by Nancy Gideon
"Let's go."
* * *
Town gossip hummed around Bess and Zach with the voracity of hungry locusts sucking the life from a fresh crop. Feeling like the last stalk of newly tasseled corn—in dangling earrings—in the middle of that feeding frenzy, Bess stood at the main street curb trying to be unobtrusive. Not likely when her fire-engine red outfit made a bright bull's-eye, targeting attention to the fact that she was with Zach Crandall. Not that they stood out as a couple. There was no linking contact between them. But the way Zach framed her with his looming presence left no question that they were together. Joan Carrey's daughter and Sam Crandall's son. A mind-boggling, tongue-wagging combination.
Founder's Day in Sweetheart, as it was in many small Midwestern towns, was the social event of the year. Its century-and-a-half existence was recognized with a flag-waving parade and class reunions, drawing those who'd ventured away back home to be with family and friends for a weekend of endless celebration. Inhabitants surrounded the town square to watch and cheer as bands, baton twirlers, farm implements, wagons and classic cars crept by on blacktop seared by Iowa's August sun. More than one of the Harvest Queen's court or Veterans of Foreign Wars marchers could be expected to swoon by mid-morning as heat rose up in stifling waves.
Bess found the proceedings every bit as exciting as the big spectacles televised from Macy's in New York, scaled down to fit within Sweetheart's town center. She and her mother had always commanded chairs outside the bookstore where they'd sat demurely beneath its unfurled awning, following the hour-long procession in silence, nodding to acquaintances with an aloof dignity. This year, she felt like she was attending for the first time ever.
Anticipating the starting whistle with a childlike enthusiasm, Bess leaned out from her place on the curb to catch a glimpse of the flag bearer and the high school band's twirlers. Nothing could dampen her mood, not the murmurs of speculation, not the ever-growing temperature, not the restless conscience that whispered she should contain her excitement and act like a lady. This year she would behave as all the others did, laughing, shouting, clapping. There was no harm in it, no great sin in the boisterous revelry. If she wanted to get loud, she could. If she wanted to bask in the pleasure of Zach's presence, she would. A tremor of freedom sounded in her heart, its tone as clear and vibrant as the sharp blast from the drum major's whistle.
As all heads craned toward the approaching troop of Boy Scouts bearing the emblems of country, state and council, Zach only had eyes for the woman before him. He'd seen enough Founder's Day parades to know the routine. He'd been a closet watcher, never a participant. What he hadn't seen before, what blossomed right in front of him, was a sight more spectacular, more breathtaking: Elizabeth Carrey's delicate petals unfurling from the tightly closed bud.
She'd always been beautiful to him. He alone had seen what wonders happiness and passion had worked upon the solemn scholar. He held the knowledge close, a special secret none of the other fools in Sweetheart had ever guessed. Until now. When she'd come down the stairs to greet him, her radiance blinding; a cool star gone suddenly nova bright. He'd been dazzled beyond words, beyond conscious thought. She'd become what he'd always dreamed he could make her—gorgeous, self-confident, free. Part of him rejoiced in her courage. Another simmered sullenly because she'd bloomed for eyes other than his own.
Suddenly Bess turned to him, her features lit with spontaneity. They were close enough for her shoulder to graze his chest, for her light floral perfume to tease up his nose and steal his senses. In that instant the universe skidded to a halt around him, slowly spinning up again only when she began to speak.
"Look who's grand marshall. It's Mr. Ellis. He moved up to Ames after he retired. He was our principal, remember?"
Zach looked beyond her to where a spindly old man sat up on the back seat of Fred Meirs's gleaming Cadillac convertible, grinning at decades of past graduates. Zach's expression closed down tight.
At the same moment Arthur Ellis caught sight of the eldest Crandall, who'd spent three years in what could have been an assigned seat outside his office door. His gnarled hand froze in mid-wave. His smile died an awful death upon a shock of memory.
"Just sit there and keep your smart mouth shut. The law says we have to put up with you for three years or until you do us a favor and drop out. Let's not kid ourselves into thinking you'll leave here with any kind of education, but you make trouble and I'll see you're kicked out with a good start on your criminal record."
"I remember. Fondly."
The soft touch of Bess's fingers against the back of his clenched hand startled him out of his fierce recall. He glanced down into a gentle sea of empathy and remorse. Only Bess would recognize the scarring beneath his wry drawl. She'd always seen right through his cynicism. Once he'd basked in that sympathy. Now he pulled from it with a guarded smile.
"My memories aren't as good as yours, Bess. I try to keep them in the past where they belong."
Liar, his conscience shouted as he shifted his stare back to the parade. That miracle he'd never managed, no matter how many years, how many miles he'd put between him and the shadow of Sweetheart.
Idiot! Bess chided herself as he withdrew behind his practiced indifference. Of course he remembered. He remembered every slight, every sneer, every sorrow dealt him by the town he'd left behind. And standing here brought them all parading back before him: the principal who swore to have him expelled, the police chief who promised him a prison cell, the class of 1980 who went on to graduate without him, none of them at all surprised not to see him in their ranks. When she looked at the throng of people lining the parade route, she saw friends. What could he see except endless hostility from the old ladies who swore he was the one who took a baseball bat to their mailboxes; the peers who closed him determinedly out of their ranks from kindergarten right through the final months of high school; and the store owners who refused to give him work, fearing a reputation that said he'd steal them blind? A reputation complements of a father who'd lived down to every expectation.
Why would he want to come back to a place so steeped in old demons? To old memories that could only bring him pain?
She touched his arm and felt the impact of his intense stare as she gained his attention.
"We don't have to stay," she shouted over the brassy notes blared out by the neighboring Corydon high school band.
His eyes narrowed, searching hers for a reason. "I thought you liked this stuff?"
She shrugged as if it didn't matter. "It's nothing new."
"Let's walk awhile."
Bess cast about for Faith, finding her with her gaggle of summer friends. They were throwing paper streamers at the best-looking boys in the percussion section. The result was several missed beats. Faith wouldn't notice her absence anytime soon.
"All right."
They backed out of the crowd, dodging chairs and coolers and strollers filled with babies squalling their displeasure over the loud rendition of "Summertime." But they couldn't avoid the glares of those they passed, glares fixed upon the dark figure from Sweetheart's past.
Escaping to the shaded seclusion of a side street brought immediate relief from both heat and censure, and a buffer to the noise. They walked side by side, not touching, not speaking, possessed by the awkwardness of two teens alone for the first time together and the nervousness of two adults searching for a common ground for safe conversation.
Zach's sudden laugh made Bess jump. He gestured ahead.
"The Dairy Dream. I can't believe it's still open. I used to sneak cigarettes from Robby Benthem while he cleaned up after closing."
Faded and peeling, the ice cream stand weathered the passing decades tenaciously, fighting off the trend toward frozen yogurt and health food bagels to stick with good old hand-packed calories in twelve traditional flavors. Kids still hung out in the parking lot after sports events, and families swarmed the picnic tables throughout the long summer months gobbling steamed dogs and chili fries. The
faulty neon sign flickered Open for Business in anticipation of thirsty parade-goers who would flood the front order windows in about forty-five minutes.
"Still like lime fizzes?"
Bess grinned, surprised he'd remembered. "I haven't had one in ages." Not since they'd shared their last one.
"My treat."
While Bess sat atop one of the scarred tabletops, Zach ordered from an oily-faced teen who had no idea about the notoriety of his first customer. Because watching Zach created a strange restlessness inside her, Bess concentrated on the graying planks supporting her, upon twenty years of devotion carved in initials and scratched out cuss words. Her stare fixed upon one lopsided heart proclaiming Z.C. and B.C. scored so deeply even seventeen winters couldn't wear it away. Her thumb rubbed over the bold groves as she remembered the blushing embarrassment of the young girl she'd been. And that same girl's secret thrill at having an eternal memento of her first … and only passion.
As Zach approached with waxy cups in hand, she scooted over, covering the bittersweet proclamation of a love that hadn't lasted.
"Here you go." She took the cold cup from him. "I had to tell the kid how to make it. I feel old." With that grumble, he settled on the tabletop beside her.
"Positively Jurassic," she murmured in agreement, then took a sip of the syrupy sweet drink. The cold shot up to numb her mind with a momentary headache. "Ooh, brain freeze." At Zach's perplexed glance, she smiled shyly. "That's what Faith and her friends call it. They're dragging me kicking and screaming into the nineties. A hopeless task. I never caught on to the slang of my generation."
"That's because you're a classic."
She wrinkled her nose, thinking of her mother's store. "Great. Now I really know I've been on the shelf too long."
Zach studied his straw as he stirred it through the icy confection. "That's not what I meant." His voice held the low raspiness of velvet nap. "You don't need to keep up with the trends. You're cashmere and pearls, a '62 Corvette. You'll never go out of style." He made a soft, deprecating sound, as if he'd spoken too much nonsense aloud.
Bess didn't know how to respond. His honesty unbalanced her arguments. Yet she couldn't quite believe all he said to be true. So she smiled slightly and took another sip of her drink, waiting for the beat of her heart to slow down from its frenzied gallop. Time to direct their conversation away from personal revelations. To the neutral things old acquaintances might speak of, instead of the uncomfortable familiarity between long-ago lovers.
"When does your mom get home?"
That brought back his moody quiet. "Sometime next week. Mel is taking vacation time to see she gets settled in."
"It'll be good having her back."
Zach didn't answer. She could guess how he must be feeling, returning to the home of his youth for a reunion with the ailing mother who killed his father. She could guess, but she didn't know. Sam Crandall reaped what he'd sown all his angry life. But the seeds he managed to plant before his violent exit from the earth still grew in Melody's haunted eyes, in Zach's brooding frown, in their mother's grim circumstance. Evil left a long-lasting residue that was hard to wash completely away. No, she couldn't imagine what he felt about it.
"I haven't seen her for seventeen years." That was said flat and factual.
"You never visited her?" That shocked Bess. She could understand him wanting to put Sweetheart behind him, but why would he sever ties to the one woman who'd loved him so unconditionally?
He shook his head, still staring at the sweating paper cup. "For a lot of years, it was impossible. By the time I was free to, I didn't think she'd want to see me."
Bess digested his words carefully and came up with a taste so bitter, she couldn't spit it out or swallow it down. By the time I was free.
He'd been in prison.
Awareness stunned her, but explained everything. Why he hadn't come back. Why she hadn't heard from him. A man with Zach Crandall's pride would never write to confess that he'd been thrown in jail: an admission that everything the town prophesied had come true.
Beyond the shock, questions surged up: what had he done? And why? How long was the term of his incarceration? Who knew about it besides her? Would this be another secret for her to keep from the rest of Sweetheart?
Anguished pity wrapped around a pang of disappointment as she studied his strong profile. She'd wanted to believe he'd made a good life for himself, but in the end he hadn't. He'd lived out the worst possible scenario. He was a felon, convicted of who knows what. And she was sitting alone beside him.
Then a flood of townsfolk converged upon the ice cream stand in the aftermath of the parade. Their privacy was invaded by families and uniformed band members, by 4-H members and veterans of the foreign wars. Noisy talk and an undercurrent of agitated whispers aimed in their direction destroyed their isolation, but not the anxious turn of Bess Carrey's thoughts.
Zach, a criminal.
Her mother's worst nightmare come true.
* * *
Chapter 4
« ^ »
"You're awfully quiet."
The sound of Zach's voice startled Bess from her moody reflections. She glanced up guiltily. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"
He wasn't fooled by her weak smile of attentiveness. "What's wrong?"
"Wrong? Nothing."
They walked leisurely back toward the town's center, where craft booths would dominate the grassy square for the rest of the afternoon. Mouth-watering smells of fair food beckoned as rides along the small temporary midway started up to the delight of squealing children and adults alike. But Bess had never felt farther removed from the embrace of community and fun.
What crime had he committed?
She couldn't think of anything else.
Robbery out of necessity for an eighteen-year-old on the run? Assault spurred by a too-quick temper? Nothing worse. Don't let it be anything worse, she pleaded within her panicked mind. Something involving a gun? Her palms slid damply against the sides of her shorts. Violence happened on the six o'clock news in places like New York and L.A., not in sleepy little burgs like Sweetheart; except in the case of the Crandalls.
Maybe Sweetheart was isolated and archaic, but it was safe—a safe place to live and work and walk the sidewalks after dark. Where doors weren't dead bolted and windows barred. Where the local paper's reports of crime involved juvenile vandalism or an occasional drink too many leading to a brawl or a fender bender. Nothing involving guns or holdups. The last holdup in Sweetheart was done by Jesse James, who'd politely asked permission from one of the local farmers to camp out on their property overnight, while unbeknownst to his host, he was casing the bank. Its brick still held the bullet scars from the gang's warning shots. Citizens spoke of the event fondly; their small piece of history over one hundred years ago.
But Zach brought the latent air of danger back to Sweetheart. It cloaked him like the familiar black leather. Standing so close to him, Bess felt its chill embrace.
What had he done?
Seventeen years was a long time. Like his father before him, had he surrendered to Darkness to walk an easier, angrier path? Prison wasn't known for releasing model citizens.
How safe were she and Faith in his company until she discovered all the details?
She almost jumped out of her sandals at the press of his fingers upon her forearm.
"Do you want me to take you home or would you just like me to leave?"
She looked up, eyes wide and a bit wild.
Yes. She should have said yes to either or both. Just go and take your sordid deeds and upsetting presence and let me get back to my stable routine. I don't need the upheaval of you in my life again.
That wretched cry shaped her lips but she never spoke it.
Looking up at him and getting lost in the looking, Bess was buffeted by past feelings in a dervish of desire and never-abandoned dreams. Her senses filled with every aspect of him, a blur of remembered textures and sounds: the scrape of his ro
ugh chin along her soft cheek, the moist heat of his mouth hovering above hers in forbidden temptation—irresistible temptation. The erotic music made by their mingling breaths and discovering sighs. The crunch and pungent odor of dried leaves beneath them on a chill spring night fraught with urgency and exploration.
All those things came back to her, prompting a feverish need to touch his face, to see if his squared jaw felt the same in the cup of her palm, to see if his kiss could wake the same wild magic within her slumberous spirit. She couldn't let the opportunity slip away without knowing, without experiencing, at least once more.
Without knowing, one way or the other, if she'd been wrong all those years ago.
So she pushed down the panic and the agitation and made herself relax enough to say. "I'm fine. Really. It's just the heat and the noise and … you." She let herself admit that much of the truth, knowing he'd understand without asking for farther explanation. He knew what havoc he stirred in her staid, sensible soul, and would know it wasn't meant as a complaint.
Smart enough to know she wasn't being totally open with him, Zach held silent. For now. After seventeen years, she was entitled to her misgivings. He had them, too. There was a lot of ground to cover before they'd feel comfortable with one another. They couldn't do it in a single day.
If ever.
She hadn't been afraid of him since the first week they spent together. But she was now. He wondered why. And he wondered what he could do to change her mind. Years ago, he'd won her over with a kiss. It wouldn't be that easy this time. Bess wasn't the same naive girl willing to believe the best in everyone. He'd caught an edge of wariness when they met in her mother's store. Put there by him. She wasn't the only one with reason for wariness. He'd believed in her once and she'd failed him. He'd survived then, but a man could take only so much disappointment in one lifetime.
They continued walking.
Century-old oaks sheltered the town square, cooling its uneven brick walkways as the heat index soared toward one hundred. Iowa winters were long and cruel, shutting many of its occupants inside for the duration. Restless hands put the time to use producing unique goods to sell in area consignment shops or at community events such as this one. Woven area rugs, meticulously stitched quilts in Wedding Ring and Log Cabin patterns, crocheted pillow covers and yarn dolls in gaudy colors fashioned to catch young eyes, adorned tables and clotheslines interspersed with canned goods and jellies in this, their last round of taste testing before the county fair competitions.
