In This Together

by Gail Kittleson

  “Oh, by the way, I picked up the mail.” He meandered over to the couch, pulled her down, and plopped a couple of letters in her lap.

  One return address was Heston—the courthouse. A squiggle of fear raced through her. Had she forgotten to pay the property taxes or something? Every January, she wrote the year’s payment days on the calendar.

  With her fingernail, she creased the envelope top, slit it open and unfolded a paper about the size of Cora’s graduation certificate. She took a moment to prepare herself for bad news.

  “Albert Roy Jensen…Dorothy Marie…state of Iowa…” She looked Al’s way. His lips couldn’t hold still—he seemed about to burst. “What…how did you manage this?”

  He covered her knee with his big hand. “Remember the other day, the Heston Fire Department helped us out?” Mischief crawled from the corners of his lips to his eyes.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, Arnold Smith, the county recorder, and I have had some dealings through the years, and…” He cocked his head. “Let’s just say he owed me one. It occurred to me that with the temperature drop and more snow predicted, we might not make it over to the courthouse today, so I signed my name on a piece of paper and gave Arthur our license fee. He thought one of your signatures from your tax records would work, and…”

  Dottie topped his hand with hers. “He sent our marriage license. Al, you are a wonder. In the middle of all that chaos and confusion, you remembered. You thought way ahead. You’re a living wonder.”

  He stood and held out his hands to pull her to her feet. “You are, too, Dot. The way you calmed Ruth down—she was beside herself with worry, but you got her busy doing what she could.” He drew her close, and she basked in his nearness.

  “Why don’t you bake those biscuits, and I’ll help you deliver everything to Friedrich and Berta? We won’t get away without sitting a spell. And then we’ll come back here and…how about a game of checkers tonight?”

  ****

  Full of chicken soup and feeling sleepy, Dottie let Al dry the dishes. With the kitchen back in order, she got a second wind. “You mentioned checkers?”

  “I did, but maybe I have a better idea. What if we look over the trip information?”

  “Fine. I know you’ll beat me at checkers anyway, with all the practice you’ve been getting.”

  “Possibly.” Al reached for the packet from the back of the table. “Come sit in the living room.”

  He spread out pictures of a Pullman car, a dining area, and the bright gold cover of the railroad timetables book with the Santa Fe logo at the top. The bottom half boasted men on horseback, cowboys or soldiers riding horses along a ridgeline along a deep canyon.

  Indians watched their progress from an even higher escarpment, and between the two, mountain peaks rose in the distance. At the bottom sprawled: For interesting facts about points along the Santa Fe, just ask for the folder “Along Your Way.”

  “Guess I should have ordered that, too.” Al’s eyes sparkled, and Dottie knew he already had. He pulled the flyer from behind him like a magician.

  “You know I’ve never wanted to make this trip, but your excitement is getting to me.”

  “Good. I want you to enjoy every minute.”

  “That’s a mighty tall order, I’d say.”

  “And I say seek and ye shall find. How can you not enjoy real, live mountains and valleys? We’ll have views that take our breath away…I think we might even see the Grand Canyon, Dot. Never dreamed I’d actually make it out there.”

  “You didn’t?”

  “I’ve always wanted to. After Nan’s funeral, Charlie thought I should get away for a while. ‘Dad, why don’t you go on a trip? It would do you good.’ Del was just getting going at the store then, so I told myself it wouldn’t be right to leave yet. You know how it is when you want something, but you don’t make the effort to make your dream come true?”

  “I expect that describes me wanting to see Cora and the children. But the distance, and the foreignness of everything between here and there scared me.” Dottie smoothed one of the flyer’s folds. “Still does.”

  “For me, it was not wanting to tackle something like that alone. Guess I learned way back that things go better with someone by my side. We’ll be all right doing it together, don’t you think?” His steady breath wisped against her ear.

  She wasn’t sure how to reply. That moment of panic outside Black’s in Waterloo flashed through her consciousness. Hopefully, that feeling, like she was trapped inside her own skin, wouldn’t come again on the train, now that she realized its origins. But she hesitated to make any predictions she couldn’t fulfill.

  “I think so, but just the other day, you saw me…” Heat welled up her neck. “I have to admit I’m looking forward to the journey’s end.”

  They sat in the quiet for a while. Then Al asked her something she’d wondered about, too. “If Owen had lived, do you think you’d have visited Cora by now?”

  She wove her fingers through his. “I’m not sure. He got to be quite the homebody, like me, his last couple of years. Losing Bill did something to him.”

  Al leaned his shoulder into hers. “Well, you’re not a homebody any more, dearie. Starting Tuesday, you’ll be a world traveler.”

  Dottie pressed her palm against her collarbone to hold down her fears. She’d believe it once they’d been aboard the train for a few hours.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Saturday dawned cold and clear. Al couldn’t sleep, so he rounded a six-block expanse after re-shoveling all the sidewalks. What a week this had been, with the fire and this huge snowstorm. Details from those impossible hours spent on Ruth’s roof swirled in his head. He tamped down his anxiety on that day, but since then, he had to squelch it again when he went to bed, and often throughout the night.

  He wouldn’t allow such ruminations to spoil this occasion, for today, Dot would become his wife. Though she didn’t share his excitement about the trip, they would manage just fine. He was sure of it. The sense that all would be well billowed within him—all would be well.

  Thankful the snow finally stopped, he surveyed Sternville’s orderly rows of houses, except for the mess in Harm’s yard. You could tell something went awry there not long ago by the pile of debris stashed beside the front porch. Snowdrifts softened it, but still, it was a mess.

  He’d never been in that house before the fire. The spurt of energy that filled him that day lurked somewhere down inside—amazing what a body could do when a situation called for immediate action. That inner spurt saved him more than once during the war, and gave him his second chance at life, the chance so many men missed. Now, he was getting another second chance, with Dot.

  Still, he’d rather not have that sort of energy surge again if he had a choice. He slowed his pace to calculate the distance from the school’s charred bricks to Harm’s porch. Could live embers really travel that far?

  But he’d even heard the hiss when they hit the shingles. The red bricks on the east end of the school were charred—that whole side would have to be rebuilt.

  “We have to accept it, Dad. Some things we can’t get to the bottom of.”

  His tone, so flat and final, ignited Al’s desire to trace the wires, follow the clues—but he let go of it. After all, he had other things to think about, and Del had become the unofficial fire chief. But how could he accept not figuring out how the fire started? That puzzled him. He had half a notion to check through the rubble himself, but Del declared the investigation closed.

  In the spring, Del could count on a solid order of wood, nails, and paint from the hardware, that was for sure. Probably would take the whole summer to refurbish the building.

  Situated a couple of blocks away, the Catholic church steeple caught Al’s eye above several rooftops. At least the Catholic school was large enough to temporarily house the elementary classes. Some Protestant parents weren’t happy with the arrangement, but what could they do? Father Plenheim seemed pleasant enough
when he came into the hardware to buy extra light bulbs and kerosene heaters.

  Al wiped his forehead under his plaid flannel hat lining. “Whew—so glad that snow turned to sleet. Might not have made it otherwise.”

  In that momentary pause, he saw it. He shook his head, strained toward Harm’s house, and waited until the thin dark gray plume ascended again.

  A wad of recognition stuck in his throat. Could fire smolder that long, or was his imagination, after a sleepless night, playing tricks on him? He stood still until he counted three more funnels of…yes, it had to be smoke. What else could it be?

  He raced around the back of the house and banged on the door with all his might. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears, like thunder or the roar of…No, he wouldn’t think about that.

  Harm, still in his long johns, opened the door, razor in hand. “You okay, Al? We’ve got the flu here—couldn’t sleep anyway. I keep thinking I smell smoke. Get up six times a night to check. Mabel thinks I’ve lost my mind.”

  “Harm, get your boots on quick and come out to the front.”

  It took only one dark puff to spur Harm into action. “I’ll call Central…Hilda’s at work this early, ain’t she?”

  “Yeah, or somebody else is. I’ll run and rev up the motor. Your family—if they need a place to stay, send ’em over to my house. Back door’s open.”

  Harm, a large-boned man, ran along the side of the house through snow crunchy with ice and whizzed around the back faster than Al had ever seen him move. Al sprinted kitty-cornered through the Spurgeon’s and Wilson’s back yards. Huffing and puffing, he rounded the corner and grabbed his set of hardware keys, fumbling for the one to the garage where they kept the fire equipment.

  They’d had a few humdingers over the years, but always spread far enough apart that they never developed a workable system. Whoever got there first took charge. In no mind to direct this operation, Al had little choice until somebody else got here.

  He cranked open the wide door, his pulse buzzing in his ears. Moist, cold air hit him like a wall. The old boiler kept the building just warm enough so the pipes wouldn’t freeze.

  A gassy smell met his nostrils when he leaped onto the high truck seat and pumped the accelerator. The weary engine didn’t want to roll over. He tried again, hoping somebody had thought to refill the pump tank after the showdown at the school. At least the truck had fuel. Now, if he could only avoid flooding the temperamental thing.

  “Come on, come on!” The window steamed over and he wiped it with his coat sleeve.

  The cold motor rebelled, but Al kept trying until he thought he’d flooded it. Since he left Harm’s, a cloud of unreality enveloped him. He felt as though he inhabited one of those old silent picture shows.

  But then tires screeched somewhere—word had gotten to somebody, and a vehicle would pull up any second. In another half-second the fire whistle blew. Finally. Al breathed a bit deeper.

  About the time the motor finally coughed to life, Del’s long stride came into view, and behind him Ben Matthews. Del’s face looked as unbelieving as it had when Al told him about marrying Dottie.

  “Smoke’s coming from Byerlys’ house. Harm saw it too, and put in the call. Hope that pump truck is filled and ready to go.”

  Del gaped at him for a couple of seconds, and Al remembered how difficult mornings had always been for his older son. He muttered to the steering wheel. “Come on, Del. I know we just had a big fire, but this is the real thing. Get moving.”

  Ben grabbed Del, and they scrambled for their coats. Two more men entered, and Ben told them to fill the pump truck. Del and Ben boarded the back. The truck swayed from the building, Al’s foot riding the clutch. They careened into the street with the siren squawking in the cold instead of shrieking its usual whistle.

  Old Hank Wendt’s ancient albatross, a cross between a Model T and a farm truck, cruised into their path from the west. Hank, on his usual morning run to town, veered all over the streets.

  Al stomped on the brake, and Hank, a crazed look in his eyes, cranked his steering wheel to the right. A few more men arrived, and Ben and Del directed them to the Byerly house while Al concentrated on keeping the truck from stalling.

  Sleepy Sternville hadn’t had its coffee yet, though a few shades had been pulled up along the way. That breathless sensation he always experienced just before a summer thunderstorm almost overcame Al, but he maneuvered onto the school street. He parked the truck close to the hydrant, but at the best angle for the hoses to reach the front of the house.

  Let Del and Ben manhandle those hoses. He would check to make sure the children had left the house. That’s all that mattered—get everyone out of there before something blew. The furnace, most likely—Harm hadn’t updated his, either.

  Everything was quiet, so he assumed Harm got the kids out, but checked the bedrooms anyway, the bathroom and attic, every downstairs room, and the basement. He looked around again, for safety’s sake, before he emerged with the all clear. Ben and Del manned the hose, sending powerful spray toward billowing smoke.

  The resulting sizzle took Al’s breath away. His heart pitched into his throat, his eyes stung, but he couldn’t crumple to his knees. Not here, not now.

  ****

  “We can say our vows tomorrow just as well.” Dottie stood arms akimbo at the kitchen table as Al ate everything she set before him. Two bowls of chicken soup, a ham sandwich, four buttered biscuits swimming in honey, and glass after glass of milk.

  “We have an hour to get ready, and today’s the day. No use putting it off.”

  “But you’re frozen through.”

  “Your soup’s taking care of that. Besides, Harm and Mabel need a place to stay, and this way…” He gave her a mischievous grin and worked his brows up and down. “Everything will be legitimate and the town won’t be able to talk.”

  “They’ll still talk—you know that.” Dottie piled dishes for the dishpan, shaking her head. “To think of that poor family, with all those children asleep right beside a smoldering fire the past few days. They could all have been…”

  She thought through the morning again. “You don’t usually take morning walks, do you, Al?”

  “My walk down to the store is the closest thing I’ve taken in years. But this morning, I couldn’t sleep, and walking seemed the best medicine.” He scanned her profile with glinting eyes and reached for her waist.

  He couldn’t sleep—was he having second thoughts? But he refused to put off saying their vows. She hated that she couldn’t read his eyes, especially when that startled look hovered there, the same one he’d had on the day of the school fire. And some other time—when had that been?

  Maybe that night he’d come over to check the furnace filter. Later, he’d mumbled that a person couldn’t be too careful with fire.

  “For heaven’s sake, Al. You’re worn out. Really, we don’t…” Dottie started to name several good reasons to put the ceremony off till tomorrow, but he stuck out his chin.

  “I don’t know about you, but I’ve waited plenty long enough.”

  With milk all over his involuntary mustache, he looked so funny. She put her arm around his neck, and he pulled her close.

  “You’re not trying to chicken out on me, now are you?”

  “No. It’s taken me a little longer, maybe, but I’m looking forward to this as much as you.”

  “You’d better be, doll. It’s not too often a man my age fights a fire and gets married the same day.” He shook his head, and that odd cloudiness left his eyes. “I’m headed next door for my clothes. The next time I see you, you’d better be ready to go to the church.”

  The clock ticked away—exactly one hour. Dottie tidied the kitchen and looked around. When she came home, she would be Al’s wife. It didn’t seem possible.

  In the bedroom, she lifted her new rose dress from its hanger. Millie surprised her with it when they got back from seeing her office on Sunday. One of the newer styles, she said, although Dottie woul
dn’t have known the difference.

  And she brought home three sizes of a lovely black pair of shoes so Dottie could try them on. One fit perfectly.

  “The store let you do that?”

  “I told them you don’t like to shop, and they didn’t want to miss a sale.” Millie grinned. “There’s always a way to get things done.” She reached into a shopping bag. “And here’s a new package of hosiery, the silkiest I’ve found.”

  Now, Dottie wished Millie and Ren could have driven up for the ceremony. “No use wishing—at least we spent Sunday together.”

  She perched on the edge of the bed, carefully fitted her fingers into the end of the left stocking and drew the softness up her leg, then her right foot. The fine silk eased over her thighs, reminding her she was a woman—a woman getting married. If she had any doubts that Al meant to be joined with her in every way, she certainly didn’t after this week of kisses.

  Now that the hour drew near, she felt a longing for him she could hardly contain. Tonight, he would sleep right here in this bed. She snapped her garters shut and smoothed the new dress over her slip. When had she felt such softness against her skin?

  “I’ll wear this on our arrival day in California, too.”

  The mirror proclaimed her ready—excited, alive, even younger. It was one of those “pinch me” days—to prove it was real. She dug in her purse for a lipstick.

  ****

  “Wow. You look so…you look real fine, Dot.”

  She reached to tweak Al’s white collar and tie. “And you, Mr. Jensen—is that a new tie you’re wearing?”

  “It is. I have to say I didn’t pick it out, though. Fred brought it by yesterday, since he knew about this before anyone else. You know—the ring and all. He wanted me to have something new to wear.”

  “He has good taste, I’d say.”

  “You would, eh?”

  She rested her head on his arm, so like a child it caught him by surprise. Her skin, so smooth and clear, her eyes so brown and tender—he needed to be near her, that was all he knew, and God had seen fit to bring them together. The significance of this moment almost paralyzed him with emotion.