CHAPTER 23

The rest of August went by in a blur, the news from around the world coming rapidly. The US and the Allies surrounded the Germans in the Falaise Pocket of France. Paris experienced the exhilaration of being liberated. The news seemed only to validate Aunt Bess’s belief that the war would soon wrap up. That the boys would come home. That life would return to normal.

Each afternoon after work, Carlton met Alice-Ann and Nancy outside the bank, and together they walked the few blocks to Nancy’s, said their good-byes to her, then stole another peek at the house next door. With each visit they added another “thing I would do” if the house belonged to one of them. And with each new idea came the notion that it could actually be so.

During their walks, Carlton regaled Nancy and Alice-Ann with news from the war —the liberation of Paris, the Slovak uprising, the Soviets taking Bucharest. Like Aunt Bess, he insisted the war would soon be over, that the men and women who had left Bynum to serve their country would return, and that life in their fair town would become normal once again. Sleepy and predictable on the day to day.

“But not the same,” Nancy said. “Nothing is ever the same after something like this.”

Carlton squeezed Alice-Ann’s hand in agreement but said nothing.

What level of comfort Alice-Ann and Carlton had found with each other previously only grew in intensity and —oddly —contentment. For the most part, she relished the time they spent together, and came to rely heavily on his wisdom and companionship. She no longer worried about what people might think or did think, but she often wondered what Carlton had in mind. Fully in mind.

He’d asked her if he could escort her to the wedding and they walked together each day, and they’d taken in a few movies. He held her hand and she looped her arm with his. But other than a gentle peck on the cheek, he had yet to kiss her or to express to her his intentions for the future. Their future, if there was to be one.

Not that she was completely ready for either —the kiss or the intentions. After all, for most of her young life she’d imagined Mack would be the man to give her her first kiss. That he would also give her the last. That he would be the only one . . .

But that no longer was the case. Life, as Aunt Bess insisted often, continued on, in spite of the agony of loss.

Then came September. Every day brought news from the war and of liberations, which Alice-Ann and Carlton discussed as though they were history professors at the college he’d not once mentioned returning to, even after he received his honorary discharge.

Alice-Ann would remember that day the rest of her life, the way he sat on the bench outside the bank holding the envelope in one hand and the trifolded paper in the other. She joined him as she wrapped her light sweater around her to ward off the chill hanging in the air. “What do you have there?” she asked.

Without a word he showed her the letter. She read it slowly, then read it again. “Did you just get this?”

He nodded. “I stopped by the post office before coming here.”

“I see. Well . . . Carlton? Did you not expect this?”

“Part of me wishes —boy, I know I should be there. Filming. Taking photos.” He raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “But one stupid move and I’m missing it.”

Before she could answer, before she could say how she felt about his desire for such adventure, Nancy came out of the bank, stopped, and —ascertaining the situation —asked if they’d prefer to be alone.

Alice-Ann looked to Carlton before answering.

“You can show her,” he said.

Nancy stepped closer, took the letter, and read. Then, returning the paper to Carlton, she said, “I suppose Doc Evans made the decision not to clear you to return.”

He nodded. “I told him I’m doing all right,” he said, “but there’s still some tingling in my legs from time to time.”

Alice-Ann shifted toward him. “Carlton . . . you’ve never said.”

He shrugged. “I figured it would go away eventually. I still say it will.”

Nancy dropped to the bench on the other side of Carlton. “So what do you want to do then? Do you really want to go back to the war?”

Carlton gave her a weak smile, then looked at Alice-Ann. “Yes and no.” He sighed.

She understood his confusion. In one respect, she’d grown so accustomed to what the war meant, she worried about what would happen when it was all over. Would she get to keep her job or would she lose it to one of the boys returning? And what if —by some crazy miracle —Janie Wren had been correct about Mack? What if he —all this time —had been fighting on, unable to correspond with either of them? Maybe he was a POW, like Adler. Maybe he worked for some nice family —like hers —over there in the Pacific. “Well, I’m sorry,” Alice-Ann finally declared with a shake of her head, “but I admit that, for me, this is a relief.”

Nancy patted Carlton’s knee. “Of course it is. But is there any reason why you can’t return to school? You’ve already been working for your mom and dad, so now with your discharge you should be all right to go back.”

Alice-Ann sat straight. Carlton, returning to school? Would that also mean him leaving Bynum? Leaving her? The thought worried her more than the wondering if Mack had survived.

“I’m sure your husband would tell me to finish up if I asked him what he thought,” Carlton said.

“Harry would indeed.” Nancy stood. “Speaking of whom, I’d best get home.” She gave them a quizzical look. “Are you two walking today?”

Alice-Ann hoped not. She had things she wanted to say to Carlton. Things she didn’t dare leave to chance. Or a later time.

Carlton shook his head. “I think I’ll go on back home and talk to Daddy about this.”

“Good idea,” Nancy said. “Alice-Ann, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Alice-Ann smiled up at her friend, grateful for her way of seeing things so logically, even when everything around her fell apart. “Thank you. See you then.”

After Nancy left them, Alice-Ann scooted closer to Carlton. “Do you want me to walk back to the five-and-dime with you? Maybe I can visit with Maeve while you talk to your daddy.”

He leaned over, kissed her cheek as he’d done so many times before. But this time his lips lingered and he inhaled as if he were breathing her in. “Maeve’s gone off somewhere with Claudette.”

Alice-Ann sighed. “We’ve got the tea this Saturday. They’re probably out shopping for whatever Claudette imagines she needs to make the day complete.”

Carlton smiled at her, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Baby doll, I’m going to walk on home.” He started to stand, but Alice-Ann grabbed his hands.

“Carlton, what do you want to do?”

His brow furrowed. “Can I tell you a secret?” he asked.

The memory of his sharing a secret with her at her sixteenth birthday party swept over her. He’d been so ready to marry Betty Jo back then, but she had foolishly cast him aside after his return from Europe. “Of course.”

“I really liked taking photographs. And filming the war.” He hunched over. “I was good at it. Truly good at it.” He opened his mouth as though he were going to say more, then closed it again.

“No. Please don’t shut me out.” She couldn’t bear it if he did. “What were you going to say?”

He winced, then admitted, “I think I would have made an okay teacher, you know? But when that camera was in my hand . . .” He held out his hand, palm up and cupped. “I realized I had the ability to see the world in a way that maybe not everyone can. And that I can share what I see with others. I used to wonder, as I was filming or shooting pictures, who on the other side of the world might see my work and learn something they otherwise wouldn’t have known. Kind of like I was bringing the reality of war home.”

Alice-Ann pictured him, walking around in the wardrobe of a soldier, helmet on his head, camera in his hand, and a gun slung over his shoulder. He shot with one and only carried the other, although he knew how to use both. A boy could hardly grow up in Georgia and not know how to shoot a gun. “So do you want to do something with the camera? I mean, now?”

“I think . . .” He folded the letter and slid it back into the envelope. “I think I’d like to try my hand at photojournalism.”

“What’s that?”

He grinned at her as his face came to life. She knew that look, the one that said, “I’m about to teach you something.” If Carlton loved anything at all —whether he wanted to be a schoolteacher or not —it was sharing with others what he knew. “Have you ever heard of Frank Luther Mott?”

She shook her head no.

“We learned about him when we were in training. He’s a professor at a college —in Iowa I think, or maybe it was Missouri —who coined the term. It means . . .” Carlton tucked the letter into the pocket of his cotton shirt. “It’s taking what photographers do and what writers do and putting them together so that the pictures tell a story.”

“Which is what you did for the war effort.”

“Yes.”

“And that’s what you want to do?”

“Yes. I thought maybe I should go see Mr. Dibble over at the paper. See if he might have some ideas or thoughts.”

Alice-Ann wrapped her arms around his shoulders and squeezed. “I think that’s a wonderful idea.”

He drew back, surprised. “Do you?”

She nodded. “I do.” And she did, as long as it meant he’d stay in town. At least for a while.

“And who knows? Maybe one day I’ll be good enough to go to work for Mr. Henry Luce.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

“Time magazine?”

“In New York?”

Carlton’s eyes widened. “You never know where life will take you.”

“Life. Now that’s a magazine I know.”

Carlton leaned back against the wrought iron of the bench. “Good one, Alice-Ann. But do you know who owns it?”

“Henry Luce?”

He tapped the tip of her nose. “You’re a pretty smart cookie.”

Warmth spread through her. She’d not known, of course. She’d only made a partially informed guess. But she enjoyed the conversation too much to tell him otherwise.

He smiled. “Well, then.” He shifted. “I still need to talk to Daddy. Poor Maeve is dying for me to work more hours so she can work fewer.” He laughed. “She used to want to go to school, but now all she wants is for Ernie to propose so she’ll be next to walk down the aisle.”

“She still doesn’t know? That Ernie is planning to propose after Claudette’s wedding?”

Carlton shook his head. “No, but old Ern has already talked to Daddy.”

Alice-Ann bopped his chest with her fist. “You didn’t tell me that.”

He grinned as he leaned his face closer to hers. “You think I tell you everything, Alice-Ann Branch?”

The familiar butterflies fluttered from her stomach to her heart and back again. “No,” she whispered. “Not everything.”

Breath audibly caught in his chest as he drew back. “Actually, there is something I need to tell you. No . . . something I want to tell you.”

“What’s that?”

Carlton looked over her shoulder. “There’s Nelson,” he said.

Alice-Ann turned. Sure enough, her brother’s truck —its bed loaded with prisoners and one gun-toting guard —rumbled up the street. “His timing is impeccable.” She looked at Carlton. “Tell me. Quickly.”

But instead of answering, he stood, extended his hand for hers, and helped her to stand. “Nah-uh. I’m saving this for another day.”

By the time the wedding day arrived —after weeks of showers and teas and gown fittings and even more global news —Alice-Ann had come to the conclusion that her beau —if she could call him that —was capable of two things: one, keeping secrets, and two, self-control. They’d long ago stopped pretending they were not seeing each other —something which brought Alice-Ann both comfort and unease. Comfort in knowing that a homely girl such as herself could land a good-looking man. Unease in wondering if folks around Bynum were asking how in the world such a common girl —good as she was known to be to her aunt and her daddy and to the children over at the church —could have the local hero interested in her.

The local hero.

Carlton had yet to set the citizens straight on how he’d been injured and she wondered if he ever would. The one time she questioned him about it, he only offered a shrug and a mumbled “Sweep it under the rug, Alice-Ann. You and I know. That’s all that matters.”

One of the benefits of everyone knowing and accepting them as a couple was that the two of them, along with Maeve and Ernie, had gone out a few times. Maeve, of course, had jumped completely over the moon at the thought of her brother and her best friend dating. She’d already practically married them and given them children who would, naturally, play with the children she and Ernie were bound to have.

Not that Alice-Ann and Carlton were discussing marriage. For pity’s sake, he’d not even kissed her yet.

Finally the twenty-third of September came. Claudette’s big day. And if it was a big day for Claudette, it was twice as monumental for her mother, Miss Zilda, who, as though she had become completely unaware that a war was going on and that the rest of the country had buckled under the financial weight of it, spared no expense when it came to decorating the sanctuary of the downtown Methodist church. “The last time I saw so many flowers,” Alice-Ann whispered to Maeve as they stood together in the vestibule waiting for their cue to walk down the aisle, “was at old Miss Gloria Baker’s funeral back when we were in eighth grade.”

Maeve twisted around to whisper, “It took this long for enough flowers to grow back, I suppose, so Claudette could have her wedding.”

They grinned at each other as the organ music changed to the rehearsed tune for their entry into the church. Alice-Ann waited for Maeve to take the determined number of steps before she followed behind her. Because Aunt Bess had always said watching the face of the bridegroom was the best part of any wedding ceremony, she clutched her nosegay and kept her focus on Johnny’s expectant face. Then, as his dark-brown eyes met hers, Alice-Ann smiled at the man she hardly knew but who had captured Claudette’s heart from the first time she’d seen him.

Like Mack captured yours.

The thought came from nowhere and she stumbled at the intrusion of it. A man’s hand reached out to steady her, and when she turned to say thank you, she realized it was Carlton who’d come to her rescue. “You okay?” he mouthed.

Alice-Ann nodded and returned to the timed pace of the bridesmaid, reached the front and stood to the right of Maeve, then turned slightly to watch Claudette’s cousin Beulah march the rest of the way forward. The swinging double doors the three had walked through only moments before closed until the bridal march began. Alice-Ann stole another look at Johnny and then allowed her eyes to roam the congregation until she found Carlton again. His eyes were on her, and with a look that told her he knew she’d sought him out, he winked.

A mixture of warmth and guilt spread over her.

Beulah took her place next to Alice-Ann. The music changed again and the congregation rose in honor of the bride, who now stood framed in the doorway, her hand lain gently on her father’s forearm. Behind the elegant veil, her face shone with the glow of a woman in love. Even Alice-Ann could see the purity of the emotion, uncomplicated by anything or anyone else. Whatever life had in store for Claudette and Johnny —good or bad —didn’t matter at that moment. The only thing on her mind —Alice-Ann knew —was that her future as Mrs. Johnny Dailey would begin in a few moments and that their love would prove bigger than any hardship or sorrow. Nothing would stand in the way of it. Nothing.

Until death did them part.

Death. Alice-Ann swallowed over the knot in her throat. More than anything she wanted to be done with her feelings for Mack, yet they came up at the most inopportune time. Except for too many years nursing a schoolgirl crush, she couldn’t imagine why. Other than the sign-off on his letters —“Love ya” —he’d never promised her any deep emotion, never professed undying adoration for her or even hinted at a life together.

But then again, neither had Carlton.

What if Mack’s death was not enough for Carlton? What if he waited for something else? Something more? Although what, she couldn’t imagine. The letters perhaps —the ones that had come to his home, addressed to his sister but meant for her. The ones she had confided to him about, even discussing many of the contents. Maybe Carlton waited for her to take them out of their hiding place and show them to him rather than only talk about them.

No, that would be silly. Carlton Hillis wasn’t the kind of man who’d read another man’s letters penned to his girl, even if she hadn’t been his girl at the time.

Maybe . . . perhaps . . . he waited for her to say she’d destroyed them. Not that she had. She couldn’t. These were letters from Mack. He was dead and they were precious to her. Every stroke of the pen. Every dot of the i’s and cross of the t’s.

Surely he wouldn’t expect her to throw them away.

A flurry of movement next to her drew her attention back to the room and to the nearly pungent scent of too many flowers. The organist pressed down on the keys as Claudette and Johnny broke apart from their first kiss as man and wife. Alice-Ann blinked several times to clear the cobwebs as she inhaled a tad too deeply.

Good heavens. Thinking about Mack, she’d missed the wedding.