“We’ve got a problem with the power in the kiln room!” he said, his blond hair flopping over his forehead.
Henry wore a look of dismay. “I’ll be right there, Mickey,” he said, and the boy left the office at a run. Henry looked at me apologetically. “I need to deal with this,” he said. “I’ll call you a cab, or”—he looked thoughtful—“wait a minute.” He motioned to the chair. “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” He left the office at a run, just like the boy. I sat down and waited, hoping I wouldn’t miss my train. A few minutes passed and Henry returned with the boy—Mickey—at his side. Mickey wore a wide grin.
“Mickey here is going to drive you to the station,” Henry said, and I noticed the reason for the boy’s grin: the Cadillac’s keys were in his hand.
“All right.” I smiled at Mickey and got to my feet. Henry had pulled his wallet from his pants pocket and counted out a few bills which he pressed into my hand. His fingers brushed mine, the touch of a stranger. “This is enough for a roomette on the train from Salisbury to Washington. Get some sleep, all right?”
I nodded. “Thank you,” I said.
“I’m going to see if I can get the power back in the kiln room.” He headed for the office door again. “Have a safe journey.”
Mickey carried my suitcase out to the small parking lot at the side of the building and put it in the Cadillac’s trunk. I got into the passenger seat beside him. He was still grinning as he ran his fingers tenderly over the dashboard. “I always wanted to drive this car,” he said.
“It’s beautiful,” I said.
He turned the key in the ignition and pressed the starter button and the car came to life. “Purrs like a kitten,” he said.
“How long have you been working for Mr. Kraft?” I asked, making conversation as we drove toward the station.
“Two years,” he said, “since I was fourteen when my father enlisted. I quit school and started working. Got a bunch of little sisters and we needed the money. Hank pays good.” He glanced at me with a grin. “He says you’re his fiancée.”
“Yes,” I said, still filled with disbelief that this was happening. If Henry was telling people, it made it even more real.
“Does Violet Dare know about that?” Mickey asked.
Who on earth was Violet Dare? I thought Mickey was carefully keeping his eyes on the road as he asked the question.
“Who is Violet Dare?” I asked.
He gave me a quick glance. “I reckon Violet’s fancied herself Hank’s fiancée most of her life,” he said.
Oh no. Henry did have a girl in his life. I had no idea how this news was going to complicate our plans. I would have to ask him about her. Was I stepping on another girl’s toes?
“Well,” I said, “Henry told you we’re engaged and I’d say he should know best.” Why was I talking to this forward little teenager about my private life? His probing had made me feel defensive. I was relieved to see the station come into view. “And here we are,” I said, sitting up straighter.
Mickey parked in front of the station and got out of the car. I didn’t wait for him to open my door, and once I was on the sidewalk, he lifted the trunk lid and handed me my suitcase.
“Good luck with Violet, now,” he said, giving me a little salute as he turned, grinning, to get back in the Cadillac. I watched him go, wondering what he knew that I didn’t.
13
I was exhausted when I arrived home on Saturday. Even with the roomette, I’d barely been able to sleep on the train as I tried to think of how I would tell my mother my plans. There were no words to soften the blow. In each imagined scenario, I saw her hurt and her anger. I certainly wouldn’t tell her about the baby. I would simply have to find a way to make her understand that I was going to marry Henry Kraft no matter what she said.
I’d hoped she would be out, but as soon as I let myself in the front door, I heard water running in the kitchen and knew she was home. I left my suitcase by the stairs and walked into the room. She stood at the sink washing snap beans from our small victory garden. The sound of the running water must have masked my footsteps because she didn’t turn around and, for a moment, I simply observed her. She wore her blue floral housedress, a navy blue apron tied at her waist, and her silver-streaked black hair was in a bun at the nape of her neck. I loved her so much. She was my only family. She thought she knew what her future held—what both our futures held—and I was going to destroy her hopes and dreams.
“I’m home,” I said, walking into the room. I set my handbag on the table. “Can I help?”
She glanced up from her task at the sink and turned off the water above the colander. “Oh my,” she said, drying her hands on a dishtowel. “You look like you haven’t slept in days! How is your friend? Is she still very ill? I don’t believe you told me her name.”
I’d never told her the name of my imaginary friend, and I wasn’t about to make one up now. Now was the time for the truth. At least, for part of it.
“Mom,” I said, “can you sit for a moment? I have some news.”
She looked instantly worried. Her round brown eyes, so much like my own, were hooded with concern. Draping the dishtowel over the faucet, she came to sit kitty-corner from me at the table. “Are you all right, honey?” she asked. “You look so pale.”
“I’m fine.” I folded my hands in my lap. “But I wasn’t being honest about why I went away,” I said. “I didn’t have a sick friend. I went to see a man I met when I was in Washington with Gina a few months ago.” Her brow furrowed and I rushed on. “I’ve fallen in love with him and plan to marry him,” I said.
She stared at me in disbelief. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “Have you gone mad?”
I shook my head. “I know it seems crazy,” I said. “I just … I fell for him.”
She said nothing, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open as though she’d forgotten how to blink. How to swallow.
“I know it’s a shock,” I went on quickly. “And I’ve had a hard time figuring out what to do about it, but…” My voice faded away. I wasn’t sure what more to say.
“What about Vincent?” Her voice took on an hysterical edge when she said his name.
“I realized that Vincent is more like a brother to me than a—”
“What?” She slapped the table with her open palm. “Tell me you’re joking. You’re pulling my leg, right?”
“No, Mom. I’m very serious. I’m sorry. I know you—”
“What does this man do that makes him so special?” she said. “He’s better than a doctor?”
“It has nothing to do with his occupation.” My voice sounded far calmer than I felt.