by AlLee, Jennifer L. ; Breidenbach, Angela; Franklin, Darlene
Robert leaned close to her ear. “Last time we … I mean … you were willing to run away and marry me. I still want that. Do you?”
She set the can of peaches back on the display before her shaking fingers dropped it. This conversation—this heartbreak—had been looming since the moment she saw him under the grandstand. To drag it out was unfair to him and her. “What I want is peace between our families. I want to welcome your parents into our home the same way I want you to welcome mine. I want our children to love both sets of grandparents.”
And she didn’t know how that would happen other than for Robert to ask for and receive permission to marry her.
He swung his crutches and shuffled away from the beautiful display of canned fruits.
Following, her steps weighted, Jolene absorbed the sight of Robert—his broad shoulders tapered into his waist, the tan uniform crisp except for the horizontal creases from sitting with his back pressed against a seat, and the long legs. She engraved the sight into her mind so that, in the years to come, she might remember every part of this man who held her heart—
But might never again hold her hand.
Robert leaned into another step, his eyes watching the uneven ground, taking in the shoes in various shapes and sizes parting like the Red Sea before him.
If Jolene followed him, she was silent. Just as well. She’d said enough already.
What a fool he’d been, running off to war hoping it would solve the problems he’d left behind. Hoping, somehow, that distance would bandage the wounds, and silence salve the rift.
It didn’t work.
Nothing he’d done after losing Mitch had worked.
He’d give his right arm—no, his very life—to take back what happened that day. It was all his fault, from getting caught holding Jolene’s hand to losing his focus in the middle of a match.
All.
His.
Fault.
A bale of hay came into view. He’d come to the edge of the fairgrounds with nothing but a parking lot for cars, buggies, and a few horse-drawn carts beyond the hay boundary.
End of the line. Nowhere to go but back the way he’d come or in an endless loop around the perimeter. He sensed rather than saw Jolene’s presence. Part of him wanted to yell at her to go away, but the greater part longed to draw her near and never let go. To kiss her until she admitted she was as crazy in love with him as he was with her, and that she’d defy her parents to become his wife.
Because defiance has worked so well for you, hasn’t it?
His sarcastic conscience hit with the force of a hammer.
The first rule of any conflict, whether on the field of play or the field of war, was to change tactics when the one you were using didn’t work. And the first rule of love was to put your beloved’s needs above your own. What Jolene wanted was right and good.
If only the chance of success wasn’t so slim.
Robert closed his eyes to gather his courage. “If I ask, and your father says no, what will you do?”
A swish of fabric. The faint scent of gasoline. “I don’t know.”
“That’s not good enough, JoJo. Promise me you won’t run off to be an aerial stunt pilot.” He gripped the handles of his crutches until his palms ached. “Promise.”
“Then you prefer that I marry Pierre and live in France?”
Pain lanced through his chest with the force of a bullet. He bit back a groan.
“Do you?”
He couldn’t get the word past his tight lips, so he nodded. Jolene deserved to marry, to have children, to grow her fruit trees even if they were planted in foreign soil.
“Then you must promise me something in return, Robbie.”
The sound of his nickname in her voice turned his legs to rubber. Only the brace of his crutches saved him from falling to the ground. “What?”
She touched his elbow, a gesture of love and caring that rippled in agonizing waves through his body. “You must promise to find some sweet girl to marry.”
Open himself again to the pain of love and loss? “Never.”
Chapter 5
Jolene dropped her hand and stepped back. What was she supposed to do now? Was saying he wanted her to marry Pierre, then refusing to marry himself, Robert’s way of making her give in and run away with him?
The temptation was fiercer than when Mr. Walpole offered her the chance to fly.
When Pierre asked if she knew who Robert was now, a small part of her hoped she didn’t. Because Robert, despite all his good qualities, had a streak of arrogance. He thought he could bend people to his will with the force of his convictions. Of course, that wasn’t all bad. Men with solid, unshakable beliefs were good for someone like her … someone who bent too easily for the sake of keeping the peace.
She had hoped—even prayed—that war would knock some brashness out of Robert.
Apparently it hadn’t.
Jolene hung her head and took another step back. Her parents’ approval of the man she married meant too much to her, and she’d not be swayed from it. Not even by Robert.
Changing him wasn’t her job. Neither was changing her parents. The only person she could change was herself, so the question remained …
What was she supposed to do now?
Robert twisted his torso then used the crutches to make his legs follow. His ashen skin and dull eyes were those of a soldier facing a suicide mission. “I’ll ask, JoJo. I don’t think it will do anything but pound the final nail in the coffin of our dream. But for you, I’ll ask.”
She inhaled. The acidic scent of hay tickled her nose and lined her lungs. Perhaps he wasn’t as stubborn as he used to be. So perhaps she needed to be a little more forceful about what she wanted instead of always choosing the path of least resistance. “Then I’ll go to my parents and tell them that I want to marry you.”
A pathetic attempt at a smile lifted the corners of his tight lips. “Good. I’m … I’m sure that will help.”
Tears burned her eyes. She put a trembling hand over her mouth to hold in a useless contradiction. How sweet of him to try and bolster her spirits. Before her tenuous control over her emotions fractured, Jolene whirled around and stumbled toward the staging area for the auto polo teams.
Within four steps, she knew something else. She turned back in time to see him rub his chin against his shoulder, leaving a patch of darker tan cloth. “I won’t marry Pierre, Robbie. I can’t. Not when my heart belongs to you. So, if my parents say no, I’ll be saying yes to Mr. Walpole.”
His eyes blazed. “Over my—”
“Dead body?” She tilted her head to one side. “No, Robbie. Not yours, and probably not mine.”
His chin snapped up an inch. “Probably isn’t good enough.”
Aching with love for this man who wanted to protect her, she put a hand up to keep him from coming closer. “Nothing in this life is guaranteed, darling. You and I know that better than anyone. If it’s my time to die, then it’s my time. I’ll fly to my heavenly mansion, plant fruit trees in the backyard, and learn how to can peaches from my sainted grandmother. What I will no longer do is order my life around what others think is best for me.”
Spinning around, she gulped down strangling sobs and walked toward the fight she’d been avoiding since the day she fell in love with Robert Montgomery.
Five minutes later, she approached the repair tent. Her father would be making one last check before they drove the cars to the grandstand area for viewing. Sure enough, his blond head was bent over the engine of the second car from the left.
“Daddy, do you have a moment to talk?”
He looked up, his grease-smudged face sobering the moment his eyes met hers. “Sure, baby girl. What do you need?”
Eyes stinging, she dropped the tent flap and stepped inside. She’d never wanted to be a mechanic, but Theo’s injury had forced the entire team to adapt. A part of her loved the challenge of puzzling out how to restore life to mangled cars. Sometimes, if she tried hard eno
ugh, she could make the tent’s canvas walls a sanctuary.
Not today.
“I … I want to …” Jolene dropped her eyes. Her fingernails were still rimmed in black. She picked at the grease and struggled to form the words inside her head so that, when they came out, her father would understand. “I’ve had a job offer.”
Metal clanged against metal. “What kind of job?”
The frayed skin around her thumb began to bleed. She held it to her lips and swallowed down the coppery tang of blood mixed with oil.
“I asked what kind of job.” His tone of voice made it sound like she was asking to become a fallen woman.
“A mechanic. Sort of.”
“Define sort of.”
Jolene raised her chin. She could at least look like she felt brave. “A Mr. Walpole from Dayton-Wright Aeroplane Company wants me to become an aerial stunt pilot to show off the safety and maneuverability of their planes. He says that they will teach me to fly, and since I’m already a mechanic, they can train me to fix my own plane, too.”
Her father ran his tongue along his top teeth, ending with a little slurp. “And you’re asking for my permission to leave us?”
Heart hammering so hard she could feel it to her toes, Jolene squeezed her hands into fists. “No, Daddy. I’m almost twenty-one years old. If I want to take this job, I will.”
His blue eyes widened. “I see. So, why are you here?”
He knew why she was here. He had to! Didn’t he? “Because … because I love Robert Montgomery.”
“Ah.” He bent over the engine once again.
His dismissal heated her skin. Jolene stomped forward. “Define Ah!”
He didn’t look up. “It means I’ve been waiting a long time to have this conversation.”
Jolene’s legs wobbled. There was no place to sit, so she settled for leaning against the worktable and hoped no grease would stain her navy skirt. “How long have you known?”
“Since the moment Theo stormed into the repair tent at Comisky Park breathing fire because he caught you and Robert holding hands and whispering in each other’s ears.”
Jolene’s lungs seized. “So you’ve known all this time?”
The question wasn’t about her and Robert, it was about her guilt, but to say that outright was more than even her new resolve to be more forthright could muster.
His blue eyes were the saddest eyes she’d ever seen—sadder even than Robert’s a few minutes ago. “It wasn’t your fault, Jolene. It was mine. I should have stopped Theo from driving like a madman that first quarter, but to my everlasting regret, I said nothing.”
How many others thought the accident that left Theo Caplan an invalid and Mitch Montgomery dead was their fault? Heart swollen with pity, Jolene lurched into her father’s waiting arms. “Why didn’t you stop Theo?”
He hugged her a little tighter. “I knew my little girl was in love, and I needed to see if it was with a boy or a man. If Robert had behaved in the second quarter the way he did in the first, I would have given my permission.”
At least he didn’t know she’d planned to elope and deny him the opportunity to walk her down the aisle.
“But now?” The bitter question came from behind her.
Robert.
Jolene rotated enough to see him, while keeping her arms around her father’s waist. “Robbie. Not now.”
He swung his crutches forward and stepped inside the tent. “I think now is as good a time as any. After all, I need to know what I’m up against.”
Robert watched Mr. Caplan’s face as he dropped his arms from around Jolene’s shoulders He seemed older than even a few hours ago, but the firm set of his jaw meant he was still a force to be reckoned with. “Go on, baby girl. This is between me and Robert.”
Jolene’s beautiful blue eyes flitted between him and her father.
“It’s okay.” Mr. Caplan kissed her forehead and gave her a little push. “I promise not to deck him again.”
After eyeballing her father then Robert, Jolene gave a little sigh. “I’ll be in the house-car with Mom.” As she passed Robert on her way out of the tent, she whispered, “Praying.”
Robert longed to sit down but dared not. This was a battle, no mistake, and he intended to use every advantage—including his two inches of height superiority. “I love her, sir.”
Mr. Caplan waited until the flap of the tent closed, dimming the light inside to a muted gold. “I know. That’s not the problem.”
Robert sucked in a breath. “Then what is?”
With narrowed eyes, Mr. Caplan took a step closer. “I think you know.”
His heart thudded against his rib cage. Jolene’s dad was laying down a challenge. If Robert identified the problem, he’d be one step closer to winning the girl of his dreams. Sickening dread settled over him—the same dread that surrounded him when he’d stood in a foxhole, rifle ready, the stench of his own sweat tempting him to surrender.
Robert slouched against the crutches and closed his eyes. He needed to think and couldn’t do it while staring Mr. Caplan down.
If he were a father and someone was asking for permission to marry his daughter, what would be the most important thing to know about the man? “I’m a hard worker, Mr. Caplan. I don’t have a job yet, but I’ll find one.”
“I know.”
“I’ll treat her right, sir. I’d never hurt her or intentionally cause her harm. I’d lay down my life for her. And I’m sorry for kissing her in public like that when I didn’t have the right to do it. But aside from that lapse, I’ve always put her reputation above my”—Robert swallowed past the humiliation of the next word—“desires.”
“I know.”
“Well, then, why’d you hit me so hard?” Robert opened his eyes and rubbed his jaw.
Mr. Caplan smirked. “Not bad for an old man, huh? Truth is, I didn’t recognize you at first, and then …” He picked a blue rag off the worktable and wiped at the grease on his hands. “Well, then I thought you might be kissing her to force my hand. It wasn’t until later I realized my mistake.”
Good to know. But it wasn’t helping Robert figure out what Mr. Caplan considered the greatest obstacle to granting his permission for Jolene to marry Robert.
He gulped down air. His lungs were on fire and his brain frozen.
Jolene’s sweet voice filled his head. “I want to welcome your parents into our home the same way I want you to welcome mine. I want our children to love both sets of grandparents.”
Oh no.
Hanging his head, Robert stared at the ground. “I can’t … I can’t make my father love her, sir.”
“And I can’t let her marry into a family that won’t welcome her.” Mr. Caplan’s scuffed white-and-brown wing tips appeared. “What you’re too young to realize is that marriage isn’t just between two people, it’s between two families. Any couple that starts a life together without the support of their families does so at their peril, because someday your wife is going to want to wring your neck like a chicken, and if your mother-in-law isn’t supportive of your marriage, she’ll tell her daughter exactly how to do it.”
In spite of himself, Robert laughed at the image, but the humorous moment accentuated the gap between him and Jolene’s father. Time to face the awful truth. “My father hasn’t forgiven me, sir. I don’t know how to get him to forgive you.”
Mr. Caplan’s eyes went shiny. “Neither do I, and I’ve tried.”
The statement hung between them like a referee’s flag stopping play until the damage could be assessed. “When?”
“As soon as I found out we’d be competing against each other again. I wrote your father a letter asking if we could put the past behind us. He wrote back telling me where I and my desire to reconcile could go to rot.” Mr. Caplan swiped a hand through his hair. “We used to be friends, your dad and I. Did you know that?”
“No, sir.” No longer worried about appearing superior, Robert hauled himself to the closest car and maneuvered his sor
e body into the passenger seat.
Mr. Caplan remained silent until Robert got settled. “Thirty years ago, when we were fresh from the schoolhouse with no future but taking over the family farms, an automobile race came through town. Your dad and I begged to be allowed to quit our chores long enough to stand on the side of the road and watch it. There were only two cars, and they were slow as molasses in January, but they were the most exciting thing two farm boys had ever seen in our sixteen years. For weeks afterward, your dad and I met after our chores were done and dreamt of the day we’d run away and become automobile racers. We made a pact that nothing would ever ruin our friendship and had every right to believe we’d be able to keep that promise. After all, if the fight over Mary Alice Kuhlman—the most beautiful girl in School House Seven—couldn’t come between us, nothing ever would.”
Robert had heard the story of the race that came through Oshkosh, Wisconsin, but never with Oliver Caplan as a part of it. “How much of the seven hundred dollars required to purchase that first car was yours?”
“Half.” Mr. Caplan shook his head. “We were a team back then. Automobile companies were trying to sell the longevity and dependability of their cars, so the races were long-distance and required at least two drivers so one could sleep while the other drove.”
“What went wrong?”
Mr. Caplan lifted his right shoulder. “A little jealousy here, some hurtful teasing there, and then—when racing became an individual sport—I got offered a sponsorship as a solo driver and took it. Your father never forgave me.”
The skin on the back of Robert’s neck tingled.
“And that’s my biggest problem.” Mr. Caplan held up a hand to forestall any comment. “Because here’s another thing you don’t understand yet: one day you are going to have to forgive Jolene. It might be a big thing; it might be small. It might be a year from now or ten years from now. It doesn’t really matter. Marriage requires hefty doses of forgiveness on a regular basis. You’re too in love for me to judge your character on this issue. Whether you like it or not, most men grow up to be the spitting image of their fathers. So, Robert, if you were in my shoes, would you entrust your daughter to a man you feared had never learned to forgive?”