Liberating Mr. Gable, Part One

by Sophia Derobe

  Liberating Mr. Gable, Part One

  Sophia Dérobé

  Liberating Mr. Gable, Part One

  Sophia Dérobé

  Copyright © 2014 Sophia Dérobé

  Published at Smashwords

  DEDICATION

  For Stanley.

  And old friends you can call on when you need odd favors.

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Braving the Storm

  A great gust of wind scooped up a barrel-full of snow and hurled it at Etta Brossetta’s windshield. It’ll take more than that to run me off the road. Nice try, she tempted the weather, willing her silent bravado to make the gale behave. The pickup truck was a hand-me-down, as was the home she inherited. The house on the hill suited her better than the large truck, but she had learned to maneuver it around the tight turns and steep inclines. Of course, failure to master the vehicle meant a swift death over the side of the mountain, so mastery was a given.

  When she pulled into the small, empty lot of the check-in office, Etta found a snow-covered parking space. She secured the sapphire scarf in a knot around her neck, making sure to tuck her shoulder-length chestnut hair into the wool. Her matching knit cap was tugged down over her ears in anticipation of the freezing weather that no amount of preparation could stave off. She glanced in the rearview mirror, noting her sallow complexion that just a few months ago had been an age-accurate twenty-seven-year-old glow. She sighed, making peace with the bags under her eyes while praying Vera would not notice.

  The white was coming faster now, and chunkier by the minute. She jumped down from the dark green hunk of metal and padded toward the back of the building. Her black snow boots were not meant for hustling, but she managed well enough. Etta reached out to twist the knob, but it would not budge. Stupid mitten, she scolded, eyeing the offending garment for the third time that evening. Four of the B&B owners were avid knitters, so she was always discovering some woolen item showing up out of nowhere. She yanked off the navy, periwinkle and teal covering (she once made the mistake of mentioning to Mrs. Jenkins that she liked the color blue) and tried the knob with her bare fingers. The steel was unforgiving in its attempts to chill her to the bone. When the door still would not open, Etta stared at the round gold handle, perplexed. This door’s never locked. I didn’t even know it could lock. What’s going on?

  Etta banged her fist against the back door. When no answer came, she debated going around to the front entrance – the visitor’s entrance. She only used that if she was pretending to be an eccentric renter to cheer up her elderly friend Vera after a particularly long day. The skit usually involved an imaginary fur coat, a purse full of puppies and a hideous accent that always made the old woman’s jowls shake with a hearty chortle.

  “Etta?” came the timid voice from the other side of the back door. “Is that you?”

  Eyebrows furrowed, Etta shrugged. “Were you expecting someone else?”

  The door opened slowly. The old woman’s glassy eyes darted over Etta’s shoulder for possible danger. “Come in, quick!”

  Concerned with her friend’s odd behavior, Etta obeyed, following the stooped old woman into the office. When the door shut behind them, she leaned against it, eyeing Vera. “What’s going on? You look like we’re about to be bombed.”

  Vera waved her wrinkled hand in the air dismissively as she began shoving items into her bottomless purse. “Nothing. Nothing at all, dear. Just want to get going. Thanks for coming by to pick me up.” She paused her haste to give a long, deflating sigh. “A shifty man came in earlier.” She shook her head in judgment. “No reservations, and of course you know we’re booked through the end of next week. I told him we had no rooms available, so he left to catch his cab back down the mountain, thank goodness.” She stage-whispered over her shoulder to the girl, “Plus, I think he was hooked on the dope or the smack.”

  Etta was grateful Vera’s hearing was spotty, for she missed Etta’s choked-back laughter at the woman’s terminology. “Well, that…that’s just a shame. Good thing he didn’t get his hands on your swear jar.” She nodded her head to the Mason jar half-full of silver coins on the desk.

  Vera smoothed a few gray strands of hair back toward her bun. “I’ll say. Though, I’m fairly certain he was eyeing it at one point.”

  “Dirty scoundrel!” Etta teased.

  Vera did not catch the cheek in Etta’s tone, and nodded with a frown. “He was wearing a leather jacket, too. You know what that means.”

  “Gang member,” Etta responded solemnly. Vera was given to overreacting to any renter not fitting the usual newlywed couple or happy family profile. No matter how many times she tried to convince Vera that leather jackets were not affiliated with gang activity, the old woman held firm to her beliefs. Etta suspected they were instilled by watching West Side Story too many times.

  Etta watched Vera stuff her arms into her favorite old knit sweater. It had cats on the pockets with silver dollar-sized googly eyes that Etta thought were unnaturally wide and aware. She stared the dowdy felines down when Vera’s head was turned. “Do you want me to get your boots?”

  Vera nodded, and then shut down her computer. While she waited for the screen to respond, Vera shuffled through her purse, rattling around coins, hard candy and several months’ worth of receipts and scraps of paper. “Where are my glasses? I know I had them at lunch.”

  Pointing to Vera’s hair, Etta cracked a small smirk as she dropped the fur-lined boots at Vera’s feet. “They’re on your head, babe.” She clapped her hand against the fingers that stuck out of her cast. “Alright, so you sent the shifty criminal home in a cab. You ready to go paint the town pink with me? Light up the night like the two wild women we are?”

  Conjuring up a look that held both amusement and reproach, Vera responded with a hint of scolding. “I’m sure I’ve never done a wild thing in my life, dear. It’s your turn to have some fun. Though, not tonight. Straight home with you after you drop me off. You’ll catch your death out in that cold.” She zipped her coat with unsteady fingers. “Thanks for coming to get me. My Buick wouldn’t budge. Unreliable thing never starts when it’s below five degrees out.”

  “Not a problem.” There were at least three other people Vera could have called on, but Etta knew the old woman beckoned her so Etta would have to break her borderline recluse behavior and finally leave the house. “You got the lights?” Etta held the back door open for her friend, making sure to offer her plastered arm for Vera to hold onto.

  As soon as the two stepped out into the night, the wind sliced them with its frosty teeth, gnawing away any semblance of comfort acquired in the cozy office. “Hurry, Etta! Don’t dawdle.”

  Sighing inwardly, Etta bit her tongue. Everyone still spoke to her in the same parental tones, no matter how much she tried to be seen as an equal. She tried not to be bothered by it.

  Large icicles hung over the edge of the roof, threatening to impale the ladies as they slowly made their way through the snowstorm. “Move back a little,” Etta instructed. She dropped Vera’s grip and grabbed the shovel that could always be found propped up next to the door. With her good hand, she hefted up the tool and swept it across the gutters, knocking the icy knives to the ground. “Thomas was supposed to clean your gutters a few months ago. Don’t tell me it slipped his mind. I swear, your son needs a good talking to. Just say the word.”

  “Let’s go, Etta. I’ll have him come by tomorrow and do a sweep of the icicles before we open,” urged Vera, plodding along as steady as she could on the snow-covered walkway.

  “And risk you getting skewered? I don’t think so.” Etta struggled with the tool, using her forearm to balance the stick as she turned t
he corner to conquer more of the sharp shingle daggers. She took a few more steps, and then noticed a black blur trembling amidst the white. “What the –” Her confusion cleared up as she moved closer. “Oh my gracious!” Etta shouted. “Hello? Can I help you?” She knew better than to run on the icy ground, but hurried all the same. Her heart pounded when she saw the dark shape was a man in a thin leather jacket, huddled on the ice-covered stoop leading to the front entrance. “Sir?” His black hair was styled with gel that had frozen, turning the spiky tips white.

  When he looked up at her, compassion swelled in Etta. Nose running, violent shaking and visible chill spreading through his extremities trumped the logic that told her to keep a safe distance from male strangers. “Who’s coming for you?” she asked, voice raised to counteract the wind picking up at her back.

  The man was unintelligible through his chattering teeth.

  Vera’s shrill voice reached Etta. “Etta Brossetta, you come here this instant!”

  Etta did something so heinous, she instantly felt remorseful. For two whole seconds, she glared at Vera. Her grandfather would have been ashamed. “Is this the renter you sent away? I thought you said he caught his cab!”

  “I thought he had! He just left, Etta. Where else would he be going in this weather?”

  The man finally pushed out a few coherent words. “It’s fine. I can wait till morning. My fault. No cell reception yet.”

  “Etta, you get in this truck!” Vera called in her most stern tone.

  Indignation swelled up in Etta, daring her to spew unsavory words at her friend. She took a breath before responding. “You want me to leave him in the cold? He could die out here!”

  Vera motioned for Etta to abandon the stranger and come to the safety of the vehicle. “I’ll have one of the boys come pick him up later.”

  Etta heard a noisy gale rattling through the woods behind her, and braced herself for its approach. “Get in the truck, Vera!” she yelled.

  Without thinking, Etta wrapped her arms around the stranger to offer her body as a shelter from the violent gust of sub-zero wind. His balled-up body shuddered against her, melting her anger at Vera into pity for his plight. “Can you wait here a minute? I’ll pull my truck around.”

  She watched the man nod, and then stomped off toward a disapproving Vera who shook her head from inside the truck. “You think you’re mad at me?” Etta challenged as she hoisted herself ungracefully into the driver’s seat. Etta did not mean to shout, but the volume could not be controlled. Cold mixed with anger, heightening her nerves nearer the breaking point.

  Vera shrunk under Etta’s rare show of anger. “Well, I…he didn’t have a reservation. I thought he was running out to catch his cab!”

  Etta pursed her lips to keep the venom from spewing. Instead of answering, she pulled her truck around to the front entrance and hopped out. The man managed to stand, and he hunched against the cold, clutching his backpack to his chest. Etta let him in on her side, taking his stiff movements as a bad sign of how deep the chill went through him. “Where’s your luggage?” Etta inquired, glancing to the stoop to see if one of his suitcases was buried in the drifts.

  The man patted his backpack and shook his head. “This is it.”

  Etta launched herself into the cab after three failed attempts and slammed the door shut just before a detonation of freezing wind rocked the truck. She shivered and turned the heat up to full blast, aiming the vents at the trembling stranger. “Here.” Etta ripped off her mitten using her teeth and handed it to the man. The other mitten was in her pocket, so she reached across her body to fish it out for him. Her hat came off next, followed by her scarf. He tried to refuse the help, but Etta paid him no mind. She fitted the blue knitted cap on his head, wincing at the crunch as the ice in his hair was pushed down. Then she wrapped the scarf around his neck. Her heart clenched in her chest when his teeth chattered uncontrollably. “There you go. Give it a few minutes. You’ll warm up soon. Hang in there.”

  Etta looked over at Vera, who was plastering her body to the door to avoid contact with the dangerous criminal from her musicals.

  Chapter Two

  Stranger in the Snow

  Etta put the truck into gear and began the short drive to Vera’s house. The turns were icy and the roads were steep, but Etta’s stern, one-handed hold on the steering wheel communicated to the truck that there would be no sass from it tonight.

  Vera glanced at the purple cast with dismay. “When is Benjamin going to take that off?”

  Etta shrugged, permitting Vera to engage with her in small talk to cover over her thoughtless behavior and nerves. “In a week or so, I think. When it comes off, you, me and Chloe are getting manicures to celebrate.”

  “That sounds lovely. But you choose the color this time. Chloe picked out that bawdy red for me, and I didn’t like it. All the customers kept looking at me like I was a loose woman.” Vera shuddered as she looked out the window. Etta did not miss that she gripped her purse to her chest, as if she thought the man might try to rob her.

  Etta cracked a smile, despite her best efforts to maintain her indignation toward her elderly friend. “Well, we can’t have that.”

  Vera finally addressed the man next to her. “Young man, you’ll freeze to death out here if you don’t get a proper coat. And those tennis shoes will soak right through with how much snow we get. I hope you packed something sturdier in that bag of yours. You’re shaking!”

  “Give it a minute; you’ll be toasty soon,” Etta assured him, nodding toward the vents. Vera lived only a few minutes away, so Etta made good use of the time trying to calm the tension with conversation. “Vera, those gutters need cleaning. Something’s in there, clogging them up. Once the storm passes and the ice starts to melt a little, I’ll come by with the ladder and take care of it.”

  “How? You’ve got one hand, young lady.”

  Etta shrugged. “I don’t need both hands for that.”

  “I can have Thomas do it. You don’t need to take care of me, sweetheart.”

  “Yes, I do,” Etta insisted, voice firm. “Tell your son that if he doesn’t muck them out soon, I will.”

  The old woman tsked at the young woman. “You’re supposed to be resting, not worrying about my gutters. I’m not helpless, dear.”

  Etta postured, glancing in her mirrors before taking a slow turn into Vera’s driveway. “Neither am I.” Etta glanced apologetically at the quiet stranger. “I’ll be right back.” She knew taking the keys was the prudent thing to do, but she did not have the heart to leave the man-turned-popsicle without heat just yet. He was still too pink and purple around the edges. She could not get a good look at his whole face. He was hunched over his backpack and shivering so badly in the dark, Etta feared he might break a tooth with all the chattering.

  Etta jumped down and ran around to offer her good hand to Vera, who scooted toward her unsteadily. “What’s your name, young man?” Vera demanded, turning around to face the stranger once her feet were steady on the ground.

  “Anson,” he replied through gritted teeth.

  “And do you have a last name?” Vera inquired.

  Etta was so cold; she did not have the patience for Vera’s questions. “Come on, Vera. In the house with you.”

  “Anson Gable,” he responded quietly. He cast a cagey glance over at Etta, who tried to hide her discomfort at being out in the tundra without her gloves, scarf or hat.

  “Alright, then. I’ll make sure to write that down. For billing purposes, of course,” Vera explained. Etta knew better. She made a mental note to call Vera as soon as they made it home to assure her that Mr. Gable was not a gang member.

  “I’m not billing him, Vera. He’s just staying the night, and I’m not officially open for business yet anyway.”

  Vera shook her head. “Well, that’s up to you, I guess.”

  Etta moved slowly, matching Vera’s pace as she walked her friend to the door. The wind whipped them, making their cheeks so co
ld, they felt prickly with the painful freeze.

  “Thank you, dear.” Vera reached out to hold onto the girl again as she crossed over the one step that led to her cozy cottage. “Wait here for a second. I’ve got a few blankets I finished knitting and a dozen jars of jam. Would you mind taking them up to Benjamin’s store when the weather clears up?” She handed Etta a bag from the settee, and then began rummaging through her purse. “And give these to the boys.” Vera handed her a few butterscotch candies. “Tell them they’ll make them grow big and strong. They just love that.”

  “Can Thomas bring up the jams for me?” Etta did not want to track her sloppy boots into Vera’s home. She shivered as she spoke. The kitten motif was a little off-putting to Etta. Every time she entered the home, she felt dozens of sets of eyes staring at her, watching her every move. So despite the arctic temperatures, Etta remained on the stoop. “And Coop’s thirty, and Jamie’s twenty-one. I think they’re pretty much done growing by now, Vera.” Etta glanced past the old woman, relieved that her son Thomas’ standard Friday night casserole was baking in the oven, and that he had not forgotten. He had moved in with his mother to help her manage things and assist her in running the business. The only thing he ran consistently, though, was the television set.

  Thomas was sitting in his easy chair, and did not get up at Vera’s arrival home. Etta helped Vera take her boots off with a smile, though inside she was grumbling at Thomas’ laziness. “Thomas, can you grab the jams from the basement for me?” she repeated.

  Thomas stood and stretched. “Could you shut the door, Etta? It’s a little cold.” His red flannel pajama pants had holes in the knees. Etta secretly hoped the draft would attack him there and spread through his body, so he would really have something to whine about.

  Etta nodded impatiently as the wind whipped around her. “Jams, Thomas. Sooner I get them, sooner this door closes.”