Helene’s nose bunched up. “So, you’ve learned some sass from her? I thought better of you, Dorothy.”
In that moment, Dottie saw a slight physical resemblance between Bonnie Mae and Helene. The slant of their jawlines matched, but the likeness stopped there.
“Besides, it’s none of your business.” The older woman swished out onto the wide front porch, seams crisp black against her pudgy calves. She clicked to the steps and started down, her burgundy felt hat brim swaying in the wind.
A bevy of emotions fought inside Dottie, but what she wanted to yell, she whispered. “I thought better of you, too. And I’ve made it my business, because I care about your niece. On top of that, I don’t like being called Dorothy.”
She closed the door and picked up a feather duster. She couldn’t recall when she felt so let down by someone. Helene would never know how much her behavior disappointed people. But the good side was, she’d be gone for several days.
Rose and purple diamonds from the leaded window spread their cheery hues over the room’s northeast corner. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever.” Dottie didn’t know where that quote originated, but it brought her an odd comfort.
There might be nothing lovely about Helene’s character, but here in her boarding house, beauty still existed. “And I’m going to take a minute to enjoy it.”
On the brushed velvet settee, the reflected color moved over Dottie’s faded green housedress and calico apron. She held out her legs to study its effect on her plain white stockings, and decided she liked that better. Her worn right heel frowned up at her—she really ought to buy a new pair of shoes as much as she was on her feet.
She took her time dusting, picking up objects here and there to notice their shapes. A pottery teapot, a ceramic vase, a platter that reminded her of her grandmother—carnival glass, she thought it was called. Grandma Pitman had a couple of odd pieces on her cupboard shelf. Dottie set the table with care, using the linen napkins, though no special guests would be here.
“Special, my foot.” She sputtered to the dining room’s placid furnishings. The creamery buyers had found a house, and yesterday, Al explained which one—Helene’s. She’d even let them take over the upstairs as she packed away her things for her move to Minneapolis.
George and the other boarders deserved linen napkins just as much as those wealthy people. Her boss didn’t see it that way, but Dottie didn’t care.
She went into the kitchen to light the oven for the pies. She’d waited, to be certain they would still be warm to serve after dinner. Al promised he’d come over to eat before their afternoon game, too, so she decided to sit right up to the table with the men. And she set a place for Bonnie Mae. Why not? That girl worked so hard—why should she only eat in here on Thanksgiving?
After Dottie opened the oven door and lit a match, she smelled something amiss. She blew out the match, but it was too late. The oven’s dark interior filled with flames, and a violent whoosh rattled her ears like one of those bottle rockets Bill and Owen used to send up on the Fourth of July.
A distinct tang ringed her tongue as she flew backwards against the table leg. A sharp pain knifed through her ribs. That was the last thing she remembered.
****
“Al, stop it. You’re pawing the floor like a nervous horse.” Old Doc Schulz waved his fingers behind his back. “Go on, now—give me some room. I’m doin’ the best I can.”
Al sucked in his breath. A nervous horse? Old Doc picked his comparison well—a nervous horse shied without due cause. Of all the days for the doctor to be out of town—Dottie deserved better care than an elderly man could give her. Al dropped his head into his hands. In the process, he forgot about the hacksaw he still carried from the hardware, and it clattered to the floor.
Doc’s white mustache shook at the ends, along with his pointed finger. “Get that thing out of here. You’re not helping at all.”
“It’ll be all right.” Bonnie Mae’s voice, as soft as Al had ever heard it, trembled. She’d proven herself a hero today, racing from the basement when she heard the boom and summoning Doc.
Now, her fingers pressed into Al’s elbow, guiding him into the dining room. “Sit down. I’ll bring you a cup of coffee.” She went into the kitchen, and Al fiddled with the table setting.
The pre-dinner scenario went through his brain. Bonnie Mae alerted George, who carried Dottie to the sofa, while she called Doc. Then she sent George down to the hardware store. When he burst through the door, Al looked up from his project behind the counter.
“Can’t wait for afternoon to beat me at checkers?” Al’s attempt at joking faded as the other man’s blanched face neared. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Dot. She was lighting that old oven, and—” The two of them tore down the street, but Old Doc, in his dark red ’36 coupe, beat them. Panting for breath, in chatter completely unlike him, George filled Al in on all the details as they mounted the front steps.
Now, Al fingered the pale rose fringe of the tablecloth. At the sight of Dottie lying on the parlor couch, his heart lurched out of control. He squeezed the dense fabric into a ball. He didn’t care, any more, if the whole world knew the truth.
He shunted into the corner, where he could still view Dottie’s hand dangling on the floor. He’d never felt so useless.
“Probably suffered some shock from the blast. But she’ll come to. I’m sure of it.”
He trusted Old Doc—they’d navigated all the ins and outs of Nan’s illness together. His son gave her the choice. “When it comes to the way you’re suffering, Mrs. Jensen, my father knows far better than I how to help.”
Nan chose Old Doc. As faithful as a man could get, he sat with her every single day during those final two weeks—as often as their pastor. But this was different. Al’s breath gurgled in his throat. He thought he might be sick.
“Oh God, let Dot be all right. Please, won’t you?” He let go the cloth, leaving wrinkles Helene would really appreciate. Palms hard against his hipbones, he paced around the dining room table six times. On the window ledge, a few sad-looking brown sparrows gathered in the cold.
Bonnie Mae handed him some coffee. Her calmness seemed out of place—out of proportion to what had happened. “Now, Al, drink some. I’m sure…”
Some rustling came from the other room, and Al tiptoed to the living room archway. A few seconds later, Dottie’s foot twitched and Doc held up one finger.
“How many fingers do you see, Dottie?”
Al barely heard her wobbly response, but it was enough. Bonnie Mae’s face lighted with a smile. She lifted two fingers in his direction—V for victory. He let out a long breath. Dottie would be all right.
In the kitchen, George worked with the oven. He’d slung the back door wide to release the gassy odor, and the room was freezing.
“She was all set to bake them pies.” George’s huge hand gestured toward two beautiful creations on the table. “Musta been somethin’ with the pilot light. Contraption ’pears to be worn out—Helene oughta buy a new one.”
“Right. But she could care less about this old house, and she probably won’t be that concerned when she hears what happened.” Fire raced through Al’s abdomen. His acid response shocked him.
George got the oven going, put the pies in, and looked Al full in the face. “You look a little sick. Gonna make it?”
Al let out a long sigh. Oily black soot covered the wall next to the stove. The whole room could have blown up, and Dot might have been killed. He fell against the coats lined on their hooks. Perspiration ran down his temples.
George put his hand on his shoulder. “Sure you’re all right?”
He nodded. “Thanks for coming down to tell me, George. I need to walk around a while. If Dottie gets up, tell her I’ll be back.”
“Sure thing.”
Bunches of scarlet berries on a bush near the property’s edge drew his attention. How did the birds know to save them until winter? Everything took on new life—th
e hydrant, its short black pump handle ready for action, the grungy underside of a heavy iron gas tank at the corner of the lot.
He attempted to bring order to his thoughts. The freezing air should have set him to rights, yet something under his breastbone hurt. He looked down at his plaid flannel everyday work shirt, as if the blue and gray pattern would tell him what he needed to know.
He glanced back at the house and walked around the block, chiding himself for not wearing his coat. But he didn’t want to go back to the store for it, either. Nothing seemed simple anymore. A few feet away, inside that monstrous house, Dottie might have died a little while ago.
He imagined she would go right back into that dangerous kitchen and set to work. She’d serve them all dinner and wash the dishes afterwards, as if nothing happened. Maybe Bonnie and Doc would force her to rest a bit, but he doubted she would abide that for long.
The more he thought, the more solid his conclusion became. Dottie needed someone to take care of her, someone who knew her well and valued her far beyond her ability to cook wonderful dinners. On his third trip around the block, clarity finally came. The ring, ordered from Chicago, would be in on Friday’s train, Friedrich said.
Al’s shoulders shook like bulrushes in a strong wind. He hurried toward the store for his coat as fast as his long legs would move. When he ascended the front stairs of the boarding house again, the aroma of Dottie’s triple berry pie drew him in.
Chapter Eighteen
Late Tuesday afternoon, bad news wended its way to the boarding house kitchen through George. He often stopped in to offer a hand when Helene was out of town.
“You know that Eva who runs the streets? She got hit out on the Heston road, by a freight truck headed toward Waterloo. The driver felt mighty bad—he thought it was almost like she ran into the cab on purpose.”
****
South of Heston and northeast of Waterloo, a family-run dinner and dance place had sprung up. Al overheard someone talking about it at the hardware—a little expensive, they said, but a nice atmosphere and great steak dinners for a dollar and fifty cents, drink and dessert included.
Dottie would never go for anything fancy, or approve of him spending too much money. On the other hand, he wanted her to feel special when he asked for her hand. Even thinking of that yielded a cold sweat on his forehead—what if he did this all wrong and drove her away?
He broached the dinner invitation with great care, walking her home late Wednesday afternoon. She hadn’t even taken the whole afternoon off yesterday, and her step told him she was dragging. He didn’t say much until he saw their houses down the block. Then, he tried to keep his voice casual.
“Say, you wouldn’t want to run down a ways beyond Heston late Friday afternoon, would you? Del has a few things for me to pick up at an implement place, and I thought…”
“Farther than Heston?”
“Not too much…maybe ten more miles.”
She looked him full in the face, and the sun hit her hair just right to create a glow around her waves. Al felt that little muscle in his cheek working, but tamped down his impatience. Finally, Dottie agreed.
“If you need to do any shopping, we could look around a little too—that is, if you want to.”
“Shopping?” She frowned. A look he didn’t recognize crossed her face. Aw, that was the wrong thing to say—Dottie wasn’t one to spend valuable time on such a frivolous activity.
“We don’t have to—I thought I’d mention it just in case, with Christmas coming and all.”
“I’ll need to send a Christmas box out to Cora. She called again last night—breaks my heart to think of her so worn out, with three months left to go. But maybe I could find something for the little ones, and for the new baby.”
“Yes, and something for Cora too—would she need a nice robe? I heard Edie say Blacks Department Store has a sale on those, and we can ship everything for you from the hardware.”
“Oh, would you, Al? Wrapping gifts and getting them sent off—just the thought of all that wears me out.”
He thanked his lucky stars for Cora being in California, for Dottie being willing to go along, for her thinking of something she needed, and for the sky above them staying in place. He guarded his tongue meticulously until Friday afternoon when he picked her up outside the boarding house. Helene had taken off again, and Dottie had dinner all ready. Bonnie Mae and George agreed to handle the cleanup.
Sunlight sparkled on frosted corn stalks, like skinny legs bent at the knee all along the road. Dottie exhibited an exceptionally happy mood, and Al reveled in her comments as he steered the pickup down Highway 218.
“No more gravel roads for us. Glad the highway department extended this route in ’34. Owen had to use the old road to fetch the mail from Waterloo when the mail truck couldn’t make the trip during spring thaws. I was so glad when they paved it.”
“Me, too.”
Snow-covered fields glittered, but Al kept his attention on the wheel. As usual, Dottie didn’t seem to mind the quiet. But around the curve west of Charles City, she spoke again.
“Wonder what makes the sumac and flame bushes stay red when the other leaves all fall off the branches?”
“I’ve wondered that, too. And look over there—those pin-oaks still have their leaves.”
“They shed in spring, that much I know. Owen’s dad had one on the farm. Awfully slow growing, but they’re built to last.”
“How’s it going with Helene these days? Has she made any move to replace that stove?”
“No.”
“What did she say when she heard about the explosion?’
“Not much. I’ve finally realized how differently she thinks. You know, Al, I thought she’d be nicer to Bonnie Mae, with the good fortune that’s come into her life.”
“Did you?”
“Owen always called me an optimist. I don’t know about that, but I do like to believe the best about people.”
“But Helene hasn’t changed?”
“Not at all. Even with Bonnie Mae so upset, Helene threatened to fire her again. When the boarding house sells, what will happen to that girl?”
“George mentioned something about that during our card game today. He’s taken a real liking to Bonnie Mae, and Tom, too.”
“Not to Henrietta?”
Al slapped his knee and hee-hawed. The truck veered off the concrete for a second, and his blood pulsed in his ear. “She’s left off coming this past week. Hasn’t brought anything over to my house, either. Maybe she’s given up. I don’t know what happened between her and George. He’s as tight-lipped as a rosebud about it.”
“A rosebud?”
“Yeah. Before it blooms, you know. You couldn’t coax a blossom out of it for love nor money.”
They were quiet again until he turned into a driveway leading to the implement building. “Want to come in? I’ll just be a minute.”
“No, I’m fine.”
Al supervised the men loading the boxes into the bed. When he went back in for the receipt, he spied some small yellow and green toy tractors above the counter.
“How much are those?”
“A dollar apiece.”
A dollar—quite a lot for a little boy he didn’t even know, but if all went as he hoped, Jeffy might one day become his grandson. An itch started at the base of his neck. He pulled out his wallet.
“I’ll take one.”
“All right. Made by Fred Ertl over by Dubuque. Pretty detailed, ain’t they?”
Who would ever think to make miniature tractors? He tucked the toy into his coat pocket with a sense of accomplishment. Dottie would be so pleased…he hoped.
Twenty minutes later, he steered through Waterloo streets until he saw the Blacks Department Store sign. “Want to try Blacks?”
Dottie didn’t answer. He found a parking space and turned the motor off. Tension rode the air of the cab. “Dottie? You ready to shop?”
She gripped the door handle. “I don’t kno
w, Al. I appreciate that you drove all the way into the city, but I’m not much for big, crowded places.”
“Would you rather just shop for Cora back in town at the Wearwithall?”
She turned her face toward the window.
He reached for her hand. “Hey, that’s all right. I didn’t realize…” He thought how Nan loved trips to the big city, how she lit up inside Black’s massive department store, with grand piano music filling the air and so much to choose from in each aisle. But now that he thought about it, he’d never heard Dottie mention shopping.
“Of course you wouldn’t. I don’t know why, but I’d rather do almost anything than go inside one of those big stores. So many folks milling about, so much…”
“Well, then, we’ll just turn right around and find that restaurant. Oh, I forgot—I found a small gift for Jeffy at the implement.” He pulled the tractor out of his pocket and plunked it in Dottie’s hand. He didn’t know what to make of the arch of her brows and her wide eyes, so he waited, hoping he hadn’t done something she’d think foolhardy.
But she gave him a bright smile. “Why, Al. He’ll surely like this a lot. His daddy came from a farm, and he’s told Jeffy all about tractors. How much—?”
“Don’t mention it, Dot. I’d be happy if you’d put it in with whatever else you find for him.” She smoothed her fingertips over the tiny turning wheels, and he heaved an inward sigh of relief. Maybe things would still be all right.
The road curved north some distance out of town, and they soon came upon the restaurant. He felt Dottie stiffen against the seat as he turned into the gravel drive.
“An eating place way out here in the country? Seems odd, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know—people do things differently these days. Someone at the store told Del they have great food. Worth a try, don’t you think?”
A male waiter led them to their seats, something new for Al, and he imagined for Dottie, too. The young man brought water with ice, and fresh cloth napkins.
“Ice in the water, in December?’
For some reason, Dottie sure noticed every little thing tonight. The waiter returned with menus, and she read each word.
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