Love's Sweet Melody Page 5

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  Chapter 6

  -Open Your Eyes-

  A squeal of shock left Betty's throat as Warner leaned off the side of the concrete bench. She grabbed his arm, tried to steady him, but didn't have the strength to keep him upright. As he landed in the brown grass next to the bench, she tried to steady her breathing. While it pained her to see him this way, she knew it could have been much worse if he'd been alone. At least I've kept him from getting seriously injured.

  Sitting down in the grass beside him, she lifted his upper body and cradled his head in her lap. Leaning in, she placed her ear near his nose. She felt the warmth of his breath on her cheek before she heard the sound, and immediately she released a sigh. He's fainted. She'd never witnessed anyone pass out before, and she'd initially been afraid he'd had a heart attack or something of that nature.

  She sat upright, using her fingertips to drum along his jawline. She knew she needed to wake him up, but didn't want to startle him. In his condition, he likely couldn't handle anything too exciting. "Warner?" She called his name softly. "Warner, are you alright?"

  At first, he didn't respond. She drew a deep breath, trying not to worry. "Open your eyes, Warner." She willed herself to be calm. He would probably come around soon. If he didn't, she would simply go get him some help.

  Time seemed to slow as she sat there in the grass, attempting to rouse him. Something occurred to her then. It was unconventional, and maybe a little improper, but it was worth a try. So, leaning in, she placed a very soft, chaste kiss on his lips, to see if that would wake him.

  A moment later, he began to stir. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked up at her.

  His tone reflecting the confusion on his face, he said, "Betty? What happened?"

  "You fainted. We were speaking about the war—" She felt his body tense. "You don't have to tell me anything more. I'm so sorry to have upset you."

  He blinked a few times. "I...No. I'm sorry. I should be able to tell my story without having such a strong reaction." He shimmied around a bit, finally moving into a sitting position next to her. "I'm alright. This isn't your fault."

  She closed her eyes against her rising guilt. "But what you've gone through...I had no right to make you relive it."

  He grasped her hand in his own. "You didn't make me do anything. You simply asked questions. I chose to answer."

  Feeling the warmth of his hand wrapped around her own brought a smile to her face, in spite of the myriad feelings tumbling around inside of her.

  "Now, I must ask you something."

  She looked into his dark eyes. "What is it, Warner?"

  "Why did you stay when you saw me..." he paused as if searching for the correct words, "in distress?"

  "Goodness, I couldn't just leave you here alone. You needed someone to be with you, and I was here."

  He appeared amazed.

  She smiled. "My senior year here, I raised a rose bush for extra credit in horticulture. Folks had given up on that thing. It was a scraggly looking thing, no blooms, and hardly any buds. I kept watering it, fertilizing it, all of that. Because I knew, one day, it would show its true beauty. And it finally did bloom, and I got my extra credit."

  His brow furrowed. "What does that have to do with why you stayed?"

  She answered truthfully, and without hesitation. "Why wouldn't I stay? You needed me. Why wouldn't I give you at least as much courtesy as I gave that old rose bush? You don't just give up on something that's special. You stay."

  Something in his expression changed, and at that very moment, she sensed a change in the air between them.

  "You think I'm special." He stated it, rather than asking.

  Unable to tear her eyes away from his intense gaze, she nodded. "Yes, Warner. I do."

  He raised his free hand to her jaw, cupping her face.

  She shuddered as his fingertips slipped over the curve of her cheek, then around to the back of her neck before becoming embedded in her hair. With a gentle tug, he brought her near.

  "You're the special one, Betty. And I think I've fallen in love with you." As the last whispered syllable left his lips, he kissed her.

  Her heart thudded in her chest. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to her feelings, and to the man sitting beside her in the grass.

  A series of soft pecks followed the initial kiss. His lips brushed against hers, then over her cheeks, her chin, and the tip of her nose. A soft sigh left her throat as he pulled away.

  "You don't have to say it back."

  She nodded. There were so many things tumbling around in her mind. And while she was fairly certain she'd come to love him, saying it out loud would make it too real, too binding.

  "It's getting late. We'd better get you home." He moved his hand, retracing the path he'd taken earlier with his fingers.

  Her eyes popped open." Heavens what time is it?"

  "Almost four o'clock."

  She felt her shoulders tighten up. He's right. She could clearly picture her mother, standing in the doorway with her arms folded over her chest, frowning as she looked up and down Royal Lane for any sign of her daughter.

  He stood first, then helped her to her feet. After taking a few moments to brush the dried grass off her skirt and straighten her clothes, she asked, "Do I look right? As in, the way I did when we left the hotel?"

  He chuckled. "Yes."

  "Good. the last thing I need is to show up at home looking disheveled when I'm already this late." She shook her head. Mama and Papa may have already said their goodbyes to my virtue by now, but I don't need to show up looking like it's really gone.

  He offered his arm, and she took it. They started walking again, this time taking a straighter way to her house. Sure enough, she saw her parents sitting on the porch as they approached.

  "Oh boy. Here comes a lecture." She rolled her eyes, careful to do so in his direction, so her parents wouldn't see.

  "Sorry I kept you. Hopefully, they won't make too much out of it."

  She gave him a wry half-smile. "Unfortunately, my parents are experts at making too much out of things. They parted ways at the fence, and she saw him off with a quick wave before opening the gate and slipping inside.

  Before she'd made it two steps, Randall Daniels stood from his seat on the porch swing. "Elizabeth Ann Daniels. Where have you been, missy?"

  "Hello, Papa. Mama."

  Myrtle said nothing, simply watched her daughter warily.

  Betty sighed. "To answer your question, I was with Warner. He walked me home from work."

  Randall scoffed. "Well. That would be a fine answer had you not gotten off work two hours ago. It's no more than a fifteen-minute walk, Betty."

  Climbing up onto the porch, she stood before her father, taking in the tense set of his face. "I know. We walked over to the school to chat. We were talking, and he seemed to be having some...trouble. I stayed long enough to make sure he was alright, then I came home."

  He frowned. "What kind of trouble?"

  She didn't know how to describe what she'd seen happen to Warner, so she did the best she could. "It was a sort of...attack, I suppose. He was talking about some of the things he did in the service, and..."

  Myrtle pursed her lips. "I told you, Betty. The darkness inside that boy was bound to come out sometime."

  Randall groaned. "Why, Betty. Why are you encouraging him?"

  "Papa, I couldn't just leave him there alone. He needed help. And you raised me to be compassionate, remember?"

  Randall's gaze softened a bit. "I know you're an adult in the eyes of the law, Betty. But I'm your father. I can't help myself when it comes to looking out for you and your reputation." He placed his hands on her shoulders and gave them a squeeze. "Think of how it will look if you keep spending time with him."

  She eased around her father's big body, toward the screen door. "Respectfully, Papa, what others think is not my concern."

  "Maybe not. But you need to consider this. If you get involved with him, it could mean spendi
ng the rest of your life as his nursemaid." He looked at her pointedly. "Is that what you want, Betty?"

  She didn't answer, because she didn't know what to say. Instead, she opened the door and went inside the house.

  -Portrait of a Man-

  WARNER TRUDGED OUT of his kitchen through the back door the following morning, after his simple breakfast of coffee, toast, and a fried egg. Stifling a yawn, he crossed his backyard to his workshop.

  Inside the shop, he eyed the old Buick, still sitting up on the stacked cinderblocks he used to raise it above ground. Once he'd slipped his dark blue coveralls over his tee shirt and jeans, he returned to the car's cabin to continue removing the steering column. He wished his assistant, Darnell, were there to help. But Darnell had taken the morning off to go to Alexandria and see his sister and her family. As a compromise, he'd promised to stop on the way to work and bring lunch for the both of them.

  Then again, considering his sour mood, Darnell's absence worked in his favor. He could brood in peace, without being questioned or castigated about it, as Darnell tended to do. While he used his tools to disconnect the various wires and fittings, he tried to put his embarrassment out of his mind, along with thoughts of the enchanting Betty.

  She saw him at his weakest. She'd been there to witness him giving in to the darkness buried deep inside. How could she ever come to care about him after what she'd seen? The portrait of a man, broken and crippled by gruesome memories.

  Just by sitting with her and opening his heart, he'd shown her the very thing he tried to keep hidden from everyone else.

  War had changed him. Rendered him speechless. Haunted his dreams with things too revolting to speak of.

  He set his pliers aside for a moment and used the back of his hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Introspection and mechanics’ work did not go together. If he were going to do this job right, he needed to concentrate. So he tried to push away his thoughts of Betty.

  Best to just forget about her now, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself.

  He left the car for a moment to turn on the old farmer's radio he kept in the shop. Tweaking the controls, he searched for something suitable to listen to while he worked. He stopped at one station, listening to the voice of announcer Dick Joy as he introduced an episode of The Adventures of Sam Spade, Detective. Satisfied, Warner turned up the volume and returned to the car.

  By the time he went to reassemble the repaired steering column, the show had ended, and the station was now playing a big band concert. The music filling the workshop reminded him of nights at Camp Claiborne, when he and the other boys of the 751st would huddle around the old farm radio and listen to music. They'd sing, dance and carry on late into the night, as a substitute for going into town to visit a dance hall. The memories of that, unlike those of being on the European front, brought a smile to his face.

  The workshop door slid open, and Darnell entered, clutching two brown paper bags. "Afternoon, boss man. Picked up lunch on the way, just like I promised."

  As the aroma of the food wafted toward Warner's nose, his stomach rumbled in anticipation. "Great. I'm starved. Haven't had a bite since breakfast." A glance at his wristwatch showed it was half-past one. I've been tinkering with this steering column for almost two hours.

  "So, where are we eating?"

  He set the tools aside and walked over to the table to turn off the radio and wipe his hands on a shop towel. "Let's go to the house. We can eat on the back porch."

  "Sounds good." Darnell turned and walked out with the bags of food.

  Warner followed, and after they'd both washed up at the kitchen sink, they returned to the back porch. There were two old wooden chairs there, sitting to either side of small card table. They sat down, and Darnell handed Warner his bag of food. "How's it going with that steering column, boss man? Did you finish it?"

  "Just about." He unfolded the top of the bag, taking out the contents. There was a chilled bottle of root beer, a paper-wrapped sandwich stuffed with ham and swiss, and a small packet of potato chips. "I see you went by the Cashwell for lunch, eh?"

  "I wasn't about to miss the Monday take- away lunch special. Besides, everybody knows they've got the best lunch in town for the money." He unwrapped his sandwich and took a bite. "At least on OUR side of town."

  He knew Darnell was right. There weren't many eateries on the west side of Fox Den. And no matter how good the food might be east of Fourth Street, most black folks had sense enough not to venture in that direction. "That's true."

  "You know, Betty was asking after you when I went in there to pick up the food." His tone held a mixture of humor and mischief.

  He sighed. "Did she?"

  "Sure did. She seemed disappointed that you didn't come in today." Darnell winked.

  She probably was disappointed with me. Just not for the reasons Darnell thinks. "I doubt that's the case."

  "Why not? She's sweet on you, from what I can tell. When I was going out, I saw her talking to the waitress. You know how women do, giggling and carrying on. There's something there, man."

  He blew out a breath. Had she been making fun of him with her friends? "You would think that. But you don't know what happened between us over the weekend"

  Crunching on chips, Darnell insisted, "Then why don't you tell me about it?"

  So, between bites of his food, Warner recounted what had happened when he and Betty were in the schoolyard—at least, what he could remember of it. "I passed out. Just fell right off the bench. Next thing I know, I'm coming to on the ground and she's holding my head in her lap."

  Darnell immediately started waggling his eyebrows. "Well, maybe something happened that's not so bad, champ."

  He rolled his eyes. "She kissed me. I felt her kiss me, square on the lips. I think that's what woke me. But that's all that happened while I was out, I'm sure of it. Betty's not that kind of girl." He paused. "I did kiss her, though. Afterward. As a way of thanking her for staying with me while I was out of it."

  "She let you kiss her, so what's the problem?"

  "I just didn't want her to see me that way," he groused. "How is she going to think of me as a real man, when I faltered so easily?"

  Darnell twisted his lips. "Come on, Warner. Remember a few months ago, when you started having an episode in the workshop? I had to pull you out from underneath that '41 Buick Super. Did I ever tease you about that? Or call you less than a man?"

  He shook his head. "No. But it's different with women."

  "How's that?"

  "It just is. Every woman wants a man who's strong, who can be counted on to protect her if she needs it." Crumpling up the rubbish from his lunch, he stuffed it in the bag before crushing it between his two hands. "She needs to feel she can depend on me."

  Darnell stood, collecting their trash. "And who's to say she can't? I believe you're a whole man, Warner. I also believe you can and will protect her, anytime she might need you." He opened the back door. "And if she's as smart as you say she is, she knows that." He disappeared into the house to toss the trash.

  Warner sat on the porch, looking out at the endless blue of the afternoon sky.

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  Chapter 7

  -What it All Means-

  Walking along Robertson Drive Tuesday morning, Betty pulled her coat a bit tighter around her body. As the end of September neared, the chill in the air had increased, and she was glad she'd pulled on her black leather gloves along with the coat before she'd left the house.

  She glanced at the door of her father's dental practice as she passed by. The familiar sight of "Dr. R. Daniels, DDS," engraved on the glass panel made her smile. She'd spent many days as a young girl, tooling around the office, or playing on the floor near his desk while he'd gone through his patient files. Yet, that wasn't her destination today.

  Four doors down from her father's practice, she came to the place she sought. The chill of the metal door handle permeated her gloves as she grasped it and pulled the door open,
stepping inside.

  The interior of the office of Dr. Calvin Freeman felt warm and welcoming, so much so that Betty pulled off her gloves and tucked them into the pocket of her coat. The reception area, well heated and decorated in soothing shades of blue, green, and white, was quiet. The brown leather couches in the waiting area were empty, the magazines arranged on the short-legged mahogany coffee table appeared untouched.

  The only person present in the room was the receptionist. Seated behind a small mahogany desk in the corner of the room, the woman appeared to be busy with some kind of paperwork.

  Betty moved toward the desk. "Excuse me."

  The woman, whose rich dark skin glowed beneath a crown of curly black hair, smiled as she looked up from her papers. "Good Morning. You must be Elizabeth."

  She nodded. "I am. I know I'm a bit early, so I'll wait if—"

  "No need. Dr. Freeman said to bring you to his office as soon as you arrived." She stood. "I'm Marla, by the way." She extended her hand.

  Betty shook her hand. "Nice to meet you."

  "This way." Marla gestured with her finger, then led Betty down a short hallway. At the end, they came to an open door, and Marla stuck her head inside. "Dr. Freeman, Elizabeth Daniels is here."

  "Thank you," a deep voice replied from the office. "Have her come in, Marla."

  After thanking Marla for her help, Betty entered the office. It was sizable, but the tall frame of Dr. Freeman, tucked behind a huge steel and glass desk, took up much of the real estate.

  He smiled, gesturing to the chair facing his. "Have a seat, Ms. Daniels."

  She did as he invited. "Thank you for seeing me, Dr. Freeman. And you can call me Betty. Most folks do."

  "Not a problem. I had a light patient load today, so I'm happy to help." He leaned over his desk, resting his elbows on the surface of it. "So, Betty. How can I help you?"

  She clasped her hands together, placed them in her lap. "I...wanted to ask you some questions. About a...friend of mine."

  His brow hitched, but he nodded. "Yes. Your father told me you wanted to seek my advice on someone else's behalf. So, what can you tell me about your friend?"