Love's Sweet Melody Page 2

  Retrieving the leather portfolio she kept in the small drawer built into her piano bench, she placed the sheet music in it and tucked it back into the drawer beneath her. She brushed a hand over the skirt of her dress to disperse the wrinkles, then walked down the short corridor past the kitchen and restrooms to the employee break room.

  In the break room, Ruby was seated at her desk in the far corner, writing. Glancing up from her work, she stifled a yawn with her palm. "You headed out, Betty?"

  "Yes, Ruby." She approached the metal timecard holder affixed to the walk, took out her card and inserted it into the slot of the timeclock. The old machine was notoriously fickle, and one never knew when it would roar to life. After she waited several beats for the punch, she asked, "Do you really think Agnes is all right?"

  Ruby shrugged. "You know Agnes. She's not one to tell us her life story. She says she's fine, so I've got to take her word for it."

  The machine groaned and jumped as it impressed the time on her card. She tucked it back into its slot. "I hope she's being honest."

  "Don't worry, honey. Me and the rest of the staff will be looking out for her." Ruby tucked her ink pen into the base of her bun. "What about you? You gonna be alright walking by yourself?"

  She blushed. "I'm... not going to be by myself."

  Ruby's perfectly groomed brow lifted. "Oh?"

  "Warner offered to walk me home." She looked away from Ruby's surprised face as she got her brown wool coat and matching purse off the coat rack in the corner near the time clock.

  "So he was concerned for you, then. That explains why he was hovering while we were talking to Agnes." Ruby leaned forward over her desk. "An honorable man, that one. No surprise, though. Takes an honorable man to fight for a country that don't give him the same respect as a scarecrow."

  Thinking about Ruby's words for a moment, Betty slipped into her coat. "I'd better be going. He's waiting for me."

  "See you tomorrow, honey."

  "Bye, Ruby." Draping the strap of her purse over her wool-shrouded shoulder, she left the break room and returned to the front. She could see Warner, leaning against the wall by the front door, looking out through the glass pane. She stopped a moment to watch him from the hallway, just out of sight. He was just as handsome in profile as he was head-on. The strong line of his bearded jaw was set as if he were in deep thought. She wondered what he might be thinking about. Was it something pleasant? Or something too terrible to say aloud?

  Remembering that they needed to get going, she walked over to him.

  He straightened as she approached, offering his bent arm. "Ready?"

  Nodding, she slipped her arm into his. Ignoring the gasps and the whispers of the diners, she walked through the door he held open for her without a backward glance.

  -The House on Royal Lane-

  THE COOL AFTERNOON air grazed Warner's face as he walked arm in arm with Betty. Having her near him, with the breeze bringing the fresh floral scent of her perfume to his nose, made the day seem much brighter.

  "You're still living in the same place, right?" He thought she did but wanted to be sure before they went too far from the Cashwell.

  She nodded. "Yep. Still on Royal Lane."

  He recalled the place, about two blocks over from his own modest home on Aristocrat Way. When his parents had moved down to North Carolina to take care of his father's grandparents, they'd left Warner there to look after his childhood home. Now it seemed his parents would remain in Raleigh, and the house now belonged to him.

  They walked in companionable silence down Fourth Street, going around the corner at the intersection with Raynor Road. The King's Court neighborhood, where they both lived, was a good five blocks away.

  "Let's go this way." She pointed toward the next intersection, Raynor and Martin Avenue.

  He knew it would be just a hair faster than his preferred route, a more scenic trip past Carlton Park. Still, this was his first opportunity to spend any time alone with her, and he certainly didn't want to spend it arguing. "If you insist."

  Silence fell between them as they waited to cross the street at Martin Avenue. As she stepped down from the curb, he heard the approaching roar of an engine and swiveled his head in the direction of the sound. His years spent performing complex repairs on both private vehicles and on Uncle Sam's tank fleet. The experience had made it easy for him to identify the vehicle by sound.

  It's a Monobloc. Eight cylinders. Probably a Cadillac.

  "There's a car coming." He said the words aloud but wasn't sure if she heard him.

  Moments later, a fast-moving black Cadillac swung around the corner. Instinct kicked in again, and he extended his arm in front of Betty to halt her steps.

  The Caddy raced by, cutting through the chilly wind and sweeping her curls to one side of her head as it passed. He kept his arm there for a few tense seconds as the car flew by. Once he made sure the way was clear, he dropped his arm.

  She blew out a breath once they were safely on the other side of the road. "My. That's the second time today you've protected me."

  He wasn't sure the first time counted since she hadn't been in any real danger, but he nodded and accepted her statement. "That man was driving much too fast. I'm just glad I was with you."

  "Here I was worried about the purse snatcher. It seems you're aware of every danger that could befall a girl walking the streets of Fox Den."

  He pressed his hand against her shoulder to gently shift her path, to keep her heel from getting caught in the opening of a manhole cover. "I suppose you could say that."

  She smiled shook her head. "Tell me, Warner. Did anything exciting happen at the Lion's Lair after I left?"

  He shrugged. "Not much of anything interesting that I can recall." She'd graduated one year ahead of him from Fox Den Central High- home of the Fighting Lions. The basketball team made it to the regional finals, but got pushed out by East Richmond Prep before they could make it to state."

  "I was away at Howard."

  He nodded. "I'd heard you went away to school but didn't know where, or what you studied."

  "Mama and Dad insisted I go there to study education. They said it was the 'respectable career choice' for me." She sighed, looking off into the distance. "Music has always been the thing I loved most, so they agreed to let me minor in classical piano."

  "Did you ever use your teaching certificate?"

  She nodded. "Sure. Went over to Alexandria and taught music in the elementary school. Lasted one year before I couldn't stand it any longer. "

  "Surely it wasn't the children that did you in?" Though they hadn't spent very much time together as classmates, he'd never known Betty to be impatient or unreasonable. If anything, she seemed like someone who would enjoy the company of youngsters.

  "No, of course not. The little ones were a delight, for the most part. Our children just aren't given the same educational opportunities as the white children, and I just couldn't abide it."

  "Sounds familiar." He knew immediately what she meant. He'd experienced similar prejudice firsthand in the military. White units were given far better uniforms, lodging, and equipment than Black soldiers, yet all were expected to be equally willing to give their lives in battle.

  "What about you? You didn't enlist right after graduation, did you?"

  "No." He shook his head. "Spent a couple of years working side by side with my father at Culbertson's Body Shop. He was able to get me a job there since he was a supervisor. When my parents went down to North Carolina to see about my grandparents, he left his job."

  "And you didn't stay on at Culbertson's?"

  He released a bitter chuckle. "Old man Culbertson wasn't too fond of me. He only hired me on as a favor to my father. As soon as my father was gone, he let me go." His memories of the months following losing his job were a blur of moving around northeast Virginia, boarding and taking rooms wherever he could. "I was a bit of a wanderer for a while after that. Even went down to North Carolina with the family. B
ut with my parents, grandparents, and two uncles already living in a two-bedroom house, it got crowded, mighty fast."

  She looked his way, her head cocked to the side as if she were analyzing what he said. "I can understand that. It was four girls to a room in my dormitory at Howard the first year, and by the end of the first semester I was fit to be tied."

  He chuckled, marveling at her ability to take his unpleasant memories and soften them with humor, simply by sharing a bit of her own experience.

  As they reached Royal Lane, he slowed his steps a bit. He realized he didn't want their walk to be over; didn't want to have to leave the pleasure of her company. No one in town had held any meaningful conversation with him, at least not since he'd returned from the front. Were they afraid to speak to him, or did they simply think him too simple or unstable to carry on a conversation? He didn't know. Still, walking and talking with her had been a refreshing break from the solitude and silence he'd been locked in since he came back to Fox Den.

  At times, he wondered if he should have gone back to North Carolina, where his family was. Would it be better to live in cramped quarters with family, than to live alone here, where no one seemed to recognize his humanity anymore?

  She stopped by the whitewashed gate, gesturing to the split level brick house. "We're here."

  He gave her a small smile. "See? I got you home safe, just like I said I would."

  "You did. Thank you, Warner." Her eyes held his for a moment. "I enjoyed our time together."

  "So did I." He reached for her hand, grasping it loosely. Lifting it, he pressed his lips against the delicate skin of the back of her hand. He let her hand go, looking up to her face in time to see the color flash through her cheeks.

  "I'll see you around." The words tumbled out in a hasty whisper as she unlatched the gate and slipped through it.

  The gate swung shut behind her, and he watched her dash toward the house, wondering what had spooked her.

  When he saw her mother, standing in the screen door and looking none too pleased, he understood. With a wave in Mrs. Daniels' direction, he turned and departed.

  Page

  Chapter 3

  -One Thing Leads to Another-

  Betty stopped on the porch and turned her head to watch Warner hustle away from the gate. She dared not stare too long after him, not under her mother's withering gaze.

  Her mother stood in the doorway, arms folded over her bosom, brow creased like a wrinkled shirt. "Mm Hmm." It was the sound Myrtle Carter Daniels made when she'd decided she was on to something.

  "Hello, Mama. How was your day?" Betty stood on the porch, her eyes fixed on the doorway.

  Myrtle didn't move. "What were you doing with Wilbur Hughes' boy?"

  She sighed. Mama has never been one to beat around the bush. "Would you mind letting me come in the house, Mama? It's a little chilly outside."

  "Hmph." She stepped aside. "But don't think you ain't gonna answer my question, Missy."

  "Of course." Betty sidestepped around her mother and entered the house, inhaling the thick as the scent of cinnamon and apples emanating from the kitchen. "Ooh. You're making apple pie."

  "Your daddy asked me to make a couple." She came inside behind her daughter, shutting and locking the door. "Now back to what I asked you before. What were you doing with the Hughes boy?"

  It almost amused her the way her mother insisted on referring to Warner as a "boy." She knew it was just something older folks tended to do; think of everyone younger than them as children. But as she pictured him in her mind's eye, the tall, dark, sturdy frame; the handsome face with the chiseled jawline and rich, dark eyes, and the scent of woodsy cologne and a hint of motor oil rolling off his body, she was certain that no matter what her Mama thought, Warner Hughes wasn't anybody's boy. No, honey. That's a man.

  "Elizabeth Ann Daniels. Don't you hear me asking you a question?" Her mother's sharp words cut through her musings.

  "Sorry, Mama. Warner was eating lunch at the hotel today and he offered to escort me home." That was the quickest way she could think of to answer her mother's question- the truth. She went to the coat closet, opening the door and shrugging out of her wool coat.

  "Oh, come now. He eats there all the time and he's never walked you home before."

  After hanging her coat and closing the door, Betty looked her mother's way. The white housedress she wore, emblazoned with orange and yellow flowers, was covered by the blue and white checked apron she favored. Her short, graying brown hair was still in the pink curlers she'd been wearing this morning, and a few streaks of flour lined her round face.

  Betty leaned down to kiss her mother's flower streaked cheek. "Do you remember Agnes?"

  She frowned. "The one who waits tables there? What does she have to do with all this?"

  “Well, Agnes was robbed on the way into work today. There's a purse-snatcher out there, and Warner was simply doing the gentlemanly thing by offering to see me home."

  "I suppose." The tightness in her face relaxed a bit. "Did Agnes make a police report?"

  She nodded. "Ruby took her back to the office so she could call them, so she's at least started the process."

  "Good." Myrtle walked toward the kitchen. "Isn't that something? Folks running around in broad daylight, snatching purses. It's a shame and a disgrace, I tell you."

  She followed her mother into the kitchen, inhaling the heavenly scent of the baking pies. "How long until they're ready, Mama?"

  She leaned down, looking through the glass window in the oven door. "About another ten minutes or so. But don't try to change the subject, Elizabeth."

  She frowned. "I wasn't trying to change—"

  "At any rate, I don't think I like the idea of you spending time with Warner."

  How did we get back to this? They'd gone from discussing Warner, Agnes’ ordeal to the apple pies, and now back to Warner. "He's walked me home one time, Mama. I don't think that qualifies as 'spending time'." She eased into a chair at the kitchen table, careful not to disturb her mother's red tablecloth or the ceramic basket of brightly colored fruit that centered the table.

  Myrtle took her usual seat across the table. "I know how it is with you young folks. You start chatting on a regular basis, then you start sparking and courting. After that, well, one thing leads to another, as they say."

  She wanted to roll her eyes but knew better than to disrespect her mother. "I hear you, Mama. But there's nothing like that happening between me and Warner."

  Leaning back in her chart, Myrtle released a short laugh.

  A bit startled, she cocked a brow and waited to see what her mother would say next.

  "Oh, for goodness sakes, Elizabeth. I said almost the same words to my father about a boy I was spending time with."

  "And what happened to that boy?"

  She laughed again. "We got married and had you!"

  Heavens. I walked right into that trap. Shaking her head, she released a little chuckle in response to her mother's story. "Point taken, Mama." What could she say? She was just grateful her mother hadn't asked her any really probing questions about how she felt about Warner. She wasn't one to lie, least of all to her parents, and she was certain her mother would not approve of her answers to such queries.

  Finally getting over her mirth, Myrtle stifled a yawn with her hand. "All I'm saying is, watch yourself when it comes to Warner. He's been over there, fighting in a war. No telling what horrible things he's seen and experienced."

  "I can't even imagine."

  "If you don't take my advice and stay away from him, you won't have to imagine." She leaned in. "When a man comes back from a war, having seen all the awful things men will do to each other in the name of victory, it changes him. All that gore and death can rot a man's mind. Eat him alive, from the inside out. You stay up under him, and you're going to find out."

  She bristled at her mother's words, and the ominous tone. "Mama."

  "Don't 'Mama' me. I know what I'm talking about. Ther
e's a psychiatrists office not too far from your father, and he and that doctor have lunch together sometimes. The stories that shrink has heard from those boys would turn you white as these kitchen walls."

  Betty glanced around, swallowed the lump in her throat.

  "Goodness, I'm tired. Elizabeth, be a dear and watch over the pies for me. Take them out in about five minutes." She rose from her seat, stretching her arms above her head. "I'm going to lay down for a bit."

  "I'll take care of it, Mama."

  "Thank you." She stifled another yawn as she shuffled out of the room, calling back, "Save some pie for your father."

  "Yes, ma'am." She shifted her gaze to the oven, already anticipating the taste of the homemade pies.

  Later, after she'd taken the two pies out and set them on the counter to cool, she helped herself to a nice big slice. Seated at the table in the silence of the kitchen, she thought back to her conversation with Warner. He seemed fine to her, despite other people's insistence that he was somehow "broken."

  He hadn't spoken about his military service, but she'd assumed it was because they'd reached her house before they could get around to it. But was it some other reason?

  Could the handsome man who'd offered her safety be in need of rescue himself?

  -Bitter Memories-

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, Warner returned to the Cashwell to eat lunch in the dining room. While he treated his palate to the delights of the chef's delicious cuisine, his ears savored the soft, lilting melodies drifting from the piano. Between bites of savory garlic and rosemary infused chicken, he stole glances at Betty. Her graceful fingertips flowed effortlessly over the keys as she played. Her eyes were shut, her full lips slightly parted, and her upper body swayed as she moved in time with the music.

  It was apparent that the music had a hold on her, and he felt much the same way. Everything about her body language conveyed her love of playing piano, and she infused that love into every piece she played. He didn't know how the other people who patronized the dining room felt. But when he heard Betty play, he felt light and free. Her music brought him a sense of peace, one he thought had abandoned him during the dark days of the Ardennes campaign.