Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (22 page)

“Step it up, Polly!” Mac said at last, giving the reins a shake, and the horse slowly picked up her pace, until all at once she began to put on speed.

“Knows she's nearing home,” Mac said. “Wouldn't be surprised if she could get here blindfolded.”

Dimple thought she might as well be blindfolded for the little she could see ahead of them until, reaching the top of a hill, she saw a tiny light ahead, and it seemed to be moving back and forth.

“That's my nephew, Ned,” Mac explained, “waving that lantern at the gate like, after all these years, Polly and I wouldn't know where to turn in!

“His papa, my brother Edward, farmed here with me until he died a couple of years ago, and now Ned's stepped into his shoes. He and Ellie—that's his mama—and his sister, Kathleen, live just over the hill there. I expect you'll be seeing them tomorrow.”

Dimple covered a yawn and hoped she wouldn't be meeting anyone tonight, except for her hostess, Sadie, of course. It seemed like a hundred years since she'd left Papa and home, and all she wanted to do was crawl into a comfortable bed and close her eyes.

Sadie Applewhite greeted her on the wide front porch of the farmhouse and, ignoring Dimple's outstretched hand, pulled her into her arms in a warm embrace. She was what Dimple's papa would call “comfortably plump,” and was probably a foot shorter than her husband. She wore a large white apron over a dress in a colorful patchwork print, and as soon as she had welcomed Dimple, kissed her husband
right on the mouth.
Dimple had never witnessed an older couple behaving in such a manner, and modestly looked away.

“I know you must be about ready to drop after all that long trip,” Sadie said as she ushered Dimple into the house. “I'll show you to your room and give you a chance to freshen up, and afterward I've saved you a little bite to eat before you go to bed.”

Upstairs, Dimple found a lovely cherry spool bed made up with plump pillows and a light bedspread. A delicate watercolor of a vase of roses hung over the mantel, and an oil lamp burned on a small table beside the bed. When left alone, Dimple would have liked nothing better than to fall on that bed, clothing and all, and sleep. But, removing her hat, she took time to wash her face and hands in the washbowl provided and tried her best to control her unruly hair.

The room was fairly large, with sheer white curtains at the windows and a faded rug in a floral design in the center of the floor. A small rocking chair waited beside the fireplace, empty now, and a table at the window might serve as a desk.

Dimple frowned as she looked at her wrinkled skirt, the blouse, no longer white, as she'd dribbled peach juice down the front. Well, it was too late to change or to search through her luggage for something else to wear. Maybe nobody would notice if she stayed in the shadows. After all, her gracious hosts were the only ones here, and she hoped they were too polite to stare.

But who should be lingering in the wide front hall other than the Applewhites' nephew Ned. He was not as tall as his uncle, but looked to be a little over six feet. Clean-shaven, he wore his light brown hair parted in the middle, or Dimple supposed it should be that way, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, as if it couldn't decide where to go.

“As weary as I am, my heartless uncle insisted that I stay,” he told her.

Mac Applewhite laughed. “Pay no attention to that rogue, Miss Dimple. He took one look at you and I couldn't pry him out of here with a crowbar.”

But Dimple Kilpatrick hadn't heard a word they said. She could only see the easy way Ned stood as if he were ready for whatever life had in store. She saw the way his hair fell over his forehead. And there was something about the expression in his eyes that made her want to smile. Were they blue or gray? At the last minute, she remembered the peach stains on her blouse, but it was too late to do anything about it.

“Enough of this,” Sadie announced, setting serving platters on the table. “This young lady is tired, and I imagine she's hungry. If I remember right, Ned Applewhite, you had your supper earlier, so go on home now and leave our guest in peace. You'll have a chance to visit with Miss Dimple in the morning.”

And suddenly, Dimple wasn't tired anymore. She ate her “little bite” of supper, consisting of fried chicken, creamed potatoes, and sliced tomatoes, and even found room for sweet potato pie, and then, thanking her hostess, hurried off to bed.

She wondered what the morning would bring.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SIX

“Dimple, wake up. We're almost there.” Velma rolled down her window to signal a right turn and the icy air brought Dimple back to the present with a cruel awareness. “Here we are—Applewhite Road,” Velma continued cheerfully. “House shouldn't be too far now. I believe she said it's the fourth one on the left.”

Applewhite Road.
Could it possibly be … Dimple unclenched her hands and began to breathe easier when they turned into the drive of a two-story brick house that sat a few yards from the road. In the dusk, she was able to make out a large cedar by the corner of the house and another on the other side of the drive. The meadows around Willowvale Farm had been dotted with cedars, and a lazy creek provided water for thirsty cattle. Often she and Ned, sometimes joined by his younger sister, Kathleen, had circled the property on horseback, taking their time on sweet autumn afternoons; picking wildflowers in the field; resting under the big sycamore by the bridge.

On warm fall days when they thought no one was looking, she and Kathleen held their skirts up high and waded in the creek, splashing water on each other until both were soaking wet. Cool nights when Ned was busy with outside farmwork, the two women popped corn and Kathleen taught her to make molasses taffy. After that, Dimple never saw a piece of the candy or smelled the syrup cooking that she didn't think of Kathleen.

Where was the bridge? Had they passed it? And who had divided this beautiful farmland into residential lots? The house was not new, she observed. It had probably been built sometime in the thirties, when the country was dealing with the Great Depression. Had Mac Applewhite, an old man by then, been forced to sell the land he loved so much? What about Kathleen, who at sixteen had spent her last year at the tiny school in Willow before going off to college? Sadie Applewhite had been like a second mother to Dimple—where would they go? What would they do?

The Applewhites had two daughters, Dimple remembered. Annette had been married to a physician and lived somewhere in Kentucky; Aggie, the younger sister, was a talented artist who taught in a small college at the other end of the state. Her watercolors varied from landscapes and flowers to quaint vignettes of farm children and had been featured prominently in almost every room of the house. She must remember to ask about the family as soon as they were settled, Dimple decided.

It soon became obvious that their hostess, Fannie Templeton, had several sons in the military, as their photographs in uniform lined the mantel in the living room. At first, the women listened with interest while she described in great detail the fine qualities of each, until it seemed she planned to elaborate all the way back to their births. When she finally paused for a necessary breath, Dimple immediately jumped in to ask about the Applewhites.

“Well, I didn't know them, of course, but from all I've heard, they were well thought of in the community,” Fannie told her. “In fact, we bought this lot from their daughter Annette. She still lives somewhere in Kentucky, I believe.”

The younger daughter, Dimple learned, had been killed a few years before in an automobile accident.

Sadie had sent her a copy of the obituary when Ned's mother died, but she wondered what had happened to Kathleen, who had been so vivacious and full of fun in and out of the classroom and had insisted on calling her “Joy” because she claimed it suited her better than Dimple. From all reports, her brother's death had left her shattered. Dimple had felt deeply for the family and kept in touch for many years after she left, until the letters stopped coming.

“Annette's father died a good while ago,” Fannie continued, speaking of Mac, “and I believe her mother was living with her in Kentucky when we bought the lot for this house.” She smiled. “A few here still remember the Applewhites and speak well of them, and I believe Annette had an aunt who owned property on the other side of the creek. I suppose you were acquainted with the family?”

Aunt Mattie, Mac Applewhite's sister
. Dimple remembered going with Ned to a barn dance with her daughter Amelia and her new husband. She'd heard later that several of Amelia's pregnancies had ended in miscarriages.

“Yes.” Dimple gripped the handle of her small overnight bag until her fingers became numb. “Not only were they fine people; they were excellent guardians of the land.” Long-suppressed emotions swelled inside her.
How long must she stand here and appear to be composed?

Their hostess turned again to the display on her mantel. “Now, you won't believe what our David did when he was five,” she began. And that's when Augusta started to cough.

“I wonder if I could [cough, cough] trouble you for [cough] a drink of water?” she sputtered. And when Fannie hurried to the kitchen to get her a glass, Dimple escaped to the room she was to share with Augusta.

“I don't know if I should thank you or mix you up some honey and lemon,” Dimple said when Augusta joined her.

Augusta laughed. “Neither will be necessary,” she said, and went about hanging her wraps in the closet. Dimple had done the same, and now sat by the window, looking out at the dark, rainy night, and for a while, neither spoke.

A lamp burned beside the bed and Augusta took needlework from her bag and pulled up a chair to the light. Her needle wove in and out as the colors took form, until a scattering of violets appeared on the cloth. “What was his name?” she asked, not looking up.

Dimple turned, startled. “What?”

Augusta set her stitching aside and looked at her. “What was his name, the one you loved? I can see this place holds meaning for you.”

“Ned. His name was Ned.” How long had it been since she had spoken his name aloud, and still she was caressed by the sweetness of the sound. Tears came slowly as she told Augusta of the time she spent on the Applewhites' farm during her first year of teaching at the tiny school in Willow.

She told her how she had lived in the comfortable rambling farmhouse, where Ned's aunt Sadie made her welcome, and how his kind uncle Mac named the cows in his herd. Ned had gone away to college for two years, and when his father died, she said, he had come home to help his uncle on the farm.

“He had planned to major in English and literature,” Dimple said. “He loved books, loved to read.”

She spoke softly. “I had him for too short a time.”

Augusta picked up her stitching. “But you should have no regrets.”

Dimple turned to her then, her face dark with sorrow. “Oh, but I do,” she said. “I do. I should've married him when he asked. And then it was too late.”

*   *   *

She remembered the day Ned asked her to marry him. It was April and the apple trees were in glorious bloom as they strolled beneath them hand in hand. A pale pink petal drifted onto her cheek and Ned brushed it away with a kiss. “You are the apple of my eye … my nose, my lips, my ears,” he said, kissing each place in turn, and Dimple threw her arms around his neck and laughed. They laughed a lot when they were together. How could she possibly be this happy?

And then he proposed, getting down on one knee in the wet spring grass.

“Oh, Ned, do get up,” she pleaded. “You're soiling your clean trousers.”

“Not until you agree to marry me,” he said. And of course she did.

Later, at twilight, they sat in the porch swing, both reluctant to go inside, although a chill wind had picked up, blowing leaves across the floor. Sadie stepped outside long enough to call to them. “Aren't you two freezing out here?” she asked.

But they only snuggled closer, lulled by the rhythmic squeaking of the swing, and quietly, Ned took Dimple's hand in his and slipped a ring on her finger, an amethyst set in white gold, with a tiny diamond on either side.

“It belonged to my grandmother,” Ned told her, “and I hope it will do for now. Later we can look for a diamond.”

“But I don't want a diamond. This is perfect, and I never want to replace it. Purple is my favorite color.”

Ned laughed. “Really? I'd never guess.” He touched the purple grosgrain ribbon at her neck and glanced significantly at the violet-colored skirt she wore. “It suits you, sweetheart. I'll love you in any color, but I'll always think of you in purple.”

*   *   *

But their happiness was shadowed by the dark threat of war. Anger against Spain had simmered since the U.S. battleship
Maine
was blown up in Havana harbor in February, and earlier in the month, when President McKinley asked Congress for authority to send troops to Cuba, most felt war was imminent. As a member of the National Guard, Ned would have to go, and his company had already begun to plan for their departure.

But for the next few days, Dimple allowed herself to bask in her newfound happiness. School would soon let out for the summer, and she busied herself by readying her students for exams and planning an end-of-school program with readings, essays, and songs. Life couldn't have been better if it had been presented to her gift-wrapped and tied with a ribbon—purple, of course.

According to the president, a state of war had existed since the blockade of Cuba began on April 21, but the situation became official four days later, on the twenty-fifth, and the United States went to war with Spain.

She wasn't going to cry. What would Ned think if his intended turned out to be a weak, weeping milksop? No! She would be positive and strong and they would plan a wedding in the fall. Meanwhile, she would continue to teach.