The Golden Angel

by Gilbert, Morris

  ****

  Erin was intensely aware of Merritt’s activities. She saw him grow stronger by the day, and his cheeks began to take on a more natural color. More than once she had decided to tell him to move on, but he obviously had no place to go.

  As she served customers one evening, her mind was on Merritt. She approached the table and put the plate down when suddenly a hand grasped her wrist. Startled, she turned her head to stare at the seated man who was holding her. He was a big, burly man with liquor on his breath. He had light blond hair and rather small blue eyes, and his mouth hung loosely. She tried to pull her hand away. “Let me go, please.”

  “Ah, come on, baby. Don’t be so hard to get. What do you say you and me go out and see the town tonight?”

  Erin tried to pull away, but his grip was strong. She jerked wildly, and the man came to his feet. He held on to her hand and suddenly leaned forward and whispered something vile into her ear. She slapped his face, and he turned ugly.

  “You’ll have to pay for that! How about a kiss?”

  Erin looked around the café, seeing if there was anyone to help her, but there were only three elderly couples and four women. Not much help there. Grace, the younger of the two waitresses, had backed up against the wall, her eyes big with fright.

  The man was laughing at Erin, enjoying himself. Suddenly, over the man’s shoulder, she saw Quaid come through the door, his eyes fixed on the large man holding her. Quaid picked up a chair and in a wide, sweeping motion swung it up and brought it down, catching the man on the head with the edge of the seat. The man uttered a moan and went down. He started to get up, and then Quaid struck him again. This time he lay still.

  Erin was breathing hard, but she saw that Quaid was no more concerned than if he had swatted a fly. “Better call the police on this one,” he said calmly. “He might turn mean when he wakes up.”

  Erin went at once to the front door. There was usually a policeman somewhere close, and she saw one just a couple doors down. She called out, “Please, Officer Sullivan, can you help me?”

  The patrolman turned at once and came to her at a heavy run. He was a large, bulky man with a red face.

  “One of the customers tried to . . . tried to assault me.”

  “Did he now, Miss Erin? Well, we’ll take care of him.”

  Officer Sullivan walked inside and saw the man stretched out. His gaze lifted then to meet the gaze of Quaid. “You do this?”

  “Yes, he was annoying Miss Winslow.”

  “Well, good for you.” Sullivan smiled. “I don’t think he’ll die. His head’s too hard for that.” He leaned over and gave the man a jab. Blood was streaming down over his face, and Sullivan said roughly, “Come on, now. Don’t bleed all over the floor.” He turned to Erin and said, “I expect you’ll have to swear out a complaint.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Erin looked around at the customers and said, “I’m sorry about all this. Go on with your meal. There won’t be any more trouble.” She saw Quaid go into the kitchen, and she followed him. “I’m glad you were there,” she said quickly.

  “So am I.” He smiled and said, “I probably owe you for that chair. I don’t know if it can be fixed or not.”

  She laughed and said, “Don’t you worry about the chair.”

  Shyly Grace edged up to Quaid. “I’m glad you were here, mister.”

  It was the first time either of the two young women had spoken to Quaid, and he smiled at her. “If anyone bothers you, Grace, give me a call. There’s plenty of chairs to take care of them.”

  ****

  “Quaid, let’s go get something to eat.”

  Quaid had just finished mopping the floor. It was late, and he was wearing an apron over the same clothes he had appeared in.

  “What do you mean?” he asked mildly.

  “I’m tired of my own cooking.”

  They had closed early, and Erin was restless. “Have you ever eaten Chinese food?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “Come along, we’ll try the Crimson Dragon.”

  “It’ll have to be on you.”

  “That’s all right.”

  She watched as Quaid removed his apron and folded it neatly. She thought, not for the first time, that in some things he was very orderly. He had been a great help at the café, taking a load off of her, so she had postponed asking him to leave. Now as the two moved out, she locked the door behind her, and he remarked, “I’d change that lock if I were you. Easier for us burglars to get in than you might think.”

  “Yes, I should do that. Come along, now, I’m hungry.”

  The Crimson Dragon was only two blocks away, and as they walked along, Erin waited for Quaid to speak. When he did it was only about the weather. “I always liked the spring,” he said. “But not in the city.”

  “Are you from the country?”

  “I grew up in the country. I still miss things about it. It’s such a simple life. I think there ought to be simplicities in every life, but they are usually crowded out by complicated things.”

  She thought about this until they reached the restaurant. When they went inside, a diminutive Chinese man gave them a quick bow and showed them to a table. Quaid pulled out the chair for Erin, which surprised her, and she sat down. When he sat down, too, the waiter said, “I bring tea.”

  “Apparently you can have either tea or tea.” Quaid grinned. He looked at the menu and shook his head. “I don’t know what most of this is.”

  “I don’t either,” Erin said. She studied the menu, and when the proprietor came back, she said, “We don’t know what’s good. Could you just bring us samples?”

  “Yiss! I bring you samples, and you can share. If you like anything, you can have more.”

  Erin sipped the tea and found it surprisingly good. The two sat there without speaking much until the meal was brought.

  “Here’s some wonton soup, and this is fried rice. This is sesame chicken, and you try this sweet-and-sour pork.”

  The table was covered with small dishes and plates, and Erin said, “I’ve got a habit of asking a blessing over the food.” She saw Quaid bow his head at once, and she said a quick prayer.

  “My mother always did that,” Quaid said.

  “Where is she?”

  “She died six years ago. My dad, too. The flu got them at the same time.” He tasted the soup and nodded, “This is good.” Then a thought struck him. “I’ve always been glad they died together.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because they loved each other so much. The survivor would have been lost. Better they went together.”

  The two were enjoying the food, and somehow being away from the Elite Café gave them both a sense of freedom. They began to make jokes about the food, and the proprietor, Chi Ling, came often to urge more food upon them.

  “What is this?” Erin asked Mr. Ling as he placed two more bowls of soup in front of them.

  “Is bird’s-nest soup. Velly good.”

  “Is it really made out of birds’ nests?”

  “Oh yiss! Velly good. Velly good.”

  “Are you game to eat a bird’s nest?” Quaid said.

  Erin laughed. “When I was in Africa one of my favorite foods was milk laced with the blood of a cow.”

  Quaid stared at her. “You really mean that?”

  “Yes, it’s a favorite food of the Masai. Not many white people like it, but I did.”

  “You grew up in Africa?”

  “Yes, my parents are missionaries in Kenya.”

  “How did you get over here?”

  Erin could not tell him the real reason, which was tied up with Stephen Charterhouse. She hesitated long enough for him to notice, then said, “I needed to try something different. I wanted to do something on my own. What about you?”

  “I grew up in the Midwest on a farm. Worked at a lot of jobs and finally went into the army.”

  “You were in the war?”

  “Yes.”

>   His answer was short and clipped, and she saw that he was reluctant to speak. She was curious, however, and leaned forward. “Did you see action?”

  Quaid tasted a bit of a tiny wafer, then put it down. When he spoke, his voice was even and almost without inflection. “I was a flier.”

  “Really! Tell me about it.”

  Erin listened as he spoke about how he had been tested and found to have good reflexes, and how he had finally flown in a fighter plane. “Did you ever shoot down another plane?”

  Quaid hesitated, then nodded. “Eleven,” he said. “And then one of them shot me down. That’s where I got the scars on my chest.”

  Erin stared at him. She did not think for one moment that he was lying. He was not boastful. Indeed, she was having to pry the information out of him, and finally she said quietly, “You must be very proud of that.”

  He did not answer, and his silence confused her. But seeing that he didn’t want to talk about it, she added, “Well, what do you know? I’ve had a hero working with me all this time. Think of that!”

  Quaid looked at her, and his lips drew together in a straight line. He shook his head and said, “There wasn’t much heroics to it. I don’t think about it any more than I have to.”

  “Will you ever fly again?”

  “I don’t think so. Who would trust a drunk?”

  “Why, you haven’t had a drop to drink since you’ve been with us at the café.”

  “No, that’s because I have something to do—trying to pay back a favor. But I’m a drunk all right.”

  His words depressed Erin, but she shook it off and brought the conversation back to more pleasant things, entertaining him with stories about Africa.

  When it was time to leave, she paid the bill but noticed that Quaid was uncomfortable with this.

  When they were almost back to the café, he said, “I’ve been thinking I ought to leave.”

  “Do you have anyplace to go?”

  “Not really.”

  Erin had been wanting to send him on his way, and here the opportunity was presented to her, but for some reason she found herself saying, “Stay for a while. You’re such a big help to me. I’d pay you something. It wouldn’t be much, but you could stay just until you’re completely well.”

  He suddenly looked at her. “Why are you being so nice to me, Miss Winslow?”

  “Oh, call me Erin. Don’t be so formal. I don’t know, I just like to help people—and I hate to see anyone wasting their life.”

  “Too late to pray about that in my case.”

  She looked at him and saw that his lips were twisted in a cynical line. “No, it’s not too late.”

  When they got to the café, Erin stopped outside the front door for a moment and asked, “Are you married?”

  “Would you believe me if I said that I wasn’t? Men do lie about that sometimes, you know.”

  A shadow passed over Erin’s face, but she asked again, “Well, are you?”

  “No.”

  “What are you going to do with the rest of your life?”

  Suddenly Quaid Merritt laughed as he answered, “Wash dishes at the Elite Café, I suppose.”

  Erin smiled with him. “That makes two of us,” she said.

  She said good-night and let him in the front door, then took the outside entrance up to her room. She kept the door locked on her side that led down to what had become Quaid’s bedroom, and as she prepared for bed, she thought about what a strange evening it had been. One thing I’m sure of. I’m not going to wash dishes at the Elite Café for the rest of my life! And I doubt if Quaid will, either. . . .

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Maybe I Should Go. . . .”

  Erin had come to the Winslow house for lunch with her grandparents, but before they had sat down to eat she had shown them the financial records of the café. She was very proud of what she had done, and she could tell that her grandfather was pleased as well as he looked over the profit-and-loss statement.

  “I guess you’re just a natural-born businesswoman, Erin.” He looked up, and his eyes were warm with approval. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

  “And the café looks so nice. You’ve done a beautiful job of redecorating it.” Lola saw that Erin was enjoying the praise, and she went on for some time talking about the improvements. She had been in twice to visit and had taken two meals there. “I didn’t see the Elite before you took over, but I know it must have been fairly grim.”

  “It was just run-down,” Erin said. “But I’ve done about all I can do now.”

  “This man you tell me about who’s been a great help to you, this Quaid Merritt. Is that his name?”

  “Yes, it is. I’m ashamed that I can’t pay him more, but he doesn’t seem unhappy. I don’t think he has any purpose at all in life.”

  Lola had met Quaid Merritt and had been interested in him. She had reported her findings to Mark, and Mark had been less than enthusiastic, saying, “A young single man living there doesn’t seem the best idea in the world.”

  Lola, however, had been favorably impressed with the ex-flier. She had a heart for the many soldiers and airmen who had gone through the war, and especially for those who had not been able to pick up the patterns of their lives again. There were many of them, and work was scarce. Now she said, “What will Quaid do?”

  “I’ve asked him if he would ever go back to flying again. He says that he probably never will.”

  All during her visit, Erin was aware of her grandfather’s doubts concerning Merritt. She did not try to defend herself, nor did he make any accusations. Finally, before she left, she kissed him and said, “Don’t worry about Quaid being there. He has his own room, and he’s a big help. Once when the waitresses were both sick for a day, he filled in as a waiter. He laughed at himself, but he did a good job.”

  “Is he a Christian?”

  “No, he’s not. I’ve tried to talk to him, but he thinks he’s a hopeless case.”

  “You should have seen me back when I was in jail down in Texas. I was a hopeless case, but Jesus specializes in hopeless cases, doesn’t He, Lola?”

  “Yes, He does.”

  Erin kissed her grandfather again, and as she left the house a sense of warmth came to her. If everyone could be like my grandparents, this would be a good world.

  ****

  The Elite was closed on Sunday, and Erin had stayed in her room in the morning before church, since all the work had been done below. She realized afresh how much work Quaid did. He did all the cleaning now, mopping the floors and getting the café ready for the next day’s work. She had gone to church and come back to find him sitting at the table in the kitchen reading a newspaper. “They’re having an air show out at the field today, Quaid. Why don’t we go take it in?”

  He looked up and said, “An air show?”

  “Yes, it’s supposed to be a really good one. There are posters all over town.”

  “Sounds like fun,” Quaid said.

  “I’ve never told you this, but I’m a flier myself. I just haven’t been able to get a job here flying planes.”

  Interest quickened Quaid’s gray-green eyes. He turned to face her, and putting the paper down, he leaned forward on the table, resting on his elbows. “How did all that happen?” He listened while she told him about taking lessons and getting her license in Africa.

  “Who taught you?”

  “A man I knew.”

  At her brief answer, Quaid looked up with surprise. He studied her for a moment, knowing that there was more to it than this, but he did not want to pry. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go to that air show.”

  “Good. I’ll go get ready. We can take the trolley.”

  ****

  The air show was a delight to Erin. She had never seen acrobatics, but this show gave her a full display.

  “Looks like they’d tear those planes apart the way they twist and turn!” she exclaimed.

  “Most of them are Spads. Tough little ships.
”

  “Is that what you flew in the war?”

  “For most of it.” They were sitting in the stands watching as two biplanes approached each other head-on. Erin gasped and, without thinking, reached over and grabbed Quaid’s arm. “That looks so dangerous!”

  “It’s not really. They’ve got it all worked out.”

  Erin watched as the two planes came within what seemed to be inches of each other, then broke off, one into a dive and the other into a steep upward climb. The one that came toward the earth suddenly flipped over, and the plane flashed across in front of the stands. The flier, with a yellow silk scarf attached to his helmet, waved at them as he sailed by, held in only by his safety belt.

  Erin loved the acrobatics, but she was absolutely delighted at the wing-walking demonstration.

  “Look at them, Quaid,” she said. “They don’t seem to have any fear at all.” She was staring at a man with a red streamer of silk on his helmet as he walked almost casually from one wing tip to the other of a biplane. He got out a chair, set it down on the wing, and then sat down in it and read a newspaper, or seemed to.

  “He’s not even wearing a parachute,” Erin said.

  Quaid turned to smile at her. She was wearing an attractive light blue dress that went almost to her ankles. He could not help but notice the smooth roundness of her shoulders, the straight line of her body. The sunlight was kind to her, and he noted that she had a few freckles across her nose, but her complexion was flawless. Her hair was a rich gold, a color he had heard about but had never seen before. Her excitement at watching the planes and the daredevils sparkled in her blue-green eyes, and she made graceful gestures with her hands while smiling and laughing in surprise and delight, almost like a child.

  Quaid was aware of the fragrance of her clothes and enjoyed the warmth of her body standing next to his. There was fire in Erin Winslow, and it made her even lovelier, drawing him in a way he had not been drawn to a woman in years. The excitement of the day had brought out the qualities of a rich spirit that was normally hidden behind a businesslike reserve.

  The air show lasted for an hour and a half with intermissions, and finally when it was over, Erin sighed wistfully, “That was such fun.”