“When did all this come about?”
“Oh, about a year ago.”
“And they let you keep this position even after the war?”
“They is me, Mom. I’m the director.” She chuckled, but no one could have missed the gleam in her eyes. Her oldest child had climbed the ranks to become so successful at only thirty-four. The war certainly did bring an avalanche of change.
“You never told me that when you called. You make me proud.”
“Thanks. I’m proud of you, too. You have a whole new life opening up before you, and you’re moving right into it.” Millie locked her office door and turned to Dottie. “And of course not I didn’t tell you—I’m put together just like you.”
Millie led the way to another room with a couple of soft chairs, a round table, a brand new refrigerator with no compressor unit on top, even a sink and cupboards. “Here’s where we eat lunch—do you like it?”
“I do—looks so handy.”
“I figured on miserable winter days, why not have a place for the staff to go during breaks—and my boss agreed. It’s fun to get ideas and see them put into practice. We’re alike that way, Mom.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re the one who helped me with that prize-winning cake recipe for the county fair—don’t you remember?”
“I did?” Maybe she and Millie were more alike than Dottie thought—maybe that was why Millie married so young—she’d needed to be out of the house, managing her own life.
When Dottie peeked over the railing, the building’s floors swirled below her. Tomorrow, workers would mass through the doorway in a busy whirlwind—it made her weary to imagine it.
She guessed Millie was right—if she worked here and got a big promotion, she wouldn’t toot her own horn either. Maybe that was one reason she missed Bill so much—he was wired more like Owen, needing someone to listen to all his ideas. Both of her girls inherited her quieter nature.
“Be right back.” Millie disappeared down the hall, and Dottie reflected on the coming week. On Thursday, she and Al would go to the courthouse for their marriage license. On Saturday afternoon, they would say their vows in a quiet ceremony with Reverend Langley and his wife Marie as witnesses.
And then—her thoughts jumped forward to the train bound for California. She had to face it. Though she knew there was no other way to see Cora, the idea made her light-headed. She steadied her hand on the wooden bannister.
“Over here, Mom—look what we’ve installed.” Dottie approached some shiny doors as Millie pushed a button. Metal latticework appeared in a hole in the wall. “Come on in, let’s take a ride.”
In response to her daughter’s obvious excitement, Dottie stepped over the inch-wide cut in the floor. “This is my favorite new contraption—you’ll love it.” The latticework closed, and then the shiny steel. Dottie fell back against the wall.
“Mom, you all right?” Millie found the button and pushed it again. Light flooded the enclosure.
“Let me…let me out.” It was all Dottie could manage. Millie guided her to a bench.
“Lower your head—your hands are like ice.” Millie rubbed her back for a minute. “I didn’t know you—they have a name for this, you know—claustrophobia. I’ll run and get you a glass of water. Be right back.”
Dottie gritted her teeth until the swirling sickness faded. A photograph on the wall of a tall man shaking hands with a woman caught Dottie’s eye, and she perused it closer.
The shapely slant of the woman’s hat brought Dottie’s older sister Mildred to mind. She used to wear a dark brown one shaped like that, with a red runner on the brim.
The sudden memory transported her to a day Mildred took her shopping in Mason City—probably her first time in a store. It should have been a red-letter day, a happy memory.
“There’s a sale today, Dottie. For sure, you need some new shoes and a coat, and we’ll see what else when we get there.” Inside Damon’s Department Store, a sea of ladies in wool coats unfolded around them. But somehow Dottie became separated from her sister—she could hear Mildred calling her name, but couldn’t find her. And then, she no longer heard her name. Panic tightened her chest.
Squashed by perfumed, chattering ladies, she found herself closed in a stuffy space that squeaked and moved. Worse, she stood at the edge of the gaggle of women, and could see walls passing by, darkness below, and a light high above them. Finally, the motion ground to a halt, with much shrieking of gears. Dottie tried to ask for help, even tugged at a woman’s sleeve, but her voice refused to work.
Arms reached for her when the doors slid open—Mildred’s arms—but she could barely make her way to her sister, and didn’t breathe easy again until they reached home that night. The expected joy of being treated to new clothes vanished in that fear-ridden ten minutes.
Strange how this long-ago scene would come to her now, but she emerged from it with her fingers to her throat, that same old suffocating feeling riding the base of her neck.
“Here, Mom. Are you feeling better?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for.” Millie sat beside her and patted her shoulder.
Some folks can’t handle elevators, that’s all.”
“Oh, Millie—I’m so afraid—what if this happens when Al and I go to board the train?”
“The train? You don’t need to worry about that. It’s got windows. As long as you can see out, you’ll be fine.”
****
Frosty breath circled above her in early morning semi-darkness. Dottie stretched and stared at her bedroom’s four ceiling corners. Even in the recent minus zero temperatures, a moth had somehow survived to flit from one side of the room to the other. A ray of light from the window caught a cobweb floating in the northeast corner—spiders ate moths, so that made sense.
Her mind returned to the present. Had she actually accepted a marriage proposal from Al Jensen a week ago tonight, or had she dreamed he took her to that fancy place for supper? Her fingertips grazed her cheeks, instantly hot with the memory.
As if to prove her memory right, she breathed the words out loud. “It’s true. He did ask, and I agreed.”
She scanned the bureau for the self-same box—she hadn’t started to wear the ring all the time, but tried it on every morning. She crossed the cold floorboards in her bare feet. Thick velvet caressed her fingers, and a shiver rambled down her spine. Yes, the box was real. She opened the lid to stare at the glinting diamond.
“Al loves me.” The words, floating on air so cold she could see her breath, warmed her all over in spite of the drafts rising from the floor. She repeated them, just for the delight of their cadence. “Al Jensen loves me.”
She closed the box and grabbed her pale green chenille bathrobe from its hook, slipped on her worn leather moccasins and entered the hallway. Putting those slippers on brought Cora to mind. One Christmas during her high school years, she’d given them to Dottie.
“Mom, you need something for the mornings. It’s not good to walk around barefoot on this cold wood.”
Dottie took her observation to heart, and the moccasins became her ready companion in winter. She traced her finger over her three children’s graduation portraits along the short hallway, stopping at Cora’s engaging blue eyes.
“We’re coming to California to see you, honey. Al and I will be there before Christmas. I can hardly wait to hug you and your little ones.” Through thin glass, she patted Cora’s pert nose with her fingertip before she walked into the front room to turn up the thermostat.
The east window showed no sign of life from Al’s house as she flipped on the gas burner under her already full water kettle. He slept fitfully, anyway—Nan had mentioned that years ago.
“When we’re in bed, his legs jerk, and sometimes he shouts, ‘No, no!’ It’s like he’s reliving something terrible.”
Getting up the nerve to propose to her, planning this trip, and then losing his sister with no warning h
ad to take their toll. She hoped he could stay in bed a little longer this morning.
“Al’s way smarter than me, that’s for sure. But thinking things through so thoroughly causes him an undo amount of distress. If he hadn’t jumped to conclusions when I didn’t give him an instant answer last Friday night…”
From his driveway, the chrome of his truck flashed as a vehicle passed through the alley, and Dottie let forth a chuckle. “If he hadn’t been so upset that I would turn him down, that scene with me standing on my head, trying to find the ring, would have been downright funny.”
She spread a handful of loose black tea in the bottom of her teapot. Might as well get dressed while she waited.
Close to the bathroom sink, waiting for the faucet’s icy blast to heat, she eyed her reflection, which told her plenty, even though she didn’t turn on the light. She was no spring chicken, but a new glimmer flickered in her eyes.
A hot, wet washcloth rubbed clear her head. She drew the terry fabric over the back of her neck and under her arms, relishing extra time, since Bonnie Mae and George had taken over cooking breakfast. And that meant, of course, Helene was gone again—amazing how much more pleasant life became without her.
Her work dress eased from its hanger over the bathtub where she hung it each night. But the buttons defied their stretched-out holes—good thing she could cover her bosom with a full apron at work in case a button popped. She’d better round up some decent clothes and a suitcase for the trip.
The kettle whistled her back to the kitchen, where she leaned over to breathe in some steam. Only today, tomorrow, and Wednesday left to work at the boarding house—three days, and short ones, at that. With Helene gone, Bonnie Mae developed new confidence in the kitchen and planned to prepare the noon meal if Dottie would come at eleven to check on her.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Did Al even realize he used the same rhythm each time he came to the back door?
“Dottie? You up?”
She waved him in, glad to recognize his step on the shadowy side of dawn. He approached slowly, and she turned toward his luminous eyes.
“Why Al, I thought maybe you’d be able to sleep a little longer today.”
His long arms took her in. “I’d rather hug you than sleep any day.”
Millie might think Al a bit on the nervous side, but his warmth enveloped Dottie like the shawl she wore to church services in springtime.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Smack! Al ran into the back of Henry Olson’s delivery truck at about eight o’clock. He’d been considering Dottie’s fear of crowds, wondering how to prepare her for the busy Fort Madison train depot. But even more, he puzzled over what held her back. Why couldn’t she enjoy shopping in a big department store like most other women?
The thunk of the truck’s grill shook the cab. The larger truck’s bed, complete with chicken feathers and their stuffy smell, hulked over his hood like a vulture’s beak. Too shocked to utter a syllable, he loosed himself from under the steering wheel and raced around the front.
If there was no damage to Henry’s vehicle, he could quietly back down the alley without causing a stir. But it was not to be. Del emerged from the back door of the hardware, and for a moment, seemed much taller than the day before. His forehead swam with question wrinkles.
“Dad? How’d you manage to hit the one vehicle anywhere near here?”
Al shrugged his shoulders. “Lucky shot, I guess. I’ll take care of this with Henry.”
“You sure?” Only a yard away, Del paused. “You all right? You’ve been in another world lately.”
Al startled as the hatchery door banged. “Oh…that. I’ve had a lot on my mind, Del. Have I told you I’m getting married?”
“Married?” Del hunkered down, his neck elongated like a flying goose. “Who to?”
So the town gossip brigade hadn’t reached his son’s ears yet. But then, Del kept to himself. He’d inherited Nan’s family’s chunkiness, and paired with her first husband’s height and brooding nature, the first impression he made warded off most folks. Nan always predicted Delbert would go far, but would have to work alone.
Henry’s balding head bounced around his truck fender, so Al lowered his voice.
“You know her pretty well, Son.” He waited for the gears inside Del’s mind to move. “Our old neighbor.”
“Dottie?”
“Yep.”
“Dottie Kyle?”
“The very one.”
“When?”
“Saturday. But keep it to yourself.” As if he needed to tell his quiet, lumbering son to keep a secret. Al chuckled at Del’s awestruck expression and turned toward Henry.
“Morning, Henry. Guess there’s a first time for everything, eh? How many years have we avoided each other in this alley?”
“About thirty, I’d say.” They shook hands and Henry bent to survey the back of his truck. “Heard the crash clear inside the hatchery, but don’t look like much damage to me…this old girl’s got plenty of dents already. Can’t run a delivery truck without ’em. Looks as though your hood took the impact. We’ll write it off to friendship, shall we?”
“All right. Thanks.” Over Henry’s sparse hair, sprouting from his scalp like a spring sorghum planting, Al surveyed his firstborn’s rugged face. Del still stood in the alley, dumbstruck, continuing to grapple with the idea of a new stepmother.
Del and Henry went their separate ways, and Al backed from under the delivery truck without incident. He needed gas, anyway. Maybe he’d drive on down to Benson’s and fill up the tank. By the time he parked beside the pump, nothing had fallen off the front, so he let his thoughts retrace their familiar route to Dottie.
****
The storm closed in on Sternville like a tornado, whirling and swirling from its first moment. No easy free fall of downy, gigantic flakes, creating a winter wonderland. From its onset, wild wind wracked Al’s old house and shook its brittle wooden structure. Hail-like clatter heckled the windows, so he pulled down the shades and shut the heavy drapes to hinder the draft.
“Glad I re-caulked all the windows last fall. Glad I put in that new insulation along the roofline where it used to leak. Glad…” He felt along the bottom of the front door.
“Should have bought one of those rubber flaps for this.” He tucked an old rag rug from the back corner of the closet underneath the opening. “Gotta remember, she’s an old, old house. Always in need of something.”
Seemed like his life pared down to two piles, things he wished he had done and those accomplishments he took pride in. And it seemed that many in both piles revolved around this house. Dottie’s tight siding caught his eye as he passed through the kitchen en route to stoke the furnace.
Unlike Dottie’s husband—no, her former husband, no…first husband—aw, Al didn’t know how to think of Owen any more. His fishing buddy—that sounded best. Anyway, unlike Owen, he hadn’t gone for a new furnace, what with this old limestone basement crumbling on its foundations. He ran a fingernail along the chalky stone, green with some sort of musty growth.
Getting a massive steel furnace down here would require knocking out a wall and replacing it, and they would have had to tear apart and reassemble the furnace, so he took Del’s advice and stuck with his coal stoker. He didn’t like making trips into this dank, freezing hole, didn’t like the coal dust, didn’t like…he could go on and on. But the stoker did its job without complaint.
The heavy iron door scraped open, and Al scooped in a mound of coal large enough to last all day. He’d observed the innovations—automatic loading shoots to feed the fire, timers, things like that. But most of them required cutting through the aged limestone, which might not take well to being disturbed.
The alternative, rebuilding the basement walls, would cost a fortune—probably upwards of a thousand dollars. Some things were better left alone.
Two generations ago, his grandfather laid these stones—that was something, wasn’t it? Behind him, the furnace belched fl
ames. He chuckled at Del’s intense reaction to his announcement yesterday in the alley. It brought to mind the shocked look on Del’s face the first time he heard the explosion in the furnace. He never quite got used to it, either, so he and Charlie avoided the basement from late October through May.
At the top of the stairs, Al swung the door shut behind him. Those days were long gone now. Del’s oldest son, grown and gone, boasted a grandbaby on the way. His son would be a grandfather soon. And Charlie’s youngest turned ten last summer. Al wandered through the rooms, wondering what to do with his time today, since he’d already half-packed for the trip and Del didn’t need him right now.
The house shook again, a rag doll in a mongrel’s teeth, and he gripped the window frame. By Sunday, he and Dottie would have tied the knot, and they hadn’t even discussed where they’d live.
Might not hurt to go over there and check on things, although her house was far more fit for a storm than his. He pulled on his coat and his black rubber boots, letting the zippers hang open, stuck his denim cap with its red flannel earflaps over his head, and headed across the back yard.
****
“What do you think about where we’ll live, Al?” Dottie smiled at him over her teacup, sending tremors through him head to toe. He’d been wondering how to bring up the subject.
“I’ve given that some thought lately.”
“I figured so. If you compare our two houses…”
“Yours wins hands down.”
“You think so?”
“It’s in far better shape. Owen was good about making improvements—this house has a new furnace, tighter construction, and far thicker insulation in the attic.”
“That may be true, but you must have some feelings for your place. Didn’t your grandfather build it from scratch?”
“He did. But the back porch sways something awful, the wind blusters right through the dining room floorboards. It’d cost a lot to fix it up. If I started on one thing, like reinforcing the foundation, ten more would pop up. It’s an old, old house.”
In This Together Page 19