And then the café—things had changed for her there, too. She studied the menu like a waif entering a rich uncle’s mansion for the first time. What should she order? The California hamburger sounded tasty, and french fries—did she dare? A time or two, Cora brought some home from her high school restaurant job. How long had it been since she’d tasted their salty goodness?
Al grinned at her over his menu. “Order whatever you want—the hardware’s paying. I hardly ever do anything like this, so it’s about time.” He smoothed the plastic-covered menu with his finger. “I think I’ll have the tenderloin sandwich—if I remember right, they’re the size of a dinner plate, with fries to boot.”
“I’ll have that, too.” She ate every French fry, but even with her good appetite, she couldn’t finish the tenderloin. The waitress wrapped half of her sandwich in a brown paper bag and today at noon, Dottie enjoyed it all over again.
She took a last look at the boarding house dining room, all ready for the meal, and sat down at the kitchen table. For once, nothing pressing came to mind. Bonnie Mae tramped up the steps, and, through the window, some sparrows twittered. Interesting how these recent good memories could lighten one’s frame of mind. Now, she didn’t get so upset with Bonnie Mae. And another thing—she could see that girl’s viewpoint as well as Helene’s.
Helene’s opinions, like the idea of throwing George out if he couldn’t pay, troubled her more and more. A solid determination grew inside her, even as Bonnie Mae shot her a fierce look passing through the kitchen.
“Bonnie Mae?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re right. I agree with you one hundred percent.”
The younger woman dropped her clothesbasket, pulled out a chair and faced Dottie, mouth agape and eyes round as pancakes. For once, her tongue failed her.
“I mean it, honey. I’m resolved not to let anything happen that would keep George from living here. At his age, where would he go?”
Bonnie Mae beamed and banged her fist so hard, the table bounced. “Attaway, Dottie!”
“Every man deserves a place to call home, even if it isn’t a real home.” Dottie almost added more of her sentiments. Even if it’s owned by a ruthless woman who cares more for her beauty shop trips and snazzy outfits than a fellow human’s well-being.
But she controlled her tongue. Her proclamation had already thrown Bonnie Mae into a state of shock.
****
By Tuesday night, George looked ten times better. Al took him a book about the history of trains, since he’d shown an interest in the miniature one that circled the interior of the hardware store, about eight feet up the wall. On their last visit, Al explained how that train ended up where it was, endlessly tooting its way around the store.
The story revolved around Del and little Charlie. Al’s delight at pleasing his boys became obvious as he described building the tall shelf and lifting the tracks and train cars piece by piece like a fire brigade from Charlie to Del, then up the ladder to himself. Dottie could feel Charlie’s exuberance when the last car found its place and Al flipped the ON switch he installed under the cash register where the boys could reach it at will.
On the visit before that, he brought a floor lamp, so George wouldn’t have to endure that piercing ceiling light. Dumbstruck at the sight of Al walking in with the lamp in his fist, George fumbled for words.
Now, Dottie and Al sat on either side of his bed while George thumbed through the train book, stopping at every picture. “Rode the best of ’em and the worst of ’em, too. Lived like a hobo for a while, when work got hard to find. Covered most of Missouri and southern Iowa in boxcars, I’d say.”
“You ate out over open fires?”
“Another fella and I buddied up, so it wasn’t that bad. Lotsa beans and bacon, sometimes biscuits and gravy, not so different from following the harvest out in Dakota.”
“Ever pass through Rolla?”
“Sure enough, more than once. Sleepy little town. You got people there?”
Al nodded. “Let’s see—my father’s cousin once removed—her daughter married a Rolla man. Now that I think of it, he worked the railroad. Yes, I do believe that’s right.”
“Don’t recollect the name of that one engineer down around there—he knew who we was, knew the train was our only hope of finding work. He was awful good to us.”
The exchange fascinated Dottie. Who knew, that engineer might have been Al’s relative. The world grew smaller by the day.
Before they left, George shook hands with Al. “Doc says I can go home on Thursday. Looks like I’ll get to ride a train again.”
“The train to Sternville? I don’t think so—I’ll be over to pick you up. What time can you leave?”
“Around noon, I guess. But I can take the—”
“Nope.” Al set his jaw, giving his reply an air of finality. “My old truck needs to be driven more. This’ll give me somewhere to go, and besides, I need to pick up this lamp.” He patted the brass pole with his long, slender fingers. “I’ll be here at eleven thirty, in case they let you out early.”
George lowered his eyes. “I don’t know how to thank you folks. Couldn’t believe it when you toted that big lamp in here the other day.” He gestured toward his basket of goodies. “Them cookies is awful, awful good, too.” He smacked his lips.
“Is there anything I can do for you at the house?”
George stroked his chin, glancing at Dottie in shy snitches and snatches. “I s’pect some bills might be comin’ in. Got money stored away—in a can way back on the closet shelf, on the right. Would you mind checking my mail?”
“I did overhear Helene say a bill came from Doc Schulz. Shall I bring your money over tomorrow?”
“If you don’t mind, would you go ahead and pay him? Just count out what’s needed and put the receipt in the can. I hate to be beholdin’ to any man. Don’t like the feelin’.”
Dottie and Al exchanged a look, since she’d told him about Helene’s comment on the way over. Al jammed his hand into his pocket and tapped his foot on the floor.
“I won’t forget. I’ll drop the money by Doc’s after the noon meal tomorrow.”
“Appreciate it. Maybe someday I can do somethin’ for you.”
“You never know, George. We all need each other in this tough old world.”
Al picked up his hat. “I suppose we’d better mosey back home. This woman’s got a job to get up for in the morning.”
The arched hallway’s lights hurt Dottie’s eyes, and the acrid scent of ether drifted from somewhere down the corridor. What would it be like to be a nurse here? Her mind catapulted to Bill. She knew no details, only that he was buried overseas. Maybe he died in a makeshift hospital. Mustn’t think about that right now—speculation did no good.
Al opened the door for her, and in the darker entryway, she composed herself. With him beside her, this narrow room didn’t bother her so much, and after the first night, she waited on the steps so they could walk through it together.
He was right—she needed her sleep so she could get up and work tomorrow morning. The truth of his words hung heavy over her. She’d sensed God’s guidance three years ago when Helene asked her if she’d be interested in working at the boarding house. But with such a bold, brassy winter, her body reacted more and more like an old bear, wanting less each day to traipse to work.
They drove toward Main Street, and Al turned toward her. “Want to stop and get something to eat?”
“Maybe not tonight, thanks. It’s getting awfully late.” Chugging along between fields of frozen cornstalks that glittered in the headlights, she knew she’d miss these trips. Freezing air rose from the hole in the floor, and her longing to stay home tomorrow increased with every mile.
Sequestered by the engine’s roar, she thought how things had altered since Bonnie Mae came. For one thing, she rarely had to maneuver her recalcitrant knee up and down the stairs any more. And an understanding had grown between them. She had come to like that
girl, at least most of the time.
Just went to show how you could learn from a person, even if you started out on the wrong foot. But Bonnie Mae’s forthrightness had broadened her perspective on Helene, too. The more Dottie studied the tip situation, the more she knew the girl was right as rain.
Should she keep working for a woman so set on increasing her profits, even at a loss to her employees? Didn’t silence imply approval of Helene’s tactics? Not one to upset the applecart, Dottie wished her discomfort would vanish, but she knew better. The simplest solution would be to quit her job—that would take her out of the picture.
But might that be a cowardly choice? She would still know what was going on, and it would trouble her. Besides, she would lose contact with George. And then there was getting up every morning—what would she do with all her time?
Al slowed for a corner, and in the brief interlude of quiet, revealed his thoughts. “Once George gets home, I’m going to visit him, Dot. Maybe he likes to fish. Or maybe he’d enjoy going to a high school basketball game. You think so?”
“What? Sorry, I was thinking about something.” He repeated his questions, and she paid more attention. There was no use trying to analyze all her conflicting feelings about her job right now, anyway. If God guided her to it in the first place, couldn’t he as easily guide her away?
As for the question of how to use her time, a longing thrummed inside her as Al’s trusty truck roared home. If she could—if there were some way—she would visit Cora in California. With those two sweet little grandchildren, she’d never have to worry about having something to do.
But even the thought of stepping into a train sent shivers through her. Visiting Cora would mean riding clear across this huge country. She’d gotten used to Al’s truck cab, true, but he sat right here beside her. Stay inside a train for several days and nights? She shook her head. Impossible.
Chapter Nine
Helene huffed into the kitchen. “George is back. Looks like he’s found himself a friend, too. Al Jensen’s out there in the parlor with him, acting as if they’re old pals.”
“That’s all right, isn’t it? I’ll take them some coffee.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, Dottie.”
“Why not?”
“If George gets in the habit of bringing folks here, who knows who he might haul home next? I don’t want every Tom, Dick, and Harry sitting in my parlor. Why, the next thing you know, that crazy old Eva Maloney who runs wild through town will find her way in here.”
Bonnie Mae jerked her head up. “I must not have heard you right. I thought you wanted to attract customers. Remember—word of mouth is the best advertising.”
Helene pointed her chin at the clock, high above the window overlooking the back yard. “I didn’t mean just any kind of customers. Surely even you know that.”
“There’s nothing wrong with Al Jensen—couldn’t find a more upstanding member of this community. You’re just too stingy to offer a decent man a cup of coffee.”
Electric current surged through Dottie. She wanted to add, “She’s right, Helene. Al Jensen isn’t just any kind of customer—he’s a solid citizen. Besides, this is George’s home. He ought to be able to invite a friend over if he wants to.”
Helene glared at Bonnie Mae. “Well, I never! You are the most obnoxious person I’ve ever known.”
Dottie could scarcely breathe. If ever a time came to intervene, it was now. Waves of trepidation gripped her throat, but she had to do something. She picked up the coffee pot and turned from the stove.
“Now, Bonnie Mae, I know Helene wouldn’t really mind me taking coffee in there, if she thinks this thing through. We keep a pot perking all day long, and it probably costs less than a penny a cup. We throw the extra out after supper, and you know how she hates waste.
“A man like Al Jensen, a bachelor, and a hungry one at that, might decide to start coming over here a few nights a week for supper. Better to eat with a friend than alone at home or in a restaurant. Wouldn’t that be good for business?”
She filled two cups with coffee. “Right, Helene? Waste not, want not is what you always say.”
“I do? Yes, I suppose I have repeated that a time or two.” The owner’s fleshy chin shook like the lemon Jello Dottie made for supper awhile earlier, although Helene eschewed such an expense. Knowing that Helene would be gone tonight and tomorrow, and rarely looked into the Frigidaire, Dottie whipped up the salad early this morning. She shredded in three carrots and added a can of pineapple rings, since George liked it that way.
With the two cups in hand, she cranked her neck around as she passed Bonnie Mae and Helene. The older woman struggled for words, but Bonnie Mae twisted her lips to the side and lifted her shoulders. For once, she aimed a considerable tide of respect in Dottie’s direction.
****
“And don’t forget, Mr. Mosely’s going to deliver the coal sometime later this afternoon.” Helene’s starched dark blue blouse and a new crème-colored suit belied the bitter cold outdoors. She put on her coat and hat, but Dottie knew she waited for confirmation.
“I’ll go down and open up the chute for him when I see him in the alley.”
“You can pay him out of the household account. The weather has been so cold these days, buying coal is like paying a fulltime worker.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Dottie kept her eyes on her potato peeling. Tonight, Helene expected three outside guests. With the regular boarders, that made six. And Helene was going to eat here too.
“That’s why I wore this new suit—what do you think?” She twirled in a circle, but had to grab the chair back to keep from tottering over on high heels that looked new, too.
“It’s fine.”
“I look great in this shade of blue, Dorothy, don’t you think? And the pearls…they’re real, don’t you know? I thought they added just the right touch.”
In no mood to support Helene’s fashion habit, Dottie gave a curt nod. She felt like saying, “Look at me—how many times have you seen this same dress in the past week? Do I look like the kind of person who’d be the least bit interested in fashion?”
Her boss put on her rubber boots and walked outside. Dottie got out the ingredients for mashed potatoes. She could never make too many—every single bite always disappeared, no matter how large the bowl. Even Helene didn’t know her secret recipe: she added a little chicken bouillon with the warm milk and melted butter. The mellow bouillon caused the other flavors to blend in a pleasing way.
People raved over the dish, and no one ever guessed its secret ingredient. Dottie didn’t even remember where she’d learned the technique…maybe from Nan.
Al’s whistle burbled from the parlor, where he and George played an afternoon round of checkers. She recognized the tune, a snappy song Cora used to hum when she came home from work. Something about eyes…having eyes for someone.
Ever since that day he brought George home from the hospital, Al stopped in after the noonday meal, as the boarders scraped back their chairs. A simple checker game transformed into a tournament, since the men’s evenly matched rivalry attracted the other boarders to cheer for one or the other.
Then, of course, each boarder had to challenge Al, and thus the Sternville boarding house tournament began. Helene wavered around the room’s edge like a hovering dragonfly during the first afternoons, making sure no roughhousing occurred, but as time passed, she tempered her disapproval.
Bonnie Mae, on the other hand, whisked through the kitchen from the basement time after time throughout the afternoon, a smile intruding on her freckles. The games energized her, Dottie figured, and she felt the same way. She would hate to think of going back to the lonesome old house’s peculiar creaks and groans for company.
Al started bringing home-baked treats, too, which the men loved, but it was his winning smile that did the trick. One day when Dottie helped Bonnie Mae nest some linen tablecloths and napkins into the deep bureau drawers, they caught Helene tasting a cook
ie.
Dottie couldn’t help herself. “Why Helene—stealing cookies from these poor, hungry men?”
Helene’s wattle waddled, and her cheeks flushed mercilessly. After she left the room, Al voiced an idea to the other men. “You know, someday I could bring along the lady who baked these wonderful morsels. Would you like to meet her?”
Two of them grinned, and George gave an eager nod. “Well, then. I’ll give it a try.” Al winked at Dottie, mischief in his eyes.
Back in the kitchen, she studied his strategy. Would he set George up to meet Henrietta? She couldn’t even imagine starchy Henrietta coming over here, but what if she did succumb to Al’s persuasion? What could it hurt? Helene might raise her fake eyebrows, but then, she did that anyway. She might see Henrietta as fashion competition, even though Henrietta’s idea of style extended back into the twenties.
The more Dottie thought about it, the more certain of Al’s motives she became. Wouldn’t it be nice for these men to have a little social life? Most of them had lived alone most of their lives and had few connections in town. Why shouldn’t they enjoy others’ company more? Why not engineer some excitement for them?
Behind the scenes, maybe she could help lay the groundwork. She would ask him about it as they walked home together. This, like the checker games, had become a new daily ritual. It seemed normal to meet Al when she rounded the boarding house to the front sidewalk after she navigated the back steps.
Often, they walked in companionable silence, but once in a while Dottie let go, and Al absorbed whatever injustices Helene had foisted upon the world that day. She gave him an earful, as Owen would say.
Today, Al met her at the corner, and half a block from the boarding house, he confirmed Dottie’s speculations. “What do you think Henrietta would say if I told her I shared her latest cookie batch with the men? I could tell her they could use a little perking up over here.
“But how could I ask her to come over without having it look like I…” He paused. “Like I was…uh…wanted her to…uh…spend time with me?”
In This Together Page 8
