The Mine (Northwest Passage Book 1)

by John A. Heldt

  A bungalow on the Big Island, however, might run a close second.

  Grace smiled weakly, grabbed his hand, and stared at the screen with glistening eyes. A moment later she dropped her head on his shoulder and whispered two words.

  "Me too."

  CHAPTER 37

  For the first time since hot weather had moved into their maritime community, the full crew of the SS Klickitat manned their stations. Sporting flared white shorts and brightly colored halter tops, Linda McEwan and Katie Kobayashi read books and reclined in chairs atop the starboard side of the deck, while Grace Vandenberg, in a two-piece peach playsuit, worked the port side with emery boards and nail polish. She sat on an old beige towel and did her digits while reading a letter.

  "Is that from Paul?" Virginia Gillette asked.

  Wearing a knotted midriff top and a pleated skirt, the captain of the ship sat upright in a lawn chair and lit her third cigarette of the day. A second draft of her first weighty story of the month rested on a table at her side.

  "It is."

  "How is he doing?"

  "He's coping," Grace said. "He doesn't care much for the humidity in Boston or some of the people in the program, but he says he's learning a lot."

  "When does he expect to get out?"

  "His gets his first leave in the middle of August. He won't know for a while where he gets assigned, but he says here it may be Hawaii."

  "Wouldn't that be something? I think I could handle living there," Ginny said.

  She glanced at Linda and saw her immersed in a book. That was good. The all-seeing, all-knowing leader of the pack knew that their pleasant, sunny afternoon probably wouldn't stay pleasant and sunny for long.

  "We missed you last night, Grace," Katie said. "How was the movie?"

  "It was very good."

  "Did you go by yourself?"

  "No. I did not."

  "OK."

  "Whom did you go with?" Linda asked in a Pollyanna voice. She dropped the textbook to her lap and looked at Grace.

  "You know who I went with, Linda."

  "What do you mean?"

  "You were staring out your window when I got home."

  "Oh. In that case, how was your date with Joel?"

  "It wasn't a date, Linda."

  "It sure looked like a date."

  Ginny saw Katie pick up For Whom the Bell Tolls but doubted that her book was anything more than an escape hatch. The worms she had unwittingly released continued to crawl out of their can.

  "It wasn't a date. We went as friends."

  "Does Paul know about your 'friend'?" Linda asked.

  "That's really none of your business."

  "Really?"

  "Really."

  "Well, as my brother's sister, I think it is my business."

  "Zip it, Linda," Ginny said.

  Linda snapped her book shut, slipped on her sandals, and got up from her chair. The redhead glared at Grace and stomped into the house.

  "Forget her," Ginny said. "She's just mad because Lee Sorenson stood her up last night. They were supposed to go to dinner and a show. But he went with Barbara Dixon instead. Bigger boobs and a better temperament win every time."

  Katie giggled.

  "Stick to Hemingway, Sunshine."

  "I'm trying, but you two make it difficult."

  Ginny smiled at Katie and turned to Grace.

  "Did Paul write anything else of interest?"

  "He said he misses Seattle and his college friends and me, of course. But he didn't write much about his training. I don’t think he's enjoying himself."

  "Do you mind if I read the letter?"

  "Feel free. There's not a whole lot there."

  Grace picked up the sheet and its envelope, handed them to Ginny, and resumed the maintenance of her fingers and toes. Small red stains marred one end of the towel, visible reminders of the disrupting exchange with Linda.

  When Ginny finished the letter, she placed it atop the manuscript, put out her smoke, and leaned back in her chair. She started to dig out another cig but stopped and put the pack on top of the papers. Tapping her fingers on the armrest, she stared blankly at blouses and underwear hanging on a clothesline and then turned to her friend.

  "Grace?"

  "Yes?"

  "What are you doing?"

  "I'm painting my nails," she said, eyes focused on the task.

  "Grace?"

  "Yes?"

  "What are you doing with Joel Smith?"

  Grace put down the polish but kept her eyes on her feet. Katie lowered her book and moved her eyes to her peers. Hemingway, it seemed, had nothing on this.

  "I'm making a friend."

  "Grace?"

  "Yes, Ginny?"

  "Do I need to remind you that you are engaged?"

  "No," she said, lifting her head and staring blankly into space. "No, you don't."

  CHAPTER 38

  Joel sat in the second biggest chair in the room and admired the artwork, or at least what qualified as artwork in the manager's office. Sales awards, trade association plaques, and photographs of clients with big cars, big boats, and big fish adorned the dull yellow walls like paintings in a makeshift gallery. Joel did not see a college diploma. But then, he did not expect to see one. He knew that Melvin Carter was a self-made man.

  "You like that one, I see," Mel said, referring to Joel's interest in a fishing photo. He walked to his desk and sat in the big chair. "I caught that myself in Ketchikan. Four of us went up for a week and caught our weight in kings."

  Mel pushed a pile of paper to the left side of his large mahogany desk, leaving space for a manila folder and a cup of coffee. He turned off a small gooseneck lamp.

  "Would you like anything to drink?" he asked. "Evelyn just made some coffee."

  "No, thank you."

  The big man reclined in his chair, sipped his coffee, and flipped a pencil between his fingers like a majorette working a baton. Putting down the pencil, he leaned forward and focused on his star employee.

  "How do you like working here?"

  "I like it, sir. I like it a lot, actually."

  "Good. That's good. I thought so, but it's always nice to hear it from the horse's mouth," Mel said. He adjusted the blinds of the lone window, shutting out the bright morning sun, and returned to his chair. "Joel, the main reason I called you in today is to go over some sales figures from June."

  "Are they good?"

  "They're more than good. They're the best monthly numbers I've seen in fifteen years." Mel opened the folder, grabbed the top sheet, and pushed it forward across the desk. "Go ahead. Take a look."

  Joel took the sheet and studied a summary at top.

  "I see we sold a lot of mattresses last month."

  "No, you sold a lot of mattresses last month. You also moved a lot of washers and sofas and dining room sets."

  "It appears so."

  "What I'm saying, son, is that you're doing a bang up job. People I haven't seen in years are coming into the store because they've heard about our new hot shot salesman."

  Mel fidgeted in his chair and put his hand on two other slips of paper he pulled from the folder. Both resembled the size and shape of business checks.

  "That's good for me and, as it turns out, good for you. I want you to know that success is rewarded around here and that you've more than earned what I'm about to give you. This first check is a bonus. I usually hand them out at Christmas, but I'm making an exception here because I think the situation calls for it. The second is your commissions for the past two weeks. Please note the compensation at a higher rate."

  Joel took both slips and studied the numbers. He liked what he saw.

  "This is very generous. I don't know what to say."

  "You don't have to say anything. I just want you to be happy here. Tom tells me you two are planning to get a place by Labor Day and that you intend to stick around for a while. I hope that's true. I want to keep you here."

  "I don't think you have to w
orry about that, sir. I like living in Seattle and working for you. I couldn't have asked for a better job, given my circumstances."

  "That's good. I'm glad to hear it."

  Mel smiled and nodded. But within seconds, he returned to fidgeting in his chair and playing with the pencil. He brought a hand to his chin and looked at Joel.

  "Speaking of your circumstances, there is another matter I wanted to bring up. It's more personal in nature, so I hope you won't mind."

  "I don't see why I should. Fire away."

  "Mrs. Carter and I have noticed that you haven't received any mail or telephone calls from Montana, or anywhere else. Is everything all right with your family?"

  Joel settled into his chair. He had long expected the question and had rehearsed his reply many times over the past month. But he took his time delivering it.

  "Truth is, Mr. Carter, I did not leave home on the best of terms. My father and I had a falling out and I jumped the first train out of town. My family knows I'm in Seattle and that I'm safe but not much more. I'd like to keep it that way – at least for now."

  "I see. Well, that explains a lot."

  "I hope that's not a problem for you."

  "No. It's not a problem at all. Just let me know if there is anything I can do. I'd be happy to help. I know these family spats can be difficult."

  "I appreciate that, sir. Will that be all?"

  Mel picked up his pencil and gave it one last twirl as he looked around the room. The smile on his face gave way to a frown.

  "There is one more thing."

  "Yes."

  "I feel awkward bringing this up, because it's really none of my business. But I consider you part of the family, both here and at the house, and I try to steer family in a positive direction when I think they might be headed for trouble."

  "You think I'm headed for trouble?"

  "That depends."

  "OK."

  "I understand you've taken a liking to the Vandenberg girl."

  Joel pondered the understatement of the century and wondered why his supervisor, of all people, cared about his social life. But he figured that Melvin Carter had his best interests in mind, so he didn't rush to defend a friendship that he himself had trouble explaining.

  "Now, don't get me wrong," Mel said. "She's a lovely girl. I can see why you'd be attracted to her. But I believe she's engaged to Paul McEwan. And if there's one thing I've learned in fifty years, it's that the fastest way to get into trouble is to take something that doesn't belong to you."

  "I understand."

  "Like I said, it's your life and your business. But be careful. We all like you here and want you to be happy. Adjusting to a new town can be difficult enough without adding unnecessary complications."

  "Thank you, sir. I appreciate the advice."

  * * * * *

  The sales phenom walked out of the office and thought about the surreal end to an otherwise pleasant and constructive chat with the boss. He really did appreciate his advice, not to mention the hundred-dollar bonus and pay raise. But he had no intention of walking away from his unnecessary complication.

  Joel, in fact, had thrown another log on the fire the previous day when he showed up at the library just as Grace got off. She had expressed reservations about his visit but once again left the building at his side, apparently deciding that his company on a long walk to Klickitat Avenue beat the costs of discovery and mistakable impressions. Her suitor, of course, cared mostly about unmistakable impressions, as in the kind he could make on her. If Joel had his way, Tuesdays with Grace would become a habit.

  He walked to the end of a hall and turned into the showroom but did not get far. Tom intercepted his colleague before he got near a customer. Walking briskly, he caught Joel from behind and started a conversation in midstride.

  "So did the old man give you a lecture about Grace?"

  "I wouldn't call it a lecture. More like friendly advice."

  "I know he stewed on it most of yesterday. He really doesn't like interfering in other people's business, but he doesn't want you to make a mess of things when you're doing so well," Tom said. "Nor do I."

  "So let me guess. You have a solution in mind."

  "As a matter of fact, I do."

  Joel stopped and pivoted toward his friend.

  "Care to elaborate?"

  Tom smiled and threw his arm around Joel.

  "I think it's time you gave Linda another look."

  CHAPTER 39

  The waltz proved difficult. Despite two private dance lessons in three days, Joel struggled with his footwork. He wondered how a linebacker who could run through a tire course without hitting rubber could not keep from tripping on a parquet floor.

  "You dance divinely, Mr. Smith."

  "And you lie through your teeth, Miss McEwan."

  Joel looked at his dance partner and admitted that the date designed to derail the Vandenberg Express was going far better than he could have imagined. Wearing a pink swing dress and a radiant smile, with a mood to match, Linda had brought her "A" game to the shores of Lake Wilderness, a recreation hot spot southeast of Seattle.

  But then, from what Joel had heard, she had brought it all week, or at least the part of the week that followed his Wednesday night phone call asking her out. Though the double date had been Tom and Ginny's doing, the follow through had not. No one had had to twist his arm to ask out Linda McEwan or to take the date seriously.

  The evening had started at five, when the Dynamic Duo pulled up to Coed Central and strutted to the door with orchids in hand. The flowers had been Joel's idea. Spotting a street vendor as he sped down Roosevelt Way at twice the posted limit, the designated driver had screeched to a stop for that little something extra.

  For her part, Linda had left nothing to the last minute. She had spent most of the day preparing for the date, hitting a salon and three department stores between ten and two. Her effort had not gone unnoticed or unrewarded. When Tom had walked into the house and taken his first look at Ginny and Linda, he had asked, "Which one do I get?"

  Katie too had joined in the fun. Like a mother sending a daughter to a prom, she had complimented Linda's appearance and snapped a dozen photographs with her Six-20 Brownie Junior before giving the camera to Joel. He had wanted to inspect the "relic" and take a photo of all four women.

  Grace had pampered Linda in other ways, buying her breakfast and helping her select an appropriate outfit. The two had not exchanged more than pleasantries in six days but talked up a storm as Saturday night drew near. She had been far less talkative around Joel. When he had walked into the living room wearing a new gray suit, she had offered only a soft smile, a long gaze, and a simple hello.

  Joel recalled the gaze as he and Linda retired to a leather love seat in the lounge of a cavernous lakeside lodge. More than a dozen sofas and recliners sat atop a polished hardwood floor and formed a tight barrier around a Tabriz rug and a river rock fireplace.

  What a change, he thought. Six weeks after riding the rails with Boxcar Charlie and digging through discards outside a grocery store, he had found contentment. He had wonderful new friends, an increasingly lucrative job, his arm around one beautiful woman, and his mind on another. Raised a Presbyterian, he wondered whether the denomination had any breakaway sects that smiled on multiple marriages.

  "Having fun, you two?" Tom asked, as he and Ginny plopped into a facing sofa.

  "Loads," Joel answered. "Though I wish I knew what I was doing out there."

  "You'll get the hang of it," Ginny said. "Dancing is not as easy as it looks."

  "I'm working with him," Linda said. "He's coming along."

  Minutes later the band, which had covered Glenn Miller, Benny Goodman, and Tommy Dorsey expertly for ninety minutes, took a breather, sending more than a hundred smartly-dressed couples from the floor to the lounge, two exits, and the lake.

  "Anyone want to get some air?" Ginny asked. Wearing a white hat and floral print dress that fell to her knees, she
looked every bit the equal of her peers.

  "I'm game," Tom said.

  Linda did not say a word but appeared receptive to Ginny's suggestion. She gazed at Joel for several seconds, grabbed his hand, and gently smiled.

  Joel did not budge. Tired and sore from falling on the floor, he wanted nothing more than a few more minutes on the comfortable couch. But even he could take a hint.

  "Air sounds good."

  * * * * *

  Stepping out onto an elevated cedar deck that encircled the log-sided hall, the four worked their way through a small crowd to a quiet corner. In the distance, a lone canoeist plied the glassy water as a waning moon rose above an irregular horizon of treetops and hills.

  Ginny reached in her purse, pulled out a pack, and lit her first smoke since dinner. She leaned on the railing and assessed the lake like it was a painting in progress, something she had already decided to purchase at more than the asking price.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" she asked.

  "The best," Joel said. He looked at her, shook his head, and chuckled. "I see my health talk the other day crashed and burned."

  "Keep trying. I never tire of a good argument."

  "Forget it, pal," Tom said, grinning. "You have as much chance of getting Ginny to give up her vices as you do with me and mine. Speaking of sinful behavior, I put some cash on DiMaggio and Williams this morning, just like you asked. I got fifty-to-one odds on Joe and a hundred to one on Ted."

  "Good man."

  "I guess you can afford to lose forty bucks after that bonus," Tom said. "I'm off to the bar. Does anyone want a drink?"

  "Scotch and water," Ginny said.

  "Make that two."

  "How about you, Linda?"

  "Nothing tonight, Tom. Thanks."

  Ginny turned away from the lake toward a sight she thought she would never see: Linda refusing a drink. She smiled at her friend and congratulated herself for pushing the evening on Tom, who had wanted the track or a game. She still had the touch.

  When Tom returned, he distributed the cocktails and joined Ginny along the railing. Joel picked up his glass with his right hand because Linda had his left. She would not let go of him the rest of the night.