Dear Diary, I'm In Love Page 11

  Answering his smile, Emily said, “With mama passed on, a quart every other day will be more than enough for me now.”

  “I figured.” The smile became wistful. “I won't be on the route much longer, anyway.”

  Emmy glanced over from where she was feeding the carrot to Roydob and rubbing his silky nose. “Retiring? Again?”

  “Pretty much have to. Clements just bought a fleet of Studebaker delivery trucks. They'll be coming in by the end of the month. So it's the glue factory for Roydob and a lot of radio listening for me. But I'm luckier than some of the other deliverymen, what with my railroad pension and that new Social Security stuff Roosevelt pushed through. It's not much, but it beats learning to wrestle one of those lizzies.”

  “Oh, c'mon now, Jed. I learned to drive my Model A years ago, when papa was laid up. You could do the same. It’s a lot easier than it looks.”

  “No. It's time to give my tired bones a rest—especially this old leg.” He slapped the offending member.

  Later, as Emmy selected a casserole from the collection for supper, she thanked a provident father for having left her with a half-section of choice pasture—now leased out to the Martinson boys—a tidy income from some sound real estate investments, and the wisdom to guard her patrimony. Jed's resources were but a fraction of what she had. There would, indeed, be a lot of time for radio listening for him—both not merely because of excess leisure. He wouldn't be able to afford to do much else. In a way, he was fortunate that Alma Jane had passed away years ago. It would have been really thin pickings if that scant income had had to support the two of them.

  And that brought up another thought. She carried her food over to the window overlooking the pasture where Martinson's herd was slowly moving west, the cows grazing their way homewards to their barn for the evening's milking. She mulled over what she should do about the pasture. Continue to lease it, or sell to one of those eager real estate agents now restored to some of their 1920's optimism, with the times showing signs of improving? Hers was the last large piece of land close to town. She didn't need to be told it would bring in a lot more than what her father had paid for it back during World War I. Even so, the offers she was suddenly receiving were actually surprisingly large. Did she really want to keep all that property, she wondered. The phone interrupted her thoughts.

  Even without his quick self-identification, Emmy would have recognized the voice. Harold “Hal” Walker had been at the funeral, but hadn't spoken to her there. He had left early, evidently on some urgent business, and she had caught only a glimpse of his departing figure. But it was enough to bring school days to mind. Only one or two years older than Emmy, he had, back then, been whispered about by the girls. Some of them shared their fantasies of necking with him. Others skipped that prospect and went straight to evaluations of his potential as a husband.

  Hal had grown tall and fast, had basked in the admiration of the females around him and, with the help of a father who was then manager of Boroughton's First National Bank, moved on from high school to the state college. There he met the love of his life. Marriage to Mary Carter had been a high point, not only in Hal's life but in that of the town as well. The nuptials were elaborate, the bride petite and beautiful, the groom masculine and good looking. But clouds—or at least rumors of clouds—hung over the couple almost from the beginning. There were four children, now long grown and gone, but the stories persisted. Even so, the September divorce came as a surprise.

  Divorce was not unheard of in Boroughton, but thirty-two years of marriage would have seemed to render it immune to breakup. That it hadn’t, still came as a surprise. Rumors flew, and the burden of guilt, as is so often the case, was set squarely on the wife’s doorstep. Hal not only recaptured the adulation of his childhood, but now basked in sympathy for a wronged husband. Emmy had heard that at least two of the town’s widows were vying for his attention.

  “Sorry I had to leave early, Emmy. I wanted to express my condolences, but something came up at the office that needed me there.”

  “That’s quite understandable.” She tried to not sound puzzled.

  “I would like to make up for it, though. You’ve heard of the B-Bar, haven’t you?”

  Of course she had. The plans had been bruited about the town for over a year, and now the new barbecue restaurant was about to open for business.

  “Friday's the official grand opening, but on Thursday the Chamber of Commerce is having a special pre-opening dinner. I was asked to bring a guest. I’d be honored if you’d allow me to escort you. Now, I know this is rather soon for you to be…well I mean….”

  Emmy was amused at the hesitancy in Hal’s voice. She had never been one to flout the conventions, but had never felt particularly restricted by them, either. His evident embarrassment was at least part of the reason for her immediate acceptance of the offer. The casseroles would keep.

  “Mama wouldn’t have minded at all. She always said I shouldn’t have been such a homebody. I’ll be only too pleased to attend the dinner with you.”

  The Pierce Arrow that pulled up at the gate that Thursday evening was at its shiny best. Hal rushed to open the passenger door for her, and Emmy had to admit to herself that her Model A’s spartan fittings suffered by comparison with the lush interior of this luxury car. And it seemed very appropriate for her beau of the evening, who had managed to keep his athletic figure over the years, along with a surprising mass of now graying hair. Those years had indeed treated him kindly, and she wondered if she had worn as well.

  It was an evening to remember. She had made a token bow to custom by wearing dark colors, but they complemented her fair complexion and, as a concession to the event, she had unwound the bun. Her rich-looking black hair with its few strands of gray cascaded down her back. Heads turned as this unexpected and striking couple entered the restaurant fashionably late, and Emmy noticed the presence and annoyed expression on the face of one of the eager widows.

  Hal was attentive, the food was excellent, the one speaker—the restaurant owner—was surprisingly brief and the time passed quickly. The ride back home was a fitting conclusion to what Emmy regarded as a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

  Later, as she gave her hair its usual one hundred brush strokes, Emmy examined her reflection in the mirror. Of course there were wrinkles around her eyes, but she didn’t consider them unattractive. She remembered the gawky school girl who somehow had groped her way through an uncomfortable adolescence. All in all, she decided, she preferred this Emmy to the ones from the past. But what did Hal see in her?

  He had ended the evening with an offer of lunch later in the week from him, and she had hesitantly accepted. Was he only showing sympathy for a woman suddenly left alone? Or was he, himself, in need of company… female company?

  The days passed swiftly, and what became an obvious courtship proceeded at a whirlwind pace. Emmy's first visit to Hal's luxurious home made her own place seem plainer than ever. Built in plantation style, evidently at the instigation of Hal's Georgia-born mother, the Walker home was a gracious, columned mansion, whose interior spoke eloquently of wealth and tastes not shared by the average Boroughtonian.

  Two weeks after the funeral, Emmy was pondering the abrupt change in her life and the decisions she saw looming before her. There was more than this unexpected relationship to deal with. Phone calls and letters from real estate agents were coming in from near and far inquiring about her half-section of land. That was another matter she needed to decide about. The sound of the milk delivery wagon interrupted her thoughts.

  Roydob was eagerly awaiting his carrot, but Jed seemed something less than his usual smiling self.

  “You look a bit peaked,” Emma told him as she stroked the appreciative horse now chewing down the last of the morsel she had given him.

  “Three more days,” he answered. “One more delivery here, and that’ll be it for both of us.”

  It wouldn’t be the same, Emmy decided. No Jed. No Roydob to anticipate h
is treat and friendly pat. Motorized milk delivery seemed somehow outlandish. But, then, much of the world—especially the part around her—was changing dramatically. She waved as Jed pulled himself up into the dairy wagon. He managed a return wave, and Roydob clomped off to the neighboring Chisolm house.

  That same afternoon Emmy discovered how her world was truly on the cusp of change—one which she could never have foreseen. The first sign was a chance encounter with County Commissioner Delaney in the aisles of the local A & P.

  An old friend of her father, Eph Delaney seemed even more exuberant than he had been on election day. “Why, hello Emmy. Haven’t seen you since the…well for several weeks. How have you been?”

  “Fine. And you?”

  “Can’t complain. And congratulations, by the way.”

  “Congratulations? What brings that on?”

  “You mean you haven’t heard? Well, come to think of it, I can see why. Word didn’t come through to the Commission until this morning. Quite a change is in store for Boroughton.”

  Emmy decided to patiently wait for the story, and it wasn’t long in coming.

  “The new highway, Emmy. The new highway. Right by here on the way to the state capital. Four lanes, mind you. One of them Federal programs, PWA or something, is scheduled to start in on it next month. Survey’s going on right now.”

  Emmy nodded, encouraging him to continue.

  “We were looking at the map they sent us, and the highway’ll run right along the west side of your property. They’ll probably want to buy some of your land along that edge, and you know how the federal government is these days. Money to burn. You’ll be getting more for that half acre, or whatever they’ll be needing, than your dad paid for the whole shebang back twenty years ago. Times are a changin'.”

  There was no need to respond. Delaney was on his way. “That frontage you’ll have along the highway will be worth more than an oil field. Businesses will be clamoring to buy or rent from you. You won’t know what to do with what you’ll be able to get for it.”

  The phone calls. The letters. They began to make more sense. The real estate companies had been doing some anticipating. Now, with the government having finally decided, she knew the offers would keep on increasing, both in size and frequency.

  Emmy drove home lost in thought. She was inclined to agree with the commissioner. Times were a changin'. But, since she had all the money she either needed or wanted, she really wouldn’t know what to do with any new-found wealth. On impulse, she made a U-turn and headed toward the barn where the Clement horses were stabled. It was there she learned that Jed had had a heart attack right at the end of his route and was now at the county hospital. Another U-turn headed her off in that direction.

  He looked tired, surprised and pleased as she entered his room. “Why, Emmy, how did you know?”

  “The boy at the stable told me. How are you feeling?”

  “The doctor said it was just a mild heart attack. Nothing to really worry about. Said I should quit work, though. Not hard to do, since this was my last week. Got to stay overnight, he says. Don’t know why. I'm really feeling okay.”

  After mild protests, Jed agreed to accept her offer of a lift home in the morning.

  Emmy’s thoughts were racing as she entered her house, the phone ringing impatiently even before she opened the door. As expected, another agent. Two more in the following fifteen minutes. She was almost ready to leave the phone off the hook, but gave in to its insistent ringing. It was Hal. For some reason, he seemed unlike his usual self. Emmy would have called it “flustered.”

  “I wonder if I could see you, Emmy.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes. It’s rather important.”

  “Can’t you tell me over the phone?”

  “Well, it’s rather personal. Something I’d like to ask you. Something very important.”

  Emmy felt a sudden surge of amusement. “That’s alright, Hal. Ask away.”

  “Well. I was going to ask you if maybe…I mean would you…I, I would like to ask you to be my wife.”

  Somehow, Emmy wasn’t surprised. “I’m sorry, Hal, but I can’t make a decision like that right away.”

  “Oh, no. No. Of course not. But do think about it.”

  “Of course.”

  The conversation dwindled, but the anxiety in Hal’s voice was still obvious. He asked her to come out for dinner, but when she turned him down, he promised to call in the morning.

  The following morning Jed managed to make it out to the car on his own, though an anxious nurse trailed behind him. She took Emmy aside and told her, “He really shouldn’t be alone. The medication he’s on may make him dizzy, and he could fall.”

  “Care for a bit of non-hospital food, Jed? I can have the coffee perking and some breakfast on the table in no time at the house.”

  “Kinda hard to refuse an offer like that, Emmy. But don’t go putting yourself out.”

  “I won’t be. I kind of miss cooking for two. Food doesn’t taste the same when it’s just for one, and when you eat it alone.”

  “I know what you mean. At least the eating part. I’m not much of a cook. If it doesn’t come out of a can, I don’t know what to do with it.”

  Again, the phone was ringing as they entered the house. Emmy was quick to cut the first agent short. The next one was treated even less gently.

  Breakfast was leisurely, with only one interruption as they sat drinking their coffee. The promised call from Hal led Emmy to give him her answer. “I’m sorry, Hal, but I really have to say no.”

  Hal seemed undeterred, and slipped into a discussion of how a single woman might have trouble with investments. The transition startled her. “Now, if you should decide to sell that pasture land of yours, I’d be more than happy to help you find a buyer.”

  The ensuing one-sided conversation prompted Emmy to make a second important decision of the day. Returning to the kitchen, she found Jed looking out the window toward the barn. His voice rose as he said, “That horse out there. That’s Roydob. What’s he doing here?”

  “Well. I’ve got lots of carrots. I hated to see them go to waste, so I went by the stable yesterday. They didn’t even take any money for him. Just gave him to me, and even delivered him.”

  Jed’s eyes were bright as he turned to look at her.

  “And something else, Jed. Money’s not exactly short, but I’ve been kinda thinking of taking in borders. It’s a big house, you know. Room and board would be cheap. You could move in, if you’ve a mind to.

  There was only a moment’s hesitation. “I’ve a mind to.”

  ____________________

  THE SACRIFICE

  White hair. Blue eyes. Five-foot ten. Sixty-two. No! Sixty-three, by now. Cynthia Ellis had come across a copy of Randall Carlson’s driver’s license. She had found it among the reams of information the secretary had gathered for her to prepare for deposing Carlson. Merilee Bartlett sat on the other side of Cynthia’s desk wading through a similar stack.

  “He’s camera shy, Cynthia,” observed Merilee, pulling a couple of photos from her pile. “Lots of information on the hundred or so corporations he’s involved in, but damn near nothing on his personal life. Hey, lookie here!” She held out a newspaper photo of the business executive leaning over as though listening more closely to something a petite and bejeweled older woman was saying. The background indicated a gathering of people; probably a benefit of the kind the multi-billionaire Carlson was prone to attending as a more-than-welcome guest.

  The examination of every possible detail of the subject’s personality and background was a preliminary in the offices of the Earth Survival League prior to any deposition. Merilee’s involvement in this particular search was coincidental. While Cynthia was lead attorney for ESL, Merilee was legal counsel for the ACLU and had dropped by on her way to lunch in the hope Cynthia would join her.

  The two old friends from law school were a remarkable contrast. Cynthia—tall, auburn haired,
dark-eyed, slender and remarkably nice looking. In her own way, Merilee was equally attractive, but shorter, with long black hair tied in a ponytail. The differences were mainly in temperament. Cynthia had a reputation for seriousness; Merilee had never been accused of that quality except when it came to her law cases.

  “It looks to me as though you’ll have nothing personal to work on with him, no closet skeletons,” Merilee commented as Cynthia examined the photos. “There’s no indication he’s a boozer. Married back when he was twenty-two, divorced three years later. Married again when he was close to thirty. Seems he had better luck the second time. The marriage lasted over thirty years. No children. Wife died of Lou Gehrig’s disease a couple of years ago. Hasn’t remarried. He doesn’t sound like a womanizer. But, hell, we really don’t have much on him one way or the other. Now, when it comes to what he owns and what businesses he’s involved in, we could fill volumes. You aren’t going to get very far with him if you’re looking for a weak spot.”

  “That smirk sure is a turnoff,” Cynthia said, pointing to a full-face photo.

  “There’s an explanation for that. It may reflect his personality, but it’s not something he’s responsible for. Take a look at this. It’s a thumbnail from one of the tabloids. Hard to say how accurate it is, but the explanation for the expression makes sense. He came down with polio as a kid and—lucky for him—that twisted lip was the only effect.” Later, a quick check of the report from ESL’s President, who was acquainted with Randall Carlson, confirmed the newspaper’s explanation.

  Even though she was now aware of the cause, the down-turned right side of the lips still bothered Cynthia next day. But it was certainly the realization of whom she was taking on that was actually getting to her. She had seldom suffered from feelings of inadequacy. Her looks alone guaranteed that she would never lack for interested males, and that had gone far toward contributing to her self-confidence.