The Mine (27 page)

Katie giggled.

The hour in line had given the three more than ample time to discuss the past week, Thanksgiving plans, and the pending departure of their friend. Though news of Tom's all but certain conscription into the armed forces surprised few, it still carried a punch.

Tom and Ginny had planned to attend the movie but opted out at the last minute, saying that they needed a weekend at the coast more than a Saturday at the flicks. Ginny had taken the news hard and had all but put her life on hold for the next two weeks.

"I keep thinking about Tom," Katie said, burrowing into Joel's side. "I know a lot of boys who have received their notices. Do you ever worry that you'll be next?"

Joel laughed to himself when he heard the question. This time he could honestly say he had given the matter serious thought. But he was no closer to providing an answer than when Tom had asked him essentially the same thing in Seaside.

"I do. But I try not to think about the draft. There's not a lot I can do about it."

"I'm concerned about Tom," Grace said. "Ginny said he is convinced we will be drawn into the war and that he will see combat by the summer. He is worried about how he will perform if he does. He's obsessed by it, in fact."

Joel flinched.

Make that two of us.

"I think he'll be OK," Katie said. "President Roosevelt has kept us at peace so far. I have faith he'll keep it that way."

Grace looked up at Joel, as if seeking clues to his views on the matter. But she did not expand on Katie's prediction or mention Tom's name the rest of the night. She instead grabbed Joel's left arm a little tighter and turned to her friend.

"I hope you are right, Katie, for his sake and for ours."

* * * * *

When the movie ended three hours later, the trio headed not for the exits but rather the concession stand. The girls wanted drinks and Joel wanted change from a twenty. They requested both from a counter-wiping clerk as she shut down her shop. When the harried employee returned a moment later with two sodas and several bills, Joel heard a familiar voice.

"Well, now. It looks like we have a big spender."

Joel glanced at the other end of the counter and saw Mr. Congeniality, the white-trash bill collector who nearly beat Tom senseless that wild night outside the Mad Dog. At his side were two similar-sized friends from the trailer park.

"I'll bet you never thought you'd see me again."

"You're right," Joel said. "But then, I don't make prison visits."

Joel handed his dates their beverages and escorted them to the end of a line that slowly worked its way to the street. As he pressed forward, he noticed that the three men, dressed in work shirts and jeans, had not found a new distraction. They sneered and laughed at Katie. One man licked his lips.

Joel shook his head and pushed the punks out of his mind. He had far more pressing things to ponder, like his Army-bound friend and the gathering storm in the Pacific. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he guided Grace and Katie through the theater's entrance to the sidewalk.

The weather, mercifully, had improved during the show. The rain had stopped and the wind had subsided, leaving a cool but comfortable late fall evening behind. Buttoning their coats, the three turned north and commenced a ten-block walk to Klickitat Avenue.

They traveled three blocks before trouble announced itself with a shout.

"It's not fair, you know."

The bill collector had apparently tired of popcorn and peanuts.

"Keep going, Joel," Grace said with a firm voice.

"It's not fair, I tell you."

Joel stopped and turned to face the malcontent.

"What do you want?"

"Who said I wanted anything?" he asked.

The bill collector's companions, a pizza-faced brute named Rocky and a gap-toothed lout named Rex, laughed and leered.

"I'm just saying it's not fair. You have two dates and we have none."

"Get lost," Joel said.

He put his arms around Grace and Katie and nudged them forward. But the retreat only fed his antagonist.

"Two bits."

Once more, Joel stopped. Once again, Grace counseled restraint.

"They're not worth it. Please. I beg you."

Joel took a breath and pushed his party northward. When they reached the end of the block, where the commercial zone met the residential, the fun resumed.

"I'll give you two bits for the Jap bitch."

Joel stopped and pulled his arms from Grace and Katie.

"Ladies."

With that, the linebacker, geology major, and furniture salesman left restraint behind. He let loose with a rage, charging the leader of the pack with an attack that surprised even the intended target. Like all good fighters, Joel got in the first good punch. His right hook to the bill collector's jaw sent him reeling into the base of a tree. He ignored the other two and hit his foe in the face and then in the stomach, unleashing all the frustrations of five months into one glorious display of violence.

This time, however, the accomplices did not flee but rather intervened and turned the tide. Seeing that their friend was about to get slaughtered, they attacked Joel from the sides and threw him to the cold wet grass. When the ringleader regrouped, the three had their way and pummeled Joel repeatedly with blows to the face and chest.

Katie screamed and drew the attention of passers-by, while Grace yanked Rocky's hair and brought Joel needed relief. When the bully got up on a knee, turned on Grace, and tried to punch his way free, two men ran across the street to come to her aid.

The first responder pulled Grace out of harm's way and kept her attacker at bay. The second grabbed Rex by his collar, threw him to the curb, and kicked him twice in the side. A dozen others crowded around and gawked. When a policeman passed the scene a moment later and parked across the street, the three thugs scattered. But the damage had been done. Joel had a face of pulp and four badly bruised ribs.

The gathering storm had come to the Ave.

CHAPTER 56

Only one soul rattled in the mansion in Madison Park, but she knew how to cook. For the better part of two days, she made bread, baked pies, sliced vegetables, and prepared a turkey for two guests, including one she had never met. When the two arrived around one, she took their coats and directed them to the living room, where a picture window with a view of the lake and a roaring fire brought light into a dour day.

"I'm so glad you could make it. You know how I hate eating alone," Edith Green Tomlinson said. "Were the roads bad?"

"They were icy in places but pretty good overall," Grace said. "We took our time."

The college senior embraced her sole remaining blood relative and then stepped back to make an introduction that was weeks overdue.

"Aunt Edith, this is my dear friend Joel Smith. Joel, this is my aunt."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

Joel offered a hand but got an affectionate hug in return. The lady of the house did not like stiff introductions, particularly with someone who would likely become part of the family. Still striking at forty-one, Edith had the regal look of a Nordic queen. Like her niece she had a creamy complexion, crystal-blue eyes, and thick blond hair that had yet to see a touch of gray. Widowed for five years, she had survived, even thrived, by managing her late husband's real estate holdings and by creating and selling landscape paintings that had become the talk of the city.

"Please make yourselves comfortable," she said with a West Country accent that had remained intact after two decades in the United States.

Joel and Grace sat on a sofa facing the fireplace and did just that, while their host finished setting a table in an adjacent dining room and carried on a light conversation. She returned to the living room a few minutes later with a bottle of sherry, poured three glasses, and settled into an upholstered armchair by the window.

"Grace tells me you grew up in England," Joel said.

"I was born and bred in Falmouth, in Cornwall, and came to Seattle with Grace's mother when we were eighteen. My father wanted us to pursue an education in America after the war. There was little for us in Britain, and my uncle was a dean at the university, so Father put us on a boat shortly after the hostilities ceased."

"Did you both go to school here?"

"I did. I enrolled at the first opportunity and eventually graduated with a degree in social work. Lucille was another matter. She met a young seminary student shortly after we arrived and ran off to Minnesota."

"You seem to have done well."

"My husband did well. He was a very successful businessman. I met him the day I graduated, and we married the next year," she said, topping off her glass and settling into her chair. "We had eleven years together before his stroke."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Thank you. It was very difficult at first, but I'm managing. In any event, that is ancient history and more than enough about me. I would much rather hear about you. I don't receive many visitors, so forgive me if I seem rather inquisitive."

When Edith saw Joel glance toward the corner of the room and smile, she immediately regretted playing the part of a lonely widow. He had no doubt seen the pipe and fedora resting on a small table and correctly concluded she wasn't quite as lonely as she made herself out to be. She kept his perceptiveness in mind as she listened to him recount his time in the city.

After pouring another glass for each of her guests, Edith turned toward Joel and finally addressed a subject that had long been on her mind: his appearance. Though the black around his eyes appeared in full retreat and two cuts on his cheek showed signs of healing, he still bore the marks of a serious beating.

"Thank you for protecting the girls the other night," she said. "I worry about Grace's safety and it's nice to know she has someone looking out for her."

"Anyone else would have done the same," he said.

"Perhaps. But you are the one who did." Edith sipped her wine and then brushed some lint off her print housedress. "Have the police found the responsible parties?"

"Not yet," Grace said. "But there were a lot of witnesses."

"Well, in any case, I'm glad you are all right. How are your ribs?"

"They're still a little sore, particularly on my left side. I won't be playing football this weekend, but I'm feeling pretty good."

Edith flashed Grace a knowing smile. She could see why her kin had broken off a seemingly solid engagement to a similarly appealing young man and felt much better about a decision that she had initially questioned.

"That's good. When Grace told me about your altercation, I wasn't sure what to expect. She said you'd been put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital."

"I went in for a routine exam," Joel said. "None of my cuts needed stitches, and none of my bones needed setting. The doctor looked me over and sent me home. If you really want to know who kept me in one piece, you should talk to Grace. From what I heard, she did a number on one of the toughs. She gave him the Custer treatment."

The aunt gave her niece a puzzled look.

"I grabbed his hair," she said, her face turning red.

Edith laughed.

"I can just picture that. Grace can be very resourceful when she sets her mind to something. Did you leave him with a scalp?"

"I think so. I hope so. But I didn't have a chance to check. He wiggled a lot and screamed rather loudly."

Edith glanced at Joel as he smiled and shook his head. She could see that he found Grace's limitless empathy endearing. She could also see the affection in his eyes. This was a man who truly loved her niece.

"Well done, dear. It appears that at least one unpleasant man in Seattle will not be harassing others anytime soon," Edith said. "Now, if you two are ready, I believe we have a Thanksgiving feast to enjoy."

* * * * *

Joel could not remember a better holiday meal, including the many prepared by his mother and grandmothers. Aunt Edith had made everything from scratch and most things from memory. Joel had loaded up on roasted turkey, chestnut stuffing, and candied yams, as well as mince pie, mashed turnips, and homemade biscuits with crabapple jelly. He thought of Norman Rockwell's
Freedom from Want
painting and wondered if people from this time had always eaten this well.

He also thought about how this Thanksgiving had differed from all the others. In the houses of Smith and Jorgenson, males made a seamless transition from apple pie and cheesecake to the Cowboys and Lions. In the house of Edith Tomlinson, they went from dessert to the kitchen. Joel helped Grace wash a stack of dishes before joining the hostess for coffee in the living room.

"Did you get enough to eat?" Edith asked.

"Trust me when I say that's a question you didn't need to ask."

"I like him, Grace. You should bring him by more often."

"I've been meaning to, but he's hard to pin down. When he's not at the furniture store, he's getting into trouble with Tom Carter."

"How is your friend?"

"He's holding up," Joel said. "But it's hard. He does not want to join the Army."

"That seems to be a common sentiment. A boy on our street was called up just last week and he did not want to go either. These are such difficult times."

"They are."

"Do you think America will become involved in the hostilities?"

Joel thought about the question and considered his reply. He wanted to tell Edith that the shit was about to hit the fan and that many more boys from her safe, comfortable neighborhood were about to be sent to unsafe, uncomfortable places. He wanted to tell Grace that he knew what was coming and that it was time for them to escape to a tropical island, where they could ride out the ugliness and not think about Hitler or Tojo or catastrophic loss. But he knew events had already reached a point where even a prescient time traveler could do little more than make the best of a bad situation.

"It's inevitable. I'd like to think we could stay out of this with skillful diplomacy and assistance to Britain and Russia, but it's not going to happen. We'll be at war soon."