“Have you tried?” Claire didn’t flinch. Deep inside, she couldn’t resist.
Ruby, merely laughed. “Touché. Let’s just say Mr. Parker wants a certain type of woman, and as you say, ‘we’ll leave it at that.’”
“Let’s just say, too, that I have no intention of having history repeat itself. I think you’ll find we all have the same goal on this subject.”
“Not to worry, Claire. I think we’ve cleared the air. That’s a good thing, don’t you think?”
Ruby didn’t wait for an answer, but left Claire watching while she placed her lunch box on the shelf and sailed out of the break room. Claire let out a long sigh. At least she gave Ruby some credit for calling out the hand. The ice was finally broken, for better or for worse. No more secrets, but then still the secrets. She and Ruby had either squared off or squared things away for now. With any luck, she might make it through the rest of the day with no confrontation. The men kept to themselves, so hopefully there was no danger with them. Now she understood the frustrations of working with other people every day. The gossip, the opinions, the nosing and prying into personal affairs. When it came to George, she knew Oma was no problem for her at all. Ruby was another story. Ruby possessed the looks, but it seemed he’d dismissed her with any such notions.
What startled her was the fact that her mind had lately turned to comparing herself with the other women in the store, and how they might garner George’s attention. Had she fallen into the same trap of using looks and charm to attract a good man, as Ruby had alluded to Anita earlier? She remembered turning up the best side of herself when she and Adrian had first met, but never considered needing to up her station in life. And she knew coming into George’s life hung on the thread of mere circumstances and nothing more.
She and Adrian had been more equally yoked in beliefs and social standing. Whether or not she wanted to admit it, she and George fell into the same category. George was merely another version of Adrian, but with his wits about him. And Anna. What a precious little girl. She did need a good mother, whomever that might be, if George felt inclined to see to it that Anna ever had another mother. Too much to think about now. She’d just arrived in town, alone, scared, few supports in place. She couldn’t think about all this right now. It all overwhelmed her. Take it one day at a time. Don’t rush for anything, and do keep your wits about you. Claire scribbled a few more items onto the page before placing everything into a paper sack and heading back to the floor. Maybe waiting on customers would bring her outside herself and off such intense matters of the head and heart.
***
The bonfire rattled and shifted, sending fiery embers floating up to a greying sky tinged with the lightest pink-orange at the edges. Claire watched with mild interest as the burning bits drifted, dying and scattering into oblivion on a light, cool breeze. She stretched her bare toes closer to the heat, enjoying the warmth as the sound of the Holston River lapped, lapped, lapped at the bank below. Anna sat next to her playing with Lulabelle, hosting the most formal tea party, complete with a small child’s porcelain tea set resting between them. Claire had poured real tea into the teapot and created some tiny cucumber finger sandwiches to add a flair of realism. Anna helped Lulabelle with an imaginary sip from a dainty teacup, placing it back on the saucer when she thought her imaginary guest had enough.
George sat on the other side of the fire, making himself handy with a skewer, loading on three marshmallows. Beside him on a flat rock were six graham crackers, with three holding a square of chocolate. He grinned at Claire.
“I’ll roast these and that’ll finish up everything.” He held the skewer over the fire, turning slowly and methodically over a flame. When the fire lapped at the sweets bundles, catching them on fire, he withdrew them, blowing hard before they turned into nothing more than black, burnt inedible mush. “There’s a system to getting these right.” He removed the marshmallows with great care, landing each one on top of a chocolate square and topping off with a cracker. “Here we go.” Claire reached out for one, handing it off to Anna who, as if on cue, took it carefully in her small hands.
“Careful, sweetheart, it’s still hot.” Claire helped Anna steady the confection, holding her hand lightly underneath, lest the little girl drop it. When Anna gained control, clutching the treat and nibbling on a corner, Claire turned back to George.
“And for you, my good lady. Never will such a delicate morsel be touched by fairer lips than yours.” His voice took on an actor’s brogue. He could have been a lover right out of a movie, and this scene depicting his care and devotion.
“I love these things, but three’s enough for one person, don’t you think?” She laughed, drowning in the sight of him, while her ears filled with the ambient sounds of the river, a crackling fire, and Anna’s soft girlish chatter. It all lulled her into a feeling of oneness with the present moment. She loved the crispness of the early October air. It waved goodbye to the sultry heat of summer, leaving behind lush green for the fanfare of brilliant oranges, yellows, and reds of autumn. What would the days bring? Hayrides? Where would Anna go trick-or-treating? She had to dress up and go out. All kids her age did.
“Daddy, are you going to tell me and Lulabelle some stories?” Anna grasped her doll and made her way onto Claire’s lap.
“I don’t think Miss Claire wants to hold you. Why don’t you come sit by me, right here on this rock?”
“No, I want to be with Miss Claire.” Anna’s little voice wailed, and she turned her head up, giving the most pitiable expression she could muster. “Can I, Miss Claire?”
“There’s one marshmallow left, honey. Don’t you want to sit by me, and I’ll roast it for you?” George’s coaxing may have convinced Claire, but it didn’t budge Anna.
The little girl leaned back, tugging at Claire’s skirt. “Please, Miss Claire.”
“Of course you can, darling.” Claire wrapped her arms around Anna, holding her close. When the little girl rested her head against Claire’s shoulder, a flashing memory of her baby boy nearly sent her reeling. She blinked her eyes a few times and breathed in. No thinking about that right now and spoiling the mood. It was Friday night after another long week of work. She had all weekend to mourn if she wanted, but not now with George and Anna, who both acted like a balm to her injured spirit.
“Tell me the story about Brer Rabbit.” Anna giggled.
For the next hour, George recited a couple of tales from Uncle Remus and some others that Claire had never heard of before, especially a story from the Philippines, about a monkey who turned back into a prince when he heard the declarations of love from a beautiful girl with whom he’d become enamored. Claire enjoyed the stories, but she loved holding Anna most of all. This sweet, innocent girl who definitely missed something or someone in her life.
She glimpsed the expression of wonder in Anna’s eyes as they stared up at her or watched intently as she baked or peeled vegetables. Only last week George had come over, Anna in tow, and Claire had prepared a simple meal. It was the least she could do after George insisted she dine with them at their house. Since her arrival, Claire determined that she’d eaten more in their company than alone.
“She’s either tired, or I bored her.” George chuckled. He’d finished the last story as Anna lay sleeping, her hands still clutching her doll. “I think it’s bedtime for her.” He got up and lifted his daughter into his arms. Claire doused the flames with a stick, stirring dirt into the last smoldering remnants of the fire.
“We’ll have to do this again a few more times before it gets really cold.” Claire slipped on her shoes and wrapped a sweater around her shoulders.
“That sounds like fun to me. I love being near the water. It’s so peaceful.”
All three headed in silence toward the house. George placed Anna gently inside his car and closed the passenger’s door. He turned to Claire. “You’re really good with her, you know that?”
“She doesn’t bother me in the least.” Claire smiled up a
t George, admiring how the light of the full moon illuminated his features, how the breezed rustled his hair. He stood so close she felt the heat from his body warming hers. The touch of his hand on her shoulder quickened her pulse.
“Thank you for all your hard work. I know that was a lot to dump on a new person who’s just come to town, and who’s been through so much.”
Claire didn’t flinch, not wanting him to remove his hand. “You haven’t dumped anything on me. I’m more than excited about learning the store and what works to bring customers back. You’ve got a great business. I want to see you keep it around for generations longer.”
George stared off at the moon, his hand falling away back down to his side. “I want that too, Claire. I want that too.” He opened the car door, sliding easily behind the wheel. The engine started with the turn of the key, and Claire stepped away, waving her hand as they moved out of the driveway and on down the road to their house. She turned and walked back inside. How odd it seemed to her, so close, yet so far away. Two people sleeping alone, and both not more than a mile from each other. What would it be like sharing a bed with George? She forced her mind away from such thoughts. As much as she hated to admit it, she found herself thinking them more as each day passed.
She went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of tea, carrying it back to the living room where she sipped it alone on the sofa. Claire spent the time now thinking about her baby boy, so far away, with no one near to love him. Would he have loved a bonfire and roasting marshmallows, or would he be trying desperately to scramble down the bank and into the river, drumming up mischief like most boys do? Did Adrian still wonder what happened to her after her escape? Wonder if she were even still alive? Claire didn’t like believing that at this point, him not thinking of her may be a good thing. Mitchell hadn’t called since he left. Maybe that was a good thing, too. Life marched on; her life marched on, never tarrying despite changes, passage of days, and the seasons that slipped one into the other without a care.
After the last drops of tea, Claire ended the night reviewing some more of the catalogs before she turned out the lights. If only she could get up enough money to buy a loom. Maybe she could teach Anna, and perhaps make a blanket for Lulabelle. Chuckling, Claire entertained herself another two hours reading before falling into a deep sleep.
Chapter Fifteen
Claire wiped her hands on a towel, tossing it on the counter beside a bowl of fresh cut vegetables. Another series of loud knocks sounded before she grasped the knob and flung the front door wide open. There stood George, all smiles, cuddling a tiny kitten in his hands. Beside him stood Anna who held another in her little grasp. Her eyes sparkled as she held out the furry bundle to Claire, whose mouth dropped open in surprise.
“We got you some kittens, Miss Claire!” Anna squealed with delight, bouncing up and down on her feet while Claire took the animal in her own hands.
“You too?” She looked over at George, one eyebrow raised.
“Of course. I can’t let Anna out-do me. Besides, two’s company. Um, can we come in?”
“Absolutely. Gosh, what was I thinking?” Laughing, Claire stepped aside while father and daughter passed through into the living room.
“Did we really disturb you? I usually don’t just show up un-announced.” George turned his attention to the other kitten, delivering a few cooing words of comfort and some finger strokes over its head.
“I was just in the kitchen making some salad for lunch. Would you two like to join me?” Anna, meantime, reached up, petting Claire’s kitty on the head.
“This one’s Buzzie, and the other is Moo,” said Anna. “I named them. Moo looks like a cow.”
“Hmm.” Claire took note of the kitten in George’s hands, admitting that its black and white fur resembled the markings of the cows they’d seen in the fields. “And why did you name this one Buzzie, sweetheart?”
“Because.” Anna jumped up and down a few times with excitement. “He looks like a Buzzie.” She ran around the room, arms outstretched, making some buzzing noises. Claire admired the markings of Moo’s friend, a white kitten covered with what looked like recessive tortie markings.
George chuckled. “She’s got an imagination, doesn’t she?”
“Where did you find these?” Claire inched closer to George, shaking her head lightly and mumbling some baby-talk words while the little kitten’s purrs floated to her ear. “They are darling.”
“It’s Saturday. Anna and I went to the farmer’s market, and some kid and his mom were sitting on a corner. Didn’t look like they had two nickels to rub together. They had some sad looking tomatoes to sell and a few spindly carrots. I guess they were selling the kittens for some extra cash. My heart always go out to people trying to survive.”
“Oh, dear, George. Can I give you some money just to pay you back?” Claire stared up at George, stunned.
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Besides, life treats me pretty good. I believe in giving back and helping your fellow man.” George glanced around. “Let’s just put them down here and let you get back to your lunch. Or would you want them out in the back yard?”
“And let them wander off or fall and drown in the river?” Claire shook her head, horrified. “They’ll be fine right here. We’ll have to be careful and not step on them.” She motioned for Anna and George to follow her into the kitchen. “I’ll finish the salad, make us some sandwiches, and we’ll have lunch.”
“Can’t I stay and play with Buzzie and Moo? I think they need a babysitter.” Anna entwined her hands in Claire’s.
“Of course you can, darling. You’ll have to eat when we’re ready, though.” Claire stooped down, stroking the little girl’s curls.
“I’ll come. I’ll be real good if you let me stay with the kitties.”
Claire smiled, lightly catching George by the sleeve and guiding him into the kitchen, where he sat easily on one of the chairs at the tiny table in front of the window.
“Farmers market, eh? You got an early start this morning.” She picked up her knife and finished cutting up a celery stalk.
“I like to get my produce when it’s fresh. Get up late and all you’ll get are scraps.” George stood up, stretched his arms, and walked over to the counter. “Can I make some coffee? I ran out this morning without having my usual cup or two.” He rustled through the cabinets as if he did it here in this house every day. Claire pointed to a cabinet holding the coffee. From a lower cabinet, she removed the glass Chemex coffeemaker.
Both worked in easy silence. While George boiled water, Claire finished the salad and started on the sandwiches. She liked the feel of this moment, him making himself at home and Anna playing quietly in the living room. Coming over on weekends as of late had become a habit of his, one she wouldn’t break. After the first week of using the car for work, they did what many people did and rode in together on the trolley every morning and came home together each night. Sometimes, she made a quick dinner so he could rest a little before walking on home. A neighbor down the road from his house helped with taking care of Anna until he got home. The days were getting shorter, and he’d already discussed taking the car again so they wouldn’t have to walk to and from the trolley stop in the dark.
He’d spoken of these arrangements with such a casual air, basically stating each plan, assuming she’d have no problem with any of it. On the weekends, Anna stole away and played jacks on the porch while Claire sat in one of the rocking chairs and read or engrossed herself in some embroidery. The days passed with bright blue skies or somber grey clouds, slipping into chilly nights that left a breath of frost on the ground. The leaves had truly lived up to their role as announcers of fall, trading in rich greens for golds and reds. Every day that passed left memories of Hatchie River and Ash Grove a little more blurry and dimmer than before.
Mitchell had finally called a couple of times to check on her. Adrian was holding on somewhat to his wits, having days that were somewhat normal, while other days found hi
m a little disheveled and with duller mind. “You just don’t know. Every day is a surprise,” Mitchell had told her during their last talk.
The staff at the asylum apparently gave up on ever finding out how hateful Grace died. At first, Claire had nightmares about Grace, those devil eyes glowing as she sensed ice cold water splashing up all around her, trapped with no chance of escape. Sometimes she dreamt that it was her being led to the shed by powerful, smelly men with leers pasted on their lips. Just when they’d locked the door and force her legs apart, she awoke drenched in sweat. But those horrid dreams were fading too, though she still thought often of the others, especially Ruth and Millie.
“You look like you’re miles away from here.”
Claire lifted her head, seeing George standing close. Had he been watching her all this time while the water boiled and after he’d poured himself a cup of coffee? “I guess cooking sends me into a tranquil state. I always did enjoy it for that reason.”
George poured her a cup of coffee and handed it to her. “Old man Hyde is having a hayride in two weeks. He lives out farther from here.”
“Oh? A hayride sounds like fun.” Claire added some vinegar, oil, salt and pepper, and tossed the salad with a large spoon.
“He has some acreage, and every year for the past three years, he holds a big party and invites different people. His farm is perfect for these events. People bring food, we eat, talk, the kids play. We all have a big time of it.”
“And Anna enjoys it, too, I imagine.”
“Yeah.” George chuckled. “She loves playing with the other kids, especially since she doesn’t have any brothers and sisters.”
“Does she get along well with them? I know sometimes children without siblings have a harder time playing with others, if you know what I mean.” From the refrigerator, Claire pulled out more items and started making some sandwiches.
“She does better than you’d think. A pretty generous soul, she is. I’ll give her that much.”
Escape From Purgatory Page 17
