by Miles, Ava
Suddenly his arms tightened. “Harriet, I love you.”
Somewhere deep inside, she’d known it was coming, known he wouldn’t fear saying the words first.
“Oh, Arthur,” she whispered, not exactly sure how to express how she felt about him or what he’d just said. For so long, everything between them had been so complicated. And staying here was supposed to be a temporary plan.
“Is that an ‘Oh, Arthur, good,’ or ‘Oh, Arthur, bad’?” he asked with his usual directness laced with a hint of humor.
She stroked his hands, which were still resting on her stomach. “‘Oh, Arthur, good,’ I think.”
“Then that’s enough for now. I know we still have more to sort out, but I want you to know you can trust me.”
“I know that,” she replied easily. Arthur stood for integrity. It was the core of who he was.
And why, yes, she was a little in love with him.
“Let’s head back,” he finally said, nuzzling her neck through her scarf.
She turned in his arms and lifted her face to his. “Let’s give it a while.”
Next to that tower of ice that was slowly melting underneath just like she was, she opened her mouth and poured everything she felt into their kiss.
Chapter 12
Emmits Merriam had the barrel–chested body of a linebacker, even at eighty–one. His hair was shock–white now, yet he still had that same take–no–prisoners attitude Arthur had always appreciated.
“Well, now,” he boomed out from Arthur’s doorway, spreading his arms wide in the frame. “Doesn’t this place look a sight better than the last time I saw it.”
Arthur took a moment to catalogue the changes. Yes, the walls were all painted white now, and the space had been filled with more furniture now that his staff topped out at a grand total of fifteen. The artwork on the walls gave the office a pleasant ambiance. Harriet had a fine eye and had arranged all the framing. A photo of President Kennedy giving a speech in Washington hung by the wall near Harriet’s desk. Other black and white photos lined the hallway, from FDR to Martin Luther King, Jr., and a world map graced the wall outside the break room.
“Yes, doesn’t it?” he responded. “Good to have you back. Come into my office and sit a spell.”
Emmits slapped him on the back and followed him. “Happy to.”
In his office, they’d hung photos of him with various congressman and business executives. And his two favorites: one of him and his old boss from The Times, Arthur Hays Sulzberger, and the other of him and Emmits in the Capitol Rotunda, taken when he’d accompanied Emmits on some political door–knocking.
When Emmits sat in the chair in front of Arthur’s desk, he folded his hands across his belly and inclined his head toward the door. “Is that the pretty thing I’ve heard you’re sweet on?” he said bluntly.
After going five months without seeing each other, he’d thought his friend would be eager to talk about the university and the paper. This question couldn’t have been more surprising—or annoying.
“You’re sitting in the office of The Western Independent for the first time, and that’s what you’ve got to say?”
“You afraid to answer me, boy?” he challenged with his famous Oklahoma drawl.
That word made him feel like he was sixteen all over again. “No. That’s the girl.” He pushed aside the newspaper in front of him and reached into his bottom drawer for a bottle of Emmits’ favorite bourbon, Pappy Van Winkle’s, and two glasses, pouring them both a dram even though it was mid–afternoon. If he’d been in New York, drinking this early would have been commonplace. Plus, he’d been waiting for this moment. He felt like a proud papa over his baby, this newspaper. It was all coming together.
“My wife had one rule when we got married,” Emmits mused, grabbing his glass and extending it in a toast. “She told me my secretaries had to be twenty years older than me and as ugly as a mud fence. Joanne is one smart woman.”
“Amen to that,” Arthur agreed, although the whole secretary thing made him uncomfortable. “How is the university going?”
“Coming along nicely, thanks for asking. Just had a meeting to tour more of the finished construction this morning. I knew Preston Sullivan was the man to set things up.” He extended his glass again. “Just like I knew you would create a damn fine newspaper.”
Arthur looked around. “It’s not a newspaper yet. Takes forever to start up.” He’d given himself plenty of time, but sometimes the waiting drove him nuts.
“Don’t I know it? The university won’t open its doors until this coming fall, but there’s plenty of work going on now. Admissions are being finalized. We’re setting up for the first board meeting. I have to remind myself that a good foundation can’t be rushed,” Emmits said. “Like yours. You have employees now. And you’re getting more subscribers every day. We both know there’s no point in putting out something no one’s going to read.”
“Your mobilizers are doing a fine job,” Arthur said, picking up the recent folder of names from Chicago. “Thank you for the help.”
“If there’s one thing I learned in my failed attempt for the Oklahoma senator’s seat, it’s how to get the word out and take names. We’re doing something big here, Arthur. Education and information—the hallmarks of this century.”
Emmits never did anything by halves, something Arthur admired. Small acts never caused enduring change.
“I read the articles you wrote on the mine cave–in,” he continued. “Your usual combination of gritty details with a human touch came across like a holiday post card. Might be a Pulitzer prize in there for you. Right now, I think you’re a shoe–in for the Wentworth editorial. Be a big boon for the paper’s launch.”
His gut clenched.
Harriet.
He’d been trying to forget that Pulitzer winners would be announced May 1st. His excitement at the prospect of being elevated to that elite class of journalists was mixed with utter despair. It would stir up all the unpleasantness he and Harriet had been trying to move past.
How was she going to feel about that?
“You’re looking a little green around the gills at the thought, boy, which makes not a lick of sense to me. It’s your dream. Has a mule kicked you in the head?”
No, he’d fallen in love with a woman whose father had been destroyed by the very articles that might cement his reputation in journalism. If she stayed in Dare to be with him, Harriet couldn’t keep going by her alias forever, especially if her sister enrolled in Emmits Merriam. Maybelline would need to transfer her transcripts from Wellesley. In her original name. He hadn’t mentioned that problem yet, although they’d undoubtedly thought of it. He and Harriet didn’t talk about her legal name.
Why pick up a stick of dynamite when it could blow off your hand?
Which is why he also hadn’t mentioned the Pulitzer prospect. “It’s nothing,” he said, but he knew better.
How were they supposed to move forward as a couple when her father’s disgrace was the reason they’d been brought together? Another conundrum had been rolling around in his head when he couldn’t sleep at nights: If Harriet stayed and she wanted to share her real name, how were they supposed to explain why she’d come to Dare in the first place?
It looked damning. If the townspeople found out the whole truth, they would judge her harshly. He was one of them. The Hales had been in this valley since the beginning.
“You in a pickle, boy?” Emmits said when he remained silent.
Again, what the heck was he supposed to say? He couldn’t lie to Emmits.
“Don’t like your silence one bit.” His mentor downed his bourbon and set it on the desk with gusto. “Come with me. We’re going to get out of here for a while, and you can tell me all about it. Let’s go shooting. That always clears my mind.”
“Fine,” Arthur said, realizing he badly needed someone’s advice. Emmits could be boastful and bombastic, but he was trustworthy.
He hadn’t told his fam
ily. Not even his brother, George, who was returning to Dare soon from his dig in Butte, Montana. They might think uncharitably of her, and he didn’t want that. Which is why he hadn’t officially introduced her to his parents, despite their many invitations. It was a step most thought led to marriage, and while his thoughts had been drifting that way, he wasn’t ready to buy a ring yet. Not with all of this muck still between them.
He was in a pickle all right.
As they headed out the office, they stopped at Harriet’s desk.
“It was nice to meet you, Miss Jenkins,” Emmits said as he shrugged on his coat. “Arthur and I are heading out early.”
Harriet’s gaze locked with Arthur’s.
He tried to make his shrug casual despite the knots of tension in his shoulders. “He’s dragging me off.”
“You could use some time off. You’ve been working day and night,” she replied, resting her current filing in her lap.
“See you soon,” he said, a bit brusque. He already felt a bit guilty about sharing her secret, their secret. Oh, dag nab it.
As he and Emmits walked out into the blustery cold, he had a moment to think. Knowing Emmits, he was about to get some home truths he was pretty sure wouldn’t sit well.
Part of him knew he deserved it.
***
“You’re in the worst pickle I ever did hear, boy,” Emmits growled in front of the fireplace in his study, where they’d come to warm up after skeet shooting.
The wind had been brittle, and Emmits had racked up the hits while Arthur had missed a fair share. He hadn’t done much shooting after leaving Dare, and none since returning. He was rusty.
“How could you have let this woman get under your skin? A woman out for revenge isn’t wife material.”
Arthur didn’t correct his assumptions. If he were honest with himself, which he needed to be, falling in love meant marriage, and since he was in love…
“Harriet doesn’t want revenge anymore,” he commented from his seat in the leather chair, holding his hands out to the crackling blaze for warmth.
“And how is that woman supposed to marry you, knowing why her daddy can’t take her down the aisle? I tell you, boy, this is the fattest hornet’s nest I ever did see.”
“I didn’t plan on any of this,” he said, feeling the strong urge to defend himself. He hadn’t expected to fall in love with her. Help her, yes. Be attracted to her, yes. But not love. Yet the cave–in had been a turning point for him, and since then, he’d fallen hard.
“Look, I don’t like it any better than you do. I just don’t know what to do about her fake name and secret past.”
“Dishonest people aren’t worth spit,” Emmits raved, his mud boots wearing out the blue Persian rug in front of the fire. Usually the older man’s colorful language made him laugh, but not today.
“If you’re gonna be with her, this whole thing needs to be resolved honorably.”
“I know it,” he said.
“And that’s what you want, yes?”
The truth had been there all along. “Yes, yes it is.”
He stroked his chin, thinking. “Well, she can legally change her name to Jenkins. If she does, you can stick with what she’s told everyone in town. I can arrange it with Judge Smithers.”
Emmits and his connections could pretty much achieve anything, and usually Arthur didn’t mind, but he was uneasy about embracing this solution. And, of course, they were assuming Harriet wanted to stay, which he wasn’t sure about. He thought she loved him, but she hadn’t said the words. And there was Maybelline and her schooling to consider…
“Even if she wanted to change it, which I’m not sure, I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t want any longstanding lies in my life. Plus, her sister would have to agree, and Maybelline is even harder to read than Harriet sometimes.”
His old friend paused in front of his chair. “There’s a sister too? Wonderful.”
His own chuckle was dark. “Yes, imagine that. She has a family. And you’ll love the irony of what I’m about to tell you. The sister is considering enrolling in your university when it opens. She just finished her freshman year at Wellesley and was politely asked not to return.”
The growl Emmits gave reminded him of the bear they’d once tracked up in Hudson Creek. “By jove, boy, I tell you what! I just don’t know what to say. I always wanted you to settle down with a nice girl and raise a family, but this seems like a disaster waiting to happen.”
“Listen.” This time Arthur rose and squared him head on. “She is a nice girl. She was trying to defend her father and reclaim their family’s reputation. I would think you’d admire her grit.”
“Not when you want to marry her.”
“Let’s not put the cart before the horse, Emmits.”
His friend strode over to him and thrummed his finger on his chest. “I know that look, Hale. Every time you want something, you have this same fire in your eyes. I saw it the first time you and I talked about oil exploration in the Gulf. You wanted knowledge and debate then. When you went to New York, you wanted to be the best damn journalist out there. And now this woman. You want her. Forever. If you’re not aware of it, you’re lying to yourself.”
Putting his hands on his hips, he stared back at Emmits. “Fine. I have been thinking about marriage, but I also know Harriet is a tough case, so I’ve been trying to be patient. Even though her father was guilty, I’m darn well aware that I destroyed her life as she knew it. She and her sister shouldn’t have to suffer for their father’s sins.”
“Don’t confuse guilt with love, son,” Emmits said, picking up a photograph of his parents from the mantel. “My father did that with my mother, and they were miserable. They made everyone around them that way too.”
Emmits had told him the story of how his father had claimed eminent domain on a large tract of land, resulting in the removal of a ranch family who’d held it for a hundred years. He’d been attracted to the rancher’s daughter, and since he felt guilty about taking her home from her, he offered his hand and pledged to give her a new one. It had been a disaster.
“It’s not like that,” he defended.
“Be sure,” Emmits said. “Divorce is starting to happen in this country, but it’s still a shitty way to gain your freedom, especially when kids are involved.”
They both sat down again in the leather chairs in front of the fire. The embers glowed orange, and the wood logs popped as the fire raged.
“I can handle the sister’s situation at the university since it’s in–house,” Emmits continued. “But you’ll need to talk through what Harriet and her sister want to do long–term if they plan to stay. The truth has a way of getting out even if they do change their name permanently.”
How was he supposed to bring it up? They’d refrained from talking about the reason she was in Dare, almost as if they were two generals who’d signed a short–term truce in secret.
But Emmits was right. It was time.
“Okay. I’ll wait for the right moment.”
“Don’t wait too long, boy. People in this town are curious about outsiders, and they’ll want to know everything about the woman who seems to have landed Arthur Hale.”
Didn’t he know that? There’d been more than a few hints along that line lately.
“I’ll talk to her, Emmits,” he said and experienced that pinch of weirdness he always felt when he called the great man by his first name, something they’d agreed he’d do when he graduated from college.
“Let’s go eat,” Emmits said, patting his belly. “I’m famished after all that shooting.”
As they walked out the study, Emmits slung a beefy arm around his shoulder. Arthur scanned the photos on the wall. All were of his friend with various notable figures, just like the ones he’d hung in his own office. As he left the room, he realized more was at stake than just his heart.
His reputation could be harmed if he and Harriet didn’t do the right thing.
People m
ight think he was a party to her lie, and truth be told, he was. They wouldn’t like that. It would confirm their fears that he’d picked up a bad character while living in the big city.
Emmits was right.
They couldn’t wait too long.
If they did, everything he’d built could be destroyed.
Chapter 13
Krotter’s Bowling Alley was as packed as an opening for a Broadway show, but perhaps that shouldn’t have surprised Harriet. It was a Friday night and still cold as the dickens outside, being late March and all. They were meeting Arthur’s brother, George, who’d just returned to town, and she was more than a tad nervous. Arthur had picked her up, inviting Maybelline along too to be social. George had caught a ride into town with a friend for a drink at McGinty’s Bar and was meeting them at the bowling alley.
Arthur cupped Harriet’s elbow, urging her and Maybelline, who held her hand, through a sea of male and female bowlers who were hurling enormous black bowling balls down brightly polished wooden lanes. The crack of ball meeting pin sounded off all around them, punctuated by the shouts of the players and onlookers. The smell of burnt popcorn made her wrinkle her nose, and she stepped on something sticky and winced, certain it was bubble gum. Wonderful.
A trio of kids side–swiped them like an old Buick to a Cadillac and then raced off. People all around called out greetings to Arthur and stared at her and Maybelline. Yeah, they had clearly dressed up a little too much for this place. A matching pearl necklace and earrings might have been a bad choice in hindsight, but this was a date with Arthur and her first time meeting his brother. She’d wanted to look her best. She had forgotten she’d have to trade in her lovely heels for rented shoes and that people would be wearing bowling shirts, which looked like a uniform except for the different colors of each team, prison gray being the worst of the lot.
“Arthur,” a younger man shouted as they reached the final lane of the bowling alley. He rushed up to them.
