“What does au gratin mean?”
“I think it has to do with cheese. Potatoes with cheese.”
“Mmm. Sounds nice for a change. Did you see tonight’s special? Liver and onions. I haven’t had that for a long time. Sounds good, and it’s only fifty cents.”
“Now, Dottie, order whatever you like. That man in the store told me the steak is real good.”
She surveyed the menu again, but he could tell from the way her eyes narrowed that she wouldn’t go for the most expensive meal listed. When the waiter came, she ordered the liver, so he did, too.
“You were telling me how George and the others were upset with Helene?”
“Yes. Especially after they saw what she did about that oven.”
“I didn’t realize…What did she do?”
“Nothing! That’s the point. The men agreed that Helene doesn’t deserve you.”
“The truth is, I’ve had thoughts of quitting, Al.”
Her admission smacked him right in the gut. He searched her face, but she revealed no emotion. “You have? Because of the stove?”
“Because of everything. Bonnie Mae—the way Helene’s gotten worse, and now the place is going to be sold—and of course, my aching feet. But I…”
Her unfinished statement hung between them. Al wasn’t sure he wanted to ask her any more. A spring of hope spurted within him. She was already thinking of giving up her job. That might bode well for his plans.
Chapter Nineteen
“A one-and-a-two-and-a—” The band struck up a tune in the next room.
“A real band? Wow, this is quite the establishment you’ve discovered. Cora and Dennis would like it—they used to go dancing all the time.”
The waiter brought two steaming plates of meat swimming in onions, mashed potatoes, gravy, and two side dishes: corn and a Jello salad. Dottie touched the parsley sprig on the rim of her plate.
“What a nice meal, Al. Thank you. I’m really sorry you drove all the way into downtown Waterloo. On the way, I kept thinking maybe I could overcome whatever it is that bothers me, but I didn’t manage very well.”
“It’s nothing, Dot. I don’t have a big hankering to go shopping either. It was worth the drive, though, to see that enormous Christmas tree in the park, don’t you think? Did you ever see so many lights?”
She shook her head and settled her napkin in her lap. He prayed over the food and opened his eyes to see her gaze fixed on him. “I appreciate you doing that.”
His heart swelled. Her eyes seemed so intense tonight, almost black. He ate a few bites and opened the familiar boarding house topic.
“George and Bert are thinking about going together to buy the boarding house. Can you believe that? They might be able to get it all worked out. George even offered to do some of the kitchen work—make breakfasts and such.
“Bert would put in extra each month so it’d be fair—guess he has quite a sum saved up. And George mentioned they should raise your wages, and Bonnie Mae’s.”
“Oh, my. New bosses—Bonnie Mae will flip over that.”
“They even discussed co-filing a will down at Larson’s. Since neither of them has family, the boarding house would go to Bonnie Mae at the time of the last man’s death.”
Dottie beamed, but a few seconds later, her frown took over. She balanced her fork between her fingers. “They think Helene would agree to all this?”
Al rubbed his jaw line. “She told Chuck Larson she doesn’t care what happens to the house. As long as she gets her money, she’s happy. Well, not happy…you know what I mean—and she won’t know about the will till both men pass.”
“So George and Bert dreamed all this up, went down to the law firm and talked with Mr. Larson?” Her quizzical look sent a quiver through him. He could see her attempting to picture George and Bert in Chuck Larson’s office. It wasn’t working.
He filled his mouth with potatoes and gravy. Why did he start the conversation flowing in this direction, anyway?
“You had something to do with it, didn’t you? You spoke with the lawyer.” It was not a question, so he avoided it. But by the way Dottie’s lips pursed, he knew she was onto him.
Over their plates, she touched his hand. “You started putting all this together that day Bonnie Mae cried so hard in the kitchen. You began thinking it through then, didn’t you?”
Her touch ignited all sorts of sensations. As for her statements, she was right on the money. She knew him too well, knew the way his mind worked, just like Nan.
“You’re such a good man. You’ll make sure everything turns out A-OK for everyone.”
“And you’re teaching Bonnie Mae your cooking tricks. That must be quite the challenge.” To his relief, Dottie accepted the change in topic.
“Hasn’t she changed from when she started to work? She’s a fast learner, and motivated—doubly so with Tom at her door nearly every night. But don’t change the subject on me, Al Jensen.”
He tackled the meat spread on his plate. Somehow, he’d have to launch his proposal, but he didn’t know how. He’d eaten about half of his food when Dottie gave him the perfect opening. At first, he couldn’t believe his ears. Maybe the background music had distorted his hearing. He thought she said, “I do think I’ll quit working, maybe next week.”
He managed to swallow a mouthful of liver and onions. But then his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. He drank a few sips of coffee. His taste buds, once so enraptured with this meal, went dull. He put down his fork.
“Dottie.” Her name rasped from deep in his throat. He tried again, his heart pounding at the scrunch in her brow.
“What is it? Are you all right?”
He clutched his chest. He’d decided about two o’clock today, when he was getting nervous about tonight, to ask for a sign from heaven, like Dottie did about speaking to Henrietta. Earlier in the meal, the first time she talked about quitting, something jabbed him inside, but he’d passed up that opportunity. Now the heavens rained down another. She was going to quit her job next week—this had to be his sign.
“Al, don’t do this to me. Are you having a heart attack? Does it matter that much to you if I stop working? You could still go over to the boarding house for your games, you know.”
He burst out laughing—the tension was too much. “No, no. I’m glad you’re quitting. But I have something to ask you. I hate to spoil our meal, but…”
“Well then. Go ahead.” Her voice resembled Porky’s pond on a cool summer evening, smooth and unflappable. She set her fork down. He would have given half his life savings to know what she was thinking.
He cleared his throat, but almost choked again. Good grief. He was a grown man—why couldn’t this be easier?
“Ahem. You remember, you told me you’d really like to go see Cora—stay a while out there to help her out?”
“Yes.”
“And you mentioned they have an extra room above their garage, in case you’d bring along a friend?”
Her chin moved up the slightest bit, but those burnished eyes stayed steady. Her dark wave, shimmering with silver highlights, fell onto her forehead. He wanted to push it back for her, wanted to smooth his fingers over her cheek. His heart almost erupted at how pretty she looked.
“I’ve always wanted to travel west. Never got the chance. So I thought if you’d have me, this could be my opportunity. We could, as they say, kill two birds with one stone.” Her frown deepened, but he stumbled on. “You wouldn’t have to travel alone, and we’d get to see a whale of a lot of country on the way.”
She picked up her fork and took a bite of potatoes…and another. Al thought he might choke. “Dottie? What do you think of the idea?”
“When would we leave?”
“Sometime before Christmas. That’d be up to you. I can go any time, but figured you’d want to get there before the twenty-fifth.”
“On the train?”
He stared at her, mute. His brain gave out on him.
“On th
e train?”
“Yes.”
Her eyebrows lifted above brown-black pools that held him in a vice. “And how would we…?” He discerned her meaning by the angle of her head.
“Oh. That. Well, we could do it one of two ways.”
She poised her fork over the solid square of Jello on her plate.
“We could get separate sleeping compartments.”
She might have been frozen to her side of the booth. She didn’t even blink.
A boulder clogged Al’s windpipe. Other diners’ voices suddenly seemed too loud to bear.
“The other possibility…” He closed his eyes, reached into his breast pocket, and pulled out a small blue velvet box.
“The other possibility is if you would…ah… consent to be my wife.”
Before the words departed his mouth, he kicked himself to Chicago and back. That wasn’t how he meant to say it. This wasn’t the proper time, but he hadn’t considered how the boarding house conversation might lead to this point.
Something pulled at the edges of Dottie’s lips. He couldn’t tell if it was a smile or a frown. His heart stopped, and the box, still in his trembling fingers, shook. If only she would put him out of his misery.
She stared at the box for an impossible amount of time. Finally, her reply came, low and quiet. “You mean, you would do this for the convenience of the trip?”
“Oh no! For heaven’s sakes, Dot! No, no. I would do it because—” He peered to each side of their booth and leaned forward. She leaned closer, too. He tried to modulate his voice between a whisper and a quiet, normal tone. “I would do it because I love you and want to marry you. I’ve known it for a long time, but…” She still didn’t blink. Now, he lost all control. Words gushed from his mouth.
“I didn’t know how to ask you—couldn’t figure out the right time. And now, I’ve…I ordered the ring a week ago, but…” He held the box out and slowly, agonizingly slowly, she tucked her chin and put down her fork. Then, she took the box in her fingers like a fishing worm, looking from it to him.
“You’ve thought this through?”
“Of course. I mean yes. A thousand times, at least, like I do everything.” He held up sweaty palms. “You know me. Al the analyst.” His chuckle sounded limp. Her expression told him nothing, nothing at all. The gusher broke again, and he started spewing details.
“Today I prayed for a sign, like you did. And the other day, I almost destroyed a store display. Del asked what was wrong with me. I’ve been so preoccupied…”
“Preoccupied?” The tilt of her head made him dizzy.
“I can’t think of anything but you. I’m like a love-sick eighteen-year-old, Dot.”
Her lips parted ever so slightly. Something he couldn’t read crossed her face. It was all he could do to hold his seat. Had he told her he loved her? Had he included everything he should have?
A wall of trepidation fell on him. He ought to have gotten down on his knees, but that would embarrass her to death, here in this public spot. In the long minute that passed as Dottie held the box without opening the lid, he knew the irrevocable truth. He would die if her answer was no.
****
The cup of tea she’d made as soon as she walked into the kitchen did exactly what Dottie hoped it would. She settled deeper into her armchair and decided against turning on the radio. She’d forgotten the program schedule during the past few months, even though she used to listen regularly.
The prattle took the edge off the eerie quietness that haunted this house at night since Owen passed. But lately she’d been so busy, and so dog tired by the time she got home, she didn’t have the energy to listen.
Tonight though, her mind refused to wander familiar channels. Instead, it exploded with sparring emotions. Or was that her heart? Anyway, the tea—scalding yet soothing—kept her in a level place.
She fumbled with the afghan she’d made years ago. She ought to throw that thing out, but it still did its job, tattered or not. The crocheting showed gaping holes in places but had seen her through so much. She’d literally worn it for days after Bill died. She draped its smooth wool over one shoulder, her other hand wrapped around her cup.
“Oh, Lord. What am I supposed to do now? I feel so…”
She stared at the living room’s tan walls. She and Owen had purchased this house for eight hundred twenty-nine dollars from Sears and Roebuck as soon as they saved up that much money after he came home from the war. The postmaster offered him the mail delivery job right away, so it didn’t take long.
The entire house arrived by mail order. Somewhere in those boxes in the attic, she still had the bill of sale, along with all their other records dating back thirty years.
After the war, they’d both lived with their parents for six months. She cleaned houses and ironed for people, saving every penny. The look on Owen’s face when she pulled three hundred and seventy-two dollars from an envelope to add to their stash would stay with her forever.
He wore the same expression when she stood beside him to break ground for the house with the shovel she still used for garden work. Those were the days—nothing seemed too difficult to tackle. Together, they would conquer whatever crossed their path.
Here, they built their family, and she’d planned on living in this house till they moved her to the cemetery. But now, in just one evening, change reared its head. But was it the ugly head she always expected?
She tried to expand her mind to take in all the possibilities. Cora had opened the door with her urging to come to California, but the trip seemed impossible. Yet now, because of Al, maybe she could manage. Who would have thought their old neighbor would become such a good friend? But this was about far more than friendship. He’d proposed marriage.
His statements ran through her consciousness like a radio broadcast. They could go to California together. He would stay in the room above the garage. Or, they could get married and travel as man and wife on the train—on the train. Those three words rumbled inside her head like the chugga-chugga-choo-choo book Bill had so loved her to read as a toddler.
Everything melded into confusion. Get married, travel on the train, see Cora and those grandbabies. Most of it, she wanted, except the train part. But taken together, the whole proposition stunned her.
Al turned awfully quiet on the way home, and so did she. Every time she thought of something to say, her next thought was how he might take it the wrong way. Besides, she’d have to shout over the engine noise. When he walked her to the back door, his eyes flared like lonely road markers in the evening shadows.
“Thank you for the lovely dinner…” Her profession of gratitude wilted in the frigid air.
“Good night then, Dottie.” He slunk away, a shadow of himself. Her heart went out to him, his long face so woebegone. She wanted to call him back and hug him, but then she might say something she’d wish she hadn’t. This was no time to make rash promises.
She reminded herself he’d had lots of time to think this through. She’d had inklings, but there in the restaurant, the full scope of an enormous transformation sprang up before her. She could marry Al Jensen and go off to California.
Henrietta Perry would cackle about her impulsive behavior. After church she’d gather her minions and discuss Al and Dottie forward and backward, inside and out. Dottie drew the afghan closer as December’s wind shook the eave spouts. She’d forgotten to turn up the thermostat but now that she was settled, had no desire to move.
From Henrietta’s whiny tones, now even more familiar as she turned her charms on George in the boarding house dining room, Dottie’s focus returned to Al’s face. She’d touched his jawline when he parked behind his house.
“Al, you are so dear to me.” He shrank back. The movement told her he knew she couldn’t be pushed, and acknowledged he had no claim on her.
But truth be told, she’d wanted him to take her in his arms and tell her she didn’t have to make this decision, that he’d make it for her. Yet something kept
her from saying that out loud, and his downcast, wounded expression only made things worse.
Her sigh split the cold room’s air. She cranked her sore neck right and left against her heavy flannel nightgown collar, willing the stiffness to leave of its own volition. That drew her attention to the pain in her shoulders. If Al were here…
“But Al isn’t here,” she whispered. That reminded her of him alone in his house. And she sat alone in hers, thirty feet away. He must have become terribly lonely to enter Messerschmidt’s jewelry store and buy a diamond ring.
She needed no diamond, that was sure, but Al loved her. That part she remembered, though the rest of the evening blurred.
She closed her eyes—he actually bought her a ring. Where was that little box, anyway? Had she put it in her coat pocket?
Like a vast, slow-moving wave, terror swept her. Al had been so befuddled, and the tension so uncomfortable, they’d both played with their food until he suggested they get on home. He’d acted the perfect gentleman, of course, but his voice wavered from an unearthly place, and his hands felt like ice when he helped her with her coat.
Dottie struggled out from under the afghan. She’d better go check that coat pocket. But when she plunged her hand into the nubby lining, she found nothing. A suffocating sensation struck her throat.
“What have I done? That ring must have cost him a small fortune, and I’ve—” She combed through every terse blade of conversation on the ride home. What had she done with her fingers all that time?
Gripped the door handle, that’s what—she had not been holding the box.
She knew what she had to do. It was past nine, and she was in her nightclothes, but she would never go to sleep with this on her conscience.
Chapter Twenty
What if she’d left that darn ring on the restaurant table? What if the waiter made off with it? Male waiters—she’d never heard of such a thing. If Al lost all that money, she could never live with herself.
She buttoned her coat, tied on her shoes, turned on the porch light, and cranked the doorknob. It got cantankerous when the temperatures dropped in the night. Finally, the door gave way, and Dottie made her way down the back steps. Was this how Eva had felt, easing out of Ily and Don’s house at all times of the night?
In This Together Page 17