Hidden Dreams

by Darlene Franklin

  She hadn’t revealed any more of what had sent her rushing into the night than what she had said in her letter. Both Clarinda and Aunt Flo offered the same advice: wait. When she was ready to tell them—tell him—her story, she would. Both of them trusted her not to endanger the family.

  Whenever Howard didn’t need him, Wallace retraced the places he had been with Mary Anne over the past month. The restaurant owner commented on a number of strangers, but Wallace couldn’t learn any more about them. They hadn’t drawn attention to themselves. If they were looking for Mary Anne—or did they know her as Marabelle?—they hadn’t asked for her by name.

  Today Wallace made his way to the bridge where they had met for the first time. At the entrance, he pulled the truck to the side of the road, fallen leaves crunching beneath the wheels. He stared at the shadowed opening, wondering again at the brashness that had sent Mary Anne rattling across the bridge without checking for oncoming traffic. God had many reasons for making their paths cross that day, not the least of which was preserving the life of someone unaccustomed to country roads.

  Buttoning his jacket, he walked onto the bridge. He didn’t know what he expected to find. Long months and many cars had crossed the river since they had cleaned up the debris. Mary Anne had checked several times, making sure she had left nothing behind. He had shown her the kissing wall, had pointed out all the initials his ancestors had carved.

  Come to think of it, he had done that before she could read. She had nodded and smiled as if she could identify each set of initials. What had she said? Oh, yes, that they had worn down over time, as they had.

  He made his way to the center of the bridge, pausing in front of the kissing wall. Over the years, a lot of the bridge had been reconstructed. After all, more than a century had passed since it first spanned the river. Each repair job retained the kissing wall as part of the structure. The planks were now nailed onto newer wood, artwork hidden in the dark interior of the bridge. Wallace hoped generations to come would continue to record their love in this unique Maple Notch tradition.

  Maybe even someday—W.T. + M.A.L. in a heart.

  Don’t be foolish. He couldn’t see much of a future for them if she didn’t trust him enough to tell him her whole story.

  Sparkling light filtered through the cracks in the floorboards. He walked the span, kicking the boards, assessing whether the bridge needed repair. He should ask Mary Anne her opinion. The cracks had widened since the last time he had checked, or maybe the light was stronger.

  A car stopped as Wallace approached the east side of the bridge, and he stepped out of the way. As long as he had come this far, he might as well check the underside.

  Beneath the bridge, the same light glittered, like coins or broken glass. Before Prohibition, wayward youths gathered to drink liquor away from their parents’ watchful eyes. They’d left a lot of broken glass back then. The amount had decreased to almost nothing in the years since the eighteenth amendment took effect back in 1920.

  He kept his eyes on the ground, checking for any shards of glass, but not seeing any. Once he reached the bottom of the bank, he bent his head backward to look under the floorboards and came to a complete halt.

  Large glass jars poked their heads out of wooden crates crammed into the space beneath bridge and riverbank. In fact, someone had created a false bottom, resting crates on the extra boards. Wallace peered over the top of the nearest crate. Each one of the gallon-size jugs was filled with an amber liquid.

  If there was ever an occasion for righteous anger, this was it. Someone was using the Tuttle Family Bridge as a hiding place for illegal liquor.

  The blood of Wallace’s grandfather Daniel Tuttle, the town constable in the years following the Civil War, ran hot in Wallace’s veins. The war hero, honored on a monument in the town square, had foiled a gang of bank robbers from using the Confederate raid on nearby St. Albans as a cover to rob the citizens of Maple Notch. Those robbers had used the same hiding place as these whiskey runners.

  Grandpa Dan didn’t let the bank robbers get away with it, and neither would Wallace, even if he was more like his schoolteacher grandmother than his heroic grandfather. The only question was how. He’d call for a family powwow to alert them to the danger, and then he’d bring in the police.

  Mary Anne would take part in the decision-making. She might be more in danger than anyone else.

  * * *

  Mary Anne watched Wallace’s return from her perch on the window seat in a second-floor bedroom. His quick, angry steps chopped up the ground beneath his feet. When he glanced in her direction, she lifted her hand to wave. With his arms, he gestured for her to come downstairs.

  She nodded and took a soft blue sweater from the wardrobe. She ran a brush through her hair more times than necessary, wondering what was on Wallace’s mind. Had he arrived ready to demand the answers due him? What could she say without putting the rest of them in danger? Did her silence protect them, or didn’t they have the right to decide for themselves?

  Not for the first time, she thought of Jesus’s words to His disciples: “Behold, I send you forth as sheep in the midst of wolves: be ye therefore wise as serpents, and harmless as doves.” Matthew 10:16, she repeated by rote and picked up her Bible in order to read the words for herself. Even before she could read, she knew Matthew was the first book in the New Testament, the first of the Gospel accounts.

  She found the verse, ran her right index finger under the words, and laid the Bible on the table. How foolish she was to wonder if she was wise or harmless, a sheep or a wolf. It was time to head downstairs and meet the wolves. Or the sheep.

  Everyone, including Aunt Flo, had gathered in the kitchen by the time Mary Anne joined them.

  “Winnie, take the children into the parlor,” Wallace said.

  Winnie scowled. Mary Anne could have told him that asking a fifteen-year-old to leave an adult conversation would never work, certainly not with that sister.

  Aunt Flo shook her head. “Winnie’s old enough to hear this. Whatever ‘this’ is. Howie can take care of Betty for a few minutes.”

  Clarinda nodded and slipped behind the parlor door. When she returned, she looped her arm with Mary Anne’s and pulled out a chair for her use.

  How blessed they were. Whatever emergency troubled Wallace, he could count on his family to see him through.

  How blessed she was, that they wanted her involved. Unless she was the sheep among the wolves, and they wanted to devour her.

  “Let us pray.” Howard’s voice broke into the silence and as one, they bowed their heads. “Lord, You know what is on Wallie’s mind. Grant us understanding and unity of spirit. Amen.” As with most prayers she had heard from Clarinda’s quiet husband, Howard kept it to the point, but captured everything that needed to be said.

  Their heads rose and all eyes turned to Wallace. He cleared his throat. “I went to the old bridge today to examine it for repairs, and I think we can wait another winter before we redo the floorboards.”

  The bridge didn’t need repairs? That wasn’t the reason behind this meeting.

  “While I was checking out the floorboards, though, I discovered that someone is keeping hooch there, by the crate loads. It must be a whiskey runner’s stash.”

  Winnie sucked in her breath, pulling the air away from everyone else in the room. When Mary Anne remembered to breathe again, she sensed the current of anger vibrating among the people seated at the table.

  “Whiskey runners? Here, in Maple Notch? I’d heard the rumors, but I’d hoped they weren’t true,” Aunt Flo said.

  “At best it’s someone’s private stash, with enough whiskey to keep an alcoholic in liquor for the better part of a year. But whiskey runners seems a lot more likely. They’re using it for a transfer point.”

  “Do you have any idea who put it there?” Clarinda asked. �
�Anyone local?”

  Wallace shrugged. “Someone would have to know about the bridge, of course, but it’s one of the more convenient places on the road heading down the Canada corridor. They could have been hunting for a likely spot and happened upon our bridge.”

  Mary Anne’s spirits tumbled. She poured a glass of water and sipped it.

  The people pursuing her would run whiskey from Canada to the big cities on the east coast. Maybe that was why the man she recognized at the restaurant was here.

  Possibility was not the same thing as proof. She didn’t know the man’s name, nor the gang he was involved with. She didn’t really know anything.

  “Mary Anne.” Wallace’s voice cut through the fog. “You look troubled.”

  She straightened her spine and lifted her head. “It is distressing.”

  “You do know we’ll do whatever is necessary to protect you.” Although he was addressing the entire family, she felt as though he was speaking to her alone. “I would die before I’d let any harm come to you.”

  Wallace couldn’t have made his feelings any clearer, and tears formed in Mary Anne’s eyes. If he knew the truth about her, he would never say something like that.

  A light rap sounded on the door and Wallace stood. “That should be the constable, Gerard. I called him earlier.”

  Cops.

  She couldn’t mention her suspicions. Not when cops were involved.

  Chapter 19

  The weekend passed without any further incident. On Monday morning, Wallace hesitated at the second-floor landing, wondering if Mary Anne had awakened. With the excuse of asking her to fact-check the manuscript, he could explore her thoughts on his account of finding hooch under the bridge. Gauging by her reaction, he’d guess she knew something about it.

  Connecting whiskey to Mary Anne didn’t make sense. He hadn’t seen her drink anything stronger than an egg cream. At least not the Mary Anne he knew today. Would he have said the same thing about the young woman who arrived in Maple Notch six months ago? He didn’t know, and he didn’t like the fact that he didn’t know.

  She had a right to leave her past behind, but in her letter, she mentioned bringing danger upon them. Had she brought it to Maple Notch?

  He trotted down the stairs. After seeking God’s will in prayer, he wanted to speak with one of the wisest people he knew.

  Clarinda wasn’t in her usual spot in the kitchen. Sounds of retching from the back of the house reached Wallace. She was never sick to the stomach, except of course when...

  He put the teakettle on to boil and fixed some cinnamon toast. When she joined him a few minutes later, he handed her tea and toast. “I’ve been told this is good for an upset stomach.”

  Clarinda’s wan smile confirmed his suspicions.

  “How far along...?”

  “I’m not even sure yet. At least, I wasn’t sure, until I got sick this morning.”

  As Clarinda munched through two slices of toast and two cups of tea, color returned to her face. “So, talk to me about Mary Anne.”

  Of course she had guessed the reason he sought her out. “I can’t help thinking she knows more about the whiskey than she lets on.”

  “I agree.” Clarinda looked thoughtful as she poured more tea for both of them. “Her letter mentioned a real threat. I assumed she meant her life was in danger, but perhaps she meant something more.” She closed her mouth, as if unwilling to give voice to the unthinkable.

  “Like being involved with whiskey runners in some way?” Wallace said. “I want to protect her, but I can’t if I don’t know what she’s running from.” He ran his hand through his hair and plunked his elbows on the table. “What should I do?”

  Clarinda drew a deep breath. “The constable has the situation under control here. As far as Mary Anne goes...I’m sure you’ve been talking with the Lord about all this, as I have. What comes to my mind is His command, ‘Judge not that ye be not judged.’”

  Wallace wanted nothing more than to do just that, to ignore Mary Anne’s possible association with the whiskey runners. “But she said—”

  “She said she was in danger. We know very little about her life before she arrived in Maple Notch.”

  Make that so little that it wouldn’t register on a postage scale. “You think she’s not involved?”

  “I think we don’t know. She won’t keep quiet if she thinks we’re in danger. She promised us that, and I trust her. More importantly, do you?”

  The question stopped Wallace. He wanted to trust Mary Anne. He did trust her, yet at the same time, he didn’t. “Close your mouth before a fly camps out on your tongue.” Clarinda buttered a slice of bread and took a bite. “What she needs more than anything else is time. Time to work everything through her mind and tell us what’s troubling her. I have an idea of something that might help speed things up.”

  She reached in a drawer behind her and pulled out an envelope. “Howard surprised me with plans for a trip to New York to see the Ziegfield Follies for our tenth anniversary, but under the circumstances, I won’t be making the trip.” She slid the envelope across the table to Wallace. “Maybe a trip to New York with Winnie and Mary Anne will give you the answers you are looking for.”

  * * *

  “Miss Laurents! You have company,” Winnie’s friend, Louise Sawtelle, said.

  Mary Anne glanced up from the Bible she was devouring by reading large chunks every day. Reading the words in print made them real and alive in a new way. Placing a bookmark to note where she stopped, she opened the door. “I have company?”

  “It’s Mr. Tuttle. He brought Winnie back, and they’re waiting to see you in the front parlor.”

  “I’ll be right down.”

  With the dismissal, Louise vanished in the direction of her room. Mary Anne took a minute to examine her closet. She shouldn’t care what she was wearing when she saw Wallace, but she did. If she wasn’t at the school, she might dab on a bit of lipstick, but Aunt Flo disapproved of the practice.

  The clock indicated she had spent five minutes worrying about her appearance. Vain woman. After pulling a spring green cardigan over her blouse, she walked down the stairs.

  Three Tuttles—Aunt Flo had joined Wallace and Winnie—waited for Mary Anne. Upon Mary Anne’s entry, Winnie broke into a wide smile.

  Aunt Flo spoke first. “Wallace came to me with a most wonderful suggestion. He asked me to assure you that you have my permission for a few days’ absence from work.”

  Absence from work? Mary Anne’s mind whirled with possibilities.

  “We’re going to New York.” The words burst forth from Winnie.

  “Winnie!” Wallace’s scolding held a bit of laughter. “You didn’t give me a chance to ask her properly.”

  “New York?” Saying the words made Mary Anne weak, and she sank into the nearest chair.

  “Howard was planning a trip to New York for their tenth anniversary, but then...” Wallace’s face grew red.

  “Clarinda discovered she is expecting and does not feel up to traveling.” Aunt Flo didn’t find the topic of her niece’s “delicate condition” inappropriate for their conversation.

  Wallace’s face returned to its normal color now that Aunt Flo had delivered the embarrassing news. “He had purchased tickets to the Ziegfield Follies and doesn’t want them to go to waste. Please say you’ll go with us.” He grinned as if he were Santa Claus opening his sack on Christmas Eve.

  The Follies. She had never seen the show, although she had heard wonderful things abou
t it. But... “That’s two tickets, and there are three of us.”

  “I already took care of that. I called them today and made a reservation for a third person, hoping you would say yes. I even requested the hotel change the room to a suite with two rooms.” Pleading gray eyes widened behind his glasses. How could she say no? How could she say yes?

  Mary Anne touched her hair, a habit she had developed lately in comparing her present circumstances with the past. “New York....” Her voice trailed off.

  “Please say yes. Imagine. New York City. Skating in Central Park. Seeing a live show.” With a glance at her brother’s amused eye, Winnie added, “And the art museum and the Bronx Zoo. Oh, I’d love to see it all.” Her dark eyes glittered.

  “You can’t see all that in a week,” Wallace reminded her.

  “But I can see a lot of it.” Winnie spun around on the carpet, imitating one of the skating moves she had perfected.

  It’s not all that special. Not when you’ve lived there all your life. “It’s only October. You can’t go ice skating yet,” Mary Anne said.

  Wallace’s widening smile told Mary Anne she had lost the argument. “So you’ll come with us?”

  “I don’t have much choice.” Flickers of warmth curled in her stomach, and she decided maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad.

  A couple of nights later, she wasn’t so sure. After spending three hours packing in Winnie’s room, they still hadn’t finished.

  “I can’t believe Aunt Flo let me take off from school. She said something about not all education taking place in the classroom.” Winnie tucked her Bible and a single school book at the bottom of her suitcase. “Education, my foot. I intend to have fun.”

  “You’ll have lessons to do while we’re gone,” Mary Anne reminded her. “And if Aunt Flo’s not satisfied with it, she’ll give you more to do when you get back.”

  “Oh, I know.” Winnie shook out a sweater she had packed, held it against her body and hung it back in the closet. “I can’t decide what to wear. All I have that fits me right are school uniforms and the clothes I skate in. Nothing seems right for the city.”