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Authors: Nancy Brandon

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BOOK: Dunaway's Crossing
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“They didn’t get lost, Netta. Ben took them.” Bea Dot’s heartbeat sped at the thought of the culprit. She put one hand on her hip and another palm in the air.  “That makes perfect sense now. He never wanted me to bring in the mail. He insisted on doing it himself. He hid your letters from me.” That goat. Her chest burned with hatred for him.

“But why?”

“Because you didn’t want me to marry him? Or just despite me? I wouldn’t put it past him. He despises almost everything about me.” Then it hit her. Ben had suspected all along that she’d deceived him. If that were the case, did he know the whole truth? She shook the question away. How could he?

Netta’s frown remained. “Then how did you get my last letter?”

“California met the postman at the door that day,” Bea Dot recalled. “He happened to mention he had a letter for me, so she took it and gave it to me.” Bea Dot remembered lying to Ben about the letter coming by special delivery, but she felt silly that she never wondered why she’d never received other letters before. Then again, no one would have written to her except Netta, and Bea Dot believed all along Netta hated her.

“Bless California’s heart. Thanks to her, I have my Bea Dot back.” She stepped over to Bea Dot and put one arm around her shoulder, her round stomach protruding in front of both of them. They watched the rain in silence for a few minutes. As each rain drop fell, it made a tiny pock mark in the water.

“Why did you marry him, Bea Dot? You seemed so determined to do so, but I never saw love in your eyes.”

Bea Dot stepped away from her cousin. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind chilled her. She rubbed her arms, but couldn’t warm them. How could she explain that dreadful decision? She couldn’t dare tell her cousin the truth.

Netta persisted. “Bea Dot, did you have to get married?”

“Yes.” At least she could answer that question honestly. But she silently begged Netta to stop probing.

“Did Ben force himself on you?” Suspicion rose in Netta’s voice. “Is that what happened?”

“Can we not talk about this? What’s done is done, right?” Bea Dot’s muscles tightened like coils as Netta’s inquiry ventured too far.

“Of course,” Netta conceded. “Let’s go inside. It’s getting cold.”

Bea Dot followed her cousin indoors, shaking off one last shiver as she re-entered the warm house. A cold pan of dirty dishes awaited her, but the sound of the front door opening made her heart leap. Will was back.

#

 

“Hello!” Will shivered just inside the front door. When he removed his hat, water dribbled down the back of his damp flannel shirt. He shook his hair and shucked his waterlogged canvas jacket.

“Oh, Will, you’re home. I’m so glad.” From the back of the house, Netta approached him holding a kerosene lamp. “We were worried about you in this storm.” Bea Dot followed in her shadow. Holding the lamp in front of her pale face, Netta looked haggard, almost ghostly. Bea Dot, a more welcome sight, rushed around her cousin, looked up at him and smiled, making his heart thump.

“We thought you’d stopped somewhere to get out of the rain,” Bea Dot said. The light of the lantern flickered in her dark brown eyes.

“Bea Dot, can you pick up that wet coat?” Netta asked. “I can’t bend over that far. Let’s try to dry it in front of the stove.”

Bea Dot’s welcoming smile turned to an embarrassed one as she stooped to pick up the soggy jacket.

“No, Miss Bea Dot. I’ll get that. You’ll soak your dress.” He crouched beside her. Will marveled at Bea Dot’s ability to tolerate her cousin’s constant instruction. Taking her elbow, he pulled her up gently as he rose, glad that she accepted his refusal of help. She was the only person these days who did so.

“Are you all right? We expected you before dark. And then this storm hit…”

Bea Dot’s expression warmed his heart. She was different from everyone else in Pineview, who repeatedly asked that sorrowful “How are you,” constantly reminding him of his war injury. Bea Dot knew nothing about his past troubles, so her concern simply stemmed from weather.

“I’m fine, just wet,” he said, smiling, his hand still on her arm. He could have wrapped his hand around her small elbow. “I saw those clouds forming, but I didn’t quite beat them here.”

“If you had a motorcar, you’d have made it,” Netta said. “Come in the kitchen where it’s warm. You’ll catch your death.”

Will winced at Netta’s remark. After what he’d seen in town today, he feared Netta’s casual statement bore more significance than she realized. He let her lead him to the stove. The women had already eaten, but the room still smelled of roast chicken. Dirty plates sat in a half-full dish pan, and Will stifled a smile at the bits of food floating on the surface. Bea Dot must have been cleaning up. He found her lack of household skills endearing.

“Sit, sit,” Netta told him, pushing him down into a chair. “Bea Dot, get Will a blanket.” She fluttered her hands at her cousin as she sent her out of the room, and Will felt a pang of sympathy for Bea Dot. Netta took a plate off the shelf and spooned up a serving of the chicken pot pie on the stove. “It’s still warm,” she said as she placed it in front of him. “You must be starved.”

Bea Dot returned with a gray wool blanket. As she placed it over his shoulders, he caught a whiff of her talcum powder and a glimpse of the underside of her jaw. A large freckle lived just south of her ear. He wished he could touch it.

“Tell me about Ralph,” Netta said, interjecting into his thoughts. She sat close to him at the table, leaning in with her questions. “Is he all right? Did he send me a note? Did he read mine? What did he say?”

“Netta, give the poor man a moment to eat.” Bea Dot sat in the chair opposite him. Will took a bite of pie and closed his eyes at the savory meat, thankful for another benefit of having quarreling cousins in the house.

“This is delicious,” he said, digging in for another bite. “I hadn’t realized how hungry I was.”

He stood and took a glass from the cupboard, then dipped some water from the bucket next to the ice box. When he returned to the table, Bea Dot rested her chin in her hand and watched him eat. Though he kept his eyes on his food, he felt her gaze on him. He liked the feeling. He glanced at Netta and immediately turned back to his food. She almost bounced in her chair waiting to hear about her husband. How could he tell her he’d never spoken to Ralph? He scraped his plate, knowing it was rude, but trying to stall the conversation.

“There’s plenty more,” Bea Dot said.

Eyes still on Will, Netta picked up the plate, wordlessly handing it  to Bea Dot who rose to refill it. Before he could object, Netta asked, “How’s Ralph, Will?”

He sighed and wiped his mouth with a used napkin lying between them. Maybe it was Bea Dot’s. She put another full plate in front of him and sat again. Will savored the closeness of his petite, dark-haired guest, but he also dreaded the conversation with his friend’s wife. He shifted in his seat nervously.

“Netta,” he said softly, looking at his fork instead of her, “I didn’t see Ralph. He wasn’t at his office, so I slipped the letter under his door.”

“I see.” Netta stiffened her back and fiddled with a button on her sleeve, obviously choosing her words carefully. “You weren’t able to go to the hospital?”

“That’s the first place I went, actually.” Will’s heart sank in pity for her. She only wanted some assurance of her husband’s well being. Will put his hands in his lap as he continued meeting her gaze.

“He wasn’t there?” Netta leaned in toward him.

“Yes, he was there, but I couldn’t see him. A nurse turned me away at the door. No one is allowed in except Ralph, nurses, and patients. Ralph’s orders.”

“What do you mean? What about family members?”

Will shook his head. Bea Dot lifted her eyebrows, waiting also for an explanation. This time he chose his words carefully. He felt like he was on the witness stand.

“The flu’s spread much faster than anyone expected,” he explained. “Ralph’s trying to contain the illness, so no one enters who isn’t sick.”

“Well, that makes no sense.” Netta stood, her hand on her back, her large stomach knocking the table as she rose. She covered the pie plate with a cloth and placed it in the ice box. She picked up a napkin and twisted it in her hands. “Family members always help tend to sick patients. It’s how the hospital manages with so few nurses.”

“This time it’s different.”  Will tried not to distress her any further. “This flu is worse than others. Ralph is just taking precautions.”

“How bad is it?” Netta asked.

“Well,” Will hesitated, “a few folks have died.”

“From the flu?” Bea Dot frowned, her mouth opening into a small O.

“Like I said, this one’s different.”

“How many?” Netta asked.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth, but Will thought it best not to describe the black bows bedecking many of Pineview’s front doors. “But I do know this.” He came around the table and took Netta’s hand. “Ralph is fine. He would get word to you if he weren’t. We have a telephone, and if he were ill, he’d have called or had someone else call.”

Netta nodded blankly and stared at Will’s hand holding hers.

Bea Dot rose and put her hand on her cousin’s shoulder. “He’s probably home now reading your letter,” she said.

Netta turned to her cousin with a faint look of hope.

Bea Dot nodded and continued. “Your letters are probably his one joy while you’re away. Why don’t you go write him another?”

Netta turned her eyes to Will for assurance.

He smiled at her, agreeing with Bea Dot. “It can go out in the morning’s post.”

Without a word, Netta turned and went into the bedroom.

In a few seconds, he heard a drawer open and a chair scrape the floor. He looked down at Bea Dot and whispered a relieved, “Thank you.”

Her eyes followed him as he returned to his seat and resumed his meal. This time, though, he felt not flattered, but uneasy by Bea Dot’s gaze, as if he should feel guiltier with each bite.

“What are you not telling her?” she whispered. The corners of her mouth turned down in suspicion. “Is Ralph really all right?”

Will pushed his plate away, considering how much information he should give her.

“Be honest, Will.”

“I have not lied to you.” He frowned, trying to swallow indignation.

“No.” Her tone softened. “But you’re holding something back, something that might worry Netta. If her husband is in trouble, she ought to know.” Her voice was still barely audible.

“As far as I know, he’s fine.” Will exhaled and put his palms up on the table. “No one at the hospital indicated otherwise, and if Pineview’s only doctor were down with flu, I doubt that would be a secret.”

Bea Dot’s countenance relaxed—just a bit. “Then what are you afraid to tell us? We’re not children, Will. We can take the truth.”

“I don’t doubt that you can,” Will began. Something about the gravity in her voice told him she’d seen her share of hardship. “But in Netta’s condition…” He gave up. If the situation didn’t improve in Pineview, the women would find out anyway. “I just didn’t see the need to give her all the details. I truly don’t know how many people have died, but what I saw wasn’t encouraging.”

Bea Dot’s eyes narrowed to chocolate quarter moons.

“Mr. Bradley from the pharmacy wasn’t in. His clerk told me Mrs. Bradley died several days ago.”

Bea Dot pressed her lips together. After a pause, she said, “That’s just one person.”

“She’s just the one I know.” Will shook his head. “Mr. Bradley’s clerk named some other people as well, and he said the school’s only half full these days.”

Bea Dot exhaled and put her head in her hands.

“Anyway,” Will continued, “I know Netta wants to hear from Ralph, but he’s just too busy to stop what he’s doing to write a letter. At the same time, I don’t want to frighten her unnecessarily. Until we know more, we should hope for the best.”

She raised her face and nodded, seeming to accept Will’s reasoning, but he could tell she didn’t entirely agree with it. But now she knew all he did, so if she felt Netta should have all the facts, she could give them to her.

Will swept up the last of the chicken pie on his plate and swallowed it quickly. Though the stove warmed him, his feet were cold in his wet boots. He’d have loved to take a hot bath, but with the women in the house, he’d have to wait until they were asleep.

“Thank you for dinner,” he said, gathering his dish, fork, and cup and carrying it to the counter, putting them next to the dish pan instead of in it. He wrinkled his nose at the slick of grease floating atop the water. “I’ve taken too long with my supper, and now your dish water’s gone cold.” He removed the dirty plates from the pan and carried it to the door. Bea Dot rushed to him and opened the door. He’d tried not to embarrass her; still, her face and neck flushed.

“I’ll heat another pot of water,” she said.

Glad she played along, he nodded.

When he returned, Bea Dot was pumping water into a pot. He watched her as she lifted it and placed it on the stove. In the lamplight, a glimmer of perspiration shone over her lip. She wiped it off with her sleeve before she noticed him. She smiled and reached for the dish pan.

BOOK: Dunaway's Crossing
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