by Indiana Wake
“Even tonight, Mama said I should forget about books and plays and start doing more of the kind of things that Garth likes to do.”
“What does Garth like to do?” Bess raised her eyebrows in question.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care to. Whatever it is, I doubt books and plays come into it anywhere.”
“I don’t suppose so; he’s a farmer through and through. He goes to the barn dance, I’ve seen him,” Bess said helpfully.
“So have I.” Amanda shook her head. “Staring at the women and trying to get the pretty ones to dance with him.”
“Sounds like any other young man at the barn dance to me.” Bess chuckled.
“And he sounds like every young man to me, at the barn dance or anywhere else,” Amanda said and felt the little stab of anger that was becoming all too familiar.
Her mother really was no support at all. It hadn’t come as a shock, but it had hurt Amanda, nonetheless. She wanted a mother who would fight for her, who would tell her to go out into the world and chase her own dreams; find her own man.
But, as much as she had decided to do just that, Amanda quickly came to realize that there were slim pickings as far as men went in her town. They were all much of a sameness, as far as she could see. If she picked another man over Garth, it would likely be just the same sort of man as him. One she had nothing in common with and never would.
Worse still, Amanda had an instinct that her father would soon give voice to his own wants and she would be forced to finally be in open opposition to him for the first time in her life.
“Well, let’s just enjoy the play for now, honey,” Bess said and gave her hand a comforting squeeze as the two of them made their way into the town barn at last.
Chapter Three
The play was the best the local amateurs had put on for a very long time. It was a romantic tale with enough humor in it to keep the young friends happy.
“Well, that sure was good. I’m glad I came,” Bess said, clearly as impressed with the tale as she had been with the meager part played by the current object of her desire, Brad Turner.
“So am I. It’s cheered me up,” Amanda said truthfully.
“You enjoyed it, ladies?” the man who had come in a little late and sat down at Amanda’s side gently joined their conversation.
“I sure did,” Amanda said brightly. “I think I liked that bit of humor in it too. The last few plays have been good, but a little sad for my taste.”
“I’ve never seen them before,” the man went on with a smile as Amanda became aware of Bess surreptitiously squeezing her arm. “They’re really very good.”
“I think so. I never miss and that’s the truth. But then, we don’t have a lot of choice here.” The man had a nice face and, undoubtedly to Bess’ delight, wire-rimmed eyeglasses. “Are you new in town?”
“Yes and no,” he said and laughed, removing his glasses and placing them in the top pocket of his waistcoat.
“Oh?” Amanda was suddenly intrigued.
“I’ve just got back from studying in Salem. I was away for three years, although I came back every now and then.”
“At Willamette University?” Amanda asked, and instantly regretted her excited tone.
“Yes, at the University,” he agreed with a smile, clearly surprised that she had an interest in his scholarly life at all.
“I would give anything to be able to study there.”
“What would you like to study?”
“Just about anything at all. Just to be there and have a purpose and all; what a privilege that would be”
“It most certainly was a privilege,” he agreed, then frowned as if he had forgotten something. “Forgive me, ma’am, my name is Joe Macey,” he said and stuck out his hand.
“I am Amanda Hargreaves, and this is my very best friend, Miss Bess Lawler.”
“I am pleased to meet you both,” he said, still smiling as he reached out to shake Bess’ hand also.
“And don’t I know your name, Mr. Macey? Is your mama the town doctor?” Amanda asked with admiration.
She’d heard all manner of accounts of the training and qualifications of the only female doctor in the area, most of them a little disparaging. But Amanda had always been intrigued, she had always been in awe of the woman, even though she was just about the most approachable lady in the world.
“That’s right.” He smiled with some pride.
“She’s a real nice lady – and clever, too.”
“I think so, too. It was kind of you to say, thank you.”
“Excuse me for just a moment,” Bess said, her attention suddenly caught by an entirely unattended Brad Turner standing just to the right of the makeshift stage. “I just wanted to congratulate Mr. Turner on his performance.” Her cheeks were already turning pink.
Slight shyness notwithstanding, Bess was already on her feet and quite determined to approach the man whose very handsomeness had rendered her mute in the diner. Amanda couldn’t help but admire her courage.
“Of course, honey,” Amanda said and nodded her agreement.
“I’ll sit with Miss Hargreaves, Miss Lawler.”
“Thank you kindly, Mr. Macey,” Bess said, and Amanda almost laughed; Bess would have happily left her sitting alone, albeit safely, for a chance to have a few minutes of conversation with her latest hero.
“I’m guessing Mr. Turner must be new to the group. He wasn’t on stage much.” Joe Macey grinned.
He had a handsome face, with or without the eyeglasses, but there was a subtlety of manner which had already set him apart. And as for his return from University, how many men did she know who’d been? How many did she know who had even thought about it? None, that was how many.
“I don’t think his acting prowess is Bess’ sole motivation for angling for a conversation.” Amanda laughed. “She likes him a great deal.”
“Ah,” he said and nodded; his smile still wide.
He had a look of boyish manliness and Amanda liked it very much. He was broad and looked to be tall, although she didn’t know for sure since he was still seated. He didn’t have the weather-beaten look of many young men and Amanda thought that he didn’t work the land in any way, shape, or form.
Maybe he worked in his daddy’s attorneys’ practice. Daniel Macey was as well known in these parts as his wife. Still, Amanda didn’t like to ask; she thought it would make her look a little eager if she let him see how much she already knew about his family.
“So, what did you study at Willamette?”
“English and American Literature,” he replied modestly. “For all the good it will do me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I guess there’s not much call for men of letters here. Not unless those letters make up a legal document, at any rate.” He laughed it off, but Amanda saw a flash of something in his eyes. Hurt?
“I think it’s wonderful, Mr. Macey. To have studied something you enjoy, to have so much knowledge and understanding.” She knew she sounded awestruck and tried, unsuccessfully, to rein it in. “I love books. I love reading.” She felt like a child suddenly.
“Thank God for that,” he said and seemed to relax. “I was beginning to think I’d have to move away again. Well, that’s one person. There’s hope, now.”
“There’s a few who like to read in the amateur theatre group,” she said and peered off toward the stage. “But I think they read plays. Sometimes books that they convert into plays. Most of the time, they make the plays up for themselves.” She wondered if she and her little admiration of the amateurs made her seem a little naïve to him. After all, he had been away to University to study such things.
“Well, if tonight is anything to go by, I’d say they do it very well.” He nodded without any hint of condescension. “Sometimes comedy in the middle of a heartfelt romance doesn’t work, but it did tonight. They got the balance just right.”
“That’ll be Tex Martin. He’s usually involved when there’s
anything funny to be done. He always slots humor in very cleverly.” Emboldened by his seeming interest and lack of sneering, Amanda settled down and became a little more like her old self.
“You really do know your stuff,” he said with no hint that he was mocking her.
If anything, he looked set to sit right there all night and talk to her, even as the props were being packed away and people were slowly beginning to filter out of the town barn.
“Not really, but I do enjoy it. I just wish there was more choice here. Even in school, we never learned anything really creative, you know?”
“I remember. The schoolroom teaches you how to read, not what to read. I guess we all have to figure that out for ourselves.” He shrugged.
“It’s still a shame. Most children grow up knowing how to read, struggling to learn that most difficult thing, only to use it so rarely afterwards. We all just farm or chase cattle about the plains and never wonder about the world outside.”
“So, which do you do? Farm, or chase cattle about the plains?” He laughed and Amanda realized she was hooked.
What a nice man, so clever, interesting and amusing, too. And his thick dark hair with such pale eyes was making him more and more interesting by the second.
“Neither.” She laughed. “I work in the diner. But I do come from a farming family.”
“And you didn’t want to work there?”
“Not really,” she admitted. “I used to go out and collect eggs and tend the vegetable garden, but nothing more serious than that. I have two older brothers and I reckon my father thought he didn’t really need me. It’s a big farm, he has plenty of employees, too.”
“Maybe he just realized that an intelligent woman like you is meant for something other than farming.” When he looked at her, it was clear he was serious.
He wasn’t flattering her or trying to mock her, he just meant what he said.
“Oh, how I wish that were true,” Amanda said and laughed.
Chapter Four
When he’d first walked into the town barn, very late, Joe had wondered if he would get a seat anywhere. The place was packed; either the people of the town loved a good play, or there was nothing better for them to do that night.
When he finally spotted a vacant chair, he’d hurried over and whispered to the woman in the next seat. When she confirmed it was vacant, he was simply relieved. Little had he realized that he couldn’t have found himself better placed if he’d arrived early and had his pick of the seats.
Amanda Hargreaves was a captivating woman. She was beautiful with her gleaming chestnut hair and bright green eyes, but it was more than that. Joe had seen pretty women before; it wasn’t a new experience. What was new, however, was to have such a wonderful conversation, one which had been entirely unexpected.
It reminded him of being back in Salem, albeit his comfortable conversations back then had been with the other male students. There were no women in attendance, and if there were, he hadn’t come across them. Even though Amanda was not a student, she easily could have been. He knew that she was bright, despite the fact she looked a little embarrassed by the whole thing.
Of course, upbringing did that to a woman.
Regardless, he was enjoying a real conversation about the things he loved for the first time since he’d been back in town. Something about it gave him hope for the future, although, he couldn’t really say how it would help him through his own predicament.
“What do you like to read, Miss Hargreaves?” he asked, carefully steering around anymore talk of Amanda’s father.
If she gave the impression her father couldn’t care less about what went on in her head, Joe had no reason to doubt it. Why would he? It was common enough for fathers to treat daughters that way. Even though his own grandfather had encouraged his mother and taught her all he had to teach her about medicine, still, the world had not moved on much. It hadn’t even caught up with the fine old grandfather who had died long before Joe had been born.
“All kinds, I guess,” she said shyly, leading him to fear a list of romantic novels based on the manners of early nineteenth century England. “James Fenimore Cooper, Catherine Maria Sedgewick. A little Ralph Waldo Emerson.” She paused, chewing her bottom lip as she thought. “I like Edgar Allen Poe. I suppose he is favorite for me at the moment. Oh, and I just read the Scarlett Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne. I liked it, although it made me a little angry, I guess.” She shrugged when she’d finished, as if her little list was of no consequence.
But for Joe Macey, it was like dying and going straight to Heaven. This night was certainly going a lot better than he had imagined. And there was him thinking the highlight was discovering that the amateur actors, despite his mother’s declaration, had managed to find a curtain to raise. Well, drag across the stage, but nonetheless they had clearly moved on in the world since Dr. Macey’s last visit.
“You certainly are a reader,” he said with open admiration. “I like Poe also, most particularly the Fall of the House of Usher.”
“It scared me, but in different ways each time I thought about it,” Amanda said somewhat dreamily as Joe’s heart began to thump inexplicably.
“How so?” Was this thundering heart excitement? The excitement of finding the conversation he had so missed?
“At first, it’s just the loneliness of the house, the feeling that the narrator is going to come to some harm in a world he doesn’t understand,” she began thoughtfully. “But in the end, it’s not the narrator I felt afraid for, but the brother and sister. They were trapped inside their own family and death was their only escape. The house, the legacy, I suppose, held them tighter than any prison. It describes family in a way, and that was the most frightening thing of all.” She spoke now without any hint of the embarrassed modesty of before; she was in her element now and her green eyes looked all the brighter for it.
“There’s a sense of identification,” he said gently, although it was really a question.
He wanted to know more about her family. Did they exert some form of control which had led Amanda to shudder with recognition when she read Poe’s work?
“Yes, I suppose so,” she said with a vague smile; she wasn’t going to answer the unasked question after all. “Goodness, I don’t think I’ve ever had such a conversation as this, Mr. Macey.” Her smile became a little more satisfied.
“I certainly haven’t had such a conversation like this since I left Salem and I must thank you for it. And please, call me Joe,” he said, keen for less formality between them.
Joe had the greatest sense of having found a friend, a real friend. Maybe even something more, for there wasn’t a single thing about this woman which did not attract him.
“Amanda,” she said and nodded. “So, what do you do now that you’re back? I bet it’s more exciting than my job in the diner.”
“I’m writing,” he said and felt the familiar feeling of childishness.
He knew, in these parts at least, that writing was not a job, or not considered a proper job. His own father had all but said it when he’d tried, yet again, to have him take his rightful place at Macey and Associates.
“Oh, how wonderful. May I ask what you’re working on, or is it a secret?” Her interest alone was enough to give him confidence.
“I’m only really at the beginnings of it, but it’s the story of a young man from an impoverished family as he tries to break out of the mold cast by generations of his family. It’s the idea that people would rather do the same thing over and over again instead of breaking out.”
“That sounds like a very original idea. A story that will appeal to many, rich or poor. The unbreakable mold could be in any family, I suppose. Even kings and queens have little choice in the end. Everybody expects them to take their role and that’s that.”
“You’ve grasped it immediately. I wish my father had the same perceptions as you, Amanda.”
“He doesn’t like the plot?”
“He doesn’t like the id
ea of my being a writer altogether. He would much rather I followed him into his law practice. To be honest, I suppose I was fortunate that he supported the idea of my choosing a degree in literature rather than law. But now he wants me to grow up, as he puts it. He says that I will pick it up soon enough and that he would support my later attendance at University again to study law properly.”
“Do you want to be an attorney?” she asked and looked doubtful; already this young woman knew enough about him to realize it wouldn’t suit him at all.
“No, I never have.”
“Then you should just carry on writing if you are able. Do what you want to do if there’s even a chance.” There was something determined about the way she spoke, as if her declaration was personal to her rather than simply advice for him.
“Thank you,” Joe said quietly. “I think Miss Lawler is coming back to you.” He looked over in Bess Lawler’s direction.
“She’s smiling. It must have gone well,” Amanda said and brightened considerably.
“I do hope so,” he said, rooting for the romantic inclinations of a young woman he knew nothing about.
“Happy?” Amanda asked when Bess strode up to stand in front of her.
“Very happy.” Bess was beaming; this was hardly code, even Joe could keep up.
“And you?” Bess said a little clumsily.
Amanda blushed and coughed, clearly realizing that Joe wasn’t in the dark when it came to allegedly subtle female communication.
“We’ve had a very pleasant conversation about Edgar Allen Poe.” Amanda did what she could to cover her embarrassment.
“Oh dear.” Bess pulled a face and both Joe and Amanda laughed. “That dreary book about the haunted house?”
“It wasn’t a haunted house,” Amanda said with amusement. “But yes, that was the book.”