She leaned back from his embrace and narrowed her gaze. “Tell you what, how about I take care of the china and you take care of the bulls?”
Dameon laughed. “But what about the cows?”
She opened her delicate mouth and closed it. He’d caught her on that one. Taking full advantage of the surprise, he leaned down and kissed her tender lips, then said, “My sweet sweetheart. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said with a giggle.
“What? What am I missing?”
“My parents met at the first Olympics.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“Hmm.” Dameon snuggled her in his arms once again. “Do you think we’ve continued a family tradition?”
“Mother says so.”
“And your father?”
“He’s still getting used to the idea of his little girl growing up.”
“Ah, that reminds me. I think it best if we only have sons.”
Jamie jabbed him in the side.
“Ouch. What’s that for?”
She aimed again.
“Never mind. I think I know.”
The cowbell rang.
“What is that?” Jamie asked.
“That’s my mother saying it’s time for us to come in and face the adults.”
“Ah, guess it’s time I meet your parents.” She winked.
“If I know my parents,” Dameon added, “they will have had us married and with two kids before we get into the house.”
“Oh? What about the honeymoon?”
Dameon stopped. “They wouldn’t have thought about that.”
“Mine would. What do you think about a trip to Greece?”
“I think I’m way out of my league. Until a few weeks ago, I never traveled any farther than into town for supplies.”
Jamie held his hand. “Honey, together we have a hope in Jesus. He’s our crown. Nothing this world offers means anything. I’ve learned that recently from our family’s struggles during the Depression. Mother has far more wealth than Father ever had, but they are two of the most down-to-earth people I know, and it’s because of their faith in the Lord.”
“Yeah, the morning after your father caught us in the kitchen, he found me asleep on the floor in my room. I’d been up all night praying and reading the Bible, trying to figure out how I could repair the wedge I’d placed between your parents and myself. But I’d fallen asleep during my prayer time. Anyway, your dad seemed to soften when he saw what I’d been reading.”
“Father mentioned he respected you and your beliefs in the Lord. He was angry in Albany, but I think he was angrier with himself for jumping to conclusions that weren’t true.”
“I went to the Olympics in the hope of helping my family.” Dameon drank in the beauty of this magnificent woman. “But I found a far richer gift. I found God’s gift to me in you. I love you, Jamie Preston. Will you please become my wife?”
“I love you, too, Dameon. And you’re my gift, too. I never fit quite right in my parents’ world, but I know it’s a part of me and who I am. And yes, I’ll marry you. Just remember, you take care of the bulls.”
Dameon grinned and tapped her reddened button nose. “And you the china, my sweet sweetheart.”
BEYOND THE MEMORIES
by DiAnn Mills
Dedication
In loving memory of Jane Orcutt
Let another man praise thee, and not thine own mouth; a stranger, and not thine own lips.
PROVERBS 27:2
Chapter 1
June 1932
Miss Maime, why do you use your mama’s best dishes on folks who don’t even know what day it is?”
Maime touched her finger to the edge of the silver knife and nudged it to the exact position beside the gold-rimmed china plate. She eyed the crystal goblet to make sure it was positioned directly above the knife. “My dear Lucy, the residents here at Cranberry Hill may not remember their names or how to dress themselves, but I will not have them lose their dignity.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The tall young woman proceeded around the long wooden table, placing the threadbare napkins next to the salad forks.
“As long as the good Lord provides, we will continue the tradition here that my mama instilled in me.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Lucy, look at me.”
The young woman’s gaze widened, and Maime captured it with a smile. “I know you don’t understand how I feel about this house and the residents who have suffered so much with the Great War and the Depression, but they are my life.”
Lucy smiled. “Guess I’m just tired today.” She shrugged. “No more than you, I ’spect. It’s that—that—”
“Are your folks giving you a bad time about working for Maime Bradford, who has a house full of folks who seem to have lost their minds?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Have they asked you to find work elsewhere?”
Lucy patted the top of her dark hair. “I refused. Besides, I care about you, and I know your heart. I’m a nurse, and I’ll be here as long as you need me.”
Maime chuckled. “And there aren’t many jobs out there, even for a trained nurse.”
Lucy flushed as red as the tomatoes ripening in the garden. “It doesn’t matter. It’s you I work for, and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.”
Goodness knows we need more with your commitment. “Thank you. I appreciate your loyalty.”
Something thumped on the second floor, sending the crystal drops of the chandelier into a shiver. Both women startled and stared up at the ceiling.
“Mr. and Mrs. Weaver’s room,” Maimed whispered. “Do you suppose Mr. Weaver is emptying the dresser drawers again?”
A crash sounded above them. This time the chandelier swung back and forth like a pendulum.
“Come on, Lucy. We need to see about this before the ceiling caves in.” Maime rushed into the main foyer and up the wide staircase to the landing, then she veered right where the stairway split.
For some reason, Asa Weaver had started dumping his dresser drawers onto the floor looking for his gun. He’d fought bravely through the Great War, but when he’d lost his furniture business after the stock market crashed, his mind failed him.
Mrs. Weaver leaned over the second-floor railing. She closed her eyes and touched her heart. “Oh, please help me,” she said. “Asa believes we’re surrounded by Germans.”
Maime rushed past the sweet, gray-haired lady into the bedroom. Asa sat in the middle of the couple’s bedroom floor, tossing clothing and personal items everywhere but where they belonged. Maime eased down beside the elderly man.
“What are you looking for, Asa? I can help you.”
He frowned and his shoulders slumped. “I can’t find my gun.”
“The Germans are gone. You don’t need it.”
He gasped. “Are you sure? They’re a sneaky bunch.”
“I know, but the other soldiers apprehended them. Led them away. We’re all safe now.”
Asa nodded. Lines pulled across his forehead. “What about the next time? I need to find my gun so I can protect all of you.”
Maime touched his wrinkled hand. “The soldiers said for us not to worry. They will be guarding the house from now on.”
Asa grabbed the footboard of the bed and pulled himself to his feet. He shuffled to the window. “I don’t see the soldiers.”
“That’s because they’re hiding.”
“Good.”
Mrs. Weaver stepped into the room. “Isn’t it about time for dinner? Asa, you told me a few minutes ago that you were hungry.”
“That I am,” he said, still staring out the window. “I think I see one of our boys. He’s hiding behind that tree.” He pointed to a maple that shaded the front lawn like a huge umbrella.
Mrs. Weaver joined him and laid her head on his shoulder. “I always feel safe when I’m with you.”
Asa wrapped his arm around her waist. “Don’t worr
y. I’ll always take care of you.”
Maime blinked back the tears and ordered her heart to stop its senseless fluttering.
“Dignity,” Lucy whispered and cleared her throat. “I’ll let everyone know dinner is ready.”
“And I’ll help Emma get it on the table right away. After dinner, we’ll have singing in the ballroom.”
“And you will play for all of us?” Mrs. Weaver’s face softened, and Maime could tell she was slipping into her girlhood again. “Oh, and we can dance.”
“Yes, ma’am. You can sing and dance until you’re ready for bed.”
Failing minds Maime could handle. Men who still believed they were in the war was another matter. Some days tugged at every ounce of energy that flowed through her body.
Maime left Lucy to inform the other residents about the upcoming meal. She massaged her shoulders and walked down the stairs to the kitchen. One creak. Another creak. She wished she knew how to fix those steps. One of the residents thought the house was haunted because of those squeaks.
Her nostrils detected chicken and dumplings, and her stomach growled in response.
“Sure smells good, Emma,” she said as she entered the kitchen.
Maime’s cook stood at the door with her arms crossed over her ample chest. A frown dipped to her chin.
“What’s wrong?” Maime folded her hands at her waist and rubbed the golden band on her left hand.
“I’ve had enough.” The older woman peered down her nose. “I’m afraid of all these crazy people living here, and my husband said we could make it without me working at a job where I’m afraid.”
“Emma, I need you.”
The woman grasped the doorknob that led to the back porch and away from Cranberry Hill. “This should be no surprise.”
I should have been ready for this. “You’re right.” Maime refused to cry.
“I understand taking over the cooking for all these people won’t be easy, but I can’t do this anymore.” She paused for a moment and glanced at her hand squeezing the knob. “I’m sure with times being hard, you’ll find someone real soon. You have Lucy.” Emma nodded at a huge pot on the stove. “The chicken and dumplings are done. Green beans, too, and fresh bread is in the oven.”
Maime nodded. “Your money.”
Emma shook her head. “I’ll send my husband to get it tomorrow.”
The door shut, rattling the lid on the chicken and dumplings. Maime swallowed a lump the size of Missouri. She’d find a new cook tomorrow. But tonight she’d have to manage on her own. Tonight she’d smile and serve up dinner for all the precious people who lived here. She’d play the out-of-tune piano and sing as loud as the rest of them. And when the residents of Cranberry Hill slept, she’d figure out what to do about a cook. Problem was, folks didn’t like what she was doing here—housing those no one else wanted to help, nursing folks who had forgotten how to take care of themselves. And feeding those who would otherwise starve. Hannibal didn’t like it?
Too bad.
Hank hobbled down the streets of Hannibal. Eighteen years had passed since he’d been here. Twilight cast a hazy amber and copper cloud over the lazy town as day held tightly onto the fainting light. He’d expected change. After all, he’d lived with it for what seemed like a lifetime. But he hadn’t expected the trees to be so much bigger and the homes to look so shabby. Peeling paint, sagging porches, broken fences. What did that say for the townspeople? The Great War had taken its toll, and now the Great Depression beat on a nation struggling to rise from the dirt. Nothing great about any of it.
Hank stopped in front of the courthouse and leaned on his crutch. Years ago, before the courthouse was built, he’d race through this part of town and beat anyone who tried to outrun him. Back then, he was filled with the ideals of a young man and the love of a girl who had yet to grow up. And when she did reach the proper age, Hank courted her proper until she said yes and her daddy agreed. Hank thought he had life by the tail, and he had grabbed Maime’s hand and held on for the ride. If only … no, he would not drink the bitter cup of regret. He’d served his country proud; he just never dreamed the price would cost him his heart.
He shoved away the bittersweet memories and drank in the fragrant summer blossoms that filled the warm air: jasmine, lantana, and a hint of rose. On both sides of the concrete steps yellow petunias clustered together. Those were just like Maime used to plant, but she mixed blue petunias with them and sometimes a little red. She used to say that flower gardens were like painting a picture, and God held the brush.
“Mister, we don’t allow vagrants to sleep on the courthouse lawn.”
Hank swung his attention to a policeman, not much more than twenty years old, a good-looking lad. His dark eyes still held the light of hope.
“I wasn’t thinking of sleeping here,” Hank said. “That’s disrespectful.”
The young policeman smiled. “We feel that way, too. Are you passing through?”
Hank nodded. “I plan to be leaving tomorrow before noon.”
“You needing a place to stay?”
“Possibly. My first thought was to wander to the outskirts of town.”
“That would be fine.”
This time Hank smiled. He knew his place, and his nose detected the days he’d gone without a bath. A river bath sounded good before making his way to Cranberry Hill. Why yes, he’d do that very thing.
“I’ll be moving along now,” Hank said. “Thanks for talking to me.”
“You’re welcome.”
Hank leaned on his crutch and hobbled down the street. Maybe coming back to Hannibal had been a bad idea. This was where it all began … a place he once called home. But those days died in the Great War, when he realized he could never come back to Maime. But he had to see her one more time. He wanted to make sure she was happy. He didn’t want to think about anything else, not her being married or having children that belonged to another man, or that she had lost her vibrancy for life.
Tonight he’d find a place to sleep, and tomorrow he’d venture to the House on Cranberry Hill and hope she still lived there. A glimpse of her sweet face, even to catch a sparkle in her blue eyes, was all he needed to give him peace for the remainder of his days.
Then he’d leave.
Chapter 2
Maime rose at three thirty the following morning to clean the kitchen from the night before. Had she slept at all? She’d fallen asleep remembering the stack of Mama’s finest dishes and silver and the pots from dinner. And this morning, the formidable job made her tired before she even began.
Last night she’d played piano until the residents were hoarse and ceased to make requests. Sometimes they wanted hymns, and sometimes they wanted the latest Broadway hits. All of them dearly loved music. Perhaps she should have music night more than once a week. Then she’d be thoroughly exhausted two mornings a week instead of one. Of course, she craved sleep every morning, but things were not about to change soon.
As she scrubbed the floor on her hands and knees and pushed the cloth across each area of the linoleum to the rhythm of a waltz, her mind dwelled on the evening before. The two married couples—the Weavers and the Caldwells—danced while the others clapped and sighed, no doubt wishing they had someone to hold. Maime had learned a few years ago not to permit unmarried couples to dance. That incident had tested her own sanity.
Today, exhaustion laced her body like her grandmother’s corset—and the more she fretted about a cook, the garden full of weeds, and the neighbors complaining about the residents of Cranberry House, the tighter that corset got around her middle.
Lord, You know I need help. Hope You don’t mind me reminding You. Please send me a cook, an angel who can whip up the best food from my scant pantry and weed-ridden garden.
Maime finished cleaning the floor and carried the dirty water to the backyard. The moon still lit up the dew-laden earth, and it was quiet, peaceful. For a moment, she allowed herself the luxury of no one tugging on her to do something. Gla
ncing up at the clear sky, she marveled at the star-studded heavens. Just as God placed the universe in order, He had her life carefully planned. That comfort always placed a balm over her heart. She could face the good citizens of Hannibal with a sincere smile, knowing they despised what she’d done to Cranberry Hill. They simply didn’t understand that folks were entitled to dignity, no matter what their lot in life.
God continued to bless her: vegetables grew in abundance in her garden, and the hens laid enough eggs to feed her hungry group. Just when meat grew slack, someone would leave a smoked ham or beef on her doorstep. But she knew who provided that. James Arnold, a nearby farmer, wanted her desperately to marry him. Both his wife and only child had died years ago during childbirth, and, like Maime, he had never remarried. At times, she considered his proposal, and then other times, she couldn’t fathom the thought of ever loving a man the way she’d loved Charles.
I’m wasting the day thinking about too many things. This morning everyone would have oatmeal for breakfast. That was the easiest meal to prepare, and Emma had baked several loaves of bread yesterday. Today was washday, too, but some of the residents were able to help with that. Thankfully those who could do chores pitched in with whatever was needed. A cook. She needed a cook, and not a woman who had to be told how much to cook for fifteen people plus Lucy.
She’d make a sign and place it in the front yard. That should bring fifty folks to her door, even though she just needed one.
The familiar creak of the screen door echoed across the shadows and urged Maime back to the present. “Miss Maime,” Lucy stepped out into the darkness. “How long have you been up?”
Maime laughed. “Three thirty. All I could think about were the dishes I didn’t wash last night—and the state of that pot where the chicken and dumplings almost burned.”
“I would have helped you.”
“You have enough to do.” Maime climbed the steps and gave Lucy a hug. “I needed solitude. Everything’s clean now.”
“I was thinking oatmeal would be an easy breakfast, and we have honey to sweeten it a bit.”
The Timeless Love Romance Collection Page 40