Peter appeared from the back with the first carton of books.
“Set it there.” Brandon pointed to a shelf along the wall across the room from the sales counter. Bowing to economic necessity, he’d purchased a selection of the better contemporary authors, such as Fitzgerald and T. S. Eliot. “The other box can go there too.”
Peter nodded and headed to the back room.
Brandon counted out the lad’s wages. Considering the fine carpentry, he’d felt guilty paying Peter so little and ended up matching Anna’s wage. It would set him behind, but the sale of a few books would make up the difference.
“That all, Mr. Landers?” Peter asked as he set down the second box.
“All except for your pay.”
The boy’s eyes lit up when he saw how much Brandon had given him.
“For a job well done,” Brandon said. “Will you be able to help me move books here from the house tomorrow?”
“Yes, sir, after school lets out.”
“You must be what—seventeen? Will you be graduating this spring?”
“Wish I was done now, but Hendrick insists I get my diploma.”
“Smart man.” Brandon opened the door to let Peter out and paused when he saw one very familiar person heading his way.
“Thanks again, Mr. Landers,” Peter said, tipping a finger to his cap. “Hey, Anna. What are you doing here? Place is all clean.”
Anna shrugged, her hands buried in her coat pockets. A proper felt hat topped her hair, which looked short, as if she’d got it bobbed. Brandon stifled a surge of displeasure. He liked long hair, but every woman seemed to be cutting hers. Even Hendrick’s wife wore her hair short. Not Anna. Please, not Anna.
“I wanted to see the books on the shelves,” she said a bit too brightly.
“Ain’t none there yet,” Peter informed her.
“Aren’t any,” she corrected.
The boy rolled his eyes and took off for home.
Brandon smiled at Anna, especially now that he could see she’d just put her hair up, not cut it. “You have a bit of schoolteacher in you.”
“I just know what’s correct and what isn’t.” She stepped into the store. “Peter’s right. You don’t have any books on the shelves.”
Naturally she went to the two boxes Peter had just brought from the back room. Then she slowly turned, surveying the entire store.
“Is that all?” Her voice echoed in the nearly empty storefront.
“The rest are at the house. Peter will help me move them tomorrow.” As if he owed her an explanation.
“Ah. Shall we shelve these?” She opened the box and pulled out the first book. “The Ambassador by Henry James. Interesting, if a bit dated.” One by one she pulled out the books and set them on the shelf in alphabetical order by author. With each one, the frown on her face grew deeper.
“You don’t have to do this now,” he protested, uncomfortable at her disapproval of his literary selection. “It must be time to fix supper. Past time, actually.”
“Supper is already done and in the warming oven. More Henry James.” She sighed. “Most of these were published decades ago. You should have consulted me before ordering.”
“Why?” He bristled. “I might have lost time fighting in the war, but those months of recovery gave me plenty of time to read.”
“And this is what you read?”
“Naturally. I appreciate quality literature.”
She shook her head. “Pearlman is not Detroit.”
“I wasn’t in Detroit.”
Her gaze riveted on his face, making him even more uncomfortable. “Where were you, then? I thought you’d come home to recover. It’s been four years since the war ended.”
He did not care to explain those painful years, but her expression told him she would not let it go until he gave her a satisfactory explanation. He gripped the head of his cane tighter.
“I wrote for the Boston Herald before the war. When it began, I pestered the editor to let me correspond from the front. He refused, saying the paper couldn’t afford to send another correspondent to Europe, but I know my father was behind it. He wanted me to take over the family business.” At her look of puzzlement, he added, “Automobile-related products.”
“Ah.” She looked unimpressed. “I’d want to be a journalist too.”
He had to smile. Of course she would. Her eyes lit up whenever travel or adventure was mentioned.
“But that doesn’t explain what happened in the four years after the war,” she persisted. “Were you an archaeologist? Did you join excavations in Greece or Rome?”
He could have laughed. Even if he hadn’t been injured, postwar Europe was not the place to conduct archaeological excavations. “I did tour Rome after I learned to walk again.”
“What was it like?” Her eyes sparkled, the book absently clutched to her chest. “Did you see the Forum? What about the Coliseum? And the Pantheon and St. Peter’s?”
She named so many sites so quickly that he couldn’t get an answer in. When she finally paused for breath, he simply replied in the affirmative.
“All?” she cried. “Which was your favorite?”
He could hardly suppress a smile. “I couldn’t name a favorite.”
“I have to go someday.” She gripped the book with such fierce longing that he wished he could make her dream come true. Alas, it wasn’t possible.
“It’s busy and dirty,” he said to let her down a bit, for the odds of Anna Simmons going to Europe were long indeed. “And the influenza epidemic left so many sick and dead.”
“Oh, I forgot about that. Did you get sick?”
He was touched that she thought of him. “Yes, but I recovered, unlike others.”
“I never got sick,” she said softly, as if embarrassed she hadn’t suffered. “How long did you stay there?”
“I returned to the States in October of 1919.”
“A whole year.” She said it dreamily, as if imagining he’d toured the Alps and the great cities that hadn’t been shelled to dust, when in fact he’d spent most of that time in the hospital and then a rented room.
“It wasn’t glamorous.”
She averted her eyes, and that glorious touch of pink dusted her cheeks. “I know.” She lifted her gaze. “But you were there. I want to go somewhere exciting just once in my life.”
Brandon reached into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out her pay. “Perhaps if you save a portion of your wages, you will.”
She stared at the twenty dollar bills he held out to her. “For me?”
“You earned it.”
For a second he could see the dream animate her features, but the moment quickly passed, replaced by calm resignation. She took the money, folded it and carefully tucked it into her coat pocket.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
He couldn’t bear to see her dream vanish the way his had.
“I went back to the paper,” he said.
She looked up. “The newspaper in Boston?”
He nodded.
“Why didn’t you stay?”
The truth was bitter. “They would only let me report city-council meetings.”
She nodded, as if she knew what he hadn’t said, that his bum leg meant he could never again be a foreign correspondent or much of a reporter at all. The war had stolen his dream. He’d learned to adjust and now looked into the past to find his future. Now he read about antiquities rather than discover them. Anna, though, still had a chance.
“Don’t let go of what you want,” he urged. “Go to college. Meet a professor who will take you to an excavation. See everything you’ve always wanted to see.”
Resignation curved her lips. “I have an errand to run. Your supper is in the warming oven.”
* * *
Anna found Pastor Gabe still at the church. That made her task a lot easier. She didn’t want to discuss the subject in front of Felicity, who would ask about Ma and Brandon and her job.
“Good night, Mrs. Williams.” Anna nodded at the church secretary, who was donning her coat and hat when she walked in.
“Office is closed,” Florabelle Williams huffed. “It’s past five o’clock. I shoulda been home already makin’ supper for my Henry.”
“Then you’d better hurry,” said Gabe. “I’ll close up.”
Mrs. Williams cast Anna a suspicious look before acquiescing. “Well, you are family of sorts,” she muttered as she left the office.
Both Anna and Gabe waited until the front door closed behind the secretary and notorious gossip.
“Please sit,” Gabe said, motioning to one of the chairs in the center of the small office. During Reverend Jacobsen’s tenure, anyone seeing him had to sit across the desk from the minister, with Florabelle Williams watching them both. Pastor Gabe had positioned two chairs beneath the window and asked Florabelle to step out whenever someone met with him. Mrs. Williams doubtless protested, but it certainly made people more comfortable.
Anna sat in one of the chairs, situated at an angle to Pastor Gabe so they could converse comfortably.
“What can I do for you?” he said.
She fingered the money in her pocket, suddenly doubting. Taking this step meant setting her dreams back again, but then she thought of Minnie not finishing high school. What dreams would she lose? And Mr. Fox was so ill. What if Minnie lost her papa just like Anna? She took a deep breath and pulled out the money.
“I want you to make sure the Foxes get this.” She counted out half her wages, a full forty dollars. “I heard Minnie might have to leave school to work.”
Pastor Gabe refused the offering. “That’s generous of you, Anna, but are you certain you don’t need it?”
“Ma and I still have plenty.”
His dark eyes bored into her, searching her soul, but not unkindly. “I understand Minnie has already taken a position at the Neideckers.”
“The Neideckers? My old job?” Poor Minnie would have to wear that short dress and endure Joe’s ogling. Worse, Minnie wasn’t strong enough to tell Joe to keep his eyes where they belonged. “She can’t work there.”
Gabe’s brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Anna sucked in her breath. Did she dare tell him her misgivings? Ma’s voice popped into her head, telling her that if she couldn’t say something nice, not to say anything at all. Maybe Anna was wrong. If so, telling Pastor Gabe would be just like Mrs. Williams spreading gossip. Better to warn Minnie.
“She needs to finish high school,” she finally said. At his expression of puzzlement, she added, “Ma said she was quitting school to work. She only has this semester. It’s not fair that she’d have to leave school to work when she’s so close to finishing.”
Pastor Gabe finally accepted her money. “I will make sure the Foxes get this. I’ll also ask about Minnie’s schooling.” He smiled and rose. “I’m sure we can work something out with Evelyn Neidecker to ensure Minnie gets her diploma.”
Anna breathed out in relief. “Thank you, Pastor.” It still felt awkward calling him pastor when two years ago she’d had a terrible crush on him. That was before he married, before he even courted Felicity. He’d been kind to her but never romantically inclined. That’s the way it always went for her. None of the men she liked were ever interested. Including Brandon.
She shook Gabe’s hand, pleased that the old embarrassment was finally gone. Maybe one day she’d even be able to call him pastor without wincing.
They stepped out into the icy wind. Anna lifted the collar on her coat and dug her hands into her pockets. She should get home to bring Ma her supper.
“Good night, Anna,” Pastor Gabe called out as he headed toward the shoveled path that led behind the church to the parsonage.
A screeching roar, like the sound of something enormous collapsing, echoed through the air and stopped both Gabe and Anna in their tracks. She stared down Main Street, trying to find the source of the noise and spotted a plume of dust or smoke rising at the far end of town in the direction of...the garage.
“Hendrick. Peter,” she cried and set off at a dead run.
The garage had exploded.
Chapter Ten
Anna’s feet pounded the board sidewalk, each step reverberating against her skull. Her side ached. She couldn’t breathe. Hendrick. Peter. They could be hurt or...worse. She saw again that pool of blood under Papa.
Her brothers. And she and Hendrick fought the last time she saw him.
Tears stung her lids. Her lungs burned.
“Anna! Anna, slow down.”
She heard Pastor Gabe call out to her, but she paid him no heed. This was her brother. Eight years older, he’d been like a father to her. He’d left school to support her and Ma. And how had she rewarded him? By fighting him every step of the way.
By the time she reached the mercantile, she couldn’t draw in enough air and had to stop to gasp for more. Only then did she realize that others headed toward the garage. By car or on foot, all of Pearlman streamed toward what she could now see was a cloud of dust. No fire. No fire engine. Hendrick’s reengineered pumping motor wouldn’t be needed.
Hendrick. Her throat constricted.
“Are you all right?” Pastor Gabe had caught up to her.
She didn’t want to talk, not when Hendrick might be hurt. She raced down the final block, oblivious to everything except that cloud of dust. Crowds had gathered, and she couldn’t see the building.
“Hendrick,” she called, trying to push around the throngs.
Then she saw him. He stood in the middle of the intersection, arms crossed, pure anger etched onto his face. Beyond him, a tractor pulled down the last wall of the house with a crash, and the plaster disintegrated.
“My house,” Anna gasped. “Our house.”
The house she’d grown up in, the only home she’d ever known, lay in ruins.
She angrily brushed aside the tears that formed. “How could they?”
Hendrick swept an arm toward the scene. The motor garage still stood untouched by the wreckers, but the house was gone. “Look what your Mr. Brandon has done.”
He was right. She couldn’t deny it. Brandon had evicted them so he could demolish their home. He knew this would happen, yet he’d said nothing to her. Just like when he evicted them. Hendrick had been right about him all along.
A sob hiccuped to the surface. She pressed a hand to her mouth, unable to look away. Her bedroom, Ma’s room, the kitchen where they’d shared every dream and worry...all gone.
“Don’t watch.” The strong hand beneath her elbow didn’t belong to her brother or Pastor Gabe.
It was Brandon.
Anna shook off his touch. “You knew.”
The accusation hung between them on the steam from her breath, yet Brandon didn’t flinch or waver. If possible, he looked even more distressed than her brother.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have warned you this might happen, but I didn’t know for certain that they were going to do this, and I certainly didn’t know they were doing it today.”
Anna could almost accept his apology. “Yes, you should have told me.” She wrapped her arms around her body, suddenly chilled.
If she’d known the house was going to be demolished, she wouldn’t have been caught by surprise. Instead, she stood on the street corner, drawing looks of pity from everyone gathered to watch the spectacle. Well, she didn’t want to be pitied. She didn’t want people staring at her.
“The new owner is building a Cadillac dealership,” B
randon said, more to Hendrick. “It’ll benefit the garage’s business.”
Her brother’s sour expression didn’t change. “Cadillac? Just like your car. I suppose that’s why you sold the place. You had an arrangement with the new owner.”
Brandon looked stricken. “I didn’t sell the prop—” He halted and left the declaration of innocence on his tongue.
Though Anna knew Brandon was right, she couldn’t bring herself to tell Hendrick that, not when her home lay in ruins and her brother glared at Brandon.
Just moments before, her course had seemed clear. She would work in the bookstore and help Minnie stay in school. Ma adored the carriage-house apartment. Most of all, Brandon had finally begun talking about himself. She had seen a narrow path into the future.
Now that certainty lay shattered.
“Let me take you home,” Brandon offered.
“That’s my responsibility.” Hendrick moved between Brandon and her, his hands fisted. He looked as though he would punch Brandon at any moment, and Brandon showed no sign of backing down.
Brandon nodded agreement but didn’t give an inch. If Hendrick threw a punch, he looked ready to not only take it but to return the favor. She couldn’t let them fight in the middle of the street.
“I’ll walk,” she said loudly enough to get through their thick skulls. “I’m sick of looking at this anyway.”
Then she turned her back and left.
* * *
Considering Brandon didn’t intend to marry anyone, including Anna, he shouldn’t care what Hendrick Simmons thought of him. Yet he’d nearly told the man that Father had sold the house, not him. That would have been futile. Hendrick didn’t differentiate between father and son. He held Brandon responsible, and no argument could change that.
Nor should it. With Father gone, he was responsible. Just like with his men. The old sickening dread filled him, beginning with his stomach and spreading outward like ice flowing through his veins.
“Are you all right?” It was the minister, Pastor Gabe.
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