"You probably haven't had any dinner, have you?"
"I haven't had lunch."
"Well, let me take care of that. The steakhouse on Roosevelt Way doesn't require reservations. You and I are getting a serious meat fix tonight."
"Thanks, buddy," Tom said, forcing a small smile. "I could use that."
Tom popped out of the recliner, grabbed his heavy coat, and collected his mail on the coffee table. Putting the letter in its envelope and then in his pocket, he turned to Joel and placed an arm over his shoulder.
"I guess I should look at the bright side. It's only a twelve-month enlistment. It'll be over in no time."
CHAPTER 55
The line at the Phoenician not only wrapped around the corner, it wrapped around the block. But Joel could not complain. He had a nice-looking woman on each arm and was about to do something none of his peers in 2000 had done: watch Citizen Kane in its first run.
"Thank you for taking me," Katie said.
Joel smiled at his bonus date and pulled her in close with his right arm. She had shivered more than once from the chill of an ice storm that had pelted them shortly after they had reached the theater and the monstrous line. But he suspected that even the storm was warmer than the frosty snub that had started her evening.
Stood up at the last minute by a junior varsity football player, Katie had been a tearful mess when Joel had come for Grace at six. Her previously enlightened suitor, a classmate in an English literature class, had called to say that dating a Japanese American girl was no longer something he was prepared to do in public.
"Don't mention it. I'm glad to have you along."
"I'm happy you're here too," Grace said with a sly smile. "Mr. Smith behaved rather poorly the other day and I fear I may require a chaperone."
Katie giggled.
The hour in line had given the three more than ample time to discuss the past week, Thanksgiving plans, and the pending departure of their friend. Though news of Tom's all but certain conscription into the armed forces surprised few, it still carried a punch.
Tom and Ginny had planned to attend the movie but opted out at the last minute, saying that they needed a weekend at the coast more than a Saturday at the flicks. Ginny had taken the news hard and had all but put her life on hold for the next two weeks.
"I keep thinking about Tom," Katie said, burrowing into Joel's side. "I know a lot of boys who have received their notices. Do you ever worry that you'll be next?"
Joel laughed to himself when he heard the question. This time he could honestly say he had given the matter serious thought. But he was no closer to providing an answer than when Tom had asked him essentially the same thing in Seaside.
"I do. But I try not to think about the draft. There's not a lot I can do about it."
"I'm concerned about Tom," Grace said. "Ginny said he is convinced we will be drawn into the war and that he will see combat by the summer. He is worried about how he will perform if he does. He's obsessed by it, in fact."
Joel flinched.
Make that two of us.
"I think he'll be OK," Katie said. "President Roosevelt has kept us at peace so far. I have faith he'll keep it that way."
Grace looked up at Joel, as if seeking clues to his views on the matter. But she did not expand on Katie's prediction or mention Tom's name the rest of the night. She instead grabbed Joel's left arm a little tighter and turned to her friend.
"I hope you are right, Katie, for his sake and for ours."
* * * * *
When the movie ended three hours later, the trio headed not for the exits but rather the concession stand. The girls wanted drinks and Joel wanted change from a twenty. They requested both from a counter-wiping clerk as she shut down her shop. When the harried employee returned a moment later with two sodas and several bills, Joel heard a familiar voice.
"Well, now. It looks like we have a big spender."
Joel glanced at the other end of the counter and saw Mr. Congeniality, the white-trash bill collector who nearly beat Tom senseless that wild night outside the Mad Dog. At his side were two similar-sized friends from the trailer park.
"I'll bet you never thought you'd see me again."
"You're right," Joel said. "But then, I don't make prison visits."
Joel handed his dates their beverages and escorted them to the end of a line that slowly worked its way to the street. As he pressed forward, he noticed that the three men, dressed in work shirts and jeans, had not found a new distraction. They sneered and laughed at Katie. One man licked his lips.
Joel shook his head and pushed the punks out of his mind. He had far more pressing things to ponder, like his Army-bound friend and the gathering storm in the Pacific. Keeping his thoughts to himself, he guided Grace and Katie through the theater's entrance to the sidewalk.
The weather, mercifully, had improved during the show. The rain had stopped and the wind had subsided, leaving a cool but comfortable late fall evening behind. Buttoning their coats, the three turned north and commenced a ten-block walk to Klickitat Avenue.
They traveled three blocks before trouble announced itself with a shout.
"It's not fair, you know."
The bill collector had apparently tired of popcorn and peanuts.
"Keep going, Joel," Grace said with a firm voice.
"It's not fair, I tell you."
Joel stopped and turned to face the malcontent.
"What do you want?"
"Who said I wanted anything?" he asked.
The bill collector's companions, a pizza-faced brute named Rocky and a gap-toothed lout named Rex, laughed and leered.
"I'm just saying it's not fair. You have two dates and we have none."
"Get lost," Joel said.
He put his arms around Grace and Katie and nudged them forward. But the retreat only fed his antagonist.
"Two bits."
Once more, Joel stopped. Once again, Grace counseled restraint.
"They're not worth it. Please. I beg you."
Joel took a breath and pushed his party northward. When they reached the end of the block, where the commercial zone met the residential, the fun resumed.
"I'll give you two bits for the Jap bitch."
Joel stopped and pulled his arms from Grace and Katie.
"Ladies."
With that, the linebacker, geology major, and furniture salesman left restraint behind. He let loose with a rage, charging the leader of the pack with an attack that surprised even the intended target. Like all good fighters, Joel got in the first good punch. His right hook to the bill collector's jaw sent him reeling into the base of a tree. He ignored the other two and hit his foe in the face and then in the stomach, unleashing all the frustrations of five months into one glorious display of violence.
This time, however, the accomplices did not flee but rather intervened and turned the tide. Seeing that their friend was about to get slaughtered, they attacked Joel from the sides and threw him to the cold wet grass. When the ringleader regrouped, the three had their way and pummeled Joel repeatedly with blows to the face and chest.
Katie screamed and drew the attention of passers-by, while Grace yanked Rocky's hair and brought Joel needed relief. When the bully got up on a knee, turned on Grace, and tried to punch his way free, two men ran across the street to come to her aid.
The first responder pulled Grace out of harm's way and kept her attacker at bay. The second grabbed Rex by his collar, threw him to the curb, and kicked him twice in the side. A dozen others crowded around and gawked. When a policeman passed the scene a moment later and parked across the street, the three thugs scattered. But the damage had been done. Joel had a face of pulp and four badly bruised ribs.
The gathering storm had come to the Ave.
CHAPTER 56
Only one soul rattled in the mansion in Madison Park, but she knew how to cook. For the better part of two days, she had made bread, baked pies, sliced vegetables, and prepared a turkey for two g
uests, including one she had never met. When the guests arrived at one, she took their coats and directed them to the living room. Bright sunlight streaming through a picture window and a roaring fire illuminated and warmed the antique-filled parlor.
"I'm so glad you could make it. You know how I hate dining alone," Edith Green Tomlinson said. "Were the roads bad?"
"They were icy in places but pretty good overall," Grace said. "We took our time."
The college senior embraced her sole remaining blood relative and then stepped back to make an introduction that was weeks overdue.
"Aunt Edith, this is my dear friend Joel Smith. Joel, this is my aunt."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am," Joel said as he extended a hand.
Edith shook the hand but quickly upgraded the greeting to an affectionate hug. She did not like stiff introductions, particularly to people who might become part of the family.
Still striking at forty-one, Edith had the regal look of a Nordic queen. Like her niece, she had a creamy complexion, crystal-blue eyes, and thick blond hair that had yet to see a touch of gray. Widowed for five years, she had survived, even thrived, by managing her late husband's real-estate holdings and by creating and selling landscape paintings that had become the talk of the city.
"Please make yourselves comfortable," Edith said with a West Country accent that had remained intact after two decades in the United States.
Edith retreated to the adjacent dining room while Joel and Grace sat on a sofa facing the fireplace. The hostess returned to the living room a few minutes later with a bottle of sherry. She poured three glasses and sat in an upholstered chair by the window.
"Grace tells me you grew up in England," Joel said.
"I was born and bred in Falmouth – in Cornwall – and came to Seattle with Grace's mother when we were eighteen. My father wanted us to pursue an education in America after the war. There was little for us in Britain, so Father put us on a boat shortly after the hostilities ceased. My uncle was a dean at the university."
"Did you go to school there?" Joel asked.
"I did. I enrolled at the first opportunity and eventually graduated with a degree in social work. Lucille was another matter. She met a young seminary student shortly after we arrived and ran off to Minnesota."
"You seem to have done well."
"My husband did well. He was a successful businessman. I met him the day I graduated, and we married the next year," Edith said. She topped off her glass and settled into her chair. "We had eleven years together before he died of a stroke."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Joel said.
"Thank you. It was difficult at first, but I managed. In any event, that is ancient history and more than enough about me. I would much rather talk about you. I don't receive many visitors, so forgive me if I seem inquisitive."
When Edith saw Joel glance at the corner of the room and smile, she immediately regretted playing the part of a lonely widow. He had no doubt seen the pipe and fedora resting on a small table and correctly concluded she wasn't quite as lonely as she made herself out to be. She kept his perceptiveness in mind over the next fifteen minutes as she listened to him recount his time in the city.
After pouring more wine for each of her guests, Edith turned toward Joel and finally brought up a subject that was no doubt on everyone's mind: the street fight. Though the bruises around Joel's eyes appeared to be fading and the cuts on his cheeks showed signs of healing, he still bore the marks of a serious beating.
"Thank you for protecting the girls the other night," Edith said. "I often worry about Grace's safety. It's nice to know someone is looking after her."
"I just did what anyone would have done," Joel said.
"Even so, you deserve to be thanked," Edith said. She brushed some lint off her dress. "Have the police found the men who harassed you?"
"Not yet," Grace said. "But they will. There were many witnesses."
"That's good. Acts like that should not go unpunished. In any case, I'm glad you are both all right. How are your ribs, Joel?"
"They're still sore – particularly on my left side – but they're getting better," he said. "As long as I don't play football this weekend, I'll be OK."
Edith flashed Grace a knowing smile. She could see why Grace had broken off her engagement and felt much better about a decision she had initially questioned.
"I'm happy to hear that. When Grace told me that you had been assaulted, I wasn't sure what to expect. She said you had been put in an ambulance and taken to the hospital."
"I went in for a routine exam," Joel said. "None of my cuts needed stitches, and none of my bones needed setting. The doctor looked me over and sent me home. If you really want to know who kept me intact, talk to Grace. From what I heard, she did a number on one of the men. She gave him the Custer treatment."
Edith looked at Grace with puzzled eyes.
"I grabbed his hair," Grace said. She blushed.
Edith laughed.
"I can just picture that. You can be very resourceful when you set your mind to something. Did you leave him with a scalp?"
"I think so," Grace said. "I hope so. But I don't know for sure. He wiggled a lot and screamed rather loudly."
Edith glanced at Joel as he smiled and shook his head. She could see from the sparkle in his eyes that he found Grace's empathy endearing. She had no doubt that his affection for Grace was as deep and genuine as it appeared.
"Well done, dear," Edith said as she turned back to Grace. "It appears that at least one unpleasant man in Seattle will not be bothering others anytime soon."
Edith got up from her chair.
"Now, if you two are ready to eat, please follow me to the table," she said. "We have a feast to enjoy."
* * * * *
Joel could not remember a better holiday meal, including the many prepared by his mother and grandmothers. Aunt Edith had made everything from scratch and most things from memory. Joel had loaded up on roasted turkey, chestnut stuffing, and candied yams, as well as mince pie, mashed turnips, and homemade biscuits with crabapple jelly. He thought of Norman Rockwell's Freedom from Want painting and wondered if people from this time had always eaten this well.
He also thought about how this Thanksgiving had differed from all the others. In the houses of Smith and Jorgenson, males made a seamless transition from apple pie and cheesecake to the Cowboys and Lions. In the house of Edith Tomlinson, they went from dessert to the kitchen. Joel helped Grace wash a stack of dishes before joining the hostess for coffee in the living room.
"Did you get enough to eat?" Edith asked.
"Trust me when I say that's a question you didn't need to ask."
"I like him, Grace. You should bring him by more often."
"I've been meaning to, but he's hard to pin down. When he's not at the furniture store, he's getting into trouble with Tom Carter."
"How is your friend?"
"He's holding up," Joel said. "But it's hard. He does not want to join the Army."
"That seems to be a common sentiment. A boy on our street was called up just last week and he did not want to go either. These are such difficult times."
"They are."
"Do you think America will become involved in the hostilities?"
Joel thought about the question and considered his reply. He wanted to tell Edith that the shit was about to hit the fan and that many more boys from her safe, comfortable neighborhood were about to be sent to unsafe, uncomfortable places. He wanted to tell Grace that he knew what was coming and that it was time for them to escape to a tropical island, where they could ride out the ugliness and not think about Hitler or Tojo or catastrophic loss. But he knew events had already reached a point where even a prescient time traveler could do little more than make the best of a bad situation.
"It's inevitable. I'd like to think we could stay out of this with skillful diplomacy and assistance to Britain and Russia, but it's not going to happen. We'll be at war soon."
Joel hated dumping even that much pessimism on the others, but he was tired of hiding what he felt and what he knew. Edith did not appear to mind. She told Joel that she valued the opinions of those with a direct stake in an issue, and few Americans had a more direct stake in going to war than men subject to the draft.
Edith also said she enjoyed talking to people with different life experiences. So for the next three hours, the woman with few visitors asked questions and the man with many questioners answered them. When she exhausted international affairs, she asked Joel about Montana, his job, and why her learned guest had never spent a day in college.
* * * * *
Grace listened to the stories almost as intently as her aunt. She had heard them often and never tired of them. But this time she paid less attention to what Joel said than to how he said it – and, with each passing hour, she noticed a change.
He spoke in hushed tones now and with little conviction. He rarely smiled or looked Edith in the eyes and answered her questions with minimal energy and noticeable economy, as if pushing out syllables were backbreaking work. Joel Smith was no longer the cocky, playful boy who had chased her around the Crypt or even the reasonably happy date she had brought to dinner but rather a hardened pessimist who had fallen into a funk that even fatigue could not explain.
Grace knew that Tom's draft status, the fight, and the daily barrage of depressing headlines had taken a toll, but she suspected that far more was in play. Each time Edith asked Joel about his goals or long-term plans he stopped talking or tried to change the subject. When he did discuss the future, he did so in terms of days and weeks rather than months and years. A condemned man exuded more optimism.
Deciding that he needed a change of scenery, Grace suggested that they see Dumbo that night at a theater downtown. The animated feature had opened to large crowds several days earlier and offered the kind of Disney escapism that might allow him to forget his troubles for a couple of hours. To her surprise, he agreed to go.
The Mine (Northwest Passage Book 1) Page 21