by Indiana Wake
“Speaking of which, have you heard anything from the lovely and appealing Mr. Brad Turner?”
“I have,” Bess said and looked like the cat who’d found the cream. “And he’s asked me to go to the barn dance with him on Saturday.”
“I can’t believe you’ve managed to hold onto that piece of information for so long,” Amanda said with amazement. “I’m surprised you weren’t waiting for me at the gate this morning.”
“Ha, ha!” Bess said and leaned across the kitchen table to pinch her. “And anyway, I could see from the look on your face that you had things to tell me, so I decided to be a good friend for once and do a little more listening and a little less talking.”
“You are always a good friend, Bessie. In any case, I like to listen to you talking.”
“Yes, but only so that you can find something to tease me about.” Bess was in a highly excited mood; so excited, in fact, that anyone would think that it was she who was about to embark upon a largely illicit picnic. “I hope you’re not cross with me about Saturday, though.”
“Saturday? Why?”
“We were supposed to be going to the barn dance together, weren’t we?”
“Oh, don’t worry about that. You go with the lovely and appealing Brad Turner and I’ll take the opportunity not to have to witness the man my father would have me marry as he stares at every pretty girl in the place.”
“You mean you won’t be going to the barn dance at all?” Bess said and looked dismayed. “I can’t have that. I don’t want you staying at home just because I’ve abandoned you.”
“Firstly, you won’t have abandoned me. You like Brad and even I approve of him.” Amanda gave her friend a teasing look. “At least I do so far.” She laughed as Bess’ mouth dropped open. “And I really would be perfectly happy to forego the barn dance for once. I like it, but it’s so noisy and Garth Walton is so irritating to me that the idea of staying at home and reading is quite attractive.”
“But won’t Joe be there? Doesn’t he go to the barn dance?”
“I honestly don’t know. I’ve never asked him. But it would be too complicated and impossible, wouldn’t it? In fact, it might be the only thing which would tear Garth Walton’s attention away from all the other ladies to make him look at me, if only to find himself outraged that I’m talking to another man.”
“As men go, Garth Walton is certainly on the list of selfish ones, isn’t he?”
“And of a type very common in these parts.”
“Now, look at us,” Bess said and laughed. “We are both suddenly down in the dumps when we have everything in the world to be excited about right now. Let’s stop talking about Garth and talk about Joe instead. What time are you meeting him?”
“Not until eleven.”
“Then you have time to tell me a little more, it will only take you half an hour or so to walk there, won’t it?”
“Yes, thereabouts.”
“And you haven’t told anybody where you’re going? Apart from me, I mean.”
“I can’t tell them, Bess. My father would simply put a stop to it and my mother, even if she did understand my need to arrange my own world, would just run to him and give me away. I don’t like being dishonest, but they’ve brought this on themselves. If they didn’t try to control me the way they do, I wouldn’t be forced into this dishonesty in the first place.”
“You’re not being dishonest, you’re being private. Honey, you have every right not to give out the details of your life, of every move you make. You’re the least dishonest person I know.”
“As always, you’re my staunchest ally.” Amanda reached out and took Bess’ hand for a moment. “And thank you, I know I have drawn you into it a little.”
It was true, Amanda had drawn Bess into things somewhat. She had hoped that her mother wouldn’t ask her about her plans for that day but, when she did, Amanda had told her that she would be spending the day with Bess. It was such a commonplace thing that her mother had no suspicion whatsoever and Amanda had been torn between feeling relieved and feeling guilty about that.
“You can draw me into it anytime you like, I’m on your side,” Bess said firmly. “So, are you nervous?”
“A little. But as soon as I’m in his company, the nervousness seems to go away. I get nervous at the prospect of seeing him, I suppose. As soon as we start talking, I feel so relaxed.”
“I know you haven’t known him long, but I’ve got a good feeling about this Joe Macey. I think you’ve finally found your match.”
“I’ve never felt so drawn to any man before, I must admit. You might be right. But it really is early days, isn’t it? And even if I do find myself liking him more and more, there’s nothing to say that he would like me, too.”
“So, walking you home, turning up at the diner, and making you a picnic all in the space of one week doesn’t tell you anything, Amanda? Goodness, of the two of us, you were supposed to be the clever one.” Bess pulled a comical face.
“Ha, ha!” Amanda said, but realized that this was quite right; Joe Macey had gone out of his way to be in her company again, perhaps he really was as drawn to her as she was drawn to him.
“What’s in the bag?” Bess asked, changing conversational direction. “I thought you didn’t have to bring anything to the picnic.”
“Oh no, I don’t,” Amanda said, looking down at the little cotton bag in which she had stowed Joe’s manuscript. “It’s the beginning of Joe’s book. He asked me if I would read it and tell him what I thought.”
“Oh!” Bess said, her mouth open and her eyes wide with excitement.
“What?”
“That’s intimate,” Bess said in a near whisper. “Real intimate.”
“How is a bag full of paper intimate?” Amanda said and shook her head, laughing. “Is there nothing you don’t see romance in?”
“There’s not much I don’t see romance in, it’s true, but this time I really mean it.”
“Why do you look like that? Why do you look so excited?”
“That’s not just a bag full of paper, is it?” Bess looked at Amanda incredulously. “It’s everything to him. Didn’t you say that he wants to write more than anything? That he’s even at odds with his father over not going into the law business? Everything that Joe Macey is, his heart, his dreams, are in that little bag of yours. Who else has seen it?”
“Nobody. He doesn’t have an editor or a publisher yet and hasn’t shown it to his father. I think it would be like a red rag to a bull at the moment, if I understand things correctly. As far as I’m aware, it’s just me.”
“So, of all the people in the world, Joe Macey has trusted you with his passion in life? Do you not see it?”
Amanda was silent for a moment, taking in every word of what Bess had said. She realized then that her friend was right, that she really had spent the last few evenings reading a most private thing. She knew that the book, of course, might one day be published and read by so many people. But it wasn’t the story itself that was private, it was the fact that he was opening up those first tentative pages, the very beginnings of something so important to him. And he was opening it up to her for her criticism. Realizing the courage that such an act took, Amanda felt that wonderful fluttering in her stomach again.
“Every so often, Bess Lawler, you are the wisest woman in all the world,” Amanda said, trying to tease but feeling a little unsteady in the wake of her new realization.
“I’ll take what I can get,” Bess said and shrugged nonchalantly. “Now, I suppose you’d better get going, young lady. You don’t want to be late for the man who has trusted you with his dreams, do you?”
“Stop it, you’re making me nervous.”
Chapter Eight
“This looks wonderful,” Amanda said when Joe opened the little basket of food.
He was already waiting for her when she arrived at Willow Lake, even though she herself was a little early.
He had spread a blanket down on the gr
ass under the shade of one of the many willow trees at the water’s edge and had smiled up at her when she approached. Taking a seat on the blanket, Amanda set her bag down next to her.
“My mother, ever the doctor, now thinks I have a tapeworm,” Joe said as he set out bread and butter, cheese, apples, and peach pie. “So, I told her she was probably right when she saw me loading enough for two into the basket.”
“I’m sure she didn’t believe you for a minute. Dr. Macey is a smart lady.”
“She is that.” He laughed. “I’ve brought a bottle of peach tea also,” he said and set two cups on the blanket and began to pour the cool tea.
“You’ve thought of everything. I feel a little lazy now,” she said truthfully. “Although, I have read your work, if that redeems me any?”
“It certainly does.” He smiled and finally settled down on the blanket beside her.
It was a beautiful mid-summer’s day, so warm and without a cloud in the bright blue sky. The strong sunshine was reflected on the surface of the still water, making it hard to stare at the lake fully without squinting.
As she sat there, Amanda felt as if the world had become a lot less complicated. They were in the middle of nowhere, alone, with nobody there to tell her what to do or who to like. She was autonomous, if only for a few hours, and it felt wonderful. She was there with Joe because she had chosen to be.
“Help yourself to food,” he said after handing her the peach tea.
“Thank you.” Amanda took a sip before setting it down and reaching for some bread. “I really liked it.”
“Excuse me?” He turned to look at her, his dark hair a little ruffled by his efforts to set out the blanket and food neatly.
“The beginning of your book,” she said and hoped she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself. “The thing is, I had been determined to find at least one little point that could be changed. I don’t want you to feel humored or to think me too silly to say what I think, only I couldn’t find anything.”
“Really?” he said, smiling and seeming pleased; he clearly didn’t doubt her veracity.
“Really. You’ve written Thomas so well it’s like you painted him. I can see him when I close my eyes and I feel for him with every word,” she said, and it was true.
The male protagonist of Joe’s story was named Thomas Graine, who had been born into a poor family with very few prospects beyond laboring for the profit of more successful men. But he had been born with a gift for mathematics; not taught, but a deep understanding at the very core of his being. In those first few pages, Thomas is digging up potatoes for a local farmer; a man of wealth who pays his laborer’s a pittance. As he digs, he silently estimates the size of each potato as compared to the one which came before. One quarter, three-eighths, two fifths. He knows it to be right, even though he has never spent a day in the schoolroom in his life. Unable to read or write, Thomas Graine knows his estimations to be right. He can feel it.
“When he is digging and thinking about his life, I felt so in tune with him that I was him,” Amanda went on. “Even though I am no mathematician myself, I felt a kind of pain. An injustice and a sense of hopelessness, even in the light of a very obvious talent.” She paused, wondering if she ought to admit the next part. “It made me cry,” she finally added in a tiny voice.
“Thank you,” Joe said, staring down into his peach tea. “For crying,” he added. They sat in silence for a moment before Joe laughed a little. “Not that I would ever take pleasure in making you cry, you understand. I’m merely grateful that you have understood the story I am trying to tell.”
“I know.” Amanda laughed. “I hope you don’t think I’m humoring you, because I’m not. I really was taken with Thomas. Even though we are so different in our circumstances, I felt some recognition. There was a strange sort of familiarity which affected me.”
“I don’t think you’re humoring me. Your observations are too clever for that,” he said and turned to look at her. “Which is not to say that I’m not grateful. Your opinions have already made me feel encouraged that I’m going in the right direction.”
“You are going in the right direction, Joe.” Once again, all her nervousness had deserted her, and Amanda felt as if she had come home; really home. “Thomas Graine struck a chord in me; one I couldn’t identify immediately. But that feeling, that first moment the chord was struck, was a sensation that was almost physical and is something I will never forget. And that is what good work should do, isn’t it? It should stay with the reader. It should touch them.”
“Will you read the rest as I write it?” Joe looked back down into his tea.
“I would be honored. I am so grateful that you are trusting me with something that is so important to you.”
“I can see already that my trust wasn’t misplaced.” He laughed self-deprecatingly. “And not just because you have said such nice things about my work.”
“Have you written any more since this?” She handed him the bag, the manuscript still inside.
“Yes, but I didn’t bring it today. I wasn’t sure, you see, if you would have been keen to continue after reading the first part.”
“Well, now you know I am. You could bring it to me at the diner.” Once again, she was keen to steer him away from any idea of coming to the farmhouse.
In just a few minutes, her feelings for him had increased. Something about Joe Macey gave her the courage to talk about the things she liked without any hint of embarrassment. She couldn’t begin to imagine having such a discussion with her parents or either of her two brothers; they would either laugh at her or ignore her. Either way, she would come away from it all feeling silly or ashamed somehow. She was a farmer’s daughter, one who was probably destined to be a farmer’s wife. Such passions in life would appear frivolous to them.
“Did you ever identify it?” Joe asked, drawing her back into the present. “The feeling, I mean. The sympathy you felt for Thomas Graine.”
“Yes. I suppose I could attribute it to many things, but one in particular struck me as significant, largely because it was connected to work.”
“Your work?”
“Yes. I never chose to work in the diner, you see. I wanted to become a teacher and work in the schoolroom.” She laughed and looked down, her cheeks a little flushed. “I had this silly idea of bringing creativity into the lives of the children here. Teaching them to express creativity in art or writing.”
“So why didn’t you?” As he spoke, Amanda looked into his grey eyes and saw his sadness for her.
“My father wouldn’t allow it. He said I would have enough work to do one day as a farmer’s wife without wasting my time on something so silly.” She shrugged and tried to appear matter of fact; there were, however, tears in her eyes. “And that was when he spoke to the owner of the diner and got me a job there. He said it would do to keep me out of mischief until I was married.” The first tear fell, and she hurriedly dashed it away.
“But that wasn’t his decision to make.” Joe shuffled across the blanket until he was close enough to put his arm around her shoulder and draw her in close.
It was the most wonderful feeling of pure comfort she had ever experienced, and it made her cry all the more.
“My father wouldn’t let a notion like that stop him.” She took the handkerchief he offered her. “Forgive me, Joe. Your Thomas Graine has clearly affected me much more than I thought.” She smiled weakly. “And I have no doubt at all that he will one day affect many, many more readers. I think we can all identify with the idea of not being able to live life as we would like. We all know that frustration somewhere in our hearts.”
“Yes, we do,” he said and held her tighter still.
Chapter Nine
“You never said how your picnic went, Joe.” His mother was perched in a chair in the sitting room with tea when Joe returned from a walk.
“Oh, it was days ago,” he said in as matter-of-fact a fashion as he could manage.
His mother wa
s no fool, he knew that, and there really was no reason on earth not to talk to her about Amanda. But there was something that Amanda was holding back, he felt sure of it. Her keenness to have him meet her in the diner rather than at her home was telling. Or was it? Was he just seeing mystery where there was none?
“Did you manage to eat all that food, Joe?” She chuckled. “Or did you have help?”
“All right, I give in,” he said and leaned down to touch the side of the teapot where it sat on a low table. “Wait a minute, I’ll just get myself a cup,” he said and disappeared into the kitchen.
“There is some cake out there if you like. Maisie made a sponge cake for us, a lemon one. It’s very nice and it was a lovely surprise to come home to from a long day at work.”
“Maisie is a very good cook and an excellent baker, but I’m not really hungry, Mama,” he said and sat down on one of the armchairs before reaching out to pour himself a cup of almost-hot tea.
“Maybe you ate enough on Friday,” she persisted.
“The picnic was not just for me, Mama, as I’m sure you already know,” he said and smiled indulgently as he shook his head. “I shared it with Amanda Hargreaves.”
“Oh, she is lovely.” His mother was beaming from ear to ear, clearly instantly approving of his choice of picnic partner. “And I can see why you like her; she is a clever young woman.”
“I hardly know her,” Joe said little defensively.
“Sometimes, you meet a person you know more about in a few days and another you might never get to the bottom of if you knew them for a lifetime. I’m not sure that time really is such a factor in every case.”
“How do you do that?”
“Do what?” his mother said innocently.
“Know, Mama. Just know,” he said in a mock exasperated fashion as his mother laughed loudly.
“I’m a mother, it is one of the invisible skills which is handed to you at the time of giving birth.”