The Show (Northwest Passage Book 3) Page 24

  Grace pushed her tea away and got comfortable. She did not want to miss a word.

  "Did they get married?" Grace asked.

  "No," Margaret said. "John wanted to marry Emily in a civil ceremony on the eve of his induction, but she did not like the idea. She wanted a large church wedding, the kind she could meticulously plan. So they postponed their nuptials until after the war."

  Grace put a hand on her stomach as an uneasy feeling set in. She did not like where the story was headed and regretted opening the door to further discussion.

  "I don't understand," Grace said. "John returned from the war. Why did he not marry Emily then? Did she break off their engagement?"

  "No," Margaret said. "Something else did."

  Margaret paused for a moment, as if gathering strength for an unpleasant revelation, and then took a sip of her tea. Her hand trembled as she returned her cup to its saucer.

  "Emily Watson was struck and killed by a streetcar in Seattle on August 7, two days after Captain Walker returned from the war. She was twenty-three."

  Grace closed her eyes and sank lower in the settee. She suspected that John had suffered a recent trauma. She had seen it in his eyes. But she figured that the source of his sadness was the shrapnel in his leg or the ugliness of war and not the loss of a fiancée. She once again considered her own problems and felt very small.

  "Now you know why you've been good for him," Margaret said. "John told me after Emily died that he would never again find someone as special. Little did he know that he would find someone as special in a matter of weeks."

  "Thank you for sharing that story," Grace said. "It explains many things. It also reminds me I'm not the only one around here who has suffered a loss."

  "I'm not going to advise you on the captain, Grace. You must follow your heart. Just don't take him for granted. Men like John Walker don't come around very often. Whatever you do, be honest with him. Hold nothing back. You won't regret it."

  "Thank you again," Grace said. "I think this discussion has been good for both of us."

  CHAPTER 58: GRACE

  Seattle, Washington – Monday, February 10, 1919

  Grace thought about a lot of things on the drive to the doctor's office in downtown Seattle. She thought about the general labor strike that had all but crippled the city, the state of obstetric medicine in 1919, and the raging wildfire that was the relationship between William Vandenberg and Lucille Green.

  In barely ten weeks, the people who would become her parents had gone from acquaintances at a Sunday dinner table to fiancé and fiancée. Bill had asked for Lucy's hand in marriage right after preaching up a storm at Calvary Lutheran on Sunday. Uncle Alistair, Lucy's proxy parent, had reluctantly given his blessing.

  Grace also thought about a young teacher she had never met and could never meet. Since her enlightening conversation with Margaret Green, she had thought of little else but the woman once intended to be the wife of Captain John Walker.

  "Tell me about Emily," Grace said as she looked at the man driving the Cadillac coupe. "I'd like to know more about her."

  "What would you like to know?" John asked matter-of-factly.

  "What was she like? Was she smart? Was she pretty? Was she kind?"

  "I see you've been talking to Margaret."

  "I have," Grace said. "She thought I should know a little about Emily before I cast my lot with the neighbor boy."

  Grace looked for a smile but instead saw a frown. Her attempt to lighten the mood in the car had fallen flat. When she saw John return his eyes to the road, she realized that she had opened an old wound – and a big one at that.

  "She was all the things you mentioned: smart, pretty, kind," John said. "She was the kind of woman most men dream about but few ever find."

  "She sounds wonderful," Grace said. "Why have you never talked about her?"

  "What's there to talk about? She's gone. When someone is gone, you move on."

  Grace leaned forward to get a better look at John's face but saw nothing to encourage her. She could see that her companion had no interest in discussing Emily Watson any further.

  "I don't mean to pry, John. I ask only because I want to know more about the man that I'm seeing, a man I care about deeply. Emily obviously meant a lot to you," Grace said. She put her hand on John's. "That makes her important to me."

  John glanced at Grace with eyes she could not read.

  "What else would you like to know?"

  "I don't know. How about the usual things?" Grace asked. "When did you meet?"

  John sighed and tightened his grip on the wheel.

  "We met when we were children. We attended the same schools and belonged to the same church and country club. Emily's father is a partner in Dad's engineering firm. I can't remember a time when I didn't know her."

  "Had you dated long?" Grace asked.

  John nodded.

  "We'd dated for years but not seriously until the last few months. I guess you could say we'd decided that our friendship was more than just a friendship."

  Grace released John's hand and directed her eyes forward.

  "I was sorry to hear about her death," Grace said. "I can see why you loved her. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know."

  John shifted into a lower gear as they entered the city and started down a narrow, congested street. Potholes made what had been a relatively smooth ride noticeably rougher.

  "Perhaps there is something you can do."

  Grace turned toward the driver.

  "What is that?"

  "You can tell me more about this man of yours," John said. "Does he have a name?"

  Grace braced herself for a difficult discussion. She didn't want to talk about Joel or anyone else from her previous life, but she knew she had to say something. She had opened a door with her questions about Emily and was obligated to give John more than a pack of lies.

  "His name is Joel."

  "I see."

  John shifted again and glanced at Grace. He looked like a man who wanted some answers but wasn't sure how hard he should push to get them.

  "Can you tell me why this Joel is not around to look after you and his child?"

  "He's unable to," Grace said.

  "I don't understand. Is he in prison?"

  "You could call it a prison of sorts, but it's not one with bars. As I told you earlier, I left him. He did nothing bad to me or to anyone else. He doesn't even know I carry his child."

  "Let's see if I understand this correctly," John said. "You left a decent man, a man you love, and the father of your child for a new life in a new city, but you can't tell me why?"

  "That's the sum of it," Grace said.

  "That's not the answer I had hoped to hear."

  "I know," Grace said as she lowered her eyes.

  "Then I guess I have only one more question."

  "What's that?"

  "Are you free to marry another?" John asked.

  Grace sighed.

  "Do you have to know now?"

  John looked over his shoulder toward the rear window and shifted down. He quickly pulled his vehicle up to the curb, brought it to an abrupt stop, and turned off the engine.

  "Yes," John said.

  Grace felt her stomach sink as she saw what had been a carefully managed conversation spin out of control. Vague answers were no longer cutting it.

  "Why?" Grace asked.

  "Why? Because I love you, that's why. I can't imagine living my life without you. I want to take care of you and your child – and I want to do so sooner rather than later."

  Grace tried to pull herself together as her head swam. She hadn't been prepared to hear such a declaration so soon and struggled with how to respond to it.

  "Are you asking me to marry you?" Grace asked.

  John grabbed her hand and looked at her thoughtfully. He appeared now to be less interested in Grace's past than in her plans for the immediate future.

  "I am," John said. "I know this
is sudden. I had hoped to ask you in a more proper setting, but what's done is done. I love you and want a life with you. Will you marry me?"

  Grace's mind raced not to an answer but rather to the sunny day at Mount Rainier in 1941 when she had severed her emotional ties to Navy Ensign Paul McEwan and fully embraced furniture salesman Joel Smith. She vividly remembered trading a secure future with the former for an uncertain future with the latter.

  Grace realized that she faced a similar choice now. She loved John Walker and knew he would make a fine husband and father, but she also knew that if she accepted his proposal she would become Mrs. Walker – not Mrs. Smith – and burn her bridges to the past. Though she knew the odds of ever returning to 2002 were minuscule, she wasn't quite ready to give up hope.

  She brought her hands together, placed them on her chin, and sighed. Once again, she had to choose between a memory and a man in front of her. Once again, it was decision time.

  "I can't," Grace said as tears welled in her eyes. "I love you, John. I do. But I can't commit to you – at least not now. I need more time to think about my future."

  Grace hoped for some understanding but got silence instead. When she touched John's arm, he turned away and looked out his rain-streaked window. For more than a minute, he stared at the late-morning traffic and kept to himself.

  Grace couldn't blame him. She could only imagine how he felt. He had offered love and security to a penniless woman carrying the child of another man and received nothing in return.

  "John? Are you all right?" Grace asked.

  "I'm fine."

  John stared at Grace with defeated eyes, took a breath, and returned his attention to the road ahead. He put his hands on the steering wheel.

  "It's getting late," John said. "Let's get you to the doctor."

  CHAPTER 59: JOHN

  The drive to Second Avenue was conducted in silence. John kept his eyes on the road. Grace kept hers on the sights out her window. Both, it seemed, realized that their once promising relationship had hit a significant snag.

  John shook his head as he navigated through traffic in the city's central core. He had been stupid to press the issue. Of course she needed more time. They had known each other less than four months and had seriously dated less than two. What kind of woman committed to marriage at seven weeks, particularly in the front seat of a car?

  He berated himself for putting her on the spot but not for asking about her man. He could not understand why Grace Smith, or any woman, could not answer the most basic questions about a relationship that had resulted in a pregnancy. He had every right to know about her past and the man he wanted to replace.

  John finally stopped not in front of the building that housed the office of Dr. James Barrett but rather a building that housed financial offices three blocks away. He got out of the Cadillac, walked with a surprisingly smooth gait to the other side, and opened the passenger door.

  "Why are we getting out here?" Grace asked.

  "There is supposed to be a rally in support of the strikers near the medical building this morning. It's probably already over, but I think it would be best if we park here and walk the rest of the way. Things are very tense now. I want to preserve our options in case there's trouble."

  "You think it's that bad?"

  "The mayor seems to think so. He's added six hundred men to the police force, deputized another twenty-four hundred, and announced that 'any man who attempts to take over the control of the municipal government functions will be shot.' I call that bad. People are already on edge with the suspension of services. It wouldn't take much to set things off."

  John put his arm around Grace's waist and gently guided her south on Second Avenue. They walked half a block when she stopped, grabbed his hands, and turned to face him.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you. I do love you and I don't want you to think otherwise. I just want you to be patient."

  John smiled sadly at a woman who reminded him all too much of one who had been taken by a trolley barely six blocks away. How long ago that awful day now seemed.

  He had no doubt that Emily would have approved of this relationship. She would have wanted him to be happy and surely would have counseled patience on a day like today. "Use your head, John," he could almost hear her say. He decided then and there he would do whatever it took to gain Grace's hand.

  "I must admit I had hoped for, and even expected, a different answer, but I understand your position. If you need more time, I'll give you more time. You're worth it."

  Grace smiled widely as she lifted her head and met his eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him tenderly on the lips before stepping back and releasing one of his hands.

  "Thank you. All I want is a few more weeks."

  As they proceeded down the sidewalk of the busy arterial, John could see evidence that the four-day general strike, which had followed a shipyard strike and months of unrest, had taken a toll on the city of 315,000. Several businesses had shut their doors, trolleys sat idle, and litter cluttered the streets. Few of the pedestrians out and about wore smiles.

  They saw nothing alarming, however, until they came within a block of the medical building and saw a dozen men waging a war of words. They could not make out the words at first, but that soon changed. In a matter of seconds, vague shouts became clearer threats.

  "Why don't you bums get back to work?" shouted a well-dressed man in front of a restaurant. "I'm losing business every day because of the likes of you."

  "Well, that's good to hear, mister, because we intend to put you out of business."

  "Get off my sidewalk. Take your rabble elsewhere."

  "Do you hear this guy?" a shabbily dressed man said to those at his back. "He thinks this is his sidewalk."

  Half of the men crowding the sidewalk laughed. The others, who appeared to side with the businessman, formed balls with their firsts.

  "Get off this sidewalk!"

  "What if I don't? Are you going to make me get off?"

  The businessman nodded to his peers. The peers stepped toward the others as John tried to guide Grace through the maze of twelve angry men.

  "Excuse me, gentlemen, we just want to pass through. Please . . ."

  Before John could say another word the two sides were at it. He tried to shield Grace from the worst of the fight but took a fist to the jaw before he could push her to the side and out of harm's way. He released her hand and turned to face his attacker when he was hit again.

  Grace screamed and tried to pull John away but was quickly shoved aside. She stumbled backward into a brick wall and fell. When she got up and tried to free him again, she took an elbow to the chest and dropped to the ground.

  John attempted to come to Grace's aid but could not shake the grip of a man who clung to his uniform. He punched the man and then another in an attempt to break free but succeeded only in bringing more violence on himself. Two other men joined the fray and hit John repeatedly in the head and the chest until he bent over and faltered.

  John reached for Grace as he stumbled forward but grabbed nothing but air. When he heard a whistle blow, he turned his head and saw her run screaming toward a policeman pushing his way through a crowd on the other side of the street.

  Satisfied that Grace was out of harm's way, John swung one more time at each of his two assailants. They both fired back with blows to the head and chest and then scattered at the sound of another whistle. Within seconds all of the fighters fled the scene in different directions.

  Doubled up on the sidewalk, John Walker remained conscious long enough to see Grace return to his side and the cop give up his chase of one of the brawlers. He reached for Grace's arm but again came up empty. He dropped his face to the cold concrete and yielded to his injuries as unintelligible voices floated through the air and his once promising morning went black.

  CHAPTER 60: GRACE

  Kenmore, Washington – Friday, February 14, 1919

  "It was probably some of your Wo
bbly friends," Lucy said. She looked scornfully across the dinner table at her sister. "They've done nothing but stir up trouble."

  "You don't know who it was," Edith protested. "Even Grace said she thought it was the bullies from the restaurant. You can't just blame people without getting all the facts."

  "Ladies, please," Alistair said. "I'm sure the police will sort it out."

  Grace scanned the faces at the table and then pushed her plate away. She wanted no part of this discussion, even if it related to her in a number of ways. She cared only about the man in the house next door, who rested in bed with four cracked ribs, a bruised jaw, and a concussion.

  "Did the papers report anything?" Margaret asked.

  "Not a word," Alistair said. "They maintain this has been a peaceful strike, the most peaceful in history. They have not reported a single incident. Thank God this mess is over and we can get on with our lives."

  Margaret passed a plate of vegetables to Edith, poured herself a glass of water, and started into her dinner. She managed only a few bites, however, before turning her attention to a woman who was now well into her fifth month of pregnancy.

  "You must eat, Grace," she said. "I know this episode has been unsettling, but you must eat something – if not for yourself then at least for the baby."

  "I'm just not hungry."

  "How is Captain Walker doing? I haven't heard anything since yesterday."

  "He's resting at home, but he's still in much pain. The doctors say it will be weeks before his ribs heal and he is back to normal."

  "I think we should bake some pies tonight and take them over tomorrow," Lucy said.

  "What a splendid idea," Margaret said. "I'd be happy to help you."

  "I'll help too," Edith said.

  Grace ignored the exchange and instead stared at an oil painting on the far side of the dining room, a painting of downtown Seattle in the 1880s. She let her mind drift as she revisited every detail of a brutal assault that had haunted her for days. She wondered, for the umpteenth time, whether she could have done anything to prevent it.