Miller's Secret

by Tess Thompson

  **

  Miller came to dinner on Friday evening. The cook made Cornish game hens and rice, served with a bottle of French Chablis. The first course came, a salad with vinaigrette. Miller hesitated. He didn’t know which fork to use. His eyes darted to her hand. She tapped the salad fork with her finger. He took the hint.

  “What are your plans for the future?” asked Father.

  “I’m not entirely sure, sir. I have a decent job now, but times are hard for everyone these days. I would’ve liked to attend university and become a doctor or something, but it wasn’t an option for an orphan boy.”

  “What is it you think you have to offer my only daughter?” asked Father.

  “I have nothing to offer your daughter financially. For now, that is. I’m a hard worker. Whatever path I take, I’ll make sure I make the most of every opportunity. I’ll do anything to please her, sir, to take care of her.”

  Caroline might burst from happiness. Was it possible to die from delight? How could this be happening to her? Handsome Miller Dreeser loved her. She was desperate for her parents to give their blessing. Please God, she prayed silently. Let them say yes. After she walked him out that night, she’d headed to her father’s study, knowing they would convene there and talk through whether or not Caroline was to have Miller. She stood at the door, listening over the pounding of her heart.

  “There’s no logical explanation to love,” Father was saying. “To deny her the man she loves will only cause us all unnecessary pain.”

  “But he’s penniless. An orphan. We know nothing of his background or what sort of people run through his blood,” said Mother. “I assumed she’d marry Julius. It was so obvious how much they loved each other as children.”

  Caroline brought her hand to her mouth. Julius? Why would they think she’d marry Julius? Wasn’t it obvious that he didn’t love her? Could never love her?

  “Well, darling, no one marries their childhood sweetheart,” said Father.

  “We did.”

  “No one besides us,” he said, laughing. “Anyway, if Caroline loves him, he must be a good man.”

  “Well, she’s had the best man ever made by which to compare him. The greatest thing a father can do to ensure his daughter marries a good man is to be one himself, and you’re certainly that,” said Mother. “So there’s that comfort.”

  “Oh, Sophie, you’re quite ridiculous.” He laughed, obviously pleased. There’d been murmurs after that, and the sound of kissing, which Caroline, in her happiness, did not mind. Let them kiss. Let the whole world kiss. She was to have Miller.

  “We’ll have to give him a job at the company,” said Father. “We can’t have her married to a soda jerk.”

  “Yes. There’s no other way.”

  “Caroline says he’s intelligent. I can groom him, teach him, if he’s willing to learn.”

  “How we’re going to announce this to the world, I have no idea,” said Mother. “What will people think?”

  “When have you ever cared what people think?” asked Father.

  “Not until now.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter if Caroline’s happy.”

  “I agree, my darling.”

  Caroline burst into the room, unable to contain her gratefulness, and rushed into her mother’s arms. “Thank you, Mother. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

  Mother’s arms tightening around her. “If you’re sure this is what you want, we won’t stand in your way.”

  “He’s going to need to learn which forks to use before the wedding.” Father’s voice was gruff. “Have Mac take a message to him that I want to speak with him first chance tomorrow. I have a few things to discuss with him.”

  Caroline agreed, still floating on air, as she made her way down the hallway to find Mac.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Miller

  HE ARRIVED AT THE BENNETTS’ HOME at nine the next morning, dressed once again in his only suit, and rapped the front door knocker. Not wanting to arrive disheveled, he’d splurged on the trolley instead of walking, and he straightened his tie as footsteps from inside the house approached. It was a warm autumn day, the leaves not yet turned, and the skies clear. Expecting the housekeeper, he was surprised to see Caroline standing there, her cheeks pink and eyes shining. What a little idiot she was, the way she gazed at him with the eyes of a trusting child. She was ridiculous and trusting. It was obvious how much she loved him. He shouldn’t blame her. He was skilled at the practice of deceit, and yet he did. How could she not see that he was an actor on the stage, pretending to love her when all he wanted was to sit at Edmund Bennett’s dinner table?

  Still, she was lovely. It would not be difficult to take her on their wedding night.

  He kissed her quickly on the lips. “Good morning, my beauty.”

  “My father’s waiting,” she said. “He wants you to ask permission.”

  His chest burned. What did they think of him? That he was uncouth? He would ask. This is the way it was done. He knew that. Everyone knew that.

  Edmund stood when he walked into the study. It was Saturday and the big man was dressed in a casual suit. The windows were open, filling the room with the scent of late-blooming roses. They shook hands. Edmund asked him to take a seat in one of the leather chairs by the unlit fireplace. “I suppose it’s too early for a drink,” said Edmund, sitting across from him. “But would you care for coffee?”

  “No, thank you. I’m fine.” He must not allow his voice to shake. “Sir, I would like to ask for your permission to marry your daughter.”

  “Yes, I understand your intent. I have a few questions for you,” said Edmund.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “I will allow you to marry her, but you need to understand a few rules. You will come to work for me in one of the management positions. It’s important to me that you appear a man of prospects, regardless of your humble beginnings. However, you will work for every opportunity and that includes learning from myself and others who have experience. Nothing will be rewarded to you without effort. Do you understand?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “That said, you will never, and I mean never, be given part ownership of any part of my company. We will buy a home for you to live in, but it will be in my name, as will the cars and anything else we allow you to use. There is to be no mistake that it is her money you live on and that it will never be yours. If she decides to divorce you, I will make certain you return to your current penniless state.”

  Miller nodded, forcing his face into impassivity. “Yes, sir.”

  “If you do anything to hurt her, I will have you killed and dumped into the bottom of the ocean.”

  Was he joking? If his deadpan expression was any indication, the answer was no. “I understand.”

  Edmund scrutinized him. “And you still want to marry her?”

  “Very much so. I love her, for richer or poorer.”

  “It helps that she’s mostly the richer than the poorer,” he said, dryly. “But it appears we have a deal.”

  “We have a deal.” Miller stood, believing it was time for him to leave.

  Edmund stood as well. “A few other points before you go. I’ve hired a diction coach for you.”

  “Sir?”

  “Yes, a diction coach. He’ll clean up your rather casual pronunciations of words. Make you sound a little higher end, shall we say?”

  Miller swallowed. He hadn’t realized anything was wrong with the way he spoke, but who was he to say? He wanted to be like Edmund Bennett, and if a diction coach helped him do it, he was all for it.

  “We have a tailor who will come by to get your measurements. We need to give you a complete wardrobe if you’re to publicly court my daughter.”

  “Nothing would please me more,” said Miller.

  They walked toward the door to the study. Edmund held out his hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  PART III

  1944

  En
gland

  CHAPTER ONE

  Henry

  IN THE GARDEN of the convalescent hospital in Worcestershire, England, Henry Sayer, Petty Officer Third Class of the United States Navy, turned his face to the sun and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of grass. Since arriving into the city of Malvern four weeks ago on one of the hospital trains, the weather had been consistently cloudy with temperatures in the upper sixties. Not unusual for early July, the nurses said. That afternoon, however, the clouds broke apart and glorious rays of sun rained down upon them. Good weather must not be wasted, the nurses had said, encouraging him to sit outside and enjoy it while it lasted.

  Opening his eyes, he sat on one of the chairs set in the garden for patients, and like a creature trapped too long in darkness, took in his surroundings with eyes unprepared for the bright colors and lights of a sunny afternoon. He squinted, shading his eyes with his left hand. Soldiers with various injuries milled about. Some had nurses by their side, others shuffled along with another soldier. Bees hummed in the wildflowers, gathering pollen, unaware that a war raged through Europe. His right arm, amputated just above the elbow, ached with what Doctor Nelson had described as phantom pain. A bee buzzed close to his ear and he swatted it away with his left hand. Left-handed, Doctor Nelson had said at one point. Very fortunate. It would soon be time to return home to his cottage in California, the Pacific Ocean, his roses, and the scent of the saltwater and seaweed. Would it remind him of his time at war, of his time on the ship, of the hours in the frigid waters of the Atlantic?

  We are expendable on this mission, Lieutenant Commander George Dewey Hoffman had told them. The USS Corry was to be the first ship in the ambitious invasion of Normandy on June seventh, leading the other allied vessels to the shores. Their mission was to protect the soldiers on land, firing without mercy at the Nazis. Planes overhead obscured the skies with smoke, hoping to hide the allied ships from the Germans. The plane that was to hide the Corry was shot down before it could reach the enemy, leaving the ship vulnerable.

  German bombs struck the USS Corry with unrelenting fury. She began to sink with great speed, and they were commanded to abandon ship, leaving Henry and the rest of the surviving crewmembers stranded in the frigid waters of the Atlantic. One of his shipmates, clinging to the sinking Corry, managed to raise the American flag in the wreckage. Henry fixated on the flag as he struggled in the fifty-four degree water, holding onto one of the rafts carrying his injured brothers. Constant, unrelenting German gunfire cascaded around them, until a shot managed to catch him in the arm. A searing pain had been replaced with numbness, and by the time the rescuers arrived, he was barely conscious. He remembered a member of the USS Fitch helping him aboard the rescue ship, along with unclear images of the ship’s doctor tending to him, but little else. When he woke in a field hospital set up in Normandy for the inevitable injured soldiers of D-Day, an English nurse stood over him, writing in a chart. Vaguely aware of the moans of other patients, he moved his eyes slightly to the left and saw rows of hospital beds, all filled with injured soldiers.

  She spoke to him in her clipped accent, almost like one would a child, explaining where he was and that she was one of the nurses looking after him.

  “I was on the USS Corry. How many men did we lose?”

  “I wouldn’t know exactly,” she said. “It was sunk.”

  “Yes, I know. I saw it go down.” Henry turned his face away, not wanting the nurse to see his tears. She poured him water and encouraged him to lift his head, and gave him a small sip. “Is my arm okay?” He experienced no pain. His mind seemed stuffed with cotton balls and he was sleepy, like in one of those dreams where one tried to wake but couldn’t.

  “I’m sorry, no. Your right arm was nearly destroyed from the bullet. Unfortunately, we had to amputate just above the elbow.”

  Amputate? But his hand was there. He tried to lift it, but the pain was too much. “Show me,” he said.

  The nurse lifted the sheet. His arm was bandaged above the elbow. White gauze where his elbow should have been. They took my arm. The bastards took my arm. So this is it. This is my fate. He would go home to California, unable to fight any longer, with his arm somewhere in France.

  A shout from across the lawn pulled him from his memories. Doctor Julius Nelson, carrying a tray of food, crossed the lawn to Henry and sat in the chair beside him. “Dining al fresco, Doc?” asked Henry.

  Setting his tray on his lap, Doctor Nelson smiled and pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “The nurses pushed me out. Said I needed food and fresh air.” Blond with a hint of gray at his temples, Doctor Nelson wore circular, wire-rimmed glasses that reflected in the sunlight, making it almost impossible to see his blue eyes behind them. In the first days of his arrival here, the doctor’s gentle eyes had reminded him of his mother’s. The doctor was like her in other ways, too, quiet and self-deprecating. The hospital demanded more from a man than was fair, but he never complained, just went stoically forward. “How you feeling, Henry? You’re looking well.”

  “My arm that isn’t my arm hurts like a son of a bitch.”

  “It will for a while, I’m afraid.” Doctor Nelson took a bite of whatever the brown food was on his tray. “In general, though, your recovery’s gone remarkably well, which leads me to my news. You’re going home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, sir. I hate to see you go, for my sake. I’ll miss our conversations.”

  “As will I.” Over the last few weeks, he and the doctor had become friendly after discovering they both were from towns not far from one another on the California coast. Since that time, they’d spent time talking of home and books, without touching on any subject too personal. Henry sensed a deep loneliness from the doctor that matched his own. He missed his fellow seamen and the camaraderie they’d shared on the ship more than he’d thought possible. Henry stared up at the sky. Several fluffy clouds floated in an otherwise silky blue.

  “I’ve not much to go back to,” said Henry. His mother and father had died while he was away fighting. His brother-in-law, William, was missing, having fallen or been captured somewhere in France. Only Rose, his twin, was left at home not knowing whether to give up hope that her husband would return. He’d gotten her letter several months before they invaded Normandy. William’s listed as missing. I don’t know what it means, Henry. Is he dead? Is he captured by the filthy Germans or Japanese? I’m beside myself with the not knowing.

  “No sweetheart?” asked the doctor.

  “No one to speak of, other than my sister. It will be wonderful to see her.” Rose had taken over their father’s company when he died, since Henry wasn’t there to do it. This was the only good that had come out of this awful war. He didn’t have to pretend like he was the more capable of the two of them when it came to business simply because he was a man. “I’m a master furniture builder—I was a master furniture builder. Not sure what I’ll be now.” He smiled to take the heat from the words, but the bitterness was in his throat, tasting of bile.

  Doctor Nelson nodded, his eyes sympathetic. “You mumbled something about a table one night in your sleep.”

  “Probably the table I made for my mother before I enlisted. I was ridiculously proud of it.” The beautiful table was at the cottage now, with no one there to use it. His mother, gone. The cancer took her while he was away and he hadn’t been able to say good-bye. She hadn’t gotten his last letter. He’d gotten one from her, though, arriving after she had passed and was already buried. His aim had been to keep it forever, but it was with the rest of the USS Corry at the bottom of the ocean now. “I apprenticed for a man in San Francisco. Taught me everything I know. Not sure he’ll want a one-armed furniture maker.”

  “Over time, your body will get used to only having one hand and you’ll be able to do most of what you did before,” said the doctor. “Maybe start your own shop? Work at your own pace?”

  It was something to consider. Maybe he could open a shop in town and live i
n one of the cottages? The truth was, his father had left him a wealthy man. There was no need to work, other than he would go insane without something meaningful to do. “I won’t go home to San Francisco.” Twin cottages had been constructed on the property about a hundred yards from one another, meant to be summer places, let for rent to families on holiday, as both an investment and a gift to Henry’s mother, who loved the seaside. When he was a child, Henry’s family had stayed in one cottage during the summer months while renting the other to various families. “I’m going to live at the ocean.”

  “I miss the feeling of salt water on my skin,” said Doctor Nelson. “Nothing like it.”

  “Some good times when I was a kid,” said Henry. “The best times.” He, Rose, and William had spent leisurely days playing in the sand, riding bicycles along country roads, having picnics. William Thomas was his best friend. Rose’s love. He’d lived with his mother and father up the road from the cottages on a small farm. His vision flooded with an image of Rose and William on their wedding day. How full of hope and love they had all been. He shook it off. He must close off his memory. It was like Pandora’s box. Open the lid and endless grief came drifting out with no hope for recovery. “My father worked in the city but came down for weekends. I can remember waiting at the end of our dirt road for him to get there.”

  Doctor Nelson nodded, with a slight smile. “My days at the seaside were the best of my life.” An expression of regret or pain crossed the doctor’s face. “My father has a practice there. I’m supposed to join him after this is over, but lately I don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  “I question how I’ll get back to normal life or feel that anything I do has relevance,” said Doctor Nelson. “I was on the front lines for most of the war before they sent me out here to set up this operation. It changes a man, operating under a canvas with bombs falling all around you.”