He shook his head. "I won't."
"And for heaven's sake, don't compare her to a woman like Betty. She's nothing like that."
Darnell's expression changed. "How do you know that?"
"I've known Betty for years. Went to high school with her." He left out that she'd been a year ahead of him. "Besides, folks in this town have either avoided me or pitied me since I got back from the front. But she's not like that. She treats me like a person. Talks to me as if she knows I'm not some invalid or crazy person."
He nodded slowly. "I see."
"You should see her. She's a beauty. All this dark hair; big, sparkling eyes. Plays the piano so sweet you'd think an angel was working those keys." He could see her in his mind's eye. A delicate blossom of femininity, gifted and graceful.
"Sounds to me like she's already gotten under your skin."
Warner didn't deny Darnell's assessment. "At any rate, I know what I'm doing. Walking her home was simply the gentlemanly thing to do, considering the circumstances."
Darnell's brow furrowed. "You say you walked her home?"
"Twice."
"Hmm. Sam didn't tell me that."
He laughed. "Sam don't know everything." He gave a brief recounting of Agnes' ordeal with the brazen purse snatcher. "Like I said, I was being a gentleman."
"So, if some boogeyman had jumped out of the bushes, you were going to protect the fair Ms. Daniels?"
He placed his hand over his heart. "With my very life."
Darnell chuckled. "Okay then, boss man. I see you've got it under control."
"Of course I do."
"Did they ever catch the guy?"
He nodded. "Caught him yesterday evening, I think. Saw it in the paper."
"So what's gonna be your excuse to escort her now?"
Walking over to Darnell, Warner gave him a jab in the shoulder. "Hush, Darnell. I don't need an excuse. I'll just keep walking her as long as she lets me."
"Until she gets tired of you, you mean."
That earned him another jab.
"Ow!" Darnell howled in mock pain, but his smile gave away his amusement. "Stop abusing me. You know I'm like the younger brother you never had."
"Ain't never wanted a little brother," he teased as he walked away.
He went into the house to grab two bottles of cold soda, and when he returned, passed one to Darnell. "How much longer you gonna be on that door panel?"
Catching his can, he rolled it over his forehead. "Not much longer if you come and help me."
Taking a swig of his soda, he set the bottle down on the table and strode over to aid Darnell with the door panel.
The panel had been partially crushed during an accident. According to the driver, he'd left the door open for a moment, only to have another passing cyclist crash into the door. It was sheer luck that the cyclist hadn't been badly hurt and that he hadn't been traveling fast enough to knock the whole door off its hinges. Warner had noticed an uptick in cars being damaged since he'd been home. Bicycles, which used to be the domain of children, were now being used by some adults as their primary mode of transportation.
Working in tandem, they pried off the old panel, which Darnell hauled away to the scrap heap. With the interior workings exposed, they checked over the various fittings and hardware, removing the built up dust and particulates left over from the collapse of the old panel. They also replaced a few damaged pegs. With that done, they carefully attached the new panel, which Warner had picked up himself from the Cadillac dealership in Alexandria.
Admiring the completed job, Darnell let out a whistle. "Look at that. Good as new." He tipped an imaginary hat in Warner's direction. "What would you do without me, boss man?"
Warner simply shook his head.
He might be a pain in the rear end, but I'd be lost without him.
Page
Chapter 5
-Such Good Company-
Saturday brought an increased lunch crowd to the Cashwell's dining room, as always. As Betty played through Beethoven's Sonata No. 1, she glanced around at the filled tables. There wasn't an empty seat in the place. The crowd of diners always thickened on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, and she supposed the place would be packed on Sunday as well. The place was only open for brunch on Sundays, and Betty didn't work then.
The increased crowd had dual benefits for Betty. First, the glass on top of the piano was already brimming with tips, and she still had forty-five minutes or so left in her shift. Second, having so many people present in the dining room gave her some much-needed distraction.
Warner was there, seated at his regular table near the door. Her traitorous eyes kept shifting in his direction, drinking in the welcome sight of him. She knew she couldn't spend her shift staring at him, especially not when she needed to make use of her sheet music. Glancing around at the other patrons gave her a bit of a break from admiring Warner's handsomeness.
What's happening to me? I can't stop thinking about him.
She dared not entertain the notion that her mother's warning had been well-founded. Mama's talk of "one thing leading to another" had seemed far-fetched. And yet, Betty had to face the fact that she cared for Warner in a way she'd never cared for any other man. That meant something, though she wasn't entirely sure what. All she knew was she'd begun to look forward to seeing him in the dining room each day, and felt remiss when he didn't come in. He hadn't come in yesterday, and she'd been caught off guard by how disappointed she'd been.
As the end of her shift grew near, she worked her way through a few shorter pieces of music that she'd committed to memory. The crowd began to wind down as people left the dining room to go about the rest of their day. She tried not to look at him, tried to keep her focus on her music, so she wouldn't flub any notes. Yet, in her periphery, she saw him, lingering behind as the crowd grew thinner and thinner. Not only was he still sitting there, as if he had nowhere else he'd rather be, but he was watching her. She could feel his eyes on her like a caress.
Her skin prickled, her cheeks warmed.
Focus, Betty. She swallowed the lump of nerves in her throat and kept playing.
She continued playing even when Warner was the last patron who remained. Ruby stuck her head out from the corridor and signaled, letting Betty know her shift had ended. Playing the last few notes of the piece she'd started, Betty sat back from the piano and flexed her fingers to stretch them. She'd discovered early on that constant playing without the benefit of stretching and hand exercises left her fingers and wrist so stiff she could barely move them.
She heard the sound of applause and reflexively turned in the very direction she'd been avoiding for the past hour.
A smiling Warner sat by his table, clapping. "Brava.'
Unable to fight off her grin, she hid it behind her hand as she gathered her tips and went down the corridor to the employee lounge.
Claudette was there, sliding her card into the time clock. "Hey, Betty."
"Working the dinner shift today?"
Claudette nodded, still holding her card in the slot. "Tips are better on dinner shift at the end of the week."
"I'm heading home, myself." She gestured to the ancient time clock. "That is if the old dinosaur ever decides to come back to life."
Rolling her eyes, Claudette groused, "One of these days I'm gonna convince Ruby to replace this thing."
She chuckled. "Ruby agrees with us. It's Mr. and Mrs. Cashwell who don't want to invest in a new time clock."
Both women sighed. Betty plucked her timecard from the holder, determined to be ready when the fickle machinery decided to act right.
Moments later, the machine rattled and groaned as it finally impressed the time on Claudette's card.
"You better hurry before the beast goes back to sleep." Claudette stepped aside and let Betty use the machine. Thankfully, it rattled again, stamping Betty's card without too much fuss.
Their timecards put away, Claudette leaned toward Betty and said softly, "He's out there
, isn't he?"
Feeling her cheeks warm again, Betty nodded.
Claudette waggled her eyebrows. "He's waiting to walk you home again, even though everybody knows they caught the purse snatcher."
She said nothing, shifting her gaze elsewhere.
"What are you gonna say? Are you gonna let him walk with you again?" Claudette's eyes sparkled with mischief. "You know you want to."
She gave her friend a playful jab in the shoulder. "Yes, nosy. I am going to walk with him again. It's the least I can do since he's been waiting all this time for my shift to end."
"Good." Giggling, Claudette started toward the kitchen. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do, Betty."
"You've left me a lot of options, Claudette."
With a wink, she disappeared around the doorframe.
Betty could only shake her head at her friend's shenanigans as she shrugged into her wool coat and grabbed her purse. Drawing a deep breath, she returned to the dining room.
Warner stood waiting by the door again, and his smile made her heart flutter in her chest like a bluebird's wings. He usually came in his work clothes, but today, he'd donned a crisp white shirt that revealed the strength of his upper body, along well fitting black slacks and black leather loafers.
He extended his arm. "Shall we?"
She slipped her arm through, linking it with his. "Yes, we shall."
As they moved down the sidewalk in the cool September air, he said, "I was worried you might say no, since they've caught the culprit."
She gave him a lingering glance. "Now, why would I say no to being in such good company?" Being with him seemed natural, right.
A grin spread across his face. "I'm glad you feel that way. Because I can't recall the last time I've enjoyed being with someone as much as I enjoy being with you."
There was that pesky heat again, rising up her neck and into her face, threatening to turn her as red as a tomato. "Do you fancy going by the schoolyard? It's been ages since I've been there."
"Same here." He ran his free hand over his chin. "Sure, why not? Let's go see how the old place is holding up."
She was pleased he'd said yes. She could feel her heart opening to him. Her feelings for him seemed to be growing exponentially, and she had no idea how to stop it from happening. I'm not sure I want to stop it.
Falling in love with Warner was easy, and beautiful. No one else had ever made her feel this way. I wonder if he feels it, too?
-That Big Hill Over There-
WARNER TOOK A LEISURELY PACE with his steps as they walked down Miramar Avenue. He could see the school building over through the barren branches of the trees. "We're getting close."
"I remember coming this way when I used to walk to school. I'd start out on Royal, walk a block over to Draper, then cut through between the Johnsons' and the Nelsons' houses and wind up on Miramar." Her wistful gaze seemed locked on old brick building looming before them.
"I think most of us coming from King's Court used that same shortcut." He recalled many mornings, goofing around with his classmates as they walked through the narrow alley between those family residences. They'd been good-natured about it, and, on occasion, offered the high schoolers a cool drink on hot days.
They entered the schoolyard and stopped in front of the building. The area was quiet, as no students or staff were around on a Saturday.
"Good Old Fox Den Central High." She tilted her head up as if looking toward the roof. "Not much has changed around here, huh?"
He shook his head. "Nope." At least not with the school. He looked at her and took in the many ways she'd changed. She'd grown into her womanhood with grace, beauty, and poise. He tried not to stare too long at her figure because he didn't want her to think him uncouth. But there was no ignoring the curves of her body beneath the form-fitting burgundy dress. The matching high heels she wore looked terribly uncomfortable for long walks but were a definite compliment to her dress. Her fresh face, bearing only a bit of reddish lipstick, was framed by the loose wavy curls of her hair.
Does she know I'm falling for her? Can she tell? She struck him as an intuitive person. Could she tell that he wanted to be in her company as much as possible? Her outer beauty knew no match, as far as he was concerned. But it was her inner beauty- her compassion, kindness, and grace, that truly captured his heart.
She looked his way. "Let's go by the greenhouse in the back. There's a bench there, where we could sit and talk."
He nodded in agreement, and let her lead him by the arm to the rear of the school building.
The old greenhouse stood silently near the back end of campus. For years, horticulture classes had been held inside it, so students could cultivate and study plants of various types. They moved just beyond the green glass structure to the concrete bench nearby.
She sat down, and he followed suit.
"So." She looked into his eyes, hesitating a moment before speaking again. "I'd really like to hear about your service...if you feel comfortable talking about it."
The question surprised him so much he almost chuckled, but seeing the serious expression on her face, he tamped down the urge. "You really want to know about that?"
"I do. That is if you're willing to share it with me." She swept her hand through her curls. "To be honest, I'm curious about your experience. I've never had the opportunity to hear from a real-life soldier."
He wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into with her line of questioning. With a shrug, he asked, "What do you want to know?"
"As much as you're willing to tell me."
He scratched his chin, feeling the prickly stubble beneath his fingertips. "I think I already told you about my basic and career training. Anyway, after that, I ended up getting shipped to the AFRTC up at Fort Knox in the spring of '42, and..."
She held up her hand. "I'm sorry, you went to the A...F... what?"
A short laugh escaped his throat. "Sorry. Sometimes I forget that civilians don't know all the Army acronyms. AFRTC. The Armored Force Replacement Training Center."
She nodded. "Now I understand."
"So they ship me to Kentucky because by now the US is involved in the war, whether we like it or not. I was only there a few weeks before they shipped me off again, this time to Camp Claiborne down in Louisiana, to join up with the 761st as a filler."
"Wow. The deep, deep south." She blew out a breath. "What was that like?"
He shook his head, feeling the frown descend over his face. "I hated every minute of it."
Her neatly groomed brow hitched up. "Tough training?"
He waved her off. "We were soldiers. Training wasn't nothing new to us, and I didn't mind putting in the work when it came to that. We had sense enough to know we had to be battle ready."
She watched him, saying nothing, but the questions in her eyes were numerous.
"The white soldiers had barracks. We had tents in a mudhole of a field. That place was a snake-infested swampland. Spent many nights fighting off snakes and rats from my rations instead of sleeping."
Her face twisted in horror. "Rats! LORD."
"That ain't the worst of it. When we wanted a break from that mudhole, we could hardly leave camp, even when we had free time. Whites in the next town over were so hateful towards us. They didn't care about our uniforms, didn't care we were about to go to the front and put our lives on the line for their freedoms. They only cared that we were black. So going into town meant risking taking a beating, being kidnapped, or God knows what."
She placed a hand over her heart. "Heavens. I don't know whether to be sad or outraged. "
"I'd say both is fair."
"Please tell me things got better, at least a little bit when you went overseas."
He shrugged. "The Brits weren't as bad as our own people towards us. But some of them didn’t care much for blacks, either, and they made it clear." She sighed.
"I can remember the big hill up there. We were in France, coming up between two towns called Monyenvic
and Vic-sur-Sielle. It was November. Chilly wind blowing across us. The whole convoy went out there, with my group, Service Company, bringing up the rear." He felt a chill crawl over him, and he ran his palms up and down his arms. "So damn cold you could see your breath out there."
Her back went ramrod straight, but she remained silent.
"Coming into the red zone our unit met up with a German panzer unit. Started taking heavy fire. Service company hung back, because we're the relief crew. But we could hear that fire coming in. Anti-tank ammo singing through the air, sounded like the hounds of hell howling." He could hear the sound all over again. The memories were fresh, like an open wound in his mind. He cringed. "Heard men screaming."
She put her hand on his shoulder. "Warner, you don't have to go on if..."
But he couldn't stop. Now that he'd begun the telling, the words just kept falling out of his mouth. "Saw tanks go over that hill whole, with some of the bravest men you could imagine inside of 'em. Saw the same tanks towed back over that hill, full of holes. Some missing their roofs." His heart thudded in his chest, his breathing becoming constricted like an icy fist had a grip on his lungs.
"Warner—"
"That first tank they brought back. Pulled it over to our camp as dusk, told us to clean it up and get it ready to go back in service." He felt his eyes go wide. "The inside of that tank...I ain't never seen the likes of that in my life. Four men were in that tank when it crested the hill. Two got out. The other two were shredded, just like paper. What was left of them was splattered all over the inside of that tank..."
His mouth went dry, and the words stopped flowing.
The shivering began.
She cried out. "Dear God..."
He saw himself donning his work gloves, working with his team to clear the carnage from the tank.
He felt himself falling. The whole world had begun to sway around him.
"Warner!" He heard Betty call his name, but was powerless to respond.
Heart racing. Breath shallow. Mind reeling.
Everything went black.
Love's Sweet Melody Page 4