Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin

by Pamela S. Meyers

  The girl opened her mouth as if to say something but then shut it. She glanced out the window. “Are you walking to church?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “It looks like rain. If you wait until my father comes, we can give you a ride.”

  Meg stepped to the window. A thin layer of haze covered what had been blue sky earlier. “I don’t see any dark clouds.”

  “Over toward the west it looks threatening.”

  Meg forced a smile. “I won’t melt.”

  When Meg walked up to the church, Mom and Laura were waiting at the door, Mom in a dark skirt and white blouse and Laura in a brown dress.

  Her mother glanced around. “I thought Jack might be with you.”

  “He’s still working. Let’s go in.”

  Mom gave her a curious look but fell in step behind Laura. Meg followed and settled next to her mother. She opened her Bible then twisted around. Her gaze found Jack sitting several rows back. Their gazes locked, and he scowled.

  She turned away. The rat must have taken a longer route to avoid her. Maybe Fred was baiting her, but what if he wasn’t and she missed out on hearing the truth? The organist began the prelude, and she bowed her head.

  Lord, please show me whether I should leave or stay.

  Dad arrived as the congregation was standing to sing the first hymn. Before he could step in, Meg slipped into the aisle and gestured for him to sit next to Mom. He gave her a puzzled look but followed her lead.

  Three hymns, a short meditation, and two more hymns later, Meg gathered her purse. If God had responded to her earlier prayer, He must have spoken so softly she didn’t hear it. She nudged Dad. “I need to leave. I’ll see you at home.”

  His brows knit together as the lines around his mouth creased. “Are you sick?”

  She shook her head and hurried down the aisle, her eyes focused straight ahead. With one look at Jack, her legs might give out before she could reach the double doors that opened into the narthex. Meg slipped inside and let the door close softly. No one had followed. Tamping down hurt feelings, she opened the church’s outside door, peeked out, and shut it before the rain could blow in. Emily should take up weather forecasting. Now what?

  Voices drifted in from the sanctuary and heaviness settled over her shoulders. The congregation was reading the crucifixion scene in unison. Words she almost knew by heart. Should she slip back inside? But if she learned the truth from Fred and it didn’t implicate her father, she could clear his name.

  The Lost and Found box caught her attention. She spotted a black umbrella and dashed over to grab it.

  Meg tossed the inside-out umbrella into a park trash can. A wind gust had taken it out back at the school yard. She hunched over, praying that her spring coat had kept her cast dry. She glanced over at the whitecaps on the lake then toward the far end of the park. The Three Graces statue beckoned, looking as cold and alone as Meg felt. Did Fred wait on the other side? Or was he sitting in that truck parked farther down? She placed her foot on the grass, and her right heel sank into the ground. She tugged it back out, drew in a breath, and took another step, careful to land on the ball of her foot. Icy water seeped into her shoe.

  Meg continued across the grass, making sure to step on the balls of her feet. She slogged onto the cement apron that surrounded the three toga-clad stone ladies then pushed her water-soaked hair out of her eyes and surveyed her surroundings. Not a squirrel in sight, or a bird. Even the parked truck was gone. Well, she’d find a spot out of the wind and wait.

  She rounded the base to the second of its three sides and stopped to read the words etched into the stone: In Memory of Good Friends at Lake Geneva. She continued to the third side, where a list of women’s names had been carved into the base. How had she forgotten that the statue had been donated in celebration of women being granted the right to vote? Those women, long deceased, had been part of the suffrage movement. Meg ran her fingertips over the names and whispered, “Thank you.” If they could succeed with the right to vote, surely she could do her part for journalism.

  She lifted her gaze to the three sculptured ladies, ignoring the pounding rain slapping her face. “I’m afraid I lost this one, ladies. I guess Jack was right.”

  “Right about what?”

  Chapter Thirty

  Meg spun around and gasped. “What are you doing here?”

  “Looking for you.”

  Warmth washed over her, replacing the chill that had attached itself to her bones. Jack came for me. She drew in a breath, but it caught somewhere in her throat.

  His eyes twinkled as his smile lit up the gloom. “You’d better get under here before you get any wetter.”

  Meg scurried under his huge black umbrella and ran her gaze over his handsome face. “Why aren’t you in church?”

  “When the rain started pelting the windows like a tommy-gun attack, I decided I needed to find you.” His eyes softened. “Guess who I met at the door with the same intention?”

  “Who?”

  “Your father.”

  She figured looking for her was the last thing Dad would do. But then, she’d never expected Jack to come either. Especially after their argument.

  “I didn’t think it wise for your father to find you talking to Fred if he showed up. I told him I had a hunch where you’d gone, and he agreed that I should search for you.” He looked about. “Fred didn’t come?”

  She expelled a breath. “No. And don’t you dare say ‘I told you so.’”

  “It’s tempting, but I won’t.”

  He wrapped his arm around her and drew her against his chest. His citrusy scent tickled her nose, and his heart thumped beneath her ear, steady and strong. He’d come and nothing else mattered. Not Fred Newman. Not even that her hair must be frizzed into tiny coils.

  She nestled closer and shut her eyes. Would he have come looking for her if he didn’t care? But helping was part of his nature. She shouldn’t take it seriously.

  “I’m sorry I lost my temper this morning.”

  An apology? She snuggled closer and tipped her face up to meet Jack’s gaze. “I deserved it. You were right.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry for embarrassing you in front of Emily.”

  “And I shouldn’t have shouted back.”

  His lips spread into a crooked smile while he pushed a lock of damp hair off her face. “Do you know how irresistible you are, soaking wet?” He traced a finger around her mouth then lowered the umbrella until it enveloped them like a cocoon.

  “Not really.” She lifted her chin until she felt his mint-scented breath caressing her mouth. His lips brushed hers, and a surge of warmth spread through her body. She wrapped her free arm around him as their hungry mouths found each other. The kiss deepened, his lips so soft against hers. Tingles swirled in her stomach, the pitter-patter on the umbrella drowning out all sounds except her heart’s tattoo against her breastbone. How silly it was to fight.

  A sudden chill trailed down her back. She had to be careful. She broke the kiss and eased away. “I should get home and into dry clothes.”

  “I know, but it’s nice and dry under here. Let’s stay just a minute longer.” Jack looked at her through half-closed eyes. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for so long, Meg.” He kissed the tip of her nose then trailed kisses back to her mouth.

  She quivered as a tiny moan escaped her throat.

  He broke the kiss and held her tightly against his chest.

  She didn’t want to move, but what if Fred was standing there watching them? Or anyone, for that matter. She tilted her head back and whispered, “What if word gets out that we were necking in Flat Iron Park on Good Friday?” Using her thumb, she wiped a lipstick smudge from the corner of his mouth.

  His smile dissolved. “You’re right. Let’s get you home.”

  All at once, she didn’t want to say good-bye. “I’ll change and then you can bring me back to work.” She smoothed her wet jacket.

  “I told everyone not to bother
returning after three. I’ll go to the office and wait in case anyone comes or calls. Meanwhile, here’s one more for the road.” Like nails to a magnet their lips came together in one long, delicious kiss.

  A minute later, he took her arm and guided her across the grass toward his car. No need to worry about her heels sinking in, because she floated at least a foot off the ground.

  Meg sank into the lilac-scented bubbles. She’d squeezed out the last of her favorite bubble bath and intended to breathe in every bit of its soothing aroma.

  Resting her casted arm on top of the armrest Dad had built, she closed her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her lips. Less than an hour ago, Jack had pulled her under the umbrella and into the most romantic kiss imagined. Forget those dreamy movie scenes Helen always went on about. Her hero had come for her through the driving rain and then drawn her into his warm, dry cocoon and kissed her deeply. Giggling, she sank into the sudsy water, nearly dunking her casted arm.

  She reached for her washcloth then pressed the warm cloth to her lips, reaching to relive the first moment their lips met and all defenses drained out of her. Was she falling in love with Jack? Was he falling for her? She wanted to ask, but shouldn’t he be the one to say something first? By the time he walked her to the door and planted a soft kiss on her forehead, she’d come to her senses. She wasn’t his type, not like Ginny or any of those debutantes in Chicago. Maybe she was good for a fling while he bided his time in Lake Geneva, but not for life.

  A tap on the door broke into her thoughts. “Meg, it’s Mom. Can I come in?”

  The family was home. She braced herself for the barrage of questions. “Come in.”

  Mom stepped into the room and settled on the commode, smoothing her apron over her skirt. “Where did you go this afternoon?”

  “I had an appointment with a source.” Meg kept her eyes on a chipped wall tile straight ahead.

  “In the middle of Good Friday?”

  “The person doesn’t attend church. It was the only time he could meet.”

  “Where did you go?”

  “Flat Iron Park.”

  “In the pouring rain, without an umbrella. Meg, I—”

  She faced her mom, who sat stone still, her hands clasped in her lap. “I borrowed one from the Lost and Found at church, but the wind blew it inside out.”

  “Did you get the needed information?”

  Meg swished her free hand through the water. “He never showed.” She palmed tears out of her eyes, ignoring the sting from the bubbles. “The man made a mockery of me. I’m sorry for upsetting you.”

  “Am I allowed to ask who the source is?”

  Meg huffed, sending bubbles into the air. “Fred Newman.”

  Mom stiffened and crossed her arms. “I wouldn’t trust that snake farther than I could toss him.”

  A jolt coursed through Meg. Mom didn’t talk that way about anyone. “Why do you say that?”

  “I have my reasons.” The tautness left Mom’s face, and she let her hands slide into her lap. “Things aren’t always as they seem.” Her brown eyes searched Meg’s face. “Wanting to be a reporter is fine, but not when it obsesses you and tears your family apart.”

  Meg scooped up a handful of bubbles and studied them. “I planned on attending the whole service, but when he called this morning, I had to agree. I’m trying to clear Dad’s name, not besmirch it. I don’t know why, when it’s obvious Dad doesn’t care about what I want.”

  Mom’s jaw dropped. “Of course he cares about what you want. How can you say that?”

  She flicked a soap bubble into the air. “If he did, he wouldn’t try to block me from pursuing my dream, insisting that I work for him instead, doing something I detest.”

  Mom came to the side of the tub and fell to her knees. She wrapped her arms around Meg. “He’s always been awkward at showing his love for both you girls, but he was only trying to protect you. Don’t forget, he stopped insisting you work for him.”

  Meg gave in to her tears and let them come. “Protect me how?”

  Mom sat back, her long knit sleeves dripping water. “The night he said he wanted you to be his secretary, he told me he doesn’t want you to fail. Your father feels duty-bound to guard you from more disappointment. I tried to assure him that God is your Protector, but he said that as your father, it was his responsibility.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips. “So I interfered in a practical way by fixing the ketchup soup and getting my job at the library.”

  A lump rose in Meg’s throat. She’d been so immersed in her internal and outward battles with Dad, she’d not thought of how much Mom had sacrificed for her. “You’ve done a lot for me, and I’ve been unappreciative. Forgive me, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

  Mom squeezed the fingertips that poked out of Meg’s cast. “That’s what mothers do, dear daughter. You’ll learn that for yourself someday.”

  Meg huffed. “If I ever get married and have children.”

  “Oh you will. In fact, I would be surprised if Jack isn’t the man God has for you, and I will be very pleased if he is. He’s mature, considerate, kind, and he has a growing faith in God.”

  Meg stared at her mother. “Does he?”

  “Jack has gone to church every Sunday since he began joining us for services, even while running the paper. He’s still searching, but I have a feeling that God is going to take hold of his heart. And when He does, look out.”

  Meg had to agree, and warmth filled her stomach at the thought of Jack’s growing interest in God.

  She had to change the subject off Jack. “I still don’t understand why God isn’t answering my prayers about a reporting job.”

  Mom let out a loud breath. “Maybe it’s because you place conditions on your prayers, saying, ‘I’ll trust You, God, if You allow me to get a promotion.’”

  “There’s nothing to be promoted to.”

  “With his father in the sanitarium, I’m assuming Jack will move on to the Beacon when Oscar recovers. Then what will happen to his position?”

  Meg huffed. “I’ve been asking for a reporter position since long before Jack arrived. I thought God would change Mr. Zimmer’s mind like He changed Pharaoh’s heart. But it’s not going to happen.” She looked at Mom. “I wish I had a faith like yours. You continue to trust God no matter what life throws at you.”

  “You’re letting your will push against God’s, instead of submitting to Him and seeing where He takes you. Remember the cross, Meg, and what the Lord did for you there. Nothing you are allowed to suffer can ever compare. Nothing.”

  “I know what He did for me, but if I don’t at least try to get ahead by moving out West, I’ll never have peace.” She grabbed her washcloth. “Is it okay if I wear a dressing gown to dinner?”

  Mom stood. “I asked Laura to call Jack and invite him to supper. It’s the least we can do after he left the service to find you.” She winked. “I suggest you put on something pretty.” She reached into her apron pocket and extracted a white envelope. “This came today. I admit, I was tempted to hide it, but that wouldn’t be right.” She propped the business-sized envelope on a tiny shelf that hung above the commode.

  The door closed behind Mom, and Meg scrambled out of the tub. The envelope taunted her with the name Los Angeles Examiner printed in bold letters on the return address. She wrapped a towel around herself and stared at the imprint. In some ways it was easier not knowing for sure whether the answer was yes or no, because then she could keep the hope alive. But the moment of truth had come. She opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper, skimming the first paragraph and moving on to the next.

  Mattie speaks highly of your typing abilities and keenness for hard work. I would be pleased to hold the position if you arrive in Los Angeles no later than June 15.

  Good news, except for two things. Dad had to agree to give her the money, and she was falling for Jack.

  By the time Meg flitted downstairs wearing a black skirt and a soft gray sweater, Jack was in
the living room with Dad, listening to the news. She waved at him and continued into the kitchen. “Am I too late to help?”

  Mom turned from arranging sandwiches on a large platter, their traditional Good Friday supper. “Not so fast. What did the letter say?”

  “Mattie’s boss is holding a position if I can be there by June fifteenth.” Her wavering voice hardly sounded excited.

  Mom’s forced smile dissolved. “Since you plan to leave on June first, you’ll be there. You can ladle soup into the tureen. Laura is filling the water glasses.”

  Meg moved to the stockpot and scooped up a ladleful of soup. “If Dad gives me my school fund, I’ll be there.” She released the fragrant soup into the tureen. “That’s a big if.”

  “You know how he always balks at first but then comes around. Meg, I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”

  Meg paused the ladle in midair.

  “Has something happened between you and Jack that you’re not talking about?”

  Meg’s cheeks heated. “Why?” She slid the dipper into the pot and filled it.

  “The way he charged into that rainstorm to find you—a man doesn’t do something like that unless he cares deeply for the woman. And the way you seemed to be on the defensive earlier when I suggested that Jack would be a good man for you…” Mom grinned. “Are you sure you want to move?”

  Meg let the soup fall into the tureen. “Jack has lots of women friends. Besides, it can’t be more than friendship since, despite his coming to church, he hasn’t professed the faith. And we both know it takes more than church attendance to make a person right with God.”

  A vision of her visiting from California several years down the road drifted into Meg’s thoughts. She’d stop by the Beacon to say hello to Jack and Ginny, who would be married, and Ginny would be the Beacon’s first woman reporter. An ache stabbed at Meg’s heart. “But even if we married, I’d still have to move.” Meg set the ladle down and headed toward the dining room door. She needed some distance.