Interrupted (18 page)

H
ere, help me up.” Charlie laughed and placed her hands on her back as she struggled to climb the stairs.

I grabbed her arm and helped her to the front door, sneaking a glance at her broad stomach. “He’s ready to get out of there.”

Charlie rubbed her belly. “The feeling is mutual.”

I opened the front door and led her into the parlor, helping her out of her coat. “It sure is chilly out there,” I commented, shutting out the cold.

“It’s February.” Charlie exclaimed. “It’ll be spring before you know it.”

I nodded and led Charlie to the parlor where she eased into
an armchair. “Ah.” She glanced around and smiled. “I love the smell of your house.”

“You mean the smell of dusty books and Beatrice’s cleaning spray?”

“No, it smells like lemon and leather. Don’t you wrinkle your nose—it’s a good smell! Honest.”

“The lemon is from the cleaning spray,” Beatrice said, coming through the door with a tray of cookies. “How’s the mother-to-be?”

Charlie grinned and took a cookie. “Fine, thank you.”

“Any news from town?” Beatrice sat next to me and reached out to hold my hand. I smiled and let her massage the back of my wrist.

Charlie’s face fell. “Michael Rosa was killed in action last week. Second man from town this year, and 1945 has just begun.”

“Oh, that’s awful.” Beatrice’s face grew pained. “I must write his mother and send her our condolences.”

I shifted in my chair. “How is his fiancée taking the news?”

Charlie focused on the cookie in her hand. “Mary left town to stay with her cousin after she heard. She took the first available train the day after the funeral.”

An awkward silence fell over us. “How’s Irene?” Charlie asked.

“She’s well, thank you. She’s in town right now, actually, helping the ladies aide with the war effort.” Beatrice’s eyes were warm as she offered Charlie a cup of tea. “Daniel’s been given leave, thank the Lord, and will be returning home any day now.”

“Good.” Charlie smiled, her chubby cheeks dimpling. “I received a letter from Russell yesterday, and he plans to come
home in early March. I can’t believe I haven’t seen him since September.” She blushed. “It’s been nearly five months.”

Both women glanced at me and fell silent. No one mentioned Sam. I lowered my eyes. He hadn’t been sighted since Normandy. Something tore at my throat, coaxing me to cry. I fought it down. I didn’t know if he was alive or dead, and I wouldn’t cry until I got the final word. Until I knew for sure.

“More tea?” Beatrice asked, holding up the pot.

We talked for hours. About the war, and the home front, and how much things had changed since the summer of ‘43, when Russell and Sam were here. Charlie glanced at the clock and gasped. “Goodness gracious! It can’t be six o’ clock, can it? I’ve got to get home and prepare supper …” Her face fell. “For myself. And this young one.” She placed a hand on her stomach and gave me a half smile.

I stood. “I’m sorry to see you go.” I helped her into her coat and walked her to the door. The wintry night wind whipped through my thin dress.

I hugged her gently, closing my eyes and trying not to cry. Charlie stood back and studied me from the doorway. Noticing my tears, she reached out to touch my arm. “Allie, what’s wrong?”

I shook my head and smiled at her. “Nothing. I’m just glad to be here with you, because it feels like old times when we were kids.” I wiped my eye. “You know, back when things were simple and happy.”

“Things were never simple with you.” Charlie frowned, searching my eyes. “But you seem … different since you became a Christian. You seem happier despite …” She cleared her throat. “Despite the circumstances.”

“Everything changed when God found me,” I whispered, giving her one last hug. “I just … Remember what you said that day in the barn years ago? About how earthly things aren’t enough? When I thought about that, God led me to himself. Now things seem so much easier to bear.”

Charlie smiled. “How nice to know I had a small part in it.”

I rolled my eyes and lightly punched her arm.

“Oh, and, Allie.” Charlie met my eyes. “Don’t give up on Sam. He’ll be back, I know it.”

“So do I,” I said. And I meant it.

“Can I look now?” I tried to peek between the fingers sprawled across my face.

Beatrice laughed and slapped my arm lightly. “No.” She led me into what I guessed to be the parlor. “Okay, now open them.”

My eyes fluttered open and surveyed the room. But the moment they reached the corner, my whole body froze in shock.

“Beatrice,” I whispered, my eyes beginning to swim. “You bought me a piano.”

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen —a simple white piano, sitting by itself in the dark parlor corner. Beatrice had spread a woven burgundy runner over the lid and had a pile of sheet music stacked by the bench.

“I hope you know how to play something from the stack.” Beatrice bit her lip. “I just went to the store and asked the woman for a handful of her most popular songs. I don’t know anything about classical music — I really just trusted her opinion.”

I stared at the piano in silence, not trusting myself to speak.

“I can return it, Allie.” Beatrice waved her hand carelessly, though I could tell she was nervous. “If you really hate it.”

I shook my head. I reached out and ran a finger across the piano lid softly, half fearing it would crumble at my touch. I looked at Beatrice, tears blinding my eyes. “You actually bought me a piano,” I whispered.

Beatrice nodded.

“Where did you get the money?”

Beatrice waved her hand. “We’re not that
poor
. Besides, one man’s sale is another man’s treasure.”

With that, I folded myself onto the bench and burst into tears, sobbing onto the closed piano lid. When I looked up, Beatrice was standing by my side. “Is it okay, Allie?”

“Okay?” I wiped my face. “It’s
wonderful
. I’ve never … I could never …” I turned a distressed face toward Beatrice. “What could I have done to deserve this?”

“Nothing.” Beatrice looked confused. She sat down on the bench next to me and let me rest my head on her chest. “I just wanted to show you how much I love you.”

“I love you too,” I whispered into her shirt. And I did love her. I loved her so much at that moment, my chest was pained. I loved that she was good, and that she was kind. I loved her because of the fact she loved me and I loved her even more despite the fact that she loved me.

“Do you like it?” Beatrice asked, stroking my hair.

I turned toward the piano. “It’s beautiful,” I croaked. I looked up at Beatrice and smiled. “Thank you.”

She beamed at me. “It made me happy to give it to you.”

I took a deep breath and opened the heavy lid. I ran my fingers down the keys. “It makes me happy too.”

The house was dark and quiet. Only a single lamp was on in the parlor, shining almost directly on the new piano. I shut the lid and settled into an armchair, careful not to make too much noise and wake Beatrice upstairs.

My eyes threatened to close. I forced them open and yawned, closing the book of poetry lying on my chest.

I rubbed the faded cloth on the armchair and looked around the quiet house. All these years it had felt like a gilded prison; now it was finally beginning to feel like home.

Beatrice’s crinkled Bible was sitting on the table. I leaned over and picked it up, running my hand down the water-worn spine. I flipped through the pages and sighed. Many of the words ran down the page or stuck together.

A yellow sheet near the front of the Bible caught my eye. I pulled it out gingerly. It was in surprisingly good condition — very few words were illegible.

My bare feet pattering on the wood floor when I crossed over to the lamp and held the paper to the light.

It appeared to be a list of important dates, written in Beatrice’s hand. I smiled to myself and skimmed through the events.

June 3, 1888 — Beatrice Noble baptized age 10

May 10, 1896 — Beatrice Noble graduates

March 11, 1900 — Beatrice Noble and Henry Lloyd Lovell united in holy matrimony

November 7, 1903 — Laura Alice Lovell born

February 19, 1904 — Laura Alice Lovell passes on to be with our Lord

I paused, my eyes beginning to tear. Beatrice had another daughter, one who passed away as an infant? I wiped my eyes and kept reading.

May 27, 1910 — Henry Lloyd Lovell passes on to be with our Lord

I frowned. How could Henry have died before the birth of Irene? I skimmed a few more lines and gasped. My hand shook as I put down the paper.

July 6, 1922 — Adoption of Irene Rosa Harding

I collapsed in the closest chair, my knees quaking. Irene was adopted?

The room felt like it was spinning. I placed a hand on my forehead.

But Irene was the perfect child all along. She’d always called Beatrice Mom, and looked after her affectionately. Irene was her blood … her family.

The front door opened and Irene called out, “Hello? Is anyone awake?” She came into the doorway, open and friendly as she unbuttoned her coat. “Allie, did Mom already —”

I turned my tear-streaked face to her. She stopped, looking worried. “What’s wrong? Is it Mom?”

“You were adopted.” I hadn’t meant it to sound like an accusation, but that’s how it came out.

Irene stopped in the doorway, coat in hand. “Of course I was. You knew that.”

“No! No, I didn’t,” I turned away. “No one ever thought to tell me.”

Irene crossed the room and sank into the chair next to me. She reached out to touch my leg softly. “Allie, I …”

“I thought you were her daughter,” I murmured. My stomach lurched. “You both deceived me into thinking
I
was the outsider.”

“Allie.” Irene sounded hurt. “We never tried to keep it from you. There was no deception or plot, I promise. I honestly thought you knew.”

I turned and stared fiercely at her, although I knew I was acting like a child. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

“Maybe you just weren’t listening.”

I froze and met Irene’s gaze.

She reached and tucked back a stray red hair behind her ear. “Allie, over the years you’ve spent a lot of time shutting us out. You tricked
yourself
into thinking you were an outsider. We’ve done nothing but treat you as a daughter and sister.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes, my conscience smarting. “I know,” I moaned, “I know. It’s just … a shock.” I glanced at Irene. “You were always so …
loving
and everything. I was always a little jealous of you.
I
wanted to be the real daughter, not the outsider. I thought …” I bent my head. “I thought Beatrice loved you more than me because you were a part of her.”

Irene’s eyes welled up. “
No
, honey.” She wrapped an arm around my shoulder. “Beatrice couldn’t love you more. I’m no more her daughter than you are. You saw that paper: we’re both from the same situation.” She squeezed my shoulder. “But even if Beatrice did give birth to me, she wouldn’t love
you
any less. She’s your mom too.”

I buried my head in Irene’s shoulder and sniffled. “Who was your real mom?”

Irene sighed. “She was a cabaret dancer from New York City. My father was a philanderer … a rich banker with a love for pretty women. So I’m told — I never met him. My mother left me in the streets when I was about five. Beatrice adopted me two days after my sixth birthday. She’s really the only mother I’ve ever known. My real mother …” Irene trailed off. “All I really remember about her is that she had bright red hair. Like me.” She stroked my cheek. “What about your parents?”

I pulled up my knees and leaned on Irene’s arm. “My father left when I was three. It was really just me and Mama growing up. She was different …
Special
.” I fiddled with a button on my pajamas. “She got the sickness when I was ten. Dr. Murphy said it was brain cancer.”

“What was it like?”

I took a deep breath and stared at the wall. What
was
it like? It was hard to think of words to describe Mama and everything we went through that would make sense to someone who hadn’t known her at all.

I could remember the good times and I could remember the painful times. Most vividly, I could remember the night she died.

I curled up my knees and rested my chin on them. “It was hard. To raise a mother.”

Irene nodded and gave me a hug. “Well, you don’t have to struggle anymore. You have a family: me and Mom and you. We all love each other.”

I smiled. “I’m glad.”

She tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and grinned. “So am I.” Her voice softened. “Little sister.”

B
eatrice gave my dark hair a final brush before standing back and admiring her work. I glanced in the mirror and smiled.

My deep brown waves had been swept up in the latest fashion, a dashing white hat pinned atop them. I was wearing a blue and white polka-dotted dress, with gorgeous pearl buttons running down the back, and white heels.

Irene smiled from the doorway. “You look beautiful.”

I bent toward the mirror to apply a smudge of pink lipstick before smiling and turning to Beatrice. “I’m ready for church.”

Pastor Davis greeted us at the church door, warmly shaking our hands. “You’re looking particularly lovely today, Beatrice,” he said with a shy smile before moving on.

I nudged Beatrice. “He seems to be quite fond of you.”

Beatrice blushed and fanned herself. “Oh, there’s Mrs. Wilkinson.”

Mrs. Wilkinson walked over, all smiles. She twisted her hands and beamed at Beatrice. “Have you heard about the baby? Charlie delivered just yesterday.” Mrs. Wilkinson asked.

I grinned. “Russell called, but didn’t give many details at all. What are they going to name him?”

Mrs. Wilkinson winked. “They’re going to name
her
Alcyone.”

A wide smile spread over my face. “I’m flattered. I hope she ends up nothing like me,” I teased. “For your sake.”

“I must say, Allie.” Mrs. Wilkinson raised a pointed eyebrow as she glanced over me. “You seem … different. More confident and
happy
.” She tucked her purse under her arm. “I do believe you’ve grown up.” With one last glance at me, she smiled at Beatrice and turned to go. “Good day.”

As she walked away, I smiled to myself.
Happy. I am happy
. I sent up a quick prayer of blessing for snooty old Mrs. Wilkinson. Then I tucked my arm through Beatrice’s and guided the way to our pew. “This way, Mom.”

“Where is Irene? She’s more than two hours late.”

I let the curtain drop back into place and leaned against the wall, chewing down a freshly filed nail.

Charlie smiled and poked at a streamer. “She’ll be here in no time.” Russell wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and she handed him Baby Alcyone. Charlie nestled under his arm and gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks,” she murmured.

The telephone rang. Beatrice jumped up, chewing her lip. “Hello?” She lowered her voice. “Oh, I see.”

Charlie was suddenly by my side, resting her chin on my shoulder. “Isn’t it nice?” she whispered, wrapping an arm around my waist. “To care?”

I leaned into her shoulder and smiled, blinking back the tears behind my eyelids. “Yeah.”

A new song drifted through the gramophone, the gentle voice singing, “When we’re out together dancing cheek to cheek …” I grimaced and tried to block the music from my ears. The song brought my wave of happy feelings to a sudden crash.
Sam. Sam, Sam, Sam
. The name echoed through my mind, torturing my thoughts.

Beatrice placed the telephone back on the retriever. “Well, it is getting late,” she said, glancing at the clock. “Who knows, Allie. Maybe she’ll be here by the time you get back!”

I wrinkled my nose. “Get back from where?”

Beatrice scratched her cheek. “You know what I always say on a night like this?”

I shot her a teasing look. “What do you always say?”

Beatrice reached over and patted my knee. “A midnight stroll breaks a lonely lull.”

“What? That makes no sense at all.”

Charlie shrugged. “You always walk when you’re preoccupied—and don’t deny it, it’s written on your face plain as day. So why not walk now?”

I sighed and scooted out of the armchair. “Well, since everyone seems to want me to leave so badly …” I looked around. “Does anyone wish to accompany me?”

They glanced at each other and frowned. “No,” Beatrice said. “But we’ll be here when you get back.”

I reached for a navy-blue sweater by the door, sliding it over my bare shoulders. “You promise you’ll call me the moment she gets here? We can’t start eating the cake without her. Irene really wanted to be a part of Baby Alcyone’s birth celebration.”

Beatrice nodded.

“Okay, then.” I trudged out the door, wrapping my sweater close. “I hope you’re happy!” I called over my shoulder. The screen door closed with a slam.
They are happy for me. Because of me
. I placed my hand over my mouth. A soft smile spread behind my fingertips.

I stood by the oceanfront, bare feet in the sand, water lapping my toes, and closed my eyes. I swung my shoes from my fingers and tried to remember the moment. To remember the warm April breeze on my face … my toes in the sand.

But all I wanted in that moment was for Sam to be back. I just wanted this war to be over, and to be married. To have Sam be here again, and have his love wrap me up all safe and warm. I didn’t want to stand at his funeral. I didn’t want my heart to get buried in the ground and feel like I was losing a part of myself all over again.

The stars were just beginning to come out from hiding, the moon starting to softly shine.

I strained my mind to recall the Emily Dickinson poem from my childhood. In a clear voice, I recited to the waves, “The moon is distant from the sea, and yet with amber hands, she leads him, docile as a boy, along appointed sands.”

I closed my eyes again and sent up a silent prayer.
Oh, God, I wish that …

“Emily Dickinson,” a voice said from behind me. “Impressive.”

My body jolted. I whirled around, a shriek escaping my lips.

A tall man stood on top of a sand dune, looking down at me. He took a step toward me, his arms open. I squealed, my mind racing, and did the first thing that came to mind — throw my shoes at him.

He laughed and ducked. “Hey, watch it. Do you think I want to die?”

“Sam?” My eyes widened. There he was, standing in front of me. Right there on the beach. In front of me. Standing there.

My mind went over these stupid thoughts at least three times before I opened my mouth, ready to say my first words to him in two years. Instead, all that came out was a sob.

I collapsed in the sand, crying uncontrollably. Within seconds, Sam was on his knees at my side, wrapping his arms around me. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Allie, what is it?”

I shook my head, unable to look him in the eye. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
It can’t be true. I thought …
“I thought you were dead,” I choked out. “Well, I mean, I didn’t believe you were dead but I knew you might be. And after ten months …”

Sam stopped trying to talk and held me, rocking back and forth. He could probably imagine what it had felt like.

After awhile, the tears slowed down, and I pulled my head back to look at Sam. His face was the same; a little older maybe, but still the same Sam Carroll. The one who followed me around as a child. Who followed me to Maine as a teenager. He’d sat on my kitchen counter twice and told me that he loved me, and almost cried when I said I loved him too.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” I finally whispered. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Sam scooted back a little, but still held my hand tightly. He smiled, his face glowing in the moonlight. “I called Beatrice and asked her to send you out here. I arrived home a few minutes ago.” He grimaced. “My train was a little late.”

My heart was racing, my mind whirling. I climbed to my feet, pulling him up with me. “Well, at least let me look at you. I haven’t looked at you in two years.”

He stood to his full height and took a step back from me, squeezing my fingers a little. I could tell he was nervous. What would I think of the fully grown Sam Carroll?

To tell the truth, I was a little overwhelmed. He was several inches taller, now towering a full head above mine. His hair was a little longer, and his face a bit more worn. He looked like someone who had fought in battles and seen men die, who’d traveled the world and grown up while I sat here and waited for him. I covered my mouth and blurted out the first thought that popped into my dizzy head. “You’re a
man
.”

Sam laughed —a surprised snort. “Is that all you can think of?”

“I was afraid …” I whispered, covering my mouth again. “I’m just so glad you’re home.”

Sam stepped forward and brushed a hair off my cheek. “I was going to go back to Tennessee. I was going to see my mother and my family and everything but …” He smiled. “I telephoned Beatrice and asked to see you privately. I wanted it to be a surprise, so I could see the look on your face. I love it when you’re surprised.”

“So the others don’t know about it?”
They’re probably worried. They’re probably …

Sam chuckled. “No, I’m sure Beatrice told them. I wrote her about a week ago, letting her know I was coming home.”

“Oh.” I felt so lightheaded and silly.

A gold star glistened on his uniform. I gasped and reached out to touch it. “How did you get this?”

Sam tightened his grip on my arms, smiling down at me. “You look beautiful, Allie. You look happy.” He shook his head and chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe how much joy your last letter gave me. I read it the day before … the day before Normandy. Knowing that you loved me gave me the strength to be brave … to prove myself worthy of you.”

“What happened? I mean, you stopped writing me for ten months. People said you were probably dead.”

Sam licked his lips. “I was caught in battle. I was shot in the ankle.” He lifted his pants leg so I could see the wound, but it was dark and I could only make out faint bruising. “It wasn’t a fatality, but I was left on the field for hours, stranded while everyone else left. I thought I would die. I remember thinking I might never see you again.”

He fingered my cheek. I closed my eyes at his touch, my salty tears staining his hand.

“I wasn’t captured, though. After about five hours, I dragged myself off the battlefield and found a tree to hide under. I was there for two days and a night, until some French nuns found me. I was driven into the city and cared for in a French hotel for about four months. A few surgeries in my leg and ankle, and then waiting for the skin to heal.”

He let go of me just long enough to hold up his star so I could see it. “I got this seven months after Normandy, when I finally got back to the army. But I didn’t deserve the medal. There were plenty of fallen soldiers that day who were more heroic than anything I’ve ever seen. Men who deserved twenty of these stars.” He fingered the medal. “I guess the only reason I wear it is because the stars make me think of you.”

“I always knew you were brave. Even before you joined the war. But now I’m proud of you. I think I’m prouder of you than of anything.” I had to tilt back my head to see his face.

Sam reached out and touched my dark waves. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

“I’ve missed you too.” I lifted a hand and wiped a tear from my eye, laughing at myself. “I keep crying!” I rolled my eyes. “So much for hating sentimentality.”

Sam smiled. “Good.”

I gripped Sam’s coat sleeve, my head all light and bubbly. “I was wrong about so many things.” I laughed. “Especially God. But I’m better now.”

Sam smiled. “I’m glad.” He looked so happy and content— standing on the beach a celebrated war hero — and yet standing on the beach with
me
.

Sam’s gaze turned tender. “Allie …” His voice lowered. “Do you think you could find it in your heart to marry me?”

I tilted my head back so I could see his whole face. “I think I could. I think I can fit a rather large amount of things in my heart, actually. It seems to increase every day now.”

Sam squeezed my arm and leaned his forehead against mine.

“Allie!” I heard Beatrice shouting from the porch. “Allie, did you find your little surprise? Come and share it!”

I grinned and jumped back, picking up my shoes. I reached out and grabbed Sam’s hand. “Come on. Mom wants me at home.”

Sam picked up his suitcases and let out an excited laugh. I could see his twinkling eyes in the moonlight. “I suppose you have an awful lot to write in your little notebook.”

I smiled. “Yes, I suppose I do.”