She was mighty glad when he left the store.
And none too soon. No more than two minutes later, her dad entered through the rear door. "I'm back, pixie," he said as he hung his hat on the coatrack, then removed his suit jacket. "Any calls?"
"No." She pursed her lips, debating whether or not to "forget" Officer Tucker's visit. "No calls."
Best not to forget, she finally decided.
"Officer Tucker was in a while ago. He said something was stolen over at the movie house last night. He wanted to know if you saw anything before you left."
"Not a thing." Her dad shook his head. "What's this town coming to?"
Miriam felt a flush rise up her neck and into her cheeks. She turned away and wiped the counter with a rag. She didn't want to meet her dad's gaze.
There wasn't much that bothered Miriam Gresham, but disappointing her dad was one thing that did. She was his pixie, his precious angel girl. He told her so all the time. Whenever anything was wrong, she could count on his warm embrace and abundant love.
On the other hand, he was a bit of a fuddy-duddy. He was forever and always trying to teach her some lesson. More likely than not, that lesson would be sprinkled with words from the Good Book. All well and good, she supposed, for somebody her dad's age. At forty, he didn't have much choice but to walk the straight and narrow. All his good years were behind him.
But Miriam's life lay before her like one huge banquet. She wanted to taste it all. There'd be time enough for religion when she got old.
"Caught you," her dad said as his hand fell upon her shoulder.
Guilty heat flared in her cheeks again as she turned to look at him.
"You weren't listening to a thing I said, little daydreamer."
"Sorry, Dad."
He grinned. "Go on. Your lunch is waiting, and your mother will be wondering where you are."
"Are you sure you don't need me to do something else?"
"I'm sure." He kissed her cheek. "Besides, you're supposed to take your brother swimming this afternoon."
Miriam groaned. She'd completely forgotten her promise to Arledge.
Her dad laughed. "It's not going to hurt you to spend a little time with him. You've only got the one brother. Be good to him."
"I try, Dad, but he can be such a . . ." She sought for an appropriate word that she could use with her father, finally settling on ". . . brat."
"So can you," he said affectionately.
Miriam groaned again as she headed for the door, knowing there was no point in delaying the inevitable. Like it or not, she was stuck with Arledge for the afternoon.
CHAPTER THREE
WHEN ROBERT MCALLISTER LOST HIS FARM TO THE BANK IN '33, HE and his family were taken in by a cousin, Orland Bruce. All five of the McAllister boys had been sharing an attic bedroom ever since.
While Jacob loved his four younger brothers, there was such a thing as too much togetherness. So he could sympathize with Miriam when she complained about having to look after twelve-year-old Arledge.
Still, swimming seemed like a good idea on a day that was turning into a scorcher. Especially when it afforded him the leisure of looking at Miriam in a bathing suit. She was definitely an S.Y.T.—a Sweet Young Thing. The prettiest girl in River Bluff. Probably the prettiest in the whole county.
"Arledge, you get over to this side right now!" Miriam hollered at her brother without lifting her head from the sun-drenched rock where she lay on her back, her golden blonde hair fanning out like a halo. "You know Mother doesn't want you getting so far out."
"Ah, sis. I'm not a baby."
"You mind me. You hear? I'm not getting in trouble with Dad because of you."
Jacob chuckled. If that wasn't rich, he didn't know what was. There was Miriam, worried about getting into trouble because Arledge swam too far from shore, but she hadn't been afraid to break into the theater's display case last night and steal that stupid movie poster!
"Jacob," she said, her eyes closed again.
"Hmm?"
"Why don't you come with me to California? Why don't we go now, this summer?"
His heart skipped a beat. "Are you proposing to me, Miriam?"
She released an unladylike snort. "Of course not, you idiot." She sat up and looked at him. "I just don't see any reason for me to waste time finishing high school. An actress doesn't need a diploma. She needs talent, and I've got that. If you could get your hands on a car—"
"I'm the idiot? It's more than a car we'd need. We'd need money for gas and food and a place to stay. In case you haven't noticed, most of the country's outta work."
"Well," she said with a sigh, "there's got to be some way to get to Hollywood before I'm too old to become a star. Besides, I'm going to die if I'm stuck in this place much longer. Simply die." She lay down, rolled onto her stomach, and turned her face away from him.
Jacob stood and walked to the swimming hole's edge.
From the first time he'd laid eyes on Miriam—when she was all of six and Jacob was eight—she'd owned his heart. He remembered that warm summer morning as if it were yesterday. He'd come into town with his dad to get supplies for the farm, and there'd been Miriam, skipping rope on the sidewalk outside the drugstore. When she noticed him watching her from the bed of the pickup truck, she'd grinned, never missing a beat with the rope.
He didn't know if it was her dimples that got to him or the twinkle of mischief in her eyes. All he knew was, from that moment on, he was a goner.
He frowned. Maybe he should try to find a way to take Miriam to California, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the water. Maybe if he did something as dramatic as that, she'd think of him as more than her childhood pal. Maybe then she'd realize that he'd become a man.
Besides, what would he be leaving if he did go? It wasn't as if he was college-bound, now that the farm was gone. He'd have to take that part-time clerking job he'd been offered with Mooney Tucker, maybe eventually become an insurance salesman.
An insurance salesman. He didn't have to be told that Miriam wasn't going to marry one of those. Leastwise, not if she knew about it first. She wanted excitement and glamour. She wasn't about to settle for ordinary.
And nobody was more ordinary than Jacob McAllister—six feet tall, lanky and rawboned, freckle-faced. The only thing not ordinary about him was his carrot red hair with matching eyebrows, and that wasn't exactly a plus.
Nobody was more broke than Jacob either. The whole McAllister clan hadn't more than a few nickels to rub together at any one time. It grated on Jacob, although he tried not to let it show. He knew their current circumstances were plenty hard on his dad's pride without Jacob adding to his troubles.
'Course, maybe if he left town with Miriam that would help his folks. One less mouth to feed, after all.
But he knew he wouldn't go. Not even for Miriam. He had to take that job at Tucker's Insurance.
Feeling suddenly frustrated and angry, Jacob dove into the water and swam to the opposite end of the pond.
Poor Jacob, Miriam thought, watching him through half-closed eyes. If only he could understand.
She didn't mean to hurt him, but neither could she help it that she didn't return his feelings. She knew he was waiting until she was a little older before he really and truly asked her to marry him. If that happened, she would have to turn him down and break his heart. She hoped to be long gone from River Bluff before then. Jacob was nice enough, as boys went, but when the day came for Miriam's wedding, she planned to marry a famous movie actor, not the son of a farmer.
She closed her eyes and envisioned Garbo as Anna Karenina. When Miriam fell in love, it would be with that sort of passion. It might even be with that sort of tragedy.
She pictured herself in black and white, moving across the silver screen, stepping into the embrace of a handsome leading man, this one bearing a striking resemblance to Clark Gable. She waited to feel the touch of his lips upon hers, to experience her first kiss, to—
Cold water ca
scaded down upon her, drenching her from head to toe.
With a shriek, she jumped to her feet. "Arledge Francis Gresham! I'm going to skin you alive!"
Frank Gresham looked up from his account books when he heard the jingle of the bell over the front door. "Afternoon, Mooney." He removed his reading glasses and rose from his chair.
"Afternoon, Frank. I came to pick up those pills Doc Carson wants Theodora to take. You got them ready?"
"Sure do." He reached for the bottle. "Want those on your account?"
Mooney nodded, then removed his hat and wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "It's a hot one today. Gard said it was over ninety degrees at noon." He glanced upward. "Smart thing, having those ceiling fans. Could use a few of 'em over in my office."
"They're a lifesaver in the summer."
"Did Del tell you about the theft at the movie house last night?"
Frank handed the small bottle of pills to Mooney. "Not personally. He came into the store while I was home for lunch. But he told Miriam and asked if I'd seen anything out of the ordinary." He shook his head slowly. "A real shame. Used to be things like that didn't happen in River Bluff."
"Well, Del's sure to catch the culprits, sooner or later."
"I hope so. And I hope when he does that their parents give them a sound licking."
Mooney agreed, exchanged a few pleasantries, then said, "Better get this medicine home to Theodora." He waved farewell as he left the store.
Thinking about Mooney's ailing wife, Frank pondered his owned blessed state as he closed out the register for the day and locked up the cash. Eliza was beautiful and kind, and his children were healthy and well behaved. Other than the occasional sibling squabbles, Miriam and Arledge were as close as any he'd known. Without a doubt, God had been good to the Gresham family. Sure, times had been hard since the crash. Business in the drugstore was down, and some folks couldn't pay their bills. Others had lost their homes and farms, and had been forced to move away. But Frank was confident the Lord would bring them through.
Yes, indeed, Frank Gresham was a blessed and contented man.
He checked the back door to the alley before removing the white coat he wore at the store and replacing it with his regular suit coat. Then, keys in hand, he headed for the front door. It opened before he reached it.
"Hi, Dad."
"Hi, pixie. Did you come to walk home with me?"
"Sure did." Miriam's grin revealed dimples in both cheeks.
"Have a good time swimming?"
She shrugged. "It was okay."
They stepped outside, and Frank locked the door. When he turned, he found Miriam gazing toward the movie theater.
"You might as well forget it," he said with gentle firmness.
"But, Dad—"
"Sorry, honey. That film isn't appropriate for a girl your age. Maybe not for any age."
"But, Dad, Leo Tolstoy is considered one of Russia's greatest nineteenth-century novelists. Anna Karenina is a classic. Just ask Mrs. Yancy, my lit teacher."
Frank considered his words before replying. "Tolstoy's novel may very well be great literature, Miriam, and it may also be a classic. But the story's heroine makes many misguided choices. The kinds of choices you don't need to read about at your age."
"I'm not a child, Dad, and I know what the story's about. Anna commits adultery and later she kills herself." She rolled her eyes. "I guess she was a biff at both love and life."
"A what?"
"A biff. You know, a loser."
"Never judge others too harshly, pixie, for as we judge so are we judged."
"It's a book, Dad."
"No, it's an attitude of your heart. I want you to learn about love from the source of love Himself. They rarely portray real love on the movie screen."
She sighed as dramatically as any fifteen-year-old could, as if to say, I know, Dad.
Frank reached out and took hold of his daughter's hand. "You've only just begun your life, Miriam. I want you to live it well."
"I plan to," she answered, a jaunty twinkle in her eyes.
O Lord, watch over my beloved girl.
CHAPTER FOUR
IF MIRIAM HAD HER DRUTHERS, THE GRESHAM FAMILY WOULD attend a church with a bit more pomp and circumstance than All Saints Community. The choir didn't wear satin robes. The building didn't have stained-glass windows, and the pews didn't have padded seats like the Catholic church down the street. Even the altar area was ordinary—just a black leather Bible and a simple wooden cross on a table behind the pulpit from which the minister delivered his sermons.
On this particular Sunday morning, Miriam fanned herself as she watched the sweat bead on Pastor Desmond's forehead, then trickle down the sides of his beet-red face. Why didn't he stop preaching and let them go home? It was hotter than all get-out today. She could scarcely breathe, the air was so still. Anybody with a lick of sense was sitting in the shade near the river, cooling their feet in the water as it flowed by, not stuck in a stuffy church.
She glanced at her dad, seated on the other side of Arledge. It wouldn't have occurred to Frank Gresham to be anywhere else than right where he was now, listening attentively. When they walked home after church, Miriam knew he would discuss the sermon with her mother, and while Eliza Gresham prepared their Sunday dinner, he would open his Bible and make notes in the margins, a thoughtful frown pinching the center of his forehead.
The sameness of it nearly drove Miriam insane.
If I don't get out of this town soon, I'll go mad. Stark raving mad.
But Jacob was right. She needed more than an automobile to get her to California. She needed money, and she needed help. She couldn't go alone.
Are you proposing to me, Miriam? Jacob's words echoed.
Would he take her to California if she promised to many him? He might. Not that she would actually go through with it once they got there. She wasn't going to Hollywood in order to be Mrs. Jacob McAllister. Still, if it served her purpose . . .
Hmm . . .
She turned her head to the right, glancing over her shoulder, across the aisle, and two rows back. That was where the Robert McAllister family sat, right behind the Bruce clan.
Jacob was looking at her.
It only took meeting his eyes to know he'd go with her if she promised to marry him. He would do anything for her. He loved her. It was as clear as the nose on her face.
She straightened in the pew, trying to appear as if she were listening to the sermon, even as her thoughts continued to churn.
They didn't have a car, and there was no hope of getting one. So they would have to walk, get rides from other travelers, perhaps hop on a train. The tramps going back and forth across the country did it all the time. Why not her? She wasn't afraid. It would be exciting.
But they would still need money, not easy to come by in these troubled times. In her mind, she heard the ka-ching! of the cash register at the drugstore. A shiver ran through her.
It wouldn't really be stealing, she reasoned. Not if I intend to pay it back. She glanced toward her dad. He'd give it to me if he understood how badly I want this. He'd help me if I was older. So all I'd be doing is moving things along a little bit faster. That's all. He'd see that in the end.
Frank reached for the hymnal and rose from the pew. Miriam quickly did the same. He looked at her, and he smiled, then held the open hymnal toward her so they could each hold one side of the book. The gesture drew her closer to him, Arledge standing between them.
Her dad would be hurt if she left home. So would her mother. But they would forgive her, given time. They always forgave her. She could count on that, like counting on the rising and setting of the sun.
The All Saints Community Church choir had five members—two sopranos, one alto, a tenor, and a bass—plus the organist, Grace Finch. The same five people had made up the choir for the past decade. They wouldn't win any awards for their singing, but they were competent enough and enjoyed what they did.
Certainly
that was true of Eliza Gresham. She felt closest to God whenever she sang. Although she held her hymnal in front of her, she had no need to look at the words of "Nearer, My God, to Thee." Instead, she gazed at her family and felt an overwhelming burst of thankfulness for them.
Eliza had fallen in love with Frank Gresham when she was all of sixteen. She remembered the day . . . June 1, 1917 . . . the hour . . . 2:15 P.M. . . . and the place . . . on the sidewalk at the corner of Main and Elm, right outside the mercantile.
Frank was a soldier, twenty-one, his parents deceased, and he was about to ship out with his company to fight in the Great War. He came to River Bluff with Mooney Tucker, a fellow soldier and friend.
Eliza lost her heart the moment she laid eyes on him, and nothing had changed about that in all the years since—except perhaps she loved him even more today.
They were married when Eliza was eighteen, and there hadn't been a day since then that she hadn't thanked God for sparing Frank's life in that horrible war, for allowing her to be his wife for the past seventeen years, for letting her be the mother of his children.
Her gaze shifted from her husband to her son. Arledge, at twelve, looked so much like his father. They had the same nose, the same chin, the same thoughtful expression. Arledge was easygoing like Frank. Very little ruffled his feathers.
Except for his sister.
Eliza felt a flutter of concern in her heart as she looked at Miriam.
Her daughter was as beautiful as any actress, and it wasn't just a mother's prejudice that made Eliza think so. But it wasn't her daughter's looks that caused Eliza to worry. It was Miriam's attitude. The girl was so headstrong, so willful, and so determined to become a part of the world beyond River Bluff that Eliza was afraid of what impulsive thing her daughter would do to break free. Eliza occasionally voiced her concerns to Frank, but he didn't seem to see any potential problem. So Eliza felt obliged to worry for the both of them.
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