CHAPTER 32
During her lunch hour on Friday, Alice-Ann hurried down Cooper Street to the bus depot to inquire about fares for the following Monday. She’d already asked Miss Portia for the day off and factored in how much her paycheck would be cut.
When she arrived at the depot, she stepped inside the tiny front room, where oak-stained bench seats rested between narrow floor-to-ceiling windows. Along one wall stood the counter, and behind it old Mr. Melson —a square-faced man with too-long white hair and a thick mustache that looked like lamb’s wool —busied himself. Without looking up, he said, “Can-I-halp-ya?”
“Hello, Mr. Melson,” Alice-Ann said, presenting a smile she hoped didn’t appear fake.
“How’re ya doing yourself, little missy?” he asked.
She rested her purse on the countertop and opened it. “I’m inquiring about buses to Statesboro on Monday.”
“Whatcha got goin’ on over there?”
Absolutely nothing, not that Mr. Melson needed to know that. Statesboro was completely out of the way, but if she were going to be discreet in her mission, she’d need to take extra precautions.
“I have —I need to go see someone concerning wedding plans.”
“I see,” the man droned. “First bus leaves at six.”
Six in the morning. She’d never make it to town by then. “And the next?”
“Eight thirty. That’s the last one for the morning.”
Alice-Ann could make that. “And for the return?”
“Got a three o’clock and a six. That’s it.”
Alice-Ann studied the chart hanging behind Mr. Melson. Cities and fares were clearly noted. It would cost her sixteen cents both ways —plus what it cost to get from Statesboro to Savannah —which was money she hated to spend but couldn’t afford to spare.
She opened her purse and slid two coins across the counter. “I’d like a ticket for the eight thirty and a return for the —” She paused. If she left Bynum at eight thirty, she could hopefully get to Savannah by midmorning. She hadn’t been to the city in years, but if she remembered correctly, it would take her a while to get another bus to the hospital. If she factored in time talking to Mack —she promised herself no more than a half hour at most, maybe forty-five minutes —then back to the bus depot, then back to Statesboro, she might make it by three.
But what if she didn’t? “I —uh —can I purchase that ticket once I’m there?”
“You sure can.” Along with her change, he handed her a ticket printed with date, time, and location.
“Thank you, Mr. Melson,” she said.
On her way back to the bank, Alice-Ann determined that she’d tell Carlton that evening as they worked on the house. With every step up the slight incline of the sidewalk, she prayed, asking God for Carlton to understand. That he might even want to go with her, if he could get the time off.
Although, if she were honest with herself, that was the last thing she wanted. She needed to talk to Mack. Alone.
By Monday, Mack would know the truth, she reckoned. His mother or father —or both —would have told him. They might even tell him that, while she had become engaged to the first and only man to ever kiss her, Janie Wren had worked alongside them, day in and day out, believing in miracles.
Miracles Alice-Ann hadn’t figured on.
Or possibly hadn’t believed in. Though surely, as a Christian, she should.
She’d never thought of Janie as a woman of faith —not that she saw her as loose or without moral fiber. But the Wrens weren’t churchgoing people. Although, if she remembered correctly, she’d seen Janie occasionally at the youth programs she and Maeve used to attend at Maeve’s church.
Had she misjudged her?
A gust of wind caught her unaware, forcing her to duck her head and place a hand on her hat to keep it from blowing into the street. When it died down, she looked up again, only to notice how gray the sky had become.
A moment later, she stepped into the alley behind the bank, surprised to see Carlton at the employee entrance. He looked sporting, dressed for work and donning an overcoat, his fedora pulled low on his forehead. He leaned with his shoulders pressed into the white brick wall, one leg straight, the other bent, the foot resting against the brick.
He straightened, pushed his hat back, and smiled. “Hey, yourself. I hoped I’d catch you coming back this way.”
Alice-Ann stepped up to him and raised her windblown face for a kiss. He obliged before saying, “Where’d you go?”
She shrugged. “Just for a walk. I —I’ll tell you more about it later. Tonight.”
Carlton groaned. “That’s why I’m here. Mr. Dibble is sending me to Savannah. I leave in —” he shoved his coat sleeve up to expose his watch —“a half hour.”
“Oh,” she said. “What time will you be back?”
He kissed her, his lips so tender on hers, she scarcely felt them. “Not until tomorrow night.”
“Oh,” she said again. “So I’ll see you . . . tomorrow night?”
“Probably not. I’d say not until Sunday.”
Sunday . . . the day before she left for Savannah herself. That didn’t give her much time for telling him and his coming to accept her decision that she wanted —needed —to see Mack. “What are you —why are you going?” Would seeing Mack become part of the itinerary? It seemed only right, but she hoped not. Not until she could —
“A lot happening, doodlebug. The US Navy has admitted colored women into the reserves. Not to mention some other stuff we’re hearing. Stuff going on in the Philippines right now, even as we stand here shivering.”
“And you’re going to Savannah because . . . ?”
“Mr. Dibble says it’s time I see how the big boys do it. Says he thinks I can bring some of that knowledge back to Bynum.” Carlton looked about to burst with both pride and expectation.
“I can see you’re excited,” she said.
He held his thumb and index finger an inch apart. “Only about this much,” he said, expanding the space between them.
Alice-Ann laughed. “Then I guess I’ll see you at church on Sunday?”
She’d tell him then. After service. She’d invite him to Sunday dinner at the house, and with his stomach full, they’d take a walk in the pecan groves and she’d tell him then.
He kissed her a third time, this kiss holding more urgency and love. “I’ll miss you.”
Alice-Ann hugged him, burying her face in his chest and inhaling his freshly washed and ironed shirt blending with the familiar scent of him. “Not nearly as much as I’ll miss you,” she said.
By late Sunday afternoon, when Carlton hadn’t shown up at the house, Alice-Ann decided to dash over to the Jameses’ house and ask to use their phone.
“What’s so all-fired important that you need to run over there?” her father asked from his favorite Sunday afternoon spot: in his chair, near the radio.
She glanced at her watch. “I thought Carlton would be here by now. He said he’d be back from Savannah today and —I —well, I really need to talk to him.”
Papa stuck his pipe between his teeth and nodded.
“Alice,” Aunt Bess said from Mama’s old chair, where she tatted lace onto the collar of one of Alice-Ann’s Sunday-go-to-meeting blouses. One she hoped Alice-Ann could wear on her honeymoon, wherever that might be. She and Carlton hadn’t gotten that far in their plans.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Take Josephine and George a couple slices of the pie, will ya? They both love my apple pie.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Alice-Ann started out of the room, then stopped long enough to look at her father. “You know, Papa, if you’d get a phone out here, I wouldn’t have to keep running over to the Jameses’ every time I need to make a phone call.”
Papa raised his brow. “It’s a gossip box, if you ask me.”
Alice-Ann laughed. “We have electricity. We have indoor plumbing. But we don’t have a telephone. If you blink long enough, Papa, it’ll be 1945. Time to join the rest of the world and get a telephone.”
“Tell you what you do,” he said, pulling the pipe away from his lips. “Tell that young man you’ll be marrying soon to make sure he puts a phone in that house he bought you. Then you can call all the people you want, all day long.”
Alice-Ann rolled her eyes, smiling so he wouldn’t think her disrespectful.
“And who would she call?” Aunt Bess bustled as she directed the question to her brother. “Can’t call me. Can’t call you.”
In answer, Papa leaned over and turned up the Zenith.
Discussion over.
Maeve answered when Alice-Ann called the Hillis home. “Oh, Alice-Ann,” she said, nearly breathless. “Ernie and I just got back from seeing Arsenic and Old Lace. You should have come into town and gone with us. It was wonderful. And of course, Cary Grant was —”
“Maeve? Is Carlton home from Savannah yet?”
“Oh. I don’t even know.” She giggled like a schoolgirl. “Hold on. Let me ask Mama.”
Alice-Ann waited until Maeve returned. “Mama said he telephoned about a half hour ago and said they won’t come back until tomorrow sometime. He said if you called to let you know he’d meet you at the cottage after you get off from work.”
Alice-Ann swallowed, the sound of it echoing in the high-ceilinged hallway. She glanced toward the front of the house, where Mr. and Mrs. James were enjoying a cup of coffee along with their slices of Aunt Bess’s apple pie.
What would she do? What could she do? She had purchased the ticket already; she’d have to go. But what if Carlton returned to Bynum and went to the bank first?
“Alice-Ann?” Maeve’s voice called from the other end of the line.
“Yes. Maeve —I —thank you. Tell your mother that —tell her if Carlton calls again . . .” Tell him what exactly? That she wouldn’t be at work the next day? That she was taking a bus to Statesboro and then to Savannah and then another one to the hospital? That she was going to see the man she had, at one time, thought to be her one true love? To ask him how he felt about her? Because if he were still in love with her . . . Well, what would she do then?
She hadn’t thought that far ahead.
“Yes?” Maeve asked. “If Carlton calls?”
“Tell him I love him.”
Maeve giggled. “I still can’t believe you and my brother . . . Just think. If I hadn’t gone to the bank that day and asked you to come over. To read to him. Just think how different this story would have turned out.”
“Yes,” Alice-Ann said, hoping her voice sounded as though she were equally as pleased. “Just think.”
With gas restrictions and the government determining the miles per hour at only thirty-five, the trip to Statesboro took longer than Alice-Ann had anticipated. She had to chase down the bus to Savannah as it pulled away from the curb, slapping her hand against the side of it.
Fortunately, the bus driver had been kind enough to stop for her. Had he not, she would have been forced to return to Bynum, her mission unsuccessful. Waiting for the next bus wouldn’t have gotten her to Savannah with enough time to find the hospital, see Mack, and return home.
As she endured the more than two-hour trip —before the war, it would have taken half that time —she contemplated seeing Mack again. Would he look as broken and bruised as Carlton had? Maybe not. After all, he’d had more time to recuperate.
Alice-Ann looked down at her gloved hands, seeing the imprint of her engagement ring beneath the stretched material of her gray gloves. Should she turn it inward so it didn’t make such an impression?
No. It was bad enough she had made the choice to go see Mack without telling a single soul in Bynum —not even Carlton. She wasn’t about to try to figure things out with Mack by beginning with a lie.
The thought was ridiculous. Because really, what was there to figure out? She was making this trip to tell him about her and Carlton. To let him know where things stood.
No. That wasn’t true. She was going because, as Janie had said, she wanted to know why he had called her. Her, of all people. And she wanted to know what he’d come to realize.
I’ve come to realize I love you, Alice-Ann. The words came to her, riding on the voice of Cary Grant. She blinked as she gazed out the pristine bus window and wondered where such a thought had come from. Mack wouldn’t say something as idiotic as that. Especially considering that by now, surely, his parents had told him about her and Carlton.
But what if they hadn’t? What if they didn’t consider him well enough to be told?
She’d heard that the MacKays were to return on Sunday. By now they’d shared with everyone they came into contact with —Janie included —about how Mack looked. About how long he’d have to be in the hospital. Everyone would know the details.
Everyone but her.
But she’d know soon enough.