Soldier's Homecoming (9781460341308)

by Glaz, Linda S.

  Manners? She shuddered. Where had her manners been that evening in Lansing? Surely she didn’t continue to hold a grudge after almost seven years. She’d been so excited to be asked by a senior to his graduation dance. Then to be abandoned while he left with another girl.

  Okay, so she did still harbor ill feelings. There was more than one man in the world. And her father had taught her to be treated with respect by men, not a passing fancy. She’d been less than a passing fancy to Joseph Huntington.

  “Miss Banks?”

  Victoria’s attention snapped back to the girls. “I see. I suppose I should be glad you were allowed to return to dance class at all.” She picked up the biography she had painstakingly written out by hand for each girl. “Though it won’t help you to understand how she became the dancer she did, I’ll leave it at this.” She turned aside and thought carefully about what she would share. “Isadora’s parents were both involved in the arts and raised Isadora to be a…a freethinking individual exposed to many forms of art, from music to theater to dance. Rather than moving forward with traditional dance, Isadora chose to listen to the music not with her ears, but with her heart and her soul, and therefore she danced with the music, becoming a part of it. She had a rather colorful and, most say, sad personal life. And that is no doubt what your mothers would prefer we not discuss in class, and so we will not discuss it. All right? Only to say that much beauty in this world in the form of the arts comes from the sadness and pain in an artist’s life. And loneliness. I would ask all of you, as I do when discussing any other artists, not to judge them unless you’ve walked in their shoes.”

  “Danced in their shoes,” Beatrice added.

  Victoria nodded. “Danced in their shoes. God is the only one who knows what is in an individual’s heart. We shouldn’t assume things merely by how people sometimes live. They are often clouded with bad judgment and heartache that we can’t see.”

  She nibbled the edge of her lip, concentrating. “All right, enough said about her life. I simply want all of you to understand her idea of feeling the music in your soul and dancing to how that makes you feel. It will end up being different for each one of you if you allow that to happen.”

  Minnie spun on her toes and laughed. “I’m ready to try.” She touched the arm of Carolyn, who stood next to her. “Come on, Carolyn. Let’s go show ’em what we’ve got.” The two slipped into a crouch and inched their way across the floor until Victoria leveled a stare at them. She had to admit, those two were full of life.

  “I’m only offering this to my older girls,” Victoria added. “You all have shown you can excel at the basics of tap and ballet and…” She glanced at the two younger girls. “Maturity. I thought you might like a chance to dance from your heart for the big recital in December. That gives us a few months to work on it. What do you say?”

  Cheers erupted from all but tall, willowy Constance Whitaker. “I don’t think my mother would like that.” Her blue eyes filled with tears that she quickly brushed away.

  “It’s just another style of dance. We’ll still do our tap and ballet. You more experienced girls will dance en pointe, as well. And you know how I feel about costumes. They will always be modest and proper. There’s no negotiating on that, no matter what some of you see in the dance magazines. Is that understood?”

  “I understand, but Mom’s not exactly keen on my dancing, anyway. Sorry. I mean, she’s not all that happy about my dancing.” Constance turned to grab her small bag as she headed over to exit the studio. “My parents want a valedictorian in the family, so I suppose my time’s better spent studying from here on out.”

  Victoria followed her and touched her shoulder. Constance turned. “We’ll all miss you, Constance. You are a delightful dancer. I wish you every bit of success in whatever you endeavor to do.” She offered what she hoped was a serious but encouraging face. “It’s all any of us ever asks of you girls. No matter what you’re doing, make it your best. Constance, your parents will be proud even if you don’t make valedictorian, but don’t give up trying. Remember, always do your best.”

  Wonderful advice coming from someone who hadn’t done her best to be kind.

  Constance’s smile returned. “I appreciate all you’ve taught me, Miss Banks. I really do. It’s been far more than simply dancing. But studying is the priority in my home. I think the Isadora Duncan biography was just Mother’s way of saying enough dance for me. It gave her an excuse to steer me toward my books. And that’s all right. I love my books as much as my ballet slippers. I meant what I said. You taught me so much about…well, about life. About kindness and compassion toward others.” She fluttered her hand with a gentle and sincere wave to her friends.

  Victoria swallowed over a lump, nearly choking on her memories. While she was happy Constance had taken that away from her time here, Victoria felt like such a hypocrite.

  Once Constance had exited the room, Victoria tapped her stick on the table with a tad too much enthusiasm. “All right. I think we’ve talked quite enough. Back to work, ladies.”

  She understood that Duncan had been quite a controversial figure before her death in 1927, but her style offered the girls a wonderful opportunity to discover who they were as artists. Victoria heaved a huge sigh, watching the girls warm up. The beauty of dance like that of paintings, plays and many other types of artwork had long lived in Victoria’s heart. Ever since dance had replaced her love of baseball.

  She licked her lips, remembering the terrible time she had given her parents with a ball and a bat. Poor Father. After all, her aunt had been a tomboy and turned out just fine. But Father never missed the opportunity to remind her that men liked frilly girls. Girlie girls. Really? Ugh. Then she remembered Joe leaving her at the graduation dance. Was that because she wasn’t a frilly girl like Dru? Had her father been correct? Oh, why couldn’t she bring herself to forget what happened?

  Now here she was, instead of being the first professional female ballplayer, teaching dance for five-to sixteen-year-olds. How life could change in the blink of an eye, but she had been correct in her thinking. Women had played professional ball during the war, still did. So what if her love of baseball had waned and her love of dance increased when she grew up? At least she’d been proven correct in her thinking. And if her church ever came up with a girls’ team as they’d promised, she’d be back on the diamond if only for fun. She had the distinct feeling in her heart that Jesus wouldn’t mind her playing one bit. That thought brought a smile to her lips.

  As the older girls finished and she waited for the next class, Victoria pulled aside the utilitarian curtains in the front and glanced out the window. A tall and very dark man stood across the street in front of the bank. A familiar stature.

  Joseph Huntington? In Howell? But she thought he had relocated to Lansing. And yet there he was, closing the thick wooden door of the Howell First Savings and Loan. Maybe he’d come to visit his brother and family. Maybe he’d come to… Well, she wouldn’t daydream. There was a class to teach. And no dark brown eyes were going to draw away her attention.

  However, her gaze refused to be redirected. She didn’t miss the way the sun shone off his wavy black hair. Like a raven’s wings in flight. And he no longer had the physique of a boy. But somewhere between stepping on her feet, standing her up at graduation and stepping on her feet again, he’d grown into an incredibly handsome man.

  *

  Joe couldn’t have felt any lower if he’d been a worm crawling under a shady leaf. What had led him to believe he’d be welcomed back home in Howell with open arms to start his business? Just because he’d served? He hadn’t earned any special place because of that.

  With his folks gone, he had just his brother, Daniel, and he had to admit he wanted to be close to the family. It was Howell or nothing. After all, he’d grown up here. There had to be another way to make his business become a reality. And he wasn’t about to ask his brother for help. He’d been so swell about keeping the home fires burning in
Mom and Pop’s house, along with taking care of the expenses. No, he couldn’t go to Daniel for a loan.

  He crossed the street to his car.

  Big dreams. His father had taught him, go for the big dreams if you’re going to dream at all. That was why he’d scraped, working two jobs to put himself through college before the war called him overseas. He’d saved every penny he could while serving, and that certainly wasn’t a lot, but he’d scrimped and expected a payoff when he got out.

  Big dreams. Ha!

  As he pulled his drooping chin off the cement sidewalk, he spied a face peering at him from behind a curtain that swayed in front of him. He read the sign overhead:

  Howell School of Dance.

  Not Miss Davies’s, but Howell School of Dance. Oh, how he hoped it wasn’t connected to etiquette, as well. He stared a second before seeing the curtain flap around a halo of blond hair. Could it be? No. Not Miss Get Off My Feet, You Clod! She wouldn’t have a dance studio. But he had to admit, from what he’d seen in Lansing, she’d turned into a beautiful woman. Why wasn’t she married? She must have had tons of suitors. Then he realized, not many men over sixteen or under forty had been left anywhere in the United States. All gone to war. For what? So many of his friends had died. Well, they’d tried to make a difference overseas. Only time would tell if fighting had been the right thing to do. He hoped future generations would agree and think kindly of them.

  The curtain fell into place, but his thoughts continued as he walked toward his car. Save all his money, return home alive, move into the folks’ place, start his own company. One…two…three…four. No room for number five. Not yet. Not a girl, especially not that girl. That would mean compromise instead of his company, and he had no intention of compromising his dreams.

  Besides, there was now another number five. He had to go see old Mr. Wysse and beg him for a job to please Flannigan. Not exactly part of the returning soldier’s dream.

  *

  Victoria ducked behind the curtain, allowed it to flutter across the window. Was he in Howell to stay? She hoped not. She’d had enough of Joe in high school. Still, she couldn’t stop the sigh that sneaked out. With those dark good looks, there was no doubt some girl had waited faithfully for his return. Probably some girl in Lansing. That must have been why he was there. All that mattered was that the girl was not Victoria Banks. No, siree…not on your life…not even…no. No matter how inviting his smile. Besides, he was likely here to see his family and then he’d be gone again. Back to Miss Whatever Her Name Is.

  Time to face facts. At twenty-three, Victoria was almost an old maid. All the great ones had been taken. She’d be teaching dance until she was as old as Miss Davies had been. Gray coils around her head and nothing to show for her years but tiny dancers. Horsefeathers! He wasn’t the only man in the world. Even though single men were pretty scarce in Howell at the moment, she didn’t have to drag up old memories as if they mattered.

  Then she laughed at how silly she was being since she didn’t care one bit. Not in the least. In another instant with one more peek around the curtains, she watched his retreating footsteps. She had to admit, the military certainly had not cheated him of a fine physique. He was taller than he’d been at graduation. How was that possible? And those eyes. Like the morning coffee smiling back at her from her cup, waking her. If Joe wakened her, how would she feel? Her face burned at the brazen thoughts.

  Joe Huntington was handsome to be sure, and with the build of a man who would protect her for life. She’d let him get away…or had he walked away…with another girl? She sighed with audible humiliation.

  All right, Dad. She should have been filling the chest with linens, beautifully crocheted items, lovely heirlooms Mom had given her. Maybe a cookbook or two. Because she certainly didn’t cook very well. Her last attempt had been a burned pot roast and bread heavy enough to use as an anchor. Her only real triumphs were pies. That came easily to her, maybe because she loved pie. Cherry, apple, buttermilk, oh, any kind of pie. The taste was almost within reach. She licked her lips. But as good as pie tasted, a man couldn’t live on pie alone.

  Joe opened the door to his car parked a few spaces away from her school, and at the last second, turned again toward the building. She chewed the edge of her lip wondering what he was thinking. But as soon as he saw she still watched, he turned his back, hopped in and drove off. The nerve of that man. Holding a grudge after all this time. Well, it was all his fault. Not hers.

  Mom always said don’t take it personally if a man wasn’t interested, yet this had become personal. From the dance all those years ago to meeting him in Lansing, where he practically made fun of her.

  The old baseball mitt she kept next to the window display mocked her. She figured some lucky girl in Lansing knew how to cook, how to look girlie-girlie in order to capture a man’s heart. And was probably waiting at this instant for him to return.

  She pictured the perfect trim figure. A beautiful blonde with hair in her eyes à la Veronica Lake, perfect red lips and long slim hands, not fingers better suited for a mitt. Yes, no doubt waiting for him to return right at the moment. She stomped her foot at her foolish thoughts. Wasting all this time mooning over Joe. Mooning over any guy when she had more than enough to keep her life full…dance students and her friend Flo.

  Move over, Miss Davies. I’m about to turn into the town’s youngest old maid.

  Chapter 3

  Joe tied a double-Windsor knot at his throat and glanced in the mirror. His favorite blue tie slightly crooked against a white dress shirt. He straightened it. Not bad. Not good, but not bad. It had been a while since he’d gussied up. He’d pass. Well, passing wasn’t good enough tonight. He had to look handsome for her. She’d be waiting at the door looking beautiful and he had to play his part perfectly. Like the handsome prince.

  He took another glimpse in the mirror. Then fiddled with the tie one more time until he had the perfect knot. There, that was better. Appearance was everything to a pretty girl. The blue reminded him of the blue in her eyes. No…no, it did not. He gave the tie a tug and stared in the mirror. Time to go.

  The corsage waited in the icebox. A pink rosebud with matching pink ribbon. All for his niece, Katherine. Did little girls like rosebuds?

  Katie’s recital meant everything to her, and with his brother, Daniel, out of town, he had to play second fiddle, but he didn’t mind. Little strawberry blonde, blue-eyed Katie was his princess for the day. And he couldn’t let her down. Daniel was counting on him.

  He grabbed the flower on his way out the door. Would a six-year-old think a corsage was silly? What did he know about little girls? He was a sad substitute for her daddy. And she was Daddy’s little girl. Bobby and Kenneth, her brothers, looked forward to the times when Dad was gone. They got into all kinds of mischief—“all boy” was how Daniel excused their behavior. Snakes, frogs, stray cats and dogs. All things the boys had brought home at one time or the other, and the poor little princess had found them in her bed and on her chair. He smiled remembering all the obnoxious things he and Dan had done as young boys. Oh, yeah. Sissy Faith Meyers and the frog in her soup…and then the trip to the woodshed. That he remembered as if it had been this morning. Oh, but he and Dan had spent some wonderful times together. And now he could pay Dan back, be the standin father for the evening.

  Yes, tonight he had more important things on his mind than the tanning his seat got for scaring Sissy Faith.

  After six months with Wysse and Sons, and no personal time used, old man Wysse had allowed him to take off early so he could attend the recital. The father was a good egg, but his sons? Ugh. Wallace Wysse Jr. didn’t have an ounce of ambition. And while Stephen worked very hard, he had plans to leave Howell in a couple weeks to start his own company in Muskegon. Said he loved the water and wanted a place on Lake Michigan, which left Wallace Wysse Jr. to run the day-to-day of the company. And Wallace made no bones about the fact that he wanted out of the family business. Wanted his share of the
company and bye-bye. Prodigal son all over. Poor old man Wysse.

  He probably would sell one day. Maybe, if Joseph toed the line, he might be able to buy out the company in time. And then one day, if he kept saving, scrimping and doing without, he might have a family like Daniel. Blue eyes softened in his mind, didn’t spark anger for a change. He choked on his thoughts. Who was he kidding? Old blue eyes had held his heart in high school, and she was only prettier now. At least, she seemed so from the few times he’d seen her since he returned to town.

  He checked his watch as an excuse to get moving.

  *

  After a quick trip to gather Katie and her belongings, they arrived at the studio. Nice place. New place. He didn’t remember a studio being here before he left. But, then again, he hadn’t been looking to take dance lessons. His nose had been planted in a book, studying.

  Joe stooped to remove Katie’s purple wool coat, hat and mittens. “Let’s hang this up so you can go get into your costume lickety-split. We’re a tad late. Your teacher has your costume, right?”

  “Yes, Uncle Joey. She keeps them in back so we don’t forget them. Thank you for bringing me. Even if we are a tad late.” Her eyes sparkled. “And for the pretty flower.” She leaned forward to sniff the corsage on her coat and hugged against his chest, the curls atop her head tickling his chin. “Thank you so much, Uncle Joey. You’re almost as good as Daddy.”

  He kissed her sweet forehead. “Anytime, princess. Hurry up, now. Your mom and brothers will be here soon, and you don’t want them to see you out front.” He smoothed a curl out of her eyes. “And always remember, nobody will ever be as good as Daddy.”

  She waved her fingers with a wiggle as she dashed toward the back. What a precious child. Almost as good as Daddy. He didn’t want to be almost good enough. Would he ever have a family like his brother? He hoped so.