4. George
George
Igripped the wisteria arbor, ready to coax a smile from Sarah.
She half-turned, surveying the garden, lips pressed in a tight line. “Viola isn’t out here.”
“Come on. Forgive me for the stairs, Goldilocks.” The childhood nickname tasted different on my tongue today.
She tucked her chin and studied me over her shoulder. “You, George, are more of a big bad wolf than a porridge-eating bear.”
“You wound me.” I clutched my chest. “Straight to the heart.”
The corner of her lip twitched.
“I’m no wolf. No huffing. No puffing. No sheep’s clothing. I take the scenic route to grandmother’s house.”
Her smile waited so close.
“If you forgive me, I’ll whip up a special bowl of porridge.”
“I’m not convinced it would be safe to eat anything you cook,” she said with a smile that shifted something clunky and rusted deep inside me. If we’d been playing cards, I would’ve doubled down. I was just about to coax another smile from her when?—
“I’m over here,” Viola called. “Stop pestering Sarah. I need her most desperately!”
Under my breath, I said, “Yes, we are all desperate for Sarah today.”
Sarah shot me a surprised look, then hustled over to Viola.
Viola towed Sarah back toward the house. “We have a mission of the utmost importance. No time for delay.”
I trailed along behind them. The two women noticed me and, in one voice, said, “No brothers allowed.”
Hadn’t heard that in years. I remembered the letter in my pocket. Leverage.
“Wait,” I said. “I have something for you.” I pulled out the envelope. “Mail.”
Viola turned back to me with Sarah close on her heels. When she reached for the envelope, I lifted it out of range.
“Be thankful you have no brother, Sarah.”
Sarah stepped shoulder to shoulder with Viola and pierced me with her gaze, but her tone remained light. “He’s like an annoying brother to me, too. Next door is close enough.”
Sarah’s words stung, though I’d always thought of her as a second little sister. Yes. Sibling-ish. That’s us.
I dangled the envelope. “Oh no, dear sister, the letter stays with me until you confess. What the blazes are you up to? What plan are you hatching?”
“Blast your gorilla arms.”
“I’m sure he’ll give you the letter eventually.” Sarah narrowed her hazel eyes at me. “Even his ape brain must understand it’s your letter.”
So many animals. Would I rather have her liken me to a gorilla, a bear, or the big bad wolf? Hard to say.
“I’ll find out sooner or later. You know I will.”
Viola slumped. “You are such a child. But I might as well tell you.”
I nodded at her wise decision.
“Father can’t make me. I will not be forced into anything.”
“Forced into what?” Sarah asked.
Viola looked from Sarah to me. “Father has decided. He just told me—I must…” She paused for a deep, dramatic breath, then said, “Get married.”
Sarah gasped. “Pemberley!”
Ha. Sarah still curses in Jane Austen. Of course she does. How had I forgotten?
But marriage? Viola was right. What was Father thinking? Forcing her into marriage was a terrible idea.
Viola sighed. “What I need is a brilliant marriage escape plan.”
Sarah stared at Viola for a long moment. “Maybe this is not a situation you need to escape. Maybe marriage is not so dreadful as you believe.”
Behind Viola’s back, Sarah made a circling motion with her hand, urging me to join in.
I caught her cue and said, “Not bad at all. Marriage will be just the thing. You simply need to find the right person.”
I glanced at Sarah, and she gave me the slightest nod. Strange—teaming up against Viola.
I patted Viola’s shoulder. “How about I find someone you would like? What do you think? Short or tall, serious or silly, fawning or?—?”
“No. No, thank you. I do not need you to play blasted matchmaker, George. I am not getting married.”
I shrugged, decided I had tormented her enough, and handed over the letter. I linked arms with them. Time to head back. Past time, really.
Viola said, “I appreciate you wanting to help, but true love is a fairy tale. There is no Prince Charming, no one right person. Not for me. But it doesn’t matter. I have sworn off love and marriage, remember?”
Sarah switched topics. “Who is your letter from?”
“Aunt Edith, I think.”
“Cleveland or Seattle?”
“Seattle. Mother’s older sister.”
Viola opened the envelope and slid out the folded page.
“The eccentric one who wanted to adopt Viola,” I said, dropping a kiss on the top of Viola’s head. “Although why anyone would want to claim this stubborn knucklehead is beyond me.”
Viola swatted me with the empty envelope. “You all right? You two didn’t smack heads when you collided, did you?”
I shrugged and Sarah shook her head as Viola scanned her letter, a smile blooming on her face.
At the front steps, I mussed up Viola’s hair. She huffed but her focus stayed on the letter.
Then I winked at my co-conspirator. “I must be off.”
Sarah smiled. Again. Mission accomplished.
“Dummy’s on your desk, boss,” Lenny said as I hustled in. “Tulip piece is on page two.”
I skimmed the draft. “Move the World’s Fair piece above the fold. Chicago’s still puffed up we beat New York—let’s feed it.” A few edits, a flourish of my pen, and I headed upstairs.
Mrs. Kirkegard glanced up from her papers.
I winked as I passed her desk outside Father’s office.
She shook her graying head and winked back.
She’d had a soft spot for me since Grandfather’s day.
Sweets slipped into my hand, a pat on the head.
Even after Mother died, she never pitied me.
Just candy, just kindness. Guess I have a soft spot for her, too.
Wonder if she still keeps candy in her desk.
The Chicago Star was Grandfather’s creation, now Father’s empire. I’d climbed every rung to reach lifestyle editor and it was time to prove myself.
I slipped into the budget meeting seconds before it began. No Father. Whatever he’d said to Viola must’ve riled him. I gave half my attention to the meeting and the rest to my secret project—something I hoped would cement my legacy. But soon all of my attention wandered to a willowy blonde.
Hard to believe I’d overlooked her. Impossible, really.
Yet she’d been in my arms an hour ago with curves just right, hazel eyes, knew her animals.
And I’d made her smile. Twice. The girl who used to put snails in my shoes.
She was Viola’s best friend. Off limits.
But still… maybe I needed my vision checked.
Ron whispered, “Dirks and I are hitting Vinnie’s after work. You in?”
I ducked my head. “No can do. Cards at the club.”
He scoffed. “Remember to stand on seventeen.”
“Never learned that lesson. Next Friday. First round on me.” We shook hands under the table.
Everyone teased me about my nonsensical techniques for twenty-one. But when I felt my luck building, I had to go with it. My mind returned to Sarah, but my gut had yet to weigh in.