CHAPTER 3

It had taken days, but Alice-Ann finally convinced Aunt Bess that the only proper thing to do during “this incredibly solemn time” was host a party. Partly, she said, in honor of her birthday and, in greater part, for the boys leaving town, ready to win the war. Especially now that the entire world, it seemed, had turned around and declared war on the United States.

Aunt Bess set the date for Friday, December 19, because, she said, once the twentieth hit, “we may as well be celebrating Christmas as your birthday.”

This wasn’t the first year Alice-Ann’s December birthday had gotten all mixed up with that of the Savior, but it sure was the most inconvenient.

Friday afternoon, Claudette and Maeve rode the rattling school bus home with Alice-Ann, small pieces of luggage at their feet, each filled with a party dress and shoes and, Alice-Ann hoped, a small gift for her. The three friends had set a rule years back that they would exchange Christmas cards rather than gifts, concentrating more on their birthdays when it came to gift exchanges.

Maeve, of course, purchased something from her parents’ five-and-dime. Being the daughter of the town’s only doctor —his only child, in fact —Claudette upstaged them all with her gifts, which sometimes shot a tinge of regret through Alice-Ann at the meagerness of her own offerings. But she was a farmer’s daughter, and homemade gifts were the usual fare, even among family members. A monogrammed handkerchief, a knit scarf and cap, a cross-stitched sampler . . .

Although next year, she’d decided, she’d present them both with tatted doilies for their dressing tables. Aunt Bess had promised to show her how. As soon as the New Year rolled around, she’d said.

The girls entered the house and shed their coats, hanging them on the hall tree inside the front door.

“Aunt Bess is probably in the kitchen,” Alice-Ann said, leading the way to the back of the house.

Sure enough, Aunt Bess stood at the counter, one hand fisted and planted on a hip, the other slathering frosting on a perfectly formed cake.

“Mmm,” Claudette said, smiling. Even her hazel eyes lit up. “Looks divine, Aunt Bess.”

“It is divine,” Aunt Bess told her. “I only make divine cakes.”

“What can we do, Aunt Bess?” Alice-Ann asked. She opened the icebox and pulled out a half-filled pitcher of milk. She held it out for her friends. “Milk?”

“I’ll get the glasses,” Maeve said first, moving to the cabinet where they were kept as if the kitchen were her own. One thing Maeve had always adored about coming to the farm was drinking truly fresh-from-the-cow milk. Living in town, she and Claudette both only enjoyed milk brought by a dairy farmer.

“We’ll have an early supper,” Aunt Bess said, dropping the frosting knife into the deep porcelain sink. “So don’t go spoiling your appetites.” Maeve placed three glasses on the oilcloth-covered table, which Aunt Bess had already set for the evening meal. “Drink your milk,” Aunt Bess continued, “and go on upstairs and get ready.”

The girls gulped down the sweet milk, then grabbed the cases they’d left with their coats and ran up the stairs.

“I wonder where Irene is,” Maeve said when they’d reached the landing.

“No telling, knowing her,” Claudette answered as Alice-Ann shushed them both.

“Be careful. These walls have ears, you know.”

“No worries, doll. She’s not here,” Claudette said.

The friends flew into the bedroom and Alice-Ann closed the door. “How do you know?” she asked.

“Because. I saw her walking into Smitty’s when the bus drove us through town.”

Alice-Ann nearly dropped her books onto her narrow desk near the window. “You did? Wonder what she’s doing there.”

“If you saw her, Claudette,” Maeve put in, her voice holding doubt, “why did you say you didn’t know where she was at?”

Claudette placed her books and suitcase on the chenille-covered bed, which wobbled beneath the weight. “Because, Maeve . . .” Claudette rolled her eyes playfully. “I don’t know where she is; I only know where she isn’t.”

Alice-Ann crossed her arms. “I only wish she liked me better. Or even a little.”

“Maybe,” Maeve pondered, “she was at Smitty’s to buy you something for your birthday.”

“No. She and Nelson gave me my present the night of —well, on the night of my birthday.” Nelson, who’d always been gifted with woodwork, had made five clothes hangers for her, each one monogrammed with her initials.

“Maybe she’s Christmas shopping,” Maeve added. “Only a few days left, you know.”

Claudette tossed her hands into the air. “Who knows and who cares? Come on, girls. We’ve got to come up with a plan of action to make sure our Alice-Ann here has loads of time with one Boyd MacKay before the night’s over.”

Alice-Ann tingled at the thought. “Well, one thing’s for sure, it’s too cold to meander outside.”

Maeve sat on the bed. “Maybe you could offer him a glass of punch and he’ll walk over to the table with you and then you can tell him.”

“With Aunt Bess not a foot away?” Claudette said. “No. What you need to do, Alice-Ann, is offer him a cup of coffee. He’s going off to the war soon. He’s a man who drinks coffee now.” She cut her eyes toward the ceiling. “Probably black. No milk. No sugar.”

“Because he’s sweet enough,” Maeve said with a giggle, which brought a smile to Alice-Ann’s lips as well.

Claudette wasn’t to be deterred. “Can you please be serious for one minute, Maeve?” She focused her attention on Alice-Ann. “Now, here’s what you do. Ask Aunt Bess if you can go to the kitchen to prepare it. . . . He’ll follow you . . . and . . .” Her eyes lit up as she raised her arms, pretending to wrap them around a man’s shoulders. “You’ll say, ‘Mack, my darling —’”

Alice-Ann and Maeve giggled again. “You watch too many movies, Claudette,” Maeve said.

“A hopeless romantic is what I am,” she said, then fell across the bed on her back, her arms crossed over herself as if she were in a passionate embrace. She quickly raised herself up on her elbows. “Hey. Speaking of gorgeous, have either of you gotten a gander at the new manager of the old Walker’s Inn?”

Both girls shook their heads.

“He and his mama came to church last Sunday. Dreamy, I tell you. Positively dreamy.” She fell against the bed again with a sigh. “A living doll and the living end.”

“I’m a Baptist,” Maeve said, opening her suitcase and bringing out her dress, which she fluffed in the air. “We don’t sit in church dreaming about men, no matter how good-looking they are, when we’re supposed to be listening to the preacher.”

“Well, I’m Methodist, Maeve Hillis, and we are freethinkers.”

Alice-Ann moved to the bed, anxious to change the subject. The way people carried on —especially the in-town Baptists and Methodists —one would think they were of different faiths entirely. Like the Lewens, who ran the finer of the two clothing stores in town, but who had to drive all the way to Savannah each and every Saturday to worship, leaving their store in the care of their employees.

“Gracious,” she said to her two friends, “to hear you two talk, we’re not even playing on the same team. Bottom line is, we all love Jesus, right?”

Maeve and Claudette shared a sheepish glance. “Right,” they both mumbled, followed by two sincere apologies.

Alice-Ann smiled, content at her peacemaking abilities. “Come on, city girls,” she said, changing her tone. “Show me your dresses, and then I’ll show you mine.”

The words were barely out of her mouth when the sound of a car rolling up the dirt driveway stopped her from walking to the closet. Instead, she moved to the window, pushed back the thick muslin curtains, and peered out. “Irene’s back.”

“Lucky her, having a car,” Claudette said, coming up behind her. “Daddy says he’ll buy one for me; he just won’t say when.”

With Maeve joining them, the three friends watched in silence as Irene swung out of the car, two small parcels in one hand, her red purse in the other. She bopped the door shut with her slender but curvaceous hip and then meandered toward the front door.

A moment later, she called out to Aunt Bess from the front hall that she’d arrived home.

Alice-Ann held up a hand. “You two hang up your dresses.” She glanced at her narrow closet door. “And while you’re at it, check out the hangers Nelson made for my birthday.” She’d made it halfway across the room. “And the little sachets hanging from them are from Aunt Bess.”

“Where are you off to?” Claudette asked.

Alice-Ann’s hand clasped the doorknob as she turned and whispered, “To see where the queen of Bynum has been.”

She met Irene halfway on the staircase. “Well, hey there, princess,” Irene said to her, stopping. She held up one of the parcels, wrapped in white paper and tied with a tiny pink ribbon. “Your brother insisted I go to town and pick this up for you.”

Alice-Ann couldn’t help but be a little curious. “For me? Something store-bought?”

Irene smiled, although Alice-Ann couldn’t tell if it was for real or for show. “I suppose at sixteen, you deserve it.” She took a step up and Alice-Ann took three down, realizing if she were on the staircase, she at least had to look like she’d been heading somewhere other than to be nosy. “Oh, by the way,” Irene added, and Alice-Ann turned. “I ran into Mack at the soda shop. He says he’s real excited about coming out tonight and celebrating with us.”

Heat rose from somewhere deep in Alice-Ann’s chest, settling along the flesh of her cheeks.

Irene’s eyes widened and her smile grew lopsided. “Oh, so that’s how it goes.”

Alice-Ann shrugged. “How what goes? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Irene Branch. He’s Nelson’s friend after all, and he’s like a big brother to me. Always has been, so why shouldn’t he come to my party?”

“‘The lady doth protest too much, methinks.’”

Alice-Ann huffed in reply. Irene, of all people, quoting Shakespeare. “Now I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Irene’s chin lifted a fraction. “I also ran into Carlton Hillis. He’s excited about coming too.”

“Carlton’s also a very nice young man, and I’m glad he’s coming as well.”

Being Maeve’s brother, Carlton had been as much a part of her life as Nelson. Over the years, while Nelson had taught Maeve and her how to bait a hook, Carlton had taught them how to ride bikes and roller-skate and even how to do the jitterbug and the Big Apple. He’d also served as a chaperone and chauffeur a time or two when they’d needed to go somewhere. Kind and soft-spoken, smart beyond the grading system at Bynum High School, Carlton had always been the type of boy one couldn’t help liking. And he rarely spoke to Alice-Ann without calling her “doodlebug.”

“But no blush from the young Miss Branch?”

Alice-Ann turned to descend the rest of the stairs, choosing to ignore her sister-in-law.

“He’s bringing a date,” Irene said from behind her and Alice-Ann whirled around, nearly falling to the landing.

“Who is?”

Irene’s brow rose, taunting her. “Well, if what you say is true, and both Carlton and Mack are just like brothers to you, does it matter?”

Of course it mattered. But if Irene really knew the way Alice-Ann felt about Mack, she’d tell Nelson —and he’d lecture Alice-Ann until she begged for mercy —or she’d hound her mercilessly for the rest of her life. Either way, the options were enough to give Alice-Ann the shudders.

No doubt about it. She had to convince Mack to marry her before the night was over.

“It doesn’t,” she said. “Both can bring two dates for all I care.”

Irene laughed easily. “Ease up, will you? Carlton is the one bringing a date. Darling brotherly Mack MacKay will be free for the taking.”