Miss Dimple Disappears (26 page)

God must’ve been too busy on the battlefield to listen to her, she thought, as Will swept her onto the floor and into his arms with Glenn Miller’s “At Last.” His hand on her waist was firm and her head fit into his shoulder as if they were two parts of a puzzle. He smelled of some kind of shaving cream—Barbasol maybe, bracing and minty—and their lips were so close they could touch if she tilted her head the tiniest bit. They didn’t speak, but now and then he glanced at her and smiled, and Charlie hoped he couldn’t feel the racing of her heart.

“Maybe we’d better hit the road if we want to do any walking before it gets too dark,” Joel suggested at the song’s end, and Charlie was relieved to escape to their booth where she’d left her wrap.

It had grown warmer by the time they drove the few miles to Indian Grave Mountain, and Annie, still with music in her head and dancing in her feet, ran ahead, leaving her jacket in the car. Inspired, the others followed. It was a picture-book day, Charlie thought, as a gentle breeze sailed downy clouds across a sky so blue it almost hurt her eyes, and although most of the trees were bare of leaves, the vivid green of pines and cedars freshened the pathway. Now and then a squirrel scampered across the trail, looking, no doubt, for last-minute supplies before winter set in. They walked Indian file on the narrow trail with Annie in the lead. Charlie hung back to walk with Joel but she couldn’t avoid watching Will’s every move in front of her. She liked the way he walked, the way he talked; in fact, she liked just about everything about him.

“Now,” Annie said when, after about an hour of walking, they reached an inviting rock in the shade of the mountain and sat down to rest.

Joel looked up. “Now what?”

“Now’s the time for Will to sing ‘Scarborough Fair,’ ” Annie said, and folded her arms in expectation. So Will Sinclair stood with the tableau of the peaceful Georgia woods behind him and sang the old English riddle song about seeking his true love at Scarborough Fair, and Charlie Carr turned her face away so no one could see she was crying.

“I’m getting a little chilled,” Charlie told them before hurrying back down the trail. “I guess we’d better leave if we want to get back before dark.” The others agreed. She heard their footsteps behind her as she walked ahead, kicking pine cones out of the way, crunching leaves and twigs underfoot. It had been an almost perfect day—well, except for her heart aching, of course—and they couldn’t have planned it better, but this wasn’t the real world. The real world was somewhere in Europe, in Africa, and the South Pacific, and it wouldn’t be long before these two gentle, funny, courageous young men would be right in the middle of it. Her brother was already there.

Phoebe Chadwick had invited the four of them to share some of Odessa’s soup and cornbread for supper, and as it had turned cold as soon as the sun disappeared from the sky, by the time they reached Elderberry the hot meal was as welcome as it was good. Elwin Vickery had left to spend the weekend with relatives, Phoebe explained, but Charlie, who tried to ignore Annie’s knowing glance, thought he was probably spending the holiday with the alluring Leila Mae. Velma Anderson had driven her faithful Ford to be with her sister in Augusta, so, of the roomers, only Lily Moss and Cornelia Emerson remained to share the meal. After supper, the two men built a fire in the parlor where everyone gathered to listen to Edward R. Murrow, who, in ominous tones, reported semiencouraging news from Russia. Afterward, Lily finally acknowledged several meaningful looks from Phoebe and excused herself to follow their hostess from the room. Cornelia had retired earlier.

Joel and Will planned to catch a bus to Americus the next morning to return to the base on time and Charlie knew Annie wanted to spend time with her brother as well as with Will. Over protests from the others, as soon as the
Red Skelton
radio show was over, she excused herself to walk the few blocks home.

Joel followed her outside. “You really don’t have to leave now, do you? If you’re upset because I danced all over your feet today, I promise not to do it again.”

Charlie laughed and kissed him on the cheek. “Silly! I thought I’d go home and keep Mama company for a while. She’s not used to all of us being gone and it really made a difference having you and Will with us over Thanksgiving.”

He insisted on walking with her to the corner and watched as she crossed the street, promising to be along soon.

Charlie had told the truth about wanting to be with her mother but she also didn’t think she could bear watching Annie snuggle up to Will as they held hands on the sofa.

*   *   *

True to his word, Joel returned about an hour later to join Charlie and Jo as they listened to a program of music on the radio. Charlie noticed her mother seemed restless, and when Jo paced to the window for the third time, she demanded to know what was the matter.

“I was just wondering about Bessie. You know how important this Thanksgiving was to her and she didn’t even mention it today. She usually sits with Lou and me on the bus to Milledgeville, but today she sat several seats away and didn’t have much to say.”

“That doesn’t sound good. I’m sure she would’ve told you if she had exciting news,” Charlie said, explaining the situation to Joel. She told her mother about seeing Ollie Thigpen riding away on his bicycle when they were out walking the day before.

“No news is good news,” Joel offered. “Or at least that’s what my mother always says … so how about a few hands of poker?”

When Will returned a short while later, Jo excused herself to get ready for bed and Charlie went to the kitchen to make hot chocolate for the three of them, leaving her two guests arguing about which of them was the better poker player, the better dancer, and, of course, who would be the better pilot. She was still smiling over their horseplay when the kitchen door opened behind her and she turned to find Will standing in the doorway.

“Can I help?” With a hand on her shoulder, he peered into the simmering milk on the stove.

“Sure. Why don’t you grab some mugs from the cabinet by the window?”
Damn! Could he notice the tremor in her voice?

Charlie moved as far from him as possible to make a paste of the cocoa and sugar before adding it to the pan and he obediently gathered up three mugs and set them down in front of her, leaning so that his face was inches from hers. “You know, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me, Charlie Carr.”

She dribbled a little of the hot milk into the chocolate and tried to ignore him. “That’s just plain silly and you know it.”

Will lifted her chin with his finger. “Then why won’t you look at me? Why all the excuses to run away?”

“You have a good imagination,” Charlie told him as she stirred her concoction into the pan. “Besides, I was under the impression you came to visit Annie.”
Why did he have to stand so close behind her? How much longer can I stand this?

Before she knew it, Will reached around her to switch off the burner, took the spoon from her hand, and gently turned her to face him. “Look, I think a lot of Annie, and yes, we dated some when Joel and I were in school together, but there’s nothing serious between us. There isn’t going to be.”

Charlie tried to turn away but his hands were firm. “Does Annie know how you feel?” she asked, staring into his collar.

He sighed. “We haven’t discussed it, but I imagine she does. Annie doesn’t care about me in that way, Charlie.”

“But she writes to you, tells me all about your letters. I know she cares about you, Will!”

“Of course she does, and I expect she cares about all the others she corresponds with, just as I imagine you do.”

Charlie turned back to the stove as he relaxed his grip. “But Annie’s my friend. My best friend, and I—”

Again Will spun her toward him. “And wouldn’t your best friend want you to be happy? Look at me, Charlie Carr, and tell me you don’t feel something for me.”

Charlie looked into his face—serious now, into his gray-green eyes that held her so that she couldn’t turn away. “You do, don’t you?” he insisted. “While we were dancing, tell me you didn’t feel right in my arms.”

And Charlie did the only thing she was capable of doing just then. She put her arms around his neck and kissed him. And that was all it took.

*   *   *

“You will write to me?” Will said at breakfast the next morning. “Promise?”

“Of course I will. I’ll write to both of you.” Charlie sat across the table from him because she couldn’t bear to be any nearer, and forced herself to take her eyes from his face.
Joel knows … he must know … and Annie would soon know, too. She would have to find a time to tell her today—or tomorrow at least. What a faithless friend she’d turned out to be! How was she ever going to admit what she had done?

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-FOUR

Charlie saw him coming from a block away. She had said her good-byes to the two cadets at the bus station and stood watching as the crowded bus pulled away and turned the corner at Harlan’s Music Store. She had not confessed to Annie about Will and their mutual attraction to each other, and it had been difficult to send him away with a light kiss on the cheek as she had Joel. All the way to the rooming house her mind had been on Will Sinclair’s lingering touch. She savored the pressure of his hand like a permanent imprint on her back and the imperceptible caress of his fingers against her face. If only she could keep them there—lock them away in her senses.

She had just dropped off Annie at Miss Phoebe’s and was driving home, when Charlie spied the boy on the black bicycle.

The boy had pedaled down the backstreet from town as if he were ashamed to be seen on the main road, and Charlie faced him as she waited for the light to change at the corner. “Go down somebody else’s street!” she said aloud, although she knew he couldn’t hear her. “Don’t you dare turn onto mine … please … please … please!”

But he did. The light turned green but Charlie stayed where she was and watched the boy on the black bicycle wheel onto Katherine Street. He’ll go on past my house, she thought, as he had done before …

But he didn’t. In slow motion he turned into her driveway, stepped off the bike, and laid it almost reverently by the steps—as if he were leaving a wreath, Charlie thought. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t swallow, couldn’t move. This wasn’t happening, couldn’t be happening.

A car pulled up behind her and waited patiently for Charlie to move on. Virginia Balliew pulled over to the curb, got out of her car, and slid into the passenger seat beside her. “You need to be there for your mother,” she said gently. “Do you want me to drive?”

Charlie couldn’t answer. She had turned to stone and stones don’t speak. Finally, she shook her head and made the turn into her own street—the street that had sheltered them as children; the street where neighbors comforted them when they fell, watched them safely across the street, and called their parents if they were hurt or rude. Silently, Virginia put a hand on her shoulder. Charlie was glad it was there. Abruptly and with a grinding of gears, she bumped into her driveway and ran onto the porch, leaving Virginia to follow. She had to get to her mother first!

She was too late. White-faced, Josephine Carr stood in the doorway with the yellowed paper in her hands. The boy from the telegraph office hung his head, mumbled that he was sorry, and walked slowly down the steps. Charlie felt fleeting sympathy for him. What an awful job he had!

Charlie reached for the telegram. “Mama, let me.”

“No,” her mother said. “He’s my son.” She didn’t look like Charlie’s mother, but like a statue of a woman standing there in the doorway, halfway inside the house, and halfway out, and when she spoke, she sounded like how a statue might speak, Charlie thought. With shaking hands, Jo Carr opened the telegram, read it, and held it to her chest. Only then did she begin to cry.

“Let me see it, Mama! Let me!” Charlie had to pry the paper from her mother’s fingers, and while Virginia put her arm around Jo and led her inside, Charlie sat on the porch bench by the front door and read the message from the Adjutant General:

Deeply regret to inform you that report received states your son, Fain D. Carr, missing in action in the Tunisian area November 10. Reports will be forwarded when received.

It was signed by Major General Ulio.

Through the screen door she could hear Virginia calling her aunt Louise on the telephone, and hurrying inside, Charlie held her mother in her arms and rocked her back and forth, crooning, “He’s not dead, Mama! It doesn’t say he’s dead!” And all the while she felt her disloyal heart being twisted and wrung out inside her. Was she being punished for what she’d done?

*   *   *

At two o’clock, Miss Bessie Jenkins gratefully turned over the ticket booth at the Jewel Theater to sixteen-year-old Patsy Brisco, who filled in on Saturday afternoons to earn money for Christmas. A notorious flirt, Patsy had a turned-up nose, luscious lashes, and enough freckles to make her adorable, and the boys lined up to see the movie even if they didn’t give a hoot about watching Roy Rogers and Gabby Hayes in
Man from Cheyenne.
From past experience, Bessie knew that some of them would probably see the movie twice.

Bessie had eaten a hurried breakfast of cornflakes and toast hours ago but she wasn’t especially hungry. The night before, she had only pecked at the chicken and dressing left over from Thanksgiving and she wasn’t looking forward to facing it again. The afternoon was mild for the end of November and the coat she’d worn earlier was much too warm, but Bessie decided she’d rather suffer the discomfort than carry it. Although she sat during her hours in the ticket booth, her feet still ached from her work at the ordnance plant and the hours spent in the kitchen preparing Thanksgiving dinner.

And the whole thing had been a disappointment. Ollie had rushed through the meal, giving her some excuse about not wanting to leave Paschall Kiker alone too long. Bessie had reminded him in no uncertain terms that he left him every day while he worked over at the school, didn’t he? And wasn’t Aileen Spragg supposed to take him dinner?