“That’s okay. I was finished.”
“Do you read by the lake often?” He edged closer.
“When the weather is nice. I only live a block away.”
As if drawn by an invisible magnet, he stepped off the path onto the grass. “Since I’m not interrupting, do you mind if I sit?”
She fanned the Bible’s pages with her thumb. He should continue on to the building site. After all, that was where he was headed, and she appeared to want privacy.
“Mr. Wallace, I thought you wanted to sit.”
Her comment jolted him to attention. “I do. But only for a moment.” He settled next to her and clasped his hands. The Bible sat in her lap, unopened. “What’s God saying to you? Anything good?”
Miss Alden shrugged. “It’s called the Good Book, isn’t it?”
She stared at the lake, giving him opportunity to take in her profile. Upturned lashes, creamy skin, cherry-red lips…
“With this warm breeze, the ice should be out by tomorrow.” She suddenly faced him.
He jerked his eyes away as if to study the thinning ice. He had to, or else drown in those golden-brown eyes. “It already is, by my place.”
“I suppose from your home you have a good view of the water without having to go outside.”
“I can’t argue there.” He looked at her. “Have you always lived in Lake Geneva?”
“Other than two and a half years at Ripon College, yes.”
Jack leaned her direction. “What did you study?”
“Journalism.”
The guilt he’d managed to bottle and stuff away reappeared, pressing against his rib cage. “So you transferred elsewhere?”
She shook her head. “Because of the depression, I had to come home.” Her eyes grew cold despite her smile. “My contribution to easing the economic crisis. But God was good, and I found a job at the News-Trib.”
And I just took away your chance to move up.
“Do you have the time?”
He pulled out his watch. “Two thirty.”
“I didn’t realize it was so late.” She gathered her Bible and stood. “See you tomorrow.”
He pushed to his feet, not ready to be alone again. “Let me walk with you.”
“Not necessary. It’s only a block.” She took off down the path with determined steps.
He caught up to her. “Dad taught me to never let a lady walk home alone.”
Meg pressed her lips together to stop the rejoinder on her tongue. The man was persistent. “Really, it’s only a block away. I came here alone. I’m fine.”
“What you did before I arrived can’t be helped. But now that I know you’re walking home by yourself, it’s the right thing to do.”
He continued in step beside her. They approached Lake Geneva Ice Company, shut down until next winter’s harvest of ice blocks could be cut from the lake. Meg turned up the path that wound through the trees toward Main Street. He came with her.
She stifled a sigh as her traitorous heart leaped in glee.
“A merry heart doeth good like a medicine.”
She inwardly groaned at the verse from Proverbs. Not so good if she stared too long into those startling eyes so blue they rivaled her mother’s morning glories. It was only a block’s walk, and then he’d be out of her life until tomorrow.
“I presume by your Bible reading that you attended church today.”
She gave him a sideways glance. “Yes. And you?”
“No. I went to church as a child, but once I escaped the clutches of my parents, I never felt the need.”
They came to Main Street and waited for several vehicles to pass.
Meg cast about for something to say. “Where did you attend college?”
“University of Missouri. Dad encouraged me to apply to Yale, his alma mater, but I wanted a good journalism school.” They crossed the road, Mr. Wallace keeping a respectful distance between them. She knew all about the University of Missouri—ahead of its time in journalism. She didn’t dare suggest a school so far away. Even Mom hadn’t been favorable to Northwestern. “Sounds like you won the battle I couldn’t win.”
They headed up Warren Street until they reached the end of the block. Meg pointed at the white two-story house she’d called home for as long as she could remember. “We have to cross here. I live over there on the corner. Or we can say good-bye right here.”
Mr. Wallace’s eyes danced with mischief. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re afraid your family will see the riffraff you brought home.” He shot her a crooked grin. “I’m a gentleman, remember? Always see to it that a lady gets home safe.”
Meg worked to stifle a grin without success. “Your dad must be quite the man. Your mother is a lucky lady.”
His mouth twisted as though fighting a grimace. “Yes. She is.”
She frowned as they crossed the street. Perhaps things weren’t so hunky-dory in the lakeshore crowd.
On her front stoop, Meg paused beside a stone pot that awaited its summer crown of red geraniums. She tipped her head and sank hopelessly into the sway of his gaze. “Thanks for escorting me home. I’ll see you—”
The door swung open, and Mom stuck her head out. “There you are, Meg. I need your help with dinner.” Her eyes rounded as she noted Mr. Wallace. “Oh. I didn’t realize you had someone with you.”
“Mom, this is Jack Wallace, the new reporter at the paper. We bumped into each other at the park, and he walked me home.”
Mr. Wallace gripped the brim of his fedora. “Mrs. Alden, it’s a pleasure. Now I’ll leave you ladies to your meal preparation and be on my way.”
Mom slipped through the slightly open door, her apron bow catching on the knob. She backstepped and pulled it free. “Mr. Wallace, if you haven’t yet eaten, you’re welcome to join us.”
Meg stared at her mother. “I’m sure his cook has already prepared his meal.”
Mr. Wallace gave her a quizzical look. “As a matter of fact, other than a couple eggs I fried up this morning, I haven’t eaten.” He sniffed the air. “And if what I smell is any indication of what you’re fixing, I’d be pleased to stay.”
Reconciled to her mother’s belief that the family table was always open to unexpected guests, Meg led him inside and left him with her father in the living room while she hurried down the center hallway to the kitchen.
Meg tied an apron around her waist, then lifted the potatoes from the stove and drained the hot water into the sink. After slamming the pot onto the kitchen table, she went to a drawer and yanked out a can opener, an eggbeater, and a small strainer, tossing them onto the counter one by one. Voices drifted in from the living room as Jack related a story to Dad about working for Senator Glenn.
“Goodness, Meg, who got your pantaloons in a knot?” Mom picked up a platter heavy with beef roast.
Meg grabbed the potato masher then returned the other items to the drawer and banged it closed. “I wish you’d have asked me before inviting him to dinner.”
Her mother disappeared with the roast through the swinging door to the dining room.
A second later, the door flew open and Mom stepped back into the kitchen. “You’ve never objected before when I’ve invited your friends to eat with us. I just assumed he was alone. No one should be without company for Sunday dinner.”
Meg took milk from the icebox along with the butter dish and set them next to the pot. “He’s hardly alone. He has his servants.”
“Servants?”
“Couldn’t you tell by his cashmere coat and sweater vest? He lives on the lakeshore in one of those mansions.”
“Meg, I’m surprised at you. You’ve never shunned anyone because of his status. Even well-to-do people can be lonely. Maybe more so than those who have less.” Mom picked up a plate and silverware. “I’ll put this extra setting on the table.”
After her mother left, Meg added milk and a large pat of butter to the potatoes before grabbing the masher and pushing it into the steaming pot.
Mr. Wallace, lonely? Not possible. She drew out the masher and attacked another area. With servants around, how could he be?
She flicked another pat of butter into the pot. He did say he’d made his own breakfast that morning. Maybe the cook took Sundays off. She gave the masher a couple more thrusts as her mom’s last words seeped into her heart. She’d let the man get under her skin all because of a job she stood little chance of getting anyway. Having Mr. Wallace to dinner didn’t mean she had to be his best friend.
“How are the potatoes coming?” Mom picked up a bowl of green beans.
Meg lifted the pot and scraped the contents into a serving bowl. “Guess you can call everyone.”
She arrived at the table as Mom was instructing people where to sit. “I put you and Meg over here, Jack. Laura will be on the other side.” She peered in the direction of the stairs. “Louis, did you call Laura?”
“Yes. Twice. She’s probably got her nose in a book.”
Mom looked at Meg. “Sweetie, would you mind?”
Meg nodded as the sound of footfalls tumbling down the stairs came from the hallway. Laura bounded into the room. “Sorry I’m late. I wanted to reread Romeo and Juliet and make sure I didn’t miss anything the—” Laura stopped and flashed Mr. Wallace a smile. “I didn’t realize we had company. Hello, Mr.…”
“Wallace. Jack Wallace. I work at the paper with M—your sister.”
Laura gave Meg a knowing look. “Keeping secrets from me, big sister?”
Meg’s face warmed. “No secrets. Mr. Wallace only started this past week.”
Laura returned her attention to their guest. “Well, I’m glad to know about you now, Jack. Welcome.” She slid onto her chair.
“Thank you. You’ll have to tell me later what you’re learning from Romeo and Juliet.”
Meg flashed a pointed stare at Laura then sat.
“Now that we’re all here, let’s say the blessing.” Dad took Meg’s left hand.
She reached across the table with her right then shrank back. Already her mother had grasped Mr. Wallace’s other hand. They were waiting on her. She touched the tips of his fingers, and he gripped her hand. An electric-like charge zinged up her arm, and she wanted to yank her hand back. The tingles reached her stomach, and she felt like she was about to swoon. How could she have such a reaction to a man she disliked?
“…for these blessings, we thank You, Lord. In Your Son’s name we pray, amen.”
Mr. Wallace gave Meg’s fingers a little squeeze that almost sent her over the edge. She snapped her hand back as though it had been released from a trap. If Dad had said anything different in his routine guest prayer, she’d missed it.
The next several minutes were spent passing the roast, potatoes, and beans. Once plates were full, everyone dug in to the meal. Meg forked some green beans and lifted them to her mouth. Maybe they’d get through the dinner with Mr. Wallace leaving afterward. It could all be over in one tiny hour.
“So tell me, Jack, how is it you came to work at the News-Trib?” Mom cut her meat as she talked.
He wiped his mouth with his napkin. “My dad thought it would be good for me to work for a small-town weekly in preparation for taking over the family business. He and Oscar Zimmer are friends.”
“Your father is in the news biz?” Dad asked.
“You could say so.” Jack speared a piece of meat and shoved it into his mouth on top of the potatoes he’d just eaten. He reached for a slice of bread.
“What does he do, Jack? I’ve been fascinated with the newspaper business ever since Meg started working at the News-Trib.” Laura kept her eyes on Mr. Wallace as if he were the only person in the room.
Dad pinned a stare on Laura, his mustache twitching. “Mr. Wallace to you, young lady.”
Mr. Wallace’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “He…owns a…paper.”
Dad leaned in. “What paper?”
“The…Chicago Beacon.”
Meg gripped the sides of her chair and squeezed. Her stomach burned hot.
The man was a charlatan, plain and simple. And Mr. Zimmer had gone along with it. She had no future in Lake Geneva if she wanted more than reporting on garden-club doings. As soon as Mr. Wallace took his leave, she’d have to convince her father that Northwestern was the right school for her.
“That’s why Wallace sounded so familiar.” Dad’s voice broke into her thoughts. “I met your father at the country club last year. Nice fella. Didn’t he say you have a house over in the Elgin Club?”
Mr. Wallace nodded. “That’s where I’m staying.” He cast a glance at Meg. “Alone. No servants.”
By the time Mom took the dishes into the kitchen, Meg had managed to rearrange the food on her plate to appear as if she’d eaten most of it. Everyone was so caught up in Jack’s story about the time his father had interviewed President Coolidge that no one noticed she wasn’t eating. When Mom returned with spice cake on a glass platter, Meg declined a piece, saying she was full.
Over the next half hour, Mr. Wallace’s stories continued to captivate everyone as they ate cake and sipped coffee. How could they be so mesmerized by the pretender? Only when Dad urged Laura upstairs to study, along with the command to take the books she’d left on the steps, did the conversation break up.
Meg stood. “Mom, you and Dad go relax. I’ll do the dishes.” She faced Mr. Wallace. “Please don’t feel that you need to stay. Weren’t you on your way to see the new building?”
He nodded. “I was, but I’m enjoying the company here.” His face brightened. “Unless you want to come with me.”
Meg gathered the water glasses. A walk to the new building she always enjoyed, but never with him. “I already promised I’d do the dishes.”
“Nonsense. You can help with those any other day.” Mom pried the glasses out of Meg’s hands. “What better person to show off the building than you? You haven’t missed the addition of a brick since they laid the foundation.” She stepped through the kitchen door.
Dad ran his thumbs up and down his suspenders. “Good idea. Show Jack around. Make sure he writes up a good story.”
“My car is parked on Main near the library. I’ll drive you back.”
Mom came from the hall and handed Meg her wool coat. “Take this. Temperatures drop fast this time of year once the sun goes down.”
Before Meg could protest, Mr. Wallace took the coat and draped it over his arm, along with his overcoat.
He held the door as she traipsed outside. As soon as they got to the building, she’d insist he bring her home. She’d be back in less than an hour.
Chapter Six
A few minutes later, they crossed Main Street and headed down the same path they’d traveled earlier. Meg kept her arms folded across her chest, her mouth clamped shut against the words she itched to say. It appeared he’d run out of words himself. Fine with her.
They reached the two-story frame house that served as the town’s library, and he glanced over. “Do you like to read for pleasure?”
“Yes. I was on the wait-list at the library for Magnificent Obsession. It was worth the wait.”
“I liked it too, but I enjoyed Maid in Waiting more. It’s a bit older, but I’m just catching up on my reading since returning to Chicago.”
Meg stared at him. A man who took pleasure in a good story as much as she did was a rarity. Getting news over the Teletype at work, she had no desire to listen to the radio in the evening, instead devouring almost every novel the library acquired, using the time to build up her ability to read faster. A vision popped into her thoughts of her and Jack sitting in front of a roaring fire, both reading, and she mentally recoiled from the image.
“Did you attend last fall’s informal opening of the ballroom?” Mr. Wallace asked.
“Oh, yes. We had to walk over planks to get inside and the woodwork still needed painting, but it was a lot of fun.” She picked up her pace, her excitement mounting as it always did when she neared the construction site.
“Te
ll me about the building this one replaced.”
Bad memories of last summer’s final dance crowded out her enthusiasm, and she slowed her pace. Matthew’s coming for the weekend let her think he planned to ask Dad for her hand. Instead, he picked the middle of the Northport’s dance floor to tell her he’d fallen in love with someone else.
“It was a sorry place by the time they tore it down,” she said, “with pathetic changing rooms and a minuscule dance floor. I’ll miss the water slide, though. It stood near where the west terrace is now.”
“You go to many of the dances?”
Her breath hitched. “Some.”
“I’ll bet you turned some heads. Let’s have a closer look.”
He thought her attractive? She lifted her face to the sun and let his words seep in. Words he probably said to all women. She shook off the euphoric feeling. Other women might fall under this man’s spell, but not her.
They headed down a freshly laid cement walk to the building’s front staircases that circled up to the ballroom’s entrance from either side. Jack grinned. “Think we can peek in?”
Meg laughed. “Sure. Why not? Race you to the top.” She scrambled up the stairs as fast as her heels would allow. Jack passed her, taking two steps at a time, then waited at the top, his arms akimbo.
“I’d have beaten you if I had flat shoes like yours.” She cupped her hands around her eyes and looked through the glass. She let out a gasp and bounced on her toes. “The sunlight is shining off the mirror ball, making it look like a fairyland. Jack, you’ve got to see this.”
He peeked through the window next to hers and let out a low whistle. “I didn’t expect the ballroom to be this beautiful. They’ve put a lot of work into this place.”
“Gloria’s husband told me about the touch-ups they’ve made over the winter, but seeing it in person is so much better.”
“Isn’t he the worker you said inspired your article?”
An ache pressed against Meg’s heart, and she stood back. Why did he have to bring the article up now? “Yes.”
He straightened and caught her gaze. “So what did he say?”
“It’s not important. Let’s go around to the lake.” She started down the stairs.
Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin Page 5