Escape From Purgatory

by Scarlet Darkwood - BooksGoSocial Historical Fiction

  Even the adults paid full attention. To Claire’s chagrin, Ruby seemed extra attentive, grinning, smiling wider at times, lightly shaking her head or nodding as George came to different points in the story. The fire had died down just a little, giving off the occasional snap while sending a few sparks flying in protest. The moon floated high in the sky. From the woods, an owl sent out a low and lonesome hoot. Claire settled back in her chair, staring into the fire as the sound of George’s voice filled her ears. He really wasn’t bad with children at all, and Anna loved him telling his repertoire of fantastic fantasies and horrific tales. When the stories were finished, Ruby grabbed the bag of ingredients for the s’mores, and everyone busied themselves making up a couple of treats to satisfy their sweet tooth.

  “How about a hayride?” Mr. Hyde stood up. “Anybody up for one, or do we just not do it this year?” At that suggestion, the kids yelled in protest, jumping up and running to him. “All right then, I’ll head to the barn and come back. We’ll load everybody on and go for a ride.”

  The children squealed and jumped up and down. Claire smiled, adoring Anna’s enthusiasm. She wondered if a sleep-over was in order at her house, where Anna’s sweet classmate could be invited. Within moments, the rumbling sound of the tractor sounded from the barn, growing louder as Mr. Hyde drove it near the fire site. The motor belted out its grinding, scratchy tune, sending the children running full force toward the bed attached at the back. Jack and Roy had followed Mr. Hyde and had ridden back to help the children up. A few men and women, including Ruby and Oma, clambered on. Soon the tractor headed off, becoming nothing more than a specter in the dark.

  George dragged his chair close to Claire’s. “Finally, I can get a moment with you.”

  “You did a wonderful job telling those stories.” She smiled over at him, rubbing his arm.

  “I love doing it. There’s nothing like the smell of the outdoors, a chilly night, a crackling fire to get the old imagination going.”

  “Anna should be over any of her fright after the hayride. I’ll still be spooked. Going to bed tonight may be more of a challenge than usual.” Claire laughed.

  The smile faded from George’s face, waning into an expression of thoughtfulness.

  “What’s wrong? You’ll have Anna and Edna around. You won’t be spooked.”

  They grew silent. There was one question still nagging at Claire, and she wanted to get it out of her system. If she didn’t, it wouldn’t be scary ghost stories that kept her up. George’s words still rang in her ear.

  “I have a question for you, sort of finishing up our conversation we had on our way here.”

  He glanced over at her. “Oh? What’s that?”

  Claire lightly popped his hand, pretending to scold. “You said something about not always being able to get what you want. What did you mean by that?”

  Shaking his head, George rested his hand over hers. “I just mean there are times in your life when you want something really bad, but simply can’t have it.”

  “Like what?” Claire said, hoping she’d get to the bottom of his thoughts.

  “I don’t know. There are lots of things I’d like to have right now, things for Anna, as much as anything else.”

  “What do you want for her?”

  George shifted in his seat, his demeanor showing definite discomfort. He turned his head slowly from side to side, checking to see if anyone was nearby. Most had gone on the hayride or had gathered in new intimate groups, leaving the two of them mostly alone. “Of course, I’d like for her to be happy, have things other kids have, if you know what I mean. When Anita died, a part of me closed down for a while. Like I told you before, I’m ready to move on, get on with my life, but . . .”

  “But what?” Claire turned, facing him straight on. “Something getting in your way?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t know. Oddly enough, just when I think I’m ready, there’s still that part of me that’s a little unsure. Don’t get me wrong, being married was wonderful, but maybe with her I got lucky.”

  This comment left Claire thoughtful. She sat back in her chair, gazing into the fire. She didn’t have any words of wisdom. Her situation was no better. What does one do with a spouse who is drifting away, held captive by tricks of his trade, a trade he loved and had lived with a good part of his life? Claire didn’t see a need for pushing the issue with George any further. Not tonight. Each one had their own demons to fight. “All in good time,” her grandmother had always told her. Granny was never wrong.

  She thought about her family now, still not knowing about her situation. Maybe when she got up enough nerve, she’d pen a note. Nothing else regarding this matter was discussed the rest of the night. When the kids had been handed down from the tractor bed after the hayride, George and Claire took Anna, and all headed home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Claire studied the shelves in the home accents department, re-arranging a towel here and there. She stepped back and tipped her head from side to side, eyes narrowed with indecision.

  “Those are so pretty, Claire. When did we get those in?” Joy slipped up next to the shelf, gently fingering the material. “I don’t remember us ordering any of this, but they are just beautiful.”

  Ruby also strode up next to Claire, eyeing the merchandise. “I don’t remember us asking for these either, but we were getting low on some towels after our sale.” She looked straight at Claire. “Can you satisfy our curiosity, even just a little bit? Or is this a secret vendor we’re not supposed to know anything about?”

  “Meaning?” Claire sensed her irritation growing. She forced a weak smile and stared back at Ruby.

  “Meaning, since we know they weren’t on any order list, where did you get them? I’m with Joy. I think they’re awfully nice.”

  There was no way out of this, nor could she keep this a secret no matter how hard she tried. “If you must know, I loomed all these myself. Mr. Parker said I could put them in here and sell them. Thought maybe the customers would like something new, something different.”

  “Mr. Parker let you make these and put them on our shelves? To sell and no doubt make some extra money.” Ruby nodded slowly, her vision fixed on the cheerful red, yellow, and blue towels. She took the liberty of picking up one of the yellow ones, unfolding it, and examining the royal blue pattern woven into the body of the yellow. “You make up your own designs too?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” Claire’s voice rang out more hollow and cold.

  Facing Claire, Ruby’s eyes held a certain anger, as if she’d heard an unjust pronouncement. “He’s never considered letting the rest of us do this sort of thing. I make nice soap. Joy knits beautiful scarves and hats. He’s never once suggested we put our work out.”

  “Did you ask him, by any chance?” Claire fidgeted with a lock of her hair.

  “Did you?” Ruby countered.

  Joy backed away. “Ladies, I’m running over to see if Dhalia needs any help.”

  Claire sucked in her breath, remembering the day in George’s office, when they’d discussed her hobbies and what she’d like to be doing again. “Look, Ruby, if you’d like to place some of your soap in the cosmetics department, something pretty with a nice floral scent, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You could make that happen, I presume?”

  “Or you could just ask. Why not?”

  “Oh, come on, Claire. Let’s face it. You’ve got an in with him.” Ruby’s face held a look of indignation. She’d done a nice job of keeping her voice low, like they both had, painfully aware of others nearby.

  This was the last straw. Time to put this ordeal to rest. “Tell me something, Ruby, when are you going to ever let this obsession with Mr. Parker and me go? Personally, I’m done with it.” Claire leaned in closer. “With all this questioning and hinting you do about him and me, and throwing in Anna too, I’m only guessing you still have the hots for him, even after he’s made it clear he wants somebody else.
And let me just tell you that I don’t mean me, either.”

  Ruby’s eyes displayed an expression of shock. For once she had no words, but the pink cheeks on her face spoke volumes.

  “I have your number, Ruby. Get over him. He doesn’t want you. As a matter of fact, I’m not sure what or whom he wants. As for me, I just want to settle down here in this town and move on with my life. If I were you, with your attractive looks, I’d go find a man who appreciates you and your independent nature. They’re out there. You just have to look harder, that’s all.”

  “I hear you loud and clear, Claire.” Ruby looked around, swallowing hard.

  Claire didn’t let the tears brimming in her co-worker’s eyes throw her in the least. “I was hoping I had answered everybody’s questions during our last meeting, but obviously I was wrong. I don’t want any more questions about my personal life, other than how are you, did you have a nice weekend? Yeah, that sort of thing.”

  Regaining her usual composure, Ruby squared up her shoulders. “That’s fine, Claire, not a problem. And I hope you do really well with your towels and runners.” She neatly folded the towel, placed it back on the shelf, and walked away. Inside, Claire’s whole body trembled. She needed to get away before she screamed at the top of her lungs. Not many people in the store today. The ones who’d made it in were waited on by the other staff. Satisfied that she could steal a moment to herself, she sped to the break room.

  Luckily, no one was there, and she sat down in one of the empty chairs. Then she started having second thoughts. Maybe she shouldn’t have come down so hard on Ruby. Maybe she should have been getting to know Ruby and asking her questions so she’d understand her better. That would have been a therapeutic thing to do. Anne had mentioned that word several times to Greta, when she overheard them talking behind the desk at the nurse’s station. When she and the inmates of Hatchie River gathered together on their sewing days, Anne always knew how to ask questions and quell arguments and sharp tongues among the women.

  “Claire, are you okay?” Oma had slipped in. She strode over to another vacant chair and sat down, taking one of Claire’s hands in her own. “I have to know you’re okay. Can you at least talk to me, just a little?”

  Saying nothing, Claire looked up at Oma. Still she couldn’t find any words to say. She glanced down again at her lap.

  “Look, I saw you and Ruby talking, and Joy mentioned things were getting a little heated—“

  “Did we make that much of a scene? We tried to keep it down.”

  “Nobody noticed. I wanted to see if I could do anything for you.”

  “Did Ruby say anything?” Claire managed to look over at Oma.

  “Not really. We asked, but she played it cool and casual. But you could tell by the look on her face, something was bothering her.”

  “Hmm, that’s a surprise. I thought she’d be all over the place blabbing.” Claire turned to Oma. “What is it with you people? Why is everyone so interested in me and what I do or don’t do outside this store, with or without Mr. Parker?”

  Oma, loosened her grip on Claire’s hand and sat back in her chair. “That was what you two were going on about?”

  “And she went on at the party this past Saturday. That’s why I just rambled on the way I did about Anna’s dress the day I made it.”

  “Look, I’m going to come right out and say it.” Oma straightened up her glasses on her nose and looked intently at Claire. “Ruby had her sights on Mr. Parker. He wouldn’t give her the time of day. He was nice, of course, always the perfect gentleman. Long story short, he wasn’t interested in her at all.”

  “She kind of hinted that to me, too, without actually saying so.” Claire nodded, ready for Oma to continue. “What else happened?”

  “Ruby gave up a little and focused more on her work, stopped trying to do those little extra things around the store and basically playing up to him. I think she’s trying to make her way in life, too, and she’s falling into the trap that most women fall into when they want a man. You know how that goes, Claire.”

  “Unfortunately, I do. I think we’re all guilty, but I think I really came down on her pretty hard. I hope she at least got the message.”

  “I think she did. And here’s the crazy part, she still tries to turn on some of that old charm, like you saw at the Halloween party.”

  Claire grimaced. “Why does that not surprise me?”

  Nodding, Oma continued. “It just bothers me. I like people with some discretion.”

  “He’s never said anything to me about her. But men are secretive about things like that.”

  Oma grinned. “I don’t think I’d worry about Ruby. It’s like her to take things to heart, especially when she feels like she’s not a favored one or isn’t getting the fair shake she think she deserves. She’ll get over it and move on.”

  “Let’s hope so.” Claire said. “Thank you for talking to me. I do feel a lot better.”

  “I’m going back out on the floor. See you out there.” The older lady got up from her chair and left the break room.

  For the first time in weeks, a wave of calm washed over her. Maybe her encounter with Ruby had finally done its trick. Like lancing a boil when it came to a head. The cut, the words, released all her tension, and let the bad flow out. Why had she even doubted for a minute that she’d spoken out of turn to Ruby? Sometimes people needed to be told the truth, whether it hurt their feelings or not.

  The conversation with Oma helped her recognize this. She’d keep this incident quiet. If George remained closed-lip about things that happened, then she could too. Still, she needed to sort out her feelings about George, how she felt, what she wanted. Their last conversation still bothered her, leaving her with no more insight into his feelings.

  ***

  November had come, running its chilling fingers over everything it touched. Frost covered the grass in the mornings, caked the windows of cars, and sent blasts of cold blowing hard when the wind threw a tantrum. Claire had managed to keep a distance from George for a couple of weeks, feigning fatigue or stating the shelves at the store needed more towels and runners. He’d dropped her off, and she didn’t linger too long before heading inside her house.

  “I’m really impressed, Claire,” he said one night. “Customers just love them and have asked if we’d take some personal orders.”

  “I’m up for doing anything that will sell.”

  She hung on to that sentiment with gusto, staying home most nights. Looming let her mind wander, plan, and rest, and then all over again.

  This evening after work, he’d held up two tickets in his hand as they sat in the car in front of her porch.

  “Oma gave me these. Says she has a cousin who works at the Bijou.” He looked proud. “They’re tickets to “Life With Father. Dorothy Gish is a lead player in this one.”

  “Lillian Gish’s sister?”

  George nodded, smiling.

  “I hear everything at the Bijou is just wonderful. How thoughtful of Oma. I’m surprised she wouldn’t want those tickets for herself.”

  “Don’t know, but she came into my office and asked if I wanted them. How about you coming with me this weekend? Edna can cook up a nice dinner, and we’ll eat before we go.”

  “I’d love to go, especially if I get to see Dorothy Gish.” Claire beamed at George. Backing off from him needed a break, and Claire had no intention of passing up a fine night at a fine theater that had locals raving. Especially if her escort was George Parker.

  “Really? You mean it? No excuse that you have to catch up on some craft or book or looming?”

  Claire grinned. “I can take one night off.”

  George’s face turned thoughtful. “You know I’ve missed you? Anna has really missed you. I’ve been dealing with her bad mood lately because of it.”

  “Bad mood?” Claire’s face changed into an incredulous look. “How strange.”

  “Not strange at all, if you ask me. Why have you been so scarce lately?”<
br />
  “Sorry about all that, but my projects don’t get done by themselves. Maybe I can have Anna down for a weekend, just her and me.”

  “She’d love that, Claire. I’m holding you to it.”

  “Maybe I can let her help me with some of my projects. I’m trying out my hand at soap-making. When I get the perfect recipe and scent, you still up for me putting some in the cosmetics department?” She couldn’t help but feel a quick pang of guilt about wanting to “one-up” Ruby. Like it or not, she wanted that last jab.

  “I’d love nothing better.” His lips pulled into a wide grin.

  Claire’s heart sped up when he slipped his fingers between hers. Mustering up her willpower she said, “I need to get on inside and let you get back to Anna.”

  “You sure you won’t ride on down with me to the house and eat with us tonight? Anna would love to see you.”

  “Tell you what, we’ll get together this weekend. I’ll be looking forward to it.”

  George squeezed her hand one last time, and she left the car. Claire hated the look of sorrow on his face as he backed out of the driveway. She stood at the window and watched the car lights fade in the distance. She had robbed herself of his company for the past several days, missing the moments he’d slyly place his hand in the small of her back when they walked into his kitchen or he’d follow her to the door.

  He’d now made it a regular habit of touching her hand or knee whenever they sat together casually conversing. Every night when they left the store and everyone was out of sight, he’d place his hand in the small of her back, leading her to his car. But playing cool was her decision, with no regrets, either.

  She opened the door and slipped into the house. The wind had picked up with a blowing cold that seeped into her marrow. Shivering, she slipped off her coat and hung it on a nearby coatrack. Tonight would be a good night for a fire in the fireplace. At least Adrian had shown her how to build a good fire long ago when they first married. Claire headed for the fireplace. In her mind, flames contained a life of their own, almost animating a room with a certain spiritual force.