1929

by M. L. Gardner

  Ava tried not to enjoy the jealous side of Jonathan too terribly much. “Jon, I’m sure you’re mistaken,” she said coyly as she picked at a piece of dinner roll.

  “What else would it be, Ava? There are a dozen, long stem roses sitting over there. For you. Not from me. That’s a problem.”

  She could see, even in the dim light, the redness creeping up his neck, into his cheeks and ears, a slight flare to his nostrils; things that happened only when he was truly angry. Ava had trouble suppressing a grin at his appearance. He resembled a disgruntled peacock.

  “Stop worrying and finish eating, Jon. I’ll throw them out tomorrow.”

  “I’ll throw them out right now.” He sprinted over, seized the roses, flung open the back door, and propelled them out. A powerful gust sucked them out into the storm. Her lips twitched in amusement of the testosterone-laden protection of his territory.

  “I went to see Arianna today,” she mentioned casually as he returned to his seat, proud of fulfilling his mission. He leaned back and crossed his arms as if to prove a point to someone or something invisible.

  “How is she?” he asked with a tone of indifference; his mind was still struggling with the identity of the sender and more importantly, how he would find this person.

  “She’s fine. Fairly spoiled,” she scoffed. “She has no intention of moving out anytime soon.” She realized that he wasn’t really paying attention to her. “Jon, please.” She reached out for his hand and he reluctantly unfolded his arms.

  “Maybe you don’t understand, Ava.” He leaned forward on the table and squeezed her hand. “You’re mine. I don’t take too kindly to someone trying to woo my wife with flowers while I’m miles away unable to do anything about it.” His eyes were serious and possessive, and she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it to end. Selfish of me, she thought. But after experiencing the dark times with him, lonely dark times when she feared he loved another more, she would selfishly enjoy this for a few moments.

  “No one is trying to woo me, Jonathan. You have nothing to worry about.”

  He leaned back again, still holding her hand possessively and stared at his plate. “Sunday, I’m going into town. I’ll ask around and find out who sent them and when I do . . . .” He shook his head and hurled a look that finished his sentence.

  “We were invited by Caleb’s parents to dinner on Sunday. The whole gang will be there. It should be nice. Claire flipped me for the barn . . . and I won.” She gave him a suggestive grin. He blankly stared at her, having clearly missed the meaning. She rolled her eyes, tilted her head, and smiled sheepishly at him. “Strained living conditions and close quarters might cause a couple to sneak off to the barn after dinner . . . .”

  “Ahh.” His face lit up and he nodded, a devious smile broke the tension in his face. “Why don’t you take pity on Claire and offer her the barn on Sunday?”

  “Why? I won fair and square!” she argued indignantly and rose to clear the plates.

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, there’s a raging storm going on outside.” He carried their glasses to the sink. “And I was going to show you the benefits of loud, pelting rain and howling wind. Makes close quarters seem . . . not that close,” he spoke through a smile as his lips brushed her neck. “Leave those for the morning,” he said, turning her around. The house shook with a violent wind gust, and Ava shivered from the sudden chill.

  “It’s not our week,” she said dryly, dipping her head away and tensing slightly at his pull. “But Sunday–”

  “Let’s leave it to chance.”

  “What? Jon, how could we possibly–”

  “Listen. I’ve thought it all through.” She stared at him with the mixed frustration of their situation and longing to grant him the family that he wanted. “If we throw caution to the wind, it would take a few months, right? That’s what I’ve heard anyway. By the time it happened, we’d be in our own place, and then we’d still have almost a year to get things ready. Plenty of time.” He squeezed her shoulders with insistence, his voice convincing. She sighed and averted her eyes, still unsure. “Ava, it will be fine. I promise. I’ll work night and day to make sure that you and the baby have everything you need.”

  “What if I don’t want you to work night and day? What if I want you home with me more? You’re gone all the time as it is.”

  “It will even out soon. We’re on one hell of a learning curve right now, but it won’t always be like this.”

  “Why do you want this so badly? It really is the worst possible time.”

  “And if we wait for the perfect time, it will never happen,” he said with frustration. “Ava, listen to me. It’s hard to explain why I want this so badly. I don’t know that I can explain it. But I can tell you that after living through what I have, almost losing you, losing all hope, feeling so empty–” He shuddered, hating to revisit that time for even a second. He took her face in his hands and continued, his voice and eyes full of conviction. “I feel so differently now. Despite our poverty and living in one borrowed room with everything we own in a trunk, I’m happy. I feel alive. All I want to do is celebrate and make more life. A living breathing tribute to what we have, what we’ve been through, what we’ve overcome. A part of each of us creating a bond stronger than even those of our wedding vows.” His eyes flickered down to her mouth, slightly agape, breaking the concentration of the stare. She inhaled suddenly, realizing she had been breathless during his heartfelt speech and as she stepped back a few inches, the world around her reappeared. She couldn’t say no, not after all that, but still hesitated to agree.

  The wind gusted again, slamming into the side of the house with enough force to rattle the windowpane, startling her. A distant foghorn’s low moan was barely audible above the roar of the wind and sent a cold panic through her. Thoughts raced through her mind. Were there men out there now being thrown around on violent seas, straining to see the shore, to see home in vain through the fog and rain? The lights were probably out to the whole town, so one rocky shore would seem no different than another. The solitary, incandescent glow from the lighthouse was the only guide, if it could even be seen. What if he were still out there? What if, God forbid, he hadn’t come home? She could hardly force her mind to think it, but, if one day he didn’t come home, at least she would have that; a piece of him to hold forever. She suddenly and selfishly made a decision that very second. Her mouth opened to tell him what he wanted to hear.

  “I’ll give you some more time then,” he whispered and kissed her forehead. Gentle, disappointed eyes smiled at her. He led her out of the kitchen, picking up the oil lamp on the way.

  She could think of no dignified or romantic way now, as he closed the door to their room behind them, to tell him yes, she would, she wanted to more and more as every second ticked by, she wanted to.

  Several minutes later, he blew out the wick, and she lay under piles of covers, trying to think of a way to resurrect the conversation. She squirmed under the covers awkwardly, voicing mild grunts.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, lifting his head in the dark. Something light and soft landed on his face. Using his hands, he quickly identified it as a silken undergarment, still warm from the wearer. “What’s this?” He held it up by one finger, displaying a grin she couldn’t see.

  “That’s me . . . throwing caution to the wind and leaving it to chance.”

  “Are you sure?” He gave her one last chance, even though he was already reaching for her.

  “I’m sure,” she whispered as he pulled her under the quilts.

  ∞∞∞

  Sunday morning, Ava pitched straight up in bed and woke with a gasp. The same dream had haunted her three times that week. It started out pleasantly enough, but ended with her standing atop jagged rocks, staring into the blackness of a storm, holding a black-haired baby, crying and calling for Jonathan.

  She sank her face into her hands, took a few deep breaths, and then focused her eyes on brilliant rays of sunshine stre
aming through the window, which warmed her legs. Jonathan wasn’t beside her, but she was used to that. Six days a week she woke alone, Jonathan having left for the boat hours before she stirred. But this being Sunday, she had expected him to be there. She threw on a robe quickly and headed downstairs, hoping he would be at the table with coffee, waiting for her.

  There was fresh coffee on the stove but only a note on the table, which explained that his parents had gone to visit friends for the day and that he had gone to run some errands but would be back in time for dinner. Frustrated, she tossed the note on the table. He could have woken me to go with him on the only day we have together. Now we’ll have just a few hours together before the week begins again.

  She bathed and laid out three dresses to choose from for the evening. They were all somewhat plain, but she supposed an informal farmhouse dinner party wouldn’t require much more. She chose a pink and white, cotton dress with a scoop neck. She pondered both the ringlet curl iron and the steam envelope for waves and decided to fashion her hair with the ringlet. She sprayed the bouncy rolls with sugar water and her hands and cheeks were sticky as a sweet roll by the time she was finished, but the curls held nicely. She prayed bees weren’t out this time of year.

  The idea itself came from one of Arianna’s animated tales about growing up in Georgia and that sugar water was primarily used for hair setting, although not entirely practical in the summer when bees were out in full force. She had once snuck into her sister’s room late on a July night and sprayed sugar water on her hair to get back at her for a mean joke she had told about Arianna winding up an old maid. She was tickled pink as the bees chased and stung her sister all the following day.

  Later that afternoon, Ava was digging through the trunk, looking for a pair of stockings when Jonathan came through the bedroom door, one arm tucked behind his back. Hands on hips, she whirled around.

  “Where have you been?” she snapped, although she was happy that he was home.

  “I told you I was going into town to find out who sent you those flowers,” he said and smiled wide.

  “Well, did you? I’d hate to think that the entire morning was spent away from me in vain.” His smile dropped slightly.

  “No, I didn’t find out. But the trip wasn’t in vain.” He produced a large bouquet of roses even more vibrant and beautiful than the ones previously delivered. Two dozen, not one.

  “Jonathan.”

  “Don’t you dare say I shouldn’t have. First of all, it’s been far too long since I’ve come home with flowers and second . . . .” Lowering his nose to the roses, he slowly looked up at her through his lashes. “I won’t be outdone by some anonymous schmuck who thinks he’s going to muscle in on my territory.”

  “That’s hardly the case, Jon,” she said, smiling and smelling the roses. “Roses in March. Must have cost a fortune. You really-”

  “Ah, I said don’t say that. Besides, I had an interesting thing happen today.”

  “What would that be?”

  He removed his shirt and rummaged through the trunk for one of his nicer ones.

  “Well, I was asking around at some places that sold flowers and met a guy, a reporter for the newspaper in Boston. He was doing a piece on Rockport fishermen and asked if I wanted to be featured. That’s what took so long. I went to get Aryl while he gathered his equipment and he met us down by the boat. Asked us a bunch of questions about fishing and then took a picture of us next to the Ava-Maura for the newspaper.”

  “Your picture will be in the paper?”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the best part.” He pulled a black sweater over his head and ran his fingers through his hair to straighten it. “I had the guy put in a quote that we’d sell for two cents less a pound than anyone else. Should have more buyers than we can handle shortly. Just in time for us to all go solo and triple our payload. I told you everything would work out,” he said, grinning happily and went to the closet to choose between the two pair of slacks he owned.

  ∞∞∞

  Arianna was so happy to have anything that remotely resembled a party that she was nearly bursting at her emotional seams. She fussed over her hair and dipped into her precious reserves of makeup. She grew aggravated when she was sidetracked and had to sew extra panels of fabric into the sides of her best dress to allow more room around the middle.

  “You could just wear one of the dresses my mother made you,” Caleb said, eying her as she worked and swore under her breath on occasion.

  “A tent! That’s fine for working around the house or the garden, but not for a dinner party.”

  “You work around the house?” His sarcastic tone was impossible to miss, but in the excitement of a get-together, she let it slide past with nothing more than a dirty look.

  “I already put your clothes in the bathroom. People will be here soon. You might want to get ready,” she said.

  He was lying on the bed, swinging his legs off the side and the springs squeaked rhythmically. “Caleb! Stop that! Your parents might think–”

  “What?” He twisted his head to look at her and asked, “That we might be having sex? No. No, we can’t have them suspecting that.” He stared at the ceiling, the rhythmic squeak continuing. “A young, married couple, in love for the most part, no, we can’t allow them to think it’s possible that we could ever or would ever.” He craned to look at her again. “Say, have you managed to convince them that Junior there is a product of immaculate conception?” He focused on the ceiling again, and she stared at his head with wide eyes. “Yeah,” he said with a short, hard laugh. She stood up with some effort, tossed her dress aside, and confronted him at the foot of the bed cautiously.

  “What do you mean, Caleb?” Her voice was quiet despite her anger.

  “Nothing.” He stood up quickly. “I’m going to get dressed,” he said numbly as he passed her. A long, thin arm grabbed his as he passed.

  “What did you mean?” she repeated, this time her voice shaking slightly. He rolled his eyes, clearly out of patience.

  “It’s ridiculous for you to put on airs. But don’t worry, Ahna, there’s no way they’re going to get the idea that we sleep together . . . . because we don’t.” He jerked his arm away from her grasp and left the room. She followed him down the hall, not sure herself if she were on the verge of tears or rage.

  “Not that, Caleb. The other thing you said. About being ‘for the most part’ in love.” She stood in the doorway of the bathroom so that he was unable to shut the door. “What is that supposed to mean?” she pressed. “For the most part?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said roughly. He sighed heavily and avoided her eyes.

  “Yes, you did. Is that how you really feel?” He silently lathered his face. She cleared her throat to remind him she was still there, waiting.

  “Look, I don’t want to get into anything before dinner. Maybe we can talk later or something.” His tone was so indifferent that it stung.

  She retreated but decided to stand her ground with an insistent but soft tone when she turned back. “No. I want to know what you meant. If that’s really how you feel.”

  “You don’t want to know how I really feel,” he said, his voice low and hostile. His gaze was void of any feeling at all. He shaved hastily while she stared at the floor, waiting, hoping he would say something. His silence was maddening as he changed; however, sensing something was very, very wrong, she hesitated to pressure him. He passed by her, his shoulder brushing hers and stomped downstairs just in time to greet guests.

  “Hey, guys, how are you all? Come in. Sit down,” he called out from the steps.

  Arianna swallowed hard, refusing to cry and waste perfectly good makeup. She would smile through dinner and get things straight with Caleb later. She finished her dress quickly and joined the others downstairs, surprised to see a larger than expected crowd.

  She smiled from one unfamiliar face to another as Ethel introduced her daughter-in-law to several friends and neighbors. The
families, some compiled of three generations, swelled the house with chatter and laughter. Arianna shook hands and glanced at her husband occasionally, who was absorbed in catching up with his parents’ older friends and their children, most of whom appeared to be his age.

  Another knock at the door was barely heard over the buzz. Aryl, closest to the door, opened it and stepped aside. As they filed in, Aryl cast Jonathan a look, and then his eyes touched on Caleb before closing the door.

  An older couple greeted Ethel and Hubert, nodded and waved politely to Caleb, although their faces looked slightly strained. A young woman with tawny hair that fell in long curls on her shoulders and dark eyes stepped into view from behind them. She slipped her coat off her tiny frame and Ethel gave the girl a long embrace.

  Aryl made his way over to Jonathan quickly. “Well, this should be interesting,” he said out of the side of his mouth.

  “Indeed.” Jonathan could barely suppress the smirk as he sipped his drink.

  Claire and Ava noticed Arianna standing alone against the wall and made their way across the parlor to her. They asked her a few questions, but it was apparent that she was completely tuning them out. Her eyes were fixed on Caleb and, more specifically, the tension in his posture when the small woman approached him. They smiled awkwardly, aware of several of the older generation’s eyes on them. Arianna squinted, unsuccessfully willing herself the ability to read lips. When she set out to interrupt them, Ethel touched her arm.

  “Would you be a dear and help me in the kitchen, Ahna?”

  Caleb was now smiling down at his old acquaintance. “I really need to talk to–”

  “Oh, it'll only take a few moments.” Ethel took her arm insistently and led her to the kitchen. Claire and Ava shared a look of confusion and set out for their husbands, who appeared to be making a wager.