Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  CHAPTER 13: DAVID

  Friday, April 6, 1945

  Despite its location near the Incline Railway, a popular tourist attraction on the north end of Lookout Mountain, Sweet Magnolia Café was not an easy place to find. Tucked between a bottling plant and a tannery and reachable only from an alley, it was as conspicuous as a fir tree in a forest and as accessible as Mars.

  Fortunately for David, Mars came with a map. Using a rudimentary guide a friendly neighbor had scribbled on an envelope, he had been able to find and enter the fabled eatery before hundreds of hungry factory workers had a chance to hit the street.

  David pondered his good fortune as he finished a dinner of pulled pork, baked beans, collard greens, and coleslaw. In a dozen trips to Dixie, he had never eaten quite so well.

  He took his last bite of beans, washed it down with sweet tea, and put his napkin on his plate. Then he patted his stomach, covered a burp, and looked at his smiling sister.

  "Well, that was fun," David said.

  "Are you ready for dessert?" Claire asked.

  David chuckled.

  "I'm ready for an ambulance."

  "Then you had better call for one."

  "Why?"

  Claire grinned.

  "I ordered a sweet potato pie when you went to the restroom."

  "Claire!"

  "We'll take the rest home."

  Ron laughed.

  "You stay out of this," David said.

  David shook his head at his relatives, who seemed intent on busting his gut, and then directed his attention to his interesting surroundings. There was a lot to see.

  Several informally dressed families shared a dining area with gray-suited businessmen, college girls, and at least two Army privates. Harried waitresses in red-checkered dresses and white aprons moved from table to table and barked orders to the kitchen. A young couple pushed buttons on a Wurlitzer jukebox that had played "Pistol Packin' Mama," "They Took the Stars Out of Heaven," and other twangy country hits for almost an hour.

  David loved the scene. He didn't care much for the cigarette smoke that hovered over the dining area like a coastal fog, but he approved of the rest. He was getting comfortable in the 1940s and finding his place in a time. He was falling in love with an era.

  He started to turn back to Claire when he saw three people emerge from a distant corner of the dining area. He watched with interest as one member of the group — a slim blonde — hugged the others, sent them on their way, and headed to the ladies' room.

  David thought about the blonde as a waitress returned to the time travelers' table, asked about their pie, and took away their dishes. What a coincidence, he thought. He remembered Humphrey Bogart. Of all the restaurants in all the towns . . .

  David mulled the pleasant circumstance for a moment and then prepared himself for an inevitable encounter. He sat up in his chair when the blonde exited the restroom and moved toward his table. He smiled when she finally reached it.

  "We meet again," David said.

  Margaret Doyle smiled.

  "How are you this evening?"

  "I'm well, thank you."

  "That's good."

  David stood up as he remembered his manners and then turned to face his sister and his brother-in-law. He could see that both Claire and Ron were amused.

  "Margaret, this is my sister, Claire Rasmussen, and her husband, Ron. Claire and Ron, this is Margaret Doyle. She lives across the street from us."

  David stepped back as the others shook hands.

  "I saw you the other day," Claire said. "I'm the one who waved."

  "I remember," Margaret said.

  "Were you returning from work or school?"

  "As a matter of fact, I was returning from both. I teach history, geography, and civics at Moccasin Bend High School."

  David shook his head and laughed. He could not believe that he and his lovely neighbor did the same thing for a living. He looked at Margaret.

  "Why didn't you tell me that on Sunday?"

  Margaret smiled.

  "You didn't ask."

  David laughed again.

  "I guess I didn't."

  Claire looked at David and then at Margaret.

  "You two talked on Sunday?"

  Margaret nodded.

  "I poured your brother some tea after he walked to the state line and back for no apparent reason. I felt a little sorry for him."

  Claire giggled.

  "I feel sorry for him seven days a week."

  David ignored the dig and looked at Margaret.

  "Have you had dinner?"

  Margaret tilted her head.

  "I've had supper, Mr. Baker. It's supper in the South."

  David chuckled. He had a live one on his hands.

  "Let me rephrase the question. Have you had dessert this evening? We're about to slay a sweet potato pie and would love to have some help."

  "Thank you for the kind invitation, but I think I'll pass," Margaret said. "I just had a big supper with some friends. Besides, I don't want to impose on your family time."

  "You wouldn't be imposing," David said. "You'd be breaking up monotony."

  "I don't know. I really shouldn't."

  Claire spoke up.

  "Please join us. I could use some female company. These two are driving me nuts."

  Margaret laughed at the comment and then took a moment to consider the offer. She gave Claire a thoughtful gaze and David a thoughtful smile.

  "Have you already ordered the pie?"

  David nodded.

  "It's on its way."

  "Then I guess I have no choice," Margaret said. "I would love to join you."

  CHAPTER 14: MARGARET

  Margaret laughed to herself as a waitress brought a sweet potato pie to her new table at six thirty-five. She laughed because the same server, a redheaded woman of twenty, had brought a sweet potato pie to her old table at five thirty-five.

  She didn't mind. If she had to eat the same thing twice in one night to make new friends, she would do it. She liked meeting interesting people — and few people she had met in her twenty-four years were as interesting as these visitors from California.

  As the waitress placed the pie on the round table and set clean plates and forks in front of the diners, Margaret took a moment to assess her neighbors. She had learned a lot about them in fifteen minutes and found them as different as they were intriguing.

  Ron was easy to appraise. The strapping blond, who sat directly across from Margaret, was clearly the strong, silent type. He had done little but smile and nod as his wife and brother-in-law talked and laughed and did their best to put their acquaintance at ease.

  Claire seemed more complex. She came across as kind, adventurous, and sensitive. Margaret saw a hint of sadness in the pretty brunette's big brown eyes and guessed that much of that sadness stemmed from recent trauma.

  Margaret suspected that David was much like his older sibling. When she looked at the gregarious six-foot teacher with the thick brown hair, boyish face, and easy smile, she saw a man who was cheerful, spontaneous, caring, and suspiciously mysterious.

  She had thought about him many times in the past week and each time asked the same questions. Who was this guy? What was an attractive, educated man from Southern California doing in Chattanooga? What was a young, healthy man doing out of uniform?

  Margaret smiled at David as he served the pie and then turned to the person she wanted to talk to most. She had wanted to talk to Claire since hearing about her interest in adoption, a subject that had interested, fascinated, and angered Margaret all her life. She finally spoke to Claire when the conversation at the table hit a lull.

  "David tells me you're adopting a baby."

  "We are," Claire said. "We hope to adopt a little girl next week."

  "Are you going through Family Aid?"

  "Yes."

  "That's good," Margaret said. "It's a reputable agency."

  Claire tilted her head.

  "Are
n't they all?"

  Margaret smiled sadly.

  "Let's just say that some agencies are better than others."

  "How do you know?"

  Margaret took a deep breath as she debated whether to discuss her past with people she had just met. She did not like sharing details about her troubled childhood, but she knew that sharing was sometimes necessary. Candor, a wise woman had once told her, was the pathway to friendship. So she answered Claire's question.

  "I know that some agencies are better than others because I have personal experience with three of them," Margaret said. "I was abandoned by my parents as a toddler and spent most of my childhood in orphanages and foster homes."

  Claire put her hand on Margaret's arm.

  "I am so sorry."

  "Don't be," Margaret said. She looked at the men, who had stopped eating, and then returned to Claire. "I have a good life now and a promising future. That's what's important."

  "It is," Claire said. "I can tell just by looking at you and speaking with you that you are a woman who is going to succeed in life."

  "I hope so."

  Claire gazed at Margaret with admiring eyes.

  "Tell me about your job. Tell me what it's like to teach history, geography, and civics in Chattanooga, Tennessee."

  Margaret smiled warmly.

  "It's challenging and frustrating, but it's also fun and rewarding. I feel good knowing that I'm making a difference in the lives of young people."

  David chuckled.

  "Preach it, sister!"

  Margaret laughed and then smiled. She liked hearing her thoughts and feelings validated by a peer. She liked hearing her thoughts and feelings validated, period.

  "What's it like teaching history in California?"

  David sighed.

  "It's challenging and rewarding."

  Margaret turned to face her fellow teacher as Claire and Ron turned their attention to their pie. She wanted to hear more about education on the West Coast.

  "Do you teach other subjects?"

  David nodded.

  "I teach civics and debate. I also coach soccer. I'm the coach of the varsity girls soccer team at Pacific Crest High School."

  Margaret widened her eyes.

  "You have girls sports?"

  David hesitated before answering.

  "We do. We have a lot of programs for girls."

  Margaret took a moment to digest the information. She had never heard of a high school girls sports team, much less a varsity girls soccer team. For the first time since meeting David Baker, she began to wonder whether they occupied the same planet.

  "I'm envious," Margaret said. "I played baseball with boys at the orphanage, but I never had a chance to play anything in school. We don't have girls sports here."

  "Are you kidding?" David asked.

  "I don't kid about things like this. We don't have any girls sports programs. We don't even have intramurals like schools up north."

  "That's awful."

  "It's life in the South, Mr. Baker."

  "I guess."

  Margaret smiled.

  "Maybe you can demand change at the next school board meeting. I would love to see a rabble-rouser light a match under the fogies on the board."

  David chuckled.

  "I would love to see that too."

  "Does that mean you'll do it?" Margaret asked.

  David smiled.

  "Let me think about it."

  Margaret giggled. She could just picture a Yankee — or at least a California Yankee — demanding equality for women in a room full of southern men. She pondered the possibilities for a moment and then looked again at David with wistful eyes.

  "Your schools sound very progressive."

  "They are," David said. He pushed away his plate. "They are for the most part."

  "I would love to see California someday," Margaret said. "I can't imagine what it's like. I've never seen a desert or a palm tree. I've never seen the ocean."

  "Then you need to travel more."

  "I plan to. I plan to do a lot of things when the war is over. In the meantime, I plan to enrich young minds and work in my garden. I neglected it most of last year."

  Claire looked at Margaret.

  "What do you grow?"

  "Mostly onions, turnips, and potatoes," Margaret said. "I like them because they don't require a lot of attention. This year I may try my hand at tomatoes."

  "Let me know when you start," Claire said. "I would love to help with your garden. I don't think the owner of our house would appreciate it if we dug up his backyard."

  Margaret laughed.

  "I imagine he wouldn't. Mr. Green is a first-rate curmudgeon. He would probably have a fit if you planted flowers in front. He's very fussy about his property."

  "So I hear," Claire said.

  "As for your offer of assistance, I would love to have your help," Margaret said. "I will probably start on the garden as soon as I fix a few things around the house."

  "What sorts of things need fixing?" Ron asked.

  Margaret smiled.

  "Yesterday it was a squeaky door. Today it's a faucet. Tomorrow I'll probably find a light that doesn't work. It never ends."

  "I hear you," Ron said. "Let me know if I can help."

  "I will."

  "I'm pretty handy around a house too," David said. "I've even done some plumbing. If you need help with your faucets, just say the word."

  "OK. Give me the weekend to go through my house and see what all needs fixing. I'll draw up a list. That way I can determine which things need immediate attention and which things don't. I don't want to waste your valuable time."

  David chuckled.

  "You won't be. Trust me."

  "I appreciate that," Margaret said. She turned to Ron and Claire. "I appreciate all of your offers to help. It's not like I have Tom around to help me."

  "Who's Tom?" Claire asked.

  Margaret knew she had stepped in it the second she saw heads turn and jaws drop. She had not told David something very important on Sunday.

  "I'm sorry. I should have said something earlier. Tom is Tom Pennington. He's a Navy lieutenant stationed on Guam," Margaret said. She looked at Claire, Ron, and finally David. "He's my fiancé."

  CHAPTER 15: DAVID

  Monday, April 9, 1945

  David went through the rooms like a man possessed. He shook sheets, opened drawers, moved furniture, and inspected every nook and cranny. He did anything and everything to find a gypsum crystal he had promised he would not lose.

  "I had one job — one simple, easy job — and I couldn't do it."

  "Is it possible you left it in the car?" Claire asked.

  "No," David said. "It's not. I haven't been in the car since Friday."

  "So? That doesn't mean anything."

  "Yes, Claire, it does. I had the rock in my possession Saturday night. I remember feeling it in my jacket pocket as I walked to the store to get ice cream. I remember thinking I had to put it in a safe-deposit box as soon as possible."

  David walked past his sister, who stood in the middle of the living room, and sat down on a gray corduroy sofa. He stared blankly at a wall and then buried his face in his hands.

  "Where's your jacket?" Claire asked.

  David lifted his head.

  "It's in the hallway closet. I've already gone through it."

  Claire frowned, stepped to a large window, and gazed at the front yard and the street beyond. Then she turned around, walked to the hallway closet, and went through two jackets. She pulled one of the jackets from a hanger and returned to the living room.

  "I think I've identified the problem," Claire said.

  "What's that?" David asked.

  Claire turned the jacket inside out and stepped closer to the couch. Then she stuck her hand in one of the jacket's side pockets and poked a finger through a hole.

  "Where did you go again?"

  "I went to the grocery on Fortieth Street," David said. "I walked stra
ight to the store, bought the ice cream, and came right back."

  "So what you're saying is that the crystal, our ticket to an early trip home, could be lying on the ground anywhere between here and Tanner's Grocery."

  "That's exactly what I'm saying."

  "Then let's walk to store. Let's retrace your route," Claire said. "Maybe we can find the rock before Ron returns from his errands."

  "That would be nice."

  "Let's go then. Let's go before it gets dark."

  "Give me a minute," David said. He leaned back and placed his hands on the sofa. "I need a minute to fully assess my neglect and stupidity."

  Claire draped the jacket over one end of the couch and then sat next to her brother. She placed her hand on his knee, paused for a minute, and turned to face him.

  "It's not the end of the world. Even if we can't find the crystal, we have options. We can try to contact Geoffrey and Jeanette on their trip or meet them, as planned, when they return to Los Angeles. They know where to find us. They will know if there's a problem. They will not return to the future without us. Trust me."

  "I know," David said. "I still feel like a dunce. I have to be the worst trip manager on the planet. Or at least the most neglectful."

  "You lost a rock, David — a rock. There are worse things one can lose."

  David sat up and looked at his sister. He could not believe that so much love and understanding could be packed into such a tiny frame.

  "You're amazing."

  Claire sighed.

  "I'm not amazing. I'm just a person who sees things differently than you do. It's easy to cope with small challenges when you've had to cope with big ones."

  "You're still amazing in my book," David said. He threw his arm around Claire and pulled her close. "You're the most amazing person I know."

  Claire smiled.

  "Does that include our lovely neighbor?"

  David forced a smile.

  "Yes. That includes our lovely neighbor."

  Claire tilted her head and studied her brother's face.

  "You're still thinking about her, aren't you?"

  David pulled his arm from around Claire's shoulders, brought his hands together on his lap, and turned to face his sibling. He saw a troubling mix of amusement, judgment, and concern in her eyes.