Take Me Home (9781455552078)

by Garlock, Dorothy

Elizabeth stared at her for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and serious. “You need to stop dreaming, get your head out of the clouds, and put your priorities in order,” she said; Olivia wondered if she was talking about Peter. “Opportunities like this don’t come around as often as you might think. If you keep dillydallying, William might start thinking that you aren’t serious about him. If he walks away, I promise that you will spend the rest of your life regretting it.” Picking the knife up out of the sink, Elizabeth pressed it into Olivia’s hand. “The next time the two of you are together, you set a date. You can’t keep putting this off.”

  As Elizabeth went back to preparing dinner, silence once again descended between them. Olivia’s heart raced; she knew that her mother was right.

  She needed to make a decision.

  “Have you ever done something because you felt like you had no choice?”

  Peter glanced up at Olivia. From the blank look on his face, she knew that he’d been surprised by her question. She understood why. She’d just switched off the radio show they’d been listening to; the Shadow had finished administering his brand of justice to the criminal underworld. Outside, darkness had fallen on another day.

  Ever since her conversation with her mother, Olivia had been consumed with what had been said between them. All through dinner, she’d been silent, speaking only when spoken to. Elizabeth had stared at her from across the table; Olivia had done her best to ignore the unwanted attention. No matter what, she resolved not to give in and do as her mother asked. Even if the end result was the same and she married Billy, she would come to that decision in her own way and her own time.

  But that didn’t mean she wasn’t still confused.

  From that confusion had come the decision to talk to Peter. Even though he was part of her problem, Olivia felt that if she didn’t speak in specifics, maybe there was a way in which he could help. All through the radio program, she’d gone over the words, waiting for the right time. Now, it had arrived.

  “I don’t know if I follow you,” he said.

  “Well,” Olivia began, coming over to sit on the edge of Peter’s bed. “What if there was something you didn’t want to do,” she explained, “but if you went through with it, you were pretty sure it would make the people you cared about happy. Have you ever had to make a choice like that?”

  Peter’s gaze drifted from her, but he didn’t respond.

  “I’m not making any sense,” Olivia said, frustrated.

  “Actually,” he replied, still looking away, as if he was searching for something. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  Peter nodded. Slowly, he looked back at her, their eyes meeting; Olivia was struck by the strength in his gaze, as if he were trying to tell her something without speaking. “Not all that long ago, I had to make a difficult decision…” he said; his words were chosen carefully, as if he was concerned that if even one was out of place, his whole story would be ruined. “If I made one choice, then I was the one who would suffer,” he continued. “But if I made the other…” Here, Peter paused, staring at her; Olivia’s heart pounded hard as she waited. Finally, he said, “If I chose differently, it would have hurt my mother.”

  What could force you to have to make such a choice?

  Olivia caught herself just before she blurted out her thought. She so desperately wanted to know what had happened to him that it was a struggle to hold back her curiosity. Somehow, she managed. It was a welcome surprise when Peter spoke, answering as if she had asked.

  “It’s…it’s still hard to talk about…” he explained with a faraway look in his eye, almost pained, as if he was reliving the memory. “I suppose it’s still too recent. But I can say that when I made my decision, it was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done.”

  “What did you choose?” Olivia asked.

  Peter paused. “My mother.”

  “Over your own happiness?”

  He nodded.

  “In the end, do you feel like you made the right choice?”

  “I don’t have any regrets.”

  “None?” Olivia asked. “How can that be?”

  Peter smiled knowingly. “Because whenever I think about what my mother would have had to endure if I’d chosen differently, I know that I couldn’t have burdened her with that much suffering. Even if I could go back, do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Olivia believed him. The strength of his conviction was admirable. Whatever she finally decided to do about Billy’s proposal, whether she chose to marry him or changed her mind and broke his heart, Olivia hoped she would be as resolute about it as Peter was.

  For a while, they both fell silent, a state that Olivia found harder and harder to maintain. Every day that Peter had been in her home, Olivia had thought of more questions she wanted to ask him. Over and over, she had to bite her tongue, swallowing down her curiosity. Though she enjoyed Peter’s company, he still remained something of a mystery to her. He’d come out of nowhere, a complete stranger, and had sacrificed himself to keep her from harm. But here they were, days later, and she still knew next to nothing about him. He was from Pennsylvania. He had a deferment from the military, though he couldn’t talk about why. Truthfully, what he’d just said about his mother was the most intimate detail he’d ever provided. Olivia wanted to know more. Now that she had begun to ask questions, she found that she was standing on a slippery slope.

  “So what were you doing here in Wisconsin?” she asked.

  Peter looked momentarily startled. “Excuse me?”

  “You said that you were from Pennsylvania, but that’s hundreds of miles from here. It made me wonder what had brought you here.”

  He paused, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “My job,” he finally answered, but added no details.

  His response intrigued her. “Strange then that when we met,” Olivia said, “the only things you had with you were the clothes on your back.”

  Peter stiffened slightly, then looked away. Olivia watched his expression closely, but had trouble reading it. This was something that had been troubling her for days. When she had first met Peter, he’d had no suitcase, no baggage, no possessions at all. The clothes he’d been wearing were worn and hadn’t fit him particularly well. When Olivia washed them, the only thing she’d found in his pockets were a couple of ratty dollars and a handful of coins. When she’d put them on the clothesline to dry, she half-expected them to fall to pieces. In order to dress him after the doctor’s initial visit, they’d had to borrow from her father.

  “It’s…it’s kind of embarrassing…” Peter answered. “Everything I had was taken from me against my will.”

  Olivia gasped. “Stolen?”

  Peter nodded. “I was on a train coming back from Minnesota when two guys entered my cabin. I woke up and found them rifling through my bag. I tried to fight, but they were too much for me. I’m not sure what happened, whether one of them had a blackjack or just landed a punch, but I was knocked cold. The next thing I know, I’m being thrown off a moving train. When I landed, I must have hit my head because when I came to it was morning. I got up, dusted myself off, and started walking toward the nearest town.”

  Olivia had been listening raptly; it sounded just like the serials she liked to listen to on the radio. “Which was Miller’s Creek,” she finished for him.

  “When I was jumped, all I’d been wearing was my nightshirt. I hate to admit it, but the clothes I was wearing I took from a cabin up in the hills.”

  “And that’s why you were going to see my father?”

  Peter nodded. “A man I met on the way told me where I could find the sheriff,” he said. “I thought I should tell him what had happened.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this when I first asked?” Olivia prodded.

  “I couldn’t remember at first,” he explained. “I was still so groggy from the accident that I had trouble thinking straight. Eventually, it all came back. I
suppose that I was too ashamed to say anything.”

  “You were robbed. That’s no reason to cling to your pride.”

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  A sudden, terrifying thought struck her. “Those men didn’t jump you because of what you do for the war effort, did they?” she exclaimed. “You…you’re not involved with fifth column spies, are you?”

  But Olivia’s worries were dashed when Peter started laughing. “My goodness, no,” he said. “I think one of the reasons I woke up when they entered my cabin was how terrible they smelled. They were vagrants, hobos searching for money, nothing more. I was just unlucky.”

  “Then it just got worse when Sylvester hit you with his truck.”

  “I wouldn’t say all of my luck is bad.”

  Unexpectedly, Peter reached out and took Olivia’s hand. She had to suppress a gasp; he held the one on which she wore Billy’s engagement ring. Every time she was with him, she’d taken great pains to keep it out of sight. But she’d been enthralled by his story and had forgotten.

  “This is pretty,” he commented, rubbing his thumb over the band.

  “It’s nothing,” she lied.

  “Compared to your beauty, you’re right.”

  Olivia’s heart began to race. As time crawled slowly past, their touch lingered. She remembered what had happened with Billy beneath the evergreen tree, how things had quickly spiraled out of her control. Olivia suddenly realized how it would look to be seen like this, alone with a man who wasn’t her fiancé, their hands entwined, so she tried to move away, but Peter held her fast, unwilling to let what they shared end. She looked up to find his eyes searching her face.

  “Thank you for all you’ve done,” he said.

  “You may have saved my life,” she replied. “I don’t know if I can ever repay what I owe you.”

  He smiled. “In the end, I think that I’m the one in your debt.”

  Without warning, Peter leaned forward and kissed her. As with Billy, Olivia was caught completely unaware; but unlike then, this time, she felt her heart leap so hard that it felt as if it was going to burst out of her chest. Her thoughts raced; she was unable to fully believe what was happening, but thankful for it all the same. Emotions she’d been struggling to grasp, to understand, refused to remain unheard. Their kiss was tender, a soft touch that felt almost fragile, as if it was precious, but it was undeniably powerful, a sudden storm that shook the ground she walked on. Olivia held her breath and closed her eyes, giving herself over to the moment. Her hand, still in his, squeezed tightly. But then, just as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Her eyes fluttered open to find him smiling at her.

  Feeling a bit rattled, Olivia stood up and went to the door, wondering if her face was as red as she imagined. Peter made no move to stop her, but she was certain that his eyes never left her. At the door, Olivia stopped and looked back; as when they’d held hands, their gaze lingered. Neither of them spoke; she wondered what she could possibly say. To Olivia, there was much about Peter that remained a mystery, but there was no doubt that he had kindled a fire inside her, something completely unexpected.

  But maybe the greatest mystery of all was what she was going to do next.

  Chapter Eleven

  PETER STOOD IN THE YARD behind the Marstens’ house and stared into the sky. Brilliant, warm sunlight washed over him as the breeze pushed a couple of clouds across a mostly clear sky. Birds chirped as the squirrels scurried around, digging up the nuts they’d buried back in the fall. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. Closing his eyes, Peter breathed deeply, inhaling the sweet scent of pine.

  Absently, Peter ran his fingers over the cuff of his shirt. True to her word, Olivia had gone through her father’s closet and found him a couple of outfits. Though everything smelled of mothballs, he was happy to have them all the same. Other than the musty clothes he’d taken from the cabin, it had been a long time since he had worn something other than the garb of a soldier or the prisoner he’d become. Years, by his count. Even though he was still a fugitive, he felt somewhat normal. He supposed that, by outward appearances, he looked American.

  Slowly, a smile spread across his face. Never in his wildest imagination would he have thought he’d be here. As confusing a turn as his life had taken, Peter knew it could have been much worse; he could be dead, crushed in the train wreck or killed on the battlefield. A different twist of fate and he never would have seen this beautiful day. He was glad that he’d listened to Olivia’s advice and gone outside; it was the first time he’d done so since the accident.

  It was also the first time he’d been by himself.

  Olivia and her father had gotten up early and headed into town for work. Peter had no idea where Grace had gone; he’d heard her holler to her mother, followed by the kitchen door slamming shut, and then her girlish shout as she almost certainly leaped from the porch on her way to whatever mischief awaited. Elizabeth had worked around the house for a couple of hours before she’d knocked on his door to tell him she was going to run some errands.

  So now what…?

  Not for the first time, Peter considered running away. It would be easy to go back inside, grab some food, scrounge around for whatever money he could find, and head for the train tracks. With luck, he’d be gone before anyone even realized he was missing.

  But that meant leaving Olivia behind.

  Guilt gnawed at him. It felt to Peter that, ever since he’d met Olivia, everything he’d told her was a lie; the only truth had been what he’d said about his mother, something he’d never shared with anyone before her. But whenever she asked him a question about who he was, where he’d come from, or why he’d been traveling with nothing more than the clothes on his back, there was nothing for him to do but make something up. He wished that he didn’t have to lie to her, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t tell her the truth. How would she react to discovering that he was an escaped German soldier, a prisoner of her nation? He remembered what she’d said about his mother’s people, his countrymen, about how they deserved whatever punishment they got. How could he hope to convince her that he hated Hitler and the Nazis as much as she did, and that the only reason he’d joined the army was out of a fear of what might happen to his mother if he refused?

  If Olivia knew the truth, she’d hate him.

  Then run! Or do as you’d intended and tell her father who you are!

  But he couldn’t. Not now, not after kissing her.

  Spending time with Olivia made his heart race. Every time he saw her, she seemed more beautiful than before. When she smiled at him, he was dumbstruck, staring at her so hard that he worried she would feel uncomfortable. Yesterday, when he’d taken her hand in his own, the desire to kiss her had been intoxicating, overpowering. His heart had urged him forward, wanting, needing their lips to touch; when they had, her skin hot and moist against his, all of Peter’s many worries had vanished, replaced by a longing for that moment to go on forever. His head counseled caution, warned him about the mess he was making, about all of the lies he had spun, but he ignored it, embracing his heart and its desires, damn the consequences. Later, he wondered if Olivia had secretly wanted the same thing, to kiss him; from the look on her face when their kiss finally ended, a shocked, faraway depth in her eyes, he imagined that she had.

  But what was he to do now? What kind of future did he think he could have with Olivia? No amount of hoping could change who he was, what he was. Eventually, his haphazardly constructed charade would crumble, and then what?

  Off in the distance, Peter heard the shrill whistle of a train; the sound made him think of how he’d arrived in Miller’s Creek, which in turn caused him to wonder about Otto. Even though the man was cruel and heartless, embodying everything Olivia feared and detested about the Nazis, Peter still wished he knew what had happened to him. Where was he? Had he been recaptured? Was he still alive? Just then, as if in answer, a gust of cold air washed over him, sending a shiver racing across his skin.


  It left him with the feeling he was being watched.

  Glancing around, Peter was shocked to discover that his suspicion was right. Someone was watching him. An elderly woman stood on the wraparound porch of a neighboring house, looking toward him. She was short, with a thick head of curly white hair, her body wrapped in an overcoat that was too long for her, the tails bunched around her feet.

  Tentatively, Peter raised his hand and waved, but the woman gave him no reply in return, no acknowledgment, and just kept staring.

  Feeling uncomfortable with the attention, Peter decided to go back inside. But as he began walking across the yard, he noticed the woman’s gaze following him intently. Nervously, he stopped. He’d come closer to where she stood and was surprised to see that she wasn’t looking right at him, but rather just behind him. As he watched, her head turned one direction and then another; he had the impression that she was listening for something.

  “Hello?” Peter called out. “Are you all right?”

  The woman turned to look straight at him. “Of course I am,” she answered. “Who wouldn’t be on a beautiful day like this?”

  “No one, I suppose,” he said, ever so slightly taken aback. “The sun’s a little bright but I can’t complain about how warm it feels.”

  At that, the older woman let out a hearty laugh. “I reckon I’ll have to take your word on the first half of that.”

  Immediately, Peter understood what was different about her. She was blind. That explained the absent, faraway look she’d given him in the yard. It also told him why she hadn’t reacted when he’d waved. When he’d started back toward the house, she hadn’t been watching him, but rather listening to his footfalls, reacting when he stepped on fallen sticks and leaves.

  “I’m Ruth Pollack,” she said, introducing herself.

  “Peter. Peter Baird,” he answered, his fictitious last name still sounding uncomfortably foreign to his ear.

  “I heard you when you first came outside,” Ruth explained. “I might not be able to see, but I reckon that even if I was deaf, I’d still be able to hear the Marstens’ kitchen door slam shut. That thing’s loud as thunder!”