“So that’s not why you want her to come?”
“Of course not, Dot!” Al jerked toward her, his forehead scrunched in disbelief. She snickered. It was fun to catch him unawares. “That’s exactly what I don’t want her to think—I just don’t know how to make it happen.”
“Hmm…” They walked quietly for a while, a few cars passing, but most people in town had already gone home from work. Al slowed his long stride to accommodate her aching feet, without making the change obvious. At least it wasn’t sleeting or snowing today. Still, he could cover this five blocks in one-fourth the time if he wanted to.
After they crossed the street, a solution to his conundrum occurred to Dottie. “I might have it. What if somebody else asked Henrietta to come over? They could say her cookies have gained fame, and that the men want to meet her. If I know Henrietta, that might ignite her curiosity.” Dottie bit her lower lip. “Now, I shouldn’t have allowed that out of my mouth—wasn’t the Christian thing to say.”
Al laughed, one of those infrequent, deep, rumbly sounds that came from the belly. “I’m not so sure about that, Dot. You spoke the truth, plain and simple. You know that verse about truth setting us free?” They walked a few paces before he slanted his head, his hand to his chin.
“I like that about you. You see to the center of things, and so often put into words the real meat of an issue. Maybe that’s why, when something disturbed Nan, she always felt better after spending time with you.”
He faced Dottie head-on. “You know that’s a gift, don’t you? You’re a quiet woman, and you don’t jump to conclusions. You think about things more than you talk about them. But when you do say something, it makes sense and gives people something to think about.”
She supposed what he was right. Maybe it even counted as a compliment—at least the quiet part. After a day with Helene around the house more than usual and Bonnie Mae frolicking her way through the kitchen singing jazzy radio songs, quiet sounded mighty good.
But lately, she wondered about some of the unplanned words that came out of her mouth. Being around Bonnie Mae had something to do with that, she figured. That girl did too little to stem her own word flow, but maybe her example had a good effect.
Up till now, Dottie always followed one simple principle. “If you can’t say something good about somebody, say nothing at all.” That was the household rule, and the punishment for maligning others was severe—Dad’s razor strap on your backside. Mildred probably saved her from that a few times.
But maybe she had finally found middle ground, a healthy mix between saying too much and not saying enough.
Al saw her to her door. “So, about half an hour? My house tonight?”
“Okay.” Since their fishing excursion, eating together every night seemed the natural thing to do. Al brought a huge pot of soup over yesterday, and tonight, she looked forward to eating the leftovers. She’d take along some rolls she’d made last weekend, and that would be that.
She went inside to scrub off the day’s grime. Over a sink full of hot water, she leaned over, but stopped midway. The gleam in her eye stunned her, and that rosy hue on her cheeks, even though she was bone tired. November’s crazy up-and-down weather played a trick, warming up in the afternoons this week so she could walk home without her gloves and scarf—maybe that produced the glow.
But it was more than that. Staring at the light in her own eyes, a word formed in her mind.
Joy.
A shiver swept her. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, she hadn’t even thought about Christmas carols yet—“Joy to the World” was her favorite, and motivated Cora’s middle name since she was a December baby.
What shone in her eyes reminded her of a Yuletide feeling, warm and fulfilling—a church full of candles held by hopeful folks, and coming home to more lights on the tree. When little Sammy brought her a flower one Sunday and hugged her tight, she felt warm and alive again—this was that kind of feeling.
Thanks to Al, she’d become involved in bringing a little happiness into some lives. She hadn’t done that for a long time, and it felt awfully good.
****
It wasn’t until they finished the soup and sipped their tea that Al brought up Henrietta again. He fingered his upper lip as though something important occurred to him.
“I’ve been thinking about it, Dot. You’re right—somebody else should tell Henrietta about the boarders and the cookies, emphasizing how much George appreciates them. She should hear in a roundabout way how they helped cheer him up in the hospital, maybe even speeded his recovery.”
“Do you have somebody in mind?”
“I do.” He picked up his cup, turned it around, and set it down again. “I have no idea if this person will see it the same way I do, or if she’ll agree, but I definitely do have somebody in mind.”
Maybe he would have Delbert’s wife Edie bring up the subject—she worked with Henrietta on the Sunday school committee. Or his niece—Alma had such a winsome way with prim, snarly folks like Henrietta.
A smile wiggled along his lips. “Can you guess?”
“Edie?”
“Nope. Has to be somebody a little older. Henrietta looks down on youth.”
“Alma?
Al shook his head, and the glimmer in his eyes told her there was no use prolonging this discussion.
“I don’t know—tell me.”
“All right, I will. It’s you. I think you’re possibly the only person who could convince Henrietta to come to the boarding house.”
Dottie drew back from those penetrating gray-blues. What on earth could he mean?
But Al’s voice took on urgency. “You’re the only one except Bonnie Mae who’s witnessed what those cookies did for George—and your connection with the boarding house—Henrietta can’t question that. If you told her about George’s health problems and how I shared some of her cookies with him, she would never suspect anything amiss.”
Dottie let go a “Hmm…” She’d never been high class enough to fit into Henrietta Perry’s circle. Oh, they got along when they needed to, but Henrietta looked down on her, she could tell. She was only a farmer’s daughter, while Henrietta’s father had owned the bank.
But there sat Al, his face expectant. She wouldn’t want to disappoint him after all he had done for her, and for George.
“Why, I don’t know. I rarely even see Henrietta.”
He pressed his right fist into his left palm. “Wouldn’t that be something, if Henrietta and George caught on?”
“Caught on?”
“Yeah. Henrietta’s lonely, and so is George—what if they showed an interest in each other?” His grin reminded Dottie of Bill’s one time when he succeeded in playing a joke on Owen.
“Al Jensen—you’re matchmaking. What would Nan say?”
He studied the ceiling. “Nan? Maybe she’d say it was a gas.” His self-effacing grin told Dottie he didn’t really think so. The pat he gave her hand was reassuring.
“Now, don’t feel pressured to do this, all right? If you don’t want to, something else will work out. I’m sure it will.”
Dottie finished her tea. “I’ll sleep on it.”
“Great idea. A good night’s sleep can do wonders.”
Dottie walked home slowly, surveying an incredibly bright bank of stars cascading through the heavens. Such a glorious display, Al should—
She stood stock still halfway across her back yard. Normally she would have thought, if only Owen could see this with me, but instead, she’d thought of Al.
What was happening to her? Here she was, considering a rather underhanded way of relieving her neighbor of Henrietta’s advances, and possibly even paving the way for a romance between George and Henrietta. And now this—circumstances seemed bent on complicating her life.
Right before her eyes, a star scuttled downward. A falling star—didn’t Millie and Cora used to make wishes on falling stars? If she could, what would she wish? All this time she’d been wishi
ng Owen back, but that sort of wishing did no good. Her desires had no power over life and death, or over much else, either.
She could wish for Helene to revise her attitude toward Bonnie Mae, or Bonnie Mae to find an honest man who wanted to settle down and who would provide well for her. She could wish for peace on earth.
But what if she had the chance to wish for something about her life? The concept, fresh and intriguing, struck her imagination.
Tingles ranged her shoulders as she stared at the point where the star fell, and she realized what she wanted most of all—strange she’d even had to think about it. She wanted to see Cora and her little ones in the worst way. She leaned her head back to behold the full, glittering expanse above her, and held her arms wide.
Even though darkness had fallen, she turned a slow circle to be sure no one was watching. Then she did it. She wished to see Cora and her babies.
Chapter Ten
“Why, Henrietta, imagine meeting you here.”
“Yes. I’m hardly ever ill, but today my gall bladder got me down.”
“You have gall bladder trouble?”
“Sometimes, yes. Doc gives me these little miracle-working pink pills. And you?”
“Oh.” Dottie’s heart thumped. She had prayed last night as she got into bed, asking for a sign like the Lord sent Gideon. She didn’t press for three, like that unlikely saint of old—just one would do.
Now, she stood near the clearest sign she could have received. She never met Henrietta anywhere except church, and hadn’t been inside Doc Schulz’s office in such a long time—maybe four years? Yet the one time she entered, here sat Henrietta.
She cleared her throat. “Uh, well—hasn’t the weather been nice the past two days? Thanksgiving will be here already next week.”
“Are you avoiding my question, Dottie? I divulged the purpose of my visit, now you must, too.”
Ordinarily, she would have stiff-armed Henrietta at such a brazen dig for information about private matters, but not this time. “I’m paying a bill for one of the boarders, actually, a very, very nice man. He’s been sick, and asked me to bring his payment over here. Such an honorable, upright gentleman.”
She couldn’t believe how easy this was—why, she practically gushed about George, when she would have guessed she didn’t even know how. Better yet, her comment had an obvious effect.
Henrietta’s eyes bulged below high arched brows. “And who might this fine man be?”
“His name is George Hanson. He’s become good friends with Al Jensen, my neighbor.”
“Of course Al’s your neighbor. Don’t you think I know where he lives?”
Dottie almost choked on the spittle in her throat, but produced a loud ahem. “Oh, sure. Everyone does, how could I be so foolish?”
She took one of the upholstered chairs near the door. “As I was saying, Al and George have become good friends. It started when Doc hospitalized George, and Al took him some of your cookies. Now, they’ve started playing checkers at the boarding house in the afternoons.
“George simply loves your cookies, Henrietta. So do the other men at the house. Best cookies they’ve ever tasted, they insist.”
Henrietta eyed her askance, but her low-slung brim couldn’t hide the upturn of her lips. “Well.”
Was that all she would say? Dottie hadn’t counted on Henrietta being dumbstruck, but the well-dressed matron clenched and unclenched her fingers in silence.
Dottie fidgeted with her purse handle, wondering what to do. Should she plunge in and say something else, or leave well enough alone? Would saying something else lessen the effect of what she’d already disclosed? Heat made clear progression from her neck into her cheeks.
But Henrietta Perry was never stumped for long. “You say they play in the afternoons?”
“That’s right.”
“But for a man like Al—isn’t going to the boarding house a bit—you know what I mean—below his standing?”
“Below…? Whatever do you mean, Henrietta?”
The older woman pursed her petulant lips so tightly, Dottie was sure they would squeak out a “pip.” But evidently, her lips were used to pursing. Henrietta slid a delicate gloved hand along her skirt edge. “I mean, that boarding house—isn’t a place like that mostly for indigents? And Al Jensen—why, he’s a respected businessman.”
Dottie’s mind jumped to indigestion. Then she realized Henrietta referred to tramps.
“Indigents? Absolutely not! Helene would never let an indigent into her boarding house—you should know that! And George Hanson, an indigent? Oh my goodness, no. He has made a decent living by the sweat of his brow his entire life. He simply has no wife or children, so he lives at the house.”
Her face fired with the knowledge that she left out the period George lived as a hobo. But couldn’t a man be an upstanding hobo? She might as well go all the way.
“George has had a wide variety of experience. You’d marvel at his stories, I know you would.”
Henrietta’s eyebrows met her hat brim. “But the boarding house… It isn’t…uh…clean there, is it?”
That got Dottie’s dander up. “Are you saying Helene runs an unsanitary place?” She drew her chest up. “Or implying I’m an unfit worker?”
Henrietta’s hands flew to her mouth. “Oh, my. No, no, not at all. It’s just that I’ve heard…”
“What? Tell me one thing you’ve heard.”
“Well, Helene hired that no-account Bonnie Mae Ingersoll, just your everyday run-around…”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not exactly, but with her past, I can’t help but wonder…”
“What do you know about her past?”
Henrietta glanced around on every side. “Don’t you know about that, Dottie? My, my! That girl was…” She stuck her neck out and peered around the empty waiting room again. Her voice resumed its surreptitious hiss. “She was an illegitimate baby.”
“Yes, but how can anyone fault her for that? I would say she had nothing to do with the circumstances of her birth, wouldn’t you?”
“I—er—well, yes. But…”
“But what?”
“It does say a great deal about her origins.”
“My Mama taught me not to judge, as the Bible instructs us. But you teach a Bible study group—maybe you know better. Have you read something contrary to that teaching?”
Henrietta’ face turned close to purple, and she squirmed like a fish fighting for its life. But fire still stirred in Dottie, as if a long-stoked furnace had suddenly been fanned into flame.
“I can testify that Bonnie Mae is a good worker, and very clean. And she’s a fast learner—did you ever think maybe she wasn’t taught how to do things quite like the rest of us?”
Henrietta’s eyelids performed a nervous flutter, but she remained quiet, so Dottie continued. “Hiring her was one of the best decisions Helene has made since I’ve worked at the boarding house.”
Henrietta sucked in her breath and ducked her face under the shade of her hat brim. Luckily for her, rustling issued from bowels of the office, and a short, chubby, cherub-faced nurse, swished into the waiting room. She wore a severely starched nurse’s cap and a bumpy white uniform, belted at the waist.
Not a speck showed on her pearly white nurse’s shoes. A yellow-orange pin decorated her lapel, an almost perfect match to the color of her permanent-waved hair—and her eyebrows.
“Why hello, ladies. And how are you both today? Doctor is just getting in from a long house call, but he will be ready for you in a few minutes, if you’ll tell me which one of you came first.”
Dottie forgot all about her unreliable knee and shot out of her chair. “I only need to pay a bill, ma’am, for George Hanson over at the boarding house. He already paid one last week, but this came in the mail today, and he instructed me to pay the doctor immediately. He doesn’t want to be in debt to any man, not even for a day.”
She pulled herself to her full height. Out of t
he corner of her eye, she glimpsed Henrietta putting a thoughtful finger to her temple.
“Of course he doesn’t. Do tell him thank you, won’t you, Dottie? I hope he’s feeling better by now.”
“He is. He’s developing a lively social life and enjoying every minute of it. I’m not at all surprised Doc could see what a solid man he is.”
“Ah, yes, Doctor has an intuitive gift.” She scribbled something and handed a paper to Dottie. “You may take him his receipt. Thank you, and give him our best regards.”
“Good day, then.” Dottie gave the slightest turn toward Henrietta. “And to you, too, Mrs. Perry.”
****
“The weather forecast says tomorrow will turn colder again, with ice. Sure is nice to enjoy this warmth, though.” Al accidentally bumped Dottie’s foot as they stepped onto a curb two blocks from home. “Sorry.”
She flitted her hand in the air. “Yes. We have to take warmth when we can get it. How did the checker playing go today?”
“Good. Bert Smith forged ahead of me, though. Seems he’s had even more practice than George. Going to have to fight to maintain my lead. You must’ve had a busy afternoon?”
“Yes, Helene’s having what she calls special guests tomorrow night. Someone from out of town, she says, looking at buying a business.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t know. She’s all hush-hush about it, as if the FBI were involved. But she did emphasize using the thickest cream in the gravy, and put in an order for an extra afternoon milk delivery, including more cream for whipping, so I’m wondering if it might be the creamery. Harvey’s been talking about retiring.”
“Hmm. That’s a logical guess.” Al veered off the sidewalk to avoid a hell-bent-for-leather canine.
Dottie’s secret bubbled inside her. She felt like a little girl again, holding a handpicked bunch of flowers behind her back for her Mama or Mildred. She held out the smallest hint of the news she’d waited all afternoon to share with Al.
“And then, I had to make a delivery for George between cleaning up after dinner, peeling potatoes for supper, and making sure we have everything for the extra pies tomorrow.”
In This Together Page 9
