Chapter 27 - Lily
Lily
Dean promised me a week. Six days to go.
“Where next?” I asked, opening a wide umbrella as the rain picked up.
“Let’s see.” Rose checked the covered bundles in our red children’s wagon. “Do you remember Susan Murphy? She’s pregnant. Several families donated maternity clothes, so I volunteered to drop them off.”
We delivered the promised maternity clothes to a grateful Susan Murphy, who donated several pairs of gloves she’d knit in the evenings, and then medication to one of the town’s doctors before he left for afternoon rounds.
Assigning this work to the mayor and the sheriff’s daughters was one of my father’s smarter decisions.
Selecting Dean to lead the foraging expedition was another one.
I wish Dean understood that. People saw us laboring on their behalf.
It earned their trust and helped the council keep tabs on everyone before problems arose.
Best of all, it kept me busy, and I needed busy.
“We’re done. Let’s find Mrs. Willoughby and make more ugly scarves,” she said.
I giggled my agreement.
A week without Dean. Seven whole days. His absence brought my nightmares back. Hard dreams with floods and fire. I missed his arms around me at night and his constant dry observations. I missed his brutal worldview and the tender way he cared for me.
The wall clock ticked, marking each second with no sign of him. This town went without electricity, but kept a battery in the stupid wall clock?
I stifled a yawn.
“Lily, dear. Are you not feeling well?” Mrs. Willoughby asked.
He’d return, and I put my faith in that, not in the men with him or their planned map or the daily updates they provided to the sheriff’s department. “Strange sleeping arrangements. I’m not used to it yet.”
Rose and Mrs. Willoughby didn’t push.
“Then let’s return to it, shall we?” Mrs. Willoughby asked. She picked up her knitting needles.
Her gnarled hands moved a loop of wool before shifting their attention to the next. My clumsy fingers struggled to mimic hers, forming one stitch too tight and another too loose.
We staked out a conference room in City Hall, taking advantage of the light creeping in through its large windows. Rose and I, as daughters of the town’s most important men, drew on the occasional special privilege, with private use of the conference room being one of them.
Rose chimed in with her typical eagerness. “This will be the prettiest scarf in Deer Lake.” She held up the simple scarf made of charcoal-gray wool. “It’s not special to look at, but I made it myself. That makes it beautiful.”
“You have a knack for it. My hands get tied up in knots.” I smiled at Rose and slowed my pace.
“They’ll be back soon. I promise,” Rose said, as if she read my mind.
“Julian had better bring me some chocolate and chewing gum. We need more gum around here. You know, so we can stick it under the table.” She knocked on its underside, and I chuckled.
“Maybe they’ll bring pizza with them. Freshly delivered pizza. Can you imagine?”
My mouth watered at the idea. “With lots of ice cream. Every flavor.” If we started wishing and hoping over food, I had a long list. “Nachos with guacamole.”
“Fresh sushi,” Rose said.
We shared a brief laugh.
“If they bring all that back, I don’t mind if they’re late,” I said, glancing at the wall clock. Less than five minutes? Impossible. It’d be dark soon, delaying them another day at least. “He’ll only be in a little trouble.”
“That man is enchanted with you, Lily.” Rose’s half-completed scarf brushed her arm as she spoke. “Everyone notices the way Dean holds your hand to cross the street and opens doors. And they say chivalry is dead.”
I blushed.
Mrs. Willoughby eyed me over her knitting needles. “There’s talk about that man of yours, dear.”
“What sort of talk?” I asked.
“He argued with Julian Gustafson the morning they left. Called him a fool and worse. Be careful with him, will you? You were young, you don’t remember him back in the day.”
I knew Dean’s past and the raw pain it caused. He never said it, but the drips and drops told enough. He named Mrs. Willoughby a tormentor, while I remembered a kind woman who hugged and kissed me when I skinned my knees and checked my temperature for a fever.
“I’d be dead, several times over, if it weren’t for Dean Montgomery. Some people misunderstand him.” Our struggles and differences didn’t matter. Publicly, we were a team, and I wouldn’t change that for the women in this room or my father. I twirled the heavy ring on my finger.
Mrs. Willoughby caught the action. “You’re a grown woman, and my opinion counts for nothing.” She grasped each of our hands with one of hers. “I worry for you, Lily. He’s a forceful personality, and I worry. Horrible things to come.”
Dean considered that inevitable. “We live in a hard world,” I said.
“Oh, yes, indeed. He’s an avalanche, growing bigger until it reaches its target, then chaos.
He’ll cause trouble soon, I know it. I knew him as a boy.
He fought and argued like a wild child found in the forest. I tried with him, but it made no difference.
This isn’t me warning you away from him since I recognize futility when I see it. ”
That bundle of words demanded a response, so I chose humor rather than a blunter response. “I’d better make sure he hushes up before the next town meeting.”
Rose giggled. “If I had a man like that…well, I don’t, so it doesn’t matter. But if I did…” She fanned herself. She had her pick among the many single deputies in town and was wise to stay away from them.
A scuffle came from outside the conference room.
“What was that?” I asked.
Rose opened the door. A woman sat on the floor, crying. Rose drew back before helping her up.
She was the same woman we saw after arriving in Deer Lake. She’d walked through the crowd with tears on her cheeks as if she were invisible.
“I’ll be right back,” Rose said as she disappeared from view.
“Who is she?” I asked.
“Jenny Foster,” Mrs. Willoughby said. “Her husband tried to rob the grocery store. The sheriff and town council didn’t appreciate it.”
“What happened to him?” I asked, remembering the two bodies hanging from the scaffold.
“They exiled him, leaving her alone with three young children. It’s a tragedy.
A real tragedy is what it is.” She blinked and made the sign of the cross before checking no one overheard.
She lowered her voice. “You weren’t here, Lily.
That first night, before it hit, the sheriff sent men to several houses, the ones they thought might resist. Cooperate, or else.
Mr. Foster fought back, and they took everything from him. ”
“They made an example of him.”
“A just punishment is what the sheriff called it.”
“Where was my father during all this?” I refused to believe my father had participated. Breaking apart a family and denying a mother who sought to care for her children?
Our conversation halted as Rose returned and picked up her knitting needles.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I asked my daddy. He said all must contribute during hard times.” Rose blinked back tears before pasting on one of her perky smiles. “We should have a contest. Who can make the prettiest one? I would win.”