The Wedding Tree (8 page)

“I'm afraid you've gotten water on your dress, as well.”

I glanced down. Sure enough, water spots splotched my skirt.

“Well, there's only one solution for this,” he said. “We'll have to dance together until we dry.”

“Oh—I can't! I have to stay here and man the punch bowl for the first hour.”

“I'll get you a replacement.”

“What?”

He held up a finger. “Be right back.”

A crowd of servicemen converged on the refreshment table, relieving me of the need to talk to Marge. As I ladled punch and handed it out, I caught glimpses of the airman heading to the registration table. Flora's face turned the color of an inflamed tonsil, and Betty put her hand on his arm. He said something to her and she laughed.

I lost sight of him for a few moments as I served three sailors. When I looked up again, the airman was talking to a chaperone at the door, Betty clinging to his arm.

A serviceman from Wyoming tried to start a conversation with me. When he finally left the table, a line had gathered behind him. Marge leaned over to me. “Looks like Buxom Betty stole the prize.”

I followed her gaze. The tall airman was crossing the room, the curvy brunette clasping his arm. To my chagrin, they stopped in the punch line.

I handed out glasses to the sailors and soldiers ahead of them, my heart racing harder and harder, until they stood right in front of me. “Betty here has generously agreed to do me a favor,” the airman said.

“Anything to help a serviceman,” she said in a breathy voice.

“Anything?” Marge asked pointedly.

Betty didn't have the grace to blush or the wit to respond. She batted her eyes at the airman.

“Well, that's wonderful,” he said, “because I'd like you to take Addie's spot serving punch.”

Betty's face fell. “But . . . I . . .”

He put his hand in the small of her back and guided her around the table, then took the ladle from my hand and placed it in Betty's. “This is what I love about you southern girls,” he said. “You're so polite and helpful and genteel. Not to mention lovely.” He flashed Betty a smile that left her dazed and glassy-eyed.

He took my elbow and inclined his head toward the dance floor. “Shall we?”

Feeling dazed myself, I let him lead me through the crowd. His fingers were warm on my bare skin. My elbow had never felt so alive.

“That was shameful,” I said.

“I think you mean shameless.”

“It's shameful to be so shameless,” I said.

He laughed as we reached the dance floor. The band was playing “I Remember You.” He took my right hand, put his other hand on my back, and pulled me into a foxtrot. “Well, a man's got to do what a man's got to do.”

The heat of him, the brightness of that smile, the scent of soap and faint aftershave and virile male made me slightly dizzy. “And what, exactly, do you have to do?”

“Get to know you.” He spun me around. “I knew it from the moment I saw you.”

I felt like I was still spinning even though the twirl had ended. “I'm disappointed,” I said. “I thought you'd have more original material.”

“That's not a line.” He pulled me closer, smoothly moving me across the dance floor. “I mean it. And here's something that's going to sound even cornier: I feel like I already know you. As if I've seen you in my dreams.”

“You're right. That
did
sound even cornier.” But the funny thing
was, I felt the same way. It was as if my soul had recognized him, as if a puzzle piece had just slipped into the right slot.

He guided me backward. “Seriously. Have you ever been in California?”

“No.”

“Texas?”

“No.”

“Is your picture on a billboard or a soup can or something?”

“No.” I laughed at the outrageous question as he spun me around. “I tend to stay behind the camera, not in front of it.”

“You're a photographer?”

“Yes. For the
Times-Picayune.
” I felt so proud, saying it.

“A newspaper woman? Like Katharine Hepburn in
Woman of the Year
?”

“Oh, exactly like that.” I gave a dry smile. “Minus the wardrobe, the salary, the hairstylists, and the ability to dance in and out of the newsroom at will.”

“Still, that's really something.”

I was pleased that he thought so. “I love it, although right now I spend most of my time in the darkroom developing photos shot by more experienced photographers.”

“You're far too pretty to be kept in a darkroom.”

“No,” I said, tilting my head up at him. “I'm far too good a photographer to be kept in a darkroom.”

He laughed. “Maybe so, but you're also awfully pretty.”

I felt my face heat.

“So what makes a good photographer?” he asked.

The music swelled around us. “Timing. Getting the moment right. Framing things. Lighting. Trying to see just what the camera will capture—although you never entirely do. It always surprises me how the lens can see things differently.”

“It's like people.” The music swelled. He guided me around the edge of the dance floor. “You can never be really sure that what
you mean is what someone else understands. Everyone frames things in the context of their experience and according to their mood.”

I looked up at him. It was not the kind of conversation I expected. I'd just met this man, and yet we'd jumped from getting-acquainted chitchat to really talking.

“It's interesting how we all move around in the same space, yet live in our own interior worlds,” he said.

My interior universe seemed to have just collided with his. Our exterior universes were connecting pretty well, too. I was keenly aware of the warmth of his hand on my waist, the warmth of his fingers gripping my hand.

I tried to put the conversation back on familiar ground. “So what about you? What do you do?”

“I'm a pilot.”

There must be a thousand different jobs in the Army Air Force, and most of them were on the ground—but somehow I'd known from the moment I first saw him that he was a pilot. “I've always wanted to fly. Is it as marvelous as I imagine?”

“What do you imagine?”

“Well—a sense of boundlessness, I suppose. Not freedom, exactly, because, after all, you're in the military and you're not able to steer wherever you want—but a sense of not being fettered by gravity.”

I was afraid I'd gone too far—that I'd waxed too eloquent and that he'd laugh at me. But he didn't. He swung me about. “That's pretty much exactly it.”

“The perspective of everything from the air—well, it must be amazing to look down and see the world so far below.”

He nodded. “I never lose my sense of awe about it. You can see patterns in things—the farm fields, the roads, the forests cut by streams and rivers. It's beautiful. Even a junkyard is beautiful if you're high enough above it.”

“It's like the plane is your camera lens.”

“Never thought of it that way, but yeah.” His thigh pushed
against mine, causing a wave of heat to radiate up my leg. “Problem is, my camera drops bombs and gets shot at.”

I was immediately chagrined. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you're up there joyriding.”

“You didn't. I just can't wait to fly under other circumstances.”

“You plan to be a pilot after the war is over?”

“Oh, yeah. Absolutely. Commercial aviation will grow by leaps and bounds after the war.”

“Oh, I can't wait! I'm dying to fly.”

“I'd love to take you up.”

The song ended. Before the last note had cleared the air, a sailor tapped him on the back. “Can I have this dance?” he asked.

“Afraid not.” My partner kept his arm around me. “She's my fiancée.”

Over his wide shoulder, I saw the sailor walk away.

“I'll get in trouble,” I said, dropping my hand from his shoulder and stepping back. “I'm supposed to dance with everyone who asks.”

He gave me a slow grin. “For all the chaperones know, he was just asking the time.”

I put my hands on my hip. “What makes you so sure I
want
to keep dancing with you?”

“Don't you?”

Of course I did, but I cocked my head and pretended to consider it. “Well . . .”

The band started playing “Blues in the Night.” He gave a low chortle and pulled me back into his arms.

“You're awfully smug, aren't you?” I said as we swayed to the music.

“No. I'm just awfully determined to keep what I want once I find it.”

I don't know if it was the words, or the feeling of his body against mine, but all of a sudden, I was covered in hot chill bumps. “You ought to at least feel a little remorse for lying to that sailor like that.”

“Who says it was a lie?” He pulled me close as the music started. “Maybe it was just a premature truth.”

I should have been put off by his brashness. I mean, who talks like that? But there was something about him. Something that made my insides melt like ice cream in July. “I don't even know your name,” I said.

“Joe.” He pulled me closer. “Joe Madison. Pleased to meet you, ma'am.”

“Madison,” I repeated. “Like the town in Wisconsin and the avenue in New York City?”

“That's right. Ever been either place?”

“No, but I'd love to. I'd love to see the whole world.”

He smiled down at me.“Sounds like you've got a vagabond spirit.”

“Absolutely.”

“So where do you want to go first?”

“Well, I have a list, but I'm not particular about the order.”

“Let's hear it.”

“It's too long to remember in its entirety, but let's see . . . San Francisco. New York. The Grand Canyon. And if the war ever stops, Europe. I'd especially love to see the Eiffel Tower, if it's still standing. And Egypt: I'd love to photograph the Sphinx and the pyramids. And India. I want to see the Taj Mahal. Oh, and a tropical island—I'd love to go to a tropical island.” He spun me around the floor. “I want to be a travel photographer.”

“Isn't that a man's job?”

“Who says it has to be? A woman can take photos just as well as a man.”

“Don't you want to marry and settle down?”

“Why does everyone act like they have to be one and the same?”

His left eyebrow rose. His lips curved, but his smile lacked condescension. “You, apparently, have a different opinion?”

“Well, I think it would be grand to marry, to have a life partner
and travel companion. But as for the settle-down part, I'd like to put that off awhile.”

“You're a freethinker, Adelaide.”

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

“Very unconventional.”

“Well, a lot of conventional things that women are supposed to do strike me as kind of silly.”

“Such as?”

“Wearing white gloves, and acting like a weakling so men will feel big and strong and protective. Don't get me wrong—I don't mind being protected, when I need it. But I love being strong myself, and I don't think a real man would be intimidated by that.” He whirled me around again, and I feared I'd said too much. “I suppose you think me unfeminine.”

“Quite the opposite.” His eyes were warm blue pools. “I think you're amazing. And I think it would be amazing to see the world with a woman like you.”

I tamped down the thrill running through me. “You're laying it on a little thick there, Joe. Better save some of those suave lines for the next girl.”

“What if there isn't a next girl?” He spun me in a turn.

“With a guy like you, there's always a next girl.”

His hand tightened on my back, pulling me intoxicatingly close, so close that my chest touched his, and his thigh once again pressed against mine. “Not if I've found
the
girl.”

adelaide

J
oe didn't leave my side the rest of the evening. Mrs. Brunswick shot me increasingly disapproving looks, and strode up when we finally took a break from the dance floor. “I'm sorry, Adelaide, but you need to mingle with the other servicemen.”

Joe turned his considerable charm on the older woman, explaining that this was his first visit to the USO and the only dance he'd get to attend before he shipped overseas, and could she possibly find it in her heart to let him consolidate the time the other servicemen would get to spend with me over the course of a normal leave into just tonight?

“I can't believe the old bag made an exception to her own rules,” Marge said hours later as we rode home in the nearly empty streetcar after the dance. We were seated across from each other on the hard wooden seats, and she'd been quizzing me about Joe ever since we'd escaped the chaperone who escorted us to the streetcar stop.

I told her some of the things he'd said, and she feigned a swoon. “Ooh, what a charmer!”

“Maybe a little too much of one,” I replied.

“Well, I guess I'll have to forgive you for not honoring my dibs.” She dug in her purse for a peppermint. “I think this is a case of love at first sight.”

“You can't love someone you just met,” I scoffed.

“Sure you can!”

“No. That's a myth.”

“Well, myth or not, you have to admit you like him.”

“Maybe.” For some reason, I was hesitant to talk too much about him. Part of me longed to gush, but another part of me wanted to hold the memories close and just think about him in private. Everything that had transpired between us felt intensely intimate and oddly momentous.

“No ‘maybe' about it. You've got a glow about you.”

“I'm sure he's got girls glowing all over the place.”

“He's a charmer, all right, but he really zeroed right in on you.” She huffed out a sigh. “Maybe I should try pouring water all over someone.”

The streetcar jangled to a stop. Marge's brown eyes widened. “Oh my goodness. Speak of the devil!”

I was facing away from the door, so I twisted around, and lo and behold, there was Joe, dropping coins in the box. My heart pattered hard as he strode down the aisle, smiling widely, and took off his hat.

I tried to act unruffled as he sat beside me. “Are you following me?”

He grinned. “I prefer to think of it as seeing two ladies safely home.”

“How did you get to this stop so quickly?”

He hadn't left the church rec room more than five minutes before I did. I'd explained that the rules prohibited the junior hostesses from leaving with a man, and that he couldn't just wait for me on the street corner, because the chaperones kept a careful eye out for that sort of behavior. He'd hung around until the servicemen were asked to leave, and then managed to stay inside longer by charming Mrs. Brunswick into allowing him to help fold and stack chairs. Then he'd gotten my phone number and said good-bye, and I thought I'd seen the last of him for the evening.

“I grabbed a cab and asked to be dropped off a couple of streetcar stops after the church.”

“Who does a thing like that?” Marge said.

“A guy who really wants to see a girl again.” He grinned. “Would you two like to go somewhere for a drink?”

“Sure!” Marge said.

I shot her a look. “It's late, and we really should be getting home.”

“Well, then, I'll see you two ladies to your door.”

And he did. He included Marge in the conversation. She flirted with him—I guess it's just in her nature; I don't think she can help herself—but he didn't flirt back. He told us that he was from Sacramento, that he'd lived with his sister and an aunt, and that he'd been studying engineering at Berkeley before he'd signed up.

Marge had the grace to duck into the house once we arrived, leaving me alone with Joe on the porch. “I only have a few more days in town, but I'd like to see you as much as I can before I leave.”

All I could do was nod.

“Are you serious about wanting to fly?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I'm going to take you up.”

“What?”

“I'm going to figure out a way to take you for a flight. Are you game?”

“I—” I looked at him. He was proposing the biggest adventure of my life. “Yes. Absolutely!”

“You have to promise not to tell anyone.”

“Not even Marge?”

“Only if you're one hundred percent sure she won't tell a soul until I've left town. Once I'm overseas, it won't matter. They need pilots so badly they won't care if I set the commissary on fire.” He grinned. “Which, now that I think of it, might improve the food.”

I laughed. “I'll keep it on the QT.”

“All right, then. I'll be in touch.”

He seemed to be serious! As thrilled as I was, I needed to get one thing straight. “I can keep my mouth shut, Joe, but I can't tell an outright lie.”

“Very ethical of you.”

“When I say ‘can't,' I mean it literally. I'm a terrible liar.”

“There'll be no need.” He put his hands on either side of my face, and my heart felt as if it were going to burst through my dress. His thumbs caressed my cheeks. “You're really something, Addie.”

I couldn't breathe. I thought he was going to kiss me, and I would have let him, even though we'd just met, and only loose girls kissed on a first date back then—and this wasn't even a date.

But he just looked at me, looked straight into my eyes, in a way no one had ever looked at me before, as if he were really seeing me, seeing inside me, seeing my thoughts and feelings, seeing my very soul.

And then he dropped his hands. “Good night.”

My voice wouldn't come out above a whisper. “Good night.” I opened the door, my legs all weak and shaky.

“Addie?” he called softly.

I turned. His eyes were warm and luminous. His lips tipped up in a smile. “I'm really glad I met you.”