The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3)

by John A. Heldt

  "I don't know if I can handle that," Judy said as she sobbed.

  "You must. You must remain strong," Grace said. She pulled a pen and two slips of paper from the pocket of her coat. "I want you to write down your address and your telephone number, if you have one. Here is my address and number in Kenmore."

  Judy wrote down her contact information and returned the slip to Grace.

  "I think we are stuck here, Judy, and I believe we are both in for some difficult times. But even if we are, we can help each other and comfort each other. I want you to know that you can contact me at any time. I'm not going anywhere."

  Grace smiled slightly and returned her hand to Judy's.

  "Call me. I mean it."

  "I will," Judy said. "I will."

  CHAPTER 55: LUCILLE

  Lucille Green hadn't acquired a lot of experience kissing boys at the Cornish Preparatory Academy in Falmouth, England, but she had acquired enough to know a good kisser from a bad one. Standing between two fir trees near the windowless maintenance building on the west end of the campus, she determined that Bill Vandenberg was a good one.

  "You can hold me all day if you kiss me like that," she said with a giggle.

  "Then I shall hold you all day. But we may both get rather cold and wet if I do."

  "I don't care. I like kissing."

  Bill laughed.

  "Don't you have an ethics class this hour?"

  "I do. I decided this morning that I was too ill to attend," Lucy said. She grinned and put her hands on her hips. "Besides, I'm in the arms of a soon-to-be-ordained Christian minister. I believe he is more than capable of teaching me right from wrong."

  "What will I do with you?"

  "Take me away from this dreadful place, of course."

  "I thought you liked Seattle."

  "I do. It's much better than England. But there is so much more out there. As I've told you many times, I want to see the world. I want to see places that I've only read about in your National Geographic Magazine."

  "You may get your wish, darling," Bill said. He grabbed her hands. "One reason I came to the university today was to further investigate the possibilities of overseas ministries. I learned that there are many opportunities, even now, in places like South America, Africa, and Asia."

  "Ooh. I like the sound of that!"

  "I do too. But we mustn't put the cart before the horse, as they say. I must first establish my bona fides with an American congregation and gain the experience I'll need to effectively preach the word of God to those who have not heard it."

  "Aren't you forgetting something?"

  "What?"

  Lucy gave him a scolding glance.

  "Me!"

  Bill laughed and pulled her close.

  "I haven't forgotten a thing. You will be a part of this every step of the way. We will be married as soon as the time is right and start living the life that we both want."

  Bill put his hands on Lucy's face and kissed her softly.

  "I plan to return to Minnesota in March to visit my family. I'd like you to come."

  "I'd like to go."

  "Do you think your uncle would approve?"

  "He wouldn't approve if it meant leaving school. He made a promise to my father to see me through to graduation and I know he wants to keep it."

  "When is the break between quarters?"

  "It's the last week of March."

  "Then we will leave the last week of March," Bill said. He looked at her intently. "I will wait as long as I must, Lucy Green. I love you. I want you on that train."

  Lucy did not reply. She merely smiled at the handsome man who held her. She did not know the time and date she would board that train to Minnesota, but she did know one thing: the train she had sought for years was about to leave the station.

  CHAPTER 56: GRACE

  Seattle, Washington – Saturday, January 25, 1919

  Grace adjusted the handkerchief wrapped around her head and wondered again what she had gotten herself into. John Walker had given new meaning to blind date.

  "Is this what you did to the Germans when they didn't cooperate?"

  The driver laughed.

  "No. We usually just shot 'em. But none were as pretty as you, so I imagine you're safe."

  "I'm placing a great deal of faith in you, Captain. You're not taking me to some unsavory establishment, are you?"

  "I guess that depends on your definition of unsavory. I'm confident that this place will more than satisfy at least one of your tastes."

  Grace smiled as she heard his reply. She knew she couldn't complain much about being taken hostage by a date to an unknown destination. She had all but kidnapped Joel on a day trip to Mount Rainier National Park in July 1941, though blindfolds had not been part of the act.

  Not that Grace minded the prop. She needed some humor in her life after all she had been through. She also liked seeing the playful side of an Army officer whose sunny disposition had been numbed by the horrors of war.

  When they finally rolled to a stop thirty minutes after leaving Kenmore, John turned off his 1918 Cadillac Type 57 Victoria coupe and applied the parking brake. He leaned to his right and removed the makeshift blindfold from his captive's eyes.

  "We're here," John said.

  "Where's here?" Grace asked.

  "We're at an 'unsavory establishment' that came highly recommended."

  Grace waited for John to exit the car, walk around to her side, and open her door. When she finally stepped out of the vehicle and scanned her surroundings, she saw that they had traveled to what looked like the outskirts of Seattle.

  Grace saw a few homes and businesses and traffic on a nearby road but not much else. A sign in front of the establishment read: LAKE CITY LODGE. Lake City, an unincorporated part of King County, was popular with business owners who wanted to skirt Seattle's vice laws.

  John offered an arm and escorted Grace to the lodge, a dilapidated brick structure that lacked windows but not gatekeepers. Two physically fit men stood near a darkened front door.

  John said something to both of the men. They allowed the couple to pass.

  "Are you ever going to tell me what we're doing?" Grace asked.

  "We're indulging, Miss Smith."

  Grace followed John through the door and down a hallway to a lobby where about a dozen people gathered. Music streamed from a large room. She ignored the heavy cigarette smoke and concentrated instead on the music, which was clear, familiar, and soothing.

  "We're at a jazz joint," Grace said with a smile.

  "You said you liked jazz," John replied. "Well, this is as good as it gets, at least in Seattle."

  When they walked into the large room, Grace noticed several African American performers on a small stage and a mostly white audience gathered around a dozen tables. A few others danced on a hardwood floor near the stage. Smoky, dimly lit, and bursting with energy, the place was a change of pace from the quiet cafés she and John had frequented for weeks.

  "Shall we take a seat?" John asked.

  "Sure."

  John and Grace found an unoccupied table near the back of the room. He helped her into a chair and asked if she wanted a cocktail. When she said that she didn't, he got one for himself and returned to the table. By the time he sat down, the establishment was packed.

  "How does this place stay open?" Grace asked.

  "I suspect through some generous contributions to local law enforcement," the captain said with a laugh. "Even then, it's not open all the time. The police raided the building last week."

  Grace smiled at her tablemate.

  "You're full of surprises, John Walker. I would have never guessed you were taking me to a den of sinful activity."

  "Do you approve?"

  "I approve," she said with an admiring glance. "I definitely approve. How did you know about this place?"

  "A college friend told me about it. It used to be a ragtime hall and gin joint. Then the Anti-Saloon Leaguers took care of th
e gin. Now, it's a speakeasy that plays the music you love."

  Grace nodded at the answer and then let mind her drift as she took stock of the facility. She didn't know much about this underground establishment, but she knew it reminded her of the Bigelow, a dance hall in Seaside, Oregon – a dance hall she had frequented with Joel Smith, Tom Carter, and Virginia Gillette on Labor Day weekend 1941.

  How long ago that time seemed. The weekend had been a turning point for both couples. She and Joel had committed to each other in theory and Tom and Ginny had committed to each other in practice. Tom had proposed marriage after a mere five-month courtship, setting into motion a memorable, tragic autumn that would stay with Grace for the rest of her life.

  "Is something wrong?" John asked.

  "I'm fine. I was just thinking about something."

  "Dare I ask what?"

  Grace slid her hand across the table, touched his arm, and gazed at her date.

  "I was just thinking about the last time I was in a place like this, the choices I've made in the past few years, and the choices I must make in the future."

  John tilted his head and looked at Grace.

  "I hope I can be a part of that future."

  "Do you really want me? I wouldn't."

  John smiled.

  "I'd want you if I had my choice of all the women in the world, which, now that I've retired my cane, I probably do."

  Grace laughed. Humor worked. Humor worked seven days a week. So did flattery, kindness, and generosity. But none of these things brought immediate clarity to her situation. A moment later, she returned to her quiet, reflective state.

  "What's the matter, Grace? You seem lost."

  "I am, a little. I have a lot on my mind."

  "Is it something you can share?"

  "No. Not yet. But I will someday. Right now, I'd like to do something else."

  "What would that be?"

  Grace displayed a warm smile and affectionate eyes.

  "I'd like to dance, Captain."

  Grace held out her hand. When John grabbed it and pulled her to her feet, she followed him to the front of the room. She did not have quite the spring in her step that she'd had in October, but she had more than enough to hold her own on a dance floor.

  For three hours, the pregnant blonde and the Army officer put their troubles aside and danced to music that America was getting to know and appreciate. They danced to fast songs and slow songs and took breaks only when the performers took ones themselves.

  As Grace Smith held John Walker in her arms, she wondered how many more nights there would be like this. She wondered what life would be like with this man and whether the time was finally right to move on. Less than four months had passed since her last night with Joel, but already it seemed like an eternity.

  Grace knew she didn't have the answers. She didn't know what she should do with her life or whether she could ever completely abandon hope of returning to the future. She knew only that she would have to make some important decisions soon, probably in the next few months, and stand by them as if her life depended on them, because, as a practical matter, it probably did.

  At eleven o'clock, John and Grace took to the floor one last time as the female vocalist put her stamp on "After You've Gone," a song made popular by Turner Layton. When she finally finished, John put his hand on her chin and lifted her head.

  This time there was no grandfather clock to disrupt the moment and no dinner to prepare, only an opportunity that would not be squandered. When most of the others began to leave the floor, John put his hands on her face and kissed her sensitively and passionately.

  Grace responded in kind. She responded in a way that did not entirely shut the door on the past but brought it a little closer to the locked position. If this was her new life, she thought, she might as well get it off to a good start. And a wonderful kiss in a jazz joint was as good as it got.

  CHAPTER 57: GRACE

  Kenmore, Washington – Friday, January 31, 1919

  Grace grabbed her back and stretched as she stood at the entrance to the living room. She was not even four months along, but already she could feel the effects of pregnancy.

  "I put away the last of the sheets," Grace said. "If you want me to, I can iron the shirts."

  "Don't be silly," Margaret said from across the room. "You've done more than enough today. I can iron the shirts later. Come sit with me. I made some tea."

  Grace walked past a roaring fire to the settee and sat beside the woman who had become not only her provider and mentor but also her best friend. She settled into the seat, grabbed a cup sitting on her side of the coffee table, and took a sip.

  "This tea is wonderful," Grace said. "It tastes like English Breakfast."

  "That's what I call it. Alistair simply calls it breakfast tea. He thinks 'English' as a modifier is redundant and even insulting."

  Grace laughed.

  "Well, it's delicious by any name."

  Margaret put her cup on its saucer and turned to Grace. She wore the expression of a woman who had a lot on her mind.

  "I watched you hold your back," Margaret said. "Are you in any kind of pain?"

  "No," Grace replied. "I'm just beginning to realize that my physical fitness is not what it was even a few weeks ago."

  "I envy you, you know."

  Grace lowered her cup and pondered the puzzling comment. Why would a woman who had everything envy a woman who had nothing? Was there something particularly appealing about being poor and pregnant in a strange and scary time?

  "I'm afraid I don't understand," Grace said.

  "It's simple, actually. I envy the changes you're going through," Margaret said. "When I was eighteen, I was told I could never conceive. I've learned to live with that limitation and make the most of what I have. I love Penny as much as I could any child, but I still think about what I'm missing. I think about it a lot. I envy women who can experience the full range of motherhood. I truly envy them. There is so much I wish I knew."

  Grace looked at Margaret with awe and admiration. Suddenly her aches, pains, and morning sickness seemed insignificant. She wished she could somehow share the miracle of pregnancy with a woman who would never bear a child.

  "What would you like to know?" Grace asked. She reminded herself that this was officially her first pregnancy and not her second. "I don't mind answering questions. Just ask."

  "Then I will," Margaret said. "Here's a question I've wanted to ask all week. Can you feel your baby move?"

  Grace nodded.

  "I can."

  "What does it feel like?" Margaret asked.

  "It depends. The movement is not always the same. Sometimes it feels like a twitch. Other times it feels like a tickle," Grace said. She smiled. "I've had more twitches than tickles today."

  "Is it ever painful?"

  "No. It's rather pleasant."

  Except when they kick me like a football.

  Margaret sighed and smiled.

  "I thought so."

  Grace took another sip of tea and looked at Margaret again. She wondered if it were possible to be more grateful to another human being. This woman had given her so much.

  "Thank you," Grace said.

  "Thank you? For what?" Margaret asked.

  "Thank you for taking me in, for understanding, for showering me with kindness and not judgment. I don't know what I would have done without you."

  "You would have done fine. I'm sure of it. You're smart and pretty and have all the advantages of foresight. You would have managed without us."

  "I doubt that, but I appreciate your support."

  Grace turned away and looked at the fireplace. She stared blankly at the dancing flames and allowed herself to think of other things.

  "I suppose it won't be long before people start to ask questions," Grace said.

  "They already have. Many asked about your situation at the New Year's Eve party," Margaret said. "Alistair and I politely told them it was none of their business."


  Grace laughed.

  "I can picture that."

  Margaret put a hand on Grace's arm.

  "We mean it though. It is none of their business. If people think any less of us for harboring an expectant mother without a husband, then that's their problem. I won't lose sleep over it."

  Margaret tilted her head and leaned closer to Grace.

  "That doesn't mean I don't worry about you," Margaret said. "I want you to make your new life work. I want you to find happiness again. How are things between you and Captain Walker? I know you've spent more time together since the party."

  Grace pondered the understatement of the year. John had called on Grace nearly every day in January and taken her to lunch or dinner several times.

  "Things couldn't be better," Grace said. "John has accepted me, warts and all. I couldn't ask for a better friend or a more understanding man."

  "I'm happy to hear that. I think you two have been good for each other."

  "Perhaps. I still don't know what he sees in me. John is a handsome, charming, educated man. He could have the finest woman in Seattle."

  "You're right. He could," Margaret said. "In fact, for a while, he did."

  "I don't understand."

  "Apparently John hasn't told you about Emily Watson."

  "He hasn't told me about any of his past girlfriends," Grace said.

  "I'm not surprised."

  "What should I know about Emily?"

  "I'm hesitant to say much," Margaret said. "It's not my place to do so. But I can't imagine that John would berate me for telling you a story that most in this town already know."

  "What story?"

  "The story of John and Emily's relationship and how it ended."

  "Please tell me. I'd like to know," Grace said. "Had they dated long?"

  "Most would say so. They had dated throughout their time in college. John had studied to be an engineer, Emily a teacher. He proposed to her on the Fourth of July in 1917, shortly after he had earned his Master's degree and volunteered for the Army."