Jack grinned and ran his gaze over her in an appreciative way. “You look nice today. Sleep well?”
Her face heated, and she studied her lap.
“I love how you blush when I say things like that.”
“It was hard to fall asleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about writing a column.” Or you. “I’d like to try writing one this week.”
A hush fell between them. “I’ll have to talk to Oscar first.”
The bubble of expectation popped, and Meg slumped against the seat. “I thought you meant I could give it a try—while I’m still here.”
He gave her a quick side glance. “I did, but a column isn’t a one-time thing. You may have to think about delaying the move if it takes off.” He hesitated. “In the meantime, can you try to reschedule the missed appointment with Fred? If Lester can’t drive you out to Fred’s place, I’ll do it.”
How could he change the subject so fast? Would he do that if he really wanted her to delay the move? All the more reason to do all she could to be ready for California. “If I had a driver’s license, I wouldn’t have to bother others to take me places.”
Jack pulled into a parking place next to the office and turned off the engine. “Then you’d need a car.”
Meg frowned. It would be nice to have a driver’s license before she moved. “Guess I need driving lessons before I can worry about a car.”
He leaned against the car door, his eyes twinkling. “Have you ever driven?”
“Once.” She laughed. “I tried backing Dad’s car out of the driveway. It jerked into the street and then the engine died.”
He laughed and opened his door. “It’s all in how you work the clutch.”
As he rounded the car, Meg visualized marching into the house and showing Dad her new license. Wouldn’t he be surprised?
Jack opened the door, and she climbed out. She caught his gaze with her own as she stood. “Will you teach me how to drive?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Midmorning, Meg finally reached Fred after several tries. “Since you missed our meeting on Friday, I’d like to come to your place today.”
He hauled in a loud breath. “I figured you wouldn’t meet me in the rain, so I didn’t bother. Today’s my busy day.”
Irritation nipped at her determination to remain calm. “What day isn’t so busy? Tomorrow?” She drummed her fingers on her desk through the silence. “You still there?”
“You need to come now. I have field work to do.”
“Wait a second.” She put the phone down and scurried to Jack’s door. “Fred is free to talk if I come right away. Lester’s not here.”
“Give me five minutes.”
Meg observed Jack’s movements from the moment he slid behind the wheel. Forget driving—just getting the car started seemed complicated.
Put in the key. Flip a switch. Turn a thingamajig. Pull out a knob. Put in the clutch at the same time you’re pressing something with your heel, and then press a button. Maybe she didn’t need a license after all.
By the time they’d rounded the lake to the south shore, Meg’s focus had shifted to Fred. She wanted to give him a piece of her mind, but she couldn’t let him manipulate her feelings. She had to treat him with kindness. How does one treat a snake with kindness?
Jack turned on Zenda Road, and a mile later, they approached Fred’s property. He stood by his mailbox wearing his trademark overalls with a paint bucket in one hand and a brush in the other. Jack jousted the car into the driveway’s all-too-familiar ruts and stopped beside Fred. Meg cranked down her window. “Hi, Fred, shall we talk here while you paint?”
The farmer bent down and peered into the car, his hard stare on Jack. “Thought you said you were coming alone.”
She turned away from his alcohol-and-tobacco breath, swallowing bile. “You know I don’t drive.” She pressed her lips together. She wouldn’t let him get to her this time.
Fred gave Jack a curt nod. “You part of this discussion?”
“I don’t have to be.”
Fred stepped back. “You’ll hear what I tell her anyway. I’ll meet ya both at the house.”
Meg and Jack waited on Fred’s front porch. She fixed her eyes on the barn, which needed paint more than the mailbox. A warm breeze carried a stench worse than Fred’s breath into her nostrils. She scrunched her nose. “I wonder if farmers ever get used to the smells.”
“Probably. Here he comes now.”
Fred lumbered across the yard and climbed the two steps to the porch. “It’s a warm day. We can sit here.”
Meg glanced over her shoulder at a pair of rusting metal chairs. “I can stand.”
Fred scowled. “I’ll fetch you a towel to sit on.” He turned to Jack. “I’ll bring out an extra chair for you if you tell me your name, young fella.”
Jack stuck out his hand. “Sorry for my impoliteness. Jack Wallace. I’m a reporter at the News-Trib. I’ll lean against the railing.”
Fred ignored his hand. “Fine by me, but you might get your britches dirty.”
“It’s only dirt.”
The older man stepped inside and returned quickly, carrying a dish towel. He spread it over a chair and peered at Meg. “Go ahead and sit, missy.”
Meg settled onto the seat and opened her notebook while Fred shoe-horned his ample behind into the other chair. He pushed his cap farther back on his brow. “Let’s get this over with.”
She caught his eye. “It’s my understanding that some time ago you were stopped by a policeman.”
Fred tugged a pack of Lucky Strikes from his pocket and shook out a cigarette. “Off-duty policeman. Big difference.” He stuck the unlit smoke in his mouth then plucked a kitchen match from his shirt pocket and struck it. Lighting the cigarette, he extinguished the flame. “He should have been mindin’ his own business.”
“What year was it?”
“Eleven years ago this September.”
“Why were you pulled over?”
His right eye twitched. “You already seem to know.”
“I’ve heard a rumor. You can tell the truth.”
“I went by Bill O’Brien’s to borrow some tools, and he offered me a drink from his still. I wasn’t about to say no. It ended up being a couple of drinks.
“I took Center Street home to avoid going through downtown, and the next I know, Henry Booker is honking and motioning me from his Model T to pull over. He tells me I was weaving and orders me to breathe on him so’s he can smell my breath. Then he says I’m drunk and need to go before a judge.”
Meg glanced at Jack then back at Fred. “Were you drunk?”
He drew on his cigarette until it seemed he’d suck the entire thing into his lungs all at once. “I had a few drinks. Never heard of anyone being stopped for that before. I decided I wasn’t going to be the first, so I climbed out of the truck and took a swing at Henry.” He smiled as he rubbed his fisted left hand. “Knocked him flat to the ground.” Smoke trailed out through Fred’s mouth and nose.
“Then your daddy pulls up. Said he saw me hit Henry. By that time, Henry was sputtering to Lou how I shouldn’t be on the road. I thought your daddy was gonna save my hide when he said he’d take care of things.” He shook his head. “Was I wrong.”
Meg scribbled on the pad. “What did my father do?”
“He had me get into his car. I thought he was taking me home, but we went to the jail. He told Sheriff Mason I needed to dry out but didn’t want it on my record, seeing as I’d lost my wife and boy a few years before.” He drew in a long breath as his eyes glazed over. “The sheriff put me in a cell in the cellar.” He winced. “I swear there were rats and snakes down there.”
Meg cringed. At least she and Fred agreed on something.
“I was let out three days later.” His face reddened. “We’d had lots of rain that year and I was late getting in my corn. Those three days, we’d had a frost, and I lost half my crop. If it weren’t for my neighbors, my herd would’ve died.” He cr
ossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Meg. “Go ahead and print the story. Let’s see what happens when people find out that the esteemed Louis Alden didn’t book me the proper way.”
Resisting the urge to give Fred a piece of her mind for not recognizing her father’s compassion toward him, she said, “I’m sure my father wasn’t aware of the crop situation.”
“Then he should have asked someone. Now I need to get my planting done.” He tossed his cigarette onto the grass then waved a hand as big as a catcher’s mitt. “Get off my property now. Both of ya.”
Meg closed her notebook. “Thanks for your time.”
Back in the car, Jack slid behind the wheel and looked at Meg. “Casts a different light on your dad, doesn’t it?”
She faced him. “It just doesn’t sound like Dad to take a risk like that. He is generous with his pro bono work, but—”
“You’ve got only half the story. Maybe when you tell him about this, he’ll explain his side.” He began the process of starting the car.
Memories of the last exchange she had with Dad about Fred played in her mind like a bad movie. “I just hope his side clears him of wrongdoing. I’m scared, Jack.”
Jack put the car in gear and steered the vehicle over the ruts. They reached the pavement, and he pointed the car toward town. “How old were you when this occurred?”
“Thirteen or fourteen.”
“Do you recall anything strange happening then?”
“No. But at that age, I was having difficulty with school. Everything else went unnoticed.”
“What kind of difficulty?”
“I kept getting distracted. I still have the same problem, except for when I’m writing.”
“Maybe because writing is your calling. My cousin is a professor at a teacher’s college, and she told me educators are realizing that people have different ways of learning. Students who have a hard time paying attention need to learn tactics to assist the learning process.”
Meg sat up straight. “You mean there are others like me?”
“Sounds like it.”
Jack turned on a side road and stopped. He faced her, his gaze meeting her own. “It’s time for your first driving lesson.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
Meg sat in stunned silence while Jack got out of the car and circled around the front to the passenger side. Her car door opened, and she stared into his mirth-filled eyes then ran her gaze over the dashboard buttons and dials down to the floor. How did one keep her foot on that tiny gas pedal? It looked like a spoon. “I can’t drive with my arm in a sling.”
He grinned. “You’ll have enough use of your left hand to hold the wheel while you shift. We’ll stay on this deserted road.” He nudged her shoulder. “Slide over.”
An hour later, after a few fits and starts where Meg let up on the clutch too fast and killed the motor, she got the car moving and smoothly shifted the gears until they cruised down the road. Grinning, Meg pressed in the clutch at the same time as she braked, and the car halted without one sputter. She laughed. “I did it.”
Jack slid over and wrapped her in a hug. “I knew you could.” He leaned back, and their gazes caught and held.
“I don’t see anyone around for miles.” A playful grin lit his face.
Meg lifted her chin. “Neither do I.” She closed her eyes.
Soft as a whisper his lips feathered hers, and she let his kiss take her into an otherworldly bliss she didn’t want to end. The kiss lingered until they broke for air.
“We’ve got to stop meeting like this.” Jack’s lips continued to brush against hers as he spoke, sending a warm fuzzy feeling into her stomach.
Meg giggled and kissed him back. “I never knew driving lessons could be so nice.”
“Or investigating a story.” He placed a kiss on her nose then opened his door. “Time to go to the office.”
While he rounded the car, she slid over. After hearing Fred’s explanation, she had no choice but to confront her father as soon as possible. She might be on her way to California before she had a chance to write her first column or have that dance with Jack in the new ballroom.
Meg forced her last bite of apple pie into her mouth and then rubbed her damp right palm on her skirt. Ever since arriving home from work, she’d wanted to discuss Fred’s story with Dad, but she decided to wait until after dinner.
Across the table, her father finished up his last forkful of pie and washed it down with a swallow of coffee.
“Dad, can we talk privately?” She hated how unnatural her voice sounded.
He scowled. “If it’s about that Newman fiasco, I’m done discussing it.”
“It’s not—”
“Then let’s go.” He looked at Laura. “Be sure to help your mother with the dishes.”
Laura pulled a face. “But I have to study for an English test.”
“If we work together, we’ll have it done in a half hour.” Mom picked up Meg’s plate and stacked it on top of hers then reached for Laura’s. “You get the glasses and silver.”
Meg followed Dad into his study, and he shut the door.
“I hope you want to tell me you’re canning that story.” His chair creaked as he sat.
Meg dropped into the chair across from him and smoothed her navy skirt over her knees. “I had a chat with Fred Newman.”
Dad’s eyes suddenly grew wide and fiery, and he slammed the desk with a palm. Papers flew onto the floor. “This is about the Newman business. You said it wasn’t.”
“I started to say it’s not a rehashing, but you cut me off.”
“You’re committing libel, you know.”
Heat filled her abdomen, and she forced herself to not fly out of the room. “We’re not in court.”
“We will be if you print your story.” He folded his arms across his chest.
How had they come to this place? And where was the compassionate man Fred unwittingly portrayed?
A sharp knock split the air. “Louis, are you two okay?”
“We’re fine, Margaret. Just having a little chat,” Dad said with a lowered voice. He glared at Meg. “I’ll listen to what Fred told you. But I do not want you printing anything about this.”
Meg took her notebook from her skirt pocket. “I want to make sure I state it correctly.” She flipped the cover open and recounted Fred’s perspective of the incident.
“Fred lost most of his crops to frost and would have lost his livestock if it weren’t for his neighbors.” She closed the notebook. “Please tell me your side.”
Dad’s jaw muscle pulsed as his gaze flicked around the room. “It’s all true.”
Meg’s heart raced. Lord, what am I to do?
He selected a pipe from a stand next to the humidor and turned it over in his hand. “How much do you know about Fred?”
Meg shrugged. “I see him around town, is all.”
“He hasn’t always been bad-tempered. He used to attend our church and was an elder.”
For as long as Meg had known Fred, she’d avoided him, never curious about what made him ornery. Last week she learned he’d been married. Then he’d mentioned that his wife and son had died. Now Dad said he used to be a leader in their church. What else would she learn?
“Fred married right after high school. When their son was drafted during the Great War, he just about busted his buttons. Made the boy wear his uniform around town before he shipped out. The boy died in battle eight months after leaving, and Fred started railing against anyone with a German last name. That’s when he started hitting the sauce.
“About a year after their son’s death, Fred and his wife were driving back to their farm after a family gathering. I gather he’d spent most of the afternoon in his cousin’s barn around the still.” Dad paused and swallowed hard. “Fred passed a slow car on a hill. Said he never saw the car coming from the other direction until it was too late. His wife died in the crash.”
Meg gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my goodness. How
terrible.”
Dad nodded. His eyes glistened with moisture. “There’s more.… The couple in the other car died too.”
Meg groaned. She’d been so unfair to Fred, saying unkind things about him, joking with others about his crotchety attitude.… “And he’s had to live with that for years.”
“The police wanted to charge him with reckless driving and illegal drinking. I felt sorry for him and defended his case. Got it down to a stiff fine and a promise to stop drinking.”
An ache pressed against her heart. God cared about Fred despite his attitude, and so should she. “I feel awful for not being more understanding, but what does this have to do with what happened when you jailed him? If he was guilty of breaking his promise, then…”
Dad tamped tobacco into his pipe and lit it. “Your mother’s going to have a conniption for my lighting up inside.” He paused. “I think for some, alcohol is very addictive. People go to it to numb a pain they’re experiencing, and long after the pain is gone, they can’t stop drinking.”
Was that why Fred had stopped in his barn before their interview? Maybe he wanted a nip before he faced Meg’s questions? “I don’t know much about drunkenness since, outside of Fred, I don’t know anyone who drinks.”
“You think you don’t. Many hide it since we’re under Prohibition. Fred concealed his habit for a while, but when he came to church smelling like a distillery several times in a row, he was asked to step down from his elder position.” Dad rested his pipe in a glass ashtray. “He never came back to church. The reverend visited him once or twice but was chased away. I worried we’d find Fred dead, having had an accident with his farm equipment. When I came upon Henry lying on the road that night with Fred weaving back and forth next to him, I had to stop.”
“But why the secrecy? You did a benevolent thing.”
Dad placed his elbows on the desk and looked Meg in the eyes. “What I did was illegal. As an officer of the court, I could lose my license. I’d saved Fred from a jail record before, and I didn’t want that to change. I thought that getting him into a cell would dry him out and make him think twice the next time. The intention was to hold him there overnight, but he was still in bad shape the next day, so we kept him there another night, which evolved into three because he had the shakes so bad.” He stared at his clasped hands.
Love Finds You in Lake Geneva, Wisconsin Page 22