A Distant Melody (46 page)

“He loves me.” A low moan rose in her throat. She’d dreamed of hearing those words on his lips, but her dreams always ended with an embrace and a kiss, not with her departure.

Allie looked away to the sailor’s cap of the man in front of her. Walt didn’t deserve embraces or kisses. He lied to her. Why, he even lied about her to his friends. Oh dear, that was why Cracker said he’d heard a lot about her.

She glanced out the window to Walt’s slumped shoulders and bowed head. He didn’t have to tell her that. She never would have known. He chose to tell her, to obey.

“No.” She slammed back in the seat. He lied about Emily for selfish reasons. He allowed Allie to live in despair for two months when she could have lived in hope—hope that would have been fulfilled if he hadn’t lied.

A burst of steam, a growl of engines, and Allie looked out the window. Walt sat up straight on the bench, his face distraught, and he shoved the curl off his forehead. Why did he have to do that? Did he know how endearing she found that gesture?

“But I could never trust what he says.” She’d never deceive him like that. She hugged her stomach over the delicate chiffon dress she’d worn when she danced with Walt and she . . .

Allie gathered the fabric in her grip. She chose not to tell him about Baxter.

What did Walt just say? Silence wasn’t truthful when it perpetuated a lie? She allowed him to believe she didn’t have a boyfriend—a lie, and what a hurtful lie.

“Oh no,” she whispered. Her bare left hand rubbed against the inside of her right arm. When she didn’t tell Walt she broke her engagement, she allowed him to believe she was still engaged—also a lie.

“Oh, dear Lord, I’m as guilty as he is.” All this spring he must have lived in despair, dreading her marriage, when he could have lived in hope—hope that would have been fulfilled if she hadn’t deceived him.

The train lurched to a start. Walt stood, put on his cap, raised a heart-wrenching, left-handed salute, and walked away.

“No!” Allie sprang to her feet. “Stop the train!”

“Something the matter, miss?” the conductor called behind her.

“I have to get off this train.”

“Sorry. Can’t do that. You can get off at Pittsburg.”

“No, I have to get off now.” She headed down the aisle.

The corporal grasped her arm and turned to the conductor. “Talking to herself, you know what I mean?”

Allie leveled a gaze at him. “I assure you, sir, I am perfectly sane. Now please let go.” She tugged her arm free and plunged down the aisle.

“Hey, lady! Where do you think you’re going?”

The train lumbered along. Surely she could get off. She excused her way past curious passengers to the end of the car, where the door stood open for a breeze. She grabbed the handrail. Walt was opening the station door.

“Walt!” she screamed. “Walter Novak!”

Then she looked down. The wind whipped her hair about her face, and the platform blurred before her eyes. What was she thinking? She couldn’t jump off a moving train! The prudent course of action was to continue to San Francisco and return the next day. After all, her luggage was on board.

“Lady! Hey, lady, are you crazy?”

Allie looked over her shoulder. The conductor was almost upon her. Back to the station, where Walt stood, hand on the door, gaping at her. The train gained speed. The end of the platform neared.

“Oh, dear Lord, help me.”

The conductor’s hand brushed her sleeve.

“Walter!” she cried and she jumped and she screamed. The ground rushed up. Her right ankle crumpled. Down she tumbled, over and over, a blur of wood and sky and pain around her.

“Allie! Allie!”

Her cheek rested on the rough wood platform. She moaned. Every limb ached.

“Allie! What on earth?” Walt pounded to a stop and dropped to his knees.

She rolled to her side and pushed up partway. “I lied to—”

“Are you okay? Allie, what on earth?” He scanned up and down her body, placed his arm behind her back, and eased her up so she sat on her hip. “Where are you hurt?”

“Walt, I lied to you.”

He met her eyes and frowned. “Must have hit your head.” He nudged her forward and ducked around to examine the back of her head.

She ignored the throbbing pain in her ankle and the soreness in her hip. “Walt, please listen. I lied to you.”

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who lied. Now, where’s it hurt?”

“I did. I lied to you.” She reached up and gripped his shoulder. “Remember when we met last year? I didn’t tell you about Baxter.”

Walt sighed. “Just an oversight.”

“At first it was. I thought you knew. But when we danced, I realized you were attracted to me and you didn’t know about Baxter, and I chose silence. You’re right. Silence isn’t truthful when it perpetuates a lie.”

“It’s not the same.”

She clutched the thick shoulder she’d admired that evening. “Yes, it is. You know why I didn’t say anything? Pride—I didn’t want to make a scene. And selfishness—I wanted to stay in the arms of the most wonderful man I’d ever met, stay where I felt lovely and special for the first time in my life.”

Walt’s face fell still for a long moment. “Allie, don’t do this.”

“I let you speak. Now it’s my turn.” She lifted her hand to his cheek, exhilarated by the proximity of the man she loved, by the intensity of her own gaze, by honesty itself. “I also lied when I didn’t tell you I broke my engagement.”

“That’s not—”

“Yes, it is. I allowed you to believe something that wasn’t true and I didn’t consider your feelings.”

“You didn’t know I loved—”

“It doesn’t matter. If I had told the truth, you never would have lied to me about Emily.”

His gaze bore down on her. “That’s no excuse.”

“No, but if I’d told the truth, you wouldn’t have lied. Please forgive me.”

“Allie . . .” His voice grew thick and husky.

“Please.” She ran her hand back into his hair. Although short in the back, it felt even more luxurious than she imagined. “Please forgive me.”

Walt wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pressed her tight. “Of course, I forgive you but—”

“And I forgive you.” She nestled her face in the hollow at the base of his neck and inhaled soap and aftershave and wool, forgiveness and love and joy.

“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t do this.” He held her even tighter. “You’re not thinking straight. I’m a cripple—a cripple, Allie. And I can’t provide for you as you’re used to.”

“Please don’t say that. Oh, darling, no.” She caught her breath. She’d called him darling, but it was true. “As for providing for me, I walked away from my inheritance. I don’t need money. I only need the Lord. Well, it would be nice to have you too.” She pressed her lips to his neck, just below his ear, where his skin was smooth and warm. A rumble in his throat told her she’d struck a nerve again, but a pleasant one this time.

“I love you so much, but you’re used to grand pianos and crystal chandeliers.”

Allie drew back and traced the rainbow of ribbons on Walt’s chest. “A man who can earn these medals will never be impoverished, but even if you were, I—I’d rather have your love in poverty than—than a hundred grand pianos.”

“But I’m a—”

“Please, I never want to hear you say you’re a cripple again. You’re intelligent and inventive. You can do anything you put your mind to doing.” She trailed her hand down his right arm.

He flinched.

Allie glanced up. “I’m sorry. Does it still hurt?”

“No.” His forehead creased. “But you don’t want to touch it.”

She folded her hand around the end of his arm, as if she could infuse her love and mend his brokenness. “Maybe this is why God led me to March Field. I used to be jarred by such things, but no longer. Besides, this represents one of the things I love in you—your willingness to sacrifice.”

Walt’s struggle to control his face jarred her far more than his arm. After he gained control, he hiked up one eyebrow and bent one corner of his mouth. “I thought obedience was better than sacrifice.”

Thank goodness, both his smile and his sense of humor survived after all. “Yes, and I love even more how you’ve done what God asked. What more could I want? Would you rather I didn’t forgive you, so we both could be miserable?”

Walt squeezed her shoulder and gave her another twitch of a smile. “I’d resigned myself to misery as the price of obedience.”

“Goodness. Don’t you think it’s time obedience was rewarded?” She worked her hand up into his curls and knocked off his cap. “Oops. Sorry, darling.” His smile creaked into place as if on rusty hinges.

She smiled then glowered at him. “However, there is one lie I’ll never forgive. The strawberry juice. How could you let me walk around in such an undignified state?”

He chuckled, a welcome sound. “That’s why it was cute. You’re always so ladylike, and there you were with this red streak.” He nuzzled his nose into her cheek and settled a kiss on the crest of her cheekbone. “Right here.”

“Oh,” she sighed. She’d never truly recovered from the first time he kissed her cheek, but now—oh, now she would never recover and she didn’t want to, not when his lips drifted down her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered shut. They were going to kiss—a real kiss, like in the movies, like people in love, and she turned her head to seek his lips.

Walt pulled back. “Say, you’re not the woman I fell in love with.”

He didn’t kiss her? She blinked, her eyes out of focus. “Hmm?”

“You’re not.” His scowl couldn’t hide the twinkle in his hazel eyes. “The woman I fell in love with would never be seen in public like this. Would you look at yourself? One shoe off, one shoe on, dress all torn up.”

Allie glanced at the gashes in the chiffon over her knees, her hip, and on her sleeves. Oh dear, she did like that dress.

“The woman I love is too proper to throw herself off a train.”

She slipped both arms around his neck and smiled. “You’re teasing me, Walter Novak.”

“She definitely wouldn’t embrace a scruffy flyboy in public.” He rubbed his delightfully scruffy cheek against hers.

Music soared, tumbling over itself, a lyrical fountain of melody. “And she’d never dream of kissing that flyboy in public.”

Walt stilled. “We haven’t—oh boy. You know, we should go someplace—”

“No one’s around, and I’m not that woman anymore, remember?” She kissed him in front of his ear.

“Oh yeah. Yeah, I remember.”

He met her halfway and pressed his lips to hers. Were there a thousand kisses, or only one in a symphony with a thousand movements? Some gentle, some insistent, some longing, some tender, all a culmination of friendship and dreams and prayers.

She never wanted the kiss to end, but she had so much to say to him. “Walt?” she mumbled against his lips.

“Hmm?” He let his mouth linger on hers for a moment, then drew back.

Her lips felt gelatinous from his kisses. “I—I lost count,” she said, and realized she didn’t make sense. “Oh, you wouldn’t remember.”

Walt smiled slowly, as if he had the same lip problem she did. “’Course I remember. Tried to forget and couldn’t. Never figured out why he—why he didn’t—was that true? Is this your first—”

Allie nodded, her throat tight. “He didn’t love me and I didn’t love him. But you—oh, darling, I love you so much.”

Walt leaned his forehead against hers, and his eyes melted into a lovely blur. “And boy, do I love you.” He paused and swallowed. “Sweetheart.”

A sudden pain clenched her heart. Father used to call her sweetheart. But now Walt would, and the pain mellowed to warmth. She tipped up her face for another kiss, and Walt obliged.

Footsteps thumped. Wooden boards creaked. Allie snapped out of Walt’s embrace to see the ticket agent run toward them.

“Just got a telegraph. Some crazy lady jumped off the train.” He stopped and cocked his head at Allie seated on the ground. “You’re not the crazy lady, are you?”

Flaming heat rose up Allie’s cheeks. “I—I’m afraid so.”

Walt chuckled. “She’s my crazy lady, Mr. Putnam.”

He frowned. “You’re one of the Novak boys, aren’t you? I’d recognize Jacob Novak’s nose anywhere. So, what’s going on? You all right, miss?”

“I’ve never felt better.” She gave Walt a warm smile, which collapsed into an apologetic one. “But I think I twisted my ankle.”

“You what?” Walt scooted down to her feet. “Why didn’t you say something?”

She winced as she stretched her sore legs before her. “I had more important matters to tend to.”

He shot her half a smile, then frowned at her foot. “Look how swollen it is. Hope you didn’t break it.”

“Oh dear.” Her right ankle throbbed, visibly larger than the other.

Mr. Putnam leaned forward and rested his hands on knobby knees. “Want me to call Doc Jamison?”

“Yeah, could you? Oh, wait. He’s not home.”

Allie laughed. “The wedding reception.”

Walt grinned. “Forgot about that. Say, Mr. Putnam, could you call us a cab?”

“Can do.” The men helped her to standing. Mr. Putnam retrieved her shoe and handbag and Walt’s cap. “Say, miss, what about your luggage?”

Allie held on to Walt’s shoulder. “Oh dear. It’s halfway to San Francisco.”

“Could you wire them, have them send it back?” Walt settled a sturdy arm around Allie’s waist and smiled down at her. “Let’s get you to the doctor.”

“Oh my. We have some explaining to do.”

“Not
we
. You. I’m not the one who jumped off a train.”

Allie rested her head on Walt’s shoulder and laughed.

When they reached the Carlisles’, Walt helped her out of the cab. She leaned on him to hobble up the walk, and she swung open the front door.

“Hiya, Walt. Thought you’d forgotten us.”

“Allie! Oh my goodness. What happened?”

People swarmed about her, fussed over her dress and her injuries, pulled her from Walt’s side, seated her in an armchair, and elevated her foot on an ottoman.

Dr. Jamison probed her ankle. “Looks like a sprain. I’ll have to do X-rays to rule out a fracture. How did this happen?”

“Oh, I—Walter?” she called out. Where was he? These were his relatives, his friends. She’d rather he told the story. There he was, talking to a tall, gray-haired man. “Walt, would you come over here, please?”