Hannah's Dream (2 page)

"I'm sorry," she said.

He hadn't been expecting that and was pleasantly surprised.

"It's all right," he said.

He put the pail down and picked up the other one.

"I'll get you more water," he said.

She watched him walk away and felt better.  She was glad she had apologized.

She poured some of the water into the sand to make a base for her castle.  She then put some sand into the water so she could mold it with her hands.  Hannah pulled the wet sand out by the handful, added dry, and worked it until she had a round base for the first tower.  She had a small stick she carried in her pocket.  She had been using it since the beginning of April, and it was the best she'd ever had.  She had a talent for sculpture, and people would often stop to look at her castles and marvel over the details of her design.

When Johnny returned with the second pail of water, she was on her stomach, carving out the brick at the base of her castle.

"I don't know if I want to make a castle today," he said.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because yours are always so good."

She blushed and smiled.

"I like yours," she said.

He looked at her to see if she was teasing him.  Her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but some of it had come loose and it blew wildly in the wind.  It reminded him of a fancy painting of Venus he had seen in a museum in Philadelphia by an artist named Sandro Botticelli.  He wanted to touch it, but he knew she wouldn't like that, so he kept his hands to himself.

"Do you have enough water?" he asked.

She was focusing on her tower and simply nodded her head.  He sat on the sand and watched her carving an intricate pattern in the side of her tower, and wished he could do the same.  He began to fill a pail with wet sand, but when he turned it over, it stood for a second before collapsing in a heap.

"I think I'll get more water," he said, got up, and headed toward the shore.

She blushed and smiled.

"I like yours," she said.

He looked at her to see if she was teasing him.  Her long, wavy hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but some of it had come loose and it blew wildly in the wind.  It reminded him of a fancy painting of Venus he had seen in a museum in Philadelphia by an artist named Sandro Botticelli.  He wanted to touch it, but he knew she wouldn't like that, so he kept his hands to himself.

"Do you have enough water?" he asked.

She was focusing on her tower and simply nodded her head.  He sat on the sand and watched her carving an intricate pattern in the side of her tower, and wished he could do the same.  He began to fill a pail with wet sand, but when he turned it over, it stood for a second before collapsing in a heap.

"I think I'll get more water," he said, got up, and headed toward the shore.

Chapter 2

Marian Dawes pulled the old tin box out of the bottom drawer of the armoire.  Inside the box were Marian's treasures -- little things she'd accumulated over the years that meant something to her; secret things she kept only for herself.  There was a lock of Hannah's hair tied with a pink ribbon, a small ring her mother had given her when she was a child, her first silk fan, and a book of poems her father gave her on her twelfth birthday.  But at the bottom of the box, under all her other treasures, was something priceless.

It was a picture of a handsome, young man in a military uniform.  He wasn't smiling, and his eyes looked off into the future.  At the time, she thought she would be included in his future.  She pulled the picture out of the box and held it in her hand.

His name was Evan Morgan and he was a lieutenant in the 4th Cavalry.  When Marian met him, he was a dashing soldier of 28 years and she was swept off her feet by his gallantry.  He was visiting his aunt and was spending the summer in Philadelphia, where he met and wooed shy, sixteen-year-old Marian Hughes with flowers and handwritten sonnets.  She fell in love with Evan and believed he loved her, too.

When Evan was called away to Texas, he vowed to write to her.  She received a letter from Texas three weeks after his departure and again he vowed his undying love, calling her the only woman he had ever truly cared for.  Marian pressed the letter to her breast and cried with longing for him.  She then added it to her treasure box along with his picture.

Marian wrote to him faithfully and posted one letter every week.  When she didn't hear from him for several weeks her mother told her not to fret, that he was deep in Indian territory, and that a military man has greater responsibilities than ordinary men.  She took her mother's words to heart and gave him the benefit of the doubt, but when several months passed without a word she began to question his sincerity.  She never stopped loving him, though, and every night before falling asleep she would remove the picture and gaze into his eyes.

A year went by and she had a dream wherein she saw him lying in the desert with an arrow in his chest.  Marian began to believe he must have been killed and as more time passed, she accepted it as the only explanation for his lack of communication.  She contemplated visiting his aunt to verify his death, but her mother discouraged her.

"It will seem too forward of you," she said.  "After all, you aren't engaged to the man."

So Marian, believing the love of her life was gone forever, agreed to an arranged marriage.  Randall Dawes was the handsome son of a Philadelphia banker.  His father had died and had left Randall the Atlantic City Trust, a small bank his father had established in the tourist town, but he wouldn't own the bank until he married.

His father had just assumed Randall would marry within his class and didn't specify whom Randall should marry.  Randall had a proclivity for fallen women and had no interest in marriage, but he did want the Atlantic City Trust.  He knew Harmon Hughes.  They had met at Randall's club when they were introduced by a mutual acquaintance.  Harmon was looking for a husband for his daughter, Marian, who would soon turn eighteen, and Randall was looking for a large dowry.  He didn't care about Marian's pedigree.  He didn't plan to have children with her.

Randall's mother was aghast when she heard about the impending nuptials and refused to attend the wedding. She considered the Hughes family
nouveau riche
.   In a show of solidarity, none of her friends attended the wedding either, leaving Randall's side of the church peppered with his college chums.  Marian was too naïve to understand the reason for the slight, but her mother and father did.  Her mother wanted to call off the wedding, but her father wanted the association with the Dawes family and refused.

Marian's wedding night was lackluster and the lovemaking perfunctory.  Randall performed his duty and, much to his chagrin, within nine months of their wedding night, Marian produced Hannah.  He barely disguised his disappointment over Hannah's gender, and as the pretense of his marriage wore thin, Randall chose to stay in Atlantic City during the week, arriving home on Friday evenings in a hired carriage, which would return on Sunday afternoon and take him to the Red Bank train station.  From there he would take a train to Atlantic City.

One day, shortly after Hannah's tenth birthday, Marian had answered her front door and found an officer from the Atlantic City Police Department standing on her porch.  His face was grim, and he told her they had found the body of her husband lying in the alley that ran next to his apartment building.  He had been stabbed.  They hadn't captured the perpetrator, but he vowed they would not give up until the fiend was found and hanged.  He left Marian, whose shock caused her to collapse on the floor, alone with Becky, her housekeeper, and Hannah, who had heard the news while standing at the top of the stairs.  Hannah was not greatly affected by the news of her father's death as she barely knew him, but Becky smiled inwardly, knowing this was the best thing that could have happened to Marian.

Marian, however, had mixed feelings regarding her husband's untimely demise.  Randall was a wealthy man and as such was sought after by local businessmen, whose wives would invite Marian to their luncheons and other social functions.  Her acceptance by these well-to-do people carried over to her young daughter, who would benefit from their acquaintance when she matured.  Though Marian had long ago stopped caring for Randall in any fashion, he still had value where Hannah was concerned, and without him, Hannah's choice of husband might be limited, and thus her future.

When Randall's will was read two weeks later, she learned that he had left his stock shares and other financial holdings to Marian.  They were considerable and their lawyer, Mr. Newton Moss, Esquire, assured her she had been well provided for.

Every month Marian would receive a check in the amount of $100, which she dutifully deposited in the bank.  Since Randall had rarely visited their home in New Beach, this was the only variable in her routine.  Mr. Moss would pay all the household accounts, and for all intents and purposes, it was as though Randall had never died.

As time went by, Becky, always a kind and wise confidante, began to eat dinner with Marian and Hannah.  Marian came to regard her more as a friend than as a servant, and Hannah called her Aunt Becky.  Becky stopped wearing a uniform, and instead wore everyday clothing that Marian had given her as a gift.  She still maintained the household, though, leaving Marian with leisure time she found hard to fill.

The years passed quickly as Hannah grew, and as Marian had feared, her own social calendar was empty.  The women of New Beach did not want a pretty young widow at their tables, and even treated Marian with cool indifference if they saw her in the dry goods store or in the park.  Marian learned when the ladies would be out and made a conscious effort to avoid shopping during the hours of the day they would most likely be about.  She had been lonely before Randall's death; now the isolation from society was causing her to feel sad.  She once again stared at the picture.

"What happened to you, Evan?" she asked the solemn young officer in the photo.

She kissed it gently before replacing it in the box and put the box in the drawer.  The room, which had for so long been a sanctuary, had lately felt more like a jail, and as she stood up, she adjusted her clothing and headed out the door to see what Becky was preparing for supper.

Chapter 3

As they walked home from the beach that afternoon, Johnny kept talking about how wonderful her castle looked, how people on the beach kept stopping to look at it and talking about it.  He then casually mentioned that he thought she should ask her mother to buy her some modeling clay so she could keep her creations.

She narrowed her eyes and was about to tell him to mind his own business, but she stopped herself.  She really wanted to control her outbursts, and he had no idea why she didn't want to ask for modeling clay.

"Maybe I'll ask her to get me some for my birthday," she said.

"I think that's a fine idea," he said.

She smiled, giving him a warm feeling in his chest.  Then he remembered a conversation he'd had with his father the night before.

"Did I tell you my father wants to send me to Rutgers College?" he said.

"Truly?"

"Yes.  It's in New Brunswick.  It's quite a ways away."

"But you won't have to go until you graduate from high school, will you?"

A touch of anxiety filled her heart.  Johnny was her closest friend.  He'd always been right next door.

"He's thinking I might benefit from a private school.  But I'm trying to change his mind."

"I hope you do," she said.

"Would it matter to you?" he asked.

She stopped walking and turned to him.

"Of course, it would.  How can you ask that?"

"Because sometimes you seem mad at me for no reason."

"I said I was sorry, Johnny."

"It's not just today, Hannah."

She began walking again with him beside her.

"My feelings are all jumbled," said Hannah.  "I don't mean to..."

"It's all right.  I shouldn't have said anything."

"You're my friend.  I want you to talk to me."

She stopped again and looked at his face.

"Are you afraid of me?" she asked.

The look on her face was heartbreaking

"No, of course not.  I just keep saying things that upset you, so I'm trying to figure out what to say that won't."

"But that sounds like you're afraid to upset me."

"No, I'm not afraid, it's just..."

"Nothing.  Never mind.  I just don't want to lose your friendship."

He put his hand on her arm.

"That won't happen.  Not ever."

She smiled.  He had said what she wanted to hear more than anything else.  She wished she could hug him, but they were on the street where the neighbors might see them.

"Me, too," she said.

They lived in a neighborhood on Maple Street, where the city planners had created a single road with houses on each side of the road, divided by a quarter acre of land on each side of the house, and generous front and back yards.  Hannah's parents had chosen the Queen Anne style home.  It had two stories, a large porch, Dutch gables, wooden shingles, and bay windows on the top and bottom floors.  Hannah's bedroom was on the corner, and she had a bay window in front and a regular window on the side facing Johnny's house.  His window was across the yard from hers, and they would often call to each other until one of their parents came to their room and closed the window.

Johnny's house was a more modest two story Colonial with a porch and little else to distinguish it from the others on the block.  His father, a druggist who owned the town's only apothecary, earned a good living, but chose to save his money rather than squander it on a big home.  He wanted to send his son to college, and his priority over everything was Johnny's education.

Malcolm Liberty wanted his son to be a doctor, and Johnny was not averse to the idea, but the thought of leaving Hannah before it was absolutely necessary was weighing on Johnny's mind.  He told his father he would work hard and do well in the local high school, but Malcolm was determined to increase Johnny's chances for success by enrolling him in a prep school near New Brunswick.