The Legend of James Grey

by Jennifer Moorman

  The musical stage and the dance floor would be set up during lunchtime, and the performers would sound check right afterward. He spread out three maps on the desk.

  “Here’s a layout of where everyone will be in the library. Here’s where they’ll be on the lawn, and this last map is of the park down the street. The numbers on each map coordinate with a group or vendor, so it’s easy to know where everyone will set up. Here’s a list of the volunteers, so we should have plenty of help. Morty sent all of this information out to the vendors, performers, and volunteers a month ago. He’s made it nearly impossible for us to fail. His organization of this event is unreal.”

  Emma felt grateful for Morty’s meticulous approach to the festival. He’d spent years perfecting every aspect of it, and having served in the military when he was younger, he had a special place in his heart for service members. He loved honoring them with a festival that helped people understand and remember what soldiers—past and present—did for the country.

  Emma glanced over the list of volunteers’ names. “Do you think he took into account what to do in the event of a pirate crashing the festival?”

  James leaned back in the chair and folded his hands behind his head. “Crusoe didn’t see or hear from Hook all night or this morning. He’s on high alert, so for now, the best we can do is not focus on him. Also Darcy and Crusoe said they’d help keep an eye out for him during the festival.”

  “Aren’t you the least bit concerned that Hook’s roaming around here somewhere, stalking you, plotting your doom?” she asked.

  “We have enough to be concerned with,” James said. “I said I’ll take care of it, and I will. You need to focus on keeping this operation running smoothly. Morty’s done ninety percent of the work for us. Now all we have to do is direct people where to go.” He stood and stretched before looping his arms around her waist. “I’m also hoping we can enjoy the festival some too. I read the bio on The Ink Blots, a group that plays my kind of music—1940s big band. I’m hoping to spin you around a few times on the dance floor.”

  Emma snorted. “I don’t dance.”

  “Not even with me?”

  “James,” she said, glancing away from his intense gaze, “I don’t know the first thing about dancing. I’d be an embarrassment.”

  “You are incapable of being an embarrassment in my eyes. Plus, I can teach you.” He leaned down and kissed the side of her neck.

  “Are you planning on teaching me everything?” she said, smiling and closing her eyes.

  “Not everything,” he said against her neck. “Some things you already do quite well.” Then he kissed her lips.

  By lunchtime the library and the grounds were full of activity. The local tent rental company sent workers just after the library opened, and they busied themselves setting up the ten-by-ten tents for all of the outdoor vendors. Tables and chairs were placed inside the tents, and vendors arrived to decorate and organize their spaces. Generators were brought out, and outdoor extension cords were connected to allow for some of the vendors to have the electricity they required.

  Once the musical stage was erected, the different groups and performers went through a sound check, and Emma lingered on the back steps of the library and listened through a few songs. The intense heat caused the people to sweat straight through their summer clothes and gulp bottles of lukewarm water. They walked around fanning their faces, swirling around the soupy hot air. Cardinals chirped wearily from the shade of the oak tree. No clouds marred the perfect, bright-blue sky, as it stretched over Mystic Water.

  Emma lifted the sleeve of her T-shirt and swiped it across her face. At least the heat had dried up most of the sogginess left over from the rainstorm. The lawn still sunk down in places, and a few stubborn puddles of water remained, but Emma bet that by the late afternoon the whole place would be dry and thirsty.

  Inside the library volunteers bustled around, and Vicki hurried through the foyer with a clipboard in her hands. She pointed toward the children’s section.

  “Puppet show booth is that way. Number fifteen,” Vicki said to a woman whose arms were full of limp, cloth puppets. “There’s an open area right beside your table for you to set up your backdrops and props.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said as she waddled away.

  “Everything under control?” Emma asked.

  Vicki spun on her heel and pressed the clipboard to her chest. Her round cheeks were flushed, and her dark curls were exceptionally unruly because of the humidity. “I’d say in the absence of our ringleader, we are holding this circus in check.”

  “Hungry?” Emma asked. “I thought I’d run out and grab lunch for us.”

  Vicki’s shoulders relaxed. “Famished. Where are you going? Cavelli’s?”

  Emma nodded. “And I’ll swing by Scooper’s and grab a few ice creams for dessert. I think we deserve a cool treat. What would you like?”

  Vicki gave Emma her order, and then Emma wandered through the first floor of the library, looking for James. She found him talking to an older man who was setting out stacks of books on his table. As Emma approached the table, she saw that the same author—probably the older man—had written all the books, which appeared to be historical fiction novels about World War II.

  Before she interrupted them, Emma listened to their conversation as James discussed historical facts about the Battle of the Bulge. She wondered how strange it must be for James to discuss a war that he’d been part of but couldn’t act as though he had. Did it stir up difficult memories? Could he picture the faces of the other soldiers? Did he feel like a man out of time? Soon he would be out of time, and he would be leaving her. She felt the impulse to close herself off, to shut a door before she allowed herself to be hurt again. Was it too late for her anyway?

  James turned then and looked at her. A slow smile stretched across his face, and his hazel eyes looked at her as though she was the best thing he’d seen all day. The fear that caused her to want to shut herself off from him halted. Instead, she felt herself opening the door wider, ushering him inside.

  “Hey, Emma,” he said. “This is Edward Yates. He’s a local author. His passion is World War II history.”

  Emma walked over, shook Edward’s hand, and introduced herself. She told him to let her know if he needed anything or had any questions regarding the festival, and she thanked him for supporting the event. Then she excused herself and pulled James away.

  “Is that weird? Talking about the war?” she asked. “Are you okay with that?”

  James glanced back at Edward, who was arranging his books. “It’s strange, but there’s a part of me that’s thankful for men like Edward who are still interested enough in sharing our history with others so that we’re not forgotten.”

  “I don’t know how anyone could forget you,” she mumbled.

  James tucked her hair behind her ear. “How’re you holding up? From what I can tell, the setup is running smoothly, if you don’t take into consideration that Mary Norman and Olivia Olsteen are childhood enemies and can’t be in booths next to each other or else the world will end.”

  Emma rolled her eyes. “What is up with those two? Mrs. Norman glared so hard at Mrs. Olsteen that I felt sure she would burn holes straight through her body. Can you imagine what happened that would cause them to remain enemies for the past forty years? What kind of infraction can you commit as a six-year-old?”

  “Buzz around the booths is that best friends Mary and Olivia went out for the same part in the first grade play—Kermit the frog singing the ‘Rainbow Connection’—and Olivia snuck peanuts into Mary’s sandwich the day of auditions. Mary is allergic to peanuts, so her throat closed, and her face swelled to the size of the Goodyear blimp. Olivia got the part and went on to win the heart of the boy playing the part of Johnny Appleseed, Mary’s crush.”

  Emma narrowed her gaze. “That’s elaborate for a six-year-old. Are you making that up?”

  James held up a three-fingered salute. “Scout’s
honor.”

  She glanced up into his eyes and smiled. “Good thing you were quick to move them to opposite sides of the lawn then. I’d hate for the world to end before you take me for a few spins on the dance floor tomorrow.” Emma walked to the circulation desk and grabbed her purse as James followed. “I’m going to the deli to grab lunch. Can I bring something back for you?”

  “Could I walk with you? Or would that be breaking the rules too much?”

  Emma glanced toward the library’s front doors. In the past forty-eight hours, Emma felt as though they’d been breaking all kinds of rules, especially the ones she’d set for herself after Thomas left. “Because you’d be leaving the library? Technically, you left last night.”

  “Only to Morty’s cottage. But I’ve never been into town. Morty forbids us leaving the library. He’s let me outside a few times but not off the grounds.” He glanced down at his army attire. “Since the festival is tomorrow, I doubt anyone will think much about what I’m wearing. It’s the one time I fit in.”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t see why it would matter. I can’t imagine it would upset Morty more than knowing that a drunken Hook tried to lure a book club member into his captain’s quarters.”

  Emma pushed open the library’s front doors and nearly ran into Dana Duncan. She had a canvas bag slung over her shoulder and wore a ball cap emblazoned with a local little league team on her head. Her dark hair was pulled through the back of the cap and tied in a low ponytail.

  “Dana,” Emma said as she stepped out of the way, “I’m sorry.”

  Dana smiled. “That’s okay. Looks like you’re swamped with festival preparations. I’m looking forward to it tomorrow. Morty always does the best job with it. I’ve come to return the books I checked out about Red River Hill, and I hoped I could talk with Morty about it. Do you think he’d have a few minutes to spare? I’m sure he’s busy today, but it wouldn’t take long.”

  Emma’s shoulders sagged. “Morty isn’t here today.” When Dana’s smile slipped right off her face, Emma added, “But if he were, he would definitely take the time to talk with you. He suffered a heart attack Thursday night, and he’s still in the hospital recovering.”

  Dana gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Her blue eyes were wide over the tops of her fingers. When she lowered her hands, her bottom lip trembled for a moment. “Is he going to be okay?”

  Emma nodded. “He promised me that he’ll be right as rain ASAP. He’s already feeling better, but it’s customary to keep a heart attack patient in the hospital for at least a few days. The doctor said that Morty should be home by next Thursday. Morty’s hoping for sooner.”

  Dana gripped the straps of her canvas bag with both hands. “Can he have visitors?”

  “Yes,” Emma said.

  Words eased out of Dana’s bag and lifted into the air. Comfort. Chances. Kindness.

  “Does he need anything? Could I bring him something?” she asked.

  Emma nodded. “He’s probably suffering a little on the hospital food diet, but he loves white chocolate macadamia nut cookies. I bet if you smuggled in a few of those, you’d win his heart forever.”

  A beautiful, hopeful smile lifted Dana’s cheeks, and Emma was struck by how lovely she was. Dana would never be described as dainty or frilly like some women. She was capable and sturdy and strong—and she seemed like a perfect fit for Morty.

  Her blue eyes sparkled. “I happen to have a wonderful recipe for white chocolate macadamia nut cookies given to me by my grandma.” She reached into her bag and pulled out two library books. “I’ll just drop these off and scurry back home. I have baking to do.”

  As Dana said good-bye and disappeared into the crowded library, Emma and James headed down the concrete stairs that led to the sidewalk.

  “Morty is going to be beside himself when she shows up. He’ll freak out at first and he might even babble, but then she’ll distract him with the cookies, and before he realizes what’s happening, they’ll be having a normal conversation.”

  James slipped his hand into Emma’s as they walked up the street. Waves of heat rippled up from the black pavement, blurring the edges of everything, giving the town a magical appearance like something pulled from a summer dream.

  “What’s Mystic Water like in your time?” Emma asked as she led them toward Cavelli’s Deli. “Does the downtown area look at lot different?”

  James nodded. “The basic outline is the same, with the same streets, but there are more buildings downtown now. I remember how it looks for me, but because Morty has shown me pictures of the town through the years, there are all of these layers in my mind too.”

  As they walked, he described the storefronts that were the same and which businesses had occupied the buildings when he was younger. He pointed out places where he used to visit with his parents and where he and his friends had hung out on the weekends. Scooper’s Ice Cream Parlor hadn’t changed drastically through the years, but it had originally been a soda fountain where James had tasted his first root beer float.

  For fifteen solid minutes of walking and talking, Emma forgot to worry or to feel anxious or to doubt herself or a man’s intentions. She enjoyed the present, being there with James and not concerning herself with anything else—not her past and not her future. It wasn’t until James said, “I could do this forever. Walk with you on a street that never ends, talking, learning, smiling,” that her fears returned.

  She slipped her hand out of James’ as they stepped beneath an awning that provided a rectangle of shade on the sidewalk.

  “It’s not possible to do this forever. It would end. Everything does.”

  James looked at her without speaking, and she squirmed beneath his gaze before staring down the street at the vendors setting up in the park.

  “It takes the same amount of energy to send out hope and love and to have faith as it does to be negative. And if my opinion counts, I think it takes more energy and is more exhausting being negative. Aren’t you tired, Emma? Carrying around all of that sadness and fear? It’s not protecting you from the world. It’s killing your heart, which the world needs.” James reached out for her hand. “Don’t you know how much the world needs your heart?”

  Emma made a scoffing sound in her throat, but she didn’t pull away from him. “You’ll be gone in days, James. That is what I know. And I’ll be here without you.”

  James pulled her closer to him and pressed his hand to her heart. “You will never be without me. I will carry you in my heart for the rest of my days.”

  Emma didn’t want to argue, but she couldn’t help but think that James’ days were over, had been for more than seventy years. Yet he was standing there with her, against impossible odds, looking at her like he sincerely cared about her. She exhaled a sigh so heavy that a wave of heat pushed across the street.

  “I wish I had your optimism,” she said.

  “You can. I have plenty to share. I’ve also heard it’s contagious.” Then he led her up the street toward the deli while she trailed along beside him, watching words ripple across the sidewalk. Be present. Forever and ever. Love fully.

  As the afternoon passed and the sun eased down behind the pine trees, the sky filled with brilliant swirls the colors of orange Push-Up pops and strawberry sherbet. The vendors loaded their empty boxes and crates into cars and trailers and drove away until tomorrow. A team of Mystic Water policemen would take shifts guarding the grounds and the park down the street, but Emma doubted there would be anyone who would try and destroy what had been set up. She imagined a few curious teenagers sneaking around corners and leaping from tent to tent in the late-evening shadows, but the town loved the festival, and the air buzzed with their excitement and anticipation.

  After sandwiches and ice cream, Emma had been so busy flitting around the grounds and the library that she hadn’t had much time to dwell on James’ words about hope and negativity or on her fears and the idea that the world needed her heart. Would the world settle for a wim
py, undeserving version of the one she used to have? Surely not. But maybe that was her problem: thinking her heart was weak and pathetic, thinking that she didn’t deserve anything other than what she’d ended up with. Could she really open herself back up again? Hadn’t she already started opening up with James?

  The last of the vendors trickled out of the library, along with the volunteers, and the quiet that settled over the building slowed Emma’s mind and body. She sat on the edge of a study table and exhaled an easy, relieved breath. So far, so good, she thought. She—with a truckload of helpers—might actually pull off the festival without it being a complete disaster. Just as she was on the verge of letting her thoughts drift back to James and what he’d said to her, a shadow lengthened across the floor in front of her. Emma turned her head just in time to see a flash of silver and black as she was snatched from the table.

  She gasped and stumbled sideways as someone crushed her into clothes that stunk of rum. She half-dangled in the man’s grasp, her feet dragging behind her.

  “I thought you had better taste, love. Choosing that soldier over me? Repulsive,” Hook said, pulling her so tightly against him that she felt as though he might leave behind a bruise on her side—a long, discolored slash like one caused by a seatbelt after a car wreck.

  Emma fought against him, kicked her legs, and struggled to stand on her feet. The pirate’s silver hook scraped down her arm, and she inhaled sharply. Her arm burned as though she’d leaned up against a metal pole in the summertime. One glance at her exposed skin revealed a line of blood already rising to the surface through the slice.