“How’d you learn about these?”
“In Chicago. A woman from Massachusetts stayed at the same place Milt and I did. She knew a lady who worked in a restaurant out there. One day she cut up pieces of chocolate into her cookie dough—or maybe they got in there by accident—I forget the details. Word of these cookies spread far and wide. Eventually, she traded the recipe for a lifetime supply of chocolate.”
“You don’t say. Do you know her name?”
“Ruby something…or was it Eleanora? Quite the inventor, huh?”
Bonnie Mae munched her third cookie. “Anyway, that woman in our building brought us some cookies that Christmas. Nicest gift we had that year.”
Bonnie Mae never mentioned her time away from Sternville, so Dottie ventured a question. “How long did you live out there?”
“Too long. I got spoiled, although Helene believes I was already spoiled before I left.”
Dottie declined to comment.
“Well, anyway, that’s the past. The future looks better every day. Never thought I’d say I wouldn’t mind living in this town the rest of my life.” Bonnie Mae fiddled with the edge of the oilcloth.
“You and Tom getting along?”
Cheeks bright, Bonnie nodded. “Real well.”
Dottie reached across the table and tapped the back of her hand. “I’m so glad for you. Those children need a mama, and you’d make a fine one.”
“You think so? I don’t know—never pictured myself like that.”
“Well, you’d better start—seems like my picture of myself changes every day, in ways I never imagined.” Bonnie Mae leaned forward—she was really listening. “Those children aren’t going away, and I saw how Tom looks at you. Children bring you a lifetime of pleasure, mark my words.”
“Helene would have a fit.”
“Yes, but that’s what she does no matter what. She might as well have one over something good for once.”
“I didn’t know about you at first, I’ll admit. But you’ve turned out okay, Dottie.”
“Thanks. At least, I think that’s a compliment.”
“It is. I would imagine Helene’s talked to you some about me.” Bonnie peered at her, but Dottie kept a blank face. “That’s all right—I don’t want to know what she said. I could probably repeat it right now, anyway, without hearing. I’m no-good. I’m spoiled. I’m foolish. I’ve got a big, sassy mouth. I was trouble from the moment I was born. That about it?”
Dottie gave nothing away.
“I was foolish to take up with that confounded Milt. But his sweet-talkin’ got to me—I itched for adventure and believed every word he said. After Mama died, Helene pretended she didn’t have a little sister. Our older sister Felicity was as fickle as gas pains, and…”
A warning light went off inside Dottie. She sat up straighter. Had Bonnie Mae just called Felicity her sister? She stirred a little honey into her tea.
“I suppose that happens more often to young girls in big cities—you don’t know a man’s family, so you have to judge everything by what he says. People can put on airs, and lying comes easily to some folks.”
“That’s for sure. Milt was a prime example. But I never did get it until the end, when he took up with a high school girl right in front of me.” Her brow puckered, as if reliving that awful time. She took a deep breath and a sip of tea. “Helene probably calls me stupid, too, and I have to say, I sure was, back then.”
“But you’ve learned from all that, haven’t you?”
Bonnie Mae took another cookie. “I sure have.”
“If you’re learning, you’re not stupid. Most people can’t stand back and see their mistakes, Bonnie Mae—that’s a real plus. And sometimes we do get second chances.”
“Do you believe in them?”
“I do.” Al’s attention to her aching feet and the tender moments they shared Thanksgiving night passed through Dottie’s mind. “Without second chances, where would any of us be?”
“Even people like Helene? You think she’ll get a second chance at being happy?”
Dottie drew a breath. “Maybe we have to be open to see our second chances. But some people find their happiness in being miserable, to my way of thinking.”
“You’re right—she does enjoy being upset.” Bonnie Mae’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Wonder if Felicity ever got another chance. Or if Ned has had an opportunity for one, but didn’t take it.”
“You mean in romance?”
“Yeah.”
“Ned seems like a good man. I never knew Felicity, but she’s the sort of woman I could never understand.” Bonnie Mae jumped up to refill their teacups. She took the kettle back to the stove, and Dottie assumed she’d stopped paying attention. “To leave again after…now, that’s something I can’t fathom. She gave up so much.”
“What do you mean?”
Dottie reached for her second cookie. Bonnie Mae sure had been right about this recipe—it had a soothing effect, and drinking tea in the middle of the afternoon was a forbidden treat. She tried to analyze what Felicity might have been thinking the last time she left town.
“To leave again, once she came back here when your Grandma died. To have seen what a wonderful girl you were, and then to…”
She almost choked at the painful way Bonnie Mae’s face twisted. “My Grandma? What a wonderful girl I was…?”
“Er, yes…why I…” Dottie had never felt so bumble-headed. She’d known better than to let the conversation stay on Felicity for long. How could she possibly dig herself out of this? She swiped at her forehead and diverted her eyes, but it was no use. One look at Bonnie Mae’s face told her not to even try.
“Mama was…” The girl shook her red curls as if to clear her head. “Are you saying Mama was actually my grandmother?”
The clock on the wall ticked so slowly Dottie could scarcely breathe. She grabbed the edge of the table. “Oh my. I’ve spoken out of turn, dear. I didn’t mean…”
Bonnie Mae rose in slow motion, her eye color like the low, scraggly boughs of a pine forest on a cloudy day. Dottie bit her lip, and a coppery taste filled her mouth. If only she could take back her words.
“Mama—she wasn’t my mother?” Bonnie Mae jerked sideways, half standing. Dottie wished those eyes would veer away from hers. The girl’s voice turned thoughtful.
“She always told me to call Helene Auntie on account of her being so much older, even though she was my sister.” Bonnie Mae stumbled against the table leg. “But Helene always seemed like an aunt, not a sister—know what I mean? Something never fit quite right.”
The weight of the world crushed down on Dottie. Her eyes smarted. “Honey, didn’t you know why she let Felicity take you with her those times?”
Bonnie Mae’s tone took on a lifeless edge. “No. Felicity was a wild one, that’s for sure. I don’t remember much from those trips, except they always involved men. One named Harry, and one named Percival. There was another. I don’t even recall his name, but he was mean to Felicity.”
Dottie hung on every word. Oh, why had she allowed a little tea and some savory cookies to addle her brain so?
“Mama’s illness made it hard for her to take care of me, so everyone decided I should go live with Felicity for a while. Then when Mama—Grandma—died, Helene maintained my only rightful place was with Felicity and Ned. But nobody ever…”
She ran her tongue back and forth over her teeth and reared up from her chair. Back and forth, she paced the floor. “I wanted a daddy real bad, so when we came back here that last time, I started calling Ned my stepfather.”
Dottie pressed her palms into the sides of her chair. What had she done? She ought never to have left her normal mode, keeping her words few and far between. She kneaded her throat with cold fingers.
Bonnie Mae flopped her arms against her sides. “I always wondered about Felicity—our eyes looked so much alike. There’s still a picture of her in the house, you know, and when I look at it, I feel…”
She halted square with Dottie’s chair. “But she never uttered a word—not even good-bye. How could she have been my mother?”
“I don’t know—I can’t understand that, because you’re a fine girl, and you’ve grown into a beautiful woman.” Dottie’s voice came out hoarse. “Maybe…maybe she was so young when you were born and it seemed best to…”
“Lie to me?” The girl’s voice strained, as though she suffered a bad sore throat. “So that’s how it was! I’d been living a lie way before I ever met up with Milt. I’ve lived a lie from the moment I was born, and Helene kept it up—she could’ve told me when Mama—when Grandma died. She could have said, I really am your aunt, and Felicity is your moth—”
Her face paled, even her freckles. “—She could have told me when Milt left me, too, and I had nowhere else to go but here. And all this time…” She ran her fingers through her hair.
Dottie reached for her forearm, fumbling for words. An angry rush wracked her abdomen. Didn’t a person have the right to know their origins? Why didn’t Helene tell her the truth?
“Are you…are you all right? I’m so sorry…”
“All right?” Bonnie Mae flung back her hair, startled out of its pins. “I’m as all right as rain. I’m going for a long, long walk. Maybe things will fall into place in my head. But you…” She pulled on her coat and scarf and turned back.
Dottie quailed. Bonnie Mae might never forgive her. Closer, the flushed young woman squatted before her and touched her cheek. Chocolate cookie aroma laced her breath.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about, Dottie Kyle. You’re the first person who’s ever looked me in the eye and told me the truth. Even if you did it accidentally.”
Dottie sat at the table after the outside door banged shut. The touch of Bonnie Mae’s fingertips remained on her skin.
She took a deep breath. She needed to finish making supper. That roaster full of leftover turkey and gravy bubbled in the oven now, and she needed to peel potatoes. Reheat yesterday’s corn. Cut the leftover pie. But she felt glued to her chair. The clock’s faithful tick-tock reminded her of the passage of time.
Her comments about second chances swirled in her head like wayward tumbleweeds. She did believe in them, especially for Bonnie Mae. If that poor girl could only get past this shock, she’d be okay. No wonder she ended up the way she had. At her age, she surely deserved another opportunity for marriage and family.
Dottie walked through the dining room corner into the parlor. The men were so involved in another game, they didn’t even notice. She found an angle where she could see Bonnie Mae’s retreating form hurrying along the sidewalk toward Main Street.
“Please help her find peace, and give her a second chance with Tom.”
Al’s laughter joined the other men’s as they ended a round of cards. He was such a gentleman, to spend all this time with George and the others—so unselfish, so caring.
His serious expression in the dim light of the back hallway last night might have given her a start if she hadn’t been so weary. Once he left, she got into her flannel nightgown, climbed into bed, and lay there thinking about their satisfying day and that look on his face. Except for when he teased her, she’d begun to know what he was about to say by the look in his eyes.
But last night, she couldn’t fathom what his expression said. She hoped it had something to do with second chances.
Bonnie Mae’s figure disappeared around a corner. Dottie returned to the kitchen and fished a paring knife out of the drawer. Maybe she’d make George another bowl of his favorite Jello salad, since yesterday’s disappeared with the first passing. Leaning down to gather potatoes from the vegetable bin, she caught the heady scent of chocolate chips.
Al’s laughter wafted through the closed swinging door. Dottie pictured Bonnie Mae walking out her newfound discovery. Her heart thumped in rhythm with that sweet girl’s spritely step, though she couldn’t see her right now.
The men guffawed again, and Al explained something to the others—she could tell by the rhythm of his sentences. Praying for Bonnie Mae was easy, much easier than putting her own longings into words.
****
Jensen’s Hardware geared up for Christmas. Delbert ordered a case of Daisy Red Ryder BB guns, and hung a yellow and red poster featuring Red Ryder himself. The first time Al saw the bright tag board message in the window, he stepped back. Under a white cowboy hat, Red Ryder pointed his forefinger at the reader like Uncle Sam.
“I’ll help you get a DAISY for Christmas. Send coupon below for your free Christmas kit.” A prominently displayed Winchester boasted carbine action. Underneath, another enticement wooed young would-be buyers. Only $2.99, a big box of BB’s included.
But the gun itself cost way more than that. Al rubbed his chin. So many hard-working families couldn’t come up with that kind of money, with or without help from Red Ryder. Good thing his grandsons had grown too old for such. Back in his day, his dad gave him a real gun when he turned twelve, and taught him to bag squirrels and rabbits to help feed the family. But for Christmas? They enjoyed Grandpa Jensen’s gift of a crate of apples, with maybe a few oranges thrown in.
Al rarely interfered with Del’s decisions at the hardware, but these toys seemed wasteful. He’d ventured his opinion a few days earlier. “You sure you want to tempt hard-working folks like this?”
Del’s curt answer left no room for argument. “Dad, the company’s already sold almost a million guns this year. Think of it—a million! We might as well get in on the rage. Why shouldn’t we, when other merchants all over the nation sell them? And we only have to pay shipping from Michigan.”
Al moseyed back to the new electric iron display. On the market for about ten years before the war, irons were in such short supply from ’40 to ’44 that he’d hardly stocked any. The newer streamlined models were much lighter. He lifted one to compare with Nan’s old one.
Delbert’s order might be right on track—maybe fifteen women in Sternville would ask for one of these for Christmas. But Al couldn’t imagine such a thing.
Other years, he’d been eager to see the store’s proceeds at the end of December. But this season, his mind often wandered when he came in to help Delbert. He was getting downright fuzzy headed, thinking about Dottie’s dilemma—how to see Cora and those grandbabies. And his own puzzle, how to win her heart, left him bewildered.
Dottie wasn’t the kind of woman who could be “won,” like winning that round of checkers last week. He couldn’t strategize his way through this. There was no impressing her, no wooing, flattering, or pursuing. She would have to want his companionship, and for that to happen, she’d have to realize she needed him—she’d have to feel lonely.
Trouble was, he didn’t know that she did. Except for that night after Cora’s phone call, she’d never admitted as much, and she seemed to handle things well on her own.
Love for him would have to grow in her on its own—he felt utterly helpless. He looked down, realized he put a cardboard display together backwards, and threw up his hands. Nothing he disliked more than wasting time, and that’s exactly what he’d done.
He wandered the quiet aisles of tools. Shovels, rakes, hammers, saws, thermometers, rain gages, and a plethora of other inventions that used to interest him. Now, they swam before him, insignificant. But one memory encouraged him: Dottie declared she trusted him the other night. That had to mean something. Surely it did.
He straightened a row of detergent boxes in the cleaning aisle. Maybe he’d outrun his usefulness here. With the afternoon games at the boarding house, he hadn’t volunteered to work as often, and Del rarely called with an emergency. Maybe he was getting too old for this.
He’d even had trouble concentrating at checkers and Five Hundred lately. To lose track of trump during a game, when victory depended on remembering, had given him several embarrassing moments. Once, Bert’s stare almost bored a hole in him after a blooper like that.
Dottie had so much sympathy
for him on the way home, he’d been tempted to go ahead and explain what was wrong with his head. But at the last minute, he stopped. What would she think, him begging for sympathy?
He circled back to the iron display and ran his hand over a new model’s smooth aluminum surface. Would Dottie like one of these for Christmas? No, she’d say he wasted good money, her old one worked just fine.
He opened the front door for some air. Truth be told, the weather had turned miserable. This morning, the thermometer between his inside window and the storm window registered fifteen degrees above. Out in the wind, it was probably zero or lower.
Icicles as long as yardsticks gaped from the rolled-back canvas awning above him. “Better knock some of them off—one could kill somebody if it landed on their head.”
He grabbed a pitchfork, picked them off one by one, and shoveled them into the gutter. Old Manny Burrows ought to be along one of these days to scrape the streets and haul the extra snow and ice to the mound at the end of Main Street.
Al thought back to when he’d proposed to Nan. He’d been nervous then, too, but they’d corresponded through the war. Her letters gave him hope and something to come home for—he’d looked forward to seeing Del, too. He would never forget that magic moment when he raced up her folks’ cement steps and she stood there waiting for him with Del in her arms.
He whirled them around like a toy doll and didn’t recall thinking she might refuse him. But Dottie seemed to do fine without him. He might as well face it—the heartthrob of young love had long since passed both of them by.
“I’m glad I didn’t ask Dottie yet. But how can I possibly know the right time?”
Something thumped him on the back. He whirled around to see Ily’s mother grab a shovel and set to work on the ice layered over the curb. His first impulse was to stop her, but he stood there for a minute to watch. Under her battered straw hat, Eva’s face seemed serene—maybe having something to do helped calm her mind.
Keeping his hands occupied did the same thing for him when he was nervous—at least, it used to. Instead of stopping Eva, he patted her shoulder. “Thanks, Eva. You do a real fine job.”
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