Until June

by Barbara M. Britton

  Geoff’s mouth pulled to one side. “How does she respond?”

  “I have to fill several pages, so she can’t tell him of her feelings right away. I’m thinking maybe an eagle drops a love note or she ties the note to her wolf dog.” Her eyes challenged him to comment.

  “I imagine they get married, eat cake every day, end of story?” He shuffled the papers, shoved them her direction, and picked up his cards.

  Had she offended him? All the stories in the Companion had a tidy ending.

  “Yes.” She thumbed the flimsy corners of the papers. “Greg and Daria have a nice life together.”

  “Then, you’re writing a fairy tale, not a story.” He studied his cards as if he hadn’t seen them before. “Don’t you think there are questions that need to be asked and answered? Answered honestly?”

  Don’t look at me like that. Not with those enlightened eyes.

  “What do you mean?” Her pulse raced. Her eyes darted around the room, avoiding his inquisitive stare.

  “Isn’t there something she should ask him? Something she’d need to know if they married.” His tone demanded an answer.

  She thought about the conversations she had with Geoff. Was he referring to the two years Dr. Miller had prophesied? Silence filled the room. Her brain was fully empty.

  Geoff drained his teacup. “Can he consummate the marriage?” He hesitated. “Father children?”

  Her face burned hotter than scarlet embers. “I, uh…” The boom in her temples nearly burst through her brow. “I don’t know,” she stammered. I don’t want to know.

  “What if her heart’s set on three kids, and he can’t give her one. Will she give up motherhood to be with him? I’ve seen them, Jo. Men worse off than me. Cut nearly in half. Should we forget about them? Their hardship?” The roar of his voice was as ferocious as the bear’s head above the mantel.

  Her heart sank in her chest. “I’m sorry.” Tears choked her voice. “It’s…it’s a made-up story.”

  Was he mad at her? The war? His injury?

  She met his gaze.

  “I can, you know.” His words were whisper soft. “Have children.”

  Embarrassment prickled her skin. She would have sworn she had spiked a fever. “I can’t talk about this.” I don’t know how to talk about this. “Greg and Daria won’t either.” She plunked her cup on the table and hurried toward the stairs. When she reached the landing, she turned to face him. “It’s supposed to be a simple serial.”

  “You’re writing a fairy tale, Jo, not a real story. Life’s not a fairy tale.” His voice held an addict’s edge. An edge that curled her toes into eagle’s talons. The smashing of his teacup emphasized his words.

  Papers in hand, she vaulted up the stairs at full stride. Almost at the top, her foot slipped. Her ankle twisted. The wooden stairs offered no cushion for her fall.

  “Ahh.” Air swooshed from her lungs. Pain ricocheted from her wrists to her knees. Rolling on her side, she investigated the sting in her throbbing ankle. Blood oozed through her stocking.

  “Are you hurt?” Angst filled Geoff’s voice. She heard him scrambling for his chair.

  She braced herself against the railing. “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. Her story was strewn on several steps. A drum beat of ache boomed up her leg. Her chest cinched from Geoff’s inquisition.

  Geoff wheeled into sight. “Let me—”

  “Leave me be,” she shouted as she limped up the last stair. “I’m done with your critique.”

  “Darn it, Jo.” He slapped the wall. “I was being honest.”

  Closing her bedroom door, she sat on the bed and inspected her wound. Geoff could be honest with someone else.

  She took gauze from the medical kit and held it to her cut. The bleeding stopped. With a one-footed hobble, she dressed for bed. Pulling the blankets up tight to her chin, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the black nothingness. She would not allow Geoff to upset her anymore today. If he called tonight, she would not answer. How dare he bring that up? She didn’t want to know about that. Should she know about that? She did wonder about that.

  When she opened her eyes, the alarm clock read 9:00 AM.

  Her heart rallied as she rushed out of bed. Ouch! She lifted her ankle and pressed her lips together. Her sprain throbbed. She dressed in a hurry and hobbled downstairs as fast as she could without incurring another injury. Geoff read a ledger on the couch.

  “Good morning,” he said, closing his book. “There are some pancakes on the table for you. They might still be warm. It seems to be a late morning for both of us.”

  “Pancakes for me?” Was this an apology? She didn’t see any shards of his shattered tea cup. “How did you manage to make them?”

  “Ah.” He sat straighter. “I tied a pipe I found under the sink to the spatula. I’ve been around a few flap jacks in my day.” He eased into his chair.

  Hiding the ache in her ankle, she sidestepped toward the table, sat, and placed a napkin in her lap. She tried a few bites.

  “These are good.” She poured more maple syrup onto her plate.

  “Would you like some juice?” He wheeled closer.

  “I’ll get it.” She beat him into the kitchen. After all, she was supposed to cook breakfast for him.

  When she returned to the table, Geoff shifted a chair away, and perched alongside her. “I want to apologize for last night.” His voice sounded like he was choking on a pancake.

  Her attention stayed on her plate of food.

  “I shouldn’t have said the things I did.” He tapped a nervous rhythm on his armrest. “Sometimes, I forget how old you are.”

  Enough already. “Apology accepted.” She popped more breakfast into her mouth.

  “You’ve gotten off to a good start on your story.”

  “I’m not going to finish the story,” she said, while she sopped up syrup with a piece of pancake.

  “Why not? What’s more exciting than a leg-less Leonard?” He crossed his arms over his chest as if he was ready for more banter. She wasn’t.

  “I’m not naming him Leonard.”

  “Then you’re learning already.” He leaned toward her, a wily grin on his face.

  Playing with the napkin in her lap, she tried to think of how she would explain her reasoning for quitting the contest. Her face warmed as he stared at her. “I don’t know enough about certain things.” He fidgeted as if he expected her to say more, but that was all she could muster on the subject of that.

  “You have an older sister.” He scratched his whiskers as if recalling Ann. “You must know something?”

  His eyes felt like two lighthouse beacons aimed at her face. She gathered her silverware. “My mother says it is not appropriate for a lady to know until she is ready to marry.”

  “Oh, she does?” He rubbed his hand across his mouth, camouflaging his expression. “That doesn’t mean you can’t still write the story. You’ve seen and touched more places on a man’s body than most married women. Unfortunately for you, it’s been my cut off body and not those gents in the magazine.”

  She pounded the butt of her fork on the table. “I don’t like it when you talk about yourself that way. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

  His eyebrows arched. “I’m missing half my legs.”

  “I never knew you with legs. It’s all the same to me.” Same old injuries. Same old Geoff.

  “Enter the contest.” If he edged any farther off his chair he would fall in her lap. “Be honest about Greg’s struggles. I’ll only give my opinion if you ask for it, and I’ll try to remember you’re just an eighteen-year-old runt.” A tease twinkled in his eyes.

  “Fine.” She tapped her healthy foot. “I’ll try. And I’ll try to remember what you’ve been through. Plus, those other veterans.”

  He laid his hand on hers. Warmth flooded her skin.

  “I’ll try to remember what you’ve been through, too,” he said.

  Was he talking about the lodge? His crinkled-brow
expression concerned her.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “The men who tried to kill me were soldiers. German soldiers. My dad wasn’t behind enemy lines pushing me into barbed wire.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “My stepfather didn’t try to kill me. It was an accident. I fell.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It’s the truth. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but I was there.” She didn’t want to talk about the encounter with her stepfather. Geoff’s closeness suddenly made her uneasy as though he was Marshal Dorsey’s deputy.

  She gathered her dishes and headed to the kitchen to clean them. She was not dredging up the scene in the Chamberses’ bedroom.

  Afterward, Geoff insisted on inspecting her ankle. She sat on his couch and propped her leg on the coffee table. Her scrape hardly compared with his bedsores, but he wheeled off to his room to find ointment and a bandage. He tied the cloth ends without looking as if she were a wounded trench mate.

  “I want to believe you,” Geoff said as he clipped the knot tails. “It’s just that I feel responsible for this ankle, and I blame your stepfather for what happened to you that day.”

  Not this again. “Well then, you’ll need to thank him, too. Because of him, I found my way to your mansion. Now, I’m here taking care of you.”

  He rocked the wheels of his chair back and forth.

  “I am thankful.” He smiled like he had beaten her at cards.

  At his praise, her body sprouted wings and flew to the ceiling.

  “I’m thankful my bedsores, bumps, and bruises are almost healed.” He grinned, but she knew part of him was being serious.

  “Don’t say that. You’ll jinx us.” She wiggled her bandaged ankle. “And you haven’t walked on your wooden stilts yet today.”

  ~*~

  On November 11, 1918, Tubby returned en route from Skagway to Juneau. He handed her a newspaper. Not letters. Not a magazine. Not a Butterick pattern. A newspaper. She read the headline three times. Each time she added a grateful “Amen.” The Great War had ended. Germany had signed the armistice.

  She rushed to show the paper to Geoff.

  He read the headline in silence. “I’m glad it’s over.” His words were but a wisp. “I wish it would have ended sooner.”

  Her spirit grieved as she beheld his broken body. “Me, too, Geoff. Me, too.”

  16

  “Gin,” she called out, laying down a six and a ten of clubs on his run. They’d been playing cards for three days straight since Tubby brought news of the armistice. She welcomed talk of cards and points and not of fathering children or traveling to mines.

  “How do you do that? You must cheat.” Geoff tossed his cards on the coffee table.

  “I do not. If you say that again, there’ll be no more rummy.” What a blessing that would be. She gathered the cards. “It’s getting late, and I have dishes to finish.”

  “Is that suit coat almost done? Tubby said we had a week.” Geoff re-positioned himself on the couch. He picked up a ledger from a pile on the floor.

  The salmon from dinner had come back to life and was spawning in her stomach.

  “What do you mean? Tubby said he wouldn’t be back until spring.”

  Geoff concentrated on rows of numbers and dollar signs. “He said we could make a trip to the mine. Fall’s been warmer than usual.”

  She dusted some lint from her chair. “The jacket’s almost finished. Only a few buttons to go. If Tubby gives me enough warning, I’ll even pack a lunch for the two of you.”

  “Three of us.” He glanced up from the page. “I can’t go to the lodge without you.”

  Her breaths shallowed. Had her lungs shrunk?

  “You don’t need me to go.” Go to a place with gamblers, swindlers, and murderers? “You own that place. What do I know about mining?”

  “You’re going.”

  She shook her head.

  He set his ledger on the couch, crinkled his nose, and stared at her as if she had insulted his card playing. “Why not? Are you afraid to be seen in public with me?”

  If only that were the reason. She should admit to the lie but the hurt in his eyes made her heart sad.

  “I never have been, nor ever will be, ashamed to be seen with you. I just can’t go to Kat Wil. Not with you, not with anyone.” She started to rise.

  “Then I’m ordering you to accompany me. I pay you to meet my needs, and I can’t balance on those wooden legs by myself.”

  “No.” She snatched saucers from the table without looking at his face. “The dishes need washing.”

  He reached for her dress. “Get back here.”

  It was no use. He would follow her to the kitchen and argue until she gave in to his wishes. Grabbing her coat from a peg by the back door, she called, “I’ve got to check the hens.” At least it would stall his barrage of reasons. Why couldn’t he understand about the mine? It supplied her stepfather with alcohol, stole his good sense, his money, his life.

  A light drizzle dampened her bangs as she ran to the hen house. The pulse of the bruise on her ankle reminded her how unpredictable Geoff Chambers could be. The bluck-bluck-bluck of disturbed hens greeted her as she slipped into the coop.

  Minutes passed.

  The squeak of the lodge door sent her heart into spasms. She recognized the cadence of Geoff’s wooden limbs on the porch. He wouldn’t try and maneuver the porch steps. Would he?

  “What in the…?” Geoff’s voice blended with the ring of a spinning dinner plate.

  How could she have forgotten to bring in the beast’s plate? Cards. That’s how.

  Peeking out from the hen house, she saw him clinging to the porch post for balance.

  She rushed to help him.

  He held up a hand to stop her.

  Breathless, she waited on the bottom stair.

  “Were you going to hide in the coop all night?” he asked. “It’s getting dark.”

  “I might.” Especially if he didn’t let up about this trip to Kat Wil.

  He lifted one of his wooden limbs and placed it on the next step.

  Her stomach became a ball of yarn. She moved one stair closer.

  “I can do this.” He shifted the peg leg left on the porch. “You said I didn’t need you.”

  Where she gripped the railing, her palm dampened. She had encouraged him to go alone, but seeing him totter on these steps caused her hair to go gray. “I did say that, but—”

  He swept his back leg to the next step and stood statue still.

  Jaw clenched, she rushed to his side.

  “See, I’m learning.” He flashed a prize-winning smile. “Though, I still need you to go to the mine with me. I can’t...I don’t want to go there without you.” His eyes glistened.

  Her spirit crushed.

  “What if I fall, Jo? What if one of my legs gets twisted? Who’s going to want to touch me?” He placed a hand on her shoulder as if they were beginning front facing walking lessons. His voice was so calm, so innocent. He could have negotiated the peace treaty singlehandedly. “People don’t see me the way you do. They don’t know what I need.”

  She tilted her head back and admired the stacked branches of a towering spruce. Mist feathered her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can go to the mine.”

  “Come inside and talk to me. I’d like to avoid damp clothes…please.”

  She heard it. Was this the first time? She couldn’t remember him using the “p” word before. Why did he have to use manners now when the thought of being around rough men, one of whom may have killed her stepfather, terrified her?

  “No one is going to hurt you at the mine. Everyone at Kat Wil answers to me.” He swayed on the step as if he anticipated a walk.

  She steadied him. “My stepfather was murdered, possibly by one of your workers. What if he finds out I’m here on the island? Alone. With you. What if he thinks I have money?”

  “This is my house.” Geoff stabbed the post with his index finger. “Anyo
ne trespassing has to come through me.”

  “I know.” Her tone added a “but.” She tried not to think about the disadvantages of his condition.

  “Guns even the field. I’m a crack shot. I’ve had plenty of shooting practice. If someone so much as flinches in these woods, he’ll die.” He leaned outward as if addressing the trees. “Hear that world? This is a shootin’ lodge.”

  “Stop yelling. You’ll wake Mr. Gilbertsen’s ghost.”

  He put an arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to Kat Wil—owner and assistant.”

  “Assistant?” The title sounded important. “Can I still think about it?” He enfolded her into his fleece jacket. Her protest was cut off by a warm chest pressing against her face. The hearty scent of cinnamon and all-spice filled her senses. “Did you eat more ginger snaps?”

  “I left you one.” Geoff began to chuckle then went rigid. Through her coat sleeve, his fingers pinched her skin. “I need the rifle,” he whispered.

  Was there a stranger at the lodge? Turning, she saw the threat. Not a man. But the beast. Her beast, jogging merrily toward the porch.

  17

  “Get inside.” Geoff pushed her toward the door. “I’m going to take care of that animal once and for all.”

  “Don’t you dare.” She dropped her weight, making it harder for Geoff to push her up the steps. “He hasn’t hurt anyone.”

  “Not yet. Now move.” Anger sizzled in his voice.

  She rounded on him. “I will not allow you to shoot that dog. He kept me warm when you locked me out of the lodge. If it wasn’t for his fur, I’d have been a block of freezer ice.”

  “You let that thing near you?” He glanced at the plate on the porch. “You’ve been feeding it too, haven’t you? That’s why I have china outside my back door.”

  A moaning howl interrupted their discussion. The beast sat on the path, his snout skyward. He gurgled a low rambling bark. He seemed to be telling his side of the story.

  Stepping away from Geoff, she jogged down the stairs and toward the beast.

  “Get back here.” Geoff’s command reached the tallest evergreens.

  The beast rubbed against her coat, using her leg as a de-furring post. She stroked its long, damp back. “Someone abandoned this dog. He’s not mean.” She looked at Geoff who had shifted to the top stair. “I feel better having him around after what I told you about my stepfather. He’s protection.”