Hidden Dreams
Page 16
The cold deepened, and they drew together for warmth. “They’ll find us soon.” Wallace hoped that was true. He had left everyone behind in the cave. They talked to keep themselves awake, fearful of falling if they went to sleep.
Chill seeped into their bones and pried Wallace’s tight grip away from the tree trunk. In the deepest part of the night, welcome flashlights flickered beneath them. “We’ll get you out of there as fast as we can.” Wallace could see Howard’s face illuminated by the light. “We’ve got ladders here.”
Wallace climbed onto the ladder first, pausing after he descended a couple of steps. “Come ahead, Mary Anne. I’ve got you.” They descended the ladder rungs in tandem, her inside the sheltering reach of his arms as if she was made to fit there. Once on the ground, their pastor draped blankets around them and guided them to a high spot where they could dry out by a fire.
Later, after they made it back to the seminary, Aunt Flo filled them with as much tea as they could swallow and enough warm soup to bring their body temperatures back up to normal. Wallace asked to speak with the constable. “Did they escape?”
From their long conversation, Wallace knew Mary Anne feared retribution from DiNapoli’s gang almost more than the flood waters.
Smith looked at Gerard, who answered. “They weren’t as lucky as you. They were so busy trying to get the hooch out of the hiding place they didn’t even notice the river was rising until it was too late.”
“They...drowned?”
This time Gerard looked to Smith for answers. “We found two bodies downstream. We’ll need you to identify them for us, Miss Lamont, to confirm they were the men who were in the car with you.”
“And the whiskey?” Wallace asked.
“Let’s just say a whole lot of fish downstream are breaking the eighteenth amendment tonight.” Smith flashed a rare smile.
All that profit, washed downstream. Smith brought up the thorny problem that remained. “We’ve been building a case against DiNapoli for some time. We can’t bring him to court for the whiskey, since all the evidence washed away. And the man who killed your father is dead. From what you told us, DiNapoli is implicated in the conspiracy to commit murder. We need your testimony.”
Wallace held his breath, but Mary Anne didn’t hesitate. “I’m tired of hiding. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring that snake to justice.” She flicked a glance at her hands, then raised her eyes to meet Smith’s. “And I’ll turn what’s left of the money over to the government. I’m tired of all the problems that came with it.”
Smith managed a smile at that statement. “That’s not necessary. You can keep it, or give it all to the real St. Ignatius’s Children’s Fund, if you want to.”
“Daddy would like that.”
Six months later
“Your mother would have been very proud of you, I’m sure.” Aunt Flo’s hands fluttered at Mary Anne’s back, adjusting the tulle veil that came with the gown Mama had worn at her wedding. “What a beautiful dress. The way the lace covers the pleats on the chiffon makes you look feminine and dainty.” She laughed. “Although we both know how very independent you are. You are a strong, proud woman. My mother would have approved.”
Mary Anne felt humbled at the ultimate compliment from Florence Tuttle, comparison to her beloved mother and founder of the Maple Notch Female Seminary, Clara Farley Tuttle.
“Enough of that.” Clarinda lightly scolded her aunt. “What’s important is that she’s the right woman for our Wallace. We are glad to have her join our family.” She tweaked the veil around Mary Anne’s face, stroking the curl that folded over her temples and swept back to her ears.
Mary Anne was the only non-Tuttle in the wedding party. Clarinda was her matron of honor, while Winnie was a junior bridesmaid and little Betty was her flower girl. All the women were dressed in blue satin with a hint of sequins around a sweetheart neckline.
In keeping with the Tuttle family’s tradition of forward thinking for women, Mary Anne had asked Aunt Flo to give her away. After a school year of serving as Mary Anne’s employer, teacher and mentor, Aunt Flo seemed the most suited to the role.
Clarinda and Winnie carried a single yellow tulip apiece. Azalea petals like the ones from the clusters Mary Anne carried filled little Betty’s basket. Red tulips rounded out the bridal bouquet.
“It’s time.” The pastor’s wife appeared in the doorway. The bridal party strolled down the hall, arm in arm, to the opening chords of the Bridal Chorus.
Winnie disappeared through the doors, followed by little Betty, then Clarinda. Mary Anne went last, accompanied by Aunt Flo.
When she turned the corner to the sanctuary, Wallace filled her vision. He filled her future.
From this day forward until death do us part.
* * *
With the wedding behind them, the rest of their lives opened before them, and Wallace knew where he wanted to start.
On their way out of Maple Notch, heading to nearby Stowe for a honeymoon, Wallace drove the Victoria coupe in the direction of the Bumblebee River.
“Isn’t Stowe in the other direction?” Mary Anne looked out the window in confusion.
“We have a stop to make first.” Wallace parked a few feet before the Road Closed sign near the bank of the river that warned traffic to stay away until the bridge reconstruction was complete.
“What are we doing here?” Mary Anne hadn’t come this near the river since they had spent the night in the tree last November.
“Come and see.” Wallace couldn’t stop smiling. His face would hurt tomorrow from the daylong stretch on his features. “You know they’re rebuilding the bridge into a two-lane road. Not as romantic as the old bridge, but it will be safer.” He helped Mary Anne out of the car and led her past the sign.
Already a road marker waited at the side of the bridge. Mary Anne scanned the words, which told how this was the site of one of Vermont’s most historic covered bridges, a few mentions of its role in local history as well as its status as the community’s courting bridge. “That’s lovely.”
“That’s not why I brought you here.” Wallace beckoned her forward. “Come onto the bridge with me.”
She placed her hand in his, with complete trust, and Wallace led her to a pile of rescued planks, intended for reuse. “It’s time we christen the new bridge, don’t you think?” His lips found hers, and he prayed generations of Tuttles yet to come could enjoy the old tradition.
When he at last relinquished her lips, he pulled a Swiss army knife from his pants pocket. “Now we need to add our initials, to make it official.” He carved deep into the wood, the double-V shape that formed the W, and added the T. He handed her the knife. “Your turn.”
Mary Anne’s first stroke was light, but then she increased the pressure. The M reversed the strokes for a W. He hadn’t noticed that before. A. L. “Although officially it’s T, now.” Mary Anne leaned forward, holding on to the lapels of his suit jacket.
“This isn’t a kissing bridge,” Wallace said.
Mary Anne brought her lips to his. “Yes, it is. It’s the bridge of dreams, where our deepest desires come true.”
* * * * *
Author’s Note
The flood described in Hidden Dreams is based on the flood in November 1927, the worst flood in Vermont history. Between late evening of November 2 and late morning on November 4, 8.71 inches of rain fell. Eighty-five people lost their lives. Another nine thousand became homeless. Over 1,200 bridges were demolished.
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ISBN: 9781460312919
Copyright © 2013 by Darlene Franklin
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