65. Sarah
Sarah
Monday afternoon arrived with the promise of the Palmer House and George. While my mother looked on, Gloria twisted my hair into a neat bun with a few loose curls. Don’t want to look like I’m trying too hard.
“We’re just going to taste some samples,” I said. “George needs to choose the banquet menu. They’ll probably stick us somewhere in the kitchen.” With my luck, I’ll be squeezed in beside the mop bucket.
“I seriously doubt that. Right, Mipsy? The Palmer House is the Palmer House. No matter the situation. You will meet with the chef, a celebrity in his own right, and George will be relying on your judgment.” She turned to the pup. “Yes, he will.”
I looked smart in a deep blue dress.
George had been almost shy the first time we passed in the hall after our emotional walk on the day of the funeral, but he hadn’t avoided my gaze, and the last time I saw him, there was no hint of awkwardness between us.
I hated to admit, even to myself, how much I looked forward to this afternoon.
At half past three, I found George talking with Father in the parlor. He stood the moment I entered, and his grin was contagious. I’d always thought him handsome, especially in his dinner attire, and tonight was no exception.
“Stunning, Sarah. There is no better word.”
Heat prickled across my cheeks. He’s just being charming. It’s like breathing for him.
He offered his arm. “Shall we?” He turned to my father and said, “I’ll have her back before dark, sir.”
Father said, “Have a wonderful time, you two.”
George sat opposite me for the carriage ride into town. “I forgot to ask,” he said. “What happened between Viola and Jacob during her trip to Minnesota? I heard something about a fight?”
“Well, her plan to tell him about buying the farm next door in a farce of a business meeting did not go over well. They apparently had strong words in public—on the front steps of the Inn, if I remember correctly. And then, he left town, and she didn’t see him again before she returned home.”
“Yikes.” George pulled a face. “Might make our job more difficult.”
“I think she left a letter of apology. She seemed to believe it would all work out, or at least that was my impression. We were right in the middle of discussing it when we were summoned to Mrs. Newman’s.”
George tilted his head. “How are you coping? You look good. Calm, collected. But I don’t want to assume.”
“You helped me, truly. I am well.”
“Wish I could help Viola.”
I sighed. “Me, too. How is your project for the paper?”
“I’m working on a mock-up to use for my presentation. Maybe you could look at it. I’d love your input before I show Father.”
“Of course. Maybe Jacob can help.”
George raised his brow.
“Not with your project. With Viola. I’ll bet he can get through to her. Is she going back in October? She won’t give me an answer.”
“I think it’s a good idea, but Father wants to keep her here. That trip is still a few weeks away.”
We rode in silence for several minutes, staring out the window. George shifted to sit beside me with his arm propped on the back of the seat. “I have an idea,” he said, flashing his impish grin.
“I know that look.” Trouble.
“You and I have faced some serious situations recently, and without a doubt, we’ll have more challenges ahead. But tonight, just for tonight, I declare a holiday from all of our worries.”
“Can you do that?”
“Until I deliver you back to your door, we must vow to speak only of fun and lighthearted things.”
I squinted at him. “You want me to be frivolous and silly?”
“That’s the idea. In fact, we will have a competition for the most entertaining question of the day. I will be the judge.”
“That’s hardly fair.”
“All right. We’ll both vote, but I’ll be the tie-breaker.”
“Lunkhead.” I poked him with my elbow. “That’s no better.”
George held out his hand. “I vow to abide by the holiday rules.”
I shook his hand. “Likewise.”
He glanced at me. “I’ll start with something easy. What’s your favorite color?”
“Green. You?”
“Blue, but a bright blue, not navy. Your turn.”
“If you were an animal, what animal would you be?” I asked.
“Wait, is this a trick question? Not so long ago, you called me the big bad wolf, a bear, and a gorilla all in one day.”
“If the shoe fits.”
“I think I’m more of a dog.”
A laugh escaped before I could stop it.
But he didn’t change his answer. “A strong, smart hunting dog—or one of those dogs that go up into the mountains to rescue people. Brave, companionable, fun, energetic, loyal, snuggly, and of course irresistibly adorable.” He favored me with his goofy grin.
I said, “You’re starting to convince me. But it makes me wonder why every man I meet wants to have a dog brain.”
He chuckled. “What about you?”
“I’m probably a mouse. Creeping about at the edges, trying to go unnoticed. But I would like to be an owl. Wise and fearless. Intimidating but still at the fringes. Predator rather than prey.”
“I think you are more of a nightingale, with your bewitching song,” George said. “But do you realize what that means?”
I shook my head.
“Either way, you have a bird brain.” He nudged me with his elbow.
“I asked for that, didn’t I?”
“Practically begged.” George leaned his head against the carriage’s back wall, and I mirrored him.
But I was suddenly, acutely aware of the warmth of his shoulder against mine.
“Have you ever… been in love?” he asked.
That was his lighthearted question? Love? I considered before answering. “No. I have not.”
“Why the long pause?”
“If you must know…”
“All questions must be answered. Was in the rules.”
“Was not.”
“Fine print and all that.”
“If you must know, I had a long-standing infatuation. An imaginary illusion of love. But it wasn’t real. I’ve moved on. Mostly.”
“I’m intrigued. Do I know this fellow?”
I covered my face. “Ugh, it’s embarrassing enough to admit to infatuation. Your turn.”
“Me? Love? Never.”
We arrived at the Palmer House and spent two hours tasting more than twenty samples of the most delicious food I had ever eaten.
I suspected the lighthearted conversation influenced my taste buds.
I couldn’t remember ever laughing so much.
They didn’t put us in the broom closet but in a small private dining area.
I felt like the queen of Chicago with the chef’s fawning attention and the graceful flourish of each lifted silver dome.
Choosing among the excellent options proved difficult, but several stood out, at least to my palate.
George agreed, and together we finalized the menu.
The carriage rolled slowly home as the sun sank toward the horizon. A chill settled in, reminding us that October waited just around the corner. George shifted closer and offered his arm for warmth.
I cozied up next to him. “I cannot argue. You are indeed warm and snuggly as a pup. Perhaps you are Mipsy’s long-lost cousin.”
“Ha, ha,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “The resemblance is uncanny.”
Our laughter warmed the air, and the last bit of tightness eased inside me.
He tilted his head close. “We must vote on the best question.”
We spent ten minutes laughing over all the questions we could remember until we agreed. With two votes to zero, we declared the winner, no tie-breaking needed.
George said, “I cannot believe you would rather run unclothed down our entire street than walk fully clothed across a tightrope strung between our windows.”
“I have a fear of heights. And falling. Falling from heights, really.”
“I have a fear of public nudity. Gives me the willies.”
The evening sky deepened to shades of purple and orange as George handed me down from the carriage, but he didn’t let go of my hand. “In this light… I hadn’t noticed it before—maybe with your blue dress?”
“Are you speaking English?”
“There is a hint of blue tonight… a bit of cloudless sky mixed into those hazel eyes of yours.”
At least he couldn’t see my heart flapping like a startled bird.
He walked me to the door and saw me inside.
I said, “Thank you for the holiday. It was precisely what I needed.”
“Me, too.” He lifted my hand and brushed his lips across my skin. “Night, Goldie.”
Breathe.
“Night, George.”
I skipped upstairs and tried to ignore the feverish trembling that started in my hand, surged up my arm, and lodged deep in my heart. My dignity sighed in resignation.
The weeks blurred by after our holiday at the Palmer House.
It was probably for the best that George was swamped at work and our conversations were few and far between.
It gave me plenty of time to think of him every third breath.
Just friendly concern. Not infatuation. Well, only a twinge or two.
I worked to strengthen my defenses against those sneaky twinges.
However, my defenses were more like a sieve in a rainstorm than a fortress.
The glow of my holiday with George steadied me as I worked to draw Viola out, though she remained distant.
In three days, she would leave on a two-week visit to Minnesota.
That is, if George could convince his father to let her go.
Jacob’s family had invited her to stay with them next door to the construction of her farmhouse.
George would go along and watch over her until she was settled in.
I convinced Viola to stroll with me in the park, where the maples glowed in shades of orange and red, and the birches wore a confident yellow.
It was not so much that she showed any enthusiasm for a walk beneath the bright leaves whispering in the breeze, but she continued moving her feet as I gently pulled her into the mild October day.
I had taken to carrying on one-sided conversations even though it pained my soul to sound so much like my mother.
“I will always remember that day we went to talk to Mrs. Newman,” I said.
“We wanted to find out about love. Remember? She told us about meeting her husband. Metal and magnets and all that?”
Viola nodded. Sometimes she nodded when nothing had been said. I reached into my pocket and stirred my lucky pennies with my fingertips.