Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (23 page)

Dimple wrote to Papa and Henry and told them of her good news. She would travel home when Ned left in June and ask their neighbor's assistance in altering her mother's simple wedding gown. Meanwhile, dear Sadie offered to help with her trousseau and had taken what to Dimple seemed at least a million measurements.

And then on a gentle evening in May, Ned suggested they alter their plans. “Is a big church wedding important to you?” he asked one night after supper. They sat on the back steps with the dog, Ernie, at their feet and Ned stroked him as he spoke.

“Of course not,” she told him, “as long as we have our families there, I don't care where we're married.”

“Then what about here? What about now?” Ned asked.

“Now?”

“I mean a few days from now, before I leave for Cuba. I'll need time to get the license, of course, and we'll have to be sure your family can get here in time.”

Dimple wanted to say yes. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and shout “Yes! Yes! Yes!” But the practical Dimple whispered in her ear.

“But, Ned, I can't teach if we marry now.”

He frowned. “Why not?”

“Married women aren't allowed to teach. Just think about it. How many of your teachers were married?”

Ned shook his head. “Well, that's a ridiculous rule, but, sweetheart, it has nothing to do with us. Everybody knows this war won't last long. Why, I shouldn't be away for more than a few months at the most, and you don't teach in the summer anyway. I'll be home by the time school begins.”

“But, Ned, what if you aren't? What if the war lasts longer?” Dimple said. “I wouldn't know what to do with myself, and I can set aside what I earn for later, when we set up housekeeping.”

Ned stood and pulled her into his arms. “Honey, I don't care about that. I want you now,” he said, and kissed her deeply.

With his arms holding her close and his lips warm on her own, Dimple felt they had already become one person. “You know I will always be yours,” she said.

But she had never been apart from her brother this long, and for years Henry had been her responsibility. He was fourteen now and had two more years of school ahead of him. If her papa and Henry were in agreement, she planned to ask Ned if her brother could complete his schooling here with her, but of course she would think about that later.

“Oh, Ned, wouldn't it be wonderful to have the wedding right here in the front parlor with all our families together? It's so beautiful here in the fall, and the war will surely be over by then.”

The dog frolicked at their feet and Ned stooped to pet him. For a long while, he didn't speak. “Sweetheart,” he said finally, “whatever you want will be all right with me, as long as I know I have you to come home to.”

And she held him close and assured him that he did.

*   *   *

Weeks later, Dimple and the Applewhites, with Ned's mother and sister, took the long buggy ride to Lewisburg to see Ned off on the train with his National Guard unit. In a few days, the men would board a ship to assist the Fifth Army Corps in establishing an American base of operations in Cuba.

As Ned kissed her just before boarding the train, he took the purple ribbon from her hair and tucked it inside his jacket. “I'll always think of you in purple,” he said as he climbed aboard.

What had she done?
“Oh, Ned, I love you so!” Dimple called as he disappeared in a sea of khaki. And feeling a great, painful emptiness, she watched the long train round the bend and wished with all her heart she could run after it and bring him back.

She never saw him again.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-SEVEN

Augusta continued to stitch as Dimple told her story, and when Dimple was finished, she tucked it away in her bag and went to sit beside her on a small chest at the foot of the bed. The sadness and regret in Dimple's heart, Augusta experienced in her own, and reaching out, she touched her hand.

“You've carried this burden for too many years. Oh, Dimple, I'm so sorry.”

“I do feel lighter somehow for having shared this,” Dimple said. “Thank you, Augusta, for listening.”

“Well, you know I'm here to help,” Augusta said, smiling. “I'm sure your friend Odessa would have done the same.”

And Dimple agreed that she would, but she had never had the courage or the justification to share it.

“Why have I never seen you wear the ring?” Augusta asked.

“The ring was for a promise I didn't keep. It's in a box at the bottom of my dresser drawer.”

Augusta fingered her necklace and the stones in rose and lavender, burning amber and twilight blue slipped slowly through her fingers. As Dimple watched, she began to sense a calmness akin to peace.

“Your Ned, how did he die?” Augusta asked softly.

“Yellow fever. The terrible virus took many of our young men—too many. He had only been there a little over a month when he came down with the illness. I read about it, Augusta. It was horrible! They began with severe headaches, fever, pain in the arms and legs, and then it progressed to something much worse. When I thought of my Ned suffering so in that place so far from home—his beautiful home—I could hardly bear it.

“They said he called for me in his delirium just before he died, and of course I wasn't there.”

Augusta took Dimple's hand in hers and there was comfort in her touch. “And don't you think that during his rational hours, Ned would've been at peace to know you were safe and well hundreds of miles away?

“Too, if you had married him, Dimple, you might have been left with a child, and that would've concerned him, as well.”

Dimple smiled. “Oh, I wish I had. Do you think I haven't felt that loss? I've often wondered about our might-have-been children. Would they have Ned's gray eyes and unruly mop of hair? Would they enjoy reading the classics and refuse to eat tomatoes?”

“Or perhaps they would prefer the peace of early-morning walks, the excitement of a good mystery book, and the knowledge that they have helped to form more young lives than they can possibly count,” Augusta said. “You have hundreds of children, Dimple Kilpatrick, there is no way to measure your value to your town and your friends, and you have been loyal to your Ned for all these many years. Don't you think he knows that?”

Dimple nodded. “Yes, I believe he does.”

“Then never forget you have loved and been loved, and for heaven's sake, go home and put that lovely ring on your finger, where it belongs!”

And Dimple smiled and promised that she would. “But first,” she added, “I think we need to try to find out who is responsible for Dora Westbrook's death.”

We should get an early start in the morning, Dimple thought as she lay in bed that night. They hoped to visit Elaine before the long drive back to Elderberry, and they had to be at school on Monday. Augusta had fallen asleep immediately, and Dimple listened to her companion's peaceful deep-sleep breathing and wished she could do the same. Flipping her pillow to the cool side, she thought of all the events of the day and wondered if she would ever go to sleep. And then she closed her eyes.

*   *   *

“Wake up, you sleepyheads! We have to call on Dora's sister before we get on the road for home,” Velma called, knocking on their bedroom door.

Dimple sat up and looked around. She couldn't believe she had slept the entire night without waking. “Coming,” she said, fumbling for her robe. Augusta, already dressed, sat by the window, plaiting her long hair into one braid that trailed over her shoulder. “Good morning,” she said.

“My goodness, Augusta, why did you let me sleep so late? We should've been on our way by now.”

“It's not even eight o'clock,” Augusta told her. “It's too early to go calling just yet. Besides, you needed the rest.”

“I think you're right about that,” Dimple said. “I don't know when I've slept so well. I don't believe I moved all night.”

“Sleep knits up the raveled sleeve of care, the poet says. I think you were long overdue.”

Dimple touched her toes and stretched. “It's a brand-new day, Augusta. I wish I had time for a walk.”

Augusta glanced out the window, where rain came down in a curtain of gray. “Then I hope you know how to swim,” she said.

*   *   *

“Shouldn't we telephone before we show up at the door?” Annie asked as water sprayed from both sides as they looked for Elaine Arnold's address. Outside the small car, the world was awash with rain, making it difficult to see street signs and house numbers,

“You're right. That would be the proper thing to do,” Velma said, frowning as she tried to see the road ahead, “but Chief Tinsley didn't think to give us the phone number.”

“And we didn't think to ask,” Dimple reminded her.

“Well then, we'll be a surprise,” Augusta piped up from the backseat. I should think Dora's sister would welcome a chance to find out more about the circumstances of her death.”

Miss Dimple adjusted her bifocals in an effort to see through the rain. “I can't imagine why she wouldn't,” she said, “and I've made a list of questions I want to ask her when we get there.”

“But what will we do if she's not at home?” Annie asked.

“In that case, I suppose we'll wait,” Velma told her, slowing as she came to an intersection. “I believe this might be the street.… Dimple, can you make out that sign?”

“Yes! Duncan's Ferry Road. Turn right here, Velma. It shouldn't be far now.”

A sycamore tree, still holding on to a few brown leaves, stood in front of the small brick house. A bicycle waited on the porch, and a jack-o'-lantern grinned from the front steps.

“They must have children,” Velma said as they pulled into the driveway. “This could be difficult.… I suppose I never thought…”

“We'll worry about that later.” Dimple stepped in ankle-deep water and popped open her lavender umbrella as she got out of the car. “Right now, I suggest we make a dash for the porch.”

Elaine Arnold must have been watching, because she met them at the door and immediately ushered them inside, where a wood fire burned on the hearth and a large calico cat slept on one end of a faded slipcovered sofa.

“You must be drenched. Slip out of those wet shoes and we'll put them by the fire, and I imagine you'd like something hot to drink. I've Russian tea keeping warm on the stove.”

From what Dimple had learned, Dora and her sister were close in age, but there the similarity ended. Where Dora had been awkward and shy, with dull brown hair, her sister was warm and welcoming. Small and slightly plump, she wore her hair in a pompadour, with the sides rolled back and pinned in a style that had become popular during the war years.

Her friendly smile, however, didn't mask the sadness in her eyes. “Please sit down,” she said, shooing the cat off the sofa.

“You have children?” Dimple spoke softly, and Elaine nodded, smiling. “Cindy spent the night with a friend, and Eddie's youth group's responsible for decorating the church fellowship hall for a Halloween party, so he won't be home for a while.

“Both are aware of my sister's death, but we haven't discussed the details with them. Frankly, I have a lot of questions about what happened and why.”

“And so do we,” Dimple told her, “and we're hoping that with your help, we might be able to come up with some answers.”

Over tea and gingersnaps, Elaine told them of Carolyn Freeman, her sister's college friend from Macon. “It took some searching, but I finally found a snapshot of the two in an old Christmas card. Our parents died when my sister and I were young, and Dora and I were raised by our grandmother. We were still living with her then, and Carolyn had sent it to that address. Our grandmother even kept the envelope, as she probably wanted to save the address for the next Christmas, but she died a few months after that. I've always wondered if Dora would've married Leonard Westbrook if she had lived.”

Miss Dimple examined the envelope. “Have you tried to get in touch?”

“I wrote, but it came back,” Elaine told them. “For all I know, Carolyn married and moved away.”

“So who do you think Dora went to see in Macon?” Velma asked.

Elaine shook her head. “I can't imagine. I believe Carolyn was her closest friend at Wesleyan, and I wouldn't be surprised if they kept in touch, but except for Carolyn, I don't know why she would make it a point to stop there.”

Augusta ran fingers through damp hair that curled about her face. “In Macon, she bought a bus ticket for Elderberry, but no one there seems to know her or understand why she came,” she said. “It would appear more likely for her to have come here to you. From what the police found out, she had enough money with her to have purchased a fare all the way to Lewisburg.”

“If she was planning to come here, she didn't let me know,” Elaine said. “She and Leonard were to come for Christmas—or at least Dora was. She wasn't sure if Leonard would go off and leave his mother.”

Annie made a face. “I've heard about his mother.”

“Lucille.” Elaine groaned. “Frightening woman.”

“Do you think she might've had something to do with what happened to Dora?” Velma asked.

“It wouldn't surprise me, but I can't imagine why, unless she just wanted her out of the house,” Elaine said, “but that seems pretty drastic, even for her.”

“Some friends of ours recently made a trip to Fieldcroft to talk with people who might have known Dora,” Dimple told her, “and it has come to light that Dora had been in communication with someone from South Carolina—Columbia, I believe. Do you have any idea what that was about?”

“Columbia?” Elaine frowned. “She didn't mention it to me, and I can't imagine who it might be. Your friends,” she added, “did they have a chance to speak with Leonard while they were there?”