Five Brides (36 page)

“I wish the airline would stop with these fly-in-one-day, fly-out-early-the-next-morning schedules,” Retta complained. She sat in
one of the two hotel room chairs, pulling her nylons up one leg, checking the seam in the back. “The sun hasn’t even come up yet, and here we are getting ready to hop in a cab for the airport.”

Inga smiled across the room at her before clicking the locks on her Samsonite. “Personally, I couldn’t be more ready to get out of here.”

“Sorry, chum,” Retta said, smoothing the nylon as she hooked it to the garter. “I know you wanted that phone to ring all night, but—”

“Or that he would at least knock on the door.”

Retta stood, adjusting her uniform skirt over her legs. “At least you’re not all alone in this.”

“Meaning?”

“You have family who loves you, kiddo. They’re not going to leave you to freeze in the cold.”

Inga’s heart pounded at the thought of how “loving” her father would be when she told him the news. “Come on,” she said to Retta with a sigh. “The sooner we leave this hotel, the sooner we get home.”

Shortly after lunch, Inga opened the front door of her apartment to find Magda sitting on the sofa, cross-legged, with a cereal bowl in one hand and a large spoon in the other. In the corner, “Elmer’s Tune” crooned its way out of the Philco.

“What are you doing here in the middle of the day
this
time?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you quit again.” She closed the door behind her. “Is that oatmeal I smell?”

Magda nodded as she shoveled a spoonful into her mouth.

For as long as Inga could remember, Magda had reached for oatmeal when she needed comfort. She dropped her luggage at her feet and glanced into the kitchen. “Got any more in there?”

“Plenty,” Magda said around the spoon.

Minutes later, Inga collapsed next to her sister on the sofa, crossing her legs and dipping her spoon into the cinnamon-sprinkled cereal. “So, tell me. What’s it this time?”

Magda made a show of stirring her oatmeal before setting the half-eaten bowl of homemade goodness into the center of her crossed legs. “I got fired.”

“What?” Inga kicked off her shoes, then drew her feet up under her, twisting ever so slightly. “How can you get fired? Aren’t you dating the boss?”

Magda stabbed at the cereal with her spoon. “
That’s
what got me fired.” Her face brightened. “But never fear, Sister dear. I’m going to be a freelance writer.” She raised a fist into the air, shaking it. “Top
that
if you can.”

Inga took a bite of her cereal, inhaling the warmth of it, savoring the tasty lumps along her lips and tongue before swallowing. “Oh, don’t think I can’t,” she drawled.

Magda crossed her arms and pouted. “Of course you can. No matter what I do, you think you can top me. Well, not this time.” Her eyes wandered around the room, from the pitiful little Christmas tree all the way to the door where Christmas cards had been hung around the frame. “It’s Christmas, my boyfriend just fired me, and, to top it off, he then informed me I’m to start working in the world of freelance. He even called my
old boyfriend
to tell him of my talent.” Her shoulders slumped as she brought her face to her sister’s. “Okay. Top that,” she challenged.

“Sure thing,” Inga said, rising to the dare. “
You’re
going to be a freelance writer? Well, at least you have a future.” She stabbed her chest with a finger. “Me? My future is over.”

“Oh, the drama, Inga. What does
that
mean?”

“It means, dear Sister, that while
you’re
going to be a freelance writer,
I’m
going to be a
mother
.”

“Did you exchange gifts with your roommates?” Pat asked Betty as they zoomed toward his family home.

“What?” Betty asked, turning to look at him. Until that moment, her attention had been on the landscape outside the window of Pat’s car, focusing more on the fields blanketed by fresh snow, linen-white and sparkling under the midmorning sunlight, than on the man behind the steering wheel.

Pat chuckled. “I asked if you and the girls exchanged gifts today?”

“Oh. No.” She shrugged. “That is to say, sort of.”

Pat shook his head. “Dames,” he teased.

She pointed a perfectly manicured, red-tipped finger at him. “Be careful.” She smiled contentedly. “What I’m trying to say is that we drew names.” Betty waved her hands around. “Sounds like we live at the office, doesn’t it? But none of us can afford to buy gifts for
everyone
, so we decided to draw names.” Betty slid across the seat, close enough that Pat could wrap his arm around her.

“Mmm,” he said. “You smell delicious.”

“It’s called Joy,” Betty said, nestling her head along the curve of his neck and shoulder. “An early Christmas gift from my father.”

“Jean Patou? ‘The costliest perfume in the world’?”

Betty sat straight. “You know it?”

“I’m in the advertisement game, Betts. Of course I know it.” He grinned at her. “Hey,” he whispered. “Put that head back where it belongs.”

She smiled, complying without complaint.

“I was just thinking, though,” Pat’s voice rumbled.

“About?”

“How difficult it’s going to be to top your father’s gift.”

Betty sat up long enough to kiss his cheek. “Don’t you even think about trying to top my father, Pat Callahan. Just being with you is gift enough for me.”

He chuckled. “Oh, good. That’s quite a relief, actually.”

Betty dug her finger into his side until he hollered. “By the way,” she said when she’d settled again, “my parents want us to come by before the night is over.”

“I’d already planned it,” he said.

She sat up again. “Really? And you weren’t going to tell me?”

Pat took his eyes from the road long enough to cross them at her. “What I’m going to tell you—and only one more time, young lady—is to get that head back over here so it can nuzzle with mine.”

Betty worked to get her arms around him as she laid her head on his shoulder. “You bet, Mr. Callahan,” she said. “In fact, we don’t have to even stop at your parents’ house. Just keep driving and I’ll stay like this all day.”

Today could be the day. Today could be the day.

The words played over and over in Evelyn’s thoughts as George drove her to his family home that Christmas Day. At some point, she reasoned, before the blessed holiday came to a
close, George Volbrecht
would
ask her to be his wife. She simply
knew
it.

After all, they’d dated now for over a year. Exclusively. And, while he hadn’t told her he loved her—
yet
—she believed he did. And if, for some reason, he didn’t love her—
yet
—there was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she could win that love from him once they were married. Once the wedding day had come and gone, once the wedding dress from Carson’s had been dry-cleaned and sent back to Betty, George Volbrecht would be declared the luckiest man alive because no man in the history of the world would have ever known or would ever know such devotion as what she’d shower on him. And as for his family, whatever shortcomings they believed she possessed
now
would be eradicated when they witnessed her sheer adoration for their golden boy. Not to mention once she gave him children. A boy first. Followed by two girls.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut.
Please, dear God. Hear my prayer. I know you brought George into my life for a good reason. Surely I was brought into his for a good reason too.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” George said from the driver’s seat. Only when she opened her eyes did she realize they were parked in his parents’ driveway.

“I wasn’t asleep, George,” she told him. “I was praying.”

“Praying?” What began as a look of astonishment evolved into one of amusement.

“Do you pray, George?”

“I’m Catholic, Evelyn. I pray at Mass.”

“But . . .” She turned to fully look at him. “What I mean is, in your own heart. Do you pray? Do you listen for God to speak to you? To direct you?”

He stared at her for a long minute before cupping her chin and
squeezing it lightly. “Evelyn, it’s Christmas. Today is not the day to have this conversation.”

Evelyn raised her hands. “
Christmas
is the celebration of the Christ child coming to live among man, George. It’s a perfect time to talk about him. For heaven’s sake, if not
today
, when?”

George grabbed the door handle and jerked it open. His eyes focused on the steering wheel as he spoke. “Evelyn, you knew the kind of person I am when you started all this. If you expected me to change, then I’ll repeat what I said to you before.
Run.
” His eyes found hers and she mentally reprimanded herself for the tears she knew formed there. “I’m ruthless, inside the office and out.”

“I don’t believe that,” she said, forcing the words past the lump in her throat and into the chill that had seeped into the car. “When I look at you, I see a man who . . . who may want to believe he’s ruthless, but who, deep down, is a good man. A
caring
man. After all, who but you would care enough to make sure some hayseed from Georgia learns how to dress. How to speak properly. Who but you would teach her proper etiquette for social functions. You’ve even made sure I’ve learned to speak another language. A
beautiful
language. You did all that, George, for
me
. And I believe only a good, decent man would do all those things.”

George leaned over, cupped the back of her head with his hand, and brought her lips to his in a bruising kiss. One that left her shaken . . . and strangely hopeful. When he pulled back, his eyes—smoky and tender—searched hers as a thumb brushed a wayward tear from her cheek. “That’s where you’re wrong, Evelyn,” he said. “I didn’t do this for you. I did it for
me
.”

Betty had to admit—even if only to herself, as Pat drove them from his family home to hers—that she could learn to love the concept
of a large family. She’d never before experienced a Christmas Day so full of laughter. So jam-packed with joy, especially at the concept of
giving
, rather than receiving.

“You’re over there thinking again,” Pat said, resting his arm against the back of the seat. “Why don’t you scoot over here and do your thinking.”

Betty slid over, adjusting her coat in the process.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his arm coming over her so he could reset the temperature.

She grabbed his hand and put it where it had been, draped around her shoulder. “Don’t you dare,” she said, tilting her head back to get a better look at him. Even in the gray of the early evening, she found him handsome beyond words. “Say, why did you want to wait to open our gifts until after we see my parents? Don’t you know females aren’t good at waiting? Especially when presents are at stake.”

He shrugged. “No reason, really.” He kissed her forehead. “Is there something wrong with wanting a little alone time with my girl while I give her a gift I shopped long and hard for?”

Betty looked forward, noting that they’d turned into her neighborhood. “That street up there,” she said, followed by, “Turn right. And no. There’s nothing wrong with it.”