Isaac’s heart lurched. It took great effort to control his response. He reminded himself that Laura did not know he was the letter writer, nor did she know he’d seen her tears in the Quarry Garden. It was better, for both their sakes, if she never knew, and yet it proved difficult to look at her and not see the tear-streaked face from weeks ago or hear the many lines he’d memorized from her letters.
“Laura Bradshaw,” he said, stretching the syllables in her name. “What a sur—”
“This is Laura Bradshaw?” Ruth interrupted. Her free hand went to her hip as she looked Laura over. She leaned closer to him and said, “Why is he with her? This can’t be good.”
“Abel’s allowed to bring whomever he wishes,” Isaac said, confident his voice was loud enough that Laura could hear him. He shook hands with Abel. “Good to see you again.” To Laura, he nodded his head in greeting. There was so much he wanted to say, but not here in front of Ruth and Abel. In a different setting and with different company, he would find a way to assure himself she was well.
An awkward silence fell as they appraised each other. He opened his mouth, only to close it again. It was important that Ruth did not walk away with undue gossip and that Abel did not sense the depth of discomfort his choice in companionship evoked. Unsure how to proceed, Isaac looked past them at the gathering crowd in the square.
“This is unexpected, but I say we all go and see the daredevil on the stick. And get on with the night.”
“I agree,” Laura said. Isaac’s eyes went involuntarily to the arm she had wrapped around Abel’s. With palpable tension they walked in twos toward the bustling square, surrounded by hundred-foot brick buildings topped with decorative finials and hand-carved trim.
Young people filled the grassy center, some paired off and others in large clusters. With a crowd this size, going unrecognized would be difficult, though Laura might fare better than him. She was well known in name but not so well known in the flesh.
Still, chances were good that by tomorrow, there would be chin-waggers wondering what was going on with Campbell and Bradshaw. He’d have to rehearse an explanation for his father, and it would have to be good. For all these years, he’d managed not to cross paths with Laura, and now they were only five feet apart. But he knew businessmen; some could think only of the bottom line. Was Abel one of them—determined to make an extra dollar at any cost with no regard for how his choices affected others?
He’d recognized Laura instantly, the moment he caught sight of her in Abel’s arms. She’d been about to kiss Abel, and Isaac had impulsively called out, knowing his greeting would draw the two apart. Ruth had blushed, embarrassed by his behavior, but he’d had to do it. Laura would undoubtedly fall in love and marry eventually, but he had no wish to witness it happen. If possible, he wanted to forever remember Laura as his childhood friend and the woman whose words had cushioned his heart through years of tumult. Laura and Abel . . . he didn’t want to see that. He scowled.
Abel had been a work project, an assignment from his father, one Isaac hadn’t wanted. But now it mattered. He wanted to know what sort of a man Abel Fredricks was and whether his interests in Laura were genuine, or if she was just one of many. How he’d go about learning that, though, Isaac wasn’t sure. For now, he would observe.
Below the man on the pole, a jazz band played “A Little Bit of Heaven” for the crowd of onlookers. Laura was busy looking around, seemingly oblivious to the music. Ruth, who stood beside him, hummed along, swaying to the music as it played. “You will dance with me later, won’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” he said as they waited for the man on the pole to break his record. Laura was not far from him, but it was Abel she talked to in a hushed tone—not Isaac. Staring wasn’t polite, but he found her far more intriguing than the bearded fellow who sat perched like an eagle on the small platform above them.
Charles had mentioned Abel being seen out with the same woman. Was Laura that woman? Was Abel the key on which she’d rested all her hopes? The thought of Abel Fredricks being the reason their letters ended infuriated Isaac. Since then, he’d half composed a dozen letters, each one a pathetic attempt to return things to the way they were before. He’d torn them up and put his efforts into forgetting Laura and their years of confiding in each other. But there was no forgetting her, or diverting his attention from her, when she stood so near.
In all regards, this was bad. If Abel were to marry the daughter of Bradshaw, then Isaac’s mission to befriend the man and get him to work exclusively with Campbell shoes would be impossible. Worse, Abel could refuse to work with Campbell altogether. And what of Laura? Was this union truly what his thoughtful, intriguing friend wanted? Abel hadn’t exactly been a rake the night of Isaac’s house party, but he’d flirted with the women there, even inviting them to see him again. Could a man who loved such attention know how to care for a woman who was so tender, who loved animals and the less showy things in life?
Then again, she looked fashionable standing beside him, clinging to his arm. It’d been years since they talked in person—she could have changed. He rubbed his chest. He believed he knew her, but did he?
“You’re scowling.” Ruth tugged on his sleeve. “Abel should not have brought her. Her family is so wretched. And their shoes are terribly ugly.”
“They aren’t so different from ours,” he said, still scowling, uncomfortable with the idea of Laura and Abel. “We blame them for stealing our designs, but it goes both ways.”
“Stop being so nice. I hate that she is here and going to ruin our first date. We could leave them and just be together.”
He shook his head. “It’d be rude to leave Abel. It’s important we stay. Besides, you wanted to dance,” he said, hoping she would relax and the night could pass quickly. “It’s only one night.”
“You must tell Abel that we will not go out with her again. We’ll spread the word, and everyone will know that this was not your idea. We could even try to find a way for this to work in your family’s favor.” Ruth pursed her red lips and tilted her head. “What if we . . .” She paused, a roguish gleam lighting up her expression. “My uncle doesn’t live far from here. He’s practically a bootlegger. We could sneak off on our own, come back with a bottle, and put enough in Laura’s drink that she’ll make a fool of herself. She’s such a naive thing, I doubt she’s ever had a taste before.”
Isaac shifted uneasily. Pranks directed at the Bradshaw side of the feud had often entertained him, but this didn’t sit well. It seemed far more wicked to toy with Laura than it had to sneak into the Bradshaw factory and switch a few drawings. Even those old pranks had lost their appeal as he aged and better understood the consequences of his actions.
“Clever,” he said. “But if we spend too much time scheming, we might miss the moment when Silas McCoy breaks the record.”
“I certainly don’t want to do that.”
Silas McCoy sat perched on the pole high above them. “He looks like a gargoyle perched on Notre Dame.”
“What is Notre Dame?” Ruth asked while waving to someone in the crowd.
“A famous cathedral. They say the gargoyles scare off evil spirits and protect churchgoers.” She made no response to his bit of trivia, her attention elsewhere. In this moment of distraction, she’d likely forgotten all about Laura. But he hadn’t. Laura and Abel stood a few feet away, their heads tucked near each other, engaged in conversation. The yellow flower she held twirled slowly in her fingers.
“I’m going to go and say hello to Hannah. I haven’t seen her in months, and I have so much to tell her. You don’t mind, do you?” Ruth asked and then left before he could reply.
Like a dunce Isaac stood staring after her. In a crowded square, he was a lone man. Where was Charles when he needed him?
He thought of moving closer to Abel and Laura. After all, the couples had come together. But their hushed chatter left him uneasy—was he the subject of their discussion? Time ticked by at an abnormally slow rate until the band silenced their instruments and the murmur of voices died down. A plump man with a megaphone stood up on a small platform.
“You are all about to witness history in the making. Silas McCoy”—he raised his voice and pointed upward—“is about to set a record. He remains firm in his resolve, swaying in the wind, but not once has he thought of coming down. This, ladies and gentlemen, is a feat, and he is conquering it. Join me in counting down, and then you will all be the first to congratulate our very own flagpole champion.”
The crowd erupted in applause, hooting and hollering as though McCoy had done something truly remarkable. The man with the megaphone silenced the crowd again, and then he commanded them to count down from sixty. This time when the crowd roared, there was no stopping them.
Isaac looked away from the fool in the air and found himself once again drawn to Laura. He could only see her profile, but her lips were turned up in a smile, and she clapped with the crowd. Every part of him wanted to go to her and ask if she truly thought pole sitting an achievement worth such a fuss. But Abel’s arm was around her, the possessive touch an infuriating deterrent. Ruth, meanwhile, was gone; they’d come to see this moment together, and she’d scampered off. So much for the adage that “a shared memory is twice as sweet.”
Standing around twiddling his thumbs wasn’t proving an adequate distraction. Needing to get away from the whispering couple, he cleared his throat, gaining their attention, and said, “I see food and drinks are being set up for the dance. I think I’ll go buy Ruth something for when she comes back.”
“Excellent idea. Do you want anything?” Abel asked Laura.
“Perhaps something to drink.”
Abel pulled money from his pocket. “You don’t mind bringing a drink back for us, do you? We would hate to lose this spot. We’ve such an excellent view of McCoy.”
“I don’t mind at all.” Isaac took Abel’s money and then, as slowly as he could, because he was in no hurry to return, made his way through the crowd. He stopped here and there to make small talk. Luckily, no one asked about Abel and Laura.
“There you are.” Ruth’s voice startled him just as he neared the refreshment table. “Wasn’t the countdown spectacular?”
“Who doesn’t love counting backward from sixty?”
She raised a brow, his sarcasm leaving her perplexed. “It wasn’t the counting. The moment he broke the record was what I loved. Hannah and I could hardly contain our excitement. To think we were here at the perfect time to witness such a profound moment.”
“It was . . . memorable, I suppose.”
“I’ll have to find a much more exciting event for us to attend next time. It’ll be my goal for you to be utterly swept away by whatever we are witnessing.”
Guilt awakened his senses. Ruth was, after all, his date for the evening. “I’m sorry. I am enjoying this outing. I was about to get drinks. Do you want to join me?”
She smiled, all signs of offense gone. “Let me carry back Abel’s and Laura’s. I haven’t made a very good impression on them and want to make up for it.”
With Ruth choosing to be more agreeable, the night might pass without incident. Isaac ordered four Vermont coolers, and soon they were each holding two glasses of sweet maple-flavored drinks. Isaac’s mouth watered. Finally, here was something he could enjoy about the outing.
“I forgot to tell Hannah something,” Ruth said. “If you don’t mind, I’ll dash over and talk for a moment and then bring Laura’s and Abel’s drinks.”
“I can wait.”
“No, go on ahead. I’ll only be a moment.”
Strange, he’d expected Ruth to be by his side all evening, not rushing off to see her many friends. How had his mother thought an evening like this would help him settle his unrest? Everything about it was off-putting. Walking the zoo alone would have been a better use of his time. The old guard Bill Turner usually had a piece of advice for him, or at least a listening ear, the animals were more reliable than Ruth, and the quiet there was more soothing than the hustle of the square.
When Ruth returned, she was all smiles and kindness as she handed Laura her drink and then Abel his.
“One good thing that has come from prohibition is the sudden interest in drinks with unusual flavors,” Ruth said before taking a long sip of her drink. She looked at Laura. “What do you think of the maple?”
Laura, who hadn’t tried her drink yet, took a sip, only to sputter. She looked up, wide eyed, before taking another sip. “It’s different from anything I’ve had before.”
“There are so many excellent drinks these days,” Abel said. “Drinks are being made in every flavor. Though, I confess, I am not opposed to a little bathtub gin from time to time.”
Isaac looked from Abel to Laura. She seemed oblivious to Abel’s confession. Her eyes remained fixed on her glass.
With Ruth’s hostilities toward Laura tamed, the four were able to have a nearly normal conversation about flavored drinks. Montclairs, juleps, and creams were among the group’s favorites, though Laura had little to add to the conversation—she hadn’t tried many of the new drinks. When they’d sipped away their Vermont coolers and were ready to try another of the fancy concoctions, Ruth offered to go and fetch them. Isaac reminded her she would not be able to carry them all, but she said she’d make two trips and that she wanted to talk to some of her other friends she’d seen arrive.
True to her word, Ruth made two trips, and soon they had juleps in their hands, tickling their senses while they watched couples head for the dance floor in front of the band. The sun sank lower in the sky. Silas McCoy, still up on his pole, was now half in shadows.
“Why have we not seen you at the parties?” Ruth asked after Laura had finished her second drink.
“It’s my father’s fault,” Laura said, giggling softly. “He’s always telling me what I can do and what I can’t do.” She yanked on Abel’s arm. “But he likes Abel, so I can go and do what I want now, so long as Abel is with me.”
“You know I love being with you,” Abel said, looking at Laura with raised eyebrows.
Ruth shot Isaac a sideways glance and a wink. “You must have been terribly lonely. Living in that big house all alone.”
Laura swayed, like the man on the pole, a little to the left and then back to the right. “I wasn’t all alone. I have a bird named Tybalt. A housekeeper. And lots of books.” She giggled again. “And I had a friend. We would wri—”
“Laura,” Isaac interrupted her, knowing where her loose rambling was taking her and that such talk would only leave her with regrets. Something was wrong, and he had a good guess what it was.
She looked at him with lost-kitten eyes. “What? You don’t want to hear about me because I’m a Bradshaw? Because my father hates your father and now we hate each other? You want me back in that old house, too, don’t you? Locked away like Rapunzel, only you don’t want anyone to come for me.”
Abel should have been the one jumping in, rescuing her, but he was staring off at the crowd, distracted by something else. Isaac would have followed his gaze, tried to guess what he was looking at, but Laura needed someone to save her from herself.
“Actually,” he said, scrambling for a way to distract her, “I was wondering if you . . . if you wanted to dance.”