~~~
Daniel was about as nervous as he’d ever been as he walked slowly up the steps of the boarding house where Nina lived. It was ridiculous, given the outcome of yesterday’s ride, but he couldn’t seem to help it.
He smoothed the front of his suit jacket and removed the derby hat from his head, holding it with the same hand which held the huge bouquet of roses he’d just purchased as he rang the bell. The widow Thomas was quick to come to the screen door, the inside one already open in hopes of attracting even the softest of breezes. Likely a vain hope because, as always seemed to be the case, the warmest of days arrived with the least amount of wind.
“Mr. Pullman,” she greeted with a smile. “I suppose you’re here to see our Miss Hakes?”
“Yes, ma’am. If she’s not otherwise occupied, I would please.”
“I’m sure that even if she were, she’d want to see you. Would you like to wait in the parlor while I get her?”
“No thank you. I’ll just wait for her out here.”
“Make yourself comfortable and I’ll send her right out,” she told him, nodding toward the porch swing.
“I appreciate that, thanks.” As she turned toward the stairway off the parlor, he paced the length of the porch instead. Fortunately it wasn’t long before Nina was there, her smile of welcome easing some of his nervousness.
“Daniel. I wasn’t expecting you until later.”
“Do you want me to come back?” He hadn’t considered that she might really be busy.
“No! Goodness, you know I’m always glad to see you,” she assured him without hesitation. He watched as she glanced at the flowers. “Are those for me?” Daniel grinned, his nerves finally settling.
“They are. And you’ll get them in just a moment,” he teased, holding them out of the way when she made to reach for them. He took her hand and pulled her to the porch swing, where he commanded her to sit.
“Aren’t you going to sit with me?” she wanted to know when he remained standing, hoping she couldn’t see how nervous he was.
“In a minute. But I have something to say and I want you to hush until I get it said.” Her expression was puzzled until, with the aid of his cane, he lowered himself to one knee before her. Then she smiled, chin quivering, and her eyes filling with the tears he never wanted to see again. But he supposed if they were happy tears, that was all right.
“Yes!” she exclaimed before he could so much as open his mouth. Daniel threw his head back and laughed.
“I guess you misunderstood what I said. Hush means to hush. I told you I wanted to do this right. Give me your hand.” She held out her right hand and he shook his head, laying the flowers on the porch beside him, then fishing in his jacket pocket. “Your other one.”
He took it tenderly in his, folded her fingers with his thumb and kissed them softly, smiling when her other hand went to her throat.
“Nina, I love you. I wish I could express how much but I don’t think there are enough words in the world to tell you. From the day I first heard your voice I thought you were special. When I finally got my eyes to open-” she laughed quietly at that, “I knew you were. I knew that God had just allowed me to meet the most precious woman He’d ever created.
“I knew before I ever walked out of that hospital that you were the one I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” He smiled at her, her face swimming through his own tears. “Even though I jumped the gun yesterday, and even though you did today when you answered before I even got the question out, I’m asking you now if you’ll be my wife.”
“Yes,” she whispered, reaching out to caress his face.
His hand trembled as he opened it to reveal a ring. The diamond wasn’t large but it sparkled in the sunlight as he slipped it onto her finger.
Using his cane again, he rose to his feet and pulled Nina into his arms, kissing her tenderly.
“I love you, Daniel,” she whispered, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck. From inside, Mrs. Thomas could be heard shouting to the other women in the house that he’d just proposed to Nina.
“I love you. And now, Miss Hakes,” he said, kissing her temple, “if you have nothing else planned this afternoon, I would really like to show you my house. Our home.”
~~~
Marcus was only vaguely aware that he was actually humming as he poured a cup of coffee and headed back to his office, and the desk where he could hardly wait to start penning a letter to Derek. Because, for the first time in his memory, the first time ever in fact, Marcus had something interesting to write about.
Sure he would make all the appropriate comments about the family, try to pretend he was tickled about the latest adventures of all those kids, and politely decline the most recent offer to join his friend in the funeral home business in Philadelphia.
But this time, Marcus had some real news to share about himself. Nothing made up or embellished, but honest to goodness news. Derek might just faint dead away when he read it.
While he had resisted with all his might, and still wasn’t entirely happy about it, allowing himself to be badgered into joining the baseball team wasn’t a complete mistake. At least it made it appear as though he didn’t lead the dullest life in town.
He carefully set the cup on the desktop, and then lowered himself into his chair, staring off into space with a hint of a smile on his face.
Even though being on the team meant he had to endure the other guys trying to engage him in the occasional conversation, it was worth it. Much to everyone’s astonishment, Marcus was one of the best players in the league. A skilled third baseman, and one of the best batters in town.
Just Saturday afternoon his home run, with two men on base, had won the game. His smile grew into a self-satisfied grin and he snatched his pen out of the inkwell with enthusiasm.
~~~
It was another one of those sweltering summer days. The sort that made one wish for the swift arrival of autumn. Perhaps even for snow. Which would then, after a few weeks, make one wish for the warmth of a sweltering summer day. Elliot grinned when he realized where his thoughts had taken him. There wasn’t a blessed thing he – or anyone else – could do to change the weather so he might as well enjoy whatever there was to enjoy about it.
“I’m glad that’s finished,” Richard announced a little breathlessly, coming inside the store with a bucket of water and fistful of cloths.
Saturday’s were reserved for cleaning and weather didn’t allow for exceptions. Owens Shoe Store was immaculate, as was every other store in town. This morning, given the fact that it hadn’t cooled down much during the night, Richard had decided to wash the outside of the huge windows first. A wise choice, learned from years of experience. This time of day, there was plenty of shade and it made the work easier than it would be if he’d waited until the sun was overhead.
“Thank you, son. I’ll help move the chairs.” A chore that had to be done so that the inside of the glass could be washed.
“I’ve got it, Pop. You keep dusting.”
Dusting was done on a daily basis. Not because it was necessary on a daily basis but because there really wasn’t much else to do while waiting for customers. Though business was always good, they rarely found themselves overrun. And so they dusted, rearranged displays, and washed windows. Not exactly exciting but Elliot always figured it was better than slaving away in a field or factory. Besides, selling shoes provided very nicely for his family.
“When you’re finished with that, how do you feel about walking down to get us some lemonade from Mr. Spires?”
“I think that’s the best idea you’ve had all morning,” Richard said without hesitation, scrubbing a rag over the glass. “Never thought I’d say this but I’ll sure be glad to see the last of summer this year.”
“Because it’s been so hot or because you’re excited about the football team?” Elliot teased. He saw a flush creep up Richard’s neck.
“Both,” he admitted with an embarrassed laugh. “But I
don’t know if I’ll try out or not. I don’t think I’m good enough to make the team. I just like going to the games.”
“And Mary Jane Whitcomb is homelier than a bent shovel.”
“Pop!” The flush deepened at the mention of the young lady who had been the object of his son’s affections for the past few weeks. Not that Mary Jane Whitcomb was aware of those affections. Elliot wouldn’t have known had he not noticed the discreet glances Richard sent her way in church.
“You’ll be the star of the football team and Mary Jane will fall in helplessly in love with you before you know it.”
“Pop, stop it,” Richard said weakly, putting more effort into the window washing. “Mary Jane is never going to notice someone like me.”
“Someone like you?” Elliot questioned, dropping his dust rag and walking over to Richard. “And what, may I ask, do you mean by that?”
“Well, I think she kind of likes guys like Ted Porter.”
“What does Ted Porter have that you don’t?”
“A mustache.” Elliot choked back a laugh.
“You’re fifteen, son. Give it time. Anyway, Ted Porter was never on the football team. As I recall, girls seem to like the boys who play sports.”
“Do you really think so?” Richard asked, his expression hopeful.
“I know so. And I’ll tell you something else-”
“Good afternoon, Elliot,” Hank Andrews greeted, walking into the store. Richard looked away to hide his grimace and Elliot had to force a smile.
“Good afternoon, Hank. What can I do for you today?” God willing, it would be nothing.
“I’m in need of a new pair of boots.”
“Well, then, have a seat and I’ll show you what we have.”
“Hey, Pop, I’m about finished here. I think I’ll go in the back room and take the inventory,” Richard said quickly, shoving chairs back into place as quickly as he could. Elliot leaned over and whispered in his ear,
“Coward. And Richard? The reason Ted Porter sports a moustache is because he is homelier than a bent shovel. You won’t ever have to worry about having to hide your face.” Richard’s smile even made the prospect of fitting Hank better.
“Thanks, Pop.”
“Hey. Open the backdoor while you’re out there please.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Richard hightailed it to the storeroom, Elliot turned to face the customer his competition refused to serve. Because Hank Andrews had the foulest, sourest smelling feet in three counties. But he had never turned a customer away, much as he’d like to in this case. As Hank began removing his shoes, Elliot steeled himself to not wrinkle his nose and hurried around collecting a few pairs of boots.
“Miserable weather we’ve been having,” Hank boomed jovially, as the heavy, humid air began to reek.
“Sure is.” He’d learned long ago to breathe shallowly, hold his breath as long as long as humanly possible, and keep his replies short and to the point. And to never, ever offer so much as a tidbit of conversation that might prolong the misery. At least until the sale was made and he could walk Hank outside and breathe freely again.
He quickly helped Hank into the first pair of boots which, of course, weren’t quite right. He knew they wouldn’t be. In the past, Hank would have to try on every pair in stock before deciding the first choice was the right one after all. And so Elliot had taken to only bringing out three pair. Fortunately the man never asked if there were more. That meant only two would have to sit outside the backdoor to air for the rest of the day.
Finally, as he’d known he would, Hank chose and paid for the first and, for the first time in too many long minutes, Elliot walked him out and sucked in a deep, albeit discreet breath of sweet, fresh air. They never chatted long afterwards, Hank soon going on his way, but Elliot found, even in the dead of winter, that he needed a few moments before going back in.
“I don’t suppose you’ve ever considered selling hats instead?” Richard, who was lighting match after match, asked when he came back inside. Elliot took a handful from him and joined in trying to, if not eliminate the odor, then to reduce it greatly.
“On days like today, selling horse manure would be an improvement,” Elliot said good naturedly.
“Yeah, I’ll just bet it would be. I already set the boots out back, Pop. I‘ll get started on the windows again in a-”
“Oh my!” came a gasp from the doorway. Mrs. Harrison’s hand was at her throat, a pained look on her face as she asked, “Mr. Andrews?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Perhaps I should come back later.”
“Might I suggest after lunch?” By that time the matches and open doors would have done much to dissipate the foul odor.
“I think I’ll just do that,” she murmured, turning quickly and beating a hasty retreat.
Elliot and Richard just stood there and laughed.
Chapter 9
Even though the sun was barely over the horizon the air felt heavy, promising more of the stifling heat that had made the day before seem unbearably long. It had been so bad, in fact, that several ladies fainted in the oppressive heat while tending to errands around town.
Instead of cooling down when the sun had finally set, there had been precious little relief. Without so much as a hint of a breeze, the night passed with excruciating slowness.
Elliot had listened to various members of his family pad down to the kitchen for glasses of water from the pitcher Meg never failed to fill and set in the ice box. He’d gone down several times himself for a refreshing drink, and refilled it twice during the long, miserable hours. As much as it had been in demand, he suspected he hadn’t been the only one to replenish the supply.
By the time the bell at the Lawrence Avenue Church tolled six, he’d given up all pretense of trying to sleep. Rolling onto his side to rouse his wife, he discovered that Margaret had finally fallen into a restful slumber, so he decided not to disturb her. Stroking her cheek tenderly drew no more than a quiet grumble before soft snores resumed and he grinned, recalling the one time he’d mentioned the discovery to her. Horrified, she’d insisted that ladies simply did not snore, a declaration that amused him to no end. But he never did bring the subject up again.
He knew he really ought to get himself dressed and head down to start breakfast but the fact of the matter was, he enjoyed watching his wife. Usually she was up long before he was and busy doing some chore or another. Now she slept on her side, one hand beneath her pillow, the other tucked under her cheek. Her nightgown clung damply to her back and tiny beads of sweat peppered her face. She wouldn’t sleep long because it was simply too hot to find relief for any length of time and, while he envied her the brief escape, he was glad that she was getting some rest. This pregnancy seemed to be sapping her energy more so than the others had.
Easing carefully from their bed, he slipped into his dressing gown and crept silently downstairs where he wasted no time in starting a pot of coffee. He would need all he could hold to get through this day.
Sundays and holidays meant a huge breakfast. The sort that left one with a vague feeling of wanting to lie down for a nap, even though he or she hadn’t been up long in the first place, and he decided there was no time like the present to get things started.
As was custom each Sunday morning, Elliot took the largest iron frying pan from the cupboard and set it atop the stove. Once he had it filled to the brim with thick slices of bacon, he lit the burner and turned the flame down low. The best bacon was that which was cooked very slowly, until it was almost crisp.
Once satisfied that the temperature was just right, he took a loaf of bread and sliced it. Usually Margaret made biscuits, but this morning he wanted her to sleep as long as possible. By the time he had a stack ready to be toasted, the coffee was done and he filled a cup on his way to the table.
He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been the only one up so early in the day. He wasn’t entirely sure he liked it either. Not much in life gave him
as much pleasure as the noise and activity that could always be found in the Owens household.
He gazed out the door, overlooking the backyard, his thoughts on the day ahead. His favorite kind of day. One spent with his entire family. It promised to be enjoyable for everyone except Elizabeth, who chose not to enjoy any activity involving her family. Please, God, let this phase pass quickly, he prayed silently. He missed the sweet tempered girl she’d been before her involvement in the suffrage movement.
The smell of bacon began to fill the room and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the aroma woke the rest of his family.
He took a sip of his coffee, the scalding liquid burning a trail down his throat, before getting up to turn the meat. Perhaps another thirty minutes or so before it would be ready. He took a dish of butter and a basket of eggs from the ice chest and set them on the counter. A bowl of potatoes, boiled the previous evening, was quickly sliced and sizzling in some of the bacon grease. They, too, would fry slowly to a crisp, golden brown.
“Good mo’ning’, Papa.”
Elliot turned to find Charles standing behind him, his little white nightshirt as rumpled as his sun bleached curls. He bent to lift him into his arms, kissing his cheek.
“Good morning, young man. How did you sleep last night?” There was nothing quite like the smell of a child and Elliot buried his face against his soft neck.
“Not vewy well, Papa. It was too hot!” the boy said vehemently.
“I know. It was very hot, wasn’t it?”
“Did you have twouble sleeping, too, Papa?”
“That I did, son. That I did. Why do you suppose I’m up so early?”
“Because you is making bweakfast?”
“Yes I am. How about some water while I finish up here?” Charles nodded and he poured a tall glass from the nearly empty pitcher. Whoever had come down last should have refilled it he thought, as he did the job himself. It wouldn’t have much time to chill before the others joined them.
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