Wings of a Dream (17 page)

“Imagine meeting you here.” I tapped my foot on the plank beneath my feet.

“Great, isn’t it?” He lifted his face to the sky until his neck stretched long. “Amazing what those boys can do.”

As I nodded, two men in uniform closed the distance behind him. Two familiar men. My heart seemed to stand still.

Arthur.

His uniform accentuated his leanness. Had he lost weight since he’d arrived here? Had he been ill and not told me? I searched his face for any signs of weariness, but he looked as hale and hearty as always. I popped up from my seat, my coat and purse filling my hands, my feet stumbling out of the stands until I stood on solid ground.

He stopped just beyond my reach. I wanted to throw myself in his arms, but in spite of all my bold actions of the day, I couldn’t quite forget myself to that extent.

“Rebekah.” Arthur’s eyes didn’t light on mine. His gaze darted to the ground, the sky, beside me, behind me, refusing to land on anything for more than an instant.

I stepped forward. “Arthur, darling.”

Sheriff Jeffries’s mouth hung open. And of course his hat twirled around and around and around in his fingers.

Arthur glanced at Captain Denton.

“Ah. I guess we’d better be going now.” Captain Denton turned to the sheriff. “Let me show you the electric lights that will come on after dark.”

Captain Denton dragged the sheriff away—but not before Sheriff Jeffries gave Arthur a long, hard look. Then we were alone. Or almost alone. A few others still mingled about the grandstands.

He moved closer. “What are you doing here?” His hushed voice sounded accusatory.

“I . . . I . . . ” Those weren’t the words he was supposed to say.

He rolled his eyes and looked away. Grabbing my arm, he led me behind the bleachers, away from the stragglers.

“Darling.” I put my hand up to caress his cheek. “I was worried.” He pulled back as if I’d slapped him.

“Look.” He swiped back the lock of straw-colored hair that tipped over his forehead. “I don’t know how to tell you, so I’ll just say it straight.” He took a deep breath and finally looked me in the eye. “I’m engaged.”

My lips curled. “I know. To me.”

Then I realized he wasn’t talking about me. We weren’t actually engaged. Not yet. My chest refused to draw air.

His hand shook as he lit a cigarette and placed it between his lips. I stared at the bright red tip, the smoke dissipating around us. The eyes that had spoken volumes avoided me now.

“Lily’s a nurse. She was around a lot during the quarantine.” He puffed a few more times, then tossed down his cigarette and ground it into the dirt beneath his feet. “I’m sorry, Rebekah. I never meant to hurt you. I thought you’d forget about me.”

“Forget?” I devoured air now, filling my chest to spew the anger that roiled there like storm clouds in the spring. “How could I forget those days in Downington? How could I forget your promises? And the letters you wrote me? Forget! You told my mother you intended to come back for me. You promised.”

His expression never wavered, almost as if he didn’t remember the conversations I’d recited to myself a hundred times or more.

I took a step back, rage rolling like thunder inside me. “You, you . . .”

I didn’t know any words terrible enough to call him. Humiliation stole over me, burning my face. He didn’t want me. Perhaps he never had. All my hopes for the future lay buried in an instant.

My legs threatened not to hold me upright a moment longer.

“Everything okay here?” Sheriff Jeffries again.

I bit the inside of my cheek, refusing to let my tears flow as I fumbled to don my coat. The sheriff reached around and held it for me.

I looked at a spot in the sky, above and to the right of the sheriff’s head. “If you would direct me to the train, Sheriff Jeffries, I’d like to return to Union Station.”

I assumed he nodded, for he began to walk. I followed him to the gate where I’d entered with Captain Denton, Arthur tagging along behind. We stood together on the platform, the three of us, Arthur’s guilt clear on his boyish face.

It felt like hours before a train screeched to a stop and emptied of its jubilant passengers. I climbed into the railcar, jerking my elbow away from Arthur’s helping hand. The sheriff led me to a seat, but my eyes remained forward as the train gained speed. Just a short ride and I’d be back in Union Station. From there, I could return to Prater’s Junction.

But what I really wanted was home. I wanted Mama to hold me while I cried out my story. But I couldn’t go home. And Mama, still recovering, couldn’t come to me, either.

In spite of feeling so grown up these past few weeks, I suddenly wanted to be a child again. Yet I knew that to be impossible. I’d said I would care for Frank and Clara Gresham’s children. Frank was counting on me to keep my word.

“Rebekah?” The sheriff’s voice, kind but unwanted.

I pressed my lips together, determined not to cry. Not here. Not yet. For I feared that once I started, I’d never stop.

We waited three hours for the train that would carry us back to Prater’s Junction. “Don’t you want something to eat?” Sheriff Jeffries asked.

One glance into his face and I had to look away. Too much pity there. I shook my head. He sighed before his shoes clomped across the floor to find food for himself.

He returned and sat next to me.

“Please, Sheriff. Go on back to the Frolic.” I looked in his direction, but not at him. “I can get back by myself.”

He wiped a handkerchief across his mouth. “I’ve had enough for the day. I’ll see you back home. I don’t mind.”

I opened my mouth to protest again, for Prater’s Junction was not my home. Would never be my home. But what was the use? So we sat in silence, as I reviewed the details of my romance with Arthur over and over again. What had I done wrong? When had I misunderstood his intentions? Nothing in my life had prepared me for this pain of loss.

Yes, Aunt Adabelle’s death had been sudden and shocking, but she’d been ill. Besides, it wasn’t like I hadn’t known anyone who’d died before. I remembered Amy Jones from my first years of school. We’d played together at recess. Her sleek black braids mesmerized me, as did her dancing black eyes, and her laugh that sounded like bits of glass raining down on each other.

Amy’d been swept away in the creek when she went to fetch water. She was nine years old. And there was John, more Will’s friend than mine, kicked in the head by an old mule. And, of course, the boys killed in the war.

Death didn’t surprise me. It didn’t surprise anyone I knew. But I couldn’t comprehend this betrayal. All the men in my life kept their word. Arthur had said he loved me. Hadn’t he? My mind pictured each of the letters in my possession. Well, at least he’d asked me to wait for him. And he signed his letters “with all my love.” Or had that been my closing line?

Anguish rose from my toes, through my legs, my stomach, my chest, like rainwater filling the cistern a few drops at a time. Soon the grief would choke me, and I’d have to let it out. But not yet. Not yet.

The day had drawn to a close when the train let us off at Prater’s Junction.

Sheriff Jeffries touched me gently on the arm. “Let me drive you home, Rebekah.”

I forced myself to look him in the eyes. “I so appreciate your friendship today. I really do. But I need to walk. I need some time alone.”

He nodded with a frown but stepped aside. I swept past him into the dusky haze of twilight. It reminded me of the first evening I’d walked into what I’d thought was my aunt’s house. That night I couldn’t have anticipated the tragedy that awaited me.

Now I had no care if dangers lurked in the shadows. What did it matter if anything happened to me? Arthur was out of reach, flown away to a future where I had no place. He’d done more than kill my dreams of romance and adventure. He’d stranded me here, in a life I had no desire to lead.

Tears stole down my cheeks. I didn’t give in to them, the excess simply overflowed without restraint. I hooked my handbag around my arm and watched the shadow of it swing as the moon played hide-and-seek among the clouds. Nearly two whole dollars of Frank’s money—money meant for his family—gone. Spent on a fool’s errand. I figured Daddy would send money if I asked. But how would I explain what I’d done?

And what about Mama? How would she take the news about Arthur? Of course, in her mind, Barney Graves still waited, like those extra ingredients in case the first cake fell flat.

I pulled my coat around me, the day’s warmth having left with the light. The road turned. I looked up, expecting a dark and gloomy house. Instead, light glowed through the parlor window. My stomach clutched. I didn’t want to see anyone now. Maybe I could sleep in the barn, avoid any conversation until morning. As if in answer, a swift breeze rolled out of the north and reminded me that the calendar said November. In spite of my coat, sleeping outside the house wouldn’t be a pleasant experience.

My feet carried me through the gate, up the walk and the porch steps, and around to the back. The heels of my shoes echoed on the planks, but no one met me at the kitchen door. I set my handbag on the table before following the trail of light to the parlor. My steps slowed. I picked up an umbrella from the brass holder in the hall and held it in front of me, its point my protection.

Whoever resided within must have heard my shoes rattling the floor, maybe even my heart beating against my chest. I rounded the corner and stepped into the brightness. Ollie lay on the sofa wrapped in a quilt, her big eyes blinking back at me. I lowered the umbrella.

“What are you doing up? Where’s Nola Jean?” Exasperation, fear, and longing collided, leaving my words harsh and condemning.

She sat up. “Nola Jean wanted to go home after she milked Ol’ Bob. Said she hated walking alone in the dark.”

What had that girl been thinking, leaving four little children alone like that? I’d have some words for her tomorrow.

Ollie scooted off the sofa but didn’t move toward me. “I told her you’d be home soon. Besides, Janie cried most all day long.”

No wonder Nola Jean wanted to leave. I didn’t blame her. I wanted to melt into a puddle on the floor myself. Already I felt more tears spilling over onto my cheeks. I avoided Ollie’s gaze, straightened the lace doily on the small table beside the sofa. “I’m home now, honey. Get on to bed.”

She hesitated, seeming to need something more from me, but I had nothing left to give. I needed time to think. Time and quiet. And I imagined I wouldn’t get much of either come daybreak.

I snuffed the lamp and followed her up the stairs. My teeth chattered as I slithered into my flannel gown and huddled beneath the quilts. But even as my body grew warm, I wondered if the children had enough to cover them. Sometimes Dan kicked off the blankets as he slept. My bare feet hit the chilly floor. I sucked in a sharp breath before hurrying into the next bedroom.

Sure enough, Dan’s leg hung off the bed, out of the reach of any scrap of fabric, as if his feet needed a head start to hit the floor when he woke. I pushed him closer to his brother. He turned on his side, his leg disappearing under the covers. I tucked the quilt beneath the mattress.

Pushing back the mass of blond hair on his head, I could see the place where I’d clipped it short around his wound. I needed to check that in the morning, make sure his scalp was healing as it should. And perhaps I should cut the rest of his hair to match. I’d been here almost a month; both boys needed a trim.

My feet tingled on their way to numb. I tiptoed back to my bed and climbed in. None of my earlier warmth remained. I stretched the quilts over my head and crunched my knees to my chest. Just as well. Cold fit my feelings. It reminded me that I had no hope of someone to warm my heart or my bed.