The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  Lucy let the words swirl in her mind like brandy in one of Uncle Alistair's snifters. Yes, she was passionate about helping others. But she didn't want to talk about saving the wretched and the poor just yet. She wanted to know if Bill had a girlfriend.

  "Unlike my sister, who seems committed to earning a degree in social work, I'm not sure what I want to do. I know only that I want to help people. I can think of no higher calling than to improve the lives of others."

  "Have you considered the possibilities in overseas ministries?"

  Only since dinner.

  "No. But I've always wanted to go to live and work in a foreign land, something a bit more exotic than Canada and America."

  "Perhaps you should stop by the church then. There is a great need for Christian educators, particularly those with strong language skills."

  Lucy smiled politely but did not like where the conversation was going. William Vandenberg had switched from flirt to proselytizer in less time than it took to eat a shortbread biscuit.

  She was about to respond to Bill's comment when she heard a noise near the open doorway that separated the nook from the rest of the living room. She looked up and saw John Walker stick his head through the opening.

  "Sorry to interrupt, but Grace and I are about to go on a walk. Would you like to join us?"

  Lucy looked at John, then at Bill, and tried to decide which activity better lent itself to winning the interest of a seminary student: a walk with another couple or a private conversation where the topic du jour was professional advancement in the missionary trade. Before she could answer, Bill spoke up.

  "Perhaps a little later. I'd like to finish talking to Lucy about one of our common interests."

  "Suit yourself," John said. "We'll be headed up Spruce Road in case you change your mind. Hope to see you."

  When John ducked into the living room and vanished from sight, Lucy returned her attention to the preacher and looked at him with mildly scolding eyes. She saw a man with a mildly red face who appeared to realize that he had missed an opportunity.

  "Do you want to go on a walk?" he asked. "It's not too late to join them."

  "I'm OK right where I am, but I wouldn't mind talking about other things."

  "What would you like to talk about?" Bill asked.

  "How about I let you choose the topic?"

  Lucy looked at him again, this time with eyes that were softer, more inviting, and decidedly focused. She left ambiguity behind.

  Bill smiled.

  "I think I can suggest a winner."

  "And what would that be, Mr. Vandenberg?"

  "What are you doing for dinner tomorrow night?"

  CHAPTER 47: JOHN

  The road that marked the southern edge of the Green estate was not paved with red bricks like the newly created highway that connected Seattle, Kenmore, and Bothell. In some places, it was not even paved with gravel. But it was firm and smooth and more than ideal for a quiet walk through the country with a captivating woman.

  "Thank you for coming along," Grace said. "I usually walk alone. I find it's an ideal way to free my mind of clutter. But sometimes I want company. This is one of those times."

  "I'm happy to join you," John said. "Consider it part of my ongoing effort to rescue you."

  Grace tilted her head and furrowed her brows.

  "Rescue me?"

  "Margaret briefed me on my assignment. I hope I provided a sufficient buffer between you and Bill Vandenberg."

  Grace blushed and turned away.

  "It was her idea, but I'm embarrassed to say that it had my blessing."

  "I don't understand. Bill seems like a nice guy."

  "Oh, I'm sure he is. In fact, I know he is. But I think he's more ideally suited for Lucille," Grace said. She sighed. "He seemed to show a great deal of interest in me at church and I wanted to make sure I steered him in the right direction."

  John laughed.

  "Well, it appears you have. I saw him espousing the virtues of the ministry with Lucy after dinner. They seem to have made quite a connection."

  "Trust me when I say things are as they should be," Grace said with a soft smile.

  John repositioned the hand on his cane, glanced at Grace, and wondered whether there was a more enchanting person on the planet. She was kind, yes, and lovely. He could still picture the admiring glances she had received from men, and even their wives, as he had escorted her into the Palladium. Even women understood that Grace Smith was no ordinary beauty.

  Yet when he looked at her, and considered all that he knew about her, he could see there was much more to this woman than a pretty face. She was extraordinarily intelligent and possessed a quiet confidence he had rarely seen even among his fellow officers. He laughed to himself as he tried to picture another woman, even a trained nurse, performing a life-saving procedure on a total stranger in a public place.

  "Are you ever going to tell what happened the other night?" he asked.

  "You mean when I performed the procedure?"

  "No. I mean when you reacted so strangely to news that the screening had ended. There will be other opportunities to attend the cinema, Grace, and I would be more than happy to take you."

  "I know."

  "What is it then?"

  "It's very complicated."

  "You don't wish to tell me?"

  "I can't tell you, not yet anyway."

  John turned his head toward the western horizon and saw dark clouds slowly approach. He wondered, and not for the first time, what secrets she kept. He did not understand why Grace Smith, or anyone else, could not answer such a seemingly harmless question. Then again, he did not understand many things about this mysterious woman. He knew only that this line of questioning had run its course.

  "It looks like a storm is rolling in. Perhaps we should return to the house."

  Grace glanced at Captain Walker with empathetic eyes and smiled sadly.

  "Why don't you ask me about what's really on your mind? I don't care."

  John smiled when he heard the words. Grace was perceptive, as well as unpredictable and circumspect. She was able to read him in a way he would never be able to read her.

  Of course, he knew exactly what she wanted to discuss. The subject was like the proverbial elephant in every room they had occupied since Alistair Green had pulled him aside one morning near the recruiting office and informed him of Grace's situation.

  "Very well," he said. "I know about your circumstances. I was told that you wanted me to know about your circumstances. But there is more I'd like to know."

  "Feel free to ask."

  "OK. Did he hurt you? Did he harm you physically?

  Grace did not answer right away but instead kept her eyes forward and continued to walk. When they reached the top of a small rise a moment later, she stopped, and turned to speak.

  "He didn't hurt me physically. He didn't hurt me emotionally. He didn't hurt me at all."

  "I don't understand. Alistair said he had."

  "I know," Grace said. She took a deep breath. "I told him to say that. I knew it was an explanation people could accept. People accept war widows. Many accept victims of abuse. Very few accept pregnant women without wedding rings."

  John winced not only over Grace's revelation but also her use of a word he had never heard in polite company. He again wondered who this woman was and what made her tick.

  "I must confess I'm still confused. If your man did not abuse you, then why did you leave him? Why are you here?"

  Grace paused for a moment and looked at John like a parent might look at a bewildered child. When she finally spoke, she spoke slowly.

  "A few weeks ago I did something quite by accident that cost me the life I knew and the people I loved, including this man, the father of the child I'm carrying."

  John turned away and stared blankly into the distance.

  "Knowing that I no longer had a future with him, I came here."

  "Why tell me the truth? Why tell me now?"
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  Grace frowned and put a hand to his face.

  "I tell you the truth because you deserve it. You're a kind, decent, honorable man, John Walker. I tell you now because I want that kind, decent, honorable man to seek a woman who is free of complication. I am not that woman. I can never be that woman. I will always be damaged goods, if not in your eyes, then certainly in the eyes of others. You should find someone else."

  John looked at Grace and considered her story and her advice. She was probably right. No good could come from such a relationship. Who knows what legal or emotional barriers he might have to clear if he decided to pursue it? But he didn't care. When he gazed into her sad, beautiful eyes, he did not see a problem he should avoid but rather a woman he wanted to embrace.

  "Before I do, I must know a few things."

  "I understand. Please ask."

  "Do you still love this man?

  "I do," Grace said. "I will always love him and cherish his memory and the time we had together. He will always fill a special place in my heart."

  John winced again and pulled back. How could a man, any man, compete with a memory?

  "Was there something else?" she asked.

  He laughed to himself. Why ask the question when you knew the answer? Grace Smith had been unequivocal. She had closed a door. He looked at her again.

  "Could there ever be a place in your heart for someone else?"

  Grace smiled through a frown and looked at him again with her hard-to-read eyes. She sighed and returned a hand to his face.

  "Maybe," she said. "Maybe."

  CHAPTER 48: WILLIAM

  Seattle, Washington – Sunday, December 15, 1918

  William Vandenberg watched the young woman devour the dish in front of her and realized that he had converted at least one soul on this Sunday. He had successfully introduced Lucille Green to the virtues of the banana split.

  "I take it that these concoctions are hard to come by in Falmouth."

  "Ice cream is hard to come by in Falmouth," Lucy said.

  Lucy stopped shoveling and put her spoon down.

  "You're laughing at me."

  "I'm admiring you," Bill said with a chuckle.

  He grabbed a napkin and gently wiped a spot of vanilla ice cream from the corner of her mouth as she sat still and blushed. When he was done, he put the napkin in his lap and resumed admiring the most beautiful face he had ever seen.

  "Do you wipe the mouths of all your lady friends, William?"

  "Only the ones I find particularly captivating."

  Bill saw from her reddening cheeks that Lucy was as receptive to flattery as she was to the most popular menu item at Ira's Ice Cream Parlor, where they sat across from each other at a small round table. About a dozen others crowded inside a summer-type establishment that had for several years managed to draw customers even through the long, gray winters.

  "I suspect you're teasing me, but I'll accept the compliment," she said. "Thank you for taking me here. I know you're busy, particularly on Sundays."

  "Let me remind you that the Sabbath is a day of rest," Bill said. "I have no doubt that the Lord would approve of my spending part of that day introducing a lovely English girl to a decidedly American concoction. I cannot think of a better way to spend a Sunday afternoon."

  Lucy glared across the table.

  "You're winning me too easily."

  "As long as I win you, I don't care."

  Lucy smiled and sighed.

  "Oh, why do I bother playing hard to get? I'm already smitten."

  Bill laughed.

  "You bother for the same reason I bother. Society demands that young men and young women go through various rituals when they are dating. They put on airs, express indifference, and generally avoid saying what is in their heart until it is officially acceptable to say so."

  "Did you learn this in seminary, William?"

  "No. I learned it on the streets of Mankato."

  Lucy giggled.

  Bill grabbed the hands of his friend, studied her face, and tried to remember whether he had ever dated someone quite like Lucille Green. He didn't think so. Pretty girls filled the plains of southern Minnesota but none quite matched this British belle. She was interesting and different, he thought, and complemented him in ways he was just beginning to understand.

  "For what it's worth, I don't think much of convention," he said. "I don't need six months or a year or more to know how I feel about you. You're the most charming and beautiful woman I have ever known, and I'm increasingly fond of you."

  Lucy smiled and blushed again.

  "You mean you don't have any interest in my equally charming and beautiful twin sister or my more charming and beautiful friend, Grace Smith?"

  "I do not, though I must admit I find both intriguing – particularly Miss Smith."

  "What do you find intriguing about her?"

  "For one thing, I'm curious to know why a single woman with no immediate educational or vocational prospects travels across the country to a city she has never seen, particularly this time of year," he said. "That seems, at the very least, rather odd."

  Bill knew he had stepped in something the second he saw a smile vanish from Lucy's face.

  "What is it? Do you know something I don't?"

  Lucy frowned and turned away.

  "What is it?" he asked again.

  Lucy looked at Bill and brought her hands together under her chin.

  "I'm not sure I'm supposed to tell you this, but Grace isn't simply visiting Alistair and Margaret. She has a rather dreadful story."

  "What story is that?"

  "She came to Seattle to escape a husband who mistreated her."

  "I see."

  "That's not all, either."

  "I don't understand."

  "She's also in a family way."

  "Oh, dear Lord," Bill said. "Does she have any plans for the child?"

  "I think she intends to keep the baby, but she hasn't told us much. Uncle said she is planning to divorce her husband as soon as she can."

  "Where does Captain Walker fit in?"

  "I don't know. She likes him. She told me the other day that he is one of the kindest men she has ever known and would like to get to know him better, but I don't think she's in a hurry to get married again."

  "I would think not," Bill said. "How do you two get along?"

  "We get along well – very well. We seem to have a special bond. Grace is like a surrogate mother or sister, someone I can turn to for guidance. I'm afraid Edith is not much use in that area. She's as worldly as I am."

  "Grace looks a lot like you, that's for sure. She really could be your sister."

  "Edith made the same observation yesterday, with an interesting addition."

  "What was that?"

  "She said Grace also looks a lot like you."

  William laughed.

  "Now, I've heard everything."

  Lucy looked at him with serious eyes.

  "Bill?"

  "Yes."

  "Please don't tell Grace that I told you about her circumstances. I'm sure she will tell you at some point or tell me to tell you, but I want it to come from her. There is something very sad and mysterious about her, something even more than her condition. I don't want to compound her troubles. I want to make her life better."

  Bill smiled at the woman across the table and decided right there that she was the one. He knew that convention demanded that they date at least several more weeks, if not a few more months, but he now considered that time a formality. He would marry this girl and do it soon.

  "I won't say a word," he said as he grabbed her hands. "Not now, not ever."

  CHAPTER 49: GRACE

  Kenmore, Washington – Saturday, December 21, 1918

  As the days became weeks and the weeks became months, Grace began to take pleasure in the little things. She enjoyed playing chess with Penelope after school, making dinner three times a week, and even walking a quarter mile each day to the mailboxes on
the Red Brick Road.

  Getting the mail gave her an opportunity to get out of the house, get some air, and clear a head that needed clearing daily. Though Grace had resigned herself to the likelihood that she would never again see 2002, she never stopped thinking about the year or the people in it.

  She had even used the quiet walks to think of ways to return to that time. The most creative and plausible plan involved sending a letter to Grace Smith at 2321 Wenatchee Avenue in Seattle and asking that it not be delivered until September 2002.

  The letter would specifically warn a happy wife and mother of two not to enter the Palladium on October 5 or anytime the theater showed silent movies, particularly Stella Maris. It might even advise her to avoid theaters altogether and stick to HBO.

  Getting someone to deliver the letter, however, might be difficult. What's more, there was no guarantee that the fate of the woman opening the parcel would be tied to the fate of the woman sending it. Grace knew why even deep thinkers tended to avoid the subject of time travel. Its possibilities could drive you insane.

  When she reached the row of mailboxes at the end of a road that provided access to a dozen properties, Grace opened the second box on the left. As usual, she found something inside. The Greens typically received six to eight parcels a day, a number that had more than doubled since December 1 with the influx of Christmas cards and other holiday greetings.

  Grace removed the day's bounty, put five new letters into the box, and flipped up a flag to signify that the Greens had outgoing mail. As she walked home, she went through the letters and noticed that one was addressed to John Walker. She considered taking it back to the appropriate box but decided instead to take it to his house.

  Grace knew that delivering the letter personally involved an element of risk. She could run smack-dab into Caroline Walker. John's mother had not taken an immediate shine to "the woman next door" and might not be all that happy to find that woman on her doorstep.

  Even so, Grace saw no harm in handing the Walkers a letter that had been delivered to the wrong box. Acts of kindness, she had found, were among the best ways to remove distrust, suspicion, and other social barriers. As it turned out, it didn't matter.