The battered straw hat lifted and fell in acknowledgment, but Eva attacked an ice wedge thicker than the shovel handle. Back inside, Del opened more newly delivered crates. Al took the misassembled box to the back room and tore it apart in disgust. A five-year old could’ve figured that out.
“Guess I’ll go now.” He grabbed his boots and coat.
Del hardly looked up. Outside, a chill wind peppered Al’s face with dry snow. Maybe he was presumptuous, thinking Dottie would even consider a proposal from him. But if he didn’t ask, he’d never know.
Chapter Sixteen
For a day and night, Al pondered. He puttered about in his garage after supper, even though snow blew in under the door, nasty cold drafts nagged him, and the bleak single light bulb sent forth little encouragement. He did some cleaning, generating a stack of stuff for the junk man.
Proposing to Nan had been easy, but this was different. Waiting for the proper time was essential, and he’d been doubly glad for his self-control a few hours earlier, walking home with Dottie. She burst into all the latest news concerning Helene and Bonnie Mae—he loved it when she let go like that.
But what a conundrum—he couldn’t make heads or tails of it. A fine girl like Bonnie Mae rejected by her own mother, and not knowing who she really was till now? He searched his memory, but couldn’t recall Felicity at all. Must’ve been after Del graduated, when Charlie was still in elementary school.
Hearing details about Dottie’s embarrassing slip gave him hope—she felt comfortable enough to share them with him. Her sharp intake of breath as she diverted to another topic drew him in.
“And that’s not the half of it. You’ll never believe what’s happened with Helene. In Minneapolis last summer, she ran across an old beau.”
“Helene?”
“Mmmhmm. They’ve been writing each other, and he drove down here to visit her in October. I never saw him, so she must not have brought him to the house. Sounds as if he’s about to ask her to marry him, and if he does, she says she’ll sell the boarding house to the highest bidder and leave town.”
“Helene?” Al’s mind stuck on her name. She seemed too old for a marriage proposal, too short, too full of herself, too…too fleshy in the chin. But then again, he was considering the same action on the other side of the ripe old age of fifty. His fingers flew to his own chin, which left something to be desired.
“I don’t know what it would mean for Bonnie Mae. We never know what might happen, do we?” Dottie’s dark eyes flooded with light, and Al attempted to take in her meaning.
“Guess not.”
They had discussed the situation more during supper, and now, he scrounged around the garage to temper his restlessness, adding two more rusty tin cans to his pile. He reached to turn off the light, but a low shelf caught his eye, and he rustled his hand way back along its depths. Something cold and hard, but still pliable, lay next to the stone foundation. What could that be?
He tugged the awkward object out from the shadows, but dropped it on the earthen floor as soon as he realized what it was—a boot. But not just any boot. He’d sloshed through French muck in this one more than he cared to remember. A rash of goose bumps covered him. So he hadn’t thrown them out—he thought sure he had.
He scraped around for the mate, but it must’ve gotten caught back there between the shelf and the wall. Al’s jaws ached as he touched the crusty old leather, its toe so tipped up with wear and age that he doubted he could even get his foot inside. He sat back on his haunches, eyes closed, balancing the boot in his hands. His breath came hard, and he couldn’t seem to think.
A whirr of noise and confusion unfolded inside his head and took his breath away. He bowed his forehead on the boot’s brittle surface and fought for breath. Finally, he shook his head like a mad dog and shoved the boot back on the shelf. He’d deal with it next spring—find the other one and throw them both out.
On the sidewalk to the back porch, a sparkling winter night cleared his mind. He was alive, right here and right now, unlike so many in his unit who’d never come back. And a stone’s throw away lived a woman he longed for. A plan took shape. What if he took Dottie out for supper on Saturday night? And what if he talked to Friedrich Messerschmidt about a ring tomorrow morning?
Fred would have to vow silence, but Al figured he could trust him after all that man went through during the past decade. The jeweler suffered a peculiar dishonor, hidden away here on the Midwest’s backside. As a result, he’d changed his name to Fred.
How was he to know a German engineer would design a killer fighter plane bearing his family name? But Al overheard a comment one day in the store linking Friedrich to the plane.
“Can that be a mere coincidence? I think not! Maybe that technological German genius was Friedrich’s cousin, don’t you know?”
From ’39 to the war’s end, some folks literally crossed the street near Friedrich’s jewelry and china store. Some of their sons or grandsons piloted Spitfires against those wicked Messerschmidts, or gunned them down. What a mockery, that name above the doorway right here in their hometown—they forgot they’d known this good man since he emigrated in ’22.
Some people even took the long route to the grocery store, although Friedrich scraped off the name in ’41, replacing it with Fine China and Jewelry. Somehow, he survived the war, and his jewelry business recovered, with engagements increasing right after the war.
“I’ll go down there first thing in the morning.” Having made the momentous choice, Al hurried into the house.
He hadn’t slept well for a few nights, but tonight he drifted off right away out of sheer exhaustion. Sometime before dawn, he heard fire crackling, and horrific screaming. He jerked out of bed in a cold sweat. What…where was he? Then he realized he’d dreamed of the Great War again.
Sweat poured off his head. Oh no—not again. He thought he’d grown out of those nightmares—must’ve been that blasted boot that triggered this. He got up and paced, glancing over toward Dottie’s a hundred times. He didn’t want her to have to put up with what Nan had those first years of their marriage, although Nan never complained.
Back in bed, he willed himself to sleep another couple of hours. In the morning, his plan jelled as he gulped a cup of hot coffee. Despite his nerves, he would proceed. He would woo Dottie with dinner and a proposal. The calendar pinned above his kitchen counter mocked him. November twenty-ninth—no time to waste.
He wasn’t in the habit of making spur-of-the-moment decisions but had realized his purpose for over a month, actually longer than that. That night out at the fishing hole had done it for him. It was high time to voice his intentions, come what may. He couldn’t go on like this.
He turned left on Main Street instead of heading toward the hardware. Fred’s sign, shiny in the sun’s early glow, drew him. He pressed his nose into the cold front window like a small boy. Prices didn’t show out here in the glittery display, of course. He’d have to go in if he were serious.
“Am I serious?” His whispered out loud question created an oval smudge on the spotless window. He rubbed it off with his coat sleeve. “Sorry, Friedrich.”
Dottie’s dark, warm eyes rose before him. A tight-drawn wire of hunger for her stretched through him. He remembered the feel of her feet in his hands. Yes, he was serious. It was now or never.
He opened the door and made the plunge. “Nice to see you, Friedrich. I need your help.”
Friedrich’s friendly smile proclaimed his delight to oblige.
****
The last sound Dottie ever thought she’d hear out of Bonnie Mae was a sob. But a gut-wrenching one filled the room like the aroma of a pie almost ready to take out of the oven. Dottie thought back to the thirties, when Millie lost her best friend to encephalitis. She sat with her for hours, holding her, rocking her. When dawn broke, Millie’s tears finally wore out.
Nothing quite so dramatic with Cora, but she’d had her moments, too. The night before she left for California with
her two girlfriends, to work in a munitions factory out there, Dottie soothed her tears, too. But those salty drops mixed with Cora’s anticipation at joining in the war effort.
Dottie entertained more doubt and fear than Cora did, even though one of the girls’ uncles wrote them to come out and vowed to watch over them. They would stay right in his house, working the shift opposite him, with his wife. But for Dottie, his reassurances fell flat.
Still, Cora convinced her, against her better judgment. “I’ll be totally safe, Mom. I’m old enough to do my bit for victory. Don’t worry, now.”
Owen sided with their daughter. It was time to let her make her own decisions, he said. But for Dottie, it wasn’t that easy—moving to California could mean Cora would never come back. It could mean she would never see that child again.
The war set things in motion that couldn’t be held back. Dottie never did feel quite at peace with her baby going, but what could she do? People scattered in all directions. Even grown men and women set out for destinations they’d never have dreamed of apart from the war demand. A mother had to swallow her objections and get along as best she could with what was handed her.
But to hear this independent, hard-talking, wild-thinking redhead’s violent sobs almost broke Dottie’s heart. Bonnie Mae buried her face at the kitchen table, her shoulders racked with the effort of breathing.
After a good fifteen minutes, Dottie felt she needed to say something besides, “There, there.” She licked her lips and sought words.
“You’ve been through hard things before, and you’ve survived. You’ll survive this, too.”
“No. I won’t.”
The week’s occurrences rambled through Dottie’s consciousness. Helene netted a marriage proposal. That boggled the mind, as Al’s reaction confirmed. Her fiancé, a successful Minneapolis merchant, amassed holdings far and wide. Their honeymoon would take place on an ocean liner and in Europe. Helene had already put her house—Bonnie Mae’s birthplace and childhood home—up for sale and had a solid offer.
Dottie gritted her teeth. If Helene’s suitor had as much money as she claimed, why not deed the house to Bonnie Mae? And why say no to the girl’s innocent request to walk through it one last time? Sheer meanness, that’s what it was. Helene had no room in her heart for anyone but herself.
Dottie told Bonnie Mae as much a few minutes earlier. “I pity the man she’s marrying. Whatever they have in common, it can’t be love. Helene isn’t capable of that. You’ll be better off without her around.”
But right after dinner, Bonnie Mae got up her courage to confront Helene about the truth of her birth, sending the older woman into a fit. She actually struck the girl for daring to speak the truth—red marks still burned across Bonnie Mae’s jaw when she came running to Dottie.
Dottie could barely contain her fury—worse, she couldn’t understand Helene’s anger. What had Bonnie Mae done wrong? She had half a notion to trot upstairs, where Helene prepared a guest room, and confront her head-on. Slapping someone in the face equaled saying they weren’t worthy to breathe, and Bonnie Mae certainly didn’t deserve that kind of treatment.
Because she’d experienced slaps like that from her own father, Dottie knew the girl’s humiliation. Those times seldom came to mind anymore, but today they returned with a vengeance. She pulled Bonnie Mae to the table and let her cry, wishing Al would hurry and come over.
A few minutes later, he stuck his head in before the checker game, and Dottie sent him a silent, urgent plea. Thankfully, he comprehended and took a chair. He put his hand on the weeping girl’s shoulder.
“Bonnie Mae, what could we do to help you?”
“Nobody can help me. My own people want nothing to do with me. I’m beyond help.”
“What about Ned? What does he say?”
“He says it’s none of his business, and not to worry. I’ll inherit his house and his car, isn’t that enough?” She mumbled all of this with her head buried in her arms. Dottie wished she’d look up, so Al could see those marks.
He worked his lips. All Dottie could think was that Ned’s comment was true. Bonnie Mae would inherit as much as she had when Owen died—that ought to see her through. But Bonnie Mae could see only the minus side of the ledger right now.
If Al would say something, it might help. Instead, he fished in his pocket. “Here, use this handkerchief.” Practical Al. But it did the trick—Bonnie Mae raised her head.
Al’s gasp made Bonnie Mae’s eyes widen. “What? That woman laid hands on you?”
Bonnie Mae ran her finger along her jaw. Al’s fist tightened against his thigh. Then he slipped into a thoughtful state, his cheek muscles dancing the Virginia reel.
After Bonnie Mae blew her nose, Al still kept silent. Finally Dottie glanced at the clock and straightened her back against the chair rungs.
“Ned may have a point, don’t you think?”
“What?” Bonnie Mae shrieked as if Dottie threatened her with a butcher knife.
“Well, inheriting a house and a car…that’s not so bad. When my husband died, that’s exactly what I inherited, and I thought I was lucky.”
Bonnie Mae’s lips turned down so low, they almost met her chin. “You think I’m out to get more than I deserve, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t. I wish Helene would see the error of her ways and give you what’s rightfully yours—your grandmother’s house. But think, Bonnie Mae. Can you imagine her doing that? No, she’s too selfish and greedy. It’s not your fault at all that she blames you for things you can’t help, but Helene’s set in her ways. She’s not about to change.
“I can’t see that butting your head against a stone wall will do any good, can you?”
Bonnie Mae calmed down some and Al’s eyes sparked. Dottie willed him to help her out, but when he didn’t, she continued. The words spewed forth like a flushing fire hydrant.
“Why distress yourself so? It’s only money, and money, as you can see from Helene’s pitiful life—isn’t all that matters. It can’t make your days rich and full. Only love can.”
Bonnie sank back in her chair. Al’s eyes shone—with what? Dottie wasn’t sure, but right now, getting Bonnie Mae back into shape was all that mattered. Tom had invited her to his place for the first time tonight, and she couldn’t go like this.
“You have so much going for you. You’re bright and attractive and a hard worker. Those are all things to be valued, as much or more than an inheritance. You might look at them as your inheritance, Bonnie Mae.”
She took a deep breath—she wasn’t used to pontificating. Al’s jaw went slack, and he seemed to have no intent of rescuing her.
“Helene’s shortsightedness makes a statement about her, not about you. Use what you have already—isn’t that what Teddy Roosevelt once said? ‘Do what you can with what you have, where you are.’ Inheriting your grandma’s house wouldn’t add a thing to the wonderful girl you are.”
Al shifted his weight and straightened in his chair. But he seemed overcome by some strange silence.
“You’ve attracted a wonderful man’s attention. Tom already owns his house and has a steady job, even some savings, I’d wager, after all these years at the coal company. You’ll have a good life together, if you put your mind to it. When you inherit Ned’s house, you can rent it out or use the proceeds to put the children through college—give them what Helene could have given you if she’d had any sense at all.”
Al blinked as though coming to life. Dottie could not abide any more. What was wrong with him? He always came up with something. She faced him. “What do you say, Al?”
Bonnie Mae turned toward him too. He rubbed his forehead as if waking from sleep. “I say I’ve never heard a better suggestion. Go for what’s coming your way with Tom. Enjoy your life. So many folks miss happiness by their own choice.”
He rested his gaze on Dottie for a moment. “Dottie’s right. Walk away from Helene and the past. That’s what her life can teach you—she clings to yesterday,
and it makes her miserable. But you can choose to be happy from here on out.”
Bonnie Mae gnawed her fingernail. A clank sounded from the back yard, and she jumped six inches high. “That’s Tom. He’s delivering across the street today.”
Bonnie Mae leaned toward Dottie. “I—you’re right, of course. It’s just the unfairness that gets me. You do see that, don’t you?”
“I do. But expecting Helene, or life in general, to be fair gets you nowhere. You can spend your whole life fighting for fairness. But if you look at what’s right before your eyes, it’s a wealth untold.”
“Tom’s over there right now.”
“Yes, and probably hoping you’ll come out.” She pulled Bonnie Mae from her chair. Bonnie Mae buttoned her coat as Al reappeared, looking a little pale. Maybe he was catching a cold.
The redhead turned back to give Dottie a strong embrace before she left the house. “Thank you, Dottie. You’re a wonderful woman, you know?”
Dottie shrugged. “Just a woman, honey. But I have learned a few things along the way.”
Al’s eyes flared too brightly—something mysterious stirred in their depths. One part of Dottie wanted to know what went on in his mind while another didn’t.
Chapter Seventeen
“I wish you well, Helene.” Dottie followed Helene to the front door, grasping three handwritten pages of instructions about what needed to be done before she returned from her latest Minneapolis trip.
“I was about to leave town but came back to make sure you keep a close eye on that girl.” Helene’s voice grated on “that girl,” and a chilly breeze riffled the papers in Dottie’s hand. “Mind you, don’t go soft on her. She’ll take advantage of you. I’m the one still paying her—so I hold you responsible.”
Dottie reacted without thinking. “But you’re not paying her, remember? It’s your mother’s money, from Bonnie Mae’s inheritance.”
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