Enza

by Kristy K. James

  The table was set with a pretty lace tablecloth, their best china and silver. Candles sat in the center, along with a bowl of oranges. She’d outdone herself this time, meaning that he would probably be in debt for months to come.

  “You sit down and get comfortable while I bring the food in,” she ordered in what he supposed she figured was a teasing manner. But she couldn’t manage to pull it off as well as she thought she could. She hated buttering him up every bit as much he hated her doing it. Still he sat and waited, listening to her idle chatter throughout the meal, waiting for the reason for all of this.

  He’d no sooner swallowed the last bite of his slice of pie when she pounced, sliding her chair right next to his and grasping his hand in both of hers. For the first time since she’d begun the charade, her smile was genuine, her eyes lit with excitement.

  “Oh, Colby! You’ll never guess what I saw while I was in town today!”

  “What?” he asked after a long moment of silence.

  “I stopped at the jewelers when I saw the new display in the window. And, oh my, Colby! They were the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen!”

  Jewelry. He shouldn’t be surprised. She had a drawer full of it, because if there was one thing in life his wife treasured, it was that. He ignored her description of the necklace, bracelet and ear bobs, because it just didn’t matter. They would be more than he could comfortably afford, and she would have them as soon as the store was open for business tomorrow.

  And she would be nicer for a few days. Maybe this time for a week or more. Until the thrill wore off, or she stopped getting compliments from the ladies around town. Not as nice as today, of course. But life would be marginally easier for a while.

  “I would be ever so grateful, Colby. Very grateful,” she was saying softly. He closed his eyes, nodding, and she squeezed his hand with more strength than he’d guessed she possessed. “Does that mean-”

  “Yes, Anna.”

  “Then I should expect you to come to my room tonight?” Oh, how he wanted to tell her no. He had prayed so often for the strength to say it, but he always gave in. Always.

  “Yes,” He whispered, opening his eyes in time to see the last traces of a grimace on her face. She quickly replaced it with another phony smile.

  “That’s good then. Why don’t you go relax while I clean up here? I’ll see you in a few hours.”

  As he hurried back to his office, Colby was filled with both excitement and self-loathing. For years he’d done his best to overcome this weakness, because if he could, she’d wield that much less power over him. But three or four times a year she wanted something badly enough that she would force herself to fulfill her wifely duties, and he had never been able to develop the willpower to tell her no.

  Next time, he always swore to himself. The next time, he’d be strong enough. But he never was, so it was with a heavy heart that he sat back down at his desk, trying to relax as she’d commanded him.

  ~~~

  If his grandfather hadn’t died from his addiction to laudanum long before Daniel had been born, Daniel would cheerfully have slugged him. Aspirin helped, to a minimal degree, to ease the pain from his broken bones, but not nearly as much as the laudanum had. Sometimes it was excruciating, making it all but impossible to sleep.

  Almost as bad was the utter boredom of being laid up in a room with no other patients to keep him company. The nurses came in to check on him and feed him several times a day, but they never stayed long. He’d been given a Bible, which he read fairly often. Mostly because, cover to cover, he believed it was true, and partly because there was nothing else to do.

  To distract himself, he gazed around the room for what must be the thousandth time. Three other unoccupied beds, one next to his and two across from them, each sat with their own little bedside table. Sheets and thin wool blankets were stretched tautly over the mattresses, a fluffed pillow lying at the headboard. Everything was sparkling clean. Even the windows were so clean you wouldn’t know they were there but for the reflection of the door in the glass. A pretty painting of a flower garden graced one wall, but that was the only decoration in the room.

  He scowled at his leg, encased in the cloth covered splints. Three days in this hospital was two more than anyone should have to endure.

  “You don’t look very happy today, Mr. Pullman.”

  Daniel brightened instantly. Being here wasn’t all that bad, he thought, looking at Nina Hakes appreciatively. Even the pain wasn’t as bad when she paid visits to his room.

  He’d known that first day, when he couldn’t force his eyes to open, that she would be pretty. But he could never have imagined just how lovely she was. Dark brown hair was pulled away from her face and bound in a neat braid that fell several inches below her shoulders. He supposed it would reach her waist when it was loose. And he found he desperately wanted to see it loose.

  Her skin was flawless, cheeks naturally rosy, her lips full and smooth. Big brown eyes were fringed with thick, sooty lashes and were, he had to admit, his favorite feature. All of this sat atop a slender frame which was covered in a freshly pressed nurse’s uniform, a gray dress covered with a crisp, white apron. He thought the colors were quite becoming, even considering the plainness of the clothes.

  Nina’s small hand reached out and pressed against his forehead checking, he knew, to see if he’d developed a fever since the last time she’d looked in on him. The doctor worried about infection at the site where the bone had torn through the skin, but so far, so good.

  “If I don’t look happy,” Daniel finally replied with a grin, “it’s because I’m bored.”

  “Mrs. Taylor said you haven’t had any visitors,” Nina acknowledged quietly, her gaze filled with compassion. “Don’t you have any family we could try to contact?”

  “Just a couple of great aunts over in Detroit. My father died when I was eleven and my mother just last month. No brothers, sisters, cousins, or even third cousins thrice removed.”

  “No friends either?”

  “Of course I have friends. Unfortunately most of them have enlisted in the Army and are in training as we speak.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Pullman?” she offered sweetly.

  “I don’t suppose you could keep me company for a while?”

  “I would but we’re getting ready to deliver supper to the patients. I was on my way to help prepare trays and thought I’d make sure you still didn’t have a fever. I really need to be going.” He hid a smile when it became obvious he’d flustered her. As she turned to leave he said,

  “Miss Hakes?”

  “Yes, Mr. Pullman?”

  “Do you remember that first day I was here? When I said you sounded pretty?”

  “I- Yes.” Her cheeks flushed a darker shade of pink.

  “I was wrong.” A spark of annoyance flashed in her eyes and he grinned. “You’re not. In fact, you’re quite beautiful.”

  Chapter 3

  Marcus sat at his desk in the somber room he called his office. Dark paneling. Dark draperies. Dark furniture. Dark wood floors. Perfect for meeting with a grieving loved one, but not exactly an atmosphere conducive to penning a cheerful response to Derek’s latest letter.

  He’d first met Derek McGovern when he’d gone away to college. They’d been roommates at Mrs. Shettenhelm’s boarding house, and being a friendly, outgoing fellow, Derek had won Marcus over after a few months of daily pestering. Sometimes hourly, it seemed. Did Marcus want to study at the library with him? Go see the newest moving picture show at the nickelodeon? Get a bite to eat at the ice cream parlor? Eventually Marcus had started giving in just to make him stop asking, figuring Derek would soon tire of his company.

  But he never did, and it wasn’t long before they’d become almost as close as brothers. The only best friend he’d ever had.

  Four years later Marcus had graduated with honors and moved back to Michigan to
take over his father’s funeral business. Back to a solitary life as his parents decided to move out west. Derek had returned to his home town, Philadelphia, also going into the funeral business. But he’d married and now had a large family. Every letter he sent, usually twice a month, was filled with all sorts of entertaining news.

  The exploits of his friend’s four children never ceased to amuse Marcus, though children weren’t people he generally liked to be around. He couldn’t pretend to understand them and, though it was embarrassing to admit, they rather scared him.

  Still, it was hard not to chuckle when reading about Derek Junior who, at eleven years of age, had hidden one of his sister’s kittens in a casket prior to a funeral. The scratching noises coming from inside had frightened the mourners nearly to death, and had gotten the boy a sound and well deserved spanking.

  Reading further he heard about how Rebecca, one of the twins, who would turn five later in the summer, had stunned everyone at their church when an elderly spinster had tried to pick her up. In the honest way children have, Rebecca requested quite bluntly to be put back down. It seemed the girl had taken offense at the woman’s breath and had, in fact, informed her that her mouth stank.

  After a few more family-related stories, Derek finished up, as usual, with the invitation that Marcus come to Philadelphia. If not to join him as a partner, which he would love to see happen, then at least for a visit. Marcus had yet to see any of his children, and they were growing up quickly. Derek was nothing if not a proud father.

  Marcus read through the letter a second time, and then a third, as he wracked his brain for something interesting to write back. His letters always seemed dull in comparison to Derek’s, no matter how hard he tried to change them. Usually he mentioned the weekly businessmen’s meeting, adding something about Colby’s sermon, how he’d beaten Colby at chess yet again, and occasionally, very occasionally, an amusing story about how Anna Thornton had made a fool of herself.

  Usually he tried to report only the things he’d actually seen, figuring stories from someone else’s lips might be considered gossip. And Marcus did not believe in gossiping. Much as he did not like the reverend’s missus, he didn’t really like maligning her either. It was just that his life lacked…something.

  A lot of things, actually. Excitement. Happiness. Joy. The love of a family of his own. So those missing elements made his life appear somewhat, well, dull, especially when he tried to put it in writing.

  He wished he were more comfortable around people. But other than his folks and Derek, he’d always had trouble talking to people. The ability to take part in interesting conversations came in pretty handy if one wished to make a few friends.

  Maybe he would wait until later in the week to reply to the letter. Perhaps by then, if he went out of his way to be out and about around town, he might stumble upon something of interest to write about. One could hope anyway.

  He pushed the chair away from his desk and got slowly to his feet. Maybe he would get a cup of tea and try to figure out a way to add some excitement to his week. Just this once.

  As he walked into the kitchen he became aware of how quiet his house was. It was a little unsettling, probably because he’d just finished reading about all the chaos in his friend’s home. He wondered if Derek ever wished for this sort of silence.

  Shaking his head, he figured he probably didn’t.

  ~~~

  ‘Dear President Wilson,’ Jonathon wrote with the fountain pen he’d just borrowed from his mother.

  He puffed his chest out proudly as he sat at the little desk in the bedroom he shared with Charles and stared at the words on the paper before him. ‘Dear President Wilson.’

  He didn’t know of one other person in Charlotte who had written to the President of the United States. Actually, he didn’t know of anyone anywhere who had. But he was. And he grinned from ear to ear because just writing the salutation made him feel important.

  ‘Dear President Wilson,

  ‘My name is Jonathon Owens and I live in Charlotte, Michigan. I feel it is imperative I tell you about Mr. Wilhelm Mertz. Mr. Mertz lives right next door to me and I’ve been watching him real close for months. I believe that he is a spy.

  ‘Mr. Mertz gets several packages and letters delivered to his house each week. He buries things in his backyard. He never goes into his house without looking around to make sure no one is watching. But I am watching him, only he doesn’t know that I am. At least I don’t think he knows. There was that one time I was hiding behind the bush and my little sister yelled at me, but I’ve been real careful ever since.

  ‘You should know that he does very odd things, and that he is German. He even talks with a German accent, and I don’t think you should trust him and, if you are able, you should send someone to arrest him as soon as you possibly can.

  ‘Sincerely, Jonathon Owens’

  Jonathon reread the letter twice, then consulted the tablet where he’d been keeping his notes. He had forgotten to mention a few other important things and quickly rewrote the letter to include them. He wouldn’t like President Wilson to think he hadn’t been doing a good job.

  Blowing on the ink to help it dry, he pushed his chair back, grabbed the pen to return it to the desk in the parlor, and hurried down the stairs.

  He needed to get the letter to his father down at the store so he could mail it for him today and, after a quick goodbye to his mother, he took off running.

  “Jonathon Owens!” a woman exclaimed, startled as Jonathon nearly barreled into her. Only a quick lunge to his left prevented what could have been a very unfortunate accident. He might have been forced to write the letter over again.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Applegate!” he apologized over his shoulder, continuing on his way. He was, however, careful to give other pedestrians a wider berth.

  By the time he passed Zourdos and Spires, and the restaurant, Jonathon wished his mission weren’t of the utmost importance. Even though it was so cold it hurt to breathe, he was soon parched, and wishing he had time to stop in one of the places for a nice cold glass of lemonade.

  But he pressed on, covering the three long blocks in record time, bursting breathlessly into Owens Fine Shoes.

  “Hey, Pop!” he exclaimed, but a warning glance from his father, kneeling at the feet of a customer, silenced the rest of what he’d been about to say.

  Scowling in frustration, he wandered out to the back room, the smell of new leather strong in the air. Pacing restlessly, he wished his father had let him explain, because surely something as magnificent as a letter to the president was more important than selling a pair of shoes to someone who probably didn’t need them anyway. At the very least it wouldn’t have hurt anyone to wait the few minutes it would have taken for Pop to post it for him.

  Jonathon sighed deeply. Mother and Reverend Thornton might extol the virtues of patience, but he figured it must be a virtue one acquired as a grown up because neither he, nor any other ten year old he knew, was very patient.

  He peeked out into the other room to see his father pulling a different shoe from the shelves and resigned himself to waiting even longer. Another long-suffering sigh, and he flopped down on an old chair and began swinging his feet.

  He imagined President Wilson’s reaction when he received the letter. Of course he’d be impressed by his superior investigative skills, especially given his age. Maybe enough so that Jonathon would receive some sort of medal. Imagine how jealous his friends would be! He grinned with pleasure just thinking about it.

  He would put on his Sunday going-to-church clothes, and wear the medal everywhere he went. Why the town might even have a parade in his honor. Wouldn’t that be something? The admiration and applause-

  “All right, son, what was it you wanted to tell me?” Elliot Owens asked, walking into the storeroom. Jonathon shot to his feet and thrust the letter into his hands.

  “I wrote a letter to the president, Pop. I need you to post it for me right away.”

>   “A letter to the president?” His father looked suitably impressed, and Jonathon’s chest puffed out a little more.

  “Can I assume that this is in regards to Mr. Mertz?” Elliot asked, his eyes twinkling.

  “It sure is, Pop!” his son answered enthusiastically. “He got another package today, and he looked real suspicious. Like he was making sure no one saw him get it or take it into his house. But I saw him, Pop. And I think President Wilson needs to know.”

  “Hmm.” Elliot rubbed his fingers on his chin as he read the letter, saying ‘hmm’ a few more times before looking back at his son. “You know, I think you may be right, Jonathon. I can’t mail it for you until Richard comes in later this afternoon, but I’ll see to it that it’s at the post office before the day is over.”

  “Gee, thanks, Pop!” Jonathon said grinning broadly. “I appreciate it. But I have to go see what he’s up to today, so if they send someone to talk to me, I can tell them everything I know.”

  ~~~

  Colby supposed he could get any number of women from his congregation to clean the sanctuary. Of course, if he’d married a different sort of woman, she might help him keep everything clean and dust–free. But he’d married Anna, and so cleaning it himself seemed to be the perfect solution. It not only got the job done, but gave him an excuse to avoid going home when he didn’t have anything better to do.

  Truth be told, though, he really didn’t mind. Strolling back and forth between the pews, wiping the seats and backs off with a damp rag was rather relaxing. The fact that he used a liberal hand with the lemon oil didn’t hurt either. He thought it made the church even more inviting to his parishioners.

  “Lord, it sure would help if you could give my wife a servant’s heart,” he prayed for what was probably the millionth time.

  Not for helping with the cleaning so much as he thought it might cause her to really care about other people. Especially her husband. What he wouldn’t give for a woman who loved him as much as he loved her. One who welcomed him into her arms – and her bed – rather than just enduring him because she wanted something else she didn’t need.