“Well, for goodness’ sake! Tell me—”
“You’ll not need a nightdress, honey,” he said when she pulled it out of her bag.
Mike took off his shirt and hung it over the back of a chair. From a spigot water trickled into the tiny lavatory. Using the sliver of soap provided by the hotel, he washed his hands, then sloshed water on his face.
Mike turned out the light, removed his clothes, and stretched out beside her.
“Come here. I want to hold you. Hmmm, you feel so good.”
“You don’t have anything on!”
“And neither will you in a little while. Hush so I can kiss you.”
They lay face to face, legs entwined as intimately as their arms, lips touching, sharing the same pillow, the same breath. He was content just holding her. She was filled with indescribable peace and contentment. finally he turned on his back, cuddling her against his side, and raised her knee to nestle against the most intimate part of him.
“Doc was disappointed,” he said at last. “He thought sure everyone would get up and walk out after he read the statement from Doctor Perkins and we put Fellon on display. I doubt if six people left the pavilion.”
“They didn’t believe Wallace and he’s a doctor.”
“Honey, they didn’t want to believe him. I was counting on you getting out of there when the action started. It’s a good thing Mrs. Knight knows how to drive. Some of those men were mad as hornets and hot on our tail.”
“Wallace said she was a regular Barney Oldfield. Who’s that?”
“A race-car driver. Honey, I’ve something else to tell you.” He turned to face her and held her tightly against him. “Your mother and father were at the meeting. They were sitting within six feet of where I was holding Fellon.”
Letty was quiet for a moment. “Did he call you a damn Catholic?”
“If he did I didn’t hear him.”
Letty was quiet for a time. Then all she said was, “I want to go home.”
“If you want to see them, I’ll arrange for a private place and I’ll not cause you any embarrassment, although I swore I’d break him in half for what he did to us. I realize now that nothing I could do to him would make up for the five years we lost.”
“No! I don’t want to see them. I’m dead to them. They’re dead to me. Let’s go home.”
“All right, honey. I just thought—”
“No!” She locked her arms about his neck. “That’s all in the past. Love me, Mike.”
He found her lips and kissed her with what felt like all the pent-up longing of years. She returned the force of his kiss, holding nothing back. His hand moved up under her gown and covered her breast, his fingers stroking her nipple until it was hard. He bowed his head and nuzzled the ribbon, their ribbon, pinned between her breasts, then slipped the gown over her head and pressed her naked body to his.
She felt an urgency building in her and savored the sweet ecstasy his mouth created with its warm exploration of hers. She returned the pressure, the nibbling, giving as much as she was receiving. She ran her fingers down his sides from his armpits to as far as she could reach along his lean thighs. His hand searched her smooth flesh and finally moved downward until he found what he sought.
They loved each other frantically, their bodies coming alive and singing for them as they did years before when they lay together in their private place behind the schoolhouse.
* * *
Letty and Mike checked out of the hotel early. She stood beside the door while he paid the bill. He was so handsome, so capable. She would never be afraid of anything as long as he was with her. His dark eyes strayed to her while he waited. Her heart swelled with pride. They walked down the street to a small whitewashed diner, sat on stools at the counter, ate sausage and eggs and drank strong black coffee. After breakfast they walked along the street looking into the store windows, killing time until Wallace came to take them back to Piedmont.
Mike brought her to a stop in front of the jewelry store, pulled out the little purse she had given him, and counted the money.
“There’s enough left to buy a wedding ring. I’ll pay back the money when we get home.”
“You don’t have to pay it back.”
“I do. I’m not having my wife buy her own wedding ring. Come on.”
When they left the store a half-hour later, Letty wore a gold band on her finger.
“Someday I’ll have it inscribed,” Mike said, holding up her hand so that he could see the ring.”
“What will you say?”
“Then, now, and always.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it while she held her breath at the wonder of it.
“I’m anxious to get home,” she said, smiling up at her husband, her eyes bright with happiness.
“So am I.”
At first he didn’t recognize the couple walking toward them. When he did, he looked down at Letty and saw that she was no longer smiling. Her face was set and her eyes never wavered. When they were no more than six feet apart, Letty stopped on the narrow walk, forcing her father and mother to face her.
“Hello, Mama.” Her mother looked away, ignoring her.
“Move aside,” Reverend Pringle’s voice rang with authority.
Letty ignored him. “Why, Mama? Why did you let him tell everyone I was dead?”
“She does not hear you. She does not see you,” Reverend Pringle said harshly.
“She would see me, she would hear me, if not for you,” Letty said calmly, still looking at her mother. “I’ll never understand how you could collect money to pay for my burial expense when you knew perfectly well I was alive. You ruined five years of my life. Don’t you care?” Letty exchanged a look with Mike, then shrugged. “I can see that you don’t.”
Reverend Pringle tried to pull his wife off the walk and into the street so that they could pass. Mike blocked his way.
“Stand still, damn you. She’ll have her say if I have to throw you down and sit on you.”
Mable’s head turned slowly and she looked at Letty. Her eyes were vacant pools, her face bloodless. Her thin lips barely opened.
“You . . . slut!” she hissed.
Letty’s only response was to draw in a deep breath. “Your insults no longer hurt me. I feel sorry for you,” Letty said softly.
“You disgraced us with this . . . Catholic.”
“You disgraced yourself. I thank God every day for this Catholic. Without him I might have become like Cora.”
“You’re behind it,” Mable’s voice rose to a shriek. “You’re trying to ruin Cora! You and this Catholic trash!”
Letty ignored the accusation. “You’ve missed out on so much, Mama, by allowing this . . . this fanatic hypocrite to dominate you until you no longer have a mind or a will of your own. I want you to know that I have never regretted, not even for a second, that Mike made me pregnant. I found Grandpa and Grandma and learned what real love and sharing is about. What I do regret, however, is that your blood and his runs in my veins.” She jerked her head toward her father, but did not look at him. “If there was any way to drain it out and replace it, I would.”
“You’re evil, rotten, a throwback—” Mable gasped.
“Thank God, I’m a throwback.” Letty paused, looked at her mother’s resentful face, and said firmly, “Goodbye.”
With his arm under hers and his hand attached to her wrist, Mike guided her off the walk and around her parents. Letty walked beside him, her head high, her eyes tearless. At the corner she turned to look back.
A large touring car had pulled up beside her parents. Cora got out and lifted the gauze that covered her face up onto the brim of her hat. Letty saw her mother reach to put her hand on Cora’s arm and saw Cora move away. Reverend Pringle was talking and Cora was shaking her head. When Cora moved to get back into the car, Mable began to cry. Without a backward glance, Cora waved for the driver to move on. Letty’s parents stood on the walk. Her mother dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief, her
father stared after the car.
“She snubbed them!” Letty said with disbelief. “Mama’s crying.” She took a step toward them. Mike put his hand on her arm.
“They’d not appreciate your sympathy, honey. They would just hurt you more.”
“I know. How could Cora treat them like that?”
“She learned her behavior from them. Come on, honey.” He turned her and they walked on down the street. “Are you all right?”
There was so much concern and love in his eyes that Letty lifted her fingers to his cheek as she gazed into his beloved face.
“Don’t worry, love. I’m not sad. I’m glad we met them. The tie is cut completely now. I’m ready to go home.” She laughed softly. “Do we have time to buy a present for Patrick and Helen?”
“Sure, Mrs. Dolan. I may have to kiss you first.”
“Right here in public?” Her voice was stern, but there was adoration in her eyes. When he hesitated, she said, “Well, get on with it.”
He swung her around until his back was to the street and kissed her quick and hard.
“Is that all I get?” she complained. “When I get home I’m going to tie the ribbon to the lilac bush and meet my sweetheart down by the creek. His kisses are much better than that.”
His chuckle was warm and deep. “He might ravish you,” he warned.
“Ravish. Is that bad?”
They strolled toward the mercantile, arms entwined.
“I think Patrick would like a pocket knife.” Mike smiled down at his wife.
“Helen would like a brush and comb all her own.”
Mike was so proud of her he could scarcely keep his eyes off her face. She had weathered the meeting with her parents and had come through the ordeal with Cora unscathed and serene. This proud level-headed woman was his wife, the sweetheart of his youth.
Holding her close to his side, he bent his head so that he could place his mouth close to her ear.
“I love you,” he whispered. “I loved you then, I love you now, I’ll love you always.”
EPILOGUE
Mike Dolan stood on the station platform, his back to the cold north wind, thinking about his arrival in this town twenty-five years ago when he had come to search for the grave of his lost love. He had thanked God many times for giving him the urge to come here. His arms tightened about the small woman who stood in front of him, his big body shielding her from the wind. His Letty was still the love of his life.
They had shared with their children the wild ride they took to Weatherford in Doctor Hakes’s open Ford to be married, and how the sheriff and his deputy had come and arrested Mike for the murder of Cecil Weaver. They told of how Deputy Elmer Russell was convicted of the murder of Weaver, Helen’s father, and was sentenced to life in prison without possibility of parole. The trial and the sentencing had taken place in the Boley courthouse the same week Mike and Letty signed the adoption papers making Helen their daughter. Jacob, Doctor Whittier, Doctor Hakes, and Roberta Knight helped them celebrate with a dinner at a fancy restaurant.
Letty seldom mentioned her parents and her sister, but it was a well-known fact that, although Doctor Hakes failed in his attempt to discredit Sister Cora, she never obtained the status she sought. Another evangelist, Aimee Semple McPherson, came on the scene. Known as Sister Aimee, she was attractive, had a dynamic personality, and retained the loyalty of her followers. She raised $1.5 million and built the Angelus Temple in Los Angeles.
Cora Pringle’s popularity declined rapidly after her revival in Boley. A few years later she was shot and killed by the distraught mother of a child she had claimed to have healed. The child had been bitten by a rabid dog. Believing in Sister Cora, the mother had refused medical attention for the child and the boy had died a horrible death.
Reverend and Mrs. Pringle lived out their lives in a small town in Oklahoma and died with only a tiny, poor congregation to mourn their passing.
Mike and Letty had two girls two years apart—Katy and Leona. Helen, later married to one of the Pierce boys, was delighted with her baby sisters. Patrick tolerated them during their younger years as brothers are wont to do. In later years he adored them.
The Dolans weathered the depression years far better than some of their neighbors. The farm had provided them with a good living and they had sent their son to agricultural college. It would have paid for their daughters’ continued education had they wanted to go.
On this cold November day, Mike and Letty were waiting for the train that was bringing Patrick home. Another war was over. Their son was coming home after serving three years in the United States Navy.
“Are you cold, honey?” Mike bent to murmur in Letty’s ear. Her back was pressed tightly to his chest, his arms wrapped around her.
“No.” Her head was covered with a wool scarf, hiding her auburn hair only slightly sprinkled with gray. She tilted her head to look up at him. “Are you?”
“I’d be warmer if I opened my coat and snuggled your tight little butt up against me.”
“Shame on you,” she said with mock indignation. “I know what’s on your mind—and at your age it’s indecent.”
“I’m not over the hill yet, for Christ’s sake. I’m only forty-seven.”
“Forty-eight,” she corrected. “You’re two and a half years older than I am. I keep track of such things. I’ll be going through the change soon.”
“Honey, are you going to be one of those women who kick their husbands out of their beds and get the sweats all the time?”
“I don’t know. I might.” She tilted her head up and impishly grinned at him.
His warm mouth brushed over her cold nose. “It would take a team of mules to pull me out of your bed, lady, sweats or no sweats.”
Mike wore a mustache now—black as his hair and eyes except for a few threads of silver. This husband of hers was still the handsomest man Letty had ever seen, and she loved him as fervently as she had thirty years ago.
“Isn’t Grandpa the limit, Mike? He wasn’t about to stay at home and wait with the girls. I’m surprised we got him to stay in the car.”
Mike chuckled. “He may be near ninety, honey, but there’s no pushing Jacob Fletcher into doing something he doesn’t want to do. You should know that by now. Patrick is his boy. It was hard for him seeing his favorite go off to war.”
“Oh, Mike. We’re so lucky. Jimmy Watkins isn’t coming home. Neither is Sharon and Oscar Phillips’s boy.”
“Yes, sweetheart, we’re lucky. Here comes the train. Now, don’t cry. Ahh . . . honey, you promised you wouldn’t cry—”
Dear Reader,
I hope you enjoyed reading RIBBON IN THE SKY. In it, as in so many of my previous books, the hero and heroine triumph over the hardships of a westward-expanding America. I’ve enjoyed writing my Western romances, hope you’ve enjoyed reading them, and still intend to write more of them.
Yet lately I’ve been longing to tell a story from a more recent time in our history, the period between World Wars I and II, years when young lovers faced a different kind of hardship: the Great Depression. Drama and romance flowered then as well. Gangsters, every bit as nefarious as western outlaws, made violent headlines while young people danced to new jazz rhythms that shocked their elders. As always, strong family ties were the keys to survival.
With Hope is the first of at least three novels I’m writing set in the 1930s. It tells the story of a woman trying to keep her farm and misfit siblings together after her parents’ deaths, and of the strong, kind-hearted man who helps her but can’t offer her the one thing he wants to give her the most.
On the pages that follow you’ll find a chapter from this new book. I hope you’ll enjoy it and enjoy reading all of With Hope when it comes your way in the fall of 1998.
With thanks to all my loyal readers,
Dorothy Garlock
P.S. With Hope features one of Mike Dolan’s brothers,Tom, and the next two novels also have Dolans as heroes. I thought you would like
to keep in touch.
Please read on for a
special bonus chapter from
Dorothy Garlock’s next book,
With Hope
CHAPTER 1
1920
Busbee, Oklahoma
“How’er ya gonna keep ’em down on the farm after they’ve seen Pa-ree? How’er ya gonna keep ’em away from Broadway? Paintin’ the town—da-da-da-da—de-de-de-de—”
Dorene gazed into the mirror as she sang, adjusted the neckline of the thin sleeveless dress she wore, then licked her fingers and flattened the spit curl on her forehead.
“Are you leaving . . . again?” The small girl who stood in the doorway watched her young, pretty mother preen in front of the mirror.
“Uh-huh.”
“Why’d you come?”
“To pay you a visit.” Dorene turned from one side to the other so that the long fringe at the bottom of her dress would swirl around her knees.
“Daddy said you came ’cause you needed money.”
“That’s right. Your daddy owes me. I’m still his wife and he has a legal obligation to support me. But I wanted to see you, too.”
“But mostly you came for the money,” the child said. “Will you be back?”
Dorene turned from the mirror. “Maybe. Do you care, Henry Ann?”
The child shrugged indifferently. “I guess so. Will you?”
“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not. Depends on my luck.” Dorene gave the girl a casual pat on the head and closed the packed suitcase that lay on the bed. “You won’t miss me. You’ve got your . . . precious daddy and your . . . precious horse, and this . . . precious dirt farm.”
“Daddy’ll get you a horse . . . if you stay.”
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