Dovetail: A Novel(60)

“Alice,” he said, her name coming out like a breath.

“Shhh.” She put a finger to her lips. “I can’t stay long, but I had to see you.” She was close now, so close he could have leaned over and kissed her with one small movement, but he held back.

“My letter,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before . . .”

She put a finger up to his lips and shook her head. “I came because I knew you would worry, but you needn’t. It doesn’t matter to me. None of it matters.”

He clutched her hand in his and pressed his lips to her palm. “It matters a lot to the rest of the world. There are doors that will be closed to me, to us, if I’m found out.”

“It doesn’t matter to me,” she repeated. “There will always be ignorant people spouting nonsense and causing trouble. I wouldn’t care about any of that if we were together. You’re you, and I love you.”

Could a heart swell with joy? He knew from having studied the anatomy of the human body that it didn’t work that way, but he could have sworn that was exactly what happened.

“I have to go back to the house before my sisters wonder why I’m gone so long. They think I’m making a nighttime visit,” she said, her head making a quick tilt toward the direction of the outhouse. She reached over and patted his cheek. “I’ll see you in the morning at breakfast.”

He watched as she floated across the barn floor and let herself out. The morning couldn’t come soon enough. He went to his trunk and unpacked his writing things, then sat down to write her a letter.





CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE





1916


My dearest Alice,

Your visit in the barn, albeit brief, was a cure for my worried heart. Hearing you say that none of it matters, that you love me for who I am, is more than I could have hoped for. I promise that from now on, I will always tell you everything. There will be no secrets between us.

I wanted to let you know I have written to my mother, telling her I met a wonderful girl named Alice and that I hope that someday she can meet you. I did not tell her we are in love, but she will know, I am sure. When you finally get a chance to meet her, I know you will love her as much as I do. I know she will love you.

I wish we could tell everyone how we feel, but I respect your wishes to keep it between us for now. And now, my dearest Alice, I have saved the best news for last. At work a few days ago, I took the liberty of asking your father if I could accompany you to the Barn Dance in three weeks, and yesterday he said yes. I hope you are smiling right now, as hearing this made me smile as well. Your father said Mrs. Donohue has agreed to chaperone both you and Pearl at the dance, because she will already be there chaperoning Edna and Howard. Furthermore, he gave me permission to drive the wagon to take both of you there. He said that he hoped I would treat his daughter with the respect she deserved, and I assured him I would.

Yours forever,

John

John waited for the ink to dry, then folded up the letter and left the barn, making his way to Alice’s special tree in the dark. After so many trips, he knew every inch between the barn door and his destination. He made his way around troublesome tree roots and stayed in the shadows as much as possible. Anyone watching from the house would lose sight of him once he passed the tree line, but he took precautions all the same.

He put the letter in his usual spot, knowing that Alice would find it the next day. Ending their time together with a social event like the Barn Dance was ideal, and he looked forward to holding her in his arms, even if it was in public on a crowded dance floor.

John had other plans for that evening as well. He wasn’t going to leave Pullman without asking Alice if she’d be his wife. He was willing to have a long engagement, if need be. The wait would kill him, and the separation would be torturous, but a man did not come across a woman like Alice and let her slip away.

He was ready to end the secrecy and tell the whole world he was in love with Alice Bennett.





CHAPTER FORTY





1983


Joe and Kathleen wound up closing Marjorie’s Supper Club. Once again, she marveled at how effortless it was to talk to him. With Ricky, conversation had been a land mine. Seemingly innocent questions were actually attempts on his part to ferret out information. What sounded like throwaway comments were often invitations for her to give him compliments, to assure him that other men didn’t match up to him in any area. Even that could be tricky. He homed in on her tone and facial expressions, accusing her of insincerity if she didn’t phrase things just right. They’d once had a three-week dispute where he claimed that her apology didn’t count because she only said it to end the argument.

Exhausting was what it was. The longer she lived with him, the more turned around she became until she didn’t know what to think anymore. The truth of it was that she had just apologized to restore the peace. So he was right about that, which clouded things in her mind. By the time she left, she wasn’t sure who she was anymore. It took the divorce and moving away to make her feel like herself again. Her life was completely different now, and yet she felt more herself than she had in years.

Tonight, for instance.

Ricky hated it when she drank, claimed it made her mean. She guessed that it wasn’t meanness exactly but a loosening of her tongue, making her more inclined to speak her mind. Regardless, over the course of the marriage, she’d quit drinking alcohol in his presence and eventually altogether, and her status as a teetotaler had carried over even after she’d moved to Pullman. The fact that she’d imbibed and had three Brandy Old Fashioned Sweets at the restaurant was a radical departure for her. The liquor gave her a warm feeling, both physically and toward Joe, so when he took the bill and paid, she let him, and when he offered to walk her home, she allowed it as well, slipping her hand into the crook of his elbow.