by Indiana Wake
“Well, I guess we’d better head home, Amanda. You know how my mama gets when we’re walking back in the dark.”
“Perhaps I could walk you both?” Joe said, not wanting to let Amanda go just yet.
“Oh, that sure is kind of you, Mr. Macey.” Bess beamed. “It will be a comfort to me because my house is the closest and Amanda always has the last five minutes walking alone.” She cast Amanda a conspiratorial look which was not lost on Joe.
Blundering as she might be, Bess had already got a very good idea that Joe liked her friend. And as for Joe, he thought he was going to like Bess Lawler too.
Chapter Five
Amanda had never been walked home by a young man before in all her life and she found that she very much liked it. She felt as if she had been allowed admittance into a little club which contained so many other young women of her own age. Life had turned a corner, albeit a most complicated one.
Once they had left Bess at the little gate which led to her home, Amanda and Joe returned to their book conversation. Not only was it enjoyable, but it seemed somehow safe. Amanda wondered just how much personal information she had given away in the few minutes they had spent together talking after the end of the play. Not that she had anything to hide, of course, but she was very aware of seeming a little too keen to part with the details of her life and, as they continued to talk, she wracked her brain for any misspoken words.
Beyond a vague suggestion that her father didn’t exactly hold her in high regard, Amanda was comfortable that she hadn’t gone too far. And anyway, Joe had given away a good deal more, telling her how his father, the attorney, was in direct opposition to his own dreams.
Amanda could see the lights burning from the window of her family’s farmhouse and already felt bereft. She was about to say goodbye to this fine young man and was already wondering if they would ever share such conversation again. After all, he was a clever man who likely had enjoyed a little intelligent conversation without reading too much into it. But to Amanda, that brief interlude had seemed like so much more.
He really was tall now that they were side-by-side and Amanda fought an urge to imagine them walking arm in arm, like a courting couple. It was ridiculous, she had known him for less than an hour and already she was imagining them together. She’d never had such firm and fast feelings about any man before and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was significant or if it was nothing more than resistance to her father’s own unspoken plans for her.
“Well, I suppose this is where you leave me, Joe,” Amanda said and could hear her own tone of regret. “It really was kind of you to walk us both home tonight. Thank you, Joe.”
“No, thank you. As much as I enjoyed the play, I think I enjoyed your company more,” he said with a plainspoken openness she had never witnessed in any young man before.
Most of the young men she knew, Garth Walton included, played their cards very close to their chests. They were interested and yet offhand at the same time, as if to admit any attraction out loud would somehow make them vulnerable. Clearly, Joe Macey didn’t see it the same way.
“It made a nice change to be able to talk about things I am interested in, for once.” Amanda nodded vigorously. “So, thank you,” she added.
“Well, maybe I will see you in the diner?” he said a little awkwardly and she realized that he was asking her permission to see her again.
“That would be lovely,” Amanda said, keen to leave him in no doubt whatsoever that she welcomed the idea. “I work there Monday to Thursday, all day.”
“Good,” he said and gently sighed in what sounded like relief. “Well, good night, Amanda.”
“Good night, Joe.”
As they each turned and walked away from one another, Amanda forced herself not to pause and look back at him. As much as she wanted a last look at the tall, dark-haired man who had captured her imagination so completely, she didn’t want to risk turning to see him looking back at her. She had little waves of shyness or embarrassment in the last hour and she didn’t think she could manage another one.
By the time she reached the front door of the farmhouse, Amanda was in the grip of a little excitement. Joe Macey was going to occupy her thoughts and she wondered if she would get any sleep at all that night. He was new, different, and somehow seemed to herald something of a change in her world. She realized, of course, that such a notion was as much wishful thinking as anything else, but she had no intention whatsoever of dissuading herself from the idea. It made a nice change to feel hopeful, optimistic, and in control. After all, Joe Macey was a friend she had picked herself, not somebody her father had decided would suit her.
However, when she opened the door and stepped into the kitchen of the farmhouse, her old world settled about her and life felt complicated once more. Although there was nobody in the kitchen, she could hear voices drifting in from the sitting room and knew that her parents had company.
It was still early, of course, not even yet nine o’clock, so it was hardly surprising that her folks were entertaining somebody. But she had recognized the voice immediately as the rather determined tone of none other than Garth Walton.
Of all the people on earth, he was the last one she wanted to see. She wanted to enjoy the idea of her new friendship, the pleasing image of the handsome and intelligent face of Joe Macey, without Garth Walton’s tedious company ruining it.
“Ah, there you are, my dear,” her mother said brightly when Amanda made her way into the sitting room.
“A little later than I was expecting you, Amanda,” her father said and eyed her keenly.
“The play started a little late, Papa,” Amanda replied nonchalantly, amazed at the immediate and unabashed lie.
But she could not say that she had stayed behind to talk to a young man she found vastly more interesting than Garth Walton, not with the man sitting there. If she was honest, she could not say it at all, certainly not to her father.
“You sure do look nice tonight, Amanda. That’s a real pretty dress,” Garth said and looked her up and down surreptitiously.
“Thank you, Garth,” Amanda said a little tightly.
Of all the things he could have said, why did it have to be so very obvious? Could he not have asked her if she enjoyed the play? Could he have not enquired what it was about? Did he have to remind her that, as far as he was concerned, she was nothing more than an adornment, an appendage?
“Well, sit down, honey. Join us,” her mother said and patted the seat on the couch beside herself.
The seat was directly opposite the armchair Garth sat in, of course it was. Her mother had choreographed everything perfectly as she always did, propping the merchandise up in front of the prospective buyer so that he could have a good look at it.
Amanda knew she was being a little bitter, but they were ruining her good feeling and she resented them for it. The comparison was so stark that it unsettled her; Joe Macey had been interested in her observations of a book that they had both read, whereas Garth simply liked her pretty dress and her mother and father were just keen to have things settled to their liking. Not one of them cared a single thing for what was in Amanda’s head or heart. Not one of them cared for the choices she would make if she was, indeed, free to make them.
“The play was a very good one tonight, Mama,” Amanda said with such determination that her father’s head snapped round to look at her. “It was a romance, of course, but it had been very well written. The players had managed to interweave such appropriate humor that they received a standing ovation at the end of it. I think it was the best one I have seen for a long time.”
“That’s nice,” her mother said and patted her hand. “Did Bess enjoy it?”
“Yes, very much,” Amanda said, knowing that Bess had largely enjoyed the scant appearances on stage of the impossibly handsome Brad Turner.
“The problem with the amateur players is that they take up room in the barn. I wish they would get somewhere else to put on their silly p
erformances.” Garth sounded a little sullen, as if he resented the conversation somehow. “The barn is much better put to use with a dance,” he added firmly.
Amanda chose to say nothing; what could she say? There sat before her a man who would much prefer to drink liquor-laced fruit punch and stare at every pretty young woman who fluttered by. What was the point in suggesting that he might have enjoyed the play if he ever bothered to do something different for a change?
There was absolutely no point, whatsoever.
Chapter Six
The following Monday, Amanda Hargreaves went to her job at the diner with a spring in her step. It was never an occupation she had found particularly inspiring, albeit she had tried to make each day flow a little better in finding as much lively conversation as there was to be had in town.
But today was different. As predicted, she had slept very little on Saturday night after the play and the wonderfully fortuitous meeting with Joe Macey. Sadly, Joe had not engulfed all her thoughts, for Garth Walton and her parents had certainly spoiled things long beyond the hours she had spent in their company.
Sunday had dragged, despite the fact she had excited herself to some degree with the idea that she might see Joe Macey in church. But as always, the church was packed to capacity, and she had not managed to set eyes on any of the Macey family. He might well have been there, but she certainly hadn’t seen him.
Amanda had spent the rest of Sunday wondering about Monday. Would Joe really come to see her? And if he did, would he come so soon? She doubted it. Nonetheless, she made sure that she was nicely dressed for work on Monday without overdoing it. She wore a pale blue dress with short sleeves and a brilliant white, frilly petticoat. Her white apron over the top didn’t detract too much from the prettiness of the dress and Amanda was pleased that she felt comfortable and confident without having gone to a ridiculous amount of effort.
If only she could be certain that he would come as he said he would. Men were funny creatures and she knew that he could decide not to visit her as easily as he had decided to come to the diner in the first place. And he was a handsome man, or at least she thought so, he might even have happened across another young lady he liked better in the meantime.
But where? Where would he have gone on a Sunday to meet such a delightful woman? Amanda knew that she was tempting herself to feel insecure about a man she had only just met.
By the time she walked to the door of the diner, Amanda had more or less decided that she really was being silly, and that Joe Macey was unlikely to ever appear in the diner for anything other than apple pie and coffee.
So, when he appeared in the diner at eleven o’clock, smiling and clearly pleased to see her, nobody could have been more surprised than Amanda.
“Are you too busy to talk?” he asked with a grin as he settled himself down at one of the gingham clad tables.
“No, the rush doesn’t really start for an hour or so,” she said, her tiny notebook and pencil in hand ready to take his order. “Did you want anything?” she asked, wondering if he would actually eat.
“Pie and coffee would be good.” His grey eyes held hers for a moment. “Especially if you are able to join me for a few minutes?” He looked around at the empty tables hopefully.
“I think I can manage that,” Amanda said and felt the fluttering in her stomach which had only become familiar to her in the last couple of days. “Is apple all right?”
“Perfect,” he said before setting down a small pile of papers on the table in front of him.
Amanda darted away to get his order ready, wondering what the paperwork was all about and pleased that it was Sandy’s day off. Sandy would certainly make a mental note of Amanda sitting down with one of the customers for a while if she were there.
“Here you go,” she said, setting a tray containing one plate of pie and two cups of coffee down on the table.
“You’re not eating?”
“No, I had some pie already,” she said, the white lie hiding the truth that she was just too excited to eat anything now that he was there; no doubt her appetite would come back to her later.
“Thank you,” he said, taking the plate of pie off the tray and lifting his fork. “Do you normally work alone?”
“Only on a Monday. For some reason, it’s the quietest day of the week, so Sandy never comes in on Monday. But she works on a Saturday, so I guess it’s fair.”
“Does Sandy own the place?”
“No, she just works here like me. The owner only comes back in the evening for the takings and he works on Saturday with Sandy. The rest of the time, he is nowhere to be seen.”
“It’s funny, isn’t it, how some people make all the money and do the least work?”
“It seems to be the way of the world.” Amanda laughed. “Take my father, for instance,” she began tentatively. “He’s been a farmer for years and years, although I hardly remember ever seeing him pulling oxen and plough along or mending fences. He is out there all day, in his defense, but he spends his time directing everybody else in their work instead of settling down to some of his own. I suppose that is the way with successful men.”
“Then, maybe you’d like a change of pace and spend a few minutes with a determinedly unsuccessful man.” He laughed, but was neither self-deprecating nor bitter.
“It suits me.” She laughed also. “What’s this?” she asked, turning her attention to the pile of paper on the table.
“Well, after our conversation on Saturday evening, I found myself somewhat inspired to get on with things.”
“Things?”
“Well, my book.” He grinned and, for just a moment, looked a little sheepish. “I was hard at it all day yesterday, which didn’t go down too well with my father.”
“Why? It was Sunday, after all.”
“Precisely, and I was up with the larks and scribbling away, missing church and finding yet another way to annoy my parents without trying.”
“I don’t expect one Sunday without church every so often is going to tip the balance in the devil’s favor as far as you’re concerned,” Amanda said and was pleased when he boomed with laughter.
“I certainly hope not,” he said, still chuckling. “Anyway, I wondered if you would read what I’ve done so far.” He gently pushed the pile of papers across the table towards her. “Not now, you understand, just when you have a chance of it.” He shrugged and there was that tiniest look of sheepishness again.
“Me?” Amanda said and sounded every bit as surprised as she was. “You want me to read it?”
“Only if you want to,” he said and winced. “I don’t want you to feel obliged.”
“I don’t feel at all obliged,” Amanda said and reached out to lift the papers from the table. “I’m honored, if anything.” She faltered. “I suppose I can’t quite believe that I’m being trusted with something so important.”
“So far, it’s only important to me. And in any case, you’re a reader, what better person to be able to tell me where I’m going wrong? Or even right.”
“I would be glad to. And I’m sure you’re going right rather than wrong,” she added.
“But you would be honest, wouldn’t you? I think I can tell that much about you even though I’ve only known you for a few days.”
“I promise you I will be honest,” Amanda said and gave a silent prayer that his work would be so good that she would never be faced with the idea of her honesty losing her this new and wonderful friendship.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. When do you need it back? Does it stop you carrying on if I have all your work?”
“No, I know what I’m doing next, so you can keep it as long as you need to.”
“It won’t take me long, I read every day. There’s nothing so pressing that I can’t put it aside and read your work instead. If I’m honest, I’m looking forward to it.”
“I’m really glad we met, Amanda,” he said and smiled so innocently that she could not tell if h
e meant he was pleased to have found somebody he could entrust his work to or something a little deeper.
She knew in her heart that she hoped for the latter.
“So am I,” she said honestly. “When will you come back for it?”
“Perhaps we could meet somewhere else?” he said and shrugged. “You get Fridays off, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do,” she said, thinking that Friday would be an excellent day for her to meet him somewhere.
Friday was a day of work for everybody else and she was often at a loose end if she wasn’t spending the day with Bess. Either way, she wouldn’t be missed and there would be no suspicion if she was out of the house.
“What about a picnic? We could go to Willow Lake if you’d like? I haven’t been for years,” he said and looked pleased that she had agreed to see him again.
“That sounds wonderful,” she agreed, thinking that it was a good distance from home and a safe place to meet a young man her father would most certainly not approve of. “I’ll meet you there. What time?” she asked, staving off any offer he might make to collect her from the farmhouse.
“How about eleven o’clock? And I’ll bring the picnic.”
“Are you sure? I don’t mind bringing it.”
“No, you’ll have been serving food up to people all week. The least I can do is provide a little picnic.” He smiled and seemed to relax now that it was all settled, running a large hand through his thick, dark hair.
“Then I will look forward to it, Joe,” Amanda said, her smile so wide and genuine that she could feel it making her skin taut.
Chapter Seven
“And you really don’t have to bring anything?” Bess said in amazement on Friday morning. “I never met a man in my life who didn’t expect to be fed. Goodness, he really is different, isn’t he?”
“He is, and I like him very much,” Amanda said wistfully.
“That much is clear.” Bess giggled. “You haven’t stopped talking about him since you met him. Usually it’s me talking up a blue streak about some handsome man or other.”