| |
HARRY’S MEETING AT the bank with Mr. Jonathan Cavendish couldn’t have gone better. A handshake sealed the deal. He could start anytime. The sooner the better.
He whistled as he hopped off the streetcar and strode back to his hotel, certain there was nothing capable of ruining his good mood. Even Betty’s telegram from the day before no longer upset him nearly so much. True, he was angry when he first learned Alice was still working with Doc, but after some thought, he realized it was probably only the one time. Doc no doubt needed an extra hand on a house call, and Alice was available. After all, wasn’t that one of the things he loved about her? Her kind heart and her willingness to help where needed? Those would prove excellent qualities in a wife while he climbed the banking ladder of success. She’d never be bored living in Minneapolis. Mr. Cavendish assured Harry the charity leagues his wife ruled over were always recruiting women like Alice to join in their efforts to lift up the lower classes.
The doorman tipped his hat. “Good day, sir.”
“It certainly is.” He stopped at the lobby desk. “Any messages for me today, Anthony?”
“No, Mr. Barnes. But there is a young lady waiting for your return.” He nodded toward the seating area on the opposite side of the room.
Alice?
Harry turned, prepared to greet his future wife. Instead, it was Betty who waited. Monstrous ostrich feathers on her ridiculously large hat bobbed when she stood.
“Hello, Harry. Are you surprised to see me?”
He hurried to her side. “I am.” He held her hands and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, blowing out to unstick feather hairs from his lips. “What are you doing in Minneapolis?”
“I told Mother I was going to do some early holiday shopping. But truthfully, I missed you, Harry.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Right here. I asked for the room next to yours. I hope you don’t mind.”
Harry hesitated. He wasn’t certain how he felt. “Of course not. Are you hungry? I was planning on an early dinner.”
“Famished.”
She smiled the kind of smile that always made him wonder what she was up to. He knew in his heart, whatever it was, he wanted to be a part of it. He swept his arm out in a flourish. “This way, mademoiselle.”
“Table for two?” The maitre d’hotel asked. “Perhaps our most private accommodations in the back?” He winked.
“Perfect.” Harry slipped the man a bill.
On the one hand, Harry wished it was Alice instead of Betty he was steering toward the private table in the corner of the hotel restaurant. On the other, he was happy it wasn’t her. Alice would never be so bold as to show up at a man’s hotel alone. Thanks to Betty, his day suddenly got a whole lot more interesting.
He looked at her over the top of his menu. “Do you see anything you like?”
She perused the choices, her brow creased in concentration. “There’s so much to choose from I can’t make up my mind.” She closed her menu and set it down on the table. “You order for me.”
“We’ll have the pheasant, and a bottle of the house Cabernet.”
“Very good, sir.”
Betty’s cheeks flushed. “I’ve never had wine before.” She looked down at her lap then up again through her lashes. “I hope you’re not trying to get me drunk and take advantage of me, Harold Barnes. Don’t forget, you’re promised to my best friend.”
Their waiter returned with the wine. He showed Harry the label, poured him enough to taste, and waited for his approval before filling their glasses.
“Thank you, garcon.”
“You still remember your French lessons from Miss Anderson’s class? I failed miserably.”
Harry leaned forward and whispered, “Juste un peu, mon cherie. Just a little bit.”
Betty giggled behind her hand. “I suppose you got a lot of practice while over fighting in that awful war.”
Harry changed the subject before she found out the only other French words he knew were not words he could repeat to a lady. Even if the lady was Betty. “Try the wine and tell me what you think.”
Betty took a sip. Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth formed an O. A single drop of wine rested on her lower lip and she licked it away. Harry wondered what it would be like to kiss those lips. He’d tried once, but she’d slapped him—not hard, but he’d played along with her little game and apologized in mock disappointment at his own behavior. A second glass and perhaps later she wouldn’t object so quickly.
“You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.”
“I like it very much.” She took another sip. “Speaking of Alice.”
Were we speaking of Alice?
The waiter set their meals before them and left. “It looks delicious.”
Betty smiled. “Yes.” She hesitated as she picked up her knife and fork. “Speaking of Alice, I hope I didn’t overstep when I sent you that telegram yesterday. At the time it seemed the right thing to do, but last night, as I lie in bed thinking about it, I wasn’t so sure anymore.”
Harry’s mind wandered as he thought of Betty lying in bed. Did she wear a nightgown, or did she sleep in the nude like some of the French girls he met?
“I thought maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe I started trouble for my friend.”
“I admit, I was a little upset at first, but then I realized Alice was only being the woman I’ve always admired and loved. Try the wild rice.” He pointed with his fork. “They put cranberries in it. I’m going to have to remember to tell Aunt Caroline.”
Betty tasted a bite. “Mmmm. This is delicious.” Placing her fork on her plate, she took another sip of wine. “I’m so happy to hear that because you’re right about Alice. Who else in town would have gone out to the Frank farm with Doc? You know, the way most people feel about them. It’s a shame, though. One day everyone loves the Franks, and the next they’re treated like the enemy. Now they’re dead. Influenza.” She took another bite of rice. “Delicious.”
“The Germans?” Harry stopped his fork in mid-air.
“Yes. And who else but our Alice would go with him to Black John’s cabin to check on his family? No one, that’s who.”
The pheasant stuck in Harry’s throat. He grabbed his water goblet and took several deep gulps to force the food down. “She went to Black John’s?” His heart raced, sending blood rapidly throughout his chest and up his neck to his face.
“Oh, yes.” Betty prattled on. “And look at how good she is to your brother. It would have been terribly dangerous for him to climb up on the barn roof by himself. I know her father helped with such chores in the past, but now he’s gone. Leave it to Alice to step up. She’s so brave climbing up on the barn roof like that. I could never do it. Of course, I think the men’s trousers made it much easier, safer, than if she were wearing a skirt.” Betty paused and took a bite of her rice. “I wonder whose trousers those were, Jack’s or her father’s.” She took another sip of her wine. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter.” She looked at her empty glass. “Oh, my!” She giggled.
Harry clenched his fists under the table, trying desperately to regain control. It wouldn’t do for word to get back to Mr. Cavendish about how Harold Barnes, Jr. made a scene in the restaurant of the Minneapolis Arms hotel on Hennepin Avenue. His hand trembled when he picked up the wine bottle to refill Betty’s glass.
“Thank you, but I’m not so certain a second glass of wine would be wise. I feel quite tipsy after the first, and there’s no telling what I might do.” She giggled.
“Then you should definitely have a second glass.” Harry refilled his, as well.
Harry drank down his wine like he would a shot of whiskey, in a single gulp, head thrown back. He was angry. He was sad. Alice promised him she would give up nursing. He could forgive her the one last visit out to the Frank farm, despite their being German, but what would people think once they found out she’d been out to Black John’s?
He knew what they would think. Especially his mother. Even Aunt Caroline once that bit of news got out—and it would. No self-respecting woman would risk her reputation for a black man, his Indian woman, and their half-breed children. And what about Mr. Cavendish and the good women in his wife’s social circle?
Harry tipped the wine bottle but only a single drop hung on the lip before dropping into his glass. He signaled for the waiter. “Whiskey, please.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Bring me the bottle. I’ll take it upstairs. In case I get thirsty later.”
The waiter hurried away. Harry waited for Betty to say something about his drinking. Alice would. When she didn’t, he leaned forward and asked, “Aren’t you going to scold me for drinking too much?”
“Of course not.” She sipped at her wine and looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m not your mother.”
* * *
HARRY SET HIS OPEN whiskey bottle on the floor next to his room door. He slipped his arm around Betty’s waist and guided her to her room. “May I?” He held out his hand.
“You may.” She dropped her room key in her attempt to hand it to him. “Oops.” She giggled some more.
“Quite all right.” He leaned over, almost falling and taking her with him in his attempt to pick up the key. “Got it.” Harry held up the key to show her. He unlocked her door, stepped back, and with an exaggerated sweep of his arm that almost knocked him off his feet, ushered her in.
“Thank you, kind sir.” Betty stumbled past him.
Harry grabbed her arm. He tossed her silly hat across the room and pulled her close. The warmth of her breath against his throat made his heart race. She raised herself up onto her toes, leaned in, and kissed him. Soft and quick, at first, then lingering. The light touch of her tongue on his was like a flame.
“You’re drunk.” Harry laughed to keep the mood light. In his heart he knew this was wrong, even while other parts of him begged for more. He needed to sort things out with Alice first. A lot of things would have to change if there was any chance of going forward with their wedding. And it ultimately depended on how many people found out about her visit to Black John’s.
Betty gave him just the hint of a wicked smile. “Would you like to come in?”
“What?”
Her lips were moving but he wasn’t sure he heard what she was saying. All he knew for certain was he wanted to kiss her again.
“I asked if you’d like to come in?” She leaned forward and kissed him again.
The temptation to stay, to do to her all the things he’d dreamed about ever since she’d given him that teasing glimpse of her breasts at the lake so long ago.
“You’re drunk,” he repeated. “And so am I.” He handed back her key. “Good night, Betty.”
“Good night, Harry.” She closed her door with a soft click.
He hesitated. It would be so easy to go to her, grab her up into his arms. Her lock slid into place and his moment was gone.
Harry retrieved his whiskey bottle from the floor and dug into his trouser pocket for his room key. Inside, he tossed the key onto the bureau and took a swallow from the bottle. What was she thinking, kissing him like that when she knew he was engaged to Alice? Was she so naive she didn’t understand the effect even a simple kiss could have on a man? And that was no simple kiss. He still tasted her tongue on his. It tasted of wine and temptation.
Harry pressed his ear to their shared wall. She was humming. The swish of her skirts suggested she was dancing. For an upscale hotel, the walls sure were thin. He poured two fingers of whiskey into a clean glass on his nightstand. He drank it down in a single swallow and cringed at the burn promising him a fast slide into sleep. He poured a second for good measure.
He threw his jacket over the only chair and tried to remove his trousers, getting them caught around his ankles, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Shoes first then trousers.” He laughed. How many times did Aunt Caroline have to tell him that when he was still in short pants?
He used the chair to pull himself to his feet. A combination shuffle, hop, twist, and he plopped onto the bed. The first shoe fought back. When he was finally able to wrestle it loose, he threw it against the wall in frustration. Not Betty’s wall, the opposite one. He listened but there was no further noise from Betty’s side of his room.
The second shoe came off easier. He dropped it with a thud and untwisted his trousers from his ankles. He was tempted to let them remain where they fell in a rumpled pile, but he needed them wrinkle free the next day. He’d only brought the one suit.
Harry squinted and fumbled but, in the end, even he knew they weren’t any better folded than they were on the floor. He straightened them best he could and draped them over the chair.
His dress shirt was the last obstacle to defeat. He stretched out on the bed.
“What was she thinking?”
What was he thinking?
Harry was too drunk to understand his own question. Was it Alice he was wondering about? Or was it Betty? He tried to focus on the question, but the only answer coming to him was sleep.
* * *
MORTARS SCREAMED ACROSS coils of barbed wire and burnt tree trunks. Mud and body parts rained down. An arm landed across his back, the hand on his shoulder, as if to say, ‘Hey! What’s up?’ Harry flung it aside and crab-crawled back against the side of the trench.
The arm laid there looking like it might crawl after him. The tattered edge of a bleeding-heart tattoo visible where the sleeve and arm had torn away from the shoulder. Scarpetti! He was an Italian guy from Philly. His unit fought next to theirs. They’d met the night before while on patrol, exchanged a few pleasantries, and Harry bummed a smoke. Scarpetti gave him the whole pack. He said he needed to quit. He was going home soon, and his girl wouldn’t approve.
The hand reached out for his help. He took out the cigarettes, lit one, and tucked it between two of Scarpetti’s fingers. ‘I won’t tell your girl if you don’t.’ Where was the rest of his friend? Was there anything for his girl to say goodbye to, have one of those fancy Catholic funerals with candles and incense and chanting?
He was so intent on whether Scarpetti had been blown into two pieces, twenty, or a hundred, he didn’t hear the second mortar until it was too late.
* * *
HARRY LANDED ON THE hotel floor in a tangle of blankets. The sound of gunshots sent him scrambling under the bed. His blood pounding in his ears, his heart tried to fight its way out from between his ribs. A single bead of sweat ran down his forehead and into his one good eye.
“Damn!” He wiped his sleeve over it to dull the sting.
Another shot. No, not a shot. A door slammed. Harry listened. Footsteps then urgent knocking.
“Harry?” A pause. More knocking.
He was in Minneapolis, not France. The Minneapolis Arms hotel. Mr. Cavendish. Betty.
Harry crawled out from under the bed. “Just a minute.”
Another damned nightmare. He dumped the blankets back on the bed and checked himself in the mirror. His hair stood in all directions, matted and wet. He ran his fingers through trying to tame it, before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. One last touch and he’d be ready. He straightened his eye patch and tied his dressing gown tight.
“Coming.” He wished there was time to brush the wool from his teeth and tongue, a leftover from his drinking the night before. He put on his best smile and opened the door.
“Have you heard?” It was Betty, still in her night clothes. Her hair askew from sleep.
The creamy soft curves of her breasts rose boldly above the lace. When she saw where his attention wandered, she grabbed the sides of her dressing gown and yanked them closed, holding them so they couldn’t even accidentally slip and give him another peek. She acted shocked and embarrassed, but Harry swore he saw a little glint of triumph in her eyes. Was it possible this was another not-so-accidental accident, like the day at the lake?
“Heard what?” He reluctantly switched his gaze from her chest to her eyes. That’s when he realized the hall was filled with people all talking at once, still wearing their dressing gowns. What he’d initially mistaken for gun shots must have been hurried knocking and slamming doors. Even more noise came from Hennepin Avenue below.
“President Wilson signed the Armistice Agreement,” Betty was saying. “The war’s officially over!”
Had he heard right? “Are you sure?”
“The desk clerk said the news came a couple hours ago.”
It was true. The war was over. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He leaned against the door frame.
Betty laughed. “Do you hear the bells? Every church in Minneapolis and St. Paul combined must be ringing their bells in celebration. Maybe the entire state of Minnesota. Or the entire country, even.”
“Maybe.” Was this a new dream? One where nobody died?
“Let’s go celebrate, Harry.” Betty clapped her hands. “Everyone else is out celebrating, and I’d love another glass of wine. Please?”
“I’ve never been one to pass on a good party.”
She stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You don’t think it’s too early to drink, do you?”
He squeezed her hand. “It’s never too early to drink. Now go get dressed.”
* * *
BETTY WAS WAITING IN the hall when he came out. She slipped her hand into the crook of his arm. “Do you think everyone at home has heard?”
“Tell you what. We’ll stop at the desk on our way out, and I’ll ring Father. He’ll make certain word gets around.”
“What about—”
He cut her off before she finished her question. “Hurry now. We don’t want to miss all the fun.” She leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek. He knew what she was going to ask.
What about Alice?
* * *
HARRY MADE HER PROMISE to wait for him in the hotel lobby and not attempt to go outside without him. There was no telling what kind of hooligans or ne’r-do-wells were taking advantage of the crowds of revelers.
“I’ll be in the manager’s office where it’s quieter. I won’t be long.”
Iris tried to get more information from him, but he assured her he didn’t know anything more than she already knew herself.
His mother picked up on the first ring. “Have you heard the good news, Mother?”
“Your father received the call a couple hours ago. I’m on my way out the door now to meet him at Town Hall. The council has called an emergency meeting to plan a celebration. They’ll obviously need my input if they hope to do this right.”
“Obviously.” He attempted to hide any hint of sarcasm in his voice. “Betty and I just wanted to be sure everyone heard the news. She’s waiting for me now so we can join the celebration.”
“Did you say you’re there with Betty Young?”
“We ran into each other in the hotel lobby yesterday. She’s here to do a little early Christmas shopping.”
“Harry, I have always held a special place in my heart for Betty. Ever since her father and yours were partners at the bank. It was a sad day when his horse spooked and threw him into that tree. I sat up with Edith all night until he passed.”
“I remember.” Harry shrugged and pointed to the earpiece when the hotel manager poked his head in. “My mother,” he mouthed. The manager quietly retreated.
“From the day little Betty was born, her mother and I always hoped you two would one day marry.”
“I know.”
“She was such a pretty child, still is, and so devoted to you.”
“I’m going to marry Alice, Mother.”
“It’s not too late, Harry. No one will fault you for changing your mind. Not with the stories going around town about her.”
“What stories?”
“Rumors more than stories, and one does have to be careful not to get caught up in such gossip, but I’ve always been of the opinion there’s a grain of truth at the center of every lie. Like sand in a pearl.”
“What stories, Mother?”
“Well,” she hesitated, no doubt for effect, not because she was examining the moral aspect of what she was about to say. “Iris overheard while listening in on a call—”
There was an audible gasp in the background. “I do not listen in on other people’s telephone calls.”
“Hang up, Iris, or I’ll report you to your supervisor.” His mother’s voice was low and ominous. “Again. Didn’t he say the next time there’d be no more warnings? How are you going to pay off your mortgage without an income?”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Barnes.” There was a catch in Iris’ voice. “Please don’t report me. I was just so excited about the Armistice.”
“Hang up right now, while the good news has me feeling charitable, and I’ll let it pass—this time.”
“Thank you.”
Harry hesitated to make certain Iris was gone. “You can be such a bully, Mother. She almost died. Then what would we do?”
“Don’t be absurd, Harry. There will always be a silly girl anxious to take over. All young girls today want to be like men and hold jobs outside the home. Which reminds me . . .”
“What did you hear about Alice?” Harry wanted to shake his mother right through the telephone line. She infuriated him as much as she frightened Iris. And she knew it. He suspected what the rumors were, but he needed to hear it for himself.
“I heard she went with Doc Peterson out to Black John’s. What she was thinking I couldn’t begin to guess. You’ll have to ask her yourself. But I have to go now, Harry. I’ve talked far too long already. I need to check on your father and the rest of the council.”
“You do that, Mother. I’ll see you in a couple days.”
It took every ounce of his control to return the earpiece carefully to its cradle. The whole town was talking about her. Alice was making a complete fool of herself with her behavior. And worse yet, a fool out of him.
Harry grabbed the first thing he saw and threw it across the small office. “She promised me!”
The hotel manager burst through the door to see the glass shards from his ink well on the floor, the contents fast-forming black rivers down his wall.
“Bill me.” Harry stormed out, running into Betty, almost knocking her to the floor.
“What happened in there? I heard a crash.”
“Everyone in town’s talking about her.” He reached for a decorative vase, intent on throwing it, too. She grabbed his arm to stop him.
“Who are they talking about, Harry?”
“Who else? Everyone knows about her little visit to Black John’s.”
“Oh, dear. I was afraid this might happen. This is why I wanted to be the one to tell you first. So, it wouldn’t be such a shock.”
Wasn’t this the sort of thing his mother was telling him about? Betty seemed more devoted to him and careful of his reputation than Alice—his own fiancé. He held her shoulders, looked her in the eyes, and gave her a big Harry Barnes smile. “Come on. Let’s go celebrate.”
* * *
HARRY SLOWLY OPENED his eye. The room was dark. No sounds came from the hallway, or the street below. Everyone had gone home to sleep it off.
What time is it?
Harry remembered dropping his pocket watch on the floor when he undressed. He pushed himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and forced himself to stand. He couldn’t remember the last time he got so drunk he blacked out. His head throbbed and the room spun. He pressed his palms to his temples in an attempt to make it all stop.
And why am I naked?
A quiet rustle of sheets and a soft moan. He turned to see who shared his bed. The springs creaked when Betty sat up and clutched her head. She looked at Harry standing naked in the moonlight streaming through the single window.
What have I done?
She looked down at her own lack of clothing and clutched the bed sheets up over her bare breasts. The horror in her eyes no doubt mirrored his own.
There’s only one thing I can do.
“Marry me!” he blurted.
“You’re naked.” Averting her eyes, she started to cry.
Harry grabbed a pillow from the bed and covered himself while he searched the room for his dressing gown.
She buried her face in the bedding, hiccupping as she stifled a giggle. “It’s on the chair.” She pointed. “Sorry, but you look kind of silly holding a pillow in front of yourself like that.” She peeked over the top of her hands.
Harry backed up to the chair where his dressing gown hung haphazardly over one side. “Cover your eyes.” When she did, he quickly swapped the pillow for his dressing gown and cinched it tight. He sat on the edge of the bed and reached for her.
“Are you decent?”
“Yes and no.” He pulled her hands away from her face.
Her eyes were red, and her cheeks streaked with tears. He handed her a handkerchief from his pocket.
“You’re such a gentleman, Harry.” She dabbed at her eyes and blew her nose before offering it back to him.
No, I’m not. But I can be.
“Keep it. I have at least a dozen more at home.
“But it’s monogrammed.” She sniffled and wiped her nose.
“Marry me.” He laid a hand on her cheek. “I think we could be happy together.”
“What about Alice?”
Her voice was small and timid, like a little girl. Harry hated when women acted like children. But he’d have to get accustomed to it as it seemed to be in their nature. Not, Alice, though. That was another of the things he loved about her. She was practical, smart. At least, she used to be—before the war, the influenza, and Jack, changed her.
“Alice is my friend. This will hurt her deeply.”
She was right. Alice might never forgive them. Harry ignored the darkness spreading over his heart. “No doubt, but I don’t see any other way. She’ll find someone else.”
Jack.
“I guess you’re right.” She pulled at the handkerchief in her lap.
He placed a hand over hers and leaned in. “And what if you’re with child?”
Betty’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t considered that.” She placed a hand on her stomach and began to cry again.
“We can find a judge this afternoon. Get a rush on the license, if necessary. Father can call in a few favors. As long as people are in their offices with all the celebrating. Otherwise, we can do it tomorrow. What do you say, Betty? Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Fast and hard at first then slower.
Memories from the night before flooded Harry’s brain. He pushed away. She smiled at him in that enticing way he hadn’t seen since the Paris bordellos.
“It’s all right now. We’re getting married.” She giggled.
Harry decided maybe he wasn’t the gentleman he liked to imagine he was. They fell back on the pillows laughing.