“Grant, Susan, and I saw it at the theater in town the other day,” Brock concluded. He took another bite of meat, chewed for a moment. Dena couldn’t believe it was at the theaters out here. Sure, in New York, Chicago, or even Denver, but not here. It would have been nice to be prepared. Yet Stuart said it could happen.
“It was a surprise to see you in the newsreel,” Grant said.
“But I thought the whole presentation was good, real good—very informative.”
“What are you talking about?” asked her dad before Dena could answer. “What’s this about my girl?”
“Stuart is studying film, Dad, and he did this film documentation before I arrived in July. It’s about students working their way through college. It placed very well. So for his fall semester’s documentation he asked Uncle Walter if he could do it on the wind tunnels that Langley Field uses to test jet engines. It’s what Uncle Walter is working with at Langley.” Dena paused, looking at her dad. She wanted him to understand that she hadn’t done anything wrong.
“Go on.”
“Since Emily and I are studying drafting and blueprinting, he shot us in the blueprint segment.” Dena finished speaking in a soft voice hoping to buffer the boldness of the information. She deliberately didn’t say anything about Clay.
“Well then, I guess we’ll all have to go to the theater,” Dad announced. “Mother, would you like to go see a movie with me? By the way, what movie is playing?”
Laughter moved around the table. Dena looked from one face to another and smiled.
“We can call tomorrow and check, Lawrence.” Dena noticed Mother dabbing her eyes. She claimed it was allergies. Of course everyone knew better. After all, it was December.
Call? She glanced around the kitchen. There it was on the wall just behind the outside door. Wow! Her parents had a telephone! Susan hadn’t said a thing about it.
“When did you get a telephone?”
“In October, I think,” Mother answered, looking at her husband. “Right, Lawrence?”
Her parents amazed her. Dad wouldn’t buy a new car, but he would install a telephone. Dena sat back in her chair, munching on a buttered roll. She listened to the chatter. It’s so warm and relaxing. Yes, it felt good to be home. Everyone knew supper was over when
her mother started removing dishes.
Dena dried the dishes while her mother slowly washed. Susan put away the leftovers, which wasn’t much. The men sat comfortably around the table waiting for Mother to finish.
“Dena, shall I take your suitcases up to your room?” Brock asked.
“Why, Brock, that would be nice,” Mother answered before Dena could say anything. “Then we can have hot spiced tea in the living room by the tree.”
“You know, Grant, I might need your help. Dena tends to pack the bed in her suitcases.” Dena gave him the old girl look, which Brock returned with his I-am-so-afraid look before laughing and disappearing up the stairs. Dena noticed that Grant just watched in amusement, his arm around Susan’s shoulders. Grant didn’t get into their private bantering.
“How long can you stay?” Mother asked. Dad looked up from the old rocker.
“I leave on January 8. It’ll be 1940. Can you believe it? Well anyway I can stay for three weeks. Classes start the fifteenth. But I need to be back on the twelfth to help Aunt Doreen with spring enrollment,” she added.
“Good,” Mother replied. Dena watched a smile cross her mother’s face. She knew her mother was thinking about three weeks filled with pranks, jokes, and just plain kidding around. She was happy to have all of her children home at Christmas time. Tomorrow they would deliver baked goods to their neighbors.
Chapter Eleven
December 25, 1939, Christmas Day
Dena woke to howling wind and branches scraping the roof. She blinked and then rubbed her eyes before peering into the gray dawn light that filtered through the curtain. She had forgotten where she was. A soft snore came from the bed. Raising up on her elbows and leaning over, she stared. Susan. She fell back against the pillow and smiled in pure joy. Home in Colorado. Two days now she had been home. Pulling the warm comforter up to her chin, Dena considered those two days.
It had taken six days to get home. Her train ride was mostly comfortable. Fortunately, the old conductor had taken her under his care. He made sure she had had enough blankets and food and that no one bothered her. He told her fondly that she reminded him of his daughter who lived in Boston. Dena appreciated his kindness. At different times, unpleasant men had harassed her. So the old conductor asked two older ladies, who were sisters to sit with her. They had made her feel safe. Plus, it had been nice to have someone to talk to. And talk they did. They both left the train at the stop just before she got off. She gave a box of chocolates to the sisters, thanking each for making her trip comfortable and helping her to pass the time. A second box went to the conductor. She still had three boxes left.
Thankfully, at Jane’s urgings, she had brought chocolates.
Never know when someone will show up unannounced at Christmas and you don’t have a gift. Chocolates are always appropriate.
Dena bravely slid from the warm comforter and pulled on her heavy flannel robe before moving to the window. She pulled her heavy robe tighter and grinned. Snow. Dad predicted correctly. She almost giggled. Christmas morning was perfect for lots of heavy snow. She had no idea what time she and Susan had gone to bed. True to her sister’s word, they had had much catching up to do. It seemed they had talked since she had arrived. To her dismay, it had been three full days of Grant and Grant-related subjects. Yet, she truly loved spending time with her sister, sitting in the middle of their bed, which was tucked under a slanted roof. Something she realized she hadn’t appreciated last year. Now she stood at the end of the bed looking at her sleeping sister and thinking about the unique relationship she hadn’t valued until she had left home. Plopping down on her sister’s side of the bed, Dena said loudly, “Susan! Wake up! It’s snowing!”
“Oh great. Grant may have trouble getting here.” Susan propped herself up on her elbow, hair standing out every which way. Dena giggled. The first words out of her mouth were about Grant, and the last words the night before were about her and Grant. Susan fell back against the pillow, covering up her head and plaintively stated, “Well I’m not getting up.”
“Your loss.” Dena hurriedly dressed in a beige woolen sweater and a long chocolate brown wool skirt, ankle boots and warm socks. Then she brushed her hair until it glistened before going downstairs. She still could feel the moist, cold air seeping through her woolen clothes. Crossing her arms, she shivered. Dena quickened her steps through the doorway into a well-lit and warm kitchen.
“Good morning, dear.” Mother stood at the stove, her face flushed from the heat. The smell of bacon cooking made Dena’s stomach growl. Or maybe it was the turkey. The turkey probably had been in the oven since four or five. “Come and sit here next to the stove and talk to me.”
“Where’s Dad.” She stifled a yawn, pouring herself a cup of coffee.
“He and Brock are out doing morning chores and making sure everything is buttoned down for the storm which is settling in for a long blow. Grant arrived a few minutes ago and went to help them.”
“Grant’s here now?”
“Yes.” Mother nodded watching her daughter closely.
“Susan said he probably wouldn’t come,” Dena stated, sipping her coffee. She could tell Mother was thinking about what she wanted to say. Slowly she turned and looked at her daughter before picking up her own half-filled cup.
“Dena, Grant’s going to ask her to marry him over the holidays. He’s already talked to Dad and me. They’re planning a June-first wedding, so the family can come. And so you can come home early to help with the final wedding preparations.” She paused, before she picked up the large spatula to stir the grated potatoes. “They’ll be living in Grant’s house. It was supposed to be a secret until it
happens, but I think everyone knows except you. I wanted you to know.” She looked at her eldest daughter, smiling wistfully before she continued cooking. It’s like she’s talking about a change in the weather. Dena sat watching her mother. Later her mother added, “I’m so glad you’re home, dear.”
She got up, hugged her mother in a lopsided way, and poured herself another cup of coffee. Absent-mindedly she watched her mother work over the hot stove. “Think I should let Susan know Grant’s here?”
“Probably should.” Mother put a pan of biscuits in the oven as Dena sat down her coffee and walked towards the door.
Pausing Dena asked, “What about school?” Even though she already knew the answer, she wanted to know what her mother would say. “Is Susan going to finish high school?”
“Yes. She’ll graduate this spring with Grant. She has all of her necessary credits.”
“Oh,” Dena said, walking to the bottom of the stairwell.
She shivered again as she went up to the bedroom.
“Oh go away, Dena,” Susan whined as Dena roughly shook her shoulders. Dena giggled as she continued tormenting her sister. It was fun.
“Dena! Leave me alone, I want to sleep!”
“Get up, silly. Grant’s here.”
“No!” Susan threw off the quilts, and ran to the window. Certain that Dena was kidding, Susan rubbed a small circle on the frosted pane and peered out. She just knew it was a ploy to get her up on such a cold morning, but sure enough, there sat his pickup half covered with snow. She turned back to her sister, eyes wide as she stood in the middle of the floor trying to decide what to do. Susan picked up a pillow and threw it at her older sister. Dena ducked and laughed. Susan stared at her. Dena sat down on the bed giggling. Susan grinned before turning to the closet. She pulled out her red sweater, and floor-length blue wool-blend skirt.
“Merry Christmas, Susan,” Dena murmured. Susan looked at her sister—softness creeping around her green eyes. She walked over and put her arms around Dena and whispered, “Merry Christmas. I’m so glad you’re here.”
Dena made the bed while she waited. Susan brushed her hair and tied a blue ribbon in it.
“How do I look?” Susan asked. Dena stood, her head cocked to one side, finger over her pursed lips. She hoped she looked like their mother.
“Well …” Dena’s voice faded. She wasn’t good at lying. Her face always gave her away.
“Oh you! Let’s go downstairs.” Susan laughed. Dena followed her sister to the stairs. Grant stood waiting at the bottom, grinning. Dena knew his smile wasn’t for her. He probably didn’t even know she was there.
“Merry Christmas sleepyhead,” Grant said. He looked like a kid that had gotten the best piece of candy in the store. Dena hastened by and continued into the kitchen. Mother had just put a large platter of meat on the table and Brock held an equally
large plate of sweet rolls. Dena could smell a fresh pot of coffee brewing and spied an oversized bowl of biscuits.
“About time you came down. I thought I might have to eat your food and mine,” Brock teased, his face red from the cold wind. Dena stuck out her tongue and then studied her dad, who sat at the end of the table quietly sipping his coffee. He and Mother watched the door to the hallway. Brock appeared oblivious to the undercurrent. If he knew anything, he was covering it up. He poured coffee for himself and Dena a cup before he set the large metal pot at the back of the stove.
“Merry Christmas to you too, Brock,” she said softly. She sipped at her cup of hot coffee.
“Oh, Grant!” The squeal echoed into the kitchen. Mother smiled and turned back to the stove, pushing pans and moving bowls around. Dena rose and walked to her dad’s side. He looked up with sadness around his watering eyes. “Merry Christmas, Daddy.”
“Merry Christmas, girl,” he spoke tenderly, circling his arm around her waist firmly. He pulled her onto his lap and held her tightly. Dena wondered if he thought he might lose her also. She didn’t mind much. She wasn’t going anywhere. As a matter of fact, it felt pretty good.
“Well Grant,” Brock called to the couple in the hallway. “Are you two going to come in and eat, or are you going to stand there and stare at each other.” Dena looked at him. Brock had known. She sat in the chair between her dad and Brock. Grant and Susan could sit across from them. For all she knew, this had been planned. Dad reached over and covered her hand. He smiled. Dena laid her other hand over his and gently squeezed.
She understood.
“In just a minute,” Susan’s singsong voice floated back.
“More coffee, Dena?” asked Mother. Dena nodded, holding up her cup. Mother turned, “More coffee, Brock? Lawrence?”
“Of course, Mother.” Brock grinned. “Agricultural
students, or ‘aggies’ as we're called, live on coffee you know.”
“Then I can eat your breakfast?” Dena queried sweetly.
“Absolutely not,” Brock sputtered.
“Got you, dear brother,” she said with a snicker. There was a giggle on the other side of the doorway. Grant and Susan strolled in with their arms linked.
“She said yes!” Grant exclaimed, grinning. Dena couldn’t imagine him thinking Susan wouldn’t say yes.
“Let me see, dear,” Mother said, taking Susan’s hand in hers. “It’s beautiful, just beautiful.” She hugged her youngest daughter.
“Oh, Momma.” Susan leaned back and whispered, “I’m so happy.”
Dena watched her mother agree with a jerk of her head. She turned loose of Susan and went to get the hot coffee pot. Dena understood why her mother couldn’t talk. She had a lump in her throat too. Grant and Susan walked around the table.
“Grant I’d like to say welcome to our family. You’ve been a part of it for several years, but now its official … well, almost.” Dad smiled slightly, finishing off his coffee. Dena felt certain her dad’s voice would be shaky, something he didn’t like to show. Susan sat across from Dena and extended her hand showing her sister and brother her diamond. Dena’s eyebrows shot up. She couldn’t believe how large it was. She smiled at her sister again.
“Nice rock, Grant. Congratulations.” Brock said. He and Grant completely understood guy language, even if Dena didn’t.
“Let’s say grace,” Dad said. “Dear Father, thank you...”
Almost before Dad said amen, Brock asked, “What does a fellow have to do to get to eat around here? Besides, I know I have a couple of presents under the tree to open. Just because Susan already has her gift, doesn’t mean I should have to wait. You noticed, Susan, I said gifts.” That caused everyone to laugh.
“Don’t forget, Dena, dibs on your leftovers,” Brock countered. “I’ve been dreaming about this since Thanksgiving.”
“I don’t think so,” she replied, firmly.
“I can’t believe it. Even on Christmas Day, you’re badgering,” he announced. “What does a guy have to do to get some peace around here?”
“I don’t pester, badger, or—” cutting herself off in mid-sentence, Dena took a bite of biscuit with jam. Everyone laughed again. Brock hadn’t expected an answer to his lengthy complaint.
“Judith, will you pass me another biscuit?” Dad asked as he smiled contentedly at his wife. Dena reached for a sweet roll, wondering if her dad knew how many years he and her mother had been married. Brock finished the last bite of his second helping—or was it his third? Well, all she knew, she was stuffed from two small sweet rolls, biscuit and bacon.
Dad pulled out his pocket watch, snapped it open, and studied it. It was the one the family had given him last Father’s Day. I’m amazed he’s still using it. He had loved Grandpa’s, so this one must be really special.
“Dishes can wait, Mother. It’s time.” He walked around the table and led her into the living room. The rest of the group followed. She could remember when Susan, Brock and she had rushed to the tree. Now they walked behind Mother and Dad. Amazing what age will do. Dena s
topped at the door and stared. A small gasp escaped. The only lights in the room were the Christmas tree lights. It was beautiful. Just like when they were kids—the tree was always beautiful. It seemed to represent magic. I always expected fairies to jump out, but they never did.
Even though the snowstorm continued to rage outside, Dena was toasty sitting by the fireplace watching everyone open their gifts. Her dad’s well stoked fire burned brightly. Each one had a place they traditionally sat. Dena’s was at the warm fireplace. Today she gladly sat next to the warmth.
Her dad was the first to start opening gifts. It had been that way as long as she remembered. When her dad came to Dena’s gift, he shook it, asked questions—like “will it bite”—until Dena couldn’t stand it any longer. She almost jumped up and opened it herself. Her dad grinned at her as he tore off the
paper. Next, Susan and her mother oohed and aahed over the nylon stockings. Brock mimicked them when he opened his presents.
“Brock, be serious,” Dena spoke a little sharper than she meant to. Brock ignored her and continued to imitate.
“At least you didn’t bring me a Stanford sweater.” He grinned, holding up the steel gray one. He hooted when she gave him the girl look—narrowing her eyes her eyes together and pouted. She hoped it made herself look meaner. Then it was her turn. Dena started with the gift from Brock.
“Oh my,” she said, drawing out the drama of the mystery in the box. “Well it’s not a heavy coat.” Brock whooped again. He had given her a lovely pink satin blouse with a matching pink cardigan sweater. Tears pricked her eyes. I love it. Each present held a special sentiment. I don’t think I can remember a better Christmas. Dena smiled slightly after seeing that Susan received a blue blouse and blue sweater. Brock was always safe as long as he bought blue.
A Matter Of Trust Page 14
