He carefully considered his next move. Or lack thereof. One thing about Marcus was that he was one of the best players in town. He plotted his games much like Pershing was plotting his attacks against the Hun. And Marcus was usually successful, unless Colby paid strict attention to his opponent. More often than not, though, he didn’t pay much attention at all, so all he could do was admit defeat.
As he must do now. With another grin, Colby gently tipped his king over in a gesture of defeat.
“Another game?” Marcus asked hesitantly. After all this time he was still unsure of his welcome, which endeared him to Colby even more. A character, there was no doubt. But a man in need of a friend, if ever there was one.
”Why not?” The longer he stayed holed up in here with Marcus, the longer he could avoid his wife. Because Anna didn’t care overly much for Marcus, claimed he gave her the willies. A fact that didn’t stop her from trying to intimidate him whenever an opportunity arose. Poor Marcus. Colby figured he was more afraid of Anna than anyone in Charlotte.
“Change colors?”
“No, I like the black.” Technically it was more gray than black now, having faded with age. This set was still one of his prized possessions, passed down from his father on his thirteenth birthday. Before that, it had belonged to his grandfather. Colby often regretted that he didn’t have a son of his own to pass it on to.
They didn’t speak as they arranged their respective pieces on the board for a new game. In truth, they rarely spoke at all, regardless of what activity they might be engaged in. One of the oddest friendships Colby had ever been involved with.
No, Marcus never seemed inclined to talk much. But then he never seemed inclined to do much of anything. Instead, he appeared to be content just to have his company. Colby had known for a long time that this man led an utterly lonely life, and he was happy to provide whatever diversion he could.
Outside his work, the only activity Colby knew for sure was that Marcus was involved in was a weekly meeting of some of the businessmen around town. Although he’d also heard that Marcus always chose a seat nearest the door, never said a word, and left just as soon as the meeting was adjourned. Of course there was church every Sunday, too. But Marcus slipped in shortly after each service began, sat in the last row, and slipped out almost before the final “Amen” was said.
Having met Marcus’ parents on the few occasions they returned to Michigan for a visit, Colby was completely baffled by their son’s demeanor. His family was outgoing and friendly. Marcus, on the other hand, was painfully shy and insecure.
An especially loud shriek from outside captured Colby’s attention, and he glanced at the window. A flash of white streaked past the glass, and giggles faded in the distance. Presumably more children in search of a tree-less field in which to fly their kites.
“You children get out of my yard!” Anna could be heard to scream. Marcus winced visibly.
~~~
It was a beautiful morning, Elliot decided as he strolled home. On Saturdays he generally made sure everything got off to a smooth start before leaving the responsibility in the capable hands of Richard, who had been helping out for a number of years now. He knew the business inside and out and, unless it looked as though the day would be particularly busy, Elliot liked to spend a few hours with the rest of his family. Besides, if he were needed he was just a telephone call away and could be there in minutes.
Today, though, they were closing up shop early. After the mid-day meal Richard would lock the doors, hurry home to change his clothes, and then the entire family would leave to meet Bryant Sanderson at Bennett Park. They’d not had a family portrait taken since just after Charles’ birth, and Elliot thought it was time to have another done.
He enjoyed the warm spring breeze, gently ruffling the bright green buds that had appeared on the trees, seemingly overnight. It never ceased to amaze him how quickly the signs of the seasons appeared. But he especially enjoyed this one, when the promise of the leaves that would provide cool shade during the hot summer months began to grow.
If he were forced to choose a favorite season, he’d be hard pressed to decide between spring and fall. Each had its own distinct characteristics, the way the air felt and smelled, the anticipation of season – related events and traditions, even in the vague feelings, some inner workings of the brain that proclaimed a new and exciting time had arrived.
The excitement was evidenced in the vast numbers of people milling about the sidewalks. Not that they weren’t out and about in even the harshest of winter months. Not much kept the residents cooped up at home for long; they just left the warmth of their homes less frequently, and stayed out for shorter periods of time. Now, though, they were able to visit and catch up on the latest news and gossip to their hearts content.
Rounding the corner, home in sight, Elliot quickened his pace. He hadn’t gone but a few steps down Seminary Street when he heard it, and he had to grin. The windows of the neighbors’ homes, as well as those in the sanatorium across the street, were wide open to let the fresh air in. He would have bet, were he a betting man, that more than a few pairs of ears were wishing that winter had lingered a bit longer, sparing them this particular serenade.
Enough of the right keys were being hit so that anyone familiar with the melody would recognize Amazing Grace. Unfortunately, even more – many more – of the wrong keys made it unbearably awful to listen to.
Jonathon.
With grand delusions of possessing near genius musical abilities, no one had the heart to tell him otherwise, save Elizabeth anyway. And, as with anything else that snagged his interest, his son pursued it with a single-minded determination that both impressed and appalled those closest to him.
Margaret made no secret that she disapproved of the boy’s spying habits, but readily admitted she couldn’t fault him in that he’d learned enough so he was quite good at it. And while all but the stone deaf had to be wishing Jonathon weren’t quite so untalented at the piano, no one could deny that he was enthusiastic in the endeavor.
Elliot grinned again as he cut across the street, bounding up the five porch steps. The scent of apple pie greeted him at the door and, sniffing appreciatively, he thanked God again for all the wonderful qualities and talents his wife possessed.
His footsteps carried him soundlessly inside, where he paused in the doorway. Only Jonathon and Kathleen were about, the latter noticing him in mere seconds. Smiling broadly, she hurried over and threw her arms around his waist.
“You’re home, Papa!”
“That I am, Miss Kathleen.” He lifted her effortlessly, and held her close for a moment.
“Hiya, Pop,” Jonathon said absently, barely glancing in his direction.
“Good afternoon, son.” To Kathleen he asked, “Where might your mother be?” though he knew exactly where he would find her.
“In the kitchen. She made choc’late cookies this morning,” Kathleen told him. One need not be an avid follower of Sherlock Holmes to detect the trace of a hint in her announcement.
“Hmm. Chocolate cookies, you say?” He raised his brows as he leaned close and whispered in her ear, “Maybe if we ask nicely, she might give us a few.” Kathleen giggled as he carried her toward the waiting treat.
Margaret stood at the sink peeling a huge mound of potatoes, her movements quick and precise, a definite sign that she was agitated. Elliot suspected the source of that agitation sat at the keyboard in the other room.
It only took a moment for him to realize that she was not aware of his presence and, putting a finger to his lips, he lowered Kathleen to the floor before creeping quietly up behind Margaret, and sliding his arms around her slender waist. She let out a startled scream and twisted in his arms, relieved to find that it was him.
“Elliot Owens! You should know better than to scare someone when they’re holding a knife!”
“I shall keep that in mind for future reference, my dear.” He kissed her cheek before a tug on his jacket reminded him
that he was on a mission. “I told Kathleen if we asked nicely, you might let us have some of the cookies she said you baked this morning. So please, Mother, may we?”
“Oh for goodness sake,” she sighed impatiently, starting to put the knife and potato down. “Let me wipe my hands-“
“I’ll get them,” he said quickly, kissing her again. “And we’ll eat them quietly so you can enjoy the music.”
If the scowl she flashed him was anything to go by, Elliot decided that further teasing wouldn’t be in his best interests. The knife she was holding, after all, was razor sharp.
Her back to him again, Eliot winked at Kathleen before withdrawing two glasses from the cupboard. Couldn’t very well have cookies without milk. Soon he and his youngest daughter were seated at the table enjoying the first fruits of Margaret’s labor. The pie was obviously to follow supper, but that didn’t stop him from savoring the delicious scent that filled the kitchen.
“It occurs to me, Miss Kathleen, that we have been remiss in sharing these cookies with your brothers and sister. Perhaps we should ask if they would like some, too?” he suggested, stealing a discreet glance at his wife.
“What a wonderful idea!” Margaret exclaimed, whirling around and staring at Elliot as though he were a genius. “Charles is napping, and Elizabeth is sulking in her room, but Jonathon might want a few.” The last was said hopefully, as she hurried to the doorway.
“Jonathon! Kathleen and your father are having cookies and milk. Why don’t you take a break and join them?”
“No thank you, Mother. I want to play this again.”
“And again, and again, and again.” Elliot couldn’t be sure, but he thought that might have been what she muttered on her way back to the sink. The scowl was back, and he found he had to hide his smile behind his napkin, lest she turn and see it. Not that he thought she would actually use the knife on him but, in her present state of mind, it was probably best if he didn’t press his luck.
“So what is Elizabeth sulking about this time?” he asked, thinking to distract her from their private recital. Jonathon had obviously learned a great deal about reading notes. Unfortunately he was reading the correct notes and hitting the wrong keys. The same wrong keys. Every time.
“She wanted to go to another suffrage meeting with that boy, and I forbade her.” She peered into the oven, before continuing with the potatoes.
“Perhaps forbidding her isn’t the best choice,” Elliot suggested reasonably. “I fear it might be making the cause, and the boy, more appealing.”
He could have bitten his tongue the moment the words left his mouth. He saw her back stiffen, and though she didn’t respond, he knew the luck he had decided not to press was quickly running out. Between their eldest child being involved with the movement, and her infatuation with ‘that boy,’ life had become – interesting.
He was of a mind to allow Elizabeth a little freedom as far as the movement was concerned. As for Edgar Perkins, he felt there was little danger. Edgar was twenty-three, and a strong supporter of women’s rights. Elliot had observed no difference in the way he treated his daughter and the rest of the women involved. He merely encouraged all of them to let their voices be heard.
“Papa?” Kathleen interrupted his thoughts.
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“What does ‘preciate’ mean?” He looked at her thoughtfully.
“Appreciate?” She nodded. “Hmm.” How to explain the word when it could be used in more than one way. “Well, I could give you a better answer if I knew how you heard it spoken.”
“Well, Elizabeth yelled at Jonathon ‘cause he wouldn’t stop playing the piano, and he said she didn’t ‘preciate good music.” She was very serious and Elliot had a hard time holding back a smile.
“In that case he meant Elizabeth didn’t like his music.” Kathleen glanced toward the front room, then dubiously back at her father.
“I don’t ‘preciate good music either, Papa.”
This time he couldn’t stop the chuckle that escaped him. A chuckle that turned into full-fledged laughter when he heard Margaret mutter, “You, me and every neighbor in a six block radius!” It earned him another nasty scowl, but he just couldn’t help himself.
Now muttering low enough that he couldn’t discern any words in particular, though he was sure he was the new target of whatever she was saying, Margaret leaned down to peer into the oven. This time she opened the door completely, wiped her hands on her apron, and reached in with a folded towel. Seconds later she pulled the perfectly golden pie out.
He was left in no doubt that she was ignoring him as she marched past, nose in the air, on her way to the porch, where the pie would cool until supper. He was going to have to find some way to get back into her good graces, lest she hold her grudge the rest of the day.
Moments later, to his complete and utter astonishment, Elliot heard his wife say,
“Gracious me! I must say I’ve seen Mr. Mertz do some odd things before but-”
She got no further before the music stopped abruptly, and the sound of pounding feet exited the house.
At her heartfelt, “Thank the Lord!” Elliot nearly fell off his chair.
~~~
“Are you sure?” Nina asked, looking up at Daniel as they strolled along the edge of the river.
“Well, the limp may slow me down a little, but the other guys still say they want me on the team,” he said, reaching out to push a branch out of their way. “And I do enjoy the game. I’ve played every summer since I was in school.”
“I know, but that was before the accident.”
“That is true, Nurse Hakes, but I promise you, I’ll be fine.” He saw that her cheeks turned pink at the reference to her profession and hugged her close. “I like that you worry about me, Nina. But I can’t give up everything I enjoy doing just because of my leg. Will it ease your mind if I promise to be extra careful?”
“It would make me feel better if you’d ask Dr. Garlington.”
“It would?” Still blushing, she lowered her eyes and nodded. “Then ask I shall. But he’s the one who told me to do anything I was comfortable with.”
“I know. But baseball, Daniel? It scares me to think of what might happen.”
“Nothing is going to happen. Except maybe the game will be even more interesting this year.”
“What do you mean?”
“Alan Jenkins somehow talked Mr. McClelland into joining the team.”
“Marcus McClelland?” Nina gasped, her eyes opening as wide as he’d ever seen them. Lord but she was beautiful.
“The very one,” he said, shaking his head in wonder. “You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found out. I mean he avoids people like the plague, and can barely talk to another person, and he’s going to be playing ball on our team.”
“It might be just the thing he needs, though. I’ve never seen another adult as withdrawn as that poor man is.”
“Well, he’s definitely shy,” he agreed, wondering if she was right. He liked Mr. McClelland well enough, but if he was as quiet and uncomfortable during the games as he was every other time Daniel had seen him, it could make for some pretty awkward moments.
“You might be surprised, Daniel,” Nina told him, as though she’d been reading his thoughts.
“I suppose there is always that possibility,” he said with a grin, kissing her forehead. “You’re something else, Nina. You really are.”
~~~
“I’m glad that’s over,” Margaret sighed, watching the children in the distance. Elliot enjoyed peaceful moments like this with his wife. They were sitting at the base of a tree, his arm wrapped securely around her, and he wished they could stay right there for the rest of the afternoon.
It hadn’t taken long after Jonathon abandoned the piano for her sweet disposition to return, and it had remained so throughout the meal and the readying of five children in their Sunday best clothing. Clothing they had been warned to keep clean and stain free durin
g these few moments of play.
“You and me both.” Elliot sighed, too. Between Jonathon’s boredom while the photographer set up the shots, and Elizabeth’s perpetual scowl, it would be a miracle if this photograph turned out half as well as their last one.
He turned his attention to his offspring. The boys were playing tag, Jonathon – surprisingly enough – making allowances for the fact that Charles couldn’t keep up. Usually he was impatient with his brother, and Elliot’s heart swelled with pride every time he showed a little consideration.
Kathleen was chasing a couple of butterflies, flitting first in one direction, and then another, unable to choose which one she liked best. Elizabeth, as had become her usual custom when forced to participate in family activities, was sitting off by herself looking bored.
“This is nice,” he murmured, placing a kiss against Meg’s temple. “Meg, I’ve been thinking.” She looked up at him, a tender smile curving her lips.
“And what is new about that, Mr. Owens? You’re always thinking. It’s one of the things I love most about you.”
“And here I thought it was my charm and handsome face you loved the most.” She reached up and cupped his cheek with her slender hand. He covered it with his own, holding it in place because her touch never ceased to fill him with joy.
“Actually, what I loved the most,” she whispered, gazing at him with adoration shining in her eyes, “was the fact that you had the good sense to recognize what a wonderful wife I’d make you.”
For a startled moment Elliot could only stare at her, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Margaret laughed, too, and he wrapped his arms around her and held her tightly.
“I do love you, Mrs. Owens.”
“I love you, too, Elliot. Very much.”
While she had been teasing with her facetious comment, Elliot was more thankful than he could say that he’d recognized that she would be the perfect wife for him. Because she had been, every wonderful day since they’d married.
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