by Reid, Don
The door opened and he saw the prettiest smile and the whitest petticoat he had ever seen, not that he had seen many petticoats. She opened the door for him to come in seemingly unconcerned about her state of undress.
“I’m sorry. Yes, I’m all right. I just cut my finger on some broken glass. I’m sorry I scared you. Can you get me something to wash it off with? A towel and some water.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right back.”
And he was.
Adrienne Knoles was sitting at her dressing table gripping a bloody finger with her other hand and looking a little fainter than when he had left. He knelt beside her and washed the blood into the cloth until there was no more. She looked down at him and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Walter. Selman. My dad is the theater manager and owner.”
What Adrienne did next sealed the moment forever in Walter’s mind, a memory never to be forgotten. She leaned down and kissed him on the forehead and said, “Thank you, Walter. You’re the only gentleman I’ve met today.”
The red from her lips didn’t show up until the blush went away. And my, how a sixteen-year-old boy can blush. Before he could get up off his knee, someone pushed through the half-closed door.
“What is going on here?”
Walter turned to see a tall blond angel in white flowing robes. Simon Croft. He jumped up, but before he could turn, Croft grabbed him by the collar.
“Simon, what has gotten into you? Leave the boy alone. He was helping me.…”
“Helping you? What could he be helping you with?”
“I cut my finger. And the boy was washing the blood off.”
“Well, I’m sorry, boy. No, I mean I really am. But, ah, run along now.”
Walter, relieved to be unhanded by the angelic giant, never said a word. He picked up the pan and towel and went out, and Simon Croft closed the door behind him. From the hall he could hear low whispering in the room and it was only then that he had the sense that there was more going on between them than rehearsing lines. This made him angry but he wasn’t sure where to direct his anger. So many young and misunderstood emotions raced through his heart. He was angry at Simon for being close to her and Adrienne for allowing it. But he couldn’t blame Simon Croft for wanting to be close to Adrienne, especially after the way her husband treated her. Knowing right and wrong is easy but placing the blame is a job for the saints.
He started up the steps toward the backstage and met Nicholas Knoles on the stairs. Fear shot through him from the scowl on the actor’s face. He turned and watched him walk toward the dressing room he shared with his wife. And to this day he doesn’t know why he did it, or where he got the courage to do it, but he stopped at the top of the stairs and yelled, “Mr. Knoles! Mr. Knoles!”
Nicholas turned, not six steps from the closed dressing room door and said, “What is it, son?” His voice was so warm and so gentle Walter almost abandoned his just-thought-of plan. Nicholas Knoles was a different man than the one he watched explode on the stage earlier in the afternoon.
“Mr. Knoles, the stage manager is looking for you. He wants you back up here to go over something.”
Nicholas looked puzzled. “I was just there.”
“I know, sir, but he’s hollering for you.”
“Hollering for me is he? Well, you tell him … no, I’ll tell him myself. I’ll shut the little serpent up. His attitude this entire trip has been …” His words trailed off as he rushed up the steps with venom in his eyes, pushing past Walter in pursuit of an unsuspecting stage manager.
Walter ran back down the steps and knocked on the door of dressing room number one. There was a pause, then Adrienne Knoles said, “Yes?”
“Mrs. Knoles,” Walter offered in his loudest whisper, “your husband is coming.”
She cracked the door and said, “Thank you, Walter.” Simon squeezed out of the opening and walked briskly down the hall to dressing room number two.
Walter disappeared to the prop room and Adrienne softly closed her door.
As he sat in the semi-dark and cold amid old and musty furniture, wooden swords, and cheap paintings, he tried to unravel exactly what was going on with the troupe of The Nativity. The way Nicholas Knoles talked to his wife was foreign to him and the way she seemed to cower from him one minute and stand up to him the next confused him. He assured himself he could take comfort in the fact that Adrienne had a good friend and capable protector in Simon Croft. Simon was big and muscular and seemed to really care for her. He was sure Simon would never let Nicholas harm her.
The hall was quiet again.
CHAPTER 11
The walk from the phone booth to the front doors of Macalbee’s was a little more than a block. There was only one side street to cross but she never looked either way. How dare a green light hold her up? How dare a shopper crowd her path? How dare a car get in her way? She had no time for interruptions. She was on a mission and she was focused on one thing and one person only. The cold wind that swept in as she flung open the large glass doors had little to do with the wintry gusts and the dropping temperatures. Dove Franklin generated her own icy rush as she made her way down the oiled wooden floor to the back of the store through a Christmas throng that seemed to part for her in respect and fear of a woman with a purpose.
Milton sat at his desk with his back to the window that looked down into the store. Lois Pence was standing to his side at the adding machine and facing the window. She sensed more than saw Dove Franklin come through the front door and watched with wide eyes and open mouth as she stormed down the aisles.
“Mr. Sandridge. We have trouble again.”
“What is it this time? If it’s another shoplifter, just shoot her from the window and be over with it.”
“I don’t think a bullet will stop this one.”
Milton straightened up and rubbed his neck with both hands. “You’re going to make me look aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. I think you’d better.”
Milton turned and took in the scene that hypnotized his assistant manager. The preacher’s wife was making a beeline toward the door that would bring her up the steps to his office. He never took his eyes off her as he spoke to his assistant manager.
“Go tell her to come up.”
“Do you want me to come with her? It may be good for both of us to be here.”
“No. I’ll handle it. You stay on the floor. And tell Ernest to get that Santa suit out of the trunk of my car. Just put it in the storeroom.”
“Yes, sir. And are you sure you don’t want me to—”
“I’m sure, Lois. I’ll be fine.”
Lois left to meet Dove. Milton closed the blind on the window and poured two cups of coffee. One with sugar. One with cream.
The door opened but there was no cold rush. The walk through the warm store had taken the scent of frigid air out of her clothes and the redness out of her cheeks. The scarf that had been tied over her head hung loosely around her shoulders. However, the fire in her eyes remained. Milton walked around the desk and reached out his hand to her. She paused for just a second and then reached out hers and pulled him toward her into a passionate kiss.
“You unforgivable, rotten …”
“And I love you, too.”
“What did you do to my little girl?”
“How about what your little girl did to me? She put me on the spot with the home office. If they ever find out how I handled that whole thing this morning …”
“And just how did you handle it? She told you she just forgot to pay and you still called the cops on her.”
“Wait a minute. That’s not how it happened at all. She filled her pockets and took off out the back door.”
“Oh, come on, Milton. She told me the whole story. She told me she offered to pay and you wouldn’t hear to it. You called Buddy and he searched her and then brought her up to the house to shame her in front of Paul. What do you want from her? You want to send a fifteen-year-old girl to jail?”
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br /> “Yeah, Dove. That’s it. You caught me. That’s what I do. I sit up here and watch out that little window and try to find kids I can send to jail. And if I can do it just two days before Christmas, then I really get a bang out of it.”
“Okay, if that’s not the way it happened, then what did happen? Are you saying Millie lied to me?”
“I’d say yes, there’s a pretty good chance Millie is lying to you. If one of us has a reason to lie to you, I’m betting on her. You can’t exactly take my television privileges away or ground me for two weeks or stop my allowance. So, yeah, I’d say Millie is probably lying. And believe me, she has reason to. She walked in here this morning and filled her pockets with junk and then talked as defiantly to a policeman as, I don’t know, as a criminal on Dragnet or something. Maybe you should take some television privileges away from her.”
“You don’t have children. If you did, you might see this differently. You might see everything differently.” Dove was sitting now, her coat off and sipping the sugar-only coffee. She felt more at ease than she had all day. Maybe Milton was telling her the truth. Maybe Millie had done it on purpose and for a purpose. It certainly wasn’t hard to figure out why she might do such a thing. It’s shocking, she thought, what some people will do for lack of attention.
Dove and Milton had been high school sweethearts. They grew up together just a couple hours east of Mt. Jefferson, in Richmond. The summer following their senior year found them making plans to go their separate ways even though they were both distraught over their separation. Dove was heading to college to follow in her sister’s footsteps, and Milton was joining up to do his naval duty in the Pacific or Atlantic. It was a sad summer of songs that still haunted, memories that still lingered, and promises that never came true. They had loved one another as deeply and sincerely as two sixteen-year-olds could, and they meant it from the depths of their young souls when they pledged to always be together after she’d graduated from college and he’d returned from his tour of duty. They held each other that summer and told one another they could weather anything that came their way because they always had the promise of a future together. They would see one another during spring and Christmas breaks as furloughs allowed. Then they would meet in Richmond at the end of their obligations and live happily ever after. Theirs was a special love. A special relationship that neither time nor space could mar.
But time and space did mar it. The spring breaks and Christmas vacations didn’t match up with the furloughs. The miles between took their toll. The telephone to a love affair is as satisfying as the smell of roast beef is to a hungry man. By the time college was over, Dove had found the man she needed—a man of authority and more tellingly, though she didn’t admit it to herself until years later, someone convenient, someone available and nearby. She needed someone who would be there to hold her and comfort her and make love to her. Letters and phone calls couldn’t do that. Milton, who had not tried quite as hard as she, felt the same way and knew that what they were trying to do was inhuman. He blamed no one for the end of their dream. It was the hand life had dealt them and, sad as it may be, he knew they would be all right. The young and strong always are.
Milton was never serious for any other girl until after he was transferred to Mt. Jefferson. He had gone to work for Macalbee’s in Richmond after the service and after a few good promotions had bounced around the state as assistant manager a number of times. He was glad to finally be offered a store of his own. He came to town a bachelor on the prowl and met Colleen Selman, a schoolteacher, just months after arriving. The promotions didn’t stop coming but he stopped the promotions. He liked Mt. Jefferson, and all other towns paled in comparison, so he turned them down until the home office finally quit considering him. He chose to be stuck in Mt. Jefferson. And he liked it. Especially now.
Ten years ago the Mason Street Methodist Church hired a new minister from Kentucky, and he brought to town with him a pretty little five-year-old daughter and a beautiful wife who turned everyone’s eye. Having lost track years before, Milton was as shocked on that first Sunday morning as was the lovely and unsuspecting Dove. They looked at one another longingly and shook hands dutifully and went their separate ways that afternoon, never saying a word to anyone about the other. It was weeks before opportunity, be it chance or kismet, found them alone in an empty hallway in the basement of the church.
“Are you alone?” Dove asked.
“Yes.”
“Can you believe this?”
“What has happened? Has God played a big joke on us or what?”
“Maybe he’s testing us.”
“I hope not because I don’t know if I can pass the test or not,” said Milton. “How have you been?”
“Just fine, I suppose. And you?”
“I’m still in shock over this coincidence.”
“How long have you lived here and how long have you and Colleen been married?”
“Lived here a couple of years. Been married about a year. She’s a wonderful woman, and I love her. But I’ve loved you all my life.”
“Milton, don’t say that.”
“I didn’t say anything wrong. I just told you the truth. Just because we lost track and never saw one another, does that mean you forgot about me?”
“What it means is that I am now the Mrs. Rev. Paul Franklin. I am a mother and a wife and sing in the choir and it feels good. You ought to try it.”
“What? Singing in the choir?”
“Yeah, if you want to.”
“If you’re going to, I will. That way I’ll get to see you every Thursday night.”
“Milton, seriously …”
“I am serious.”
“Seriously, have you said anything to anyone at all about you and me and that we knew each other back when?”
“Only that we went to school together. I figured we shouldn’t lie about that. Why? Have you.”
“Just that we went to school together in Richmond.”
“Why not more? Why haven’t you said we dated in high school and were lovers and planned to get married one day?”
“Why haven’t you?”
And that was all they said about it. They protected themselves and one another through instinct and friendship, and it was a long time before they found themselves alone again. On the few occasions they did, they rekindled what had been, not physically, but emotionally. And they were both thankful for their restraint. It wasn’t until years later that they started stealing planned minutes in hallways and half-hours in cafes in out-of-the-way places outside of town. There they talked and often kissed and felt closer to each other than they did to anyone else in the world. They were in love without making love. They knew God wouldn’t be proud of them for their choices, but believed He would have to give them a gold star for effort.
Dove removed her shoes and was curling her legs up to sit on her feet when the phone rang. Milton reached across the desk and picked up the receiver.
“Hello.”
Dove could only hear one side of the conversation, but she could tell by the look on his face, the quickening of his back, the timbre of his voice, that it was Colleen. She liked Colleen. And the more she liked Colleen, the more she disliked herself. What she was doing with her husband wasn’t right. It could be more wrong, but it wasn’t right. She sat quietly not knowing if she should tiptoe out or say out loud, “Tell Colleen I said hi,” and pretend she was here on a friendly visit or on a mother’s fact-finding mission for an errant daughter. This was too much to consider so she just continued to sit very quietly and sip the cooling coffee that was growing more bitter with every taste.
When Milton hung up the phone, he set it down into the cradle very slowly and took his time before saying anything at all. Dove waited, giving him the time he needed.
“That was Colleen.”
“Yes, I figured it was.”
“Walter’s sick.”
“I knew he was in the hospital.”
“No, I mea
n sick. He’s only got months to live.”
“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry. Does Paul know?”
“She’s calling him now.” There was a long pause. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking real clear. I really like the ole guy.”
“I know you do. I’ll go so you can do what you have to do. You need to go home and be with her.”
“Yeah.”
Dove got up and put on her scarf and coat and gloves. Milton walked to the door with her and she turned and kissed him good-bye on the cheek. As she opened the door he said, “Don’t worry about that thing with Millie. She’s just a kid going through a kid phase. She’ll be okay.”
“She’s not who I’m worried about right now. Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ve made it through two wars and twenty years without you, Dove. I can make it through anything.”
She closed the door and Milton walked back to his desk and opened the blinds on the store window. The aisles were full. The shelves were getting empty. The day was getting longer. Walter was dying. Colleen was crying. Dove was walking down aisle three. And Christmas was only two days away.
CHAPTER 12
The Sterrett house sat at the end of Whitman Drive. It was the first house in a brand-new development that would see magnificent growth in the 1960s. The doctor and his wife, Doris, built it before their last child was born in 1951, and it is still the flagship of residences in a neighborhood of beautiful homes. Every Christmas the stone wall and the driveway are illuminated by rows of multicolored lights that will stay up till New Year’s Day. On Tuesday, December 23, 1958, at 2:00 p.m., the Sterrett house showed no signs of the season, as the lights would not come on till dusk. Louis Wayne turned into the lane and parked under the carport by the kitchen door. He sat under the wheel and listened to the last verse of “The Chipmunk Song.” Simon, Theodore, and Alvin might be the last laugh he would have for a while. He turned off the engine and went inside.