Love's Sweet Melody Page 3

  Once his plate had been cleared away and he'd paid his bill, he lingered at his table. He knew the busboy would be along to clean up, but he didn't want to miss a single note of Betty's playing. He'd embarrassed himself by sweeping her onto the ground yesterday, but she'd been gracious enough not to bring it up during their walk.

  Her shift ended at two. He knew this because he rarely had lunch before one. Mornings were long for him, especially on days when Darnell, his assistant, didn't come in. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes till two. He stood, brushed the front of his work shirt to ensure there were no crumbs there, and walked to the piano.

  She looked up as he approached, a soft smile on her face. "Hello, Warner."

  "Hello." He tucked his hands into his pockets. "Has the purse snatcher been caught yet?"

  She shook her head. "Agnes says the police promised to look into it, but nothing so far."

  "I see." He scratched his chin. "Would you let me escort you home again, then?"

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I see no harm in that."

  He smiled at her affirmative, yet non-committal answer. "Good. I'll wait for you by the door again."

  He watched her rise from the bench and walk down the corridor to the back room. As he'd promised, he waited as he’d done the previous day.

  Minutes later, she was walking toward him again. Today's ensemble, a fitted black skirt with a lace-trimmed white blouse, made her look as demure as a librarian. Yet nothing could detract from the shapely figure beneath. He gave her his arm and led her outside.

  While they walked, he kept an eye out for speeding cars and anything else that might endanger her. After all, that was why he'd been escorting her; to keep her safe. He cared about her, and if he were honest with himself, his growing feelings for her were the motivation behind his need to protect her.

  "You never told me about your service?" Her words cut into his thoughts.

  He shrugged. "I didn't think you'd be interested."

  "Of course, I am. What was your training like?"

  He scratched his chin with his free hand, delving into his memories. "Let's see. I did my basic training at Fort Jackson, South Carolina in the fall of '41. As a matter of fact, I was getting ready to complete basic when Pearl Harbor happened."

  "Heavens." She cringed. "What was that like?"

  "It didn't have any immediate effect on our training. But I think as soon as the news reports came in, all of us new recruits knew it wasn't peacetime anymore."

  She glanced at him, her eyes wide. "What happened after that?"

  "We all got to come home for two weeks for Exodus, the Christmas holiday, after finishing basic. Then, I went back to Jackson in January '42 for thirteen weeks of training to become a wheeled vehicle mechanic. Military Occupational Specialty 91 Bravo."

  "Hmm. I suppose that came naturally, didn't it?"

  He nodded. "Yep. After all those years working on cars with my father, I had no problem with the training. I'd already cut my teeth on cars of every make and model, and there's not a whole lot of difference between that and working on jeeps and tanks."

  "Your training sounds like it was quite interesting."

  "It was."

  "Did you put it to good use?"

  They were coming onto Royal Lane then, and the question made him stop in his tracks.

  He was back on that hill in France, watching the remnants of a battered tank being towed toward him. The outer shell, pierced through by a German panzer anti-tank gun, was splattered with the blood and innards of what had previously been a fellow soldier. As the cadre approached, another soldier spoke.

  "The inside is much worse."

  His vision swam, his head throbbed. His heart pounded in his chest like Art Blakely on the drums.

  He struggled to get his breath.

  The whole world began to sway, and he leaned against a poplar tree for support.

  "Goodness, Warner. Are you alright?" She placed a cool hand alongside his suddenly feverish jaw.

  He lay his hand over hers, managed a nod. Somehow, the comfort of her touch drew him away from the carnage in his mind, back to the present. He shut his eyes against the painful memories, then opened them again.

  "I'm here. Everything is fine."

  Her voice soothed him almost as much as her touch. He glanced around, let his senses remind him of where he was. He saw the nearly empty street, the houses with their tidy lawns and low slung fences. He felt the cool autumn air pass over his skin, smelled the scent of loamy earth it carried with it. He heard the calls of the birds, high up in the branches of the poplar he leaned against.

  Taking a deep breath, he straightened. "I'm alright."

  She looked into his eyes, her hand still against his jaw. "Are you sure?"

  He nodded, gently reaching up to ease her hand away. "Yes. Thank you, Betty."

  She looked confused. "For what?"

  "For your compassion." He kissed her hand, as he had the day before, then released it. "Let's get you home before we draw your mother's ire again."

  A small giggle escaped her throat. "We certainly don't want that."

  They walked the rest of the way in silence. Inside, he cursed the memories of the horror he'd seen overseas. More than that, he cursed his own weakness when it came to dealing with them. He was a man, damn it all. He had to learn to control his reactions, had to get a grip on his feelings. He couldn't bear the idea of going the rest of his life being ensnared by the pain of the past. He had to move forward. He only wished he knew how.

  Something told him that Betty could play a role in his healing. She'd already shown herself intuitive, compassionate, and willing to listen. But how could he be with her and not inflict his pain on her? Was it really fair to expect her to care about him, considering how damaged he was on the inside?

  Logic told him to put aside such thoughts. But logic rarely won when in situations like this, and his desire to be in her company could not be denied.

  When he left Betty at the gate, he looked into her eyes. He didn't dare lean in, despite the burning urge to taste her lips. She was special, and he would treat her with the respect she deserved.

  As their gazes locked, he saw the emotion swimming in the liquid pools of her eyes. God, she's so beautiful.

  Aware that her mother was probably watching from inside, he executed a crisp bow. "I'll see you around, Betty."

  She smiled. "Yes. Goodbye, Warner. And thank you for walking with me."

  "The pleasure was all mine." He touched his temple in salute.

  He stood by the gate, watched a few moments to see her enter the house. Then he turned and walked away.

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  Chapter 4

  -Will That Be Enough? -

  Shortly after ten the next morning, Betty walked down the hall toward the rear of the Cashwell, to the employee lounge. She had twenty minutes for a coffee break, and she planned to spend the time away from the guests.

  When she pushed through the swinging door, she saw Claudette already perched on the cushioned sofa. Clad in her uniform of a dark skirt, white blouse and white apron, she had one long, bronze leg tossed over the other. "Hey, Betty. Break time?"

  She nodded, then flopped down on the sofa next to her friend. She sighed as her bottom sank into the soft seat. "Thank heavens. My rear end could use a respite from that hard piano bench."

  "You really ought to put a cushion on that thing."

  "I know, but I keep forgetting to ask Ruby. I'll ask her today before I leave."

  "If you remember," Claudette chided.

  Betty sighed, ran a hand over her hair. "What's going on with you? How's your half of the apartment fund looking?"

  "Things are about the same as ever." She shrugged. "Nothing exciting going on. As for the apartment fund, if I keep putting away half my tips like I've been doing, I should have my half in about eight months, I guess."

  That made her sigh all over again. "I've been saving as much as I can from my paycheck, afte
r helping my parents with the bills. I think I can have my half saved in six months."

  She smiled. "See? We're making progress. The real question is, how much are your parents going to fuss when they find out we're going to rent an apartment together in Alexandria?"

  "I don't even want to think about it." She laced her fingers together, placing her hands in her lap. "I know it will involve some long speech about how it's not proper for unmarried women to live away from home, and how the city isn't a safe place for a girl my age."

  "It's not as if we're going to New York." Claudette smirked. "My parents already know I want to move out, and I don't think they'll object to us being roommates. It's better than either of us living on our own."

  "How are Joe and Fanny, anyway?"

  Claudette chuckled. "You know my parents. They're still carrying on like teenagers. Yet another reason I need to move out."

  "How long have they been married now?"

  Her eyes rolled upward, as if she were accessing the data from the deeper regions of her memory. "Thirty years? Yeah, that sounds right."

  "That's good. Mine have been together about the same." She tapped her chin with her index finger. "They don't do too much trysting in front of me, but I know they're still in love."

  "You're lucky. I catch my mom and pop kissing and giggling together all the time." She rolled her eyes.

  Betty smiled as an image of Warner's handsome face appeared in her mind. She didn't know why all this talk about their parent's marriage had conjured him up. "It's kind of cute when you think about it."

  Claudette's eyes narrowed. "No it's not. What are you really thinking about?"

  She could feel the heat rising into her face. "Come off of it, Claudette."

  Claudette folded her arms over her chest, staring pointedly at her, and waited.

  She blew out a breath. "Fine, if you're going to press me. Warner walked me home again yesterday, and..."

  "Twice in one week? What's going on with the two of you?"

  "You sound like Mama. Nothing's going on. But they hadn't caught the purse snatcher yet, so he offered to walk with me again. I don't see the harm in it."

  Claudette moved her hips forward on the cushion. "Your mama had something to say about Warner walking you home?"

  She nodded. "Yes. She went on and on about how if I keep spending time with him, one thing will lead to another and then—" she noticed her friend was perched on the edge of her seat. "Heavens, Claudette, don't fall off."

  "Sorry." She scooted back, but continued staring intently.

  "Anyway, she said I shouldn't get involved with him because the boys coming back from the war ain't wrapped tight and I'm just setting myself up for problems." She threw up her hands. "I don't know why she felt the need to say all that."

  "Who knows? Both our mothers are straight-shooters and neither of them is afraid to tell you how she feels...no matter how little sense it makes." She tugged at the hem of her apron. "The real question is, how did your mother pick up on the attraction between you two so quickly?"

  Betty frowned. "Wait a minute now. What are you talking about?"

  With a sidelong glance, Claudette uttered a brief laugh. "Betty. Honey, I'm not blind, and neither is anybody else working here. We all know you and Warner like each other."

  Betty swallowed, hoping to break up the lump of nervousness sitting in her throat. It didn't work. "I...um...is it really that easy to tell?"

  "Yes!" Claudette gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Some things just can't be hidden, no matter how hard we try. But with you two, it's getting so I'm worried we aren't going to be moving in together."

  "Oh, Claudette. I'm not going to abandon our plans for the sake of a man, least of all one I hardly know."

  "You say that now."

  Did her friend really believe she'd toss her aside that way? And if the attraction between Warner and I is really that obvious, could there be some truth to what Mama said? "We already agreed that the only way we'd break our deal is if one of us gets married, and I don't have any plans of doing that."

  "What have you got against marriage? You just told me you think it's cute that my parents are still smooching after thirty years."

  "I know what I said, and it's true." She laced and unlaced her fingers as she spoke. "Still, the idea of marriage just seems so...confining. I mean, when my parents married, my mother gave up her dreams of dancing on Broadway. And for what? To keep house, do the wash, and take care of my father's every need."

  Claudette shrugged. "It is what it is. My mother wanted to travel the world, too. She planned on photographing rare animals and writing a book about them before she met my father."

  "See what I mean? Why is it always the woman who must give up her ambitions? How many men do you know who've sacrificed their aspirations for a woman?"

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. "None."

  "Precisely." She shook her head slowly. "I just can't see myself doing that. Setting aside everything I've worked for, just to spend the rest of my days bent over a hot stove or an ironing board." The very thought of such a life made her cringe. She loved her mother dearly, and appreciated everything she did for the family. Still, deep inside, she knew marriage would mean giving up music.

  "So you're not willing to leave your job here, if you had a good man who wanted you home?"

  "No." She didn't hesitate. "My job here isn't glamorous, and it's certainly not going to make me rich. But I love music, and I love sharing it with others. Any man who truly loves me wouldn't deny me that joy."

  Claudette stood, stretched. "Seems like you're not settling for anything less than a truly progressive fellow. At any rate, it's up to you to decide what you want, Betty." She walked toward the front, then stopped in the doorway. "I know you love music. But your parents aren't going to be around forever. Do you really want music to be the only love in your life?"

  Leaving the question hanging in the air, Claudette disappeared into the corridor, letting the door swing shut behind her.

  -The Folly of Felicity-

  FRIDAY MORNING FOUND Warner lying on the concrete floor of his workshop. Above him, a black 1942 Cadillac Sixty Special sat on the lift. With a rolled-up towel beneath his head, he raised his arms, using his wrench to reassemble the undercarriage he'd spent most of the previous day dismantling.

  To his immediate right stood Darnell, his part-time assistant. He had the driver's side door propped open as he worked to replace the panel. At twenty, he was still a little wet behind the ears in terms of maturity. Warner had been willing to set that aside when he'd hired him. It turned out to be pretty good fit; Darnell's intelligence and enthusiasm for automobiles made him a quick study.

  "How's it going down there, boss man?"

  Warner swiveled his head to the left and saw Darnell stooped down, peering underneath the car. He shook his head. "It's going fine, Darnell. Be finished in a few minutes."

  "Good to hear." Darnell stood, and began tinkering on the door panel again. "Listen. Sam Connor next door said you had a little...episode at the Cashwell the other day. Says somebody told him you tackled the girl who plays the piano there. What gives?"

  Warner rolled his eyes. "You sound like one of the hens sitting in Gloria's Beauty Shop."

  "It's not gossip, Warner. I'm just concerned. Making sure you're all right, that's all."

  He wasn't totally convinced of that. But he did consider Darnell a friend. Other than calls to his parents in North Carolina and his very recent chats with Betty, he didn't talk to folks about his life and his concerns. For that to happen, they'd have to actually acknowledge him as a cognizant adult. "I heard a loud noise. My training kicked in, and in taking evasive measures, I also took protective measures with Miss Daniels. Nothing more to it than that."

  "I'm not buying that line. There were other people in there, I know it. You didn't leap to anyone else's aid. Why Miss Daniels?"

  He frowned. "She was the closest to me. I'd just approached the piano so we we
re occupying the same physical space."

  There was a long silence. Warner guess Darnell was thinking over what he'd said. Wanting to get the undercarriage back in place before lunch rolled around, Warner kept working.

  When Darnell finally spoke again, the next thing out of his mouth came as a surprise. "I saw Felicity."

  All the air left Warner's lungs in a whoosh. Why the hell would Darnell even mention her name? Lord knows it's she's the last thing I want to talk about.

  "I went into Alexandria last weekend to see my sister and nieces," he continued. "And there she was. Coming out of store downtown, draped over the arm of some brother with a conk. That stuff was so slick and so shiny, if he laid down you could ice skate on it."

  The joke made him snicker, but the momentary humor of it did little to lessen the pain he felt when he thought of his duplicitous ex. "I don't want to talk about her."

  "I know, I know. I'm just saying. Getting mixed up with a woman hasn't worked out well for you in the past."

  Tightening the last fitting, Warner slid out from beneath the car and stood. While he walked to the table to put down his tools and towel the grease off his hands, his traitorous mind dredged up the memories of Felicity. Her kiss that had fired his blood, her smile that had hidden her true nature. She’d been no more loyal to him than Brutus had been to Julius Caesar. With his back still turned to Darnell, he spoke. "You know, she promised me she'd wait for me. Stood down there at the bus station, seeing me off to training, with the tears standing in her eyes, and promised she'd wait for me. By the time I got back from Europe, she'd packed up and left." He shook his head. "Thought a raggedy little note about how she'd had "chemistry and sparks" with somebody else would get her off the hook." He squeezed the towel between his hands so tight his knuckles hurt, then tossed it aside.

  "I'm sorry, boss man. I shouldn't have brought her up." Darnell sounded reticent.

  He turned, making eye contact with the younger man. "I'm glad you realize that. So don't mention her name ever again."