Chapter Ten
December 11, 1939
Dena almost ran to the cafeteria. She pulled her new coat tightly around her. Maybe it’ll keep out the unforgiving wind which bit into her cheeks. Ladies don’t run. She laughed out loud and slowed down to a fast walk. Tears stung her eyes. This nasty wind reminds me of the winter winds in Colorado. Gasping from the cold, I’m glad I don’t have much farther to go. She sidestepped two rough-looking men. Their eyes filled with hate as they looked at her.
“Hello.” Clay spoke as she arrived at the table. His eyes expressed his delight as he rose to meet her. Looking over her shoulder she spied the two mean looking men at the door. They followed me. Where do I know them from? The men stopped when they saw Clay.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Dena said as she held out her hands for him to take. “I’m so glad to see you.”
“Me too.” His voice stopped and started like he couldn’t remember what he wanted to say. “I’ve been looking forward to this day—to our coffee time together. I’ve missed them. It’s been too long since Thanksgiving.”
Dena flushed with pleasure.
“How did you …” they both spoke at the same time.
Laughing they sat down. Clay looked into her face, searching for clues. She smiled. He liked her smile. “You go first. How did you do on your finals?”
“I passed.” She said, trying not to sound smug.
“You did more than pass. You made the dean’s honor roll. I’d say that’s pretty good. Drafting isn’t an easy course.” He was pleased for her.
“Thank you.” She blushed. Her embarrassment caused her to stammer. “And you? Did you do well? I understand from Stuart that third year isn’t a breeze either.”
“I passed … no honor roll though.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Oh. I feel bad.”
“Don’t. I should have worked harder. That’s all,” he concluded. “Next semester I’ll do better.”
Dena sipped her coffee. She had hardly touched it, and now it was almost cold. “What are you doing for Christmas?”
Clay looked away. He didn’t want to think about Christmas, which brought memories of his parents. Then he grinned briefly.
“Oh, Carl and I are going to a lodge, will spend a few days skiing and maybe do some hunting. When are you leaving for Colorado?” Clay questioned. He was already thinking about the time she would be gone and how he would miss her.
“I leave Thursday the fourteenth and will return on January eighth, I believe.” There’s sadness in his voice. Christmas will be hard. She looked down at her cup in silence; then continued softly, “I have mixed emotions. I’ll be really glad to see my family, but I’ll truly miss my family and friends here. I will miss you.”
Dena searched his face for affirmation. Reaching for her hand, he held it while they talked for the better part of an hour. Clay rose and came around the table. “Listen, when you get back, let me know, so we can do this again.”
“Oh I would like that.” As they started for the door, Dena noticed the men that had followed her, were still there. One was
short, and one was tall. Startled that they were still hanging around, she wondered why she couldn’t remember where she had seen them before. Unsettled, Dena turned to Clay and slid her hand into the crook of his arm, leaning in.
"You know, I can see you home,” he offered, glancing over her shoulder at the two formidable-looking men.
“That would be nice.” She squeezed his elbow slightly. Suddenly she realized, shuddering, they were the two that fought with Stuart after the dance.
“You okay?” Clay asked, sliding his arm around her. Dena snuggled closer. Glancing over his shoulder, she couldn’t see the two men, yet she had an uneasy feeling they were being followed. While on the bus, they discussed airplanes, blueprints, and the success of Stuart’s film document. Clay walked her up to the door. She sighed happily and looked up at him. His gaze reflected her contentment.
“Thank you. And, Clay, I’ll see you on January fifteenth at the cafeteria. Say about two?”
“Yes, I’ll see you then. Merry Christmas.” He kissed her gently on the lips. His grip on her hands lengthened. He didn’t want to let her go, but finally he released her.
“January … I promise. Merry Christmas,” she spoke wistfully. Clay turned quickly and rushed to the bus stop just as another bus pulled up. He waved from the bottom step as the door closed. With her hand in the air, she watched until the bus turned the corner. Now for her presents.
Later that afternoon, Dena slipped down to the kitchen. Polly looked up from her work, smiling. “Coffee, Dena?”
“Yes. And, Polly, can you sit with me for a moment please?” Dena sat at the small table under the window waiting, hiding the present on her lap. Polly looked around.
“Well, yes I can but just for a moment. The rolls are about ready to go into the oven.” Polly poured two cups of coffee and sat down. For a few minutes, Dena chatted about her trip to Colorado. The she asked, “Are you going anywhere for
Christmas, Polly?”
“I usually go to my son’s house on Christmas Eve Day.” She smiled at the thought. “He and his family always celebrate then. This year my oldest grandson, Garrett, won’t be there. He’s overseas somewhere. He’s in the Marines.”
Dena didn’t know Polly had grandchildren or that one was in the service. Dena pulled out the red, wrapped gift box and set it down in front of the cook, “Merry Christmas, Polly.”
“Oh, Miss Dena, I have nothing for you,” Polly exclaimed, raising her hands to her cheeks. She gazed for a long moment.
“Polly. You’ve already given me a gift—your friendship. Coming here and not knowing anyone … well … it has been so good to know you were looking after me.” She pushed the package closer to Polly, babbling, “Open it.”
Polly grinned broadly, showing uneven teeth. She pulled off the tissue and ribbon, and then removed the lid. Lifting out a cream colored apron that was edged with an eyelet cutout design around the border, she stood and held it up to her chest. “Oh. Miss Dena. It’s beautiful. I’ll wear it on Christmas day. Thank you.”
At the evening meal Dena sat fidgeting. Everyone’s taking forever. She sighed. She couldn’t wait for them to finish. The whole day has dragged by much slower than I wanted. She sat up straight in her chair. Stuart glanced at her. Dena shrugged reaching for another roll. Christmas is such an exciting time. I’ve got all my presents wrapped, and the ones that go to Colorado are packed. She unconsciously twisted her napkin around her little finger then untwisted it before repeating the procedure, watching. No one was in a hurry to finish their meal, especially Stuart. She was sure he double-chewed everything. Finally he put in the last bite.
“Mother, can we be excused?” Emily asked. Dena sighed.
“Yes dear,” Aunt Doreen said, chuckling softly. The girls jumped up, almost knocking over their chairs.
“You would think they were five-years-old,” Uncle Walter said, sipping his coffee. Dena stopped just inside the sunroom for
a moment to admire the tree. It touched the tall ceiling, filled out the corner, before it flowed into the room. Emily plugged in the Christmas lights. Tonight’s packages: her gifts to them and their special presents for her were separated and stacked. Uncle Walter and Aunt Doreen came in and sat down together on the small couch. Finally Stuart sauntered in.
“Well … what?” he challenged the girls before either could speak. “I’m here. Who’s first?”
“You ask that each year,” Emily chided. “You know that Dad always starts. It’s tradition. Stuart made a face at his sister before sitting next to Dena. She watched the gift-opening party explode into mountains of bows and torn wrapping paper, squeals and oh you shouldn’t haves. Everyone laughed and modeled … well almost. Some items weren’t model material. I love my new sweater from Uncle Walter and Aunt Doreen. And Stuart bought her expensive cologne maki
ng some silly comment about how she wouldn’t smell so bad now at the afternoon coffee get-together. Dena punched him. Emily’s gift was stationary.
“I want you to write me while you’re gone. I need to know,” Emily arched her eyebrows in a “you know what I mean” expression. Dena nodded.
***
Dena’s train didn’t arrive at the Colorado terminal until late on the twenty-second. A rockslide somewhere near Flagstaff caused the train to sit for nearly three days. Then she had three more days of delays because there were other trains with more pressing schedules. Talk in the coach was the slide was caused from the enormous amount of rain somewhere up in the mountains. Surprised, Dena wondered how could this be possible— it’s winter. Winter in the mountains means snow, not rain?
Around eight p.m., the train pulled into the station. Anxiously Dena, with a gloved hand, rubbed off a circle of ice from the frosted window. She strained to see through the small, round spot. The pane fogged over, and it was so dark she could
hardly see anything. Even the moonlight couldn’t push back the blackness of night. The only other light came from the depot streetlights that ruled tiny areas before becoming dark again.
Determined, Dena continued to rub and peer out. Surely someone is waiting for me. I know it’s late in the evening, and, I’m six days over do. The wheels squealed as the train slowly came to a halt, steam escaped in a loud sigh. With her handbag and carry-on in hand, Dena slowly stepped down onto a small stool that bridged the steps to the depot platform, all the time searching. Spotting her dad and Brock, she waved frantically. As weary as she was, she couldn’t contain her delight.
“Dad! Brock!” she hollered. But a shrill whistle blowing and the depot noises drowned out her cry. They didn’t hear her. Dena almost tripped and fell running toward her dad. She was a few feet away when her dad turned and saw her. His arms stretched wide. A huge grin appeared.
“Welcome home, girl!” he whispered hoarsely, squeezing her.
“Hope you didn’t bring half of California home with you, Sis. We only brought the car.” Brock squeezed her shoulder before he pulled her baggage tickets from her gloved hand and hurried away to get her suitcases. She watched bleary-eyed while Brock’s dark frame disappeared into the shadows. He knew their dad needed time with his girl. She couldn’t wait to talk to her big brother though. Finally her dad released her, held her at arm’s length, and studied her face closely. Unaware that Brock had returned with her luggage, he hugged her again while her brother waited.
“Glad you’re here.” Brock pecked her on the cheek.
Before he could say more, Dad said quietly, “Let’s go home.”
Dena nodded. The men walked closely by her side on the way to the car. The street light illuminated their frames thus lengthening and shortening their connected shadows. She half smiled. It’s like I might get lost again, and they aren’t going to allow that to happen.
“Careful girl; it’s mighty slippery today.” Dad took hold of her elbow.
“You only brought three suitcases. I really expected more and heavier ones holding a lot of presents for me. You know I’ve been working out. The large animals where I work sometimes can be a pain to move around. Just feel.” Both Dena and Dad laughed, but she obliged and felt his biceps.
“No really, feel.” Brock said, flexing his muscles. Dena rolled her eyes but squeezed his arm hard. As they stopped in the last circle of light, Brock made a face of pain before he laughed. She socked him. “Ouch! What was that for?”
“That was for being you,” Dena retorted. Until now she hadn’t really grasped how much she had missed her parents, and her family—just how homesick she had been. Brock stowed the suitcases in the backseat. Dena waited until he had finished before she put in her cosmetic case and carry-on bag. Dad and Brock stood waiting. She eyed both men then slid into the front seat. With her eyes dancing, she said, “Let’s go home.”
Dad turned the starter over several times before the old Plymouth fired up. He maneuvered the car through the depot traffic and headed down the familiar road. Dena looked at the countryside blanketed in white. Now that they were outside of town and away from the street lights, she could see the half moon, which shone brightly on the snow. Dena smiled to herself, and then sighed. She listened in delight to the continuous drone of the motor in contrast to the silence of the Colorado scenery. She drank in the pristine white snow on the ground, on the trees, and the mountains. She sniffed. Oh, gosh, how I have missed home.
“You okay?” Brock handed her his handkerchief. She blew her nose. He continued, “Dad and I have either come to town or called every day to check on the progress of your train. For seven days I’ve withstood this cold just to see if you had arrived yet.”
“I love you too, brother.” She smiled and handed him back his handkerchief. He nudged her shoulder with his. She looked up into his face which showed a huge smile.
“I knew it. You’re badgering already. You’re needling me and you haven’t been home half an hour,” he teased. Dena pretended to glare. Dad chuckled.
“I don’t badger.” She nudged him back firmly.
“Here we are, girl,” Dad spoke, looking tenderly at her. “Go in and see your mother. She’s been cooking all of your favorites.”
Brock had opened the door and stepped out. Dena slid out after him. They stood together next to the car as the kitchen door flew open. Two silhouettes appeared in the doorway surrounded by the glow of the kitchen light.
“Dena! Oh, Dena, I didn’t think you would ever get home! I’m so glad you’re here. I hope you got a lot of rest on the train. I want to talk all night. I have over four months of stuff to tell you that I couldn’t in letters.”
Brock groaned, rolled his eyes, and looked up at the stars. Dena grinned at her sister before she hugged her tightly. She swallowed hard. She released Susan, took her hand and squeezed it until the knuckles turned white. All the while she happily gazed at her mother. Everyone faded from Dena’s mind. Mother stayed in the kitchen doorway, dish towel in hand, waiting. She hurried to the house, her hand still clasped tightly around Susan’s, dragging her along. Susan stumbled, trying to keep up. Dena ignored her. She only saw her mother. It had been too long. Finally she released her sister’s hand and ran the last few steps; running into her mother’s waiting arms.
“Dena.” Her mother said. Dena’s eyes blurred. She didn’t think anything could feel better than being in her mother’s arms or having her family welcoming her home. Home. Dena slowly inspected the old familiar surroundings. Everything was in place, including the worn rocker which sat in the corner. When she was small, there were many nights her mother rocked and read to her. She was home.
“Okay, girl,” her dad softly chided her. “Let’s get into the house. We’re not heating the whole state of Colorado. You know
it’s going to snow tomorrow. I can feel it in my bones.”
Dena laughed a silly little high-pitched laugh, cut short nearly before it started. She had forgotten about her dad’s predictions. She hadn’t heard that expression since last year. No one in California talked like a rancher. Linking her arm with her mother’s, she moved into the warm kitchen.
“Supper’s ready.” Mother said, smiling. “Oh dear, I hope you didn’t eat on the train.”
“No, Mother, I waited. I knew I would be here in time.”
“Well then, let’s eat. The smell of roast beef has been tantalizing us long enough. And eight thirty is late, even for us farmers,” Dad said while walking to the sink to wash up. It still amazed Dena that he never had considered himself a rancher even though he mainly ran cattle and horses. He only farmed enough to feed his own stock. Dena watched Susan set out mashed potatoes and vegetables while Mother placed the platter of sliced roast beef in the center of the large kitchen table, next to the rolls. Dena loved her mother’s hot rolls. She would probably gain ten pounds over the holiday. Grant was standing by the stove with his hands around the gravy
bowl. He had come over for supper also. She smiled.
“Dena.” He nodded, pleased to see her.
“How are you, Grant?” Dena questioned politely. Susan eased up by his side, removed the gravy bowl, and passed it to Mother. She then slipped her hand into his. His affection was apparent when he smiled down at her.
“Fine and you?” he said politely.
“Now …” Dena’s face glowed as she realized that Grant was family—almost! At least he had become a fixture in their family. Dena glanced back to the table before she finished answering Grant’s question, “Now I’m just splendid.”
“Hey, guys stop jabbering and eat. You know agriculture people get mighty hungry.” Brock broke in, sitting down at the table. He had a mischievous look on his face as he glanced at Dena. “Don’t suppose draftsmen get hungry?”
“Yes, Brock, we do. We’re human, you know,” she spit back, trying hard not to smile. “It’s not all numbers, angles, and lines.”
“O-o-oh. There you go, aggravating me again. That’s the second time in what, maybe thirty minutes? Right, Dad?” He grinned openly. Her dad raised both arms in a sign of surrender before he folded his large, calloused hands for prayer. Everyone followed his example.
“Dear Father, thank you that our whole family is here—Dena is home safe. Thank you for the food and for Mother who prepared it. Amen.”
Grant passed the potatoes while Brock put two large pieces of roast beef on his plate. Dena sat back and savored this time with her family. Brock teased Susan while Grant grinned. Dad listened quietly. Silence dominated the next few minutes while everyone enjoyed the special meal.
“Dena,” Brock said in a serious tone. “What’s your opinion on Stuart’s documentary?”
“Only what I know from my classes.” Her eyes widened. How did they know about the documentary depicting wind tunnels and jet engines being tested? Both Emily and I are featured in the segment working at tables on some blueprints. Slowly a smile brightened her eyes. Clay was also in that segment. “I know he did a superb job on it. What’s exciting is to see how my education can be used. The documentary is a small part in a much larger newsreel released to theaters. It’s to help Roosevelt’s progress to protect and preserve peace.” She looked around the table. All eyes were on her. She shrugged. “Why?”
A Matter Of Trust Page 13
