day sunlight profiled barren oaks and maples. Five minutes later, Bill’s face appeared in the water, gentle against the glow, tinged orange in the sunset. Mesmerized, Dottie sat motionless.
Al’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Sorry, Dot. I didn’t mean to bring up the war.”
His earnest expression touched her. She reached over and patted his wrist. “It’s all right.”
His eyes dropped to her hand. Cold tingles ran over Dottie’s shoulders, but she patted him again. “You’re a good friend. I…I just had a visitation from Bill.”
“A visitation?”
She drew a shaky breath. “That’s what Helene would say, and I don’t know what else to call it. I saw his face out there on the water. You ever have that happen?”
“Once or twice, with Nan.”
�
��It was as if Bill floated on the sparkles. He looked so kind and bright-eyed and young—a good way to remember him.”
Al’s admission evidenced his understanding. The knowledge took some time to settle in Dottie’s consciousness. She considered how Owen would have reacted and decided he might have scoffed at her.
Finally, she stirred. “I needed this. Thanks for bringing me.” She ate a cookie and unscrewed the water jar’s lid. “Care if I drink out of this?”
“What choice do you have? I forgot to pack glasses.” His shy grin endeared him.
“But you did great with the food.” Dottie wiped away a dribble tracking down her chin. “Well. We’d better get back to the reason we came.” She took another cookie. “You make these yourself?”
“No. I can see my way through the basics, but cookies are beyond me.” A flush crept above Al’s khaki shirt collar. “Henrietta Perry brings me baked goods pretty regular.”
“Ah.”
“It’s criminal, letting her feed me, but she doesn’t seem to get the hint.” He broke into a wide smile.
“Guess I can’t see that it does much harm.” She moved her stool a few feet away, not as far as before. She might have added, “Everyone needs to feel they’re needed.” Instead, she bent to her pole.
****
“Want me to help clean our catch?”
“Nope, not unless you really want to. I’ve developed a system.”
“Thanks again, Al. I’ve discovered a new hobby.”
“Want some fish for supper tomorrow night? You working late?”
“No. I mean yes. I’m not working late. And there’s nothing I like better than a fish fry.”
“Don’t bring a thing. We’ll eat around six, all right?” He swept his hat in a grand gesture.
“Okay.” She took a few steps and turned back. “I still can’t believe how many we caught, can you?”
“I’m not too surprised. My Daddy used to quote a little fishing rhyme:
When the wind is in the north
the fish will not go forth.
When the wind is in the east
the fish will bite the least.
When the wind is in the west
the fish will bite the best.
When the wind is in the south
the bait goes in the mouth.”
Dottie’s laugh tiptoed down Al’s backbone. He hadn’t heard it in a long while, and before he knew it, he joined in.
“You’re brimming with poetry. Let me know the next time your weather vane points in the right direction.”
“All right, Dot. Thanks for coming along.” She swung around the front fender, and Al followed her progress to the back door.
Dinner with Dottie tomorrow night…Al wanted to lay on the truck horn in triumph. A misty sun turned an outrageous persimmon before dropping over the world’s edge. A tune he hadn’t whistled for ages barreled from his lips. He couldn’t recall all the words, but the title was “I Only Have Eyes for You,” and Nan liked to dance to it.
Normally, he used a sawhorse and plank table out in the driveway, but in the twilight, he brought the fish into the back porch to filet and carried the remains to his burn barrel—couldn’t have that river smell when Dottie came over. The sky looked brighter and closer tonight. He whispered thanks toward the heavens.
“Tomorrow, I’ll air out the house and clean the floors. I’ve got a guest coming to dinner—a very special guest.” His whistle pealed out again. He simply couldn’t help himself.
Chapter Four
“Now, girls, I want you to deep-clean the whole house by week’s end.” Helene’s bosom ballooned as she sucked in a big breath. “I suppose you saw the notice on the grocery store bulletin board? The Presbyterian Church invited some traveling singers and their wives to town on Saturday night, so I want everything spiffy.”
She craned her neck toward Bonnie Mae. “You’ll scrub and dust the parlor, dining room, front hall, and the whole upstairs.”
“They’re going upstairs?”
Helene’s lips curled. “It’s none of your business, but one couple has rented number six, and the others may ask to see the rooms. I want to be ready. These men travel the area regularly, and they draw a big crowd. I bet even some of the Holy Rollers from the Gospel Hall will sneak into the performance.”
Helene’s sneer encompassed her entire face—squinched eyes and mouth, drawn forehead and raised chin. “Can’t have music in their own church, don’t you know, but don’t mind slipping in to borrow someone else’s.”
Bonnie Mae’s eyes bugged out, and Dottie shot her a look. If that girl could just keep her mouth shut, she’d be a lot better off.
“Who knows? Maybe the singers will invite some folks over here afterwards. The best advertising is a sparkling house and word of mouth.”
“Word of mouth…then you oughta be rich.” Bonnie Mae’s mutter reached Dottie, and she held her breath. But Helene heard, too.
“What was that?”
“Oh, nothing. I’ll get started.” Bonnie Mae strolled toward the parlor, her skirt tight against her hips. A blue and white polka-dot scarf kept her brilliant red curls contained. She’d neglected to button the top button of her everyday white blouse, even though Helene told her to earlier.
“Would you want me to make a coffee cake and an extra pot of coffee in case they do invite people in?”
“No. No use wasting ingredients if they don’t show up.”
Dottie thought how happy the boarders would be for a late night snack or breakfast treat, but held her tongue.
Helene drummed her fingers on the kitchen table. “I’m being nice to that girl, so how does she repay me? Did you catch her smart-mouthed comment?”
Dottie mumbled something about getting to work, and bent to a tottering old pots and pans cabinet that had seen better days. She started pulling out specimens, most in need of repair after years of use. She had no desire to get involved in a family fight. Hopefully, Helene would soon go downtown to get her hair done or something.
“Now, Dorothy, I know you have an opinion, but you’re too well-behaved to speak. You’ve surely noticed her mouthy backtalk, haven’t you?”
Dottie wracked her brain for a noncommittal comment. “How old is Bonnie Mae, anyway?”
What Helene called her “pancake make-up” deposited tiny globules in her wrinkles as she pondered. Dottie could certainly see where the stuff got its name.
“Why, my sister was—let’s see—not even sixteen yet when she had Bonnie. Shameful, don’t you know? Felicity’s condition, even though Mother hid it, wrecked our once-happy family. Felicity cried all the time. Of course, I didn’t understand what was going on. I thought my sister had some dread disease.”
So, Bonnie Mae wasn’t Helene’s younger sister? Dottie couldn’t remember Felicity quitting high school.
“How did your mother keep such a secret in a small town like this?”
“You don’t recall Felicity down with the whooping cough for part of a winter? Your Millie’s about her age—I bet she’d remember.”
“Felicity was a few years older, I believe. Those days, I was running after children—I didn’t get out much, and really didn’t know your family at all.”
Helene eyed the ceiling. “Running after children—the way women spend their lives!” She harrumphed and smoothed her hairdo.
Dottie followed her upward glance to two patches near the north outer wall where water leaked in during a driving rainstorm. Helene really ought to have someone check the roof.
“That awful birth took place in the room next to me. I still remember Felicity’s screams—that girl never had an ounce of self-control, don’t you know? Suddenly, we had a baby bawling at night. Daddy couldn’t stand to stay in the house evenings—he married old, and the noise and commotion wore on him something terrible. Mama aged overnight, that’s the gospel truth. And me—well, nobody paid any attention.”
Obviously, Helene needed to pour out her frustrations, and th
at Dottie could handle. She emptied one shelf and started another. Helene took a seat at the table and wagged a painted fingernail in her direction.
“Your Cora and Bonnie Mae are close in age, aren’t they?”
“They were several years apart in school.”
“From the beginning?”
Dottie tried to remember, and suddenly, it came to her when Bonnie Mae became trouble for little Cora. Mrs. Marias was Cora’s teacher, so it must have been second grade. Cora was giggly and bubbling with life when for no particular reason, Bonnie Mae started harassing her. Then Dottie found out that that runny-nosed, loud-mouthed snippet terrorized younger girls whenever she had the chance.
“As if being born that way wasn’t enough, Bonnie Mae flunked fourth grade, to add to our family’s shame.”
Ah yes. Now Dottie remembered—a child couldn’t repeat a grade without the whole community knowing, and the mark followed them forever. She ran a pail of hot soapy water to clean the shelves.
“Cora must’ve known her, school being so small. Surely they played together on the playground?”
An uneasy feeling sashayed through Dottie’s chest. Why would Helene be so intent on finding a connection? Better to keep her mouth shut on that score, so she asked a question instead.
“Didn’t Bonnie Mae live somewhere else for a while?”
“Um hum. Felicity ran off to Nebraska with some tramp, but then she brought Bonnie Mae back. Mama treated her like an only child, a spoiled brat.”
A pan lid slipped from Dottie’s grasp and clattered to the floor. She set it inside a semi-matching pot, but Helene seemed not to notice. She leaned over her chair to Dottie, on her hands and knees now, purging the lower cupboard with a wet rag.
“Mama sort of lost her mind, don’t you know, all on account of that girl. Mama made umpteen trips to the principal’s office because of her antics. Once, the pastor even made a special call to our house. I was never so humiliated.”
“So…what does Bonnie Mae know about all of this?”
Helene’s head bobbled back and forth. “Who knows? And what does it matter?”
Dottie wrung out her rag and reached farther back, like a cow straining under a fence for grass. Mixed scents clung to the old piece of furniture—dust, flour, even a tinge of vinegar. The roomy space, dented and neglected, revealed several attempts at renovation.
In This Together Page 3
