Love Finds You in Victory Heights, Washington

by Tricia Goyer

  Kenny frowned. He’d forgotten about that. “Did you send it?”

  Akamu nodded, his forehead crinkled. Then he reached under the desk and retrieved the note. “Just kidding, Mr. Davenport. Ha ha! I knew you shouldn’t take that job.”

  Kenny patted Akamu’s arm. “That’s a good man. You were sure right, my friend. I’m fighting for love.” He grabbed Akamu’s hand and tugged him around the counter. “Fighting for love!”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  White clouds, like puffed pastry, skimmed across the dazzling blue sky, and a dragonfly skittered past Rosalie’s view as she soaked in the warm afternoon sunshine. The backyard at Tilly’s place swirled with a host of friends—all gathered for the same reason. To support her.

  Rosalie gripped Kenny’s mom’s hand. “It was so nice of you to come, Mrs. Davenport.”

  The middle-aged woman, hair neatly coiffed, eyes emanating the same kindness as Kenny’s, returned Rosalie’s smile. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I just hope my son uses the sense God gave him.” Rosalie answered with a grin, and Mrs. Davenport meandered to Kenny’s dad and two sisters, Bernice and Catherine, in the shade under the white gazebo.

  A soothing breeze danced through the white leaves of the plum tree Rosalie stood under, and she placed a hand on an intricate ironwork chair parked next to the food table. Most of the guests had finished eating their hot dogs, hamburgers, and barbecue—supplied by Lanie—and now were gathering around her. Rosalie held on to each encouraging word. She’d need it, if her trip to Hawaii was to go as she hoped.

  “Speech! Speech!” a man’s voice called.

  Rosalie rubbed the K on her bracelet, which never left her wrist, as Birdie and her pilot husband John weaved through the crowd to her.

  “Sorry, sweets.” Birdie patted Rosalie’s arm. “John’s the one who shouted that.” Birdie cuffed her returning hero’s arm. “Now, you leave my girl alone. She’s not too keen on speeches.” Birdie wrapped an arm around John’s waist, and he pulled her closer. Rosalie’s eyes welled, sharing her friend’s joy.

  “Have I told you how happy we are that you’re here, safe and sound? We’re so proud of you, and all our boys fighting for us.”

  John’s hands fidgeted. “Just doing my job.” He massaged Birdie’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking care of my wife for me.”

  Watching John and Birdie the last few days had created an even greater desire to reconcile with Kenny. Their lives intertwined naturally, blending intimate friendship with deep love and protection. She longed for a relationship like that, yet one molded especially around Kenny and her, unique to only them. Glancing back at John and Birdie, she squeezed Birdie’s hand.

  “She’s the one who took care of me.” She smiled, hoping Birdie caught the sincerity she felt.

  “Aren’t you going to say something?” Nick piped in.

  Rosalie situated her shoulders toward the group. “What Birdie said was true. I don’t think there’s much in this world I despise more than giving a speech.” She hopped up on the chair. “But I think I can handle saying a few words to friends.” Then when the group quieted—all but little Buddy and Danny, who were throwing plums at the neighbor girl—Rosalie spoke.

  “I want to thank you, my dear friends, for your encouragement and love during these crazy weeks. First when Kenny and I broke up, you were so supportive—even though I was incredibly irrational.”

  Soft chuckles rumbled through the crowd.

  “And now with my plans to leave for Hawaii, I couldn’t be more grateful for each one of you.”

  A burst of thankfulness soared in Rosalie’s heart for each person there: the neighbors, her girls from the plant, Kenny’s family. Scanning the yard, Rosalie’s eyes stalled on Miss Tilly, who squatted to snatch up an “evil” dandelion.

  Lord, thank You for sending Miss Tilly to tell me about You. And the dear woman didn’t just introduce Rosalie to the Lord, she continued to support her with simple phone calls, notes, Scripture-filled words, like a true mother in the Lord. I’m blessed to know her.

  “I’m blessed to know all of you.” Rosalie lifted her chin. “And thank you for throwing this amazing going-away party. You guys thought of everything—a gourmet spread—hey, hot dogs are gourmet to some folks—croquet, even music.” She glanced at Nick’s band waiting under a tent. Scrunching her shoulders and opening her hands, Rosalie eyed the group. “You people know I’m coming back, right?”

  The crowd murmured, then a voice sliced through the chatter.

  “Hopefully, you’ll come back with a man.” Iris sauntered into the backyard, just getting off work. “That’s what I heard this party was about. Your quest for that reporter!”

  “Iris! What a thing to say.” Rosalie shook her head. “I mean, of course—”

  “What’s this about a quest?” a man’s voice interrupted.

  She knew that voice. Rosalie’s hand flew to her chest. Her gaze flicked over the yard toward where the voice originated. Her hands trembled, and her heart had never kicked so hard.

  And then she saw him, hands slipped into his pockets, charming grin. He tilted his head and gazed at her as if viewing a beloved treasure. Rosalie’s knees felt as mushy as Lanie’s sweet potato pie as she stood frozen on the chair. Her eyes stuck on him in the dreamlike moment, and she watched as a familiar glint passed over his eyes, and he winked.

  Rosalie teetered, grabbing the back of the chair. He’s so mean to me, she thought happily. I love it.

  Those gathered faded as she hopped down and walked to him. Pats on the back and well-wishes lined Rosalie’s path like petals on a wedding aisle. He also padded toward her until finally they met.

  Standing before him, Rosalie longed for him to touch her face, slip his hands down over her shoulders, and pull her into a tender embrace, but he hesitated. And Rosalie understood why. She also felt timid, unsure. The initial rush of seeing him was replaced by uncertainty. He was here. He winked at her. But did that mean he still wanted her? She had so much to apologize for, to explain.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but Kenny went first. “I think I owe you a walk.”

  “Perfect.”

  He pointed across the yard toward the woods. “I’ve got a spot to show you.” He moved forward across the grass, and Rosalie cautiously slipped her arm through his. He immediately caressed her hand. Gazing toward him, she caught his eyes landing on the bracelet on her wrist. He explored her eyes and smiled.

  “So does this mean you’re not going to Hawaii, Rosalie?” Iris hollered.

  Rosalie turned around. “I’ll tell you when I get back.”

  Kenny led Rosalie through the fragrant woods. In moments, Tilly’s Place disappeared behind them, and they were surrounded by ancient cedars towering over them as if guiding them along their way. Kenny grinned to himself. After all the waiting, the uncertainty, the whole trip here had happened in a flash. Ever since reading Dad’s letter, Kenny’d felt like an unseen hand had steered him. Akamu’s rusty old truck huffed and seized up, but somehow they’d made it to the plane on time. Then once he’d arrived in Seattle, he’d somehow bumped into an old friend. Well, not so much a friend, but someone who could help. Lana Turner, of all people. And who would’ve thought that her driver would be on the way to pick up Rosalie. So he rode to Victory Heights in a limousine.

  God’s providence always amazed him. Thank You, Lord. And nothing could describe the awe of seeing Rosalie after so much time. But did she still fear his job as a reporter? Would she forgive him for breaking promises and not pursuing her like a suitor should? She seemed happy, but he didn’t know. He caressed her arm with his fingertips. Lord, please give me words to show her my heart. Help her to trust me.

  “So, what are they all doing there?” Kenny asked, scooting over a fallen log as high as his waist, then reaching a hand to Rosalie.

  Hopping back to the rich soil, Rosalie smirked playfully. “I’ll tell you that if you’ll tell me what you’re doing here. I thought you were in Hawa
ii.”

  Kenny grabbed her hand as they continued walking. “Oh, ho! You’re good. You know what, look. There’s what I wanted to show you.”

  The woods opened up to a circular grassy field. Beds of dandelions and their baby sisters, the delicate white-tipped seedlings, danced in the summer breeze. The field sloped downward to a narrow stream, and a brown-paneled footbridge arched over it.

  Kenny angled his head toward Rosalie. “Do you like it?”

  “I love it.” Rosalie sighed, her gaze skimming over the circumference. “What a tranquil place.”

  Kenny walked her across the soft grass, where tiny white daisies poked their heads past the blades toward the sun. “I used to come here in college, when I lived at Tilly’s. The peacefulness readied me for my hectic day in classes.”

  Rosalie bent down to pick one of the daisies, her white cotton dress rippling in the breeze. Kenny imagined her laughing and racing through fields, perhaps even this field, with little girls tagging along. He saw her picking daisies and weaving them into their girls’ hair, yet in the same afternoon teaching them how to use a hammer and nails to mend the bridge. Those two qualities, among others, drew Kenny. Rosalie’s strength didn’t hinder her gentle beauty. Her loveliness never subdued her strength. Kenny’s heart almost out-paced his chest as he pondered these things about the woman strolling next to him.

  Stepping to the center of the bridge, Kenny paused and faced her. “Rosalie, I don’t think I can take another step until I know.” She inched closer, her head angled toward him. He gained confidence. “I want to tell you, Rosalie, that—”

  Then, suddenly, the words wouldn’t come. Not the words he longed to say. Instead, he stepped back, then shifted and gripped the railing. “Well, I came back from Hawaii because I got offered a job as a foreign correspondent, you see, and—”

  Splashing water sang over stones in the brook, and Kenny twisted his head back to Rosalie, whose hopeful gaze had darkened.

  “But I won’t take the job if—”

  She leaned next to him, and he shifted to gaze at her. Resting an arm on the railing, he reached out his other hand and moved a tress of hair out of her eyes. Rosalie’s chest rose as she drew in a breath. His hand lingered on her head, and she leaned into his touch.

  “I need to say I’m sorry…doll.” He eyed her. Was it okay to call her that? Her eyes flickered and the corners of her lips slanted up. He dropped his hand to her shoulder, softly padding behind her, pulling her closer. “I neglected you, broke promises.” He tipped up her chin so she could see the honesty he hoped showed in his eyes.

  “Kenny. I understand. You don’t have to—”

  “You are more important than any story. I was wrong to neglect you. I promise—if you can believe a promise from me—you’ll always be the most important person in my life. Can you forgive me?” He gazed at her, waiting, hoping.

  Tears glistened in her eyes. “Of course I forgive you, Kenny.” She moved her hands to Kenny’s neck, then raked her fingers through his hair.

  “Rosalie.”

  “But I need to ask you to forgive me. You showered me with more appreciation and care than I ever dreamed possible. When I was feeling hurt, I should’ve worked it out with you, not just given up. I’m sorry.”

  Kenny wrapped his arms around her waist as she fell against his chest. “I forgive you, doll.” Slipping his hands back to her sides, he pulled back. “Well, we should get started right away.” He threw her a grin.

  She squinted her eyes warily. “Get started with what?”

  “Keeping promises. C’mon.”

  More than butterflies fluttered in Rosalie’s stomach as Kenny led her to the other side of the bridge where a bench waited. After they settled next to each other, Kenny slunk his fingers over her hand to the bracelet and unfastened it.

  “Do you want to hear the story of the heart?”

  Rosalie rested her head against his shoulder, relishing his scent and the warmth of his presence. “I didn’t know if I’d ever sit like this with you again, Kenny.”

  Rosalie felt Kenny’s chest rise and fall. “I know,” he said. “Let’s never be apart again.”

  “Deal,” she said softly, wondering if that was a proposal.

  Kenny held the heart charm between his thumb and forefinger. “My father gave this heart to my mother years ago before he left for the Great War. He was a pilot. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  “He told her that if she would take care of this small silver heart while he was gone, when he came home, he’d give her his own.”

  Rosalie stroked Kenny’s shoulder. “That’s so sweet, and now you’re giving it to me?”

  “But there’s more. When he came home, he asked for the heart back. Said he wanted to trade it for something. Do you know what it was?”

  A robin plopped off a blackberry bush and hopped through the grass. Soon a friend joined it. “His heart, like he said?”

  Kenny nodded. “Yes, but he wouldn’t take the heart charm away and give her nothing tangible in return. He gave her his heart as well as—” His eyes embraced Rosalie’s as he slipped off the bench and knelt.

  Rosalie gasped. Tears shot to her eyes, but she fought them back.

  With that melting grin, Kenny slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a gold, antique-looking diamond ring.

  “Kenny?” Lord, is this really happening? Rosalie felt a smile seize her face. She couldn’t force it away if she wanted to.

  Kenny reached up and touched her cheek. “My father gave her a ring instead.”

  Kenny held Rosalie’s trembling left hand. “I love you, Rosalie Madison. And I want to spend the rest of my life showing you. Will you be my wife?”

  All her life she never thought she’d love a man, not with the passionate commitment she loved Kenny with. And now, the one thing she dared not dream of came to her like an unexpected gift. She told him yes with her eyes before her words passed her lips. “Yes, Kenny. Of course I will. I love you too.”

  Kenny slid the ring on her finger then straightened. He paused, gazing at her. “I always want to remember the look in your eyes at this moment.” Then he moved his hands over her cheeks and into her hair. “I do love you, doll,” he said and pressed his lips against hers.

  Rosalie melted into the love she’d always suspected he felt for her but now knew for sure.

  As they pulled apart, Rosalie cupped Kenny’s cheek. “And I love you.”

  Kenny tilted his head. “Even though I’m a reporter?”

  Rosalie smiled. “Yes, even though you’re a reporter—I’ll be proud to be your wife.”

  Kenny drew her into another kiss before the quietness of the

  moment was interrupted by the rhythmic rumbling of a bass.

  “They must’ve started the music,” Rosalie murmured.

  “Well then, that’s our cue. Wanna cut a rug with me?”

  Rosalie grasped his hand as they stood. “You bet I do!”

  Epilogue

  THE SEATTLE TRIBUNE

  LOVEBIRDS FINALLY TIE THE KNOT

  BY LANIE THOMES, STAFF WRITER, WOMEN’S PAGE

  Lana Turner was right! About a year ago, you may remember, the Tribune’s own Kenny Davenport wrote a story about himself and a certain hotsy-totsy brunette who would soon be dubbed Seattle’s Own Rosie the Riveter.

  Lana Turner said the two should be a couple, and this past Saturday, a warm June afternoon, I was privileged to walk the aisle—not for my own wedding, but as a bridesmaid of my dear friend Rosalie Madison, now Davenport. The two finally proved Lana Turner’s prediction to be true.

  (For those of you following my own road to nuptial bliss: Our wedding has been postponed so my Nick and I can learn about what the Bible has to say about marriage.)

  And where was the wedding held, you ask? Where else? Victory Square, of course. On Thomas Jefferson’s porch, the beautifully adorned bride—like a riveter princess—gazed into her reporter prince’s eyes as he to
ok her hand and promised to love her forever, through the happy days and the hard ones. When the blissful pair sealed their hearts to each other with the traditional kiss, the thousands of Rosie the Riveter supporters in the crowd cheered so loudly I expect our boys across the Pacific could hear the boom.

  Kenny’s father, Reverend Andrew Davenport, married the happy couple from his wheelchair. The Reverend, a navy chaplain, lost his leg while valiantly serving his country and returned home last year. He, his wife, and Kenny Davenport’s two sisters now reside in Seattle, where the Reverend has found a new calling as minister of Victory Heights Presbyterian Church.

  After the ceremony, the two led the crowd in Lindy swing dancing, backed by my Nick’s band, with him bopping on his bass, and me on lead vocals. My guy’s leg is much better. Kenny’s story about contracted workers (you may have read it) started the ball rolling to get them the medical care they need. Thank you, Kenny!

  As for the future for Mr. and Mrs. Davenport? Don’t worry. They’re sticking around Seattle—at least for a while. Kenny’s been promoted to lead local reporter here at the Tribune, and Rosalie? Here’s what she had to say: “I’ll just be happy to return to the plant.”

  Rosalie’s too modest to admit that, because of her publicity blitz, new women recruits have flooded into the Boeing Plant 2, and Rosalie’s been promoted to supervisor to help train them. Guess the big bosses want lots more like her.

  But for now, Rosalie and Kenny are looking forward to enjoying their honeymoon. If you’re wondering where they’re going, ask Lana Turner. She arranged a trip to Hawaii for them! Wish I had a friend like that.

  Something tells me the lovely riveter and her handsome reporter are going make it to their golden anniversary and beyond. With a story like theirs, how could they do anything less?

  About the Authors

  TRICIA GOYER is an award-winning author of fourteen novels, many of them set during the World War II era. She has interviewed more than one hundred war veterans to make her stories come alive for her readers. Among her published historical novels are Night Song, which was awarded ACFW’s 2005 Book of the Year for Long Historical Romance, and Dawn of a Thousand Nights, which won the same award in 2006. She has also authored nine nonfiction books and more than three hundred articles for national publications. In 2003, Tricia was one of two authors named “Writer of the Year” at the Mount Hermon Christian Writer’s Conference, and she has been interviewed by Focus on the Family, Moody Mid-Day Connection, The Harvest Show, NBC’s Monday Today, Aspiring Women, and hundreds of other radio and television stations. Tricia and her husband, John, have four children and live in Arkansas.