"Oh, Aunt Doreen, everything’s looking great,” she said, running her hand over the pair of slacks practically finished. “I can do the handwork if you want.”
“Maybe later; right now you have guests.” Aunt Doreen smiled. Dena nodded, rubbing the velvet material between her thumb and forefinger. Now she needed to go to the sunroom.
“Hello, Dena,” Clay spoke softly, meeting her in the hallway. “I heard your voice.”
The twinkle in his eyes showed his pleasure as he reached for her hands.
“Hello.” Dena shuddered slightly. Clay stood for a moment longer holding her hands.
“Hey are you two going to stand there or are you coming in here?” Carl called. She smiled up at Clay and walked to the sunroom with him.
“Glad to see you are feeling better, Dena.” Carl grinned when they came through the doorway.
“Me too,” She answered returning his smile before speaking to the others. Both men watched Dena head toward the corner couch. Clay followed closely.
“Please, let’s sit here.” She laid her palm on the cushion next to her, allowing room for Clay. This was the same area where they had sat and talked Thanksgiving. Carl reclined in the overstuffed chair across from her. Again she heard the doorbell. Stuart hurried out. That must be Mary.
“How are you feeling?” asked Clay. Carl leaned forward.
“I’m better—just tired. Still sniffling but not sneezing. I plan on going to class tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll see you at the cafeteria,” Carl said earnestly. He then moved to where Floyd and Emily were playing a game of dominos.
Dena nodded. Turning back to Clay she shifted so she could see him better. She clasped her hands then unclasped them. Finally she looked at him.
“Dena.” Clay reached for her hand. He seemed to be struggling for words. “I want to apologize for my behavior.”
Clay began again hesitated, got up to look out the window. Dena waited quietly. At last he sat down and continued. “I know Carl has told you February is hard because it’s the month my parents died—but that’s no reason for me to treat you badly.”
Dena smiled, dabbed her nose, but said nothing; she understood from being around Grant after his parents died that Clay needed to talk. Not sure she wanted to hear what he was going to tell her, Dena looked down at her hands. Clay paused rubbing his palms on his slacks. He continued barely above a whisper.
“Because I was an only child, we did everything together. As I grew older, I wanted independence.” Clay blinked several times to erase the tears brimming up in his eyes. She knew about wanting independence. She felt empathy for him, yet again, she said nothing. This sudden turn in their conversation and the change in her emotion startled her. Sliding her hand down her skirt to smooth out nonexistent wrinkle, I wonder if death affects everyone this way. I don’t remember much about Grandpa Caulter’s funeral. I was maybe eight years old then. Folding her hands around her damp handkerchief in her lap, she then studied in depth how her hands lay folded. What if Clay can’t move forward from his parents’ death? What if he can’t heal? What if he can’t move on from this point in his life?
Dena knew no matter what she said or did, she needed to be careful. Raising her eyes, she looked into his face. Tears were slowly trickling down his cheek in an unsteady line. He swiped angrily at them. Reaching over, she touched his forearm and tried to assure him. “It’s all right to cry. Just turn your back to the others; this will only be between us.”
Clay carefully considered her soft expression before he turned so his back was square with the rest of room. Still he was unwilling to look at her, although he knew she understood. It gave him strength to continue.
Trust in the LORD with all of your heart. Dena recognized the verse. Mother frequently quoted it. She removed her hand slowly from Clay’s arm. Biting at her lip, she said nothing. She sat silent and waited.
“I was rebelling that summer, I guess you could say.” Clay paled, taking a deep breath before he went on. She listened intently. It was important to her to listen and identify with him, to learn as much as she could about him.
“I got the chance to go to Virginia to work, and I took it against my parents’ wishes …” Clay pressed his lips together. Tears trickled. It had been a long time coming. Dena tightly clasped her hands. Looking out the window, Dena gazed at the roses in the garden, peaceful.
“I never saw them alive again,” Clay whispered, staring out the window. She watched a tear trail down his cheek. Although the silence between them wasn’t strained, he sat rooted in the past, remembering for several moments. Dena enjoyed the security she felt in Clay’s presence. Remaining still she waited for him to continue. Finally he turned, looking at her, “You know, you remind me of my mom.”
“Is that bad or good?” Dena’s eyes hinted at teasing. She watched a lazy grin rise before she continued, “While we are offering confessions, you remind me of my dad. They say we are attracted to people like our parents. I’m unsure if that’s a fair statement, but I like to think so.”
Now dry-eyed, Clay looked at her amused. Peering over his shoulder at the rest of the room, she saw that Carl kept glancing their way. Never had she known a friend so committed. Clay was lucky.
“Am I really like your dad?” Clay asked tentatively.
“Mmm, I don’t know. Let’s see,” she answered, laying her finger over her pursed lips. “Dad is quieter. He’s absolutely devoted to my mother. He works tirelessly for his family. He loves his work—ranching.”
“Wow.” Clay smiled, lacing his fingers with hers. Gently he rubbed his thumbs across the tops, slowly tracing her veins. “Thank you for comparing me with your dad. I consider that an honor. And, Dena, thank you for listening. Will you forgive me?”
For what? For being honest? Yet, Dena nodded.
“Now for more serious stuff,” Clay said. He held her gaze, causing her to blink. What could be more serious than this?
“Dena, will you go to the Winter Ball with me?” he asked in a formal tone.
“Oh, Clay!” she whispered, her eyes sparkling. “Yes!” In her mind she thanked God for this time with Clay and for answering her prayer. She so wanted to go to the Winter Ball, and she wanted to hug him; yet they weren’t alone.
***
March 5, 1940
Dena felt like she had blown in—the wind was so strong.
March was definitely one of the windiest months in the year as far as she was concerned. Even in Colorado, March was windy. An old saying from childhood came to mind: If March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, then March comes in extremely windy and goes out very mild. Well today proves the saying correct. Shuddering, she shook off the chill. The weather man had said it was unseasonably cool for this time of the year. I can’t wait for him to say warm mild breezes of spring. I’m so ready. With her coat hung in the closet, Dena rifled through the mail. Happily she found two letters, creating a bright warm spot in the afternoon.
The longer she was in California, it seemed the more she enjoyed hearing from home. Home meant her siblings for her mother rarely wrote. Hurrying up to her room, she dropped her books in a scattered pile at the foot of the bed before she stretched out, propping herself up on her pillows. It was interesting to her that when she lived at home, her relationship with her brother and sister was just that: people living in the same house which she had to tolerate. Now they weren’t only family, but friends—best friends. Putting Susan’s letter aside, Dena quickly opened the seal on Brock’s envelope. How she missed him and was glad that each day May came closer. She even missed his incessant bantering and joking at her expense.
Odd what Dad had said at Christmas, when everyone came home in May, it would be the last time they would be together as a family of five? Dena noticed that Mother had patted her hose with the handkerchief she always had in her apron pocket. I can’t believe I remembered that. Dena unfolded Brock’s letter; she read it a second and third time.
It helped her remember what he had written, especially if he had said something significant, like he was coming to California. She grinned at such an absurd thought.
***
March, 1940
Dear Sis,
Boy is it ever cold here! How I wish for some of that California sunshine. Even though I’ve never been in there, I can just imagine how warm it is. Could you send me a picture of a warm day in California to look at when I’m cold? We have snow over a foot deep in places. Luckily, I’ve not had to deal with it; getting to classes isn’t a breeze, but I have it better than some students. My job is interesting most of the time. I’m not sure I want to be in agriculture in Colorado, when it’s cold as it is today. I think I’d rather be on a ranch in Hawaii with warm beaches and lots of sunshine. Do you think Dad would move the ranch there? Probably not. I know that it would make Dad happy if I stayed in cold Colorado and take over the ranch.
How are you doing with your “pud” classes? I still can’t fathom you being interested in aeronautics. There must be a boy involved. Is there?
I’ve met a great gal. You would like her. She’s a first year Veterinarian student—a farm girl from Kansas. I must love her. Her name is Anne—a beautiful name, right? I like the way Anne sounds with Brock. I must swear you to secrecy, Dena. I don’t think Mother and Dad could handle another wedding yet. And frankly, I would like to wait until Anne graduates, which will be two years after I do. When is your semester over? Will you come home?
Brock
***
Dena thought about what Brock had shared with her. It must be serious for him to tell her about his feelings for Anne. She was happy for him. She wasn’t ready to share Clay with her family. Of course, they might find out in June. Someone was sure to mention him. She would pray about it. Dena suddenly stopped.
Yes, pray about it. She knew that God would reveal the right time. Bowing her head, she silently asked God for guidance. As far as she was concerned, Clay wasn’t the problem. It was her.
With Brock’s news still fresh in her thoughts, she opened her sister’s letter. She wondered if Clay would mind meeting her family; if he would agree to meet them in May. What if I’ve presumed too much? Oh gosh, what should I do? Maybe the best thing would be to ask Clay the next time I see him.
She stared at the wall. The idea wasn’t at all foreign.
Maybe she would see him before the dance. He stayed busy with his labs so he didn’t always come for coffee.
As much as she missed that special time on Mondays with him, she knew it was important for Clay to accomplish his goal, to get all of his classes and labs done so he would make the honor roll. Clay needed his work and his education. She valued that tenacious quality he possessed, the will to follow through whatever he started. Unfolding the sheet of Susan’s letter, she read down the page.
***
March, 1940
Dear Dena,
Help, please! I have no photographer for my wedding. The local one, Mr. Green, left town suddenly “due to an indiscretion” Mother said. Thankfully, Dad or Grant hadn’t put down a deposit, so no money is lost, but now we have no photographer. Mother suggests we ask Stuart. Do you think he would help me out?
Your dresses are beautiful! I can’t wait for you and Emily to come so we can do the final alterations. As you know, Brock is the best man, and Robert Jones, a friend of Grant’s, will be the groomsman. Four-year-old Kay Lewis is my flower girl. She is Samuel and Katherine’s girl. Katherine, you might remember, graduated with Brock. Kay is quite the young lady and takes her part very seriously. Pauley Parker will be the ring bearer. He is three years old and is a second or third cousin on Grant’s side. I don’t know much about Grant’s family. Maybe this wedding will help me at least know the faces and names to the pictures that Grant has shown me. Anyway, Pauley is adorable. He has big brown eyes, blond hair, and is very solemn about everything. You’ll just love him. When will you get here? I need my sister.
Love,
Susan
***
That evening as Dena sat at the table with Aunt Doreen and Emily, they were about to start the meal when Stuart rushed in.
“Sorry I’m late Mother,” he apologized. “Mary and I had some last-minute details to take care of before class tomorrow.” Aunt Doreen studied her son. Dena knew it was a mother’s code to love her children unconditionally. As they were having dessert, Dena ventured to voice her question to Stuart, praying for Susan’s sake he would say yes.
“Stuart, may I ask a favor?” She looked sideways at him, laying down her fork, and folding her hands in her lap.
“Shoot.” Stuart said as he continued eating.
“Susan’s asked if you would take the wedding pictures for her and Grant. It seems the local photographer left town suddenly.”
“Why, Stuart,” Aunt Doreen broke in. “I think that would be a great chance for you to add to your portfolio.”
Stuart laid down his fork, something he rarely did and examined Dena’s face. Dena wondered if he would say no to such an opportunity. At last, he picked up his fork and poked a piece of meat and then holding it in midair, he said, “You may write Susan and tell her that I would be honored. It’ll be my first paid shoot.”
“Stuart!” admonished Aunt Doreen. He laughed.
“Tell her it’ll be my”—he looked at his mother teasingly— “our wedding gift to her and Grant is it.” Then he inserted his long-awaited bite and chewed slowly before he continued. “By the way, Mother, the reason I was late tonight is my professor has a summer film festival in New York City that he wants me to attend. He said it would be a great way to get extra credits, and get this, Mother, it’ll be especially beneficial for my career.”
“Stuart, that’s wonderful. When?” asked Aunt Doreen. Her face glowed with pride.
“It starts June tenth. I’ll be gone two months. Mary’s going also. There’s a conference for aspiring writers at the same time.”
“Really,” Aunt Doreen continued to listen closely; her brow furrowed slightly.
“Yes. Mary has cousins who live nearby her conference. We can stay with them. Mary’s dad arranged the lodgings for us. That’s why I was late.”
Aunt Doreen stirred her coffee studying her only son. Stuart scraped his plate. Dena was sure her aunt must be wondering where time had gone as her mother had at Christmas.
Her mother talked about the total joy as well as the sadness. It was funny she truly understood what her mother revealed.
“I do think it’s a very nice gesture to do the photography for Susan’s wedding. It’s family…” Aunt Doreen’s voice trailed off. She didn’t mention the trip. Dena figured Aunt Doreen decided it was better not to discuss it at that time.
“But?” Stuart looked up, puzzled. Aunt Doreen smiled somberly. The telephone rang. She got up to answer it.
“Thank you, Stuart,” Dena said earnestly. At this moment her heart felt gratitude as she laid down her napkin. “I’ll write Susan tonight.”
“Sure. No problem,” he answered, taking seconds of everything. Then he turned around, “And tell her that I’ll take the negatives to New York City and develop them then drop the pictures off when Mary and I come back in August. That way they won’t get damaged in the mail.”
“Oh Stuart.” Dena hugged his neck, turned quickly and hurried to her room.
Chapter Fifteen
March 23, 1940
Winter Ball
Dena had anticipated this night for over a month. It was her first official date with Clay. She hoped she wasn’t reading too much into it. But after their long, intimate talk on Sunday afternoon and several coffee dates, Dena felt closer to Clay. Her forehead wrinkled slightly, and she closed her eyes. Now, she wanted to freeze the memory of tonight forever. But time waited for no one—not even for her.
Clay arrived at seven thirty p.m. His eyes lit up and a soft gasp escaped when he saw her coming down the stairs. She wore the black crepe evening
dress and carried the small fur cape. Her blonde hair hung softly about her shoulders, haloing her flawless oval face. Her dark green eyes seemed to sparkle. Pausing, halfway down the stairs, she smiled. Clay’s honey-colored hair, which looked almost red in the evening light, accented his black pin-striped suit. It’s funny; I’ve never noticed red in his hair before.
“You look stunning. I feel lucky to be your escort,” he murmured into her ear. Dena blushed.
“Pictures.” Aunt Doreen stood with a small black box-like camera. “Smile. Emily, I want a picture of you and Floyd.”
Clay helped with her wrap and then slid his arm around her waist. “Come on we’ll wait outside. I want you to myself.”
“Is that your car?” Dena asked admiring the shiny sedan sitting in the drive.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t know you had a car.” This surprised her since they always rode the bus.
“Actually I have two—a coupe and this one. I inherited them.” He ran his hand over the black fender caressing it. Dena slipped her hand through his arm and squeezed. There are so many things I don’t know about you, like your favorite foods or your favorite color. She looked forward to exploring these mysteries.
“I can’t wait to dance with you again,” she said shyly.
“Are you guys ready?” Floyd called as he and Emily came around the corner. Clay opened the door for Dena then hurried to his side. It was only a short distance to the dance.
It’s like a double date. Floyd and Emily opted to ride with them instead of taking the bus. Clay led the way to the ballroom. They stood watching the activity. The band sounded great, and everyone looked like they were enjoying the music.
“Oh, Dena,” Emily whispered. Nodding, she knew what Emily was trying to say. The room, full of young people, looked beautiful. Tinsel, lights and streamers were everywhere. Clay guided her to a table. Floyd and Emily followed closely. Dena looked for Stuart and Mary. They must not be here. We’re the first to arrive. Emily dropped her wrap and clutch on a chair and followed Floyd to the dance floor.
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