“Happy journeys describing it. From what I hear he just goes from Harvey House to Harvey House flirting with all the plump girls. Have you seen the girlfriend he plays house with? You’d think she’d be plump enough to take care of a dozen Gilberts, but oh no. I’d never marry a Mexican, Italian, or Frenchman for that very reason—the vows don’t mean a hill of beans to them.”
“I thought you said you would never marry a Catholic,” Aldine added. Glynis could get carried away with all the types she wouldn’t marry, and Aldine wanted her carried away.
“Correct-o,” Glynis said. “Catholics or Jews, either one. And to tell the truth I haven’t liked what I’ve seen of Bohemians.” But she was eyeing the packet of letters Aldine was trying to put away. “What about the last one?” she said.
Aldine slipped it out, but it was too hard to read aloud. She started, but her voice faltered, and she just handed it to Glynis.
Aldine, I know I wronged you. I forgot myself. Still I can’t bear not knowing if you’re safe. Please write back and tell me that the money I gave you was enough and you’re serving coffee, having fun.
He had signed it simply Ansel. Then without a P.S., he’d added, It is terrible and wonderful the vividness of your face in my mind.
Glynis handed the letter back. “It’s like the words are soft but the meanings are hard. He said good-bye to you, didn’t he?”
Aldine lowered her eyes and nodded. Glynis came over and sat beside her on the bed and when she turned to hug her, Aldine was surprised at the urgency with which she turned to receive it. She was soon crying lavishly, as if a dam had given way. Glynis’s words were consoling. It was going to be okay, she said. Aldine was lucky she hadn’t run off with a man like that. “We’ll stick together,” she said, “get a good transfer together. You’ll meet a man ten times nicer than that. You didn’t write back to him, did you?”
Aldine shook her head miserably.
“Good,” Glynis said, “because writing back would just make forgiving himself all that much easier,” and then she said nothing else but hugged Aldine until the last tear had fallen.
Aldine was ashamed at how much of Ansel she’d given up, and she was horrified by the sordid figure that Glynis had turned him into. She was glad at least that she hadn’t mentioned the nausea. She’d never been one for keeping track of dates, but she wished now that she was. She hadn’t been on, it seemed, in over a month, maybe six weeks. She didn’t boak, like Leenie had, so it was probably just the change of weather or some mild form of flu, but whatever it was, it wasn’t Glynis’s business or anyone else’s.
The snow had covered everything now, had turned everything dirty into a soft, comforting white. It was Aldine’s job to drain the giant coffee urn and wipe the spattered silver, to place washed coffee cups on trays that could be carried to the tables for the 5:13 eastbound. If customers appeared in the meantime, she would stop what she was doing and serve them, but few in Emporia could afford restaurant meals, and fewer still dined at 2:30 in the afternoon, so she was surprised to see a man in a dark coat stop at the door, remove his hat, and come in.
She recognized him before he’d finished brushing the snow from his coat and hat. It was the ginger hair, she supposed, and the upturned nose and the freckles; they were all the same despite a general thickening of his features and limbs. Still, she thought she might be seeing things. Had she ever asked what part of the states Elder Lance came from, to what part of it he would return? Had he mentioned farming? She thought he had.
“Can you wait on that man?” Aldine whispered to Glynis while Mrs. Gore’s back was turned. The room was hushed and brown and warm, and the gleaming surface of the counter reflected Aldine’s white sleeve as she lifted her hand to indicate Elder Lance.
Glynis looked across the room. “Sure, kid. Your wish is my command.”
Glynis headed for the booth. Aldine turned her back and made a serious business of rubbing the coffee urn with a flannel cloth. Glynis soon returned to say, “He wants Finnan Haddie and ‘a big ol’ glass of buttermilk,’ but I should tell you that he asked me if your name is by any chance Aldine McKenna.”
Aldine knew that she shouldn’t turn her head, but she couldn’t help it, and when she looked at the booth by the window, Elder Lance waved his hand at her and smiled in the snow-lit air. Aldine looked around for Mrs. Gore, saw that she had left the room, and lifted her hand in what she hoped was a noncommittal way.
Glynis poured buttermilk into a glass and looked mischievously at Aldine. “Old beau I’m thinking?”
Aldine shook her head and used the flannel to rub water spots from a silver knife.
“Want to take him his big ol’ glass of buttermilk?”
Aldine said no, she didn’t. Instead of putting the glass on a tray, Glynis just stood there grinning. “I guess he’s coming to fetch it himself,” she said, and a moment later Elder Lance was at the counter. When Aldine turned, he began to smile, to lean his head back with amazement. The teeth were still the same gingery brown. “Ye gods and little fishes,” he said. “Aldine McKenna—am I right?”
His remembering her full name was a surprise.
“It’s me,” she said, and smiled in the most guarded way she could. “How are you, Elder . . . ?” She knew his name but preferred him not to know it.
“Lance,” he said. “Elder Lance. At least that’s who I was. Now I’m just Roy.” He drew from his vest pocket a small card that said Roy T. Lance, Farm Implements. “That’s another person I used to be. I’m in college now.” He stopped talking, shook his head, and spread his blunt fingers wide on the lunch counter. “Ye gods and little fishes,” he said, softer this time. “Aldine McKenna.” He sat down on one of the stools and said, “Can I just eat here?”
“Course you can,” Glynis said, setting his buttermilk before him.
Elder Lance turned from Glynis to Aldine. “Well, this does beat everything,” he said. She wondered if he’d ever stop shaking his head. “This really takes the cake.”
Through her demeanor, Aldine tried to suggest that she would have to be curt. There were jobs that were hers to do, and there was the strict no-flirting rule, and there were the stories about how fast Mrs. Gore could have you on the street.
“You know I just saw Leenie and Will,” Elder Lance said. “I ate at their house, what, two weeks ago. The baby’s real sweet. Spitting image of Will.” He was nodding. “Absolute spitting image.”
Aldine couldn’t look at him because of the brown teeth, but his words had a stiffening effect on her. Outside the window, the April snow kept falling and deepening. She had not written Leenie because she couldn’t think of a way to tell Leenie and Will where she was living, what she was doing.
Mrs. Gore entered the rear door of the lunchroom with a vacuum cleaner that had been sent out for repairs. She set it down in the corner, made sure that Aldine saw it there, and left again.
“There’s your haddie,” Aldine said and went for the plate the cook had set on the ledge.