Love Comes Calling (17 page)

The driver halted the car opposite the front stoop. Mother
must have been watching, because Lawrence came out to help the driver carry my things up, something he never would have done without duress. But then he took one look at Griff and dropped my bag to pick up his. How was that for family loyalty?

“Let me.” Griff picked my satchel up off the ground and carried it into the house.

Lawrence hightailed it up the front stairs at his heels. I went into the parlor and dropped into a chair . . . quite a bit farther than I was used to dropping.

Mother sighed. “Mice.”

I shot off the cushion. “Mice?”

She shrugged. “They've been eating the stuffing out of the cushions.”

As I looked closer, I could see where a hole had been chewed right through the fabric. At least the place had been aired out. The breeze coming off the bay stirred the air and that stale, salty, closed-up beach house smell was gone for the moment.

At suppertime, the driver took us in shifts to the Yacht Club.

There was a band playing, but the dancing was halfhearted, it being so early in the season. I took my shoes off and walked down through the grass toward the docks, taking a stroll in the moonlight. Going to Hollywood, this might be the last time I'd see Buzzards Bay for a while. I couldn't decide whether I'd miss it or not.

I heard the brush of footsteps through the grass, and soon Griff caught up with me.

Though I didn't really want to talk to him, I didn't send him away either, and he seemed content just to walk beside
me. We could still hear the band, the sounds of laughter, and the clink of silverware on plates, but it seemed so far away. And Boston farther still.

I'd never really belonged here. Not with all these people who seemed so set on being so proper. On keeping track of who was related to whom and how the families all linked together. I just didn't fit with them . . . and I probably never would.

“Thanks again. For inviting me. I'd forgotten how much I missed this place.”

Poor Griff. “You have the house here. You could come yourself. Later in the summer, maybe . . .” When I wouldn't be around any longer. By then, I hoped, he would be safe.

He picked up a twig and tossed it toward the water. “Can't. I have my job.”

“Would they really mind?”

He seemed to consider the question. “They might not. But I would. It's important, the work I'm doing.”

Of course it was. That was the reason a king was after him. Along with two Irish.

Henry and Marshall soon found us. Griff played with them on the lawn while I went down to the dock and sat, dangling my feet over the edge. As I looked out across the bay, I decided I probably would miss it after all.

Griff and I were driven back in the second shift along with my father.

I was dead-tired from my week at the switchboard and didn't waste any time heading for the stairs, right behind
my father, but Griff grabbed my hand as I passed him. “I'm going to get up and go out later tonight. There's something I want to see.”

Later? It was dark already. “There won't be any light to see by.”

“Would you come with me?”

I supposed I had to, didn't I? In order to keep him safe? Although he was probably safer here at Buzzards Bay than at home. In spite of his eyes asking all kinds of questions I didn't want to have to answer, having him come with us last minute had been a brilliant idea on my part. If anyone had been watching him back in Boston to discern his habits like they did in the movies, they must have been outwitted.

“Please?”

I sighed, supposing it was better to be safe than sorry. “Tap on my door at . . . ?”

“One o'clock.”

One o'clock. Of course he'd want to get up at one.

“Go away.” Someone was tapping at my door much too early. In fact, it wasn't even morning yet. I rolled over and pulled the pillow over my head.

The tapping turned to knocking. I was going to string my nephews up by their toes. I pulled the blanket up over my head as well and now I was going to suffocate and wouldn't everyone be sorry when they found me in the morning: poor Ellis, dead before her time.

“Psst—Ellis!”

That voice wasn't Henry's or Marshall's, it was . . . “Griff?”
Now I remembered! I'd promised to go out with him wherever it was he was going.

I heard the door squeak open, then footsteps creaked across the rickety floor boards. “Hurry. We're going to be late.”

Why was everyone always in such a rush? I pressed the pillow to my face. “Go without me.”

“No.”

“I'm not going.”

I felt the bed rock as he sat on it. “Yes you are.”

It was really enraging he could be so sure about what it was he thought I was going to do. “No. I'm not.”

“I've carried grown men much larger than you halfway down a football field before.”

I peeked over the top of my pillow. His features were grave in the moonlight. “Are you threatening me?”

“Do I need to?”

I propped myself up on an elbow and relegated the pillow to my side. “Why do you want me to go so badly?”

He glanced down at me, then looked resolutely over toward the opposite wall. “Because I need some cover. Are you coming or not?”

He needed some cover? Maybe he
did
know some Irish! “You don't need to get so touchy about it.”

“If you don't get out of that bed right now, I might just . . . do something we'll both regret.”

With all his talk about griffins and his trying to put his pin on me, it wasn't very difficult to figure out what he was saying. I pulled the covers up to my chin as my cheeks warmed.

“I'll just wait”—he gestured to the door—“out there.”

Jeepers! The moment he shut the door, I leaped from bed,
grabbed a blouse and skirt, and shimmied into them. Then I pulled my sweater over the top for good measure. Asking Griff to come had definitely been a
bad
idea. I gave the belt of my sweater an extra firm tug and pulled my hat down tight over my hair. Oysters and clambakes! A girl ought to be able to sleep in peace. Especially at the shore.

W
here are we going?” And why were we doing it in the middle of the night?

“You'll see.”

I had tired of mysterious men. “I can't see much of anything in the dark. And you
will
tell me, or I just won't go at all.”

“To the beach. Or nearly. And if we don't hurry, we might miss it.”

Well. There was nothing very objectionable in that. I lifted my chin and started on again along the well-trod path through the grasses.

“Only . . .” Griff was talking from behind me.

I turned.

He was scratching at his head. “About that cover I was speaking of . . .”

I put a hand to my hip.

“There might be some people out there. And it might be good if . . . well . . .” He opened his mouth and then closed it as his brow furrowed.

“For a person worried about missing something, you don't seem to be in that much of a hurry.”

“It might be good if we pretend to be sweethearts.”

I couldn't help my brow from rising.

“If that's all right with you.”

There was something very dear and completely charming about Griffin Phillips standing in the moonlight asking my permission to pretend to be my beau. I almost kissed his cheek. But I wasn't about to make it easy on him. He had, after all, woken me at one in the morning. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

“Well . . . we could . . . I mean, if you don't mind . . . maybe we could . . . hold hands?”

“Hold hands . . .”

“Or—or—maybe just . . .”

I walked back, took his hand in my own, and tugged him along toward the water. “Like this?”

“Well . . . no. Could you . . . maybe hold it like you mean it?” His eyes were making all kinds of appeals.

Now how was I supposed to leave with no regrets if he offered up his heart on a silver platter? Again?

As I'd been standing there, he'd threaded his fingers through mine. Now he pulled me up the path toward the top of the dunes and put a hand about my waist as we descended the other side. The scent of beach roses hung in the air. “Griff, would you wait just—”

He stopped so suddenly, I rammed right into him. But I might have been a Yale football player for all that he moved. “Hush.” He crouched down into the waving grasses, pulling me with him. “There's someone out there.”

“Where?” I crept forward to look over his shoulder.

In front of us, someone was standing on the beach, sweeping a light across the waves that were slapping onto the sand.

“Who is it?”

“Rumrunners.” He said the words as if he were assuring himself of something.

“What are they doing?”

“Waiting for a boat. And when it comes in, they'll off-load the liquor and then take it into the city to sell.”

“Can they do that?”

“They're not supposed to.”

“Griff . . . you're not going to do anything dangerous, are you?” There was something in his voice, some note of determination, that made me suspect he just might.

He glanced away from the beach and looked back at me. “What?”

“You're not going to get yourself into trouble, are you?” Any more than he already had?

“Not with you here.”

We watched in silence as the light stopped its sweep and the chug and gurgle of a motorboat came closer.

“But you might.”

“Hmm? Might what?”

“If I weren't here, you might get yourself into trouble. What would you do?”

He was staring out into the darkness. A man in the boat rose and gestured farther out into the bay.

“I don't know. Tell somebody, maybe.”

“But . . . somebody else might not like that. And so many
people drink these days. Do you really think it's worth it to get involved? Does anyone truly care?”

“I care. If there's a law, then people ought to respect it.”

“I know, I just—this kind of thing can be dangerous. And I don't want you to get hurt.”

“I know what I'm doing.”

No. He didn't! That was the problem.

“Look, Griff, I—”

He turned around, grabbed me by the shoulders, pulled me to his chest and . . . and . . . kissed me. And then he kept on doing it. And it was . . . it was . . . it was very nice.

“What are you doing here?” A voice interrupted us.

I let go of Griff as a flashlight bathed us in sudden, and not very welcome, light.

Griff put a hand up in front of his eyes. “We were just—” The light bounced away, providing the blessed relief of darkness as Griff's hand dropped to grasp mine.

“Don't pay us any mind.” The man turned away. “We won't be long. Sorry to disturb you.” He left us with a laugh and the stench of his cigar.

“I thought I might see him here.” Griff seemed very satisfied with himself.

Him? Him who? “Who was that?”

“
That
was King Solomon.”

It took me a moment to understand what he was saying because I was thinking about his lips. Who knew that chiseled mouth of his was so soft? Or that the taste of licorice could be so intoxicating? Or that Griffin Phillips could kiss
so well! What was it he'd said? Something about—“
King
Solomon”?
The
king? If that was the king, then I'd led Griff
into
danger, not away from it! “But—but—” Why had we stopped kissing? And . . . why couldn't I concentrate! “How do you know him?”

“Someone pointed him out to me once. He sent someone to see me at school. Wanted to pay me not to play ball next year.”

“Pay you—?” But Griff loved playing football. It was practically all he did.

“He organizes the rumrunning from here up to Maine. And he does some gambling on the side. College sports are big business. Guess he wanted to hedge his bets.”

Griff
knew
King Solomon?

A voice came floating up toward us from the beach. “Need me to go up and take care of them, King?”

As Griff pulled me into his side, I took refuge against him, throwing an arm around his waist and burying my head in his shoulder.

“Naw.” We saw the glow of King's cigar arc up into the sky and then go sailing into the surf. “Just a couple of sweethearts, rolling around in the grass. Here. Give me one of those.”

A shadowy figure handed something to him.

King turned back toward us and raised his arm.

Griff pushed me to the ground and threw himself on top of me.

“Hey, kid—here!”

I squeezed my eyes shut. I'd done it again. I'd failed. We were going to die right here on Buzzards Bay!

But the only thud came from a bottle landing in the grass beside us.

Griff grasped it by the neck, stood up, and waved it in the air. “Hey—thanks!”

As he knelt back down in the grass, he pushed it into the pocket of his pants. “I'll use it as evidence.”

“Do you have to?”

“You want to drink it?!”

“No! I just wish—can't you leave this all alone?”

“If I don't do this, then who will?”

I didn't care if anyone ever did, just so long as he didn't.

We walked away from the shore, arm in arm, just in case anyone decided to follow us, and we didn't go directly home either. Griff led us up and over a dune and across the road past the house. Once we reached the tree line and the moon ducked in and out of view between the branches, I had no idea where we were.

“Griff—stop. I've got something in my shoe.”

He offered his hand as I took my shoe off and shook it out. “Did you know those people would be there?”

“I thought they might be. I'd heard they were using the cove.”

“But why does it matter so much? As long as they leave us alone?” And
he
left
them
alone. “As long as no one gets hurt?”

“Because people decided they wanted Prohibition.”

“But what if it's a law no one wants?”

“Somebody wanted it. That's why we have it.”

“I'm starting to get the idea no one really wants it anymore.”

“Then they should work to change it, not try to figure out how to get around it.”

I was so very tired. I sat down on a stump. “Why can't people just . . . let people do what they want?” Why shouldn't Irene be able to make a fool of herself if she wanted to? And
why couldn't Janie take off work when she had to? And why was economics so all-fired important anyway? “Is anyone truly getting hurt?” If I could find a nice mound of grass, I might just curl up on it and fall asleep.

“We're all getting hurt! Everything's upside down and backwards.”

“Like how?”

“Like . . . policemen. When we were growing up, they were the good guys. The nice guys. Everyone looked up to them. You knew you were safe if there was a cop around. But now they're the bad guys. They're being paid by people like King Solomon. And if they're not, it's even worse. They've been made into jokes.”

“So you agree with Prohibition?” Is that what he was trying to say?

“I might or I might not, but until it gets changed, I have to uphold it. Any decent person does. That's why the commission is trying so hard to get rid of the mayor. He thinks the law is what he decides it should be.”

“And you think you can get him fired?”

“We have evidence. And now,” he patted his pocket, “maybe I have enough evidence to get King too.”

“You're not thinking of testifying against him?”

“You bet I'm going to!”

“But that could be dangerous!”

“Dangerous for them.”

“For you. You can't just go poking your nose into other people's business! And—how are you going to be governor someday if you go and get yourself killed?”

“The mayor is supposed to work for me. For all of us.
That makes what he does everybody's business. And King is nothing but an old-time outlaw.”

“I just don't want you to get hurt.”

“I won't. Besides, why should anyone care what I do?”

“Everyone cares what you do!” Even me. Even when I shouldn't.

He rested a hand on my arm and put a finger to his lips. Sitting there on the stump in the dark, I listened to the sweep of the wind scraping the sea grasses out on the dunes, to the hoot of an owl, to the slow, steady breathing of Griff as he crouched beside me.

“I think we're safe now.” He put a hand into his pocket.

Oh, crumb. I'd forgotten all about that pin!

With a rustle of paper, he brought something out. “Want some licorice?”

I tried to sleep in, but the ancient house came awake with creaks and groans much sooner than I would have liked, along with the laughter of the boys and Julia's accompanying screeches. With my waking came the memory of Griff's lips on mine . . . and the sharp smell of . . . licorice?

I sniffed at my fingers.

Yes, licorice. I licked them clean as I contemplated the day.

I'd fallen into bed with my clothes still on, and when I got up, I found my sheets were filled with sand. I tried to brush it off onto the floor with not very satisfactory results. And when I put up a hand to rake my hair back, I discovered sand on my scalp as well. A bath was in order. Or at least a swim. But if King Solomon was here, then I had to keep Griff inside
and out of sight. At least until we went to the train station in the evening.

So, no swimming, then. A bath would have to do.

Surely Julia had run the rust out of the pipes by now.

I pulled on my sweater and tiptoed down the hall, trying to avoid the boys, but they had reached the bathroom before I had. There might not be any rust-colored water in the bathtub, but there were all manner of turtles. And lizards.

I shuddered as one of them stuck out a forked tongue at me.

Downstairs, in the dining room, Mother was still eating breakfast. She put down her tea as I entered. “Ellis.” She took a long look at me. “There is a wardrobe in your bedroom. If you would bother to hang your clothes up, it wouldn't look as if you'd slept in them.”