The Mine (Northwest Passage Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  Grace patted herself for showing backbone and doing what both knew was right. But she immediately softened when she saw the disappointment and hurt.

  "I'm sorry for being direct," she said. "I'm flattered by the attention. I really am. But I don't think we should spend more time together. Can you understand?"

  "I just want to go for a walk. Is that asking too much?"

  Yes, it is. I find you more than a little distracting and the last thing I need now is a reason to do something stupid.

  Grace put a hand to her forehead and glanced at her coworkers. Both, thankfully, kept to themselves, or at least did a good job of masking their interest in her affairs. She looked at Joel and studied his face. Solemn, focused, and sincere, it was different than the one he had brought in the room. Joel Smith was no flirt with too much time on his hands. He was a serious suitor. A simple brush off would not do.

  "No, I suppose not. I get a lunch break in twenty minutes. We can walk then."

  * * * * *

  When Grace got off at noon, she took the initiative and led Joel south toward the water. She wanted peace, privacy, and as much distance on the education building, where Linda McEwan had two classes, as time allowed.

  "I'm sorry I was such a bear at the library," she said. "I want to be your friend, but I don't know how to do so without upsetting a lot of people."

  "I'm the one who should apologize. I had no right to put you on the spot."

  Grace relaxed and started to view Joel with more compassion and less suspicion. He was no longer a cowboy or a salesman or a baseball fan full of bravado but rather a sincere and probably lonely young man who just wanted someone to talk to.

  "Then let me put you on the spot. Are you ever going to give us more than your name, rank, and serial number? Ginny said she tried to learn more the other day and did not get far."

  "I want to tell you more and someday I will, but I can't now. My situation is more complicated than you could possibly imagine. Just know that I'm not trying to pull some kind of stunt. My intentions are pure. I genuinely like everyone I've met here and want to continue to be a part of your lives."

  Grace smiled.

  "I like that."

  "Like what?"

  "That side of you. When I met you at Tom's party, I thought you were just another of his shallow drinking and gambling buddies. I see I misjudged you."

  "That's OK. I haven't exactly put on the same face every day. I haven't worn my cowboy hat since the day you saw me on the street."

  "That was a sight I won't forget," Grace said with a giggle. "You did look good in it, though. You should wear it again sometime."

  "For you, anything," Joel said.

  Grace laughed to herself. He didn't let up.

  She thought again about the wisdom of spending even an hour with him. This was different than filling in for a sick friend at a baseball game or speaking to him in the presence of others. This private stroll was undeniably optional and probably more than a little ill-advised. But the longer Grace Vandenberg walked and talked with the loquacious Mr. Smith, the more she felt comfortable with her decision to leave the library. She enjoyed his company.

  * * * * *

  As they passed groves of cedar, pine, and larch, Joel couldn't help but notice how little the university had changed in six decades. The commercial strips were night and day different, of course, but the campus itself was much the way he had left it.

  When they reached Pacific Street, Joel put his hand on Grace's back and gently steered her east – away from the blazing midday sun and toward the football stadium. He was in no hurry to double back toward the human race. He didn't know how many more walks he'd get with this enchanting woman and wanted to drag this one out as long as he could.

  "Now that I've expended a million syllables not answering your questions, maybe you can do the same for me. What's your story?"

  Grace stopped and stared at Joel with doleful eyes. He sensed immediately that she had a story she had told often and did not care to tell again.

  "So you really don't know?"

  "I know only that you're engaged and went to Westlake High. Straight-A student. Ginny said that anything else was none of my business."

  Grace smiled.

  "That sounds like something she would say."

  They continued walking.

  "Well, my story, as you put it, is pretty short. My parents were missionaries. I was born in Minnesota, but I don't remember it. We never lived in one place for more than three years, except for the six in Africa. When I was fourteen, we moved from the Philippines to a village just outside Nanking, China. I liked it there. So did my father, even though he didn't convert a soul – or at least none I knew about," Grace said with a sad, sweet laugh no doubt rooted in a sad, sweet memory.

  Guessing what was coming, Joel kept his questions in check. He wanted to learn more, but he did not want to interrupt a narrative that was likely as therapeutic for the teller as it was informative to the listener.

  "We stayed nearly three years. Dad preached, Mom taught school, and I attended that school when I wasn't running around getting into trouble."

  "I can't imagine you getting into trouble."

  "Not your kind of trouble, that's for sure," Grace said. "But I wasn't a saint. One morning I said I was too sick to go to church. But instead of staying in bed, I played with several kids from the village. We had a big mud fight. I ruined a set of clothes and some new shoes. Dad grounded me for a month. Nothing but school and church."

  "Let me guess. You left when the Japanese came in."

  "We left in late November, when Westerners could still get out. Dad wanted to go to the safety zone in the city and stick it out, but my mother convinced him to leave. She was always the sensible one. So we fled to Shanghai and took the first boat out."

  "How did you end up in Seattle?"

  "My aunt, my mom's sister, lives here. We arrived just before Christmas and planned to stay until I finished school in June and Dad could get another assignment."

  Grace paused and looked at a deer that stepped tentatively between two trees. She turned away and continued walking.

  "You don't have to tell me the rest if you don't want to," Joel said.

  Grace did not reply immediately. She instead picked up a pinecone on the path and held it to her nose before placing it at the base of a large tree. She returned to the trail, took a few more steps, and turned to Joel with moist eyes.

  "On New Year's Eve 1937 a drunk driver ran a stoplight and struck my parents as they walked across an intersection. Mom died instantly. Dad lived another day, just long enough to say goodbye. I stayed with my aunt until I came here. You can probably figure out the rest."

  Joel closed his eyes and sighed.

  "Oh, Grace, I am so sorry."

  Anger and embarrassment quickly joined sorrow and guilt among the emotions swirling through his system. Since meeting Grace at the party, Joel had considered nothing but his base interests. Now those interests seemed trivial, shallow, and extraordinarily selfish. He stepped a few feet off the path and booted a rock.

  "I feel stupid now, really stupid. The last thing you need is some dolt hitting on you and making you uncomfortable. If there is anything I can do, just let me know."

  Grace lifted her head and gazed at Joel for several seconds, as if considering the possibilities of his offer. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and looked at him earnestly.

  "There is something."

  "What? Just name it. I'll do anything. Even take a hike."

  Grace grabbed his hand.

  "Take me to a movie."

  CHAPTER 36

  Joel and Grace's second non-date date in seven days began with a low-profile rendezvous on the corner of East Fifty-Second Street and University Way. She had insisted on meeting at a neutral location to avoid the appearance of impropriety. The two would arrive at the theater as friends, depart as friends, and keep danger at a safe distance.

  Like moths to a flam
ethrower, Joel thought.

  "Thank you for doing this," Grace said. "Paul rarely takes me to movies. He prefers dinners and parties, and the girls are usually too busy to go out."

  "I can't think of anything I'd rather do," Joel said, still grateful she had not applied the coup de Grace when she had the chance.

  When they reached the Phoenician, a Prohibition-era colossus that occupied nearly an entire block on the Ave, they took their places in a line that stretched to the corner of Forty-Seventh. From that vantage point, they could see Road to Zanzibar emblazoned on the side of a splashy marquee and touch a wrought-iron-and-oak bench that had served Joel well on the second of June.

  "Do you remember this bench?" Grace asked.

  "I remember who I saw while sitting on it."

  Joel grinned. He remembered everything about that night, both good and bad: the fatigue, the hunger, the sadness, the thrill of seeing an angel in white, and his fortuitous encounter with his new best friend.

  "I wasn't sure what to make of you," she said. "You looked so sad."

  "I was. But I found a cure."

  Grace smiled.

  "I can see that."

  As they moved up the line, they passed dozens of burned paper shards that had blown across the street and gathered in the gutters. Empty matchbooks and fireworks packages littered the sidewalk. Independence Day had left its mark.

  "What did you do yesterday?"

  "Katie and I visited my aunt Edith. She loves the Fourth and I wanted to help her celebrate. We baked apple pies all day and saw the fireworks at the lake," Grace said. "She's a wonderful lady. I hope you can meet her someday."

  "I'd like that."

  "How did you spend the day?"

  "I did the same. The fireworks, that is." Joel laughed. "The only baking I did was on the top of Tom's boat. I'm still pretty sore in back."

  Note to self: Invent sunscreen.

  "You two have become good friends."

  Joel pondered the comment, as if it were some sort of revelation, and nodded. He had not thought much about the friendship and his immersion in all things Carter because they had seemed so seamless and natural.

  "Amazing, isn't it? I didn't know him a month ago, and now I'm a member of the family. I owe a lot to him – to all of them."

  "I do, too, and not simply because they have been so kind to me," Grace said.

  "What do you mean?"

  Grace glanced at Joel and smiled but did not answer for several seconds. She had done that often at the ballpark, driving him bananas. Joel laughed to himself. The habit was as annoying as hell but effective. She knew how to hold an audience.

  "Do you remember Ginny telling you that I had won a full-ride scholarship?"

  "Yeah, I remember."

  "Well, she held back a few details."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as the fact that all of the regular full-ride scholarships at Westlake went to students who had attended the school four years. I wasn't eligible for any of them."

  "So how did you get yours?"

  Grace looked at the many others standing in line, as if making sure they weren't listening in on state secrets, before turning to Joel. He had already pulled up a chair.

  "It started with the Sun. They ran a big article on my parents after they died and a follow-up on me after my aunt told them I had been unable to get a scholarship. She was a particularly large thorn in their side."

  Joel laughed. He had to meet this aunt.

  "I get it. The paper wrote a guilt piece and passed around the plate."

  "I'm sure that was their intention. It certainly was my aunt's," Grace said. "But they never had the chance to pass the plate very far."

  "OK. Now I'm lost."

  "The day after the Sun ran the story on me, a local businessman wrote out a check for five thousand dollars and donated it anonymously to my scholarship fund."

  "Anonymously?"

  "Yes, anonymously. For three years I never knew who put me through college or even specifically why," she said. "I knew only that some nice man had paid for my education. Then I overheard Tom talk about it one day. He had known all along. So had Ginny. They all had."

  Grace looked him in the eyes.

  "My benefactor was Melvin Carter."

  * * * * *

  As they worked their way toward the closest of two box offices, Grace saw several familiar faces but none that she knew by name. That changed when Paula Caldecott, a busybody senior and fellow traveler in the School of Education, emerged from a crowd and tapped her on the shoulder.

  "Hi, Grace. I haven't seen you in a while. Who's your friend?"

  Grace's stomach dropped as she tried to remember whether Paula knew Paul. She had not seen her since they had taken a methodology course in March.

  "This is Joel Smith. Joel, this is Paula Caldecott. We're classmates."

  "Paula," Joel said, extending a hand.

  "It's nice to meet you, Joel."

  Paula held Joel's hand for several seconds. She held his gaze for several more. But as soon as she turned to Grace she got to business in rapid-fire fashion.

  "What are you doing this summer? Working? Playing? Did you and Linda move into a house? I remember you talked about it. I haven't seen her in any of my classes. Is she attending summer school?"

  Paula's words hit Grace like echoes in a box canyon. She heard the questions and knew the answers but couldn't decide which, if any, put her engagement in mortal danger and which did not. She proceeded carefully.

  "Yes, Linda's taking classes and, yes, we moved into a house, with two other girls. I think you know Ginny. I'm taking the summer off and working at the library."

  "That's great. That's wonderful," Paula said. After a long, awkward pause, she smiled at Grace and pointed to Joel with her eyes. "So . . . is he the one? Rita Moran told me a week ago that you were engaged. If so, then you're a lucky duck."

  "No. Joel is just a friend. Rita must have mistaken me for someone else."

  "That's odd. She seemed sure. Oh, well. Too bad for you," Paula said, raising her eyebrows twice. A man waved from the far ticket counter and called out her name. "Well, I've got to go. It was nice seeing you. Maybe we'll have some classes this fall. Bye."

  Paula vanished into the throng and took with her, at least for the moment, the threat of discovery. But the meeting had left Grace shell-shocked. Standing under the bright bulbs and shiny underside of the marquee, she stared blankly at Joel as he stepped forward to purchase their tickets. She scolded herself for thinking she could pull this off. Did she seriously believe she could mingle with dozens of other students in a public place and not run into someone who knew her relationship status?

  Grace tried to recall a worse decision in college and couldn't. Just standing next to Joel invited a truckload of trouble. Yet when he slipped his hand in hers and led her into the theater, she had no desire to let go of that hand. Indeed, she had never wanted to hold anything more.

  * * * * *

  Joel didn't need a mind reader to know what Grace was thinking. He had listened to every word of her exchange with Paula and had seen her go from cheerful to cheerless in less than a minute. She was obviously reeling from a close call.

  He had wondered about the wisdom of meeting like this. He had nothing to lose by taking her to a movie. She had everything to lose. Yet for days he thought only of the upside. He looked forward to a night of promise.

  When he looked at her face, however, he could see that the night had taken an unexpected turn, and that was a big-time problem. It was a problem because Joel Smith had every intention of taking his friendship with Grace Vandenberg to the next level.

  Had she rebuffed him on Tuesday, he would have walked – and kept on walking. He had meant it when he had told her that he would leave her alone. He had no right to impose on someone who already had more than her share of troubles and obligations.

  But she had not rebuffed him. She had instead opened a door that led to wondrous new possibilitie
s. Joel had a precious second opportunity to grab and hold the interest of someone he had obsessed about all week. If he lost her now, to fear or doubt or anything else, he could forget about Chance Number Three.

  Joel thought about that chance as he took her hand and guided her through glass doors to the lobby of a theater that was as much a throwback as its name. Everything about the Phoenician screamed yesteryear, from a sign that boasted admission for a quarter to the plush carpeting, chandeliers, and marble walls.

  When they reached the large, circular concession stand, he saw prices he thought existed only on the History Channel. Sodas, popcorn, and candy bars ran a nickel to a dime and came in sizes aimed to please. Joel gave twenty cents to the candy-striped girl behind the counter and she gave him two colas in glass bottles and a large bag of popcorn. He handed one of the bottles to Grace.

  "Are you sure that's all you want?"

  "I'm sure, for now," she said, eyes down.

  Fully aware of their predicament, even inside the theater, Joel whisked Grace from Point A to Point B. He was thankful that he needed only to find the entrance to a single 1,250-seat auditorium and not ply a crowded multiplex to Screen 16. When they stepped inside the darkened room, an usher disguised as a bellhop led them by flashlight up steep stairs to two cushioned, secluded seats in the balcony.

  Joel glanced at the far wall, where a newsreel on the Battle of Britain gave way to an animated short. Massive velvet curtains flanked an impossibly large screen. Still holding Grace's hand, Joel felt his date return to life. She sighed and visibly relaxed for the first time since her near-death encounter with an education major.

  "I'm sorry for dragging you into this," she said. "I'm normally not this reckless, and I'm not sure I'm being fair to you. I don't want to create impressions I can't honor."

  Joel released her hand, wedged the bag of popcorn in the unoccupied, flipped-up seat to his left, and gave his remorseful companion the attention she deserved.

  "Nobody dragged me into anything," he said. "There's no place in the world I'd rather be right now than with you, at your side, in this theater, watching cartoons."