Dovetail: A Novel(7)

In Pearl’s opinion, Frank wasn’t such a bad beau. The son of a prosperous farmer, he kept coming around with gifts and flowers, even though Alice never encouraged him. He wasn’t all that smart, but he sure was sweet on Alice, and that had to count for something.

Their father spoke. “Any man would be lucky to have your sister as a wife. She’s done quite well for this household, hasn’t she?” His wide smile showed his pride.

Pearl supposed he was thinking of her cooking and baking and cleaning. Grudgingly, she had to admit Alice had a talent for household duties. And she had more patience with the younger girls than Pearl ever did. Alice could settle a squabble and treat hurt feelings like she was born to it. She was just the person to go to with a physical injury too. There wasn’t a scrape or cut that didn’t feel better after she’d cleaned it and wrapped it. Her caring hands soothed burns and softened bumps. Those were the kinds of problems that made Pearl want to flee and never return.

Alice said, “And there’s going to be a secret drawer built right into the base where I can store letters and documents.” She met Daisy’s eyes. “Out of reach of little hands. Father said he’ll make it so no one will ever know it’s there.”

Pearl took a step back to get a broader view. “What kind of documents would you have?”

Father said, “Her marriage license, and then later, when the babies come, she’ll have birth certificates . . .”

“Father!” Alice blushed and hurriedly changed the subject. “Tell Pearl what you told me. About the joints that hold it together.” She set Daisy down and ran her fingers over the corner of the chest. She looked up at Pearl. “They’re called dovetail joints. Dovetail. Doesn’t that sound beautiful?”

“I guess.”

Their father said, “The sides of the hope chest are connected using dovetail joints. The edges are cut in a pattern, so one side slides into the other. Wide tails and narrow pins are what they’re called. It works almost like this.” He clasped his hands together, fingers interwoven. “Once the two pieces are glued together, the place where they’re joined is stronger than the wood itself. Your mother always thought it was perfect for a hope chest, because when a couple is married, they are stronger together than they were when separate.” As so often happened when he mentioned their mother, emotion overcame him. “It’s very difficult to break the connected pieces once they’re locked in place. A dovetail joint can stand the test of time.” He paused to look away, then pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket to dab at his eyes.

Pearl came behind him and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. “We miss her too, you know.”

“I know, darlin’.” He blew his nose, then folded the cloth and stuffed it back in his pocket. “Your mother loved that it was called a dovetail.”

“Because it sounds like love tale,” Alice said, filling in the rest. “And when he’s done with my hope chest, he’s going to make one for you, Pearl.”

“For me?”

“Yes. I’ll do one for each of you girls. Your mother always regretted never having one.” Father turned toward Pearl with a smile. “So you better start thinking about what design you’d like on yours.”

“I will,” she promised, but in the back of her mind, she wondered what in the world she would want with a hope chest. She had many plans for her future, but collecting linens was not among them.





CHAPTER FIVE





1983


When the car jolted to a stop, it sucked Joe out of a disturbing dream. Instinctively he clutched his chest to try to quell the pounding of his heart, but it was no use. Emotionally he was still in the grip of his subconscious, his body drenched with sweat. How had this happened? He must have somehow drifted off, the rhythm of the car’s wheels lulling him into sleep. His mouth automatically formed the words It was only a dream, a phrase suggested by Dr. Jensen, who said his body would eventually believe his mind. It never worked.

Even after opening his eyes, it took some time to put together where he was and to identify the two elderly people staring back at him from the front seat. He squinted as if to make what he saw come into focus. Slowly, it came to him. The woman, his supposed grandmother. The old guy, her attorney and friend. And the inside of a car headed to some town called Pullman. The car was pulled over to the side of the road now, and he had their full attention.

The old woman spoke up. “You okay, Joe?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?” He held his breath, waiting for the reply. The dream he’d just had was the worst of them all. He thought of it as the Death Dream. The beginning of the dream was wonderful. He was with a woman, and they were madly in love. He’d never felt that kind of love in real life, hadn’t known it was possible to feel that connected to another human being. But the joy of being with her was ruined when they were interrupted by an angry man waving a gun. At the end of the dream, he held the woman and watched in horror as she died in his arms. The dream was devastating, and he always woke up feeling as if his heart had been ripped open. He could never see the woman’s face, but he knew he loved her more than life itself. When he’d told Dr. Jensen that particular detail, the good doctor had asked, “Why do you think you loved her?”

He’d shrugged and said, “Just a feeling I have,” but it was more of a certainty than a feeling. The real feeling of love made the raw terror of the dream even more horrifying. The dream was so real that he could feel the humid night air and the touch of her fingers against his cheek.