The changing colors lifted her spirits. Awed by the beauty around her, she loved the ride home from work, though her heart gave a dull thud each time she drove by the lake.
By the first of October, it had been six weeks since she had last made love with David. Each day was emptier than the last, no matter how busy she kept. As she made herself a cup of coffee, she glanced at the calendar and realized, with a start, that her period was two weeks overdue. She had never been late even once in her life.
There was no one else she could trust, so she called her aunt.
"How long are you going to stay away?" Aunt Jeannie asked her. "We haven't seen you in more than a month. Since Louie died. You have to start living again. He was a nice guy, but I didn't know you cared so much for him. You need to get out and date, hit the runway again, too."
"Jeannie, that's not it. I feel bad about Louie, but I wasn't in love with him. It's David. I don't know what to do. He's losing weight and acting funny. We got back together after Louie died, for a couple of days."
Anne's face felt hot. "Then the next day he ignored me. Maybe he just got carried away, but he doesn't want to get involved again. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for going out with Louie, and he's decided to pretend nothing happened."
"Do you love David?"
"Yes."
"Then things will work out."
Without meaning to, she blurted out the thing weighing on her mind since she missed her last period. "Jeannie, I'm so scared. I think I'm pregnant. Please don't tell Mom."
"Heavens, Anne, I won't tell anyone, but you'd better tell David."
"I don't want him to marry me because he's forced into it. And I don't think he will ever believe I didn't sleep with Louie. How can I marry someone who doesn't trust me?"
Her aunt cleared her throat. "You listen to me," she said. "You can't let pride get in your way. That little life you have growing inside you deserves to have a father and to be born into a marriage. What do you want to do, go to some back-alley abortion doctor and flush David's baby down the toilet?"
The image got her attention. The next day, on her way back from the powder room, she dropped a note on David's desk, asking him to meet her at five o'clock at the lake. Although she saw him open it, and he nodded at her, she wasn't sure what he would do.
She got to the lake before he did and wondered if he would even show up.
More than a year had passed since they first stood together here at Water's End, skipping stones on its mirrored surface. Today, the trees were bare, their branches black lace against a gray sky, and Halloween was only a few weeks away. The wind howled, and she pulled her coat closer as she sat in the car waiting for him.
Ten minutes after she arrived, David pulled up and got into her car. "What's going on?" he asked, not meeting her eyes.
"I've got to tell you something." She hesitated. "I . . . I . . . we're going to have a baby."
Startled, he turned to her, a mixture of joy and sadness on his face. But his eyes were soft. "We'll get married right away."
He took her hand. "Don't worry. I'll take care of everything. Make an appointment with your doctor for a blood test tomorrow. I'll get mine done at the post hospital. Then we'll go get a marriage license."
She was filled with joy until she tried to move closer to him.
Patting her hand, he said, "Gotta go now. Talk to you at work in the morning." Then he was gone.
Confusion filled her again. She loved this man, wanted to spend the rest of her life with him, was carrying his child, yet he took it all as if it happened every day. Nothing to get excited about.
But she wanted his baby, and she wanted their marriage, if only for the sake of the child. They might get a divorce after the baby was born, but this child would have its father's name. She hoped it would be a boy and look just like David.
The next day she had her blood test. "You'll get the results in three days. Come by here and pick up the certificate Friday," the secretary at Dr. Hill's office said. They could be married that Friday or Saturday.
"Let's do it Saturday. We can pick up the license Friday." David said. "I've talked to the chaplain, and he can marry us at the little stone chapel at ten in the morning."
"Then we can have some of the people from work, and some of my family there," she said, "and I'll fix up a little reception at my house."
"Whatever you want to do," he said woodenly. He might just as well have kicked her.
Perhaps it would be better to elope and not make any fuss, but David already had made all the arrangements, and she didn't want to hurt his feelings.
At home that night, she pulled out her ivory silk suit, the one from the Wendy West show, which she had been saving for a special occasion. It would be perfect for the wedding, but she wished things were different.
If only she hadn't gone out with Louie, she and David would be planning a beautiful wedding, not this sneaky little charade. She had hurt him dreadfully, and she didn't blame him for not wanting her back.
Would she take him back if he had dated someone else while she was off visiting her sick grandma? Probably not.
Her aunt called. "When's the wedding?"
"Saturday. Just a small ceremony in the stone chapel. Be my matron of honor?"
"Of course. Aren't you excited?"
"Yeah," Anne said.
"You don't sound like it."
Anne didn't know what to say. "It's just that he's not very happy about all this, so I'm not either."
"He'll get over it. He has to."
Chapter 15
The phone rang. Anne stretched, stuffed the pillow under her head, and grabbed the receiver from her bedside table. "Hello."
Her aunt's voice came over the line. "Hi, sweetie. It's Jeannie. How are you?"
"Okay, I guess," Anne said, "for someone who has to have a shotgun wedding."
"We'll meet you tomorrow morning at the chapel at ten o'clock," Jeannie said, ignoring her. "And I'll bring my blue garter over tonight. Have you got Grandma's lace handkerchief for your something old?"
Glancing at the ironing board, Anne said, "All freshly starched and ironed."
"Sounds like you're ready, then."
Anne got out of bed and turned to pull the covers up when she saw a spot of blood on the sheet. A trip to the bathroom confirmed her suspicions. Now three weeks overdue, her period had started. At first she was relieved, but realizing its implications, plunged into sadness, knowing there would be no wedding tomorrow.
There was really no choice, though. She called David. "I have to talk to you, and I can't do it over the phone. Can you come over?"
"Soon's I get dressed. I should be there in thirty minutes."
In a short time he was at her door. "Thanks for coming right over," she said. "Would you like a cup of coffee?"
The expression on his face made her feel as if she were talking to a stranger. "No thanks. What did you want to see me about?"
She sat down next to him on the sofa. "David, we don't have to get married. I'm not pregnant." There was no mistaking the relief in his eyes. "Don't say anything," Anne said. "I know you were only trying to do what was right by me, and I know you don't love me anymore. You don't have to tell me. It's all over your face."
His eyes welled up and he squeezed her hand. "I do love you. I'll always love you. But I can't love you the right way, and you deserve better than that."
After he left, she called her aunt. "Jeannie, the wedding's off."
"What? Are you crazy?"
"I'm not pregnant. My period started this morning."
"But you love each other, so why not get married anyway? You've got the license."
"He just told me he loves me, but he's not in love with me. I can't understand what's going on with him. But I do know it would be a big mistake to marry him now. He was glad when I told him we didn't have to get married."
"If you ask me, I think he's nuts. Look, I'll contact everyone and let them know it's canceled. You call if y
ou need me."
Returning to her bed, Anne cried until she had no tears left. There would be no wedding, no baby that looked like David. Nothing. She didn't know how she could stand feeling the way she did, but she got through the weekend and even made it to work on Monday.
Once there, she was amazed it no longer hurt her to see David. When she looked at him, she didn't feel anything. The blessed numbness had come back. Several times during the day he tried to talk to her, but she wasn't interested and cut him short. By the end of the week, she had stopped thinking about how sad she was and concentrated instead on trying to hate David Hawkins.
While she chose to sit home nights by the fire and read, David was seeing other girls, according to the headquarters gossip.
One evening, she stopped by her mother's house and was surprised to find David there. He had always liked her mom, but of course he didn't know her very well. All he ever saw was her charming side. And she was still a beautiful woman at forty-nine.
"David, this is a pleasant surprise," Anne said, keeping up the pretense in front of her mother. "I'm truly jealous, Mom. All my boyfriends fall in love with you."
"That's not true and you know it," Agnes Mills said. "What nonsense."
They chatted for a few moments and then he left.
"What a lovely young man," her mother said.
"He's all right."
"You sure do run hot and cold, young lady. Only last week you were madly in love with him and ready to get married."
"Things change." She pecked her mother on the cheek. "Gotta go. I'll call you."
It was another six weeks before she went out with anyone again. At last, she gave in to the pleas of Mike McGarrity, the general's pilot, as persistent a soul as she had ever known.
"Listen here, Red," he said, "my feet are rusting. You gotta go dancing with me, or they're gonna fall off. Then instead of calling me Twinkletoes, they'll call me Stumpy."
"We certainly can't have that," she said. "Pick me up at seven."
They went to Knollwood and had a wonderful time, until David came in with the girl he had once derisively called Pineapple, a WAC from Honolulu. She had a beautiful figure and long black hair, but acne scarred her face, which was not pretty to begin with. Everyone knew she was sleazy, and David had called her a pig.
Anne couldn't believe what she saw. David was dancing with Pineapple on the postage-stamp dance floor, so close together you couldn't fit a piece of paper between them. Anne's face felt hot and she thought she would throw up.
"Mike, let's go someplace else. It's too smoky in here," she said, coughing and wiping her watery eyes.
They went to Hamlet's, an after-hours place that had a good band, and danced for half an hour. Although she loved to dance, and Mike was a terrific dancer, a picture was stuck in her mind: David with Pineapple draped over him.
"I'm getting an awful headache, Mike. Would you mind taking me home?"
"Darn, sugar. I'm sorry to hear that; of course I'll take you home. But you gotta promise me something."
"What?"
"That you'll go to the Army Ball with me. By the way, it's formal."
A broad smile swept across her face. "I'd love to go. When is it?"
"The second of December."
In spite of her pleasure at being asked to the ball, Anne moped around for several days, thinking about David with that Hawaiian slut. She knew she had to give in to herself and deal with what she was feeling, or else it ate at her and came out when she didn't want it to. So she wallowed in self-pity awhile, until it turned to anger. Once she got angry at David, she was all right.
Her family had Thanksgiving dinner at her sister's house, and Anne found herself having fun in spite of herself. Until Joan came into the kitchen looking worried.
"Jeez, Mom's getting ready to blow again."
"I'm sick of it. She does this every holiday."
"Come on out and see if you can't get her mind off herself."
But Anne could see it was too late. Agnes wore the turned-down-at-the-corners mouth that meant trouble. Tears welled up in her mother's eyes, and Anne knew the shouting and screaming would start before long.
Why hadn't she made her exit right after dinner? She had missed her mother's last two performances by leaving early on Thanksgiving and Christmas the previous year. She couldn't understand why her mother had to spoil everyone's good time.
"You always give everyone else nice things," Agnes screamed. "But not your mother. All I got for my birthday was some old dime-store sweater, but your mother-in-law got a satin robe. It's because you don't love me. I've sacrificed my life for you children, and what do I get in return?"
Anne took her mother's arm. "Hey, Mom, that was four months ago. Let's just have a nice Thanksgiving dinner for once." But it was too late to stem the tide of invectives that poured from her mother's mouth, and Anne knew the crying and whining would go on for an hour or two. Her nieces and nephew scurried outside, and she wished she could too.
They never had a family gathering that Agnes didn't ruin. Anne thought of all the mean things her mother had said to them during their growing-up years, all the beatings, and the screaming, which was what she hated most. And no matter what they did, no matter how hard they tried to please their mother, it was never enough.
Anne had married Joe to get away from home. Now she was thankful she was making enough money to live on her own.
Her mother's tirade went on for an hour. When she calmed down enough, Anne took her home, and then went to her own house, where it was peaceful. All she wanted was to be alone.
With less than a week left until the Army Ball, Anne drove all over town, looking for a gown to wear, but there wasn't anything in her size left on the racks. The new spring formals were coming in, but of course, the skimpy little pastel tulle numbers were inappropriate for winter.
She even went to Kansas City, but after a day of foot-killing shopping, found nothing. It was too late in the season. And going through her closet was futile. The only long gown she had was an old red prom dress, which was outdated and looked garish with her copper hair.
Suddenly, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted it: the wedding dress she wore when she married Joe, hanging in a long zippered bag at the back of her closet. She had just seen Gone with the Wind again.
Creativity, she decided, was what it took to be a survivor. Thinking about Scarlett O'Hara's drapes, she pulled the bag out of her closet and threw it across her bed. Ahhh, a ball gown in disguise. This dress doesn't mean anything to me anymore; as much as I paid for it, I may as well get some good out of it.
With her sharpest scissors, she cut the bodice straight across the top. Off came the long sleeves. Now the gown was strapless. The boned top would hold it up. Next, she took off the buttons, carefully inserting her seam ripper into the stitching on the wrong side of the fabric. She set up her portable sewing machine on the kitchen table, found a zipper in her sewing box, and sewed it in place.
As the final touch, she removed the re-embroidered lace appliqués, encrusted with beads, pearls, and sequins, from the old top she had cut off and stitched them across the front, along the new edge she had cut and hemmed. The dress now looked like a ball gown instead of a wedding dress. And it was elegant.
Before she tried it on, she dug out her long white kid gloves, swept her hair up into a French twist, and put on a rhinestone tiara. In front of the mirror she stepped into the gown and then into the tulle petticoat. Rhinestone earrings and a pair of silver pumps added a touch of glamour
"Hey," she said out loud, "not so bad for an amateur."
The next day Mike called and invited her to a Hail and Farewell party on the first of the month, to which she wore her favorite black sheath.
"I'm not so sure I want anyone else to see you in that dress," he said when he came by her house to pick her up.
"Oh? What's wrong with it?" she asked, smoothing the dress around her slim hips.
"Nothing. That's the trouble. Yo
u look so durned gorgeous, I'm going to have trouble holding onto you. Guess I'll take my black baseball bat along, the one for formal affairs. That ought to hold off some of 'em."
"You wild Irishman, flattery will get you anywhere."
Grinning wickedly, he said, "That's what I was hoping."
"But of course, you know I lie," she said.
"Dang," he said.
Once through the receiving line and engaged in the usual cocktail-party small talk, they maneuvered their way to the bar for a drink. As they sat talking to Mike's friend Dennis and his date, someone walked up behind Anne.
"You have to be from Georgia," he said, stepping up to the bar next to her.
"Not me."
"Could have fooled me, because you look like a peach," said a good-looking man wearing artillery dress blues.
"I'm a local."
"No matter. You're still a peach. I'll bet everyone calls you Red, don't they?"
She nodded.
"Tully," Mike said, turning around. "You blasted ring-knocker. I didn't see you. What are you doin', sidling up to my girl like that? Anne Mills," he said, "I'd like you to meet Tully Weldon, a no-good artillery type you'd do well to stay away from. And he's a West Pointer. That's even worse." Mike grinned broadly, shook Tully's hand, and clasped his shoulder.
They stayed at the bar and talked for a while, and Tully moved onto the barstool next to her when its inhabitant left. There was something vaguely familiar about him, and she wondered if she had met him before. Then it came to her. He reminded her a little of David.
But he had cat-green eyes, and a crew cut that looked as if someone had used a carpenter's level to get the top so flat. It must have taken a lot of wax to make his hair stand up the way it did. He was blond and tan, but taller than David. Although his features were not as strong as David's, he was a good-looking man.
As she and Mike prepared to leave, Tully put his hand over hers and looked into her eyes. Little shocks of delight coursed through her.
"I'll see you soon," he said.
Chapter 16
The night of the Army Ball, Mike arrived at her door ten minutes early, resplendent in his artillery mess dress uniform, a dark navy blue cutaway jacket with red satin lapels, gold bouillon shoulder boards, brass buttons, and gold braid on the sleeves, worn with a tuxedo shirt, black bow tie and cummerbund, and royal blue trousers that had a gold stripe down the side. Under his arm he carried a corsage box.
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