Ironic that Bradley’s travels should take him here as he and his fellow journalists followed the war bond tour that stopped in the hometown of Admiral Nimitz. Chester Nimitz, grandson of the man who built the Nimitz Hotel, was born right here in a small Texas town hundreds of miles from any body of water large enough to float a battleship, yet he’d risen through the ranks after graduating from the United States Naval Academy to achieve the highest-ranking position in the Pacific theater. Hopefully, Bradley would find someone well acquainted with the Nimitz family, as Chester hadn’t been back to Fredericksburg in quite some time.
Growing up in the family’s hotel, Nimitz had likely seen a myriad of people pass through its doors. If anyone new came to town, the Nimitz family would know.
Nimitz had grown up without a father, who passed away before Chester was born. At least Nimitz’s father hadn’t deserted him and he’d had the love and support of his extended family during his childhood. Admittedly, Bradley had had the love of his mother, who told him to love his father and pray for him.
A long-ignored bitterness oozed from Bradley’s soul in sharp contrast to the merry tune played by the band on the town square. This was no way to meet the town he’d be exploring during the tour. This was no way to find his story. Help, Lord, Bradley prayed silently as he ambled in the direction of the music. The town square lay just past Adams Street, opposite the library and the courthouse.
His editor, Frank McAffrey, had clamored during the entire trip about finding the story everywhere he went. “Letters from the Homefront is one of our readers’ favorite columns. So don’t disappoint them,” Frank had said before Bradley left.
No one ever disappointed Frank McAffrey and kept their job long, or at all. Plus, there were too many other journalists wanting to write for This American Life. Bradley had worked hard to get this position, and even harder to convince Frank that following the war bond tour would bring an even more personal touch to his column.
Find the story, find the story, he reminded himself as he studied faces in the crowd. Wherever the tour had gone, they’d encountered a similar atmosphere, yet with a character unique to the people of the local area.
The voices of the crowd rang out in laughter at Mac Mackenzie, the traveling comic’s antics on the makeshift stage festooned in red, white, and blue. Bradley allowed himself to remain at the edges of the crowd, close enough to observe but not so close that he’d miss something if not having the eyes of an outsider.
Then he saw a pair of young women who grabbed his attention. A proverbial willowy blond with eyes the color of the waters of the Mediterranean. Now, she was a looker. She chatted with her friend, pushing wayward strands of hair over one ear. But her cool, tall figure didn’t keep his attention.
Instead, he focused on her friend, a brunette with dark honey tones in her hair, eyes the color of amber. She bit her full lower lip with her teeth, holding up her camera, her eyes narrowed while she studied the scene through her lens. Her tall skinny friend giggled at the comedian and bumped her shorter friend’s elbow.
The brunette murmured something and shook her head, then laughed, lowering the camera. Her gaze traveled across the square and locked with his. She’d caught him staring, and he refused to look away.
A half grin quirked in his direction, and she lifted the camera and pointed it at him.
Chapter 2
You took his picture?” Kathe glanced at Trudy. “I can’t believe it.”
“He was staring at us, like he knew what we were thinking.” Trudy wound the film in her camera until she felt the familiar click. What on earth had compelled her to snap a picture of the man? Okay, he was handsome enough. He could stand beside any of the silver-screen heartthrobs and hold his own. He definitely wasn’t from Fredericksburg.
“Now he’s coming this way.”
“So’s your Tante Elsie.” Trudy nodded toward Kathe’s aunt. “She can set him straight.”
“Ha. She can set anybody straight.” Kate smiled.
“Girls, hasn’t it been a wonderful show?” asked Tante Elsie.
“You couldn’t go all the way to Austin to see a finer one at the Paramount,” said Trudy.
“Good afternoon.” A rich baritone voice tugged Trudy’s attention away from the older woman.
Trudy turned to face the man she’d brazenly snapped a photograph of less than two minutes before. The townspeople were used to her bicycling around town during her free moments, photographing this and that, waiting for the correct light conditions. But to photograph a complete stranger?
She felt Kathe’s elbow in her ribs. “G–good afternoon, Mr.—”
“Ah, so you’re going to ask my name, now that you’ve taken my photograph?” His smile made a bolt of heat shoot through her insides.
“It’s only proper that I can identify my subject.” She felt a grin tug at the corners of her mouth.
“Bradley Payne.” He removed his hat and nodded.
“Trudy Meier.” She extended her hand. “And this is my friend Kathe Zimmermann, and her aunt, Miss Elsie Zimmerman.”
Mr. Payne hesitated a fraction of a second before putting his hat back on. “Zimmermann, you say …” Then he cleared his throat and continued. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all while I’m visiting your fine town. I’m here following the tour.”
“I assumed as much, since I didn’t recognize you.” Trudy clutched her camera in front of her.
“You must take some time and get to know our town.” Tante Elsie was studying him thoughtfully. “You know that Admiral Nimitz, commander of the entire Pacific theater, comes from Fredericksburg.”
Trudy glanced at the older woman. Was that a tear in her eye? She met Kathe’s gaze. Kathe shrugged.
“That I do, Miss Zimmermann.” He looked at Trudy again with those dark eyes of his. “I actually work for This American Life magazine.”
“You do?” Trudy’s heart beat even faster. “I try to buy it when I can.” The name Bradley Payne should have seemed familiar to her, as much as she read the magazine cover to cover.
“That’s swell. It’s always fun to meet a reader.” He eyed her dangling camera. “I take it then you’re a camera buff?”
“Yes, yes I am.” She clutched her Brownie again. “One day I’d like to get a better camera, but for now, this one does fine.” Now she felt like a nincompoop for taking his photograph. He was probably a seasoned traveler, working for such a renowned national magazine.
“Do you do your own developing?”
“I do. My closet doubles as a darkroom, and it works fine as long as my little brother doesn’t come charging in.” Her cheeks flamed.
“Excuse me,” Kathe interjected. “I see Peter’s mother over across the way, and I need to ask her a question about the wedding rehearsal.”
Sure. Leave her here, floundering as she tried to untangle her snarl. This would teach her to be impulsive. Truly, she would never try anything so foolhardy again.
“We’ll see you soon,” Tante Elsie said, looking from Mr. Payne to Trudy, then back to Mr. Payne again. “Where are you staying while you’re in town, Mr. Payne?”
“At the Nimitz Hotel, of course. Only for tonight, I think. The troupe is moving on in the morning.”
“Well, should you need to stay in Fredericksburg longer, you might inquire to see if one of the local Sunday houses is available.” Tante Elsie placed her hand on Kathe’s arm. “Let’s see about talking to Mrs. Mueller.”
Trudy watched them leave. Now, how to extricate herself from the conversation. “I hope you enjoy your visit.”
“What’s a Sunday house?”
“It’s a weekend home, here in town,” Trudy explained. “Those of us who live on farms outside town, our families built them years ago so we didn’t have to travel back and forth on the weekend to do business and go to church. They’re generally quite tiny. It’s easier to drive back and forth to town now that we have cars. But we’ve kept our houses. Sometimes now they’re rented out, or
our grandparents move into them to be closer to town. That’s where Miss Zimmermann lives now.”
“Ah, I see.” Mr. Payne glanced around the town square as the crowd filtered away. “Did you know they’re having another performance tonight at the high school?”
“I do. But I only came to see the one today.” Trudy bit her lip as reality bit into her. “I’ll be needed back at home tonight.”
He nodded. “Do … do you know if there is a Sunday house close by that I might rent for a time? The tour will be moving on, but I think I might stay for a while.” He slung his jacket over one shoulder.
Trudy thought fast. She’d wanted to escape the conversation, the feelings swirling inside her at merely talking to this handsome stranger, but times were tough and she knew her family’s coffers could use the money. “My family has one. It’s empty right now. How … how long were you planning to stay?”
“I–I’m not sure. A week or two?” His expression was unreadable.
“We charge twenty dollars for a week, one dollar a day extra if you want us to provide a food basket.” She hadn’t consulted Mother, but the house had been empty since Oma’s passing. Other families rented out their empty homes, why not the Meiers? The food basket was an impulse as well. First, snapping photographs, then renting out the Sunday house. What was with her?
“That’s fair enough.” He nodded at her, the shadow of his hat brim slanting across his face. “I’ll want a food basket, too. I’ll be spending my time writing, not hunting down meals.”
“All right then, Mr. Payne. It’s a deal.” She extended her hand and they shook again, their grip lingering. Her breath caught in her throat. Now she needed to explain to her mother what she’d done.
“Deal.” Mr. Payne released her hand. “How will I know which house?”
“I—I can meet you with a key at the Nimitz Hotel when you check out tomorrow, and show you the way.”
“I’ll see you at noon.” He smiled again. “And, call me Bradley.”
“I’ll see you, Bradley.” Trudy fled in the direction of the library.
The sun had set on Fredericksburg, not long after 9:00 p.m. That was a switch for Bradley, who was used to the sun setting earlier in the Northeast. He ambled along Main Street, the quiet soaking into him.
Tante Elsie Zimmermann. Tante Elsie. His aunt. Only on his deathbed had his father talked about the kindness shown to him as a child by his cousin and his wife, Hank and Amelia. Hank was his father’s cousin, but with the age difference, he’d addressed them as aunt and uncle. He’d left home as soon as he was grown and hadn’t looked back. Father never allowed anyone to fill the empty space yawning inside him after his parents’ death. As a child, he’d moved on, but as he’d grown older, he’d started questioning the family’s love for him. Micah Delaney Zimmermann’s scars from nearly being sent to an orphanage by his own grandfather—Hank’s father—had never healed. Consequently, Bradley had a close bond with his mother, who had been an only child and had no family close by. The pen name, Payne, came from his mother’s side of the family.
He supposed he should introduce himself fully to Tante Elsie and the rest of the family. Would the Zimmermanns acknowledge him as family?
He entered the lobby of the Nimitz and found Heinrich, the concierge, at the desk. “Mr. Payne, I have that line to Washington, DC, you needed.”
“Thank you very much.” Bradley accepted the telephone receiver from Heinrich. “Frank, are you there?”
“You’re calling me from Texas? This had better be good.” Frank’s voice held an edge to it. “It’s after 10:00 p.m. here.”
“I want to stay in Fredericksburg for a while instead of heading west with the rest of the group.”
“You’d better have a good reason.”
“I want to show a different slant, letters from home, but from the hometown of Admiral Nimitz. I want to get to know its people. You know most of them are German. I think they’ll have a unique perspective of the war.”
“You don’t say. Well, I’ll give you a week to begin with. Get me some good stories.”
“Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”
“Of course you won’t. I’ll send Briggs to meet the group in New Mexico and we’ll see how it goes.”
“I’ll wire a story to you in a week.”
“Have it wired by Friday.”
Three days. Bradley sucked in a breath. “You’ll have it.”
He hung up the phone and glanced at Heinrich. “Thank you, sir.”
“You’re very welcome, Mr. Payne.”
Bradley nodded then strolled out of the lobby and out again into the Texas night. His mind drifted back to Trudy Meier and her funny little camera. She’d been so earnest, and he saw a glimmer of the same curiosity that he had as a writer. She stood on the fringes, like he did, and watched. He understood that.
She liked him, too. Pretty girls were a nice distraction, but that was it. A distraction. Maybe someday, he’d settle down when he met the right girl. Not that he had a family to bring her home to, with Father and now his beloved mother gone.
He’d watched from the edges for most of his life, having worked his way out of high school and then through college, making his mother proud. Most of the other boys had had money. He had a scholarship and hard work. Even there at university, he’d felt on the outside.
But now here he was in Fredericksburg. His father had told him years ago that he was related to Hank and Amelia Zimmermann in Texas, that they’d adopted him after his parents had died. Here he had a pile of family, and all he had to do was make himself known. He realized that Trudy’s tall, skinny friend was even a cousin of his.
The thoughts swirled in his head. What did he want, here in Fredericksburg? He wasn’t sure. But knowing he had a scrap of family here, well, he had to see where this trail led him. Spending some time with Trudy Meier wouldn’t be unpleasant, either. Maybe she had someone off fighting in the war. It wouldn’t surprise him if she did. He’d follow that trail, too, if only out of his journalist’s sense of curiosity, nothing more.
Chapter 3
Trudy parked her bicycle at the front of the Nimitz Hotel and popped the kickstand in place. She was on time to meet Bradley, but she’d had to hurry. Her mother hadn’t been terribly pleased about renting their Sunday house to a stranger. Trudy agreed to accept the responsibility if anything went awry. Which, of course, it wouldn’t. She’d spent the morning at the house, sweeping and scrubbing and airing the place out. The mustiness was gone, at least. It would be a tragedy if the scent of Oma’s lavender disappeared forever. Now the Sunday house was ready for its first tenant. Mother couldn’t argue with the extra income Mr. Payne would bring them.
Bradley. One of the last things he’d said was his first name, Bradley. She tried not to fuss over the wisps of hair that pulled out of her headband. Headband. Like a schoolgirl. She stuffed away the thought. She needn’t worry about what Mr. Payne thought of her. It was a business transaction with a visitor to town. She knew nothing about the man. But dreams of travel and everything he’d seen followed her home.
Trudy yawned. She’d sat up too late, poring over her old issues of This American Life, with its photos of adventures throughout the country. A few articles from Bradley Payne. His head shot looked glamorous, half a grin spread on his face and his jacket slung on his shoulder, as if he’d just returned from a fabulous trip. Now here he was in tiny Fredericksburg.
“Here I am, Miss Trudy Meier. It is miss, or …?”
“Yes, it’s miss.” So he wondered if she was married … but that meant nothing. “But just Trudy is fine.”
“You don’t seem like a ‘just’ anyone.”
She found no response that would make sense and tried not to stammer as she said, “I—I have the key here, although you shouldn’t need to worry about keeping the house locked. We watch out for each other here.” Heat rushed through her face.
“That’s nice to hear.” He shifted a duffel bag on one should
er. “Lead away.”
Trudy nudged her bike’s kickstand up into place and pulled it away from one of the pillars. “It’s not far, just down a side street and almost at the southern edge of town.”
“Have you lived here all your life?”
“Yes, all my life. My parents have a farm, and we keep bees and grow peaches like a lot of people around here do. My father is away, in France the last we heard. I have a younger brother who’s twelve and I try to keep him out of trouble as best I can.” Her mouth was running along at a steady pace, like the train that chugged into Fredericksburg regularly from Austin.
“So how did you get interested in photography?” Like a gentleman, he slowed his pace to match hers.
“My father … he brought home National Geographic magazine, and the pictures were so beautiful. Then I got to go on a trip to see Ansel Adams’s photography in a gallery in Dallas. I knew I wanted to take pictures of anything and everything.” Her cheeks flamed. Her photos weren’t of any exotic or dramatic subjects, though.
“Of course, you had to try. Did you take photographs when you were in high school?”
“Yes, I did. We even had a small club. I was the president. Everyone else took it for kicks, but …” She didn’t tell many people she wanted to be a photographer, more than portraits of families and children.
“I’d like to see some of your photographs sometime. I’ve shot some photos for the magazine before.”
“Really? I’d love some pointers. But I know you’re here to work.”
“I won’t be working all the time.” His grin made the temperature shoot up at least ten more degrees. Oh dear. Slow down. He’s here now, but he’ll be gone soon enough. She had grown up knowing Kurt Schuler and had loved him once, probably still loved him a little, but the feelings clamoring for attention inside her, well, she’d never experienced these with Kurt.
“All right, then. I’ll bring my portfolio.” She suddenly felt shy again as she led him down the street. Two more blocks and they’d be at the house. Time to ask him some questions of her own. “So, why Fredericksburg for your magazine?”
A Sentimental Journey Romance Collection Page 47
