Beyond the Carousel

by Bette Lee Crosby

  “Don’t you think we ought to meet him first?” Lawrence asked.

  “Yeah,” Edward said. “Him being a policeman don’t mean he won’t try to take advantage of you.”

  “How old is this chap?” Missus Feeney asked. Without waiting for Christine to answer, she tossed out several more questions about his family and income.

  “Those things don’t matter,” Christine replied defensively. “It’s only a date.”

  “For now,” Missus Feeney said.

  She leaned back in the chair and folded her arms across her chest, but her tone left the implication it was more than a date. A momentary lull slid into the conversation.

  Finally Stick mumbled, “Christine’s a smart girl, so leave her alone. She knows what she’s doing.”

  Before he had time to look away, Christine’s eyes met his and she smiled.

  “Thank you, Stick,” she said.

  “Welcome,” he replied and ducked his head.

  The Ball Game

  Saturday dawned with a sunny sky and a forecast for temperatures in the high eighties. Christine took a white sundress from the closet, pulled it over her head then checked her reflection in the mirror. The narrow straps flattered her shoulders, and the full skirt made her waist look even tinier than it was.

  The last time she’d worn the dress was when she and Laura stayed at the Algonquin. Looking back, she could picture her mama, thinner than usual, but still happy and full of life. They’d had brunch at the Lady Anne Tea Shoppe then walked to the far end of Gerard Street. The day started out sunny, but in the afternoon it clouded up and there was a chill in the air.

  They’d passed a small boutique and seen the blue cardigan in the window.

  “It’s perfect,” her mama said and pulled Christine into the store.

  The sweater was more than they should have spent, but her mama insisted she have it.

  “It’s the exact blue of your eyes,” she said.

  Christine reached into the closet now, pulled out the sweater and shrugged it over her shoulders. She smiled at her reflection and whispered, “Thank you, Mama.”

  The lobby buzzer sounded at precisely eleven o’clock. She hurried out the door and down the steps.

  Peering through the glass door, Jack caught sight of her as she descended the staircase. When she came through the door, he raised an eyebrow and gave a grin of appreciation.

  “Wow,” he said, “you look fantastic!”

  “Thanks.” She eyed Jack in his tan slacks and white sport shirt then added, “You look pretty good yourself.”

  In the bright light of day and without his uniform, he looked younger, more boyish, less intimidating.

  It was a fairly short drive to Mooer’s Field, so they arrived with almost an hour to spare. They made their way down to the seats, but before Jack sat he suggested getting some hot dogs and beer.

  “Better do it before the stand gets too crowded.”

  As he made his way back up the stairs, Christine settled into her seat. The seats were low along the first base line and just above the Colts’ dugout. She could hear bits and pieces of conversation. Curious, she leaned over to look down.

  A young man in a Colts cap smiled up at her. She returned the smile then sat back in her seat. This day was going to be a hot one; already she felt warm in the sweater. She took it off and folded it across the back of her seat.

  Players from both teams were warming up on the field. Pitchers on the sidelines tossed the ball back and forth; outfielders stretched their legs and swung weighted bats. Before long Jack returned carrying a cardboard carton filled with hot dogs, beer, peanuts and candy. He slid into the seat next to Christine.

  “Mustard or no mustard?” he asked.

  “Mustard.”

  He laughed. “I knew it. You’re my kind of gal.”

  He took one of the mustard covered hot dogs and handed it to her. Jack bit into his hot dog then waggled a finger at one of the pitchers tossing the ball.

  “That’s Sam Lowry. He’s pitching today.”

  He moved on, pointing out one player and another, talking about how they might or might not do this, that or the other thing. Christine knew little if anything about baseball, but she enjoyed the sound of his voice and the way he leaned closer to her when he spoke, making each word meaningful, something special in its own right.

  The ability to make small talk without it sounding like small talk was just one of the things she liked about Jack. There were other things…many other things. The fondness with which he remembered Gus; the gentleness that was so evident in his eyes.

  When Christine finished the last of her hot dog, he leaned into her and wiped a smudge of mustard from the side of her mouth. For a brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her, but he didn’t. Had he tried, she would have let him.

  “Peanuts or candy?” he asked.

  “Candy.”

  He grinned. “I knew it.”

  He handed her the package of M&Ms then leaned back and casually placed his arm on the back of her seat. Before the candy was gone his hand was curled around her bare shoulder.

  Christine couldn’t say if it was the pleasant giddiness of the beer, the warmth of the sun or the feel of his hand against her skin, but she felt something she had never felt before. A tingling that stirred her heart and made her wish the day would never end.

  All too quickly the afternoon was gone. It had been a fast game with the Richmond Colts not scoring a single run. A pitcher’s battle, Jack called it. The score remained 0-0 until the top of the ninth when Lowry walked the Red Sox first baseman; then Ray Allen got a double that brought the man home. The Colts were last at bat with three straight strikeouts, and that ended the game.

  As they pulled out of the Mooer’s Field parking lot, Christine scooted across the seat closer to Jack.

  “I had a great time,” she said.

  “So did I,” he replied.

  It all happened so easily, every little piece falling into place exactly as it should. After the game, Jack parked the car on one of the downtown side streets and they walked hand in hand in much the same way Christine and her mama once did. Christine remembered how they would spend time browsing shop windows, talking about first one thing and then another, and after a while deciding on what to eat and where to go for dinner.

  “Are you up for something new?” Jack asked.

  She nodded. “Everything we’ve done today has been new for me.”

  She meant the ballgame, but beneath that meaning there was another one; one she herself was almost afraid to believe.

  “There’s a great roadhouse just outside of town,” he said. “Good steaks, good music and dancing.”

  She looked up at him picturing how it would feel to rest her head on his shoulder and float across the dance floor in his arms.

  “Sounds wonderful,” she said.

  That evening they shared a bottle of red wine, held hands across the table, talked as if they’d known each other all their life and danced one dance after another. When the trio played For Sentimental Reasons, Jack tightened his arm around her waist and she nuzzled her head against his chest.

  It was near dawn when they arrived back at her apartment. He kissed her goodnight in the vestibule, not once but several times. When he left she stepped inside the apartment and could swear that on the street below she heard someone whistling the first few bars of Sentimental Reasons.

  Such foolishness, she thought, but the sound of that whistling remained in her head even as she drifted off to sleep.

  In the weeks that followed, Christine and Jack dated often. On days when she worked split shift, they met for lunch or coffee or a leisurely walk home.

  “You shouldn’t be walking alone in the dark,” Jack said, and even though they had no plans to meet she’d find him sitting on the bench across the street each evening when she started for home.

  That summer they picnicked in the park alongside the Franklin River, went to three more basebal
l games, dined in countless restaurants and danced until near dawn. On evenings when the heat of the day lingered past supper they took in a movie, and if the air conditioning chilled her shoulders he wrapped his arm around her. Afterward they’d drop by Schumann’s Drugstore, sit in a booth and order ice cream sodas as they looked back on the antics of Walter Mitty’s secret life or speculated on whether or not it was possible for Mrs. Muir to actually fall in love with a ghost.

  Twice they had supper at Irene Feeney’s Boarding House. On the second visit, Lawrence took Christine aside and told her he wholeheartedly approved of Mister Jack Mahoney.

  Before the leaves of the oak trees began to turn, Christine knew this was indeed the magic her mama had wished for her.

  Christine

  If last December you’d told me I was going to be madly in love and feel this happy, I would have figured you were crazy. Back then the only thing I could feel was a heartache so huge it was almost suffocating. Standing at Mama’s grave, I was certain my next breath would be my last one. I couldn’t imagine an hour, let alone a day or a week or a month without Mama.

  I thought having Granddaddy close was about the only thing I had left in my life. Then when Mister Barkley told me about the will I cried for days, because I couldn’t understand why my own mama would do such a thing to me.

  Now I understand. Mama was trying to give me the kind of happiness she had with Daddy. All those years when I listened to her talk about him as she did, he was like the prince in a fairy tale: handsome, kind and loving. I dated boys in high school, but never once did I find one that was even remotely like that. They were nice guys but ordinary. Up until I met Jack, I figured God only created one man as wonderful as my daddy.

  Jack treats me the way I imagine Daddy treated Mama. He shows how much he loves me in a zillion different ways. Not just with words and kisses but with all the other things he does, like going out of his way to walk me home. Every evening he’s waiting for me when I get out of work. One night it was pouring rain and I figured he’d surely not come, but I was wrong. He was standing in the doorway of the building with a big black umbrella.

  Lord how I wish Mama was here to meet Jack. She’d love him; I know she would. I pray she’s looking down on me and can see how happy I am. Knowing Mama, I’m certain that my being happy would make her happy.

  At the Algonquin

  On the third Saturday of October, Christine took the blue silk dress from the back of the closet and pulled it over her head. She had a feeling tonight was going to be the night she’d been waiting for. Earlier in the week Jack had dropped subtle hints about a surprise and suggested she wear something special.

  When the buzzer rang at seven o’clock, she was ready. She hurried down the stairs and slid into his arms as had become their custom.

  “Now are you ready to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.

  He touched his finger to her nose, trailed it down to her lips, then leaned in and kissed her.

  “Not yet,” he said playfully.

  They walked to the car. He opened the door for her, waited until she sat then circled around and climbed in on the driver’s side. The drive was short, and when he parked across from the Algonquin Hotel her eyes lit up.

  “This is it?”

  He nodded. “Do you like my choice?”

  “Love it,” she said.

  The maître d’ led them to a table that sat slightly apart from the others. It was nestled in a vine-covered arch with candles lighting the table.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured.

  He gave a smile of satisfaction and tightened his grip on her waist. As soon as they were seated he gave the waiter a nod, and a bottle of champagne was delivered to the table. Once the glasses were filled, they touched them one to another and Jack said, “To us.”

  She smiled and lifted the glass to her lips.

  They talked about the way they’d come together: the luck of him being on duty the afternoon of the strike, the silliness of her handing over all those eggs, the scent of lavender shampoo he’d caught as she’d climbed into the patrol car. He leaned his cheek on his fist and fixed his eyes on hers.

  “Before we got back to the stationhouse, I knew I wanted to see you again.”

  A faint smile played at the corner of her mouth. “You didn’t need to arrest me; you could have just asked for a date.”

  “I was buying time to plead my case,” he said with a gentle laugh. “I thought there was a chance you might say no.”

  “I wouldn’t have,” she replied and lifted the glass to her lips.

  They moved from talk of things familiar to other things, things they had yet to learn about one another. She spoke of a carousel ride she remembered from her childhood; he told a story of his grandfather. As they spoke, the champagne bubbles filled her head with thoughts of a thousand wonderful possibilities.

  At eight o’clock the band began to play. Jack took Christine’s hand and led her onto the floor. She slid easily into his arms, and they moved to the music. When she felt the heat of his hand against her back, she lowered her head onto his chest and sighed. For a brief moment she closed her eyes and saw the youthful figures of her mama and daddy, as happy and as much in love as she and Jack were at this moment.

  When they returned to the table, dinner was served without ordering. It was as if everything was planned, sprinkled with magic and offered up for her pleasure. The waiter lifted the silver dome covering the plate and beneath it was roasted chicken, exactly what she would have selected if given the choice.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  Jack smiled. “How could I not know?”

  Over the months they’d dated, he’d listened to her every word. Her dreams had become his dreams. He was in love with her. Not a little in love, but hopelessly in love. He nervously slid his hand into his jacket to check the small box was still there. It was.

  Once they’d finished eating, the waiter reappeared. He refilled their glasses, gave Jack a sly nod and then carried away their plates. When they were once again alone, Jack stretched his arm across the table and took her hand in his.

  With his eyes looking deep into hers, he said, “I am crazy in love with you, Christine, so much so that I can’t stand the thought of being apart. When we’re together I want the evening to never end, and when I’m not with you I think of you every minute of the day. I want your face to be the last thing I see at night and the first thing I see in the morning…”

  He fumbled in his pocket, pulled out the small box and thumbed it open.

  “Say you’ll marry me, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.”

  He held out the box and offered it to her.

  Christine looked at the sparkling diamond ring and tears welled in her eyes.

  “Yes,” she said softly. “A thousand times yes. Nothing would make me happier than being your wife.”

  He stood, came around the table, lifted her from the chair into his arms and kissed her as she had never been kissed before. As if on cue, the band began playing For Sentimental Reasons, and he slid the ring on her finger.

  They stayed and danced until the last note of the last song had fallen away. When they left, Jack drove Christine home and they lingered in the vestibule for nearly an hour.

  “I want you to meet Granddaddy,” she said. “He’ll probably give you the third degree, but it’s only because he loves me. Once he sees how happy I am, I know he’ll be happy for me.”

  “I want you to meet my parents also,” Jack replied, and then he kissed her for what could have been the thousandth time that evening.

  “Why don’t we do what we did tonight?” he suggested. “Invite all three of them to a celebration dinner at the Algonquin Hotel.”

  “Perfect,” she said.

  And so it was that they began to plan for just such an event.

  * * *

  The following week Christine called Emory and gave him the news. For a moment there was only silence on th
e other end of the telephone.

  “Granddaddy?”

  He gave a labored sigh then asked, “Aren’t you kind of young to be thinking of marriage?”

  “Mama was younger than me when she married Daddy.”

  “Times were different then, and Franklin was a very responsible man.”

  “Jack’s responsible. Good grief, he’s a policeman. You can’t get any more responsible than that.”

  Emory drew in a sharp breath. “A policeman?”

  “What’s wrong with being a policeman?”

  “It’s dangerous. With a job like that, a man can get himself killed easy as not.”

  “Daddy had a safe job, and look what happened to him.”

  “I hope you’re not comparing this Jack Mahoney to your daddy.”

  “Yes, I am. Judging from the stories Mama told me, Jack is a lot like Daddy.”

  Emory gave a grunt of displeasure. “Your daddy was a businessman, not a policeman. He was a respectful man, someone to be proud of.”

  “Jack is respectful and someone to be proud of also. When you meet him you’ll see, Granddaddy.”

  “He’s not all that respectful,” Emory replied, “or he’d have spoken with me before asking you to marry him.”

  “Granddaddy! You’re in Wyattsville, and he’s here in Richmond. It’s not right around the corner you know.”

  “It’s not at the far end of the earth either,” Emory said.

  No matter what Christine said Emory saw it from a different angle, but in the end he agreed to come for the family dinner party.

  “My apartment only has one bed, so we’re going to reserve a room for you at the hotel,” Christine said.

  “There’s no need,” Emory replied. “I’ll come home afterwards.”

  “It’s not safe for you to drive so far at night. Anyway, Jack insisted, and he’s paying for the room.”

  Insisted? Such a word felt overbearing to Emory.

  “I’ll pay for my own room,” he said begrudgingly.