She plunked down on her bed, moved the suitcase to the side. The catch gave with a thunk. She’d need to tie it closed with a length of rope.
Barbara drew a photo from her nightstand. She and Elliott, last New Year’s Eve. The photographer at the restaurant had snapped their picture. She could still feel the coolness when Elliott slipped the ring on her finger. A diamond big enough for three settings. Ostentatious or not, she’d been very happy. Then, when he had demanded she give up singing with the Cincinnati Opera Hall to which she’d been invited for a season, she realized her needs would never be part of their married life. And even though she chose at last to teach rather than perform, she did it because she wanted to, not because it was demanded of her.
She heaved a sigh. But that was then.
Why all the sad recollections? She would soon be in the home of the Judges, a welcome guest, helping with plans for Betty’s wedding. She chewed her lip. A bit of envy overwhelmed her as she thought of her own wedding that didn’t happen. But it had been her decision. And she knew the honest reason why Elliott hadn’t lived up to her expectations. Jackson Judge. She hadn’t dared to ask Betty about him in her letters. Now she wished she had.
“Hey, Bun,” her father shouted from downstairs loud enough to be heard through the closed door. “Let’s get a move on. We’ll be late for your train.”
Once they arrived at the station, she received another round of last-minute instructions.
Dot ran up and kicked a pebble, acting shy all of a sudden. “Will you bring—”
“A gift for each of you? You know I will. Be good, sweetie.”
Abby, pushing sixteen and quite the lady, cleared her throat. “Don’t forget. Be sure and punch my pen pal in the arm for me.”
“Willie Judge?” She clipped the end of Abby’s nose. “You sure you want me to punch him?”
Abby’s face glowed red as she turned away.
The train whistled the final All aboard and Barbara blew her last kisses. She boarded the train and located her sleeping compartment with no difficulty, and after putting her bags aside, her mind drifted to food. Too excited to rest, she ruffled her new salon-bought curls with her fingers in front of the small utilitarian mirror and changed into a light sweater. Better. She padded to the club car and stepped in.
Full.
A matronly woman with salt-and-pepper waves glanced up from a cup of coffee and gestured to the spot next to her. “Over here.”
Barbara hustled to the narrow table before someone else had the same idea.
“Have a seat.” The woman offered a gloved hand. “I’m Agatha McHale. My husband’s gone to lie down and I’m alone, taking up too many seats, I’m afraid. But I need my evening coffee. Puts me in the right frame of mind.”
Barbara settled in and raised her hand to get the waiter’s attention.
Without waiting for an introduction, the woman said, “We’re returning home from visiting our son.”
Barbara removed her jacket and placed it on the seat. “He lives out of state?”
“Wounded at Pearl Harbor.” She stopped talking and her hand shook when she picked up the cup. Barbara didn’t say a word while Mrs. McHale composed herself.
The woman set the cup down and wiped her lips. “We’re fortunate he’s even alive. We’ve been traveling for days, but it was worth the time just to see his precious face.” She paled, a hand covering her heart. “If only he could see ours.”
Barbara wasn’t sure what words would comfort more than, “I’m sorry.”
“But the doctor has hope. Our son will have to stay in the military hospital until they determine whether or not he’ll see again.” Tears dotted her plump cheeks.
Barbara patted her hand and offered a hankie she drew from her pocket. “We can’t ask for more than that. If it’s all right, I’ll pray for him.” Her mind wandered to Chester.
The woman nodded her head and shook her finger at Barbara. “Now dry that tear.”
Barbara reached up and found her cheek damp.
The woman forced a smile. “Life must go on, as my mother used to say. Listen to me. Where are my manners? What’s your name, dear?”
“Barbara Richardson.” When Barbara looked up, a gentleman had appeared and waited patiently for her order. “Roast beef sandwich and a glass of milk, thank you.” She eased back toward the woman. “You said there’s hope, though, right? I’m sorry for your sadness.”
The woman sat straighter. “If sad things didn’t happen, how would we know when times are good? All things happen for a reason, and all things work together for the good for those who love the Lord. Don’t you believe that? Why, there’s a reason we’re sitting right here at this moment. Because you came to sit with me, my boy, a total stranger to you, will be prayed for.”
“I never thought of it that way.” She glanced up to see her sandwich and milk arriving. Pulling fifty-five cents from her wallet, she smiled her appreciation to the waiter. “Thank you so much.”
After a lengthy explanation to Barbara with too many details about her son and how he had been injured, the woman sighed and leaned against the seat. Barbara took a sip of milk as Mrs. McHale’s swollen eyes closed and lashes fluttered. “Thank you. I’ll sit here a few more minutes. Can’t let Mr. McHale see tears. You won’t forget to pray?”
“By name every day. You’re going to hear good news. I just know it.”
Neck muscles taut, the food felt like thick balls of paste stuck in Barbara’s throat. She washed down two bites with milk but couldn’t finish, so she excused herself.
Reading a few pages of her new book back in her berth, her lids grew heavy. The hero’s eyes turned into the wide laughing brown eyes of Jackson Judge. Betty’s letters hadn’t mentioned Jackson. Maybe he’d moved on and the family wasn’t happy with his choices. Maybe he’d married some poor girl—a total stranger he had snatched a kiss from under the mistletoe when her mama wasn’t there to protect her. Oh. Forget about him.
Her eyes flew open. His being unavailable was possible. He might be married with a litter of kids. One in the mother’s arms, two hanging on his leg, and another expected any second. Well, not in a year and half, but still, he could be married.
Wouldn’t Betty have said something, though?
* * *
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Go away, sis. I said I wasn’t hungry.”
Jackson flopped onto his pillow. Just a bit of peace and quiet, that’s all he asked for anymore. All he wanted.
Well, not all.
He tugged the worn photo from his pocket. Dad had used his Brownie camera to take the picture of Barbara and Betty playing in the snow on Christmas day a year and a half ago. He licked dry lips, staring at the two loves of his life. One, a short nuisance, the other, tall and svelte...and beautiful. Out of reach. After all, wasn’t this the summer she was supposed to be getting married to Elliott VanDusen of the New Castle VanDusens?
He closed his eyes, hoping to dream.
But it was silly to dream. Dreams were for children, not grown men who had to face facts.
* * *
As the train pulled into New Hope, Barbara wiped moisture from the window and stared out, longing for a glimpse of the Judge family. Would Betty remember what she looked like? After all, she wore her hair a lot shorter and curlier than before. And she’d matured. At least she liked to think so.
She reread the copy of the letter from the Cincinnati Opera Hall. They had received her information and would let her know if they were interested in her auditioning. The Opera Hall!
A sigh tore through her. La Traviata.
She was careful to wipe her fingers so she wouldn’t get carbon copy on the beautiful white skirt and blouse her mother had bought for the trip. The sailor look was all the rage now.
Eyes squinted, she searched the waiting crowd on the platform. Flags waved from eager hands as a horde of families watched, no doubt for their military sons and fathers.
Barbara
craned her neck first in one direction and then the other. But no Judges. Wait. There they were, hidden behind a stout lady with a huge hat. Betty, her father and her mother peeked around gaudy blue feathers. Barbara grabbed her handbag and hurried from the train.
“Over here, Betty.” She waved until they saw her.
Darling Betty with her dancing blond curls and lovely, almond-shaped blue eyes rushed to Barbara’s side. “We didn’t think you’d ever get here. Twenty minutes late.” She leaned in close and whispered, “I chewed a nail.”
“Betty. If that’s the worst you—”
“We’re glad you’re here, dear.” Mrs. Judge stepped from behind the feathers and hugged Barbara. “Let’s get you home and you can rest up from your trip.”
A young man accompanied them, not Jackson. Willie? So tall now, like his brother, and he’d lost the baby fat. He must be seventeen now. “Look at you, Willie.”
He cleared his throat. “Will.”
“Okay, Will. You’re almost as tall as Jackson.”
Everyone grew quiet until Betty said, “Will, do you think you could help Dad with Barbara’s luggage? Which are yours, Barbara?”
So, Willie now went by Will. It suited him, looking every bit like his brother. If Abigail could see her pen pal now...
In no time at all Mr. Judge located Barbara’s luggage and she encamped in the mayor’s car. Betty on one side, Mrs. Judge on the other, and Will in the front with Mr. Judge. They all commenced talking at once. An almost nervous jabbering.
Barbara was sorry to be reminded Mrs. Delaney had passed away a year ago.
“We all have a time to be here and Grand lived a wonderful life, full of family and joy.” Betty smoothed her skirt.
Barbara squeezed her arm, realizing the truth in those words.
“Barbara, wait ’til you see my gown. It’s so beautiful plus Mother’s flowers from her greenhouse. Oh, I’m so glad you’re here.”
Mrs. Judge patted her leg and smiled. “Betty has talked of nothing else. We’re so happy you could come, aren’t we now?”
“And Jackson?” Barbara forced the smile. “Has he married and moved away like all good sons do?”
Betty’s forehead creased. Her lids fluttered, hands trembled, and Barbara wondered what she’d said. Mrs. Judge drew in a shaky breath and stared out the window.
When they arrived at the house, Mrs. Judge instructed her husband in the placement of the luggage.
“Would you like something to eat first, or a rest?” She smiled as if she already knew the answer.
Barbara felt her cheeks warm. “Well, I don’t suppose you’ve forgotten my appetite. I’m hungry.”
Mrs. Judge grinned. “We’ll get you fed in a jiffy.”
There still seemed to be something in the air. While everyone smiled, the undercurrent said all was not right. Following a delicious light lunch where artificial happiness accompanied dessert, she trounced into Betty’s room, ready to unpack.
“Bets, is Jackson all right?” Barbara sat on the edge of the bed.
Perched on the ruffled bench in front of her vanity, Betty toyed with a broken bracelet.
“What’s going on here? Everyone’s acting funny.”
Barely looking her way, Betty’s eyes strayed to another place altogether. “He joined the service.”
“But that’s wonderful. So many—”
“No, you don’t understand.” She held fingers to her lips with one hand and waved Barbara closer with the other. “Could you close the door?”
Barbara rose, gently pulled the door to the bedroom shut and crossed to where Betty sat. She rested a hand against the quivering shoulder. “What happened?” Instantly, the thought of some other girl under the mistletoe seemed irrelevant. Had he been killed? Her hand flew from Betty’s shoulder to her own chest. No.
“He was in one of the many explosions in Pearl Harbor.”
Barbara gasped. Pearl Harbor? “Is he...did he...oh, Betty, is he all right?” She grabbed Betty and shook her shoulders. “What happened to your brother?”
“Barbara. He’s not well.”
“I—I didn’t know.” Her heart flooded with her friend’s tears and drummed an increased rhythm in her temple. “Is he in the hospital? Still in Hawaii?”
“He’s here. In his room.” She drew back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands. “He won’t come out until we all go to bed at night. Said he doesn’t want our pity. He thinks he’s a freak. Some come back...not themselves.”
“But your wedding?”
Betty reached for a hankie on her nightstand. “Has no intention of attending. Teddy asked him to stand up with him before Jack left for Hawaii and he agreed he would, but not now. He told Father he won’t come down at all.” She hiccuped another sob. “I’ve seen him once since he came home. The day he arrived on the train.”
“Well, we’ll see about that.” Barbara rose, but Betty jumped up and blocked her way.
“No. You can’t. Father says he needs time. Please, Barbara. Don’t try and force him. Come on. Let’s spend the afternoon in the greenhouse picking out flowers for the wedding.”
Chapter 5
Tossing in her bed, Barbara experienced one nightmare after another. She pictured Jackson. Burn scars covered a body deformed by injuries. He slumped in his bed, oblivious to the world about him. Then suddenly the dream changed and he was in a small boat calling to her from a large body of water. The ocean. Or the overflow he’d saved them from. One quick wink from his eye and under the water he went again.
She awoke with a start.
Perspiration covering the neck and back of her flannel nightgown, she sat up. Slipping quietly into her robe and fuzzy mules, she padded across the floor. Perhaps warm milk would bring on sleep. Barbara slid the bedroom door open slowly so she wouldn’t disturb Betty. She listened for noises downstairs. Not even a mouse squeaked.
Her footsteps slid lightly along the treds, the wood rail smooth under her fingers. She loved the memories of this house, of the time the Judge family had rescued them. She looked up when she stepped off the landing. The doorway at the end of the hall where mistletoe had hung. Jackson’s lips, briefly soft and warm on her forehead. A shiver propelled her forward.
Light escaped the bottom edge of the door to the kitchen. She pushed it open, expecting to discover Mrs. Judge hard at work.
“Jackson?”
* * *
Must be Betty’s friend, What’s-her-name.
Who was Jackson kidding? He knew her name. Had tripped it off his lips dozens of times in his mind and around his heart.
Too late to run; instead, he pictured himself a ticket taker selling one admission to the circus sideshow. Well, she could have a good look. One glimpse of his scars and she’d be horrified. She’d run back to New Castle as fast and far as her legs would take her.
For over a year he’d remembered with unusual clarity the dark-haired, blue-eyed beauty who God had delivered to their door on Christmas Eve. Saying, Here you go, Jackson. Just for you. He looked the direction of the hallway, remembering when she had stood under the mistletoe. He licked his lips and leaned his arms on the kitchen table.
Now, after one glance at him, she would run, repulsed, and he could go to his room, content there would never be a Barbara Richardson in his life. His hand balled at his side. There was no God caring about his needs. She was someone else’s prized possession. Elliott-Rich-Somebody.
He heard a gasp, or was it a sigh? Easing out of his chair, he twisted around, holding out his arms in a gesture that asked, What are you staring at?
Her eyes raked him from head to toe. “Hey.”
He dug a knuckle into his thigh as his lip curled. “Hey, yourself. Wondered how long before curiosity would get the best of you.” She didn’t have to say a word. He’d seen that expression before on too many sympathetic faces. “Well? What do you think? You can go back to New Castle now and report you’ve seen the latest addition to the New Hope Circus. Step right up, two
looks for a dime.”
“My, but you’re taken with yourself, Mr. Judge.” Barbara pulled her robe closer, offered him her back and strolled to the refrigerator. Pulling out the pitcher of milk from supper, she closed the door and swirled on her heel. “I came down for a glass of warm milk so I could sleep.”
She crossed the floor and withdrew a small saucepan from the cupboard. After pouring in the milk, she lit a match for the burner. She returned to the refrigerator, pitcher in hand—a hand, he noticed, that shook. Repulsed, no doubt, by his looks.
He took a step forward and said, “Just remember, curiosity killed the cat.”
Barbara turned, hair flipping into her eyes so he couldn’t see them very well. “Then, I guess I’m safe. I’m a rodent after all.” With a grin she reached her hand up and pushed the pesky curls aside.
There they were. The prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen. And she exhibited a more mature charm than the last time she’d graced their home. She’d been sort of a skinny teenager, albeit a pretty one, on her last visit. And now she possessed the poise of a beautiful woman. He wished their situation could be different. Well, that was a dream that could never come true.
As she passed by a second time, he reached for her arm and spun her around to face him. “Say something. Anything.”
Her weight eased to one side and she stared from his face to his hands and back again with a taut expression, one he convinced himself meant outright rejection. Silence stretched, echoing off the walls of the kitchen until she finally said, “Look at you. You never were as handsome as you thought you were. Conceited and fresh, that’s all. And why should I care whether you’re a clod or the Prince of Wales?” She twirled away and tripped to the stove. He looked at her left hand. No ring.
With Eyes of Love (Heartsong Presents) Page 4
