“Mr. Taylor invited the boys and me.”
“Ah. I see.” She turned to look behind her once more, the seat squeaking beneath her body. “I see he’s still talking to Marva. Do you suppose he’s inviting her to attend church with him, as well?”
Ignoring her sister’s sarcasm, Livvie thanked her for the ride and got out, closing her door before Margie could say anything else.
Chapter Twenty-one
“He that is slow to anger is better than the mighty; and he that ruleth his spirit than he that taketh a city.”—Proverbs 16:32
Will’s stomach ached, as if a hole the size of a golf ball had been bored into it. And, as a result, he had flubbed order after order: burned several steaks that were supposed to be rare, served someone a side of carrots instead of peas, topped an order of mashed potatoes with hot fudge instead of beef gravy, and dropped an entire plate of food when he collided with Gus. After burning yet another steak, Will had let Gus take over cooking and busied himself with other things.
“What’s going on with you, Will?” Cora Mae asked only midway through the supper hour. She stood at the sink, rinsing soiled plates. “You’re as jumpy as a flea.”
Now, he looked past Cora Mae at Marva Dulane, who hadn’t budged from her table since the restaurant had opened that evening. She sat there, eyeing him over the rim of her cup as she sipped her coffee. “Nothing,” he lied. “I’m fine.”
“Right. And cats bark at the moon. You and Livvie have a fallin’-out? She’s not herself tonight, either.”
He shook his head. “I don’t have time to talk, Cora Mae. Sorry.”
“Sure you do. The rush is over, and things have quieted down.” She nudged him in the side. “Does it have anything to do with her?” she whispered with a backward nod toward Marva.
Before he could open his mouth, Livvie approached and laid an order slip on the counter, giving him a sharp, cursory glance. “Gus, one more,” she said.
“Got it.” The fellow turned and snatched up the paper from the counter. Thank the Lord for Gus Anderson, Will thought as Livvie turned and went to check on her customers.
“Well?” Cora Mae prodded him.
“Could be,” he admitted. Cora Mae knew nothing of his past, and he wasn’t about to enlighten her. It was enough that he’d told Livvie. Yet, now that Marva also knew, he worried the entire town would soon get wind of it, and he’d be put on the next train out of here.
Cora Mae shuddered. “She’s nothin’ but trouble, Will.”
“Tell me about it.”
“So, you know about her, then?”
“I’ve heard she’s had a couple of husbands, and her hobby is collecting men.”
“You heard right. Her other hobby is helpin’ Orville Dotson distribute his goods. She makes a decent livin’ workin’ for him.”
“His goods?”
“He operates a big still in his barn. Manufactures enough booze to supply all of Wabash County and beyond. ’Course, it’s all a ‘big secret.’ Sheriff Morris pretty much turns his head. He’s opposed to Prohibition, as you might’ve guessed.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“Don’t get me wrong; he upholds the law in every area but that.”
“So, it’d do no good to report your findings to him, is what you’re saying.”
She held up her hands. “They’re not my findings. I’m just repeatin’ what others refer to as ‘common knowledge.’”
He nodded. “Interesting.”
By six forty-five, the restaurant had emptied, save for a few stragglers. Gus began scrubbing down the stove, Livvie and Cora Mae cleared the tables, Georgia refilled the salt and pepper shakers, and Alex and Nate zipped around the place. Will wiped the countertops, trying to ignore Marva Dulane, who also remained at her table. A few minutes later, she rose from her seat and approached him, her hips swaying excessively.
“You make a fine chicken à la King, Will Taylor,” she said.
“Sure took you long enough to eat it.”
She tossed her head back and laughed. “I was too busy watching the cook, I suppose.”
“It’s time you left, Marva.”
“Yes, I know. Besides, I have other commitments.”
“I’m sure you do.” He was thinking about what Cora Mae had said about her job with Orville Dotson and almost mentioned it. But he decided to save it for another time, after he did some digging.
She leaned over the bar area to play with a button on his shirt. “When can I see you again, Will?”
His smile was brief and cold. “How’s never?”
She scowled. “We’ll see. Don’t forget about those little tidbits of information I picked up from your friends….”
“Are you trying to blackmail me?”
She stood up straight and flicked her blonde hair with the back of her hand, then stuck out a pouty lower lip. “‘Blackmail’ sounds so harsh, Will. But you can call it what you want.”
An icy sensation traveled through his veins, and he had to concentrate on breathing. “You best get to your commitments, Marva.”
Devilish laughter spilled out of her. “My, my, I do believe the good Christian boy is showing some righteous anger. Don’t worry; I’m leaving. But I’ll see you soon.” She blew him a kiss and turned on her heel, making a point to promenade slowly past the three women working in the restaurant.
Livvie watched her strut out the door, then shot Will a stinging glare. He supposed he could forget about the plan for her and her boys to come to his apartment for dinner tonight. Well, if she wouldn’t come to him, he would go to her. One way or another, he intended to get her alone and explain the whole situation concerning Marva Dulane.
And, if he had the courage, he’d tell her something else, as well.
***
If she weren’t so irritated with him, Livvie might have felt a wee bit sorry for Will, considering all the orders he’d muddled. Thankfully, Georgia had been the one to wait on Marva all night, and she did mean all night. Livvie had begun to think the woman would never leave—another major source of irritation, since she had taken up an entire table that could have been filled with two more shifts of paying customers. At a quarter to seven, she’d finally stood up and ambled over to Will, clutched his shirtfront, and whispered something to him. And he’d returned an intimate comment of some sort.
Well, no matter. She did not intend to pine over Mr. Will Taylor another minute. He could have Marva Dulane with no interference on her part.
She’d managed to avoid any conversations with him that evening, except for a little while earlier, when he’d told her that they needed to talk. “I have nothing to say to you,” she’d replied. “Well, I have something to say to you,” he’d retorted. Cora Mae and Georgia had been working nearby, so he hadn’t pressed the matter.
Now, it looked like everyone was gone but Cora Mae, who was tidying chairs. It was time for Livvie to round up her boys, who whooped like hyenas as they raced around the tables. “Come on, Alex, Nathan. We’re going upstairs,” she announced.
Just then, Will came around the bar and nabbed her by the arm. “We need to talk, Livvie. I’m serious.”
She raised her chin and wriggled her arm free of his grasp. “I think it’s clear where your interests lie, Will, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“If you think I have eyes for Marva Dulane, you’re completely off base.”
“And you’re completely loony if you think I’m going to stand here and listen to another word. Alex! Nathan! Upstairs, you two!” The tone she used was one her sons were not accustomed to hearing, and they immediately quieted down and made a beeline for the back door. She followed on their heels, leaving Will in the kitchen.
Back in their apartment, Livvie drew a bath for the boys. They put up the usual fuss but changed their tune when she told them they could bathe together. While they splashed around in the tub, she went to the kitchen for a drink of water. She had just filled her glass and was starting to sip when
a knock came at her door, loud and demanding. “Livvie! Open up this instant.”
She glanced at the clock. It was a quarter after eight, less than an hour since Will had tried to talk to her. She should have known he wouldn’t let the matter rest. She poured the rest of the water down the drain and set her glass in the sink. Then, expelling a deep breath, she walked to the door. Shoulders pulled back for a show of courage, she unlocked the latch, turned the knob, and pulled the door open. Will stepped inside uninvited, determination carved into his expression. Taking hold of her arms just above her elbows, he drew her close for a long, relentless kiss. “Taken aback,” “shocked,” “nonplussed,” and “dazed” were hardly sufficient to explain how she felt. “Enraptured” came close.
As quickly as the kiss had begun, it ended, but he didn’t drop his hands; he just squeezed her upper arms and stared down at her with those intense blue eyes. “I love you.”
“What?” Her heart had stopped beating; she was sure of it.
“You heard me. I love you. I can’t help it. It just happened. And whether you ever return the feelings is beside the point.”
“But, Marva—”
“Is nothing to me. You, on the other hand”—he gently tapped the tip of her nose—“are everything. I didn’t mean for this to happen, Livvie. I know you still love your husband, and always will, but I was going to burst if I didn’t get my feelings out in the open. I also realize I’m nowhere near good enough for you, and that it’s plain foolish for me to be spilling my heart out to you like this.
“Now, if my continued employment at the restaurant makes you uncomfortable, I’ll happily leave—well, maybe not happily—and look for another job in Wabash. But, if you don’t mind my staying, then I’ll make every effort to stay out of your way, and—”
She put two fingers to his lips. “Shush, would you?”
He complied, his breathing jagged and hurried, as if he’d just run a long way. She removed her fingers from his mouth, and he dropped his hands to his sides, knotting them into fists.
“I do still love my husband,” she said. “And, you’re right; I always will. But I do not want you to stop working in the kitchen.” She bit her lip hard and dropped her chin. “I feel things for you, Will; I truly do. But—”
“It’s fine, it’s fine. I understand. You don’t have to explain anything.”
Tears suddenly stung her eyes, and a sob that had caught in her throat worked its way out. “I never imagined another man taking Frank’s place.”
He let out a heavy sigh. Then, with both hands, he cupped her cheeks in the gentlest way and raised her face so that her eyes met his. “Don’t get all worked up, okay? This doesn’t have to turn into something complicated. I told you how I feel, and that’s that. Let’s just leave it there, all right?”
Confusion fueled a fire in her chest as she silently asked God for peace and discernment. Suddenly, she had to know. “What were you doing talking to Marva on the sidewalk today when Margie drove us back into town? You two looked so…intimate.”
“Intimate?” His brow crinkled.
“And then, she sat at that table all night, watching you like some kind of famished hawk—in my restaurant, no less.”
“I’ll admit, she’s got this thing for me.”
“I’ll say.”
“It’s more like a sick infatuation. May I come in, Liv?” He reached behind him and quietly closed the door. “I need to tell you some things that happened today regarding Marva Dulane. Can we sit down and talk?”
“Mommy!” Nate yelled from the bathroom. “Alex keeps throwing water in my face.”
She pressed her fingers to her temples and closed her eyes, imagining what the bathroom floor must look like. So many emotions swirled in her head.
“Want me to go tend to them?” he asked. “We can talk after they go to bed. Or, I can come back later, if you’d rather.”
“No, you can stay. The boys will be excited to see you. We might have a hard time getting them to bed, though, once they learn you’re here.”
His warm hand grazed her cheek, and he gave her a lazy smile. “Makes no matter to me.”
As he tiptoed down the hall toward the bathroom, she waited to hear the boys’ shouts of elation at seeing him. She wasn’t disappointed. And, while she could not yet bring herself to say those three important words, she was sure her sons would have no trouble.
***
It couldn’t be more perfect. The shack looked like it was a deserted church or schoolhouse with a step-up platform at the front, rough plank walls, and uneven wood floors. Clem shone his flashlight all around and discovered an ancient stove with a broken pipe standing in the center of the room, which probably measured about twenty-five feet on each side. Two of the walls had three windows each, only four of which had their glass panes intact.
It hadn’t been easy wading through rows of corn and tall weeds to reach the tumbledown building, and finding the front door behind a thicket of brush had been an even bigger challenge, with only the moon and his torch to light the way. After all, he hadn’t dared explore the place during the daylight hours. He’d hitched the horse and buggy behind some trees on a deserted trail about half a mile away and hoped no one would come upon them. He hadn’t passed a single horse or automobile on his trek down the dirt road, though, so he had no real worries about that happening.
He dug into his cloth sack and drew out the candle-
stick he’d brought, along with the holder and a box of matches. He fit the candle in the holder, then set it on the rickety table beside the stove. It took him several strikes, but he finally lit a match and then touched it to the candlewick. All at once, everything came into view—a few broken chairs, a dilapidated bench that could have been a church pew, some empty crates stacked against the wall, and, of all things, an ancient piano at the front, which looked to have collected about an inch of dust. A crackling noise made him whirl around, flashlight pointed toward the sound. A couple of mice scuttled across the room and disappeared behind a box.
“Blamed varmints,” he mumbled. “Y’ best scoot out o’ here, ’fore I bring my lady by. Don’t think she’ll appreciate sharin’ this place with any four-legged critters.”
Outside, an owl hooted, and the moon sent a slice of light through a cracked windowpane. Clem dragged a chair over to the table where the candle burned, plunked himself into it, crossed his legs at the ankles, and lit a cigarette. Tomorrow, he would call Flo and tell her he wanted that divorce. He’d rented a post office box, so her lawyer should have no trouble getting him the necessary paperwork. Shoot, he’d even send her cash to cover the lawyer fees, if need be. Of course, he’d have to steal it first.
He reached inside his sack once more and pulled out the bottle of whiskey he’d bought off Dotson. Carefully, almost reverently, he uncorked it, then took a long swallow, enjoying the burn as it went down. Settling back, he closed his eyes, ready to dream about his beautiful bride-to-be.
***
“So, now you know the whole story,” Will said, having told Livvie all about the day’s events concerning Marva Dulane. They’d been sitting together on her sofa for the past hour, ever since putting her boys to bed, after which Livvie had whispered that her sons had never agreed so readily to turn in for the night.
“I’m thinking about going to the sheriff in the next county to file a complaint against Orville Dotson,” he went on. “There’s no reason he should be allowed to keep up that illegal operation. If Buford Morris isn’t man enough to put a stop to it, then somebody else has got to step up.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Will,” Livvie cautioned him. “You’d be stirring up a wasps’ nest. What if one or more of Dotson’s customers gets word that you reported him and comes after you? A lot of people depend on him for their supply, and they wouldn’t think too kindly of someone stepping in to put a stop to his business. Besides, I don’t know what a sheriff from another county could do, since it’s not in his jurisdiction.”
“He could take it to the next level. I’ve been doing some checking, and the Bureau of Internal Revenue, a branch of the Treasury Department, has been tasked with enforcing the law, and they’ve developed some crack Prohibition agents. There’s a commissioner and a director of Prohibition who share the power, and they don’t have much mercy for these small-time operations. They usually shut them down within days of discovering them. Dotson’s probably due for some jail time, and maybe Marva would go, too, for her part. I don’t know the extent of her involvement, or if what Cora Mae told me is just hearsay, but it’d be worth it to hire a prosecutor to investigate.”
He paused and reached for his coffee cup, which sat beside Livvie’s on an end table. It took a heap of self-control to resist touching her shoulder. Not that he didn’t long to pull her close and kiss her silly, but, now that he’d revealed his feelings to her, he had to be careful not to force the issue. If she was ever going to love him in return, he wanted her to do so unreservedly and without any pressure.
She folded her hands in her lap and briefly studied them. “I can understand all that, Will, but you have to remember, you’re trying to protect your identity, and so you need to be careful about your involvement. At the very least, you should pray for guidance about the best way to proceed. As for Marva, if you tell her that you know what she’s up to with Orville Dotson, it might be enough to make her back off.”
“You make an excellent case, Mrs. Beckman. Especially the part about praying first.”
“I’m a little slow, Mr. Taylor, but I’m beginning to get my spiritual legs back. And it feels good.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”—John 14:27
On Wednesday morning, Livvie flipped the “Closed” sign to “Open,” unlocked the front door, and opened it to usher in her first customer—Coot, of course. Although the morning temperature was mild, Reggie panted at Coot’s side, as if the afternoon sun were already beating down on his shiny, black head. In his usual fashion, he waited for Livvie to pat his head, then turned several circles and settled himself on the cool sidewalk under the awning.
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