Книга - Family Stories

Family Stories
Tessa McDermid


Why do some marriages last for decades, while others barely make it past the wedding?Frank and Marian Robertson would tell you there's no easy answer. Love, yes, but more than that–a willingness to be guided by love, to be changed by it…If Frank and Marian have a secret, that's it.When they met in 1929, they realized they were destined to spend the rest of their lives together. However, wanting a life together and making one are two different things. And the obstacles they faced–parental disapproval, even tragedy–sometimes seemed too much to bear. But through it all, Frank and Marian shared a love that's lasted, a love that affects everyone in their family, right down to their great-granddaughter Hannah. She's busy planning their seventy-fifth wedding anniversary, and is doing some digging into her family's past, her family's stories. Stories that explain what shaped her family…









Family Stories

Tessa McDermid







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my family, through birth and marriage




Contents


Acknowledgments (#u8516eb9b-e335-5e23-9007-bdb46b782f12)

Prologue

FRANK’S STORY

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

MARIAN’S STORY

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

FRANK AND MARIAN’S STORY

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

ANNE’S STORY

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

MARGARET’S STORY

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

ALICE’S STORY

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

KATE’S STORY

Chapter 20

Chapter 21




ACKNOWLEDGMENTS


My thanks to the Joplin Writers Guild for their support and encouragement; the Joplin Public Library for resources and answers to questions; Gloria Harchar for critique and computer help; my editor, Paula Eykelhof, for direction and wonderful editing; my sons, David and John, for giving me a reason to keep telling my stories. And to Bob, my husband, who always believes and provides love and support throughout the writing process.




Prologue


Summer 2004

Hannah scrambled up the last few rungs of the rickety ladder and then tugged her brother into the attic. “You’ve got to be quiet, Preston, ” she whispered. “We don’t want Grandma to find out we’re up here.”

“Wow!” He straightened, his head bumping the single lightbulb. Shadows danced around the walls, creating silhouettes of a forgotten Christmas tree, complete with decorations, a dress-maker’s dummy, a rocking horse and other remnants of the owners’ lifetime in this house.

“Didn’t anybody ever throw stuff away?” He stepped over a broken chair, the arms crooked, and bent to examine an old chest, its lid askew and clothes spilling out.

“I don’t know. But we’re not here to look at the junk.” She headed for a waist-high pile of boxes stacked neatly against the far wall. “We need pictures. Lots and lots of pictures.”

She sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the boxes. Preston plopped down next to her. Dust flew into the air and he sneezed.

“Be quiet!” She held her hand under his nose. “We’re almost directly over the kitchen. If Grandma hears us…”

She opened the top carton. Inside were stacks of folders, each labeled with a date from decades past and kept together with colorful rubber bands.

“Here, you look at these.” She handed him a stack, then pulled out another one for herself. She slid off the rubber band, and photographs spilled into her lap.

Several minutes passed quietly, the only sound the soft rustle of paper. “Okay, these might work.” She flipped over a photo of a man standing stiffly behind a young woman seated in a stuffed chair. “G.G. labeled all of them on the back, with the date and the names of the people in the picture. I think these are G. G.’s mom and dad. Our great-great-grandparents.”

She held the photograph by one corner, peering at her ancestors’ faded expressions. G.G., her great-grandmother, was 93. That meant the picture was more than a hundred years old.

“How do you know who any of these people are?” Preston shuffled through his photographs, barely pausing at any of them.

“Because I listen to stories. Stop it, you’re gonna rip them.” She scooped the pictures out of his lap and carefully placed them back in their folders.

“I don’t want to look at old pictures. Hey—some of this stuff is probably worth a fortune now.” He crawled over the floor to a wooden trunk perched under the window.

“Fine. I don’t need your help, anyway.” She’d actually invited him because the attic made her nervous. The few times she’d managed to slip up unnoticed by her grandmother had been at night, with only the single lightbulb for illumination. With the afternoon sun shining through the small oval window, the room seemed less eerie. She could have left Preston downstairs.

Except that he might’ve gone looking for her, which would have alerted their grandmother to her absence. She sighed and opened another box.

Her great-grandmother hadn’t filled this one with neatly cataloged folders. Instead, Hannah stared at old albums stuffed with envelopes of pictures and loose bundles of photographs all tumbled together.

“Well, crap.”

“Umm.” Preston scooted back to her side. “Mom doesn’t like you to use that word.”

“Oh, shut up, Preston.” She squinted at the top picture. Not even a date from the developing. “Okay, this seems more recent than the others but who are these people?”

Preston peered over her shoulder. “Maybe Grandma and her sisters?”

Hannah glanced at him in surprise, then studied the black-and-white picture again. “I think you’re right.” Three girls, wearing frilly dresses, stood hand in hand. Behind them was the fuzzy outline of a house and a tall tree with a few leaves on it. “Easter, ” she said out loud. “The trees are budding.”

“Or maybe autumn, with the leaves falling off.”

She’d give him credit for guessing the identity of the three girls, but these leaves weren’t the dry leaves of fall. “We’ll go ask Grandma if she remembers this picture.”

Preston jumped to his feet. “But if you show her the pictures, she’ll know we were in the attic.”

Hannah shrugged and stood up. She thrust two boxes of pictures into his arms and gathered two for herself.

“You don’t care that she’ll know we were up here?” he continued. “Then what was that big deal about being quiet and everything?” His steps left footprints on the dusty floor.

Hannah carefully deposited her boxes near the attic entrance. “I wanted pictures. Now that I have them, I don’t need to worry about being caught.”

“You’re crazy.” He grabbed the sides of the ladder and made his way down the steps.

Hannah leaned over the edge and passed him a box of photos. When all the boxes were stacked in the hallway, she followed him down. She pushed the ladder back up.

“Come on, let’s show Grandma.” She didn’t wait to see if he was behind her, knowing he’d be curious to find out whether she got into trouble.

Their grandmother sat at the kitchen table, her two younger sisters on either side. She stopped talking when Hannah and Preston entered the kitchen. “You’ve been in the attic. Hannah, you’re not supposed to go up there without telling me.”

“And then you say it’s too dangerous and I shouldn’t go up at all.” She placed the boxes on the table. “Grandma, I’m sixteen. I know how to be careful. I’m not going to fall through the ceiling.”

“Your father did and he was a grown man.”

Preston giggled. “Dad fell through the ceiling?”

His grandmother nodded. “It wasn’t funny. He could’ve been hurt.” But a corner of her mouth lifted in a lopsided grin. “He was here for Christmas and said he’d get the tree out of the attic for us. We were sitting in the living room and suddenly, a leg came right through the ceiling. Your great-grandparents still lived here. G.G. screamed and Grandpa Frank couldn’t finish his TV show. He had to help your dad.”

She tapped the box in front of her. “So, tell me what you found.”

Hannah settled on the chair between her grandmother and great-aunt Alice. This was the part of the visit she always enjoyed most. Hearing the stories. “Pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. We can use some for the party.”

“Mom and Dad don’t want a party, ” Aunt Alice said.

“It doesn’t have to be a big party.” Hannah wrapped her own hands around her grandmother’s worn ones. “Grandpa Frank and G.G. have been married for almost seventy-five years! Doesn’t that deserve a celebration? I mean, people hardly stay married for a decade anymore, let alone seven of them!”

Aunt Margaret chuckled. “You can be pretty persuasive, Miss Hannah. But I don’t think even you can convince Mom and Dad.” Her expression sobered. “Mom got very upset when we mentioned a family dinner at the retirement home for their anniversary.”

“The party for their sixtieth anniversary was the last time we had any kind of celebration for either of them.” Aunt Alice picked up the photograph Hannah and Preston had been studying earlier. “Oh, look! The dresses we wore for the wedding of some cousin. Mom spent all week sewing them.”

They lowered their heads over the picture. All three were mostly gray now, but strands of their natural hair colors still peeked through. A blonde, a brunette and a redhead, their appearances just as different as they were inside.

Another picture caught Hannah’s eye. A tall, dark-haired man stood at attention in his navy uniform, his eyes bright and his bearing rigid. One corner of his mouth curved up as if he were having a hard time staying serious for the photographer.

Grandpa Frank. Her great-grandfather. The father of the three women sitting at the table. The love of G.G.’s life.

She reverently touched a finger to the picture, her mind racing across the years and past the generations as she recalled the family stories she’d heard.



FRANK’S STORY




Chapter 1


Winston, Missouri

July 1929

Frank Robertson leaned against the railing of the neat frame house and studied the door. The setting sun slanted across it, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten yet and that he still had to find a place to sleep that night.

“Just one more, ” he promised himself. He was going to prove himself to the merchant whose wares he carried. When Frank had proposed going from town to town with a selection of items the man displayed in his general store, Mr. Samson had expressed nothing but skepticism. He’d finally agreed but only after requiring Frank to leave a security deposit, in addition to paying for each item he carried away from the dingy building.

Frank jingled the loose coins in his pocket and used his foot to shove the worn suitcase away from the doorway, scowling at the memory. His first reaction had been to deliver a pithy discourse on the man’s antecedents and then slam out of the store. But he had hesitated. He was hungry, he was miles away from the next town and none of the other shopkeepers had listened to even the beginning of Frank’s practiced spiel.

Taking a deep breath, he’d acquiesced to the old man’s terms. Now he stood in front of the last house in the small village he’d trudged through during the long day. His sales had been successful, even better than he’d anticipated, but he was tired and ready for his dinner. The women he met were eager to invite him into their houses and browse through the things he pulled out of his case but they weren’t prone to buying on impulse.

Of course, maybe they just wanted to visit with a handsome young man, he thought with a grin and a jaunty toss of his head.

While he knew that his technique was good, he wasn’t foolish enough to think he’d sell a thing if he didn’t present a polished appearance that appealed to the women who answered the door. After years on the road, he’d learned to cultivate his dashing good looks. The other salesmen he met teased him about the amount of time his grooming took but he didn’t care. His sales record spoke for itself.

He smoothed down the gray suit that comprised his wardrobe and brushed his hands over his dark hair. Satisfied, he rapped on the door with his knuckles and let his lips curl upward in a slight smile as he waited.

When the door opened, his prepared greeting spilled out of his mind and landed in a heap at the feet of the young woman standing there. The late-afternoon sun glinted on hair as shiny as the sun itself. He stared at the sparkling curls escaping from the loose bun and dancing across her soft cheeks.

She tilted her head to one side and watched him, drying her hands on the apron tied around her narrow waist. Her arms were tanned and a dimple showed in each elbow. “May I help you?”

Frank cleared his throat. “I—I—I…”

A dimple appeared in the smooth skin of one cheek, matching those on her rounded arms. “If you’re here to see the reverend, he isn’t in right now.”

Frank swallowed and forced himself to glance away from the bright sheen of her blue eyes. He lowered his gaze to her soft red lips, then wrenched it back to the relative safety of her eyes. “I’m looking for the lady of the house, ” he managed in a more normal voice. “Is she in?”

The lovely creature in front of him held the door open and took a step backward, her actions inviting him into the dark hallway beyond. “I’ll see. You can wait in here.”

She ushered him into a dimly lit room. Some sort of workroom, he guessed from the sparse furniture. He wasn’t offended. Salesmen weren’t high on the social scale and while he knew that his scruples were as high or higher than any of the store owners he met, he accepted society’s judgment for now. He wouldn’t be a salesman forever.

As he waited for the lady of the house to join him, he wondered if he should start thinking about more serious work now, maybe a job that didn’t require so much traveling. For the past five years, he’d lived on the road, leaving home when he was sixteen. Twice a year, he wired his mother and gave her his current address, waiting until she responded before moving on. Each time, she implored him to come home, at least for a visit, and each time he sent back a glib answer and most of his earnings.

The creak of the door interrupted his thoughts and he jumped to his feet, hat clutched in his hand. An older woman advanced into the room and Frank knew he was looking at the young woman’s mother. The same blue eyes, creased now by age, glanced at him before again studying the floorboards. The golden hair was peppered with gray and the smile was tight-lipped but he had no doubt. He’d just been bowled over by the minister’s daughter.

He bit his lower lip at the irony. The other salesmen might find the virtuous daughter of a minister intriguing game but he’d always been more cautious, flirting only with women who couldn’t go running home to papa. He didn’t want to end up shackled to some woman just because he’d let his eyes and hands roam.

The reverend’s wife offered him a chair and he sat down across from her. Her expression softened a bit when she smiled at him, and emboldened by that approval, he launched into his sales pitch, bringing out each item with a practiced hand. She nodded, listening carefully, before finally settling on several bolts of sturdy cloth.

He gathered up the rest of his merchandise and slid it back into his case. She pulled a small purse out of her pocket and slowly counted out the coins before handing the stack to him.

He nudged the coins with his thumb as he checked the amount. “You’ve paid me too much.” He held out several of them.

She shook her head, hiding her hands in her skirt as if he’d thrust the money at her. “No, keep it.” She lifted her head and gave him a candid look. “ Perhaps you could use the extra to call your mother. I’m sure she must worry about you.”

“She does. But I’m a grown man now.” He bent down and picked up the half-empty case.

“You’re never too grown-up for a mother’s love, ” the woman said softly.

He was suddenly aware of the homey aromas around him. The fresh scent of lemon mingled with that of a stew, reminding him of long-ago days when he’d rush in the front door, calling for his mother. She would come out of the kitchen and throw her arms around him in a hug, asking about his day at school….

He brushed the memories aside. He was twenty-one, a man in every sense of the word. His hat still in his hand, he paused at the open doorway and bent at the waist, sweeping the woman a low bow. “Thank you so much for your purchase, ” he said, “and for your advice, ” he couldn’t resist adding.

She blinked at the implied criticism and he instantly felt sorry. She’d only meant to be kind, he told himself, and quickly straightened, a contrite smile on his lips. “Perhaps I will call Mom. I might even visit.”

He was rewarded by a smile that took years from her worn face. Whistling, he tossed on his hat and headed down the steps, sparing only a brief thought for the lovely daughter who’d first opened the door.

Dusk had fallen while he was inside and he leaned his head back to take full advantage of the remaining sun. When he turned onto the road, he almost bumped into the slight figure that suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Quick, over here.” She grabbed his hand and pulled him down the lane, into a clump of bushes. He stumbled over a fallen branch, landing ungracefully at her feet.

She giggled and sat down on the log. “Oh, I’ve never had a man literally fall at my feet before.”

He didn’t speak, his eyes wide as he gazed at her, trying to capture her image in his mind. In later years, he decided, he’d remember her like this. I’ll tell my children and my grandchildren about the most beautiful woman I ever met. They won’t believe me because they won’t be able to see her like this, with the dusky light revealing her golden beauty. They wouldn’t understand how her smile could be serene while her eyes twinkled. Light and darkness, innocence and mystery.

She dragged him away from his thoughts with an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t think you should look at me like that. I’m not sure it’s proper.”

He jumped up, his eyes wild. She was an innocent, a babe. He knew better than to be in a secluded setting with a young girl. He didn’t even know her name.

She reached out and touched his fingers lightly. Her smile was gone and in her seriousness, she looked more beautiful than ever. “Please, sit back down. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry.”

He wanted to take her in his arms until her eyes held their delicious sparkle again. He was surprised by the mixed feelings she aroused in him. He’d slept with his first woman only a week after leaving home, a neglected wife eager to fill her bed with any able-bodied man. He had listened to women moan about their men, holding those same women in the quiet of their houses, letting them ramble so he could reap the benefits of their sorrow.

But this was the first time he’d truly wanted to comfort, to protect a woman from whatever problems could cloud her life.

“They’re probably worried about where you are, ” he finally said. “You should go home.”

The smile returned. “So you can speak, after all. I thought you could since you’re a salesman but I was beginning to wonder.”

His own lips curved upward at her infectious tone. “You should go home, ” he repeated as much for his own sake as for hers. But he sat down on the log next to her, careful to keep a safe distance between them. His fingers tingled with a desire to see if her skin felt as silky as it looked.

“No, it’s all right.” At his questioning glance, she grinned. “My parents trust me and let me have my own way. The townspeople would tell you I’m a bit spoiled.”

She leaned back. He was fascinated by her long, white neck exposed by the soft summer dress. Several loose curls danced around her face and her hands fluttered with each word.

“Have you ever heard of Abraham and Sarah?”

He frowned, trying to follow her lightning change of topic. “I’m not from around here.”

“They’re in the Bible, silly, ” she said.

He dug in the dim recesses of his mind. Church on Sundays had been a regular part of his growing-up years, walking the few blocks with his mother and two sisters. Their dad always stayed home to read his paper in peace and quiet.

“An old couple who wanted a baby?” he ventured.

She nodded. “My parents see themselves as Abraham and Sarah. They had decided it was God’s will that they never have children. And then, just like Abraham and Sarah, they found out I was on the way.”

“They must’ve been very excited.”

“They were. Mother was sick a lot but they were so happy, she didn’t care. She couldn’t go anywhere with my father, even to church. She sewed clothes for me, lovely clothes for this precious baby she was expecting.”

Frank watched the changing expressions on her face. She spoke about babies and birth as if they were the most natural things in the world. Maybe she’s right, he thought, touched by her candor.

“And here you are, ” he breathed when she stopped, vowing to start praying again. If God could create a vision like the one sitting next to him…

“I almost wasn’t.”

Frank caught her hand at that horrible possibility, staring at the sight of her delicate fingers against his much larger palm. She smiled at him and he was ensnared in the spell of her eyes. Sapphires, he told himself, even though he’d never seen the actual gems. Her eyes must look like sapphires. Bright blue rimmed with dark lashes.

She tugged her fingers out of his tight hold and folded her hands in her lap. “My mother suffered complications just before I was born. She told the doctor and my father that if a choice had to be made between her and the baby, then the baby must live. Father argued with her but she wouldn’t listen. Finally, he gave in, hoping a miracle would happen.”

“And a miracle did.” He felt his own faith rekindling at her simple story.

“That’s what my parents believe. I still think it’s because my father can speak to God so easily, or maybe God finds it easier to understand a minister’s requests.”

She laughed at his look of surprise, a throaty trill that spun cobwebs down his spine. “Oh, you mustn’t mind what I say. Really, I do believe in God but living with people who praise God whenever you walk into a room can be tiring.”

She wrapped her arms around her bent knees and rested her head on her arms, her face turned away from him. A delicate pink ear was visible among the disorder of her curls and he clutched his hands in his lap. When a light breeze brought the fresh scent of her soap to him, he closed his eyes. Help me, God, he prayed for the first time in years. She’s too young, too innocent. She doesn’t know what her mere presence does to a man.

He opened his eyes and saw her sitting up, watching him with a mixture of longing and worry.

“You won’t go away, will you?”

I’m going right now. I’m catching the next train and riding as far away from you as I can.

But the words didn’t form on his lips. Looking into her eyes, he knew he couldn’t say them.

“Your parents won’t let us meet, ” he said instead, both relief and regret in his tone.

She rose gracefully to her feet and smoothed down her skirt. “Don’t worry about my parents. Come to church on Sunday and don’t be late.” She paused, studying his rumpled clothes. “Do you have another suit?”

“Yes, ” he lied. Sunday. He had three days in which to buy another suit. If it cost every penny he’d just earned, he would arrive at the church in a new suit.

“Good.” She started to walk away. “Then come to the church by 8:00 a.m. The white church, not the brick one.”

She was almost gone. “Wait!” he shouted, running after her. “I don’t know your name.”

“Marian, ” she called to him. “Marian Cooper.”

“Marian, ” he whispered, walking back to the log. He took off his jacket and rolled it into a pillow. His stomach growled but he pushed his hunger aside. A small price to pay to see her again. He curled up against the suddenly cool summer breeze and whispered her name over and over.

He spent the next three days knocking on doors in nearby towns. On Saturday he went back to the storekeeper whose wares he carried, received his pay, then asked about a suit. The old man was pleased with his profit and offered Frank a discount on a ready-made suit. He directed him to the tailor’s house on the outskirts of town and by nightfall, Frank owned another outfit.

He slipped into an empty freight car and watched the stars through the open door. Sleep eluded him. One part of him hoped the feelings she’d aroused in him would be extinguished by the real presence of her, and another part wondered how he would live if she’d forgotten him or, worse, been toying with him.

What if she had only been using him to while away a few summer hours? What if she snubbed him when he arrived at the church, her adorable little nose in the air as she walked haughtily past him? He groaned and punched his bag into a pillow of sorts. He stretched out his long form and, resting his head on the crumpled bag, willed himself to sleep.

By the time the train pulled into the village of Winston, he was a bundle of nerves. Each time he’d drifted off, her face invaded his vision. He could see again the soft curve of her cheek, the gentle sweep of her lashes, the rosebud perfection of her lips. Clenching his teeth to stop another moan, he grabbed the small bag with a sweaty hand and swung himself down from the freight car. The train’s whistle sounded in his ears as it chugged down the tracks, leaving him alone in the dark countryside.

He found an empty barn near the edge of town and crawled into a corner, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and his heart aching with worry. Stripping off his jacket and shoes, he lay down and closed his eyes, begging for at least a few hours’ sleep to release him from his anxiety.

He was up with the dawn, only slightly rested from his hours in the barn. He gobbled down the sandwich he’d bought the day before and dressed carefully in the new suit. The tailor had assured him he looked extremely well-dressed; he hoped the little man was right. He dusted off his shoes with a handkerchief. Using a bit of broken glass he found in another corner of the barn for a reflection, he styled his hair carefully. Satisfied he looked his best, considering the facilities he had to use, he hid his bag under some dusty tools and headed down the road to town.

Winston, Missouri, woke up early on a Sunday. He could smell Sunday dinners already cooking. Children sat on porch swings, their hair brushed and pulled back from scrubbed faces. Their feet swung in shiny dress shoes. They waved at him and he waved back, his mood lightened by their friendliness.

As he neared the center of town, church bells rang out. People were filing into the brick church; remembering her directions, he joined the throng at the white frame church only a few steps from her home.

He chose a pew in the middle of the right side. He bent his head, unable to look around now that he was finally there. He chastised himself for being seven different kinds of fool for even being in the same village again.

Just as he’d decided to bolt out the door and run for the nearest train station, the organist started to play. Hymnbooks rustled, and his neighbor handed him her open book with a pleasant smile. He returned her smile, nodding in thanks, then froze as he saw Marian.

She was sitting across the aisle in the front pew with her mother. A dark-blue hat rested on top of her curls, enhancing their luminous glow. Her dress was in the same sedate blue and while the high collar hid her neck from sight, he could imagine its slender beauty under the protective material.

She stood with the rest of the congregation and shifted slightly. He got quietly to his feet, his eyes still on her face. A hint of a smile lifted the corner of her mouth and a moment later she was singing lustily. The blood rushed to his head and he could hardly breathe.

He felt relieved when they bowed their heads for the prayer. By the time he sat down again, his breathing was normal. He kept his eyes on Reverend Cooper’s face, wanting to know this man who was Marian’s father, but he could find no trace of the enchanting woman-child in the man admonishing his flock to always choose the right path.

After the final prayer, the congregation was ushered out. Marian and her mother left first and he watched them walk up the aisle. Not by a single movement did she acknowledge his presence.

Eyes narrowed, he followed the others up the aisle. She had given him her answer. He had spent his hard-earned money on a suit he could ill afford, all for a spoiled country girl who only wanted a bit of amusement.

The noontime sun blinded him as he walked outside, and he shielded his eyes with one hand. “Bright, isn’t it?” said the friendly woman next to him and he nodded.

As he turned to speak to her, his mouth suddenly went dry. Marian stood on the steps, her hand lightly resting on her father’s arm. She greeted each person who came out of the building, her voice low and melodious. Pushed by the people behind him and hindered by the woman in front, Frank had no choice but to stop.

Reverend Cooper held out a hand. “Welcome, my son. I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Frank swallowed, dragging his eyes away from Marian. The reverend still held out his hand and Frank belatedly remembered his manners. “Frank Robertson, sir. I was passing through and thought I’d stay for a while.”

“Ah, so our fair town has lured yet another visitor.” Reverend Cooper’s smile was one of proud ownership. “Many a person has decided to settle in Winston after stopping for only a night.”

He glanced around, as if searching for someone, and then tapped Marian on the arm. When she finished her conversation with an older woman, she turned to her father, still without meeting Frank’s eyes. “My dear, I can’t find your mother.”

“She went home to finish dinner. She knew I wouldn’t mind taking her place with you.”

Her father nodded and turned back to Frank. “My daughter, Mr. Robertson. Marian, this is Frank Robertson, a visitor to our community.”

Marian slid her warm hand into his cold one and smiled. “Welcome, Mr. Robertson. I’m glad you could come today.”

The warmth from her fingers remained after she released his hand. He didn’t think he’d imagined that slight emphasis on the word you. Aware of her father, he pressed his lips together and swung back to the older man.

He searched his memory, trying to recall what his mother would say when she greeted their minister. “I appreciated your sermon today, sir.”

Reverend Cooper beamed. “Thank you, young man. Sometimes it’s hard to know how to reach people today. So many choices pulling us in every direction.”

Marian wrapped her fingers around her father’s arm. “Now, Father, church is over. Mr. Robertson doesn’t need to hear about this anymore. After all, what could happen in Winston?”

Her father patted her fingers. “The devil is everywhere, Marian. You have to be on guard at all times.”

As he watched Marian, the slow rise and fall of her bodice, the slender ankles and calves he could see under the demure dress, Frank knew that her father was right. The thoughts spinning through his brain had nothing to do with the straight and narrow path.

He cleared his throat. “Well, I should be going, sir. Again, thank you for the warm welcome.”

He turned toward Marian, schooling his features into a neutral expression. “And I enjoyed meeting you, Miss Cooper.”

Her eyes widened, a beseeching look in their depths. He hesitated, unsure what she was asking. How could he see her again without prompting her father’s concern?

The movement was barely noticeable, just a flicker of her fingers. Her father frowned, then leaned his head toward her, his thick gray eyebrows raised in question. “Marian?”

She raised herself on tiptoe so she could whisper in her father’s ear. The soft cotton dress tightened around her slender form. Frank jammed his right hand into his pocket and flexed his fingers.

“Of course, my dear.” Reverend Cooper clapped Frank on the arm, his relationship to Marian now evident from the sparkle in his eyes. “My daughter has reminded me of my manners. If you’d honor us by coming to dinner, we’d be very pleased. I have to greet the rest of my congregation, but then we’ll take you home for some of my wife’s delicious cooking.”

Frank accepted the invitation and stood at the side of the steps, wondering if he’d caught some sort of summer madness. People stopped to greet him, their faces wreathed in welcoming smiles, and he answered them carefully, always aware of Marian only a few feet away. Several of the women were his former customers and he waited for one of them to denounce him as a traveling salesman, not worth the dirt under their feet.

But they didn’t see the door-to-door salesman today. Instead, they favored him with their most charming smiles, one daring young woman even rubbing her hip against his as she sauntered down the steps.

She tossed him a saucy look over her shoulder and he grinned. She had obviously paid scant attention to the reverend’s words that morning. Frank watched her sway down the walkway, her hips inviting him to spend some time with her. He had no doubt of her intentions.

“So, Mr. Robertson, are you ready?” The reverend tugged the church door to be sure it had locked securely. He joined Frank at the bottom of the steps.

With a last glance at the young woman, Frank made his decision. “ Yes, sir. You’re sure this won’t be an inconvenience for your wife?”

“Of course not. She always plans for some company each Sunday.”

The young woman stood poised at the gate, her hand resting on the latch. Frank shrugged, shaking his head at her smile. She spun around and stood toward the village, her black curls bouncing in the sun.

“I wonder what’s the matter with Flossie.” Reverend Cooper clicked the gate shut and turned toward his home.

“She’s not happy about something, ” Marian agreed, a smug inflection in her voice.

Startled, Frank looked at her but the reverend hid her from view. Was she as innocent as she seemed? She did know a lot about the birth of babies. Did she also know as much about how they came to be, what happened between a man and a woman?

His neck grew hot. Her father was talking about the run of warm weather they’d been enjoying and Frank immediately commented on how good the fields looked.

“And what line of work keeps you traveling so much?” Reverend Cooper asked as they neared the house.

Frank hesitated. Many of the people he met saw traveling salesmen as little more than hobos, slamming doors in their faces and ordering them off their property. The women at church hadn’t connected the dashing young salesman with the man they’d met on the church steps. Reverend Cooper professed to love all people, but would that love extend to the man walking next to him, even if he was wearing a new suit?

He couldn’t take the chance. “I’ve worked with my father in his store back in Iowa, ” he offered, staying close to the truth without betraying his current occupation. “I’ve always been good with words.”

A soft snort from the other side of the reverend almost proved his undoing. He could feel his cheeks flush and he stared at the ground. How could she turn him into this blithering fool in only a few short days?

Her father didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. He rubbed his chin with one gnarled hand, reminding Frank that this man had waited a long time for his child.

His footsteps lagged as they neared the house and then he straightened his shoulders. I might not live in a fine place, he thought, but I have as much right to walk into his home as anyone. His natural confidence returned; he greeted Marian’s mother with a smile and a low bow.

The older woman frowned and Frank realized his error. She bit her lip, glancing at her husband from under lowered lashes. When he introduced Frank to her, she shook his hand gravely, giving everyone the impression that she’d just met the young man.

Relieved that he wouldn’t be discovered yet and aware that he could be doing the minister a grave disservice, Frank followed Marian and her father into the parlor. Reverend Cooper excused himself at the door, murmuring that he needed to jot down an idea before it left him. Alone with Marian, Frank sank into the soft seat of a tapestry chair and clutched the brim of his hat, studying the carpet.

“That was nicely done, ” Marian said.

He lifted his head. “What do you mean?”

“My mother. I think you’ve charmed her. She sets a lot of store by the manners one has.”

“She recognized me.”

“Mother?” Marian shook her head. “No, you were a traveling salesman the other day. Today, you’re a handsome churchgoing young man.”

As Frank started to contradict her, Reverend Cooper hurried into the room, apologizing for his urgent departure. “But when an idea comes, I have to capture it as quickly as possible, else it leaves this feebled old brain of mine, ” he said with a half smile.

Marian sat in a corner of the room, the picture of demure womanhood. When Mrs. Cooper announced that dinner was ready, she let her father escort her into the dining room. Frank held her mother’s chair and Marian favored him with a warm look from under thick lashes before resuming her modest demeanor.

The food was simple but plentiful. He complimented Mrs. Cooper on her cooking and had the pleasure of seeing soft color flood her wrinkled cheeks. Reverend Cooper talked about the many advantages of their small village, punctuating each comment with a jab of his fork in the air. Marian ate with her head down, the flash of her dimple showing her humor at the conversation.

He’d begun to relax, even enjoy himself, when the reverend suddenly asked, “You don’t have a wife somewhere, do you?”




Chapter 2


Reverend Cooper’s question startled him, coming in the middle of a diatribe on city life, and he almost dropped the forkful of mashed potatoes that was halfway to his mouth. Seeing only curiosity on the man’s face, Frank relaxed and shook his head. “No, I’ve never felt much desire to settle down.”

“Ah, the arrogance of young manhood, ” Reverend Cooper said, his fork again waving in the air as he talked. “Well, let me warn you. Before you know it, you’ll be an old man like me, your life almost over. You need to start planning now, so you don’t miss any of the important things.” He plunked the end of the fork down on the table with a loud clang.

“Now, Father.” Marian lightly touched his hand, her head bent toward his graying one. “You mustn’t say such things. You’re not that old and life definitely hasn’t passed you by. You’ll give Mr. Robertson an entirely wrong picture of you.”

He patted her hand. “You’re kind, Marian, always have been. But you’re like this young man. Mustn’t wait too long or you’ll find yourself sitting by the roadside wondering when you got left behind.”

Frank could see that her father was in the throes of another sermon. Without conscious thought, only knowing that he had to divert the older man, he blurted, “From everything you’ve said and what I’ve seen so far, Winston seems like a good place for a man to settle down. What else can you tell me about the town?”

Marian sent him a startled look, Mrs. Cooper a grateful one. How many times did the reverend spoil a pleasant meal with his moribund conversation? Frank had little time to think about it before Reverend Cooper chuckled. “You decide to stay here, young man, and you’ll have all the mothers of single daughters after you. We don’t have many bachelors around. They’ll see you as an answer to prayer.”

Frank laughed, and the reverend began a story about a young man who came to town one day last summer, expressing a desire to settle in Winston. Once the matchmaking mamas and single women discovered his presence, his life ceased to be his own.

“And then he just up and disappeared, ” the reverend said, sipping at the cup of coffee his wife had poured for him. “We never heard what happened to him, did we, Mother?”

Mrs. Cooper stood up and stacked the dishes. “I suppose he went searching for another quiet town.” She added the empty potato dish to her load. “Marian, will you help, please?”

Marian picked up her own dishes, then leaned over Frank’s shoulder for his empty plate. The soft curve of her breast brushed against him and his insides coiled with desire. She scooped up several more dishes before following her mother into the kitchen.

He wiped his hands on his pants and raised his head to find Reverend Cooper watching him closely. He pressed his lips together and hoped his feelings weren’t reflected in his eyes.

“Mr. Bates, perhaps.”

Frank blinked. “I’m sorry, sir, what?” Did the entire family jump from topic to topic without warning?

“Adam Bates, over at the feed store. He was saying the other day that he needed another hand. His son married a girl he met on the east coast and they’re moving back there to be with her family. Can’t say I blame them. It’s hard on a young woman to be away from her family. But it leaves Adam in a bind.”

Reverend Cooper nodded several times. “Yes, Adam Bates. You stay the night and I’ll take you over to see him first thing in the morning.”

Marian paused in the doorway, a flicker of alarm in her eyes. “Who’s going where, Father?”

“I was saying that Adam Bates needs another hand. Young Frank, here, might be just the man.” He dug into the piece of pie she set before him with the same intensity he’d given to his sermon. “I invited Frank to stay the night, Mother.”

The thought of sleeping in the same house with Marian only a few feet away was almost more than he could take. The apple pie tasted like sawdust and he couldn’t look at any of them as he mechanically chewed and swallowed the flaky pastry, his eyes on his plate.

After dinner, he accompanied Reverend Cooper to the parlor while the women finished clearing the table. The older man withdrew behind his Bible. Frank sat on the edge of the sofa, his fingers silently drumming on the armrest. Did he want a permanent job working in a feed store? Wouldn’t have to be forever, he told himself. There was nothing to tie him to this town.

When the women came into the room, Mrs. Cooper brought out some sewing and settled in a corner. Marian wandered over to the narrow window. She pulled back the heavy drapes.

“Mother is famous for her garden, ” Marian said.

Her father lowered his Bible. “Mother does work wonders with her flowers. Marian, take Frank for a turn around the garden.”

They walked out of the parlor and down the back hall. Once outside, he took a deep breath.

“They’re not that bad, ” Marian said.

“I felt like I was sitting on pins and needles all through dinner, ” he confessed.

“You were nervous?”

“With good reason. Your father just kept me on my toes. He’s a very sharp man, Marian. I didn’t know what he was going to ask me next.”

She led the way into the little garden area. They were behind the house, away from the parlor windows.

She stopped near a rose bush, idly touching one of the pink petals, her back to him. “Did you mean that about staying, Frank? Are you really going to interview for a job?”

She had left her hat in the house. The soft breeze ruffled her loose curls. Her skin seemed to reflect the bright colors of the flowers, and his breath caught in his throat. She was so beautiful.

He had to get away so he could think clearly. He stumbled onto the path and started walking in the opposite direction. When she called out his name in a dismayed voice, he didn’t stop, breaking into a run as he left the path and entered an unplowed field. He finally slowed near a clump of trees, leaning his head against the nearest one, gulping in the fresh air.

Still trying to catch his breath, he heard her footsteps behind him. “Frank, what’s the matter with you?” she asked in a breathless voice.

He bit his lip, unable to face her; he didn’t move until he felt a timid touch on his arm.

“Frank, please, what’s the matter?”

He turned then and saw his confusion mirrored in her eyes. With a strangled sob, he put his arms around her, pulling her close. Her arms slowly crept around his neck. When she lifted her face, he kissed her.

She tasted of cinnamon apples and sunshine. His eyes closed and he probed her lips with his tongue, wanting to taste more of her.

Her hands pushed at his chest. “Please, Frank…”

Fear sounded in her voice. Cursing himself for forgetting that she was an innocent, he raised his head. “Marian, ” he said thickly.

She traced the side of his cheek with her fingertips. “Why did you kiss me like that?”

He almost chuckled at the childlike wonder in her question. He rested his forehead against her silken curls. “Because you drive me mad.”

“I do?”

A hint of womanly pride edged into her voice. He bent down, gently nipping her nose with his lips. “Yes. Does that please you?”

She giggled. “I’ve never driven a man mad before.”

He pulled away from her until he could gaze into her eyes. “Marian Cooper, you probably drive every man in this town wild.”

Her lashes fell but not before he saw the swift gleam of satisfaction in them. “How could I?” she asked softly. “I’m the minister’s daughter.”

He felt an urge to swat her behind. Instead, he pressed a hard kiss on her lips. “That’s exactly why, you little minx. It’s enough to drive any normal man crazy.”

“I’ve never wanted to drive a man crazy before.”

The implication in her quiet words acted like a tonic on him. He wrapped his arms around her, dragging her off the ground. This time her lips answered his silent pleas and parted under his kisses, letting him taste the fullness of her mouth, her tongue meeting his again and again.

His breath ragged, he slowly lowered her to the ground and knelt beside her, his hands still on her arms. Her mouth was bruised from his kisses and he bent down, gently kissing each swollen lip. “Marian, I’m sorry. I should never have done that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re so young.” He dropped his hands and rocked back on his heels, hands lightly clasped behind his back so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch her. He wished now that he hadn’t been with all those other women, that he could offer her a body as innocent as her own. “I won’t be staying, after all. I can’t control myself around you.”

“Why should you?” she asked in a whisper.

He turned away, jamming his hands in his pockets. “Marian, I’m somebody new and different. I’ve brought a little variety into your life and when I leave, you’ll forget all about me.”

She grabbed his sleeve, her touch forceful. “Frank.”

He turned again, surprised at the passion in her voice. “Yes, you are different. But I’ve never kissed a man like I just kissed you, Frank Robertson, or felt any desire to do so. Do you have any idea what the last three days have been like? I didn’t know if you’d return. And I wasn’t sure what I’d do if you didn’t.”

She tossed her head, the curls that had been loosened by their kisses fluttering around her face. “I don’t want to live without you, Frank. I love you.”

He grabbed her wrists. “You can’t love me, Marian. You don’t know me.”

“I know enough.” Her lips curved upward and she leaned toward him. “Kiss me, Frank, kiss me and tell me you don’t feel something, too.”

“That isn’t love.”

“Kiss me.”

Her insistent command pushed him to the brink. He took her by the shoulders, dragged her against him, his blood pounding as his chest collided with her soft breasts. She murmured against his lips and the action sent him into a frenzy of longing. They sank to the ground, his hands searching for the buttons on her dress, only half-aware of her hands tugging his shirt out of his waistband.

Her skin felt cool. She stiffened when his fingers slid over her breast and he hesitated until she arched against his hand. Her fingernails began a delicate dance under his shirt, trailing patterns over the bare skin of his back until he could hardly breathe.

“Marian…”

She pressed her fingers over his lips. “Don’t say anything, Frank. Just love me, please.”

Her hand found its way to his thigh, moving slowly upward. She hesitated at the front of his trousers. He caught his breath, waiting. Her fingers were light, sending tremors through his entire body. His body threatened to explode under her caresses and he forced himself to slow down, to savor each glorious moment.

He touched one peaked nipple with his fingers and heard her answering moan. When she shifted, he slid his hand under her skirt, edging the sturdy material up until he felt the soft skin of her thigh above her stockings. She ducked her head against his shoulder and he nuzzled her with his chin until she lifted her head and he could reach her lips again.

His fingers skimmed her leg, the skin heating beneath his hand. “Oh, Frank, ” she breathed in wonder.

No woman had blossomed under his hands like she did. The others had been eager for him, willing to open their bodies to relieve a temporary boredom, to find a new experience. But Marian had never been with a man before; he knew that as surely as he knew he was embarking on an unparalleled adventure of his own.

His fingers stilled, his conscience awakened by the knowledge that she was a virgin. As if drugged, he lifted his head and surveyed her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Marian, we need to go back to your house.”

Her hands clutched him around the waist. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

He heard anguish in her voice and quickly kissed her lips. “No, darling, no. But this isn’t right.”

“I love you, Frank.”

His heart turned over at the words but he wouldn’t take her virginity in the middle of a field. She deserved candlelight and flowers, a soft bed, privacy.

And another man…His conscience jabbed him again. Who are you, anyway? A traveling salesman who’ll go off and leave her after your own passion is sated.

The cold water of reality doused the remnants of his passion. He slid away from her, tucking in his shirt and climbing to his feet.

“Frank?”

He reached out a hand without looking at her. “Marian, we have to go. I don’t need your father coming after me with a shotgun.”

She sprang to her feet. From the corner of his eye, he could see her smoothing down her skirt, brushing away grass and leaves that had attached themselves during their aborted lovemaking. “I’ll bet if Flossie were here, you wouldn’t have stopped.”

He gripped her shoulders. “Don’t compare yourself to Flossie, ” he snapped. Her eyes were a deep midnight blue, the passion only slightly masked by her anger.

Her eyes narrowed. “So, you did notice Flossie.”

“Marian…”

She swung out of his hold. “She’s been with every man in town, Frank. Do you want to be another in her long list?”

She looked so brave, with her chin in the air, her eyes narrowed. And so young. His anger melted away, swallowed by his chuckle at her defiant manner.

“No, Marian, I don’t. But that’s exactly why you shouldn’t compare yourself to her. She’s not fit to be in the same room with you.”

Mollified, she let her chin drop a fraction. “Then why did you stop?”

A wave of tenderness washed over him. “You’re too young—”

“I am not!” She took his hand and held it to her breast. “I’m a woman, Frank.”

His passion threatened to engulf his common sense again and he shifted away. “Marian, I should never have come out here with you. This was wrong. You are too young and I won’t take advantage of your innocence this way.”

“I’m not too young, Frank. I will never feel like this about another man. I know that and nothing you can say will change it.”

Her fingers were fumbling with her buttons. He swore, swiftly closing the gapping material himself. Tears glistened on her lashes. He barely stopped himself from bending down and kissing them away. “Marian, you’re so beautiful and young. One day you’ll meet a man who will make you forget all about me, except as some long-ago memory from a summer’s day.”

“Stop it.” She pushed his hands away, then planted her hands on her hips. “Stop talking about me as if I were a child! And stop treating me like one.” She caressed his cheek. “Frank, believe me. I’m old enough to listen to my own heart. I love you.”

His hands circled her wrists. “Marian, you don’t even know me, ” he said with increasing desperation. “I don’t have any money and I don’t have a job.”

“Father promised to help you get one. You could settle down here and—”

His quiet voice interrupted her. “I’m not the kind to stay anywhere for very long, Marian.”

She stared at him, eyes unblinking, then twisted out of his grasp. “I see.” Without looking at him, she smoothed down an imaginary wrinkle on her skirt. “Well, before you go, explain something to me. Why did you stop? I was in your arms, willing to be plucked like a ripe pear.” He winced at her description but didn’t say anything. “Wouldn’t your buddies have liked hearing about the minister’s daughter and how easily she fell under your spell?”

“Marian, I wouldn’t tell anyone else about us.”

Spots of color stood out on her cheeks. “Please, Frank, don’t add to my embarrassment by lying.”

Miserable and ashamed, he didn’t speak right away. He had bragged about his conquests to the other salesmen. On the trains, late at night, they’d laugh about the lonely women they’d met, sharing stories and sometimes even addresses.

He wrenched his thoughts back to the woman in front of him. Tearstains streaked her face but she still managed to retain her dignity and beauty, standing before him in anger and defiance.

“You never had any intention of settling down, did you? You just let Father talk. Were you planning to catch the next train out of town after you were finished with me?”

“Marian, I never intended any of this to happen.”

She stepped away from him, her shoulders hunched protectively. He stretched out one hand and let it fall back to his side without touching her.

How could he tell her about his conflicting emotions? He’d never wanted anything except the lure of the road until last week, when she’d opened the door. But what did he have to offer a wife?

A wife! Her father’s probing questions came back to him. Did he want to get married? Could he marry someone like Marian and be faithful?

His own parents toiled long, silent hours side by side at the family store, tied together through habit. He thought of the Coopers. Mrs. Cooper barely spoke two words without looking at her husband for approval. Reverend Cooper hid behind his Bible.

Head thrown back, he tried to find the answers in the sky above him. A trio of white clouds broke up the monotony of the blue sky, dashing forward in a steady line. A breeze brought Marian’s sweet scent toward him.

“Marian…”

She faced him, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “You might see me as a fool, but I’m not. Before you say anything, I suggest you leave this town before people find out what you tried to do with the minister’s daughter. And on a Sunday, too!”

He knew then what he had to say. He might be the fool but he couldn’t walk away from her. No matter where he wandered, he would crave her lips, her body, her very presence. Until he extinguished the fire she’d ignited in him, he would feel no relief.

He caught her hands. “Marian, I’m sorry, ” he said quickly. “Not for what happened earlier, ” he added when she twisted to get out of his hold. “For being such an insensitive clod.”

She stopped struggling, watching him closely. “What do you mean?”

He kissed the tip of her nose. “The last three days have been hell for me, too.”

One corner of her mouth lifted and the dimple played in her cheek. “I didn’t say that. Father would wash my mouth out if I used language like that.”

“Then I’d kiss away the bad taste, ” he murmured, showing her how thoroughly he would do that.

When he raised his head, the color in her cheeks signaled a return to the passion they’d shared earlier, and his resolve to wait for a more romantic place warred with his rapidly growing desire. His resolve won by a tiny fraction.

He touched his forehead to hers. Eyes half-closed, she smiled at him, a slow, languorous smile that threatened the uneasy peace he had gained. “Don’t, ” he groaned.

Her lips drooped into a frown. “What?”

He trailed one finger down her cheek, wrapping a curl around it. “Miss Cooper, you are enough to try the patience of a saint.”

“But you aren’t a saint, ” she said with a saucy grin.

He tugged on the curl. “No, and you should remember that.”

Her hands slid up his chest and around his neck. “I do, ” she said in a husky voice.

“Marian, stop it!” He tugged at her wrists, holding her firmly away. “We need to go back to the house. Now.”

“But, Frank…”

“No, Marian.” He headed in the direction of the house, her hand tucked inside the crook of his arm, warm against his body. “I won’t be chased out of town by an angry father. And if we don’t return soon, that’s exactly what will happen.”

In the shadow of a large oak tree, he paused to check their appearance. With an objective eye, he straightened the collar of her dress, smoothed her wild curls behind her ears. He brushed his fingers lightly over her cheeks, wiping away a last tear. She shifted her head and planted a soft kiss on his palm.

His hand seemed to burn at the contact. “Marian, you can’t do this.”

She nodded. “Once we’re home, I’ll behave like the decorous young woman my parents expect me to be.” She turned to him with shining eyes. “But I could sneak into your room tonight—”

He groaned and seized her hand, almost running down the road with her. “Not another word, Marian. I’ll find myself locked up in jail for trifling with you—or worse, tarred and feathered and run out of town on a rail.” He drew her back onto the road.

She giggled. “They haven’t tarred and feathered anyone since some salesman came into town last spring, trying to sell us all some worthless tonic. Not sure why, though. His tonic made the women want to rip off their clothes—”

“I’m warning you, Marian.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

A quick glance at her showed that she wasn’t the least bit sorry. He struggled against a strong urge to spin her around in the road and kiss her until her teasing expression was again replaced with one of desire. The house loomed before them and he rejected the image of her warm in his arms, releasing her hand and slowing to a more sedate pace as they came in view of the windows.

“You will stay, won’t you?” she asked, a foot poised above the bottom step of the back porch.

“I’ll stay, ” he promised.

He followed her up the steps, admiring how her skirt clung to the rounded curves of her bottom and the gentle sway of the material as she walked down the hallway. Her parents still sat in the parlor, their positions unchanged.

“Did you enjoy your walk?” her father asked, looking at them over the top of his Bible.

“Yes, Father, we did.” Marian sat down with a soft rustle of skirts and picked up a sewing box next to the couch.

“So, what’s your opinion of our fair village?”

Frank sat down opposite Marian before replying. “I didn’t see much of it, sir, but the weather’s very fine.”

“You’ll discover that this is a most delightful place, ” Reverend Cooper said. He rested his large Bible on his lap and rubbed his chin. “I was thinking, Frank, that after we see Bates in the morning, we could go by Widow Bartlett’s house.”

“Widow Bartlett?” Did the reverend want to find him a wife as well as a job?

“She mentioned that she hopes to take in a few boarders. You seem like a respectable young man. I’m sure the two of you can work out a sensible agreement.”

From the color that rose in Marian’s cheeks, Frank deduced that the widow Bartlett was a young woman. He lifted one eyebrow in question and when Marian glared at him, he had his answer. This town was filled with pitfalls.

And the most dangerous was sitting right across from him.

He excused himself, saying he needed to fetch his bag before supper. When Marian gave him a worried look, he smiled and watched her settle back on the sofa.

Once he’d retrieved his bag from the barn, he considered striding into the night and putting the Cooper family behind him. Even if Marian did cry herself to sleep for a few nights, she would forget him soon enough.

As he hesitated at the edge of the village, the scent of a rose floated toward him and he felt again her arms around his neck, her soft lips pressing against his. With a moan that startled several birds in the tree above him, he turned toward town and the Coopers’ house.

Supper was a quiet meal, cold leftovers from lunch served by a silent Mrs. Cooper and a still-glowering Marian. Reverend Cooper kept up a monologue based on his readings of the afternoon. He obviously didn’t expect anyone to respond to his observations. Frank found his mind drifting, returning to the conversation with a jerk when Reverend Cooper asked him a pointed question about his family.

“Two sisters, sir, one older, one younger.” Frank sipped from his glass, waiting for the next comment.

“Sisters. I have a younger sister and four younger brothers.” Reverend Cooper shook his head with a reminiscent smile. “She never let us intimidate her, though. Like my Marian here.” He touched a loose curl on Marian’s shoulder, his expression filled with pride.

Frank held back a shudder. This man loved his daughter but more than that, she was a prized possession, if that proprietary look was anything to judge by. The reverend might welcome a passing traveler into his home for a meal, even offer to find him work. All of that would be in keeping with his spiritual calling. But he would not easily give away his only daughter to that same man.

Frank suddenly felt hot and surreptitiously mopped at his forehead. He was relieved when the meal was over, so he could escape to the room under the eaves.

After bidding everyone good-night, he climbed the stairs, shutting the guest-room door with a thankful sigh. It was simply decorated, with the barest of necessities, dominated by a large bed in the middle. He turned back the heavy blanket and sighed happily. Clean sheets! He didn’t often have a bed at night. Now and then, he slid between the sheets of a bed with a housewife or a maid left alone in the house but seldom at night and never for very long.

He pushed such images away. Marian was in the room next to him. He could hear her moving around, making her own preparations for sleep. The vision of her smooth skin, naked beneath his hands, made him groan and he stripped off his clothes and crawled into bed, pulling the pillow over his head and ignoring the sounds from the room beside his.

He met Reverend Cooper on the stairs the next morning. “Sleep well, my boy?”

“Yes, thank you.” Frank had finally settled into a dreamless sleep, waking only once at the howling of coyotes nearby.

“We’ll have breakfast and then I’ll take you to see Adam Bates.”

The reverend was as good as his word. Adam, the middle-aged, rough-hewn owner of the feed store, studied Frank for a few moments. “If Reverend Cooper vouches for you, you’re fine by me, ” he said, extending his hand. “You can start tomorrow.”

“I could start this afternoon, ” Frank said. He needed hard work, something to keep his mind and his hands busy—to distract him from the minister’s daughter.

Adam Bates leaned against the counter and nodded. “Fine, after lunch then.”

Widow Bartlett had a room available in her narrow house. She was a tall, slender woman with a weary smile and even wearier eyes. Frank smiled politely when she showed him the common living quarters and he accepted her terms. With the money he made from the feed store, he’d have enough to begin saving.

For what? he asked himself as he carried his bag to his new home. He had thanked the family for their hospitality and promised to be a visitor one day soon. Marian had stood behind her mother, eyes aglow. He’d needed every ounce of control to keep from staring at her.

In his new room, he unpacked his meager belongings, his mind still on his change of plans. He’d never considered his future before. He enjoyed the different towns he visited and the freedom he had to leave them.

He sank down on his new bed. The bedsprings squeaked. The mattress wasn’t as soft as the one in the Coopers’ guest room, but it was his room. He hadn’t been in his own place since his departure from his parents’ house five years earlier.

The work wasn’t hard. Adam Bates kept him until only a thin sliver of the sun was left in the sky. Jamming his hat on his head, Frank walked back to his new home, ready for a hot bath and a long sleep.

He ducked his head under the water and washed the dirt and grime off his body, whistling tunelessly as he did. Marian said she loved him but what could she know of love, young as she was, stuck in this little town? No one could really love someone after such a short time together. The idea was preposterous.

Maybe she was exercising her ability to charm men with nothing more than a smile. Was she practicing on him so she could entice some young man in the village who was her main objective?

Dressed in his slacks and a clean shirt, he went down to the kitchen, hoping his dinner would fill the suddenly painful hollow in his stomach.




Chapter 3


He soon adjusted to the easy pace of the village. Every Sunday, he dressed carefully in his new suit and marched down the road to the white church. While his sole interest in attending lay with the minister’s daughter, he found himself paying more attention to her father’s sermons every week.

After the service, Marian and her father greeted the congregation while her mother disappeared, presumably to fix the noonday meal. Frank didn’t receive another invitation to the house but he didn’t mind. He often ate his Sunday meal with his boss and family; it was easier to relax under the roof of the boisterous Bates family.

He’d just started his second week in the village when Marian came into the store with her father. “How are things going?” Reverend Cooper asked.

“Fine, sir.” Frank didn’t glance toward Marian, afraid that his emotions would show in his eyes. His heart pounded under the canvas apron he wore and he swallowed to relieve the pressure in his throat.

Satisfied that his good deed was still producing positive results, Reverend Cooper sat down on a stool near the front of the store. Mr. Bates took a stool opposite him and soon they were engaged in a lively discussion of politics, the weather and the state of the country.

Dismissed, Frank returned to his work, stacking bags of grain near the back wall. He almost dropped one when he heard Marian’s soft voice behind him. “I’ve missed you.”

He swung around, the bag clutched in his hands. “Marian, what are you doing?”

He peered quickly around. Tall sacks of grain separated them from the two men, and he could hear their animated conversation, but it was only a matter of time before her father started looking for her.

“I miss you, Frank.”

Her forlorn voice pulled at him. Setting the bag down between them, he framed her face with his hands and tilted it up until he could see her eyes. “I’ve missed you, too, ” he whispered. “But we can’t meet here.”

“Then where? You never come to the house and I can’t go to the widow Bartlett’s by myself.” She sniffed loudly, then let her breath out in a long sigh.

When he chuckled, her eyes flashed. “You think it’s funny that we can’t meet?”

He bent down and kissed her on the lips. “No, I think your playacting is funny.” At the mutinous look in her eyes, he kissed her again, a hard kiss that left them both breathless.

“Frank, what are we going to do?”

When her shining face tipped toward his, he knew he was lost. He wouldn’t call it love but he couldn’t imagine living without her.

“I don’t know yet, but I’ll come up with something, Marian.” At the scraping sound that signaled the stools were being pushed aside, he nudged her toward the front of the store. “Until then, trust me.”

The tremulous look she gave him was full of trust. No one had ever regarded him that way before. His chest swelling with pride, he flung a bag to the top of the pile, her tempting smile urging him on.

That night, he wrote to his mother and told her about his new job and the village. He made only a passing mention of the Coopers, including them in a list of families who’d invited him into their homes. The letter sealed, he lay back on his bed. For the first time since he’d gone on the road, he felt a burning desire to return home, to try again with his father, to see his mother and ask her about his feelings for Marian.

The next Sunday, he saw Marian at the church. When Frank would’ve walked down the steps, she laid a gloved hand on his arm. He paused, his eyes going from her somber face to that of her father. Reverend Cooper didn’t hesitate to offer him an invitation to dinner.

“I appreciate it, sir, but I couldn’t impose—”

“Nonsense, ” Reverend Cooper interrupted with a wave of his hand. “We’ve been remiss in our duty to you, young man. Only the other day, Mrs. Cooper asked how you were getting on. Come to dinner and set her mind at rest.”

“If you insist…”

He didn’t look at Marian during the short walk to the house. Once inside the parlor, he sat across from Reverend Cooper and answered his questions about work. “This is a fine town, ” he assured the older man. “I feel as if I’m already part of the community.”

Reverend Cooper beamed. “Wonderful place, Winston. When I left the seminary, I realized immediately that this was where I wanted to raise my family.” He reached over and touched Marian’s hands. “My family is second only to God, Frank. I hope you feel the same way.”

Startled, Frank wondered if the reverend referred to his feelings for Marian. After a moment’s reflection, he decided the older man was questioning Frank’s relationship with his own family.

“I’ve written my mother about my situation here, ” he mumbled, glad that in this, at least, he could tell the plain truth.

“Good, good.” Reverend Cooper released Marian’s hand as Mrs. Cooper announced the meal.

When dinner was over, Frank excused himself, ignoring the frustrated look Marian sent his way. He couldn’t sit in the parlor again, not with her father watching him. Even though he was sure the earlier comments were just ordinary conversation, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that a warning had been implied.

The next Friday, Adam invited him home for dinner. The entire family greeted him, and he recognized several friends of the Bates children already sitting at the table. After a filling meal, he joined the large brood around the piano, letting his tenor mingle with the bright voices of the Bates family. They sang round after round of song. When they broke into “Button Up Your Overcoat, ” the group roared as Mrs. Bates tugged at his top button before kissing his cheek and sending him home for the night.

Whistling, he pushed open the gate at Widow Bartlett’s house. She was gone for the weekend, which meant he had the entire house at his disposal. No new tenants had arrived to rent the other spare rooms and he relished the thought of several hours to himself.

Loosening his tie as he entered his room, he frowned at the sight of a letter on his bed. He tossed his tie over a chair and picked up the envelope. Seeing his mother’s firm handwriting, he slit it open, then pulled out the single sheet.

She wanted him to come home. The people he mentioned sounded like good company, she wrote, but wouldn’t he rather be with his family?

“We miss you, all of us. Even your father wants you home.”

He dropped the letter on the bed and stretched out, his legs crossed at the ankles. Was that true? He couldn’t remember anything but arguments with his dad in the years before he left. Everything he’d done had upset his father—his friends, the job he’d pursued, his grades. His mother and older sister had often stepped in to stop the two of them from fighting. He couldn’t remember a single relaxing evening such as the one he’d just spent with the Bates family.

Something struck his window and he sat up, frowning. He heard the faint rattle again and crawled off the bed, yanking the curtain aside and peering into the deepening gloom.

“Frank?” A throaty whisper spilled into the open window.

“Marian?” He leaned on the ledge, unable to distinguish her shape from the shadows in the yard.

“Please, Frank, come outside.”

She met him at the bottom of the steps and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Frank!”

He disentangled himself from her hold, then led her into the protection of the large oak trees surrounding Mrs. Bartlett’s property. Even though his landlady was away, anyone walking by the house would be able to see them. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s Father. Oh, Frank!” She flung herself back into his arms. “He says it’s time for me to get married and he’s already picked out my husband!”

“Get married? Isn’t this rather sudden?”

She hiccupped and he could feel her nod. “I turned eighteen on Tuesday and he decided I’m old enough.”

Frank leaned back until he could see the outline of her face. He traced her cheek with his thumbs, wiping away the tears. “And who has he selected?” he asked quietly.

“Martin Applethwaite.”

Frank frowned, trying to place the name. Was it one of the men who’d come into the feed store? After a moment, he shook his head. “I don’t know him.”

“You wouldn’t.” She sniffled and he took out his handkerchief, waiting while she blew her nose. “Father met him when they both attended a special session at the seminary last year, and they’ve been writing to each other ever since. Mr. Applethwaite wrote that he’s coming to visit next month. He’s a widower and I don’t know if they hatched this plan together or not, but Father’s determined that I’ll be his next wife.”

Her voice rose in a loud wail, and Frank gathered her close to muffle her words. “Marian, surely you can talk to your father. Who knows? Besides, maybe you’ll like this Appleton guy.”

“Applethwaite, ” she corrected with another hiccup. “And I don’t like him. He’s old, Frank, almost forty, and he smells, and he never stops talking. Anyway, I don’t want to marry him. I want to marry you.”

Frank’s heart pounded. Marian lifted her head. “What’s the matter, Frank? Don’t you want to marry me? Isn’t that why you’ve stayed in town, so we could get to know each other better?”

“Well, it is. But marriage…Marian, I can’t offer a wife very much.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “That’s all right, Frank, I don’t need very much. But I refuse to marry someone my father chooses for me.”

“He wants you to be happy.”

“Why are you agreeing with Father?” Marian stared at him, her eyes almost black in the fading light. “Do you want me to marry another man? I thought you loved me.”

Her declaration echoed in his ears. Did he love her? He’d never said the words. But why was he staying in the area?

She struggled to get out of his arms and his hold tightened. “Marian…”

“No, let me go! I thought you’d help me because you cared about me. But I guess I was wrong.” She pulled free of his grasp and stepped away, her chest heaving with each angry breath. “I should’ve realized what was happening when you never came over to the house.”

“But, Marian, how could I? What would I say to your father?”

“You could ask permission to court his daughter.”

One corner of Frank’s mouth twisted into a lopsided grin. “And of course your father would’ve accepted me with open arms. I’m just the man the reverend Cooper would want for his only child—a salesman who appeared on his doorstep one day.”

She stamped her foot. “You’re the man I love, Frank Robertson. Isn’t that enough?”

Oh, Marian, darling, he wanted to say, you’re such a sweet child, with your dreams of romance, flowers, candlelight. At least your father understands marriage requires more than that.

His lips tightened. Would this widower give her the romance she needed? Or was he just looking for a drudge to care for his house?

“Marian, does Applethwaite have any children?”

She nodded against his shirtfront. “Two boys. Father says they’re absolute angels.”

Frank grimaced. Usually when two boys were described as angels, they were either the exact opposite or dead bores. He couldn’t see Marian mothering either of them. No doubt these boys were hellions and the reason their father was going farther afield to find a wife.

“Marian, when is he coming?”

She must have sensed the change in him because when she spoke, her voice sounded stronger. “The end of August. His sister will be visiting him and he’s leaving the boys with her.”

A sure sign that the boys weren’t angels. The man was smart; he didn’t plan to ruin his prospects with his friend’s daughter by bringing the future stepsons with him.

“All right.” He bent down until his face was level with hers. “Dry your eyes and go home. Don’t say anything to upset your father but don’t agree to the marriage, either.”

She nodded and blinked several times. “What will you do, Frank?”

He wasn’t sure. But he couldn’t stand the idea of her with another man.

Her hand brushed against his cheek. “I do love you, Frank.”

He kissed her lips, then turned her toward the road. “Go home and stop worrying about this. Everything will work out.”

He watched her walk down the road, her shoulders drooping and her pace slow. His heart thudded in his chest. Short of marrying her himself, what could he do to save her from Applethwaite or someone else like him?

Disgusted with her father, he climbed the stairs and entered his small bedroom. When he sat down on the bed, a piece of paper rustled under his leg. He stared at the words his mother had written. Come home.

Home. He could pack his bags and catch the next train north. By tomorrow night, he could be back with his family, sleeping in his own room, eating his mother’s cooking. He could leave the traveling life, go to work for his father.

He leaned against the headboard, hands clasped behind his neck. If he went home with a wife, his father would have to see him as a man. He could rescue Marian and, at the same time, provide himself with a way to convince his father he’d grown up.

The next afternoon, he ran down the street as soon as the feed store closed. He bathed quickly, washing away the smell of grain and smoothing down his thick hair. Dressed in his new suit, he walked over to the Coopers’ house, his back straight and his lips clamped together.

Marian answered the door; when she saw him, her hand flew to her throat. “Frank, what are you doing here?”

“I need to see your father, Marian.”

Her eyes widened. He tapped one finger against her lips. “Trust me, Marian.”

She nodded and led him into the parlor. A few minutes later, her father joined him. “Well, young man, Marian tells me you’ve requested a few minutes of my time. What would you like to talk about?”

Frank took a deep breath. Now that the moment had arrived, he didn’t know what to say. He swallowed more than once before the words came out.

“Sir, I would like to marry your daughter.”

The words were soft but their effect was the same as if he’d shouted them. Reverend Cooper advanced on Frank, his normally placid features distorted. Frank took an involuntary step away from the fury in the older man’s face, then forced himself to stand still.

“Marry my daughter? How dare you? After the hospitality we’ve shown you, welcoming you into our home, finding you a job. Why, I should throw you from this house!”

Reverend Cooper strode around the room, hands clenched into fists at his sides, body rigid. Afraid to move, Frank watched in awe. He’d been prepared for some anger when Reverend Cooper realized what he wanted but he hadn’t been ready for the extent of the older man’s rage.

Reverend Cooper stopped by the window, his shoulders heaving. “I suppose my daughter told you about the proposal from Martin Applethwaite, ” he said without turning around.

“Yes, sir.”

“And no doubt you have some romantic idea of saving her from this fate.” The man’s words were heavy with sarcasm.

“That’s not my only reason for proposing.”

“No, I’m sure it’s not.” Reverend Cooper whirled around, his eyes narrowed and his hands still clenched at his sides. “She isn’t pregnant, is she?”

Frank gasped and his own eyes narrowed. “No, sir, ” he snapped. “You insult your daughter by implying she could be.”

Cooper’s lips were pressed tight. “At least that’s one worry I won’t have when she goes to Applethwaite.”

Frank took a deep breath, trying to restrain his anger. If he could calmly convince this man that he was the right choice for his daughter…

“Sir, Marian doesn’t want to marry Applethwaite. She loves me and wants to marry me.”

“And you? Do you love her?”

A sneer followed the word love. Frank stared at the man, then slowly nodded. “Yes, I do, sir. And I’ll do everything in my power to make her happy.”

“Happy! Bah!” Reverend Cooper turned back to the windows and placed one hand against the glass. “And what can you offer her? Applethwaite is a respected member of his community, a man already settled with a lovely home and two boys. What do you have?”

“I may not have a home yet, but Marian and I don’t need much. We’ll make our own way.”

Reverend Cooper shook his head. “Young love. Do you have any idea how many couples I’ve counseled after young love disappears? You barely know each other and have little in common. You breeze into town one day, see a girl who catches your eye, and fancy you’re in love.” He swung around, his hands more relaxed. “I’m doing you a favor, young man. Pack your bags and leave tonight. My daughter will cry for a few days and then, when Applethwaite shows up with his offer, she’ll be happy to marry him.”

Frank scowled at him. “Is that what you want for your daughter? A marriage without love?”

“I want my daughter to be secure.” He waved his hand around the room. “I’m old, Mr. Robertson, and I won’t be here forever. With Applethwaite, my daughter will be cared for. She won’t have to worry about her next meal.”

“I can take of her, ” Frank said stubbornly.

“How? You live hand-to-mouth. You came into town with all your belongings in one bag. Have you even saved a penny?”

Frank thought of all the money he’d sent to his mother. He would’ve had a tidy nest egg if he’d kept that money. But his father was stingy, and Frank had assumed he’d have years to start saving for himself.

His pride held him back from saying this. If the reverend had suggested they talk, man to man, about Frank’s prospects, his ability to care for Marian, he would’ve happily explained where his earnings had gone. But he would not let the man reduce him to begging.

“I forbid my daughter to marry you, Robertson.” Reverend Cooper’s voice was low and gruff. “Leave my house now and get out of town tonight.”

As Frank listened, the old man’s threat registered deep in his brain. He spun around and slammed out of the room.

He yanked open the front door, which crashed against the entryway wall. Behind him, he could hear Reverend Cooper’s furious voice calling for his daughter and wife. A couple stood on the sidewalk in front of the house; Frank brushed past them without an apology.

Once at Widow Bartlett’s house, he went over the confrontation again, pacing the long hallway. How dare that man refuse him! Who was he, anyway? Nothing but a small-town minister. And Frank had plenty of prospects. Wasn’t his father a respected businessman in Davenport, Iowa? Why, this little village would fit in one street of Frank’s hometown.

His breathing more normal, he sank onto a low bench and buried his head in his hands. After the scene in the parlor, he wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Marian. She was probably locked in her room and Reverend Cooper was already informing the community of his edict. With his local influence, he’d be able to destroy Frank’s reputation. If Frank didn’t leave town tonight…

He would leave town. He’d pack up and leave on the next train. And Marian would be with him.

Summer 2004

“I’m going over to see G.G. and Grandpa.” Hannah stopped outside the guest room that her brother used during visits to their grandmother. “You coming?”

“I can’t.” He was digging through his suitcase. “I’m supposed to mow the lawn today.”

“Fine. Just don’t tell Grandma where I am.”

“What’s with the secrecy?” He tugged on the worn T-shirt he had unearthed. “And what are you going to tell Grandma when she asks why you’re taking her car?”

“I’m not taking her car.” She held up a purple bicycle helmet. “I’m riding Mom’s old bike. It’s not that far. And the exercise will be good for me.”

He followed her into the garage, where a dusty bike leaned against one wall.

Preston pulled the lawn mower out to the driveway. “You could mow for me—get your exercise that way.”

“Nice try.” She fastened the helmet and hopped on the bike. “I should be back before you finish mowing.”

The retirement development was a mile away. The property had once been on the edge of Lincoln but with the resurgence of building in the community, Winter Oaks was now just another part of the sprawling east end.

She parked her bike, then went inside the main building. Tiny cottages dotted the property. One had been Frank and Marian’s home when they’d first moved to the community. But after Marian’s hip fracture four years earlier, the family had encouraged them to move into the residence lodge, where they would have resources at hand if needed.

“Hi, Hannah.” The woman at the front desk gave her a big smile. “They’re in the sunroom.”

A long room opened onto the back lawn, which separated the more independent living quarters from the lodge. There were bright summer flowers along pathways wide enough for wheel-chairs, with several benches tucked among large old oaks. Floor-to-ceiling windows brought the outdoors inside for those who couldn’t go out or weren’t in an adventurous mood. Little groups of people sat in the sunroom, a few with books or newspapers. Several were gathered around a piano, where one elderly man was playing what Hannah recognized as a musical show tune.

Her great-grandparents sat at the other end of the room, near a table that could be used for family suppers. A newspaper was open on Grandpa Frank’s lap. His head was down, his glasses almost slipping from his nose, and Hannah suspected he’d fallen asleep.

Her impression was confirmed by G.G. “Don’t wake him.” Marian’s smile tightened a few of the wrinkles in her face. “He was reading me the most boring article about the city council’s last meeting. Why he thinks I’d be interested in that…” She shook her head in loving exasperation.

Hannah pulled a chair from the table and placed it next to G.G., careful not to wake Frank. “How long will he sleep?” His neck was crooked toward his chest and she didn’t want him to be stiff when he woke up.

“About ten minutes. He’s been dropping off to sleep like this for the last few weeks. The doctor isn’t worried, says it’s due to age.”

Hannah could hear the worry, though, in G.G.’s voice. And Grandpa Frank was ninety-six. “The staff here will keep track of him, G.G. You said yourself they’re very responsible. And he could just be tired. Or he could’ve bored himself to sleep with that article.”

She was rewarded by the soft chuckle that was one of her favorite memories. G.G. and Grandpa Frank had moved into the retirement village before Hannah was born. The short visits Hannah and her brother made to the complex were always full of special treats, movies on the big-screen television and walks through the grounds.

“So, why are you here, Miss Hannah-banana? Not that we aren’t happy to see you.”

“I think I’ve outgrown my nickname, ” Hannah muttered. G.G. gave another chuckle and patted Hannah’s hand. The touch was light and fleeting, like that of a butterfly landing on skin. “Darling, once you have a nickname in this family, it sticks. Do you suppose anyone will ever call me anything besides G.G.? Even your mother uses it now.”

Hannah grinned. She’d coined the nickname for her great-grandmother when she was little, trying to put her mouth around the longer name of Great-Grandma Marian. She’d recently learned to recognize her letters and when her mother showed her the name on a birthday card, Hannah had pointed out the two Gs. From then on, the great-grandchildren and soon the other relatives had started referring to Marian as G.G., distinguishing her from the other grandmothers in the family.

“Do you think you could just call me Miss Hannah instead?” she asked hopefully.

“I’ll try. Now, I can see purpose written all over your face.”

Hannah cleared her throat. If she didn’t want Grandma Anne to ask questions about her whereabouts, she needed to finish her errand and get back quickly. “It’s about your party.”

G.G. sat back in her wheelchair, her fingers twisting the crocheted lap rug that protected her legs from the air-conditioning drafts. “What party?” Her smile was gone and her eyes were blinking rapidly behind her glasses.

Hannah frowned, worried by G.G.’s agitation. Frank stirred in his sleep, as if aware of his wife’s discomfort. “For your seventy-fifth wedding anniversary, ” Hannah said slowly.

“Who said we were having a party?” She leaned over to pluck at Frank’s sleeve, her actions reminding Hannah of a flustered bird. “Frank?”

His eyes opened immediately. He leaned toward his wife, the newspaper sliding to the floor with a rustle. “Marian, what’s the matter?”

“Hannah’s here.” Marian’s fingers continued to pluck at his sleeve. “She said we’re having a party. You said we wouldn’t have a party. You told the girls we wouldn’t have a party.”

Marian’s voice had risen. Hannah glanced around the room but they were far enough from the others not to be attracting attention. Yet.

Frank took Marian’s fingers in his hand. “Hush, it’s all right.” His eyes narrowed as he glared at Hannah. “What’s this about a party? Your grandmother didn’t send you over here, did she?”

Hannah shook her head vigorously. “No, it was my idea, Grandpa. I found some pictures and things and thought you deserved a celebration.”

“We don’t need a party to remember we’ve been married seventy-five years.” His voice was firmer than she’d heard in her last visits. He leaned forward until he could cradle Marian’s still-fluttering hands against his chest, their heads close.

“That’s true, Grandpa. But it’s just, well—” Her voice trailed off.

“No party. See how it upsets your great-grandmother?”

Hannah knew she should stop but maybe they didn’t understand what she was asking. She sat forward, her face only inches from his. G.G.’s face was hidden against Frank’s shoulder now. Her breathing was uneven but the fluttering motions had ceased.

“Not a real party, ” she explained. Maybe it was the idea of a crowd that was bothering her. Or dancing. Now that G.G. was in a wheelchair, maybe she didn’t like being reminded of what she could no longer do. “Just a family dinner. Here.” She gestured at the table behind them. “A few speeches, some stories about your life together. Cake. That’s all.”

She shifted until she could look into his eyes. “You’ve been together seventy-five years, Grandpa. We should celebrate that!”

G.G. was shuddering again. Tiny gasps sputtered against Frank’s shirt. “Hannah, no more, please.” His voice was sharp. “You need to go now.”

Hannah stood up, hesitant to leave after being the unwitting cause of their distress. What had she said? “Grandpa—”

He waved a hand at her, his other hand softly rubbing Marian’s back. “She’ll be fine. Just leave right now. And no more talk of a party.” He mouthed the last word at her.

Hannah nodded and headed toward the entrance, pausing in the doorway. Marian had raised her head from Frank’s shoulder. He was softly smoothing her hair from her face. Even standing at a distance, Hannah could sense the love around the two of them, isolating them from the other people in the room.

She pedaled slowly home going over the visit in her mind. Why wouldn’t they want to celebrate their anniversary? With so many marriages ending in divorce, staying married was a major feat in itself. And to be married for seventy-five years to the same person, still so full of love…

She parked her bike inside the garage and slipped in the kitchen door. She didn’t want to be pushy but somehow, the family needed to recognize their lives together.

Somehow, she’d convince G.G. to have a party.



MARIAN’S STORY




Chapter 4


Winston, Missouri

August 1929

Marian raced into the parlor at the sound of her father’s shouting. “Father, what is it?”

He swung around. “You knew what he wanted, didn’t you? How dare you?”

The back of his hand struck her cheek. She sank to the floor. Tears sprang to her eyes and she pressed one hand against her throbbing face. “Daddy?”

The door clicked shut behind them. “Joseph, what’s going on?” Her mother stood in front of them, her hands on her hips. “The door was open and several people were outside, staring at the house. What are you shouting about?”

“Ask her.”

Her mother helped Marian to her feet, exclaiming at the mark on her cheek. She glanced at the man slouched in a chair, then back at Marian. “Well?”

“I don’t know, Mother.” She felt the greatest desire to throw herself into her mother’s arms and cry. Where was Frank? Why was her father so angry? He’d never hit her before.

“One of you knows something and I expect an answer.”

Marian’s eyes widened at the vehemence in her usually quiet mother’s voice. “It’s Frank, ” she murmured.

Her mother urged her onto the sofa. “Frank? That boy who works for Bates? What about him?”

“He came to see Father—”

“He asked for your daughter’s hand in marriage, ” her father snapped. “As if he deserved to even walk on the same path as her.”

“Daddy, that’s not true! Frank’s a good man, you know that. Everyone in town likes him. Why, the Bateses think he’s wonderful!” Especially Sarah Bates. She didn’t add how much the younger daughter’s compliments had worried her over the past few days.

“And what did you say, Joseph?” Her mother sat down next to her and Marian snuggled in her mother’s arms.

“I told him to leave my house and that if he’s smart, he’ll get out of town.”

“Daddy, no!”

Marian sat up but her mother tugged her back down, hands gentle on her arms. “Joseph, why would you do such a thing?”

Her father’s chin jutted out as he stared at them. “To protect my only daughter. What would you do, Elizabeth, give them your blessing?”

“I would talk to the young man and let him visit. If they did truly love each other—” she silenced Marian with a pinch on her arm “—I’d accept my daughter’s choice.”

“You’re a fool then.” He lumbered to his feet, his actions those of a much older man, and reached for Marian. She shrank against her mother, evading his fingers. He grunted, grabbing her arm, hauling her to her feet.

“You will go to your room, Marian, and stay there. Your mother and I will talk about what’s to be done.”

“But, Daddy!”

“Go, Marian, ” her mother said. At the sight of her reassuring smile, Marian shuffled out of the room and up the stairs.

She sat on the edge of her bed. Where was Frank? If she could believe her father, he was on his way out of town. But how could he leave her?

A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away angrily. She didn’t have time to cry. Her father had banished the only man she could ever love. She jumped up and flung open her bedroom door.

She was halfway down the stairs when her father thundered out of the parlor. “I told you to go to your room, young lady!”

“But, Daddy…”

“And stop that sniveling.” Clutching her arm, he dragged her back up the stairs and thrust her into the room with a jerk that sent her tumbling to the floor. Before she could stand up, the key turned in the lock.

She dashed across the room, pounding on the door. “You can’t lock me in here! This isn’t the dark ages! Daddy!”

“I can’t trust you, Marian. I had no idea you were seeing that man behind my back.”

She sat on the floor, resting her head against the door, as his footsteps faded away. Now she couldn’t stop the tears. Her father had never shouted at her or hit her before. And to lock her in her room…

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Brushing away the tears, she crossed the room and knelt by the open window. The sun had set hours before and stars twinkled in the sky above her. A breeze blew across her cheeks, erasing the heat of her crying. Her chin on her palms, she stared sightlessly outside.

“Marian?”

She leaned out the window. “Frank? Where are you?” she whispered.

“I’m in the trees at the edge of your yard. Did your father lock you in your room?”

She nodded, her earlier indignation returning. “He said he couldn’t trust me.”

She heard his chuckle over the cicadas. “Can he trust you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m leaving town, Marian. He threatened me and I’ve decided I’ve had enough of Winston. Are you game?”

Her heart lurched. He was leaving. But wait—what else had he said? She leaned farther over the ledge, hanging on to the sill with her fingertips. “What did you say?”

“Do you want to go with me?”

“How can I? My father hates you.”

“I’m not asking your father’s permission.”

She sagged against the window, the implications of his statement suddenly clear. If she left with him, she would forfeit her father’s blessing. The whole town would know what she’d done.

And if she didn’t? Frank would go away and his pride would keep him away. It wouldn’t be long before some other woman convinced him to get married and then he’d be lost to her forever.

“All right, Frank, what do I have to do?”

She heard a long sigh from the shadows and knew he hadn’t been certain of her answer. A feeling of power fluttered through her. Initially this man hadn’t even wanted to get involved with her. Now he was risking everything.

But he hasn’t said anything about marriage, a tiny voice nagged her.

Why else would he take me with him? she told herself. He had to be planning marriage.

She listened carefully, barely breathing when he paused, both of them attentive to the voices down the road. He would be back at midnight with a ladder. They’d catch a freight train that usually passed through the edge of town around 1:00 a.m. and be far from Winston hours before daybreak.

Her heart was beating so hard by the time the clock showed midnight that she was afraid her parents would hear. They’d come up the stairs hours earlier, separately. Her father had gone into the guest room next to hers. He was usually a heavy sleeper but his tossing and turning signaled that he was as upset by the night’s events as she was. When the iron bed finally stopped squeaking, she swallowed a tiny part of her worry.

A light scrape against the wall of the house announced Frank’s arrival. She flew to the window on silent feet, her hands grasping the top of the ladder. His head appeared in the window a few seconds later.

“Ready?” he asked in a throaty whisper.

She nodded, afraid to speak. He took both her bags without a word and headed back down. She followed him, her hands clamped to the side of the ladder, her feet slowly reaching for each rung.





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