Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington

by Tricia Goyer

  “Lots of attention I never asked for.” Rosalie circled back to the topic. “I suppose I don’t mind, though. It’s for a good cause, right?”

  The sun angling in through the paned windows of the old house gleamed against the glossies on the table.

  “Yeah, for your man.” Lanie grasped a strand of her shiny hair and twirled it between her fingers.

  Rosalie shared her teabag with Lanie, then padded to the stove, returning with the kettle. “For my man?” She filled Lanie’s cup. “I like Kenny a lot, but I’m not doing it for him. I’m enduring all this humiliation to help recruit more lady workers to the plant. Get them involved.” She sighed as she sank back into her chair. “I hope it’s working.”

  The richness in the colors of the brown wood, Lanie’s blue blouse, even the red in her bandanna in the photographs darkened as a cloud swept in front of the sun. Rosalie shivered.

  “Well, it’s sure helping him.” Lanie flared a smile, then scooted her chair back, moseyed to the icebox, and lifted out a bottle of milk, fresh from the Smith Brothers Dairy. “You must be so happy for him. My uncle says since the Rosie the Riveter articles came out, the paper’s sales have doubled. Doubled! And Kenny’s getting all the big scoops now.”

  Rosalie rubbed her arms. She wanted to be happy for Kenny, and she really was, but these “big scoops” made up part of the reason he hadn’t explained the heart on her bracelet—or shared any more intimate moments with her. She closed her eyes as the memory of his kiss wrapped around her.

  Lanie plunked milk into her tea, then poured some into Rosalie’s without asking.

  “I’m very proud of him.” Rosalie took a sip, despite her concern that the milk should be saved for the children. “He’s a good writer.”

  Lanie sipped the daintiest taste, then sat back and twirled her hair again. “Do you think he’ll hang around after your articles are done?” She lifted an emery board from her pocket and filed her nails. “I mean, with all these great assignments, once you’re no longer the talk of the town,” she chuckled dismissively, “he won’t have an excuse to talk to you anymore. I know my uncle doesn’t want his reporters fraternizing—franchising as he says—with his sources.” She puffed dust from her nails and glanced up. “It’ll probably put an end to your little fling. Oh, well, right? It’s basically over anyway. I mean, when’s the last time you saw him?”

  Rosalie placed the mug on the table and swallowed. She looked to Lanie’s sweet face and suddenly understood. Her father’s face filled her mind, but she quickly pushed it away.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Rosalie’s stomach sank. The platinum blond’s words caused her father’s broken promises and abandonment to scratch through her mind, leaving aching wounds along the way.

  Would Kenny break her heart like her father had? She picked at a thumbnail. No, she told herself. He’s nothing like Pops. But then, Kenny had broken promises—more than one.

  “I promise,” he’d said. “I’ll tell you about the heart soon.” When he backed out, he cited valid excuses—power outage, a factory fire, even a Jap sub spotted in the Columbia River down by the Oregon border.

  Pops also had weaved the most convincing excuses. He was good at inventing stories. After all, he was a reporter. Maybe I shouldn’t have trusted Kenny. Oh, Lord, why’d I let myself trust…

  Rosalie strained to push away the doubts, but they still roiled, causing her stomach to ache. Kenny had the best intentions to keep that promise. He still will. I know he will.

  Lanie must’ve read Rosalie’s struggle because she returned the emery board to her pocket, then reached her arm across Rosalie’s photos and lightly gripped her hand.

  “Oh dear.” Her eyes dripped sympathy. “What was I thinkin’? I shouldn’t have said those things. My brain’s not kickin’ on all cylinders, like my daddy used to say.” She made a quirky face. “Of course Kenny will hang around after the stories are done, no matter what my uncle says. Kenny wouldn’t leave you high and dry. I can be so insensitive sometimes. I’ve been prayin’ about that.”

  Rosalie patted Lanie’s hand, which was covering hers. “It’s okay, Lanie. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, but you should know Kenny’s not like that. He wouldn’t hurt me for all the salmon in Puget Sound.” Rosalie forced her voice to portray strength, confidence, hoping not only to dispel Lanie’s doubts, but also her father’s voice gnawing at the borders of her mind. Not all reporters are like my father. And, no matter what, Rosalie needed to cling to that truth.

  Lanie finished the last swallow of her tea, then ambled to the sink. “I know you’re right, Rosalie. I’ve never seen Kenny behave in any less than an honorable way. He wouldn’t hurt you. I’m sure you’ll be together again soon.” She moved back to Rosalie and rubbed her tense shoulders. Rosalie tried to believe Lanie’s words. Tried to relax and let the knots be rubbed away.

  After a few minutes, Lanie returned to the chair next to Rosalie. “Will you forgive your thoughtless friend?” Her pink lips curved in a sweet smile.

  Returning the smile, Rosalie touched her friend’s arm. “Of course.”

  As if signaling the end of their conversation, the front door groaned open, and footfalls approached the kitchen.

  “Thank you, Rosalie. I really am sorry.” Perking to an upright posture, Lanie moved to the pegged rack where the housemates hung their bandannas. Removing her pink one, Lanie flipped her head upside down to get her hands on her hair. “I’ve got to take off. Don’t want to be late for work, you know.” Winding her hair into a ball, she then secured the bandanna.

  Rosalie cocked her head. “All the other girls already left. You probably missed the bus.” She grimaced empathetically.

  Then her eyes fell on the source of the sounds from the other room. A splash of giddiness slapped Rosalie. “Good morning, Miss Tilly.” She rose and gave her favorite mentor a big hug. “How wonderful to see you.”

  “I’m off!” Lanie patted Rosalie’s back. “My uncle let me borrow his car indefinitely.” She tilted her head and grinned like a spoiled schoolgirl. “That ol’ bus takes so much longer. I’ll still make it on time.”

  Miss Tilly peered around the room. “Well, who’s gonna be ridin’ with you?”

  “Oh, I’m just headin’ out for a solo flight today.”

  Miss Tilly’s lips turned downward. “Young lady, you don’t mean to say you’re drivin’ from here all the way to the plant all by yourself in that car, do you?”

  Lanie shook her head innocently and shrugged. “Why not?”

  Rosalie’s heartbeat pulsed. She knew what Miss Tilly was thinking. The same thoughts had darted through her mind as well.

  Brandishing a finger like a sword, Miss Tilly began the onslaught. “Haven’t you seen those posters of a young man ridin’ alone in a car—but really Adolf Hitler himself is sittin’ next to him? If you ride alone, missy, you’re stealin’ gasoline right out of one of our boys’ airplanes.”

  Lanie’s already fair cheeks grew even more pallid. “Why I never,” she muttered before being rescued by Kenny, who was entering the room.

  “What’s going on with you chickens?” he asked, a chipper grin filling his face. “You birds engaged in a good bout of chitter-chatter?”

  Without a word, Lanie slipped her keys from a nail near the doorway and slunk out of the kitchen, hustling to the front door.

  Kenny wagged his head after her, then looked back at Rosalie and Miss Tilly. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Miss Tilly tsked her tongue. “Irresponsible girl. Young people these days.” She exhaled as if expelling any trace of Lanie from the room, then sandwiched Rosalie’s hand between hers. “I know you’d never think of doing that, darlin’. Such a waste.” Her wrinkled hand tapped against Rosalie’s. “Now, how’s my girl?”

  “I’m well, Miss Tilly. Busy, but it’s for a good cause.”

  A cloud like the one that had draped the sun dampened Miss Tilly’s twinkling eyes. “I hope you’re not too busy, da
rlin’. It’s not healthy for you—or your new relationship.” Her gaze flicked to Kenny. “You’re takin’ good care of my girl, aren’t you, Kenneth? Don’t let her wear herself out, ya hear.”

  Kenny patted Miss Tilly’s back. “Yes, Aunt Tilly.” His gaze landed on Rosalie. “I’ll cherish her with all my heart.”

  Warmth seeped up her arms, and she hugged them to her. Rosalie wondered if his loving words and infiltrating gazes would ever cease to make her swoon.

  “Okay, I’m countin’ on you.” Miss Tilly spoke over her shoulder, then shifted back to Rosalie. “Let’s talk later. I’ve been prayin’ for your new position. Some people crave that kind of attention, but I have a feelin’ it’s not your thing.” Her eyes squinted, defining her crow’s feet. “We can talk about that”—she flitted a glance toward Kenny—“and a few other things later.”

  Bobbing her head up, Miss Tilly peeked out the window at the backyard, then stretched out her long, brown hands. “These old hands could use some time in the Good Lord’s soil. I’m thinkin’ that victory garden could use a bit of tendin’. Will you two be all right in here?” She chuckled, not waiting for an answer, as she lumbered out the kitchen door to the yard and their new garden plot.

  “Hey, doll.” Kenny grabbed Rosalie’s hands and pulled her to her feet. “I’ve been missing you.” He wrapped his arms around her in a deep embrace, and Rosalie’s doubts from a moment before evaporated like steam on a damp road after a rainfall.

  Relishing his kiss on her forehead as they pulled apart, Rosalie traced his hairline over his ear and to his neck. “You’re early. I thought—”

  He closed his eyes, as if savoring her touch. “I couldn’t wait to be with you. I actually have a morning off, Rosalie.” His hand slipped down, interlocking with hers. He led her to the kitchen door. “It’s a gorgeous day. What say we take a walk together? I can show you all the fun stuff in Victory Heights.”

  Rosalie tilted her head. “Fun stuff? I thought this was just another subdivision.”

  Kenny opened the back door, and they stepped out. Miss Tilly was already on her knees in the dirt.

  “Oh, no, there’s lots of fun stuff. I can show you the water tower. It’s a windmill.”

  “Ooh, exciting.” Rosalie caressed his arm with her other hand.

  “I know.” Kenny tilted his hat forward and raised his eyebrows. “And there’s more. There’s an air-raid siren, and”—he paused, looking in either direction—“a tire swing.”

  Rosalie leaned her head against him. “Now you’re talking.” She grabbed a post next to the porch swing and angled in front of him. “Some folks from the film crew are coming, though, to set up for my commercial that’s being filmed next week.”

  “You’ll be wonderful. Then everyone’ll get to see my girl.”

  “Yeah, isn’t that wonderful,” Rosalie said sarcastically but threw Kenny a grin so he’d know she was teasing. “Maybe we could go for a short walk, then come back. Are you still going to help me with my speech? I can’t even think straight when I try to figure out what to say.”

  “I’m planning on it.” He touched her arm, then slid his hand down to her wrist, stopping at the bracelet. “And I still haven’t told you about that heart.” He caressed her hair, and the loving look in his eyes melted her.

  “Kenny?” Rosalie edged back. “You’ve gotten a lot of good scoops since the Rosie the Riveter articles came out, haven’t you?”

  Kenny’s chin tilted up. His shoulders straightened. “Yes. It’s been amazing. I’m getting more stories than Charlie Hudson.”

  Rosalie’s heart pounded. “After the articles about me are done, you won’t—”

  Fear halted the query, You won’t leave me, will you? What if his answer stung her, left her crippled like after Vic died? Or worse, what if his words rang with comfort, but the wrenching truth emanated from his eyes?

  From inside the house, two distractions saved her from the question’s unforeseen consequences—the telephone jingled and the doorbell rang.

  Kenny kept his gaze on Rosalie. “What is it, doll? You look worried or something.”

  Rosalie shook away his inquiry. “It’s nothing.” She dressed herself in a smile. “I’ll get the door. Would you answer the phone?”

  “Phone!” Miss Tilly called from the garden.

  Within minutes, the creaky old house buzzed with commotion—its normal state over the past few weeks. The three fellows in the film crew arrived early, misjudging the traffic.

  “How do ya do? You must be Rosie? Heacock, Stanley Heacock.” He thrust out his hand for Rosalie to shake. “You don’t mind if I look around a bit; find the spot to film you ladies.”

  “Ladies? I thought it was just me.”

  Mr. Heacock apparently didn’t register her question, because his eyes peered past her, and he began strutting through the house.

  “Don’t mind him,” one of Heacock’s lackeys explained. “He does this every time.”

  “Okay, well, let me know if you need anything.” Rosalie observed Mr. Heacock pace over the rugs in the living room, out the back door, back in, out the front door, down the street. The other two fellows meandered to the back door, and Rosalie eyed Kenny finishing his phone call.

  Kenny replaced the black receiver onto the wall phone box, then walked to her, standing next to the sofa. She slid onto the arm and inspected Kenny. The carefree glimmer that shone when he arrived was overshadowed by a distracted concern.

  “Was that call for you?” Rosalie asked, knowing the answer. “You sure talked awhile.”

  Kenny’s lip stuck out in an exaggerated frown. “Yeah, it was.”

  “How did they know where to reach you?”

  “Well, now that I’m Bixby’s first call for a scoop, he needs to know where I am. I left him your number. Don’t have much choice about it, if I want to keep getting the bigger pieces.”

  Rosalie stood still, like a statue, but her mind roiled. Her heart thumped. Always, everywhere they ever went together, the paper’s far-reaching grasp would pull him away from her.

  “Kenny, I don’t know if I can—” Handle this. Again she failed to finish her thought. Gazing at his handsome form, remembering the sincere words of affection, verging on love, and fingering the bracelet, she couldn’t let go of him. She’d continue to try to trust.

  “I’m so sorry, dollybird.” He rubbed her arms, and Rosalie’s gut ached. “Bixby called me to another story. He’s sending a car. Three downtown banks were just robbed—simultaneously. The police don’t know how they did it, and they haven’t caught the thieves yet. If I get down there, I could be the first to nab the story.” He glanced beyond her out the front window. “The car’s already here.”

  A dissonant honk blared from the street. Kenny rushed to the front door and waved him off, then turned back to Rosalie, still standing across the room. He slowly paced to her. “I can see you’re upset.” Reaching her, he gently grasped her hands.

  But Rosalie didn’t move, her body refusing to obey her mind’s decision to trust him. “I’m not upset,” she lied. “I understand how busy a reporter’s life can be.” Her words crackled over her throat and past her lips.

  Kenny tangled his fingers through her hair. “Doll, I promise this craziness won’t last forever.”

  He promises.

  “Hey.” He grinned his heartwarming smile, and Rosalie longed to revel in it. “Your awards ceremony is Saturday, right? What say I come and pick you up? You can arrive to the field in style—well, in Aunt Tilly’s Model A.”

  The horn honked again. Kenny’s gaze flitted out the door, then back to Rosalie, who struggled to form a smile.

  “Well, I’ll be seeing you.” She shrugged.

  Rosalie waited for his next words, followed by a door closing and a car zooming away. She longed to get it all over with so she could skulk to her room and cry before facing the film crew again.

  But rather than racing away, leaving her in the dark state, Kenny gripped her shou
lder, softly seating her on the sofa. Then he joined her.

  “You know what?” He wrapped his arm around her. “I don’t have to take this story.” He lowered his head and gazed into her eyes, that loving look deeper than ever. “You’re more important to me, Rosalie, than any story. I’ll call Mr. Bixby and tell him I can’t.”

  Rosalie felt swathed in the admiring look she’d learned to trust, to love.

  “I’ll stay, Rosalie. I’ll stay.”

  Bricks from the fortress of fear that had sprung up around her heart began to crumble, letting in the light of truth. What am I thinking? This is Kenny. He won’t hurt me. She brushed the pads of her fingers over his cheek and he leaned into it.

  “Let me call Bixby,” he said, his eyes still focused on her. “And then we’ll go for that walk.” He glanced at the production crew. “Well, once these blokes fly the coop.” He started to stand, but Rosalie tugged him back.

  She grasped his hands tightly in hers. “Thank you, Kenny, for offering to stay.” She smiled. “It means so much to me, I really can’t express. But you should go. This is a huge story—three banks?” She chuckled. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. You really should get the scoop. I’ll see you Saturday.”

  Kenny rubbed her arm. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. Now, c’mon.” Rosalie stood and hoisted him to his feet. “Hurry, or some other namby-pamby reporter’s gonna nab it first.”

  The horn screamed again, and Rosalie shoved Kenny toward the door and outside.

  He turned back and drew her into a hug. “You’re amazing, you know.”

  Rosalie breathed in his musky scent as his arms embraced her. “Yes, I know. I’m amazing.” She let go. “Now go.”

  Kenny waved as he hoofed it to the beeping car. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Saturday! One o’clock!”

  “I’ll be here. And be sure to tell Aunt Tilly I’m sorry I can’t drive her home. And tell her to drive carefully!”