Cinderella in Overalls

by Carol Grace

  He wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb. “That’s right. You cry at weddings.”

  Outside the rain began at last, sending streams down the windshield of Josh’s car, creating a cocoon inside of warmth and security. She didn’t want to get out and run through the rain to her house. Not by herself. She leaned back against the door. There was the faint smell from the crushed rose in Josh’s buttonhole.

  “You were a big hit with your dancing and offering your poem. I didn’t know bankers liked poetry.”

  He pressed his knuckles together. “Tell me about bankers in Tranquility.”

  “They’re boring. It’s a boring story. You don’t want to hear it.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She sighed. “Well, there’s old Mr. Grant and his son. They own the bank and they lend the money.”

  “To you?”

  She drummed her fingers on her knee. “To us, to everybody. But when we needed them, they let us down.” He didn’t say anything. He waited for her to continue. “I guess I told you we were never rich. Whenever we came up short, we could always sell a sow or something. Until we ran out of livestock.”

  “Do you blame the bank for that?”

  She thought for a moment. “No, I blame myself, but they could have given us another chance.” She clenched her hand into a fist. “Just one more loan for the next crop year. We might have made it. But my parents were tired. They didn’t have the energy. They were relying on me and I was relying on them. I was their hope because I went to college and learned all about modern agriculture. But when it counted, I let them down.’’ She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “They must have wondered what good it did me, my fancy education. Mr. Grant did. I could see it in his eyes when he turned me down the last time.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “We sold the sheep and the grain and most of the machinery. Until there wasn’t anything left except the land. And then the bank foreclosed. That doesn’t surprise you, does it? You would have done the same.”

  “I suppose so. The bank’s pockets are only so deep. You know the same thing will happen if you don’t make the payments on your truck, don’t you?”

  “Of course,” she said quickly. “We’ve been through that.” She reached for the door handle behind her. The atmosphere had stopped being warm and cozy, and now felt stifling. She said good-night. It wasn’t Josh’s fault that the bank had foreclosed on her farm. It wasn’t her parents’ fault for trying to salvage enough for their retirement. She knew that, and yet the knot of resentment in her chest tightened whenever she thought about the land she’d lost. At least she’d learned a lesson. If she couldn’t have her own farm, she’d use what she learned and devote her life to helping other farmers.

  Impulsively she leaned forward and kissed Josh on the cheek, grabbed her wedding cake, opened the door before he could respond and ran through the rain to her front porch. She heard his door open and his footsteps behind her. By the time he reached the porch, his hair was plastered to his head, his strong features stood out even in the darkness. He pulled her toward him, crushing her breasts against his wet shirt. In an instant his mouth was on hers, tasting like rain and wine and wind.

  She forgot the farm. She forgot everything they’d been talking about. All she could think of was how good it felt to lose herself in his kiss. The kiss deepened, lengthened, and she could no longer think at all.

  Finally he broke off and held her at arm’s length. “Jacinda could be right. Maybe we were meant for each other. Why don’t you tell her we’re thinking it over? Just to humor her.”

  Catherine wrapped her arms around her waist and shook her head. Drops of water fell from her dark hair to her shoulders. “I can’t do that. She’d get her hopes up.”

  He ran his hand through her hair. “Her hopes? What about mine? What about yours?”

  She started to tremble uncontrollably from the ups and downs of an emotional roller-coaster day.

  Alarmed, Josh opened the door for her. “Get in before you catch pneumonia,” he ordered. “And don’t forget to put the cake under your pillow.’’

  Inside she leaned against the door for support until she heard his car drive back to Jacinda’s to spend the night in her hayloft. Then she opened the door and retrieved the piece of cake from the porch. After she showered, she put the cake under her pillow. She didn’t believe in any of that superstitious nonsense, but she did it, anyway. Maybe it was the cake or maybe it wasn’t, but she dreamed of Josh sleeping next to her in the hammock with the rain pouring down, soaking their clothes and then their skin until they melted together.

  She woke up and reached for him. But she was in her bed and she was alone. The rain had stopped. The air was absolutely still except for the faint sound of a car in the distance. A car traveling the long road back to town, back to another world. His world.

  Chapter Seven

  When it was light, Catherine walked over to Doña Blanca’s with a basket of fresh eggs over her arm to get the truck. The men who had stopped by to drink leftover chaca and bang pots and pans under the newlyweds’ window were admiring the engine, the gleaming exterior and the extra-large tires.

  Catherine handed over the keys to Manuel, the husband of Doña Blanca. She smiled as the children came running and piled into the long bed. The men took turns driving down the road, turning around and coming back again. One of them would drive to market on Monday, since they had the day off. Catherine would sit in back with the women, and the rest of the men would ride along and help unload. They were chattering excitedly about the trip to town, eager to pull up in front of the market in their own big, beautiful truck.

  Catherine, too, was eager to pull up in front of the Rodriguez Market. Not that she expected to see Josh there, of course. But then why did her heart beat faster when they turned the corner of the cobblestone street where the policeman in his green uniform stood directing traffic?

  Of course he wasn’t there. He was probably still in bed, in his penthouse apartment overlooking the city. Or if he wasn’t there he was already at work, in his high-rise office far above the smoke and the fumes and the noise. She looked up in the direction of the tall buildings that stood outlined in the early-morning light.

  The atmosphere was different in the stall with the men around, lifting, carrying, laughing and joking. Sometime around midday Jacinda gave Catherine a series of sharp, inquisitive looks. Catherine gave her her best serene smile so she couldn’t possibly guess that Catherine was suffering from post-wedding blues. The kind that make you think the whole world was paired off while you longed for someone of your own.

  She would be fine tomorrow when the men went back to work and things were back to normal. But her mind wandered back to the wedding. To the feeling of the rain on her skin and Josh’s lips on hers. Her eyes wandered, too, searching among the crowds of shoppers for a tall figure with close-cropped dark hair who towered above the others. But he didn’t come.

  After lunch the crowds thinned out. Some of the women leaned back against the sacks of potatoes and closed their eyes. But Jacinda never rested. Her black eyes assessed Catherine, and she took her by the arm. “Let us go have a coffee and discuss business.”

  “Business?” Catherine asked. “So soon after the wedding?”

  Jacinda nodded solemnly, but said no more until they were seated at the counter of Don Panchito’s coffee shop.

  “You know my friend Doña Margarita who made your new sweater and skirt?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Jacinda lowered her voice. “She went to the bank to ask for a loan.”

  “Really? What happened?”

  “Señor Bentley treated her very kindly and sent her to the loan counselor, the same one who teaches us. He gave her the forms to fill out and bring back today, but...” Jacinda paused and her eyebrows knit together in a frown. “They did not fill them out because they cannot write very well. I thought perhaps you...”

  Catherine looked at her watch. �
��What time is the appointment?”

  “Five o’clock,” Jacinda said. “I didn’t want to bother you, but they have no one else to ask.”

  Catherine set her cup down. “Of course I’ll help if I can.”

  Jacinda’s face wrinkled into a smile. “You can.”

  Making their way up the hill, Jacinda explained that Doña Margarita and her daughter and her son-in-law wanted the loan to buy alpaca sheep. With the softer wool they could make better sweaters and charge more.

  While her daughter manned the stall, Margarita and Catherine pored over the papers in the back. When they finished, Margarita asked Catherine to go with them to the bank. They looked so nervous that she couldn’t turn them down. In a few minutes she found herself on the familiar route across town and up the avenue. She was afraid Josh would be there. She was more afraid that he wouldn’t.

  Without him it would be all business. With him it could get emotional. What if he turned them down? After talking with Margarita, Catherine was convinced the group would make good use of the money and could earn enough to pay it back. It should be easy to see, but what if Josh didn’t see it that way? What if she wasn’t being objective? If she wasn’t, Josh would let her know. That was what she was afraid of.

  She needn’t have worried. The loan officer Josh had assigned to them treated them with all the courtesy reserved for his most valued customers. When she saw they were at ease with him, Catherine slipped out of the office and stood in front of the elevator, watching the arrow above go as high as twelve. Twelfth floor, Josh’s office. Hypnotically the arrow jerked its way downward, and when it stopped, the door opened and Josh got out.

  She gulped. A surprised smile lit his face. “What are you doing here?” he asked, clasping her hands in his.

  For a moment she was unable to speak. “I’m on my way home,” she said at last, trying to ignore the vibrations set off by the touch of his hands.

  He pulled her with him across the lobby. “I’m glad you caught me. I’m on my way home, too. My stove finally arrived with the rest of my stuff.”

  “I came with the weavers,” she said, standing at the heavy glass doors with him. “They’re in with Duran, the loan officer, talking about getting a loan so they can buy alpaca sheep.”

  “Have they got a support group, a decent profit margin and one year’s experience?” he asked.

  She nodded eagerly. “All that and more.”

  “Then they’ll probably get it. But that’s Duran’s decision. Sometimes a group has everything on paper, but there’s something that doesn’t sit right. That’s when a loan officer uses his intuition.”

  “I guess that’s what you used when you decided to take a chance on us.”

  He looked thoughtful, but his thoughts weren’t on their loan. “Would you like to come by and see my stove? It’s brand-new with all the latest attachments.”

  “I really can’t. The women are waiting for me.” But she didn’t go; she just stood there and watched him, waiting as if her shoes were made of lead and not canvas.

  “Who would drive them home if you didn’t?”

  “I guess Miguel would, but...”

  “Fine. I’ll get someone to take a message. We’ll go see my stove and then we’ll go out to eat. I’ll get you a taxi later. How’s that?” he asked with a smile so dazzling she couldn’t say no. She couldn’t say anything at all.

  Her stomach churned. Her knees knocked. Another evening with Josh Bentley. Another chance to feel his arms around her, his lips on hers. She ought to leave. Right now. But her doubts vanished with the wind as he caught her arm and they hurried down the steps onto the street.

  Her feet, which had been leaden only moments ago, suddenly flew along the ground, keeping up with his. Together they negotiated the crowded sidewalks, edging around couples walking arm in arm and window shoppers, their faces pressed against the glass of smart shops. In front of the supermarket she paused.

  “Instead of going out to dinner we could buy some groceries and initiate your stove,” she suggested.

  “Can you cook?”

  “Can I cook?” she repeated incredulously. “Can chickens lay eggs? I can cook for barn raisings and church socials. I can cook for field hands and cornhuskers. I ought to be able to cook for one banker with both hands tied behind me.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I haven’t had a real meal at home since I got here.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with the food at your favorite restaurant,” she said, pushing the door open. “But it will be interesting to see what they’ve got in here. A little market research on my part. Some comparative shopping.”

  He pushed the cart while she walked ahead, picking up cans and putting them back, frowning at prices and raising her eyebrows at the produce. She picked up a head of lettuce. “Shall we have a salad?”

  “Sure.” Suddenly self-conscious, he looked around at the other shoppers. “Have you seen any other men in here?” he asked in a loud whisper.

  “I don’t think so. In Aruaca only housewives go shopping. Men have better things to do.”

  “Like having a siesta on the couch, I’ll bet. I’d rather be with you... in the supermarket. Since I don’t have a couch.”

  She snapped some green beans between her fingers. “Day old,” she whispered, and Josh rolled his eyes in dismay. “But we’ll make do,” she assured him, “with a little lemon juice and butter.” Then she found the meat counter and told the butcher to wrap up two thick lamb chops.

  Standing in line at the checkout counter, Catherine stood on tiptoe and whispered in Josh’s ear. “The vegetables aren’t as good as ours. And they’re twice as expensive.”

  “But there’s no bargaining. That’s what I like.”

  She smiled, thinking of him standing in front of her with the mangoes in his hand, placing the money in her palm. Still feeling the touch of his fingers as he closed her hand and held it tightly. Remembering how the sounds of the market had faded around her. There was no shouting in this supermarket, no gleeful cries or arguments over the prices.

  Josh paid the clerk and carried the groceries in one hand, using the other to link with Catherine’s as he led her through the streets to his apartment. While they waited to cross the street, he tapped his foot against the pavement impatiently. He wanted to see her reaction to his apartment. He tried to picture her there with her wide skirts and her hat and her braid. Could she fit into his life? Would she want to? Probably not. And whatever he wanted he had no right to draw her into his life. There was no place for her or for dreams. He needed to become more secure before he could forget about his poor, lonely childhood and make plans for his future. He’d have to wait. She’d have to wait. Josh made himself control his growing feelings. Now wasn’t the time for them.

  They took the elevator up to the penthouse. He unlocked the door, and she stood in the doorway and stared out across the pale carpet to the breathtaking view of Teregape with the last rays of sun on it.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly. She slipped out of her shoes, stepped over a cardboard box and went to the window. He opened the sliding glass door, and she walked out to the balcony. Standing behind her, he remembered seeing it for the first time, that incredible view. He lifted her hat from her head and set it on the table. His fingers itched to loosen her braid and see her hair cascade to her shoulders.

  Finally she looked around. “You don’t have any furniture. It looks as if no one lives here.”

  “I have a stove,” he protested. “And a bed. The essentials. And we could really do without the stove.”

  She stifled a smile. Her gaze turned to the boxes stacked in the corner. “What’s in those?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember. I packed so long ago. They must have come by sea with the refrigerator. By the time I get around to unpacking, it will be time to pack up again.”

  Startled by the thought of Josh leaving,
she smoothed the hair that strayed from the edges of her braid. “You mean you’re not staying... I thought...”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m up for a promotion. I guess I mentioned that. If I get it, I’ll go back to Boston and they’ll send someone to replace me here. I don’t know when it’ll come or if it’ll come. If it does, I’ll have to pack up and go. They told me not to get too attached to anything I couldn’t bring back in my suitcase.” His eyes traveled the length of her body as if he were measuring to see if she’d fit.

  She felt the heat course through her body until she would have bet she could have been melted down and packed in an overnight bag. She tore her gaze from his and looked around desperately. “I haven’t seen the... uh...”

  “The bed?”

  “The stove.”

  “Right in here.”

  In the compact kitchen she ran her hand over the smooth ceramic surfaces, opened the broiler and examined the grill. She turned on the oven, then washed the lettuce, relieved to have something to do with her hands and something to think about except Josh’s leaving. She shook the lettuce leaves so vigorously that Josh held up his hands in self-defense.

  “I was just thinking about taking a shower,” he said.

  “Uh-huh,” she said absently, and watched him disappear down the hall. It was like playing house, cooking in this little kitchen with its shiny new appliances. When he came back, he’d showered and changed into his blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. When he shed his suit, he seemed to shed some of the stiffness she always associated with bankers. Although there had been nothing stiff about the way he looked at her on the balcony.

  He sniffed appreciatively at the smell of lamb sprinkled with rosemary that wafted through the air. The room was filled with steam from the green beans simmering in a pot. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. The smell of his clean shirt made her want to bury her face against his chest. His voice sunk to a low rumble.

  “So this is what I’ve been missing at the restaurant.”

  His cheek was next to hers, his hair damp. She lifted her hands to his shoulders.