20. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
A t home, Lenore parked in front of the house and unloaded each crate and trunk, half carrying them, half dragging them into the house, careful of the bumps and cracks in the sidewalk, not wanting to break anything.
Once she had the last box in the house, she closed the door behind her and piled everything in their small parlor. She had no idea where she was going to put it all and sadly, she realized, some of the gifts would have to remain packed away until they moved into a home of their own.
John wouldn’t be home until six. She couldn’t wait to see him. Sometimes, the afternoon could be long and lonely, but she kept herself busy. On the sunny days, she went for a walk around Lavender Bay, stopping to talk to friends and neighbors. If the weather was unpleasant, she stayed indoors, either crocheting or sewing .
But her favorite part of the day was when John came home from work. She liked to hear all about his day. He’d claim that it was kind of boring, but she was proud of him: keeping Lavender Bay safe for everyone. He had a very important job and she’d decided from the day they were married that she would create a safe and comfortable haven for him in their home, no matter where they lived.
That evening, as she continued to worry over her sister, John was late getting home. She’d turned off the stew on the stove and kept the lid on to keep it warm. When he walked through the door, he slid his arm around her waist and pulled her to him, kissing her on the lips. “Well, Mrs. Hadley, how was your day?”
She nodded and said, “Good. I’ve brought over the wedding gifts.”
He looked around at all the boxes, crates, and trunks. “It looks like they’ll need their own house.”
“I’ll make it work,” she said. Somehow .
“I’ve no doubt about that,” he said with a glance toward the stove. “What’s for dinner?”
“Lamb stew.”
“Let me wash up and I’ll be right out.”
As he washed up in the bathroom, Lenore ladled stew into two deep plates, making sure to give John extra pieces of lamb. She set the dishes down at the place settings on the table. As she carried over two small plates, each with a slice of bread, John entered the tiny kitchen. He’d removed his jacket and vest, and his bright red suspenders kept his pants up. He’d rolled the sleeves of his shirt up to the middle of his forearms. The smell of Lux soap enveloped him.
Impulsively, she threw her arms around him and kissed him. He responded by returning the kiss.
“What’s this for?” he asked with a grin.
“Happy to see you, that’s all,” she said.
“Keep that up and I’ll start coming home for lunch, too.”
She knew he was only teasing. He took a packed lunch to work every day, too busy to come home, as much as he wanted to.
When they pulled apart, he pulled her chair out for her before sitting down himself.
“Smells good,” he said, picking up his fork and spearing a piece of lamb.
Lenore stared at her plate, realizing she wasn’t as hungry as she should be. She’d eaten a big lunch at her parents’ house, and that thought led to Laura and Horace. Her thoughts spiraled, and she became oblivious to her stew.
“Lenore?”
The sound of John’s voice brought her to the present.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?”
“I asked why you’re not eating.” He smiled indulgently at her .
“I started to think about something and got lost in thought,” she admitted.
“Want to tell me about it?”
She shook her head, taking an interest in her plate of food. She would not be the kind of wife who burdened her husband with petty problems as soon as he walked through the door. Her mother had advised her against that, and Lenore thought it was good advice.
She pasted on a bright smile. “Nothing worth mentioning. Anything interesting happen at work today?”
He looked up from his plate. “I did my best. Found one missing bike, not stolen as originally thought. Broke up a fight between some hobos in the railyard. As soon as the next freight train pulled in, I made sure they were on it and moving on from Lavender Bay.
“Hilda isn’t still feeding those drifters out the back door at your parents’ house, is she?”
“I’m sure she is,” Lenore said. “For the most part, they’re harmless. But she’s careful.”
“Tell her to make sure someone is always in the house with her when she does,” he said. It sounded ominous, but she knew Hilda could handle herself. In a recent fracas, she’d gone after them with a cast-iron frying pan, unafraid.
He chewed thoughtfully and when he was finished, he said, “Lenore, promise me you won’t feed strangers from this house.”
“John? ”
“I can’t be at work worrying about you at home and whether you’re safe or not.”
“I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.”
He pressed. “We’re not on a main street. It’s more isolated here.” That much was true. At one time, the small cottages on Lincoln had been laborers’ houses, and these days they were mostly occupied by unmarried working men like Alistair Young, who lived at the end of the street. For the most part, Lenore was alone on the street during the day, except for Old Man Forrester, who lived at the corner of Lincoln and Orchard. But he was cranky and miserable. She’d said hello a couple times in passing, but he’d just harrumphed and grunted.
She reached over and laid her hand on her husband’s arm, touched by his concern. “I’ll do as you say. I even keep the doors locked when you’re not here.”
“Good.” John looked over at the stove. “Is there any more stew?”
She laughed, stood, took his plate, and filled it up again. When she set it down in front of him, she said, “Save some room for the apple pie I made.”
He reached up to her standing beside him, laying his broad hand on the small of her back and rubbing it. “Lenore Hadley, I am one lucky man.”
She kissed his forehead and sat back down, thinking, And I am one lucky woman .
Later, after dinner, they sat in the front room with the radio on low. Occasionally an item of interest would come on and John would lower his paper to listen. The Democratic Convention was in a couple of weeks, and it would be curious to see who would be nominated to challenge Herbert Hoover. Lenore liked Franklin Roosevelt.
Lenore sat on the lumpy sofa that came with the place, trying to read the current edition of Ladies’ Home Journal . But her attention kept drifting to her sister.
John spoke, startling her. “Since we’ve sat down, you’ve been on the same page of the magazine. And I know you’re a faster reader than that, Lenore.”
She laid the magazine down in her lap and sighed. John folded the newspaper and laid it aside.
“Come on, something’s been bothering you since I came home.” He grinned and said, “I try very hard not to leave my socks on the floor.”
She burst out laughing and relaxed a bit.
He waved her over and she stood, walked over to him, and gave him her hand, which he used to pull her into his lap. Reluctantly, she relayed the story about her sister and Horace Howard, almost hoping that as she spoke it out loud, it might sound ridiculous and not a cause for worry. But then she remembered the look on her parents’ faces and decided that there was definitely something to worry about.
John listened to her story and her concerns, and she relayed her parents’ anxiety about the situation as well. As she spoke, he pulled a small leather notebook and stubby pencil from the pocket of his shirt and began scribbling.
When she finished, she asked, “Do you think I’m being overanxious about it?”
He looked up at her. “No, I do not. Trust your gut, Lenore. When I was training on the Chicago Police Department, the officer I trained under told me never to discount your intuition.”
She nodded, feeling better for unloading her burden.
“Your sister may be under his spell.”
“But how do I break it?” she asked.
“You might not be able to,” he said.
Her shoulders sagged. “I was going to talk to her about him.”
“Wait on that. And proceed with caution. Nine times out of ten that sends them running into their suitor’s arms.”
She took his advice under consideration, trying to formulate another plan.
“Don’t do anything yet,” John advised. “What did you say his name was again?” He licked his finger and flipped back to a previous page.
“Horace Howard. ”
“From McHill, Pennsylvania?” he asked, staring at the notebook.
She didn’t know what John could do or would do, if anything. Grateful and feeling slightly better, she kissed him and then stood, smiling. “Now how about a cup of tea and a piece of pie?”