Miss Dimple and the Slightly Bewildered Angel (19 page)

“How come?” Annie asked bluntly. “Where've you been?”

Augusta smiled. “Oh, here and there, but it's not always easy to stay in touch.”

How could she possibly not stay in touch when the war has dominated practically every waking minute for three long years? Annie wondered, but just then Velma called their attention to the beautiful homes and spacious lawns spread along Atlanta's rolling hills, and the four of them discussed which they would like to choose for their own. Of course it was fun to pretend, Annie admitted, but she still had her heart set on that cottage with flowers in the yard.

They passed several hitchhiking servicemen along the way, but all were going in the opposite direction, until they drew near Marietta, where Dimple's brother worked at the Bell Bomber Plant, and Velma slowed as she saw the young sailor up ahead. “Do you think we can squeeze him in the back?” she asked.

Augusta and Annie agreed to make room, and the young man grinned as he hurried to the car and slung his duffel bag at his feet. He was heading for Kennesaw, he said, the tiny village at the foot of Kennesaw Mountain, the site of the Civil War battle that preceded the well-known Battle of Atlanta. His name was Andy, he told them, and he was nineteen years old, and hoped to go to the university after the war and earn a degree in agriculture—to bring the family farm into the modern age, he confided.

His father, grandfather, and uncles, he claimed, were dead set against any kind of change, so it looked like it was going to be up to him to convince them.

Of course they all wished him good luck with that, and Annie asked if he had a special girlfriend.

He admitted that he did and fumbled in his bag for a small box that held a silver ring of intricate design studded with tiny turquoise stones. “It's not an engagement ring,” he said, “but I hope it will do until I can afford the real thing.

“Her name is Anne,” he confided. “She has the most beautiful hair, about the color of a new penny, and she's the prettiest girl I've ever seen. I know we have years ahead of us with college and all, but I'm hoping she'll love me enough to wait.

“I'm seeing her tonight,” Andy told them when they reached his destination and dropped him off in front of the local drugstore. “Cross your fingers for me, won't you?”

And naturally everyone did. Everyone but Dimple Kilpatrick.

“Is anything wrong, Miss Dimple? You're awfully quiet,” Annie observed. Since they had stopped at the drugstore, Augusta suggested they treat themselves to ice cream, and everyone seemed to be in favor.

“I was just thinking of that young man, Andy. I believe he said he would soon be shipping out.”

“That's right,” Velma explained. “That's why he's here on leave. I do hope his girl accepts that ring. It will give him something to dream about until he comes home.”

But what if he doesn't come home?
Dimple stopped herself from saying it aloud. After all, here was Annie, like so many others, bravely waiting out the war for the soldier she loved to return.

Like she herself would have done. And hadn't she just recently assured Annie it does no good to worry?

“I believe I'll have chocolate,” she said as Velma blew the horn for service, and Augusta, admitting to feeling adventurous, said she hoped they had tutti-frutti.

Soon a young girl came out to take their orders, and a few minutes later brought them on a tray she attached to the window on the driver's side of the car.

“Has anybody noticed if Andy has come out of the drugstore yet?” With eyes on the door of the building, Annie finished the last of her strawberry cone and folded the paper napkin to use later. “I wonder who came to meet him.”

Augusta smiled. “You mean you wonder if his flaming-haired sweetheart is with him there inside.”

And as if on cue, the couple stepped outside, arm in arm, followed by a man and woman of middle age, whom they assumed to be Andy's parents. And the four in the car, including Dimple Kilpatrick, waved at him to wish him luck, but he only had eyes for the girl by his side.

“He was right,” Velma said, and hoped no one could hear her sigh. “She really is lovely.”

Over an hour later, they reached the tree-shaded streets of Calhoun, a tiny teacup of a town nestled in the foothills of northwest Georgia, and pulled into a service station to make way for the khaki convoy of soldier-filled army trucks heading south down Highway 41, probably for Fort Benning.

“Where do suppose we should stop for the night?” Miss Dimple asked later as they drove north through the towns of Dalton and Ringgold before crossing into Tennessee. It had already begun to get dark and she knew Velma didn't feel comfortable being on the road at night.

Velma frowned. “As soon as we see a likely place. Keep an eye out for a decent-looking motor court, and if we're lucky, there should be a place to eat nearby. That wouldn't be a problem if we were going as far as Chattanooga, but according to the map, we should be veering left before too long.

“See if you can tell what the next town will be,” she said to Dimple, who held the map. “We should be getting close to it soon.”

“Lynchburg.” Dimple spoke so softly, Velma strained to hear.

“What did you say, Dimple?”

“Lynchburg,” Dimple said again. She didn't need to look at a map. As much as she tried, she couldn't forget this part of Tennessee and the time she had spent here. If she closed her eyes, perhaps the memory would be less vivid, wouldn't cut into her heart.

A boulder was lodged in her stomach, and Dimple gasped for breath. After all these years, why did it still hurt so? “Stop. Please stop. I have to get out.” Her hand was on the door handle when Velma pulled over on the shoulder of the road. “Dimple, what is it? Oh dear God, is it your heart?”

It
was
her heart, but not in the way Velma had in mind. Dimple tried to answer but couldn't speak.

“Breathe in this.” Beside her, Augusta spoke in a gentle voice and held a paper bag to her mouth. The bag smelled like peanuts and she remembered Annie had brought some along to munch on. Now the peanuts were on the ground at her feet. “Slowly now … breathe deeply … in … out.…” Augusta touched her hand, and for a few seconds, the fragrance of strawberries surrounded her and then was gone. “Now, close your eyes and think blue. Summer skies, a field of violets, sunshine on a mountain lake … your grandmother's Sunday dress…” The words moved over her like a lullaby, and Dimple began to breathe normally.

“Oh my goodness!” Dimple looked down at the peanut litter at her feet, dismayed at what she had caused. “What a mess! I don't know what came over me, but thank you, Augusta. I must have been hyperventilating.”

Why had she not thought of the paper bag remedy? Why, goodness, she had used it herself on occasion. And Dimple stooped to collect the scattered peanuts.

“Now, you sit right down.” Annie led her back to the car. “I'll pick those up, Miss Dimple. Won't take a minute.”

“Well, Dimple Kilpatrick, you gave us all a scare, and I'll thank you not to do that again!” It would've been impossible to ignore the tremor in her friend's voice, and Dimple gave Velma's hand a squeeze and promised to do better.

Darkness had fallen by the time they checked into the Victory Motor Court a few miles up the road, and they were relieved to find the cottages, although small, clean and comfortable. And Aunt Ella's Table, the restaurant on the premises, served vegetable soup and corn bread almost as good as Odessa's.

Velma, tired from the long drive, chose the first cottage, and Annie agreed to share it with her after Velma promised it wouldn't keep her awake if Annie sat up writing to Frazier all night long.

“Then I guess you're stuck with me,” Augusta told Dimple as the two took time about brushing their teeth. “I hope you'll be able to get some sleep.”

Dimple hoped so, too. She had made up her mind not to think of tomorrow. “Just one question,” she asked as she pulled the quilt to her chin. “How did you know about my grandmother's blue Sunday dress?”

“Oh, just a lucky guess!” And Augusta reached over and turned off the light.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-TWO

What could they have for supper? Marjorie Mote put aside her latest copy of
Good Housekeeping
and added a few chunks of coal to the fire. Maybe if she chopped thin slices of Spam, sautéed them with a little onion, and added some grated cheese, it might make a passable omelette. Her husband never complained, but it got tiresome eating the same old things when meat was so hard to come by.

John had dozed off earlier after listening to H. V. Kaltenborn's evening broadcast of the news. War news. Always war news, and she saw no need to wake him.

The demands of war were forever on her mind. The banners in the living room window were a constant and grave reminder of their two sons. The blue star represented Jack, who, as part of the Thirtieth Infantry Division, had recently played a crucial role in the capture of the German city of Aachen. The gold star was for Chester, who had been killed earlier in the war when his plane ran out of fuel and crashed during General Dolittle's bombing raid over Japan.

Marjorie lightly touched the banners, as if wishing her sons a good night, and had turned to go into the kitchen when she heard the crash.

At six o'clock, night had descended, but a pale yellow light from the streetlamp on the corner kept enough of the darkness at bay to reveal a small form curled on the sidewalk in front of the house.

“John!” Marjorie shouted, snatching an afghan from the back of the sofa as she rushed out the door. “Somebody's hurt out here—wake up!”

“Willie?” He opened his eyes when she called his name. “Lie still now.… Don't try to get up before we see if anything's broken.” Gently, she probed his arms and then his legs. “Where do you hurt? Do you know what happened?”

He tried to lift his head and moaned. “My head. Oh my head! It felt like somebody shoved me. Must've been hiding behind that tree, and he pushed me when I rode by.”

“John, phone Emma Elrod, and hurry! Willie's been hurt,” she called, seeing her husband approach.

“Now, keep still, honey, until you feel you can sit up.” Marjorie draped the warm afghan over the boy and was glad she'd thought to bring it, as there was a noticeable chill in the air. She wanted to gather him into her arms as she had her own boys years ago, and would do the same now if only it were possible.

“Were you able to see who shoved you?” she asked.
Who would do such a cruel thing? And why?

“No'me. I didn't see it coming, but I'm pretty sure I know who it was, and he's gonna wish he'd never been born.” Willie grunted as he raised his head. “I reckon I can sit up now.”

She put a supporting hand behind his head. “Just take it easy, Willie. Your mama's on her way.”

“Oh, Miss Marjorie, my mama's gonna kill me! She told me to come straight home from the library, but, well … Junior Henderson and me, we been shooting hickory nuts at this old tin can. Junior's got him a great new slingshot. His brother made it for him. He's home on leave, you know. I sure wish I had a brother.”

“Willie, what happened?” Breathless from her frantic dash across the street, Emma Elrod stooped beside him. “Tell me where it hurts.”

“Mostly it's just my head, but my elbow's burning like crazy.”

“Well, let's get you home. Do you think you can stand up? I've been worried sick about you, Willie! Virginia Balliew said you left the library over an hour ago. Where in the world have you been?” Emma Elrod picked up the afghan her son had thrown aside and folded it over her arm. She didn't appear sympathetic. Realizing that, Willie moaned. “Oh, it hurts to move my head. Hurts something awful!”

His mother touched his forehead. “I'm afraid you're going to have a knot there, and probably a bad bruise. An aspirin should help, and we'll put an ice pack on it when we get home.” Softening, she kissed the top of his head while helping him to his feet. “How did this happen, Willie?”

Willie repeated what he'd said earlier. “That R. W. Hawkins is crazy if he thinks he's gonna get away with this! Just wait till I get my hands on him.”

Emma Elrod exchanged knowing glances with her neighbor and shook her head. “Well, you don't know that for sure, so don't be jumping the gun. At least your bike doesn't look too worse for the wear, and it's a good thing.…”

She stopped herself before saying “Because you can't get another until after the war.” After all, the Motes had suffered an irreplaceable loss.

John Mote insisted on taking the two home in his car, and upon arrival, drew on his training as a former Boy Scout leader to remind Willie's mother to wake him a few hours after he fell asleep to be sure he didn't have a concussion.

*   *   *

“I don't believe I'll go,” Phoebe said. “It's just too far, and the ceremony's not until five o'clock. It'll be dark by the time we get home.”

She had been invited to the wedding of her cousin Ada's daughter, Marceline, who was marrying in the Methodist church in the nearby town of Washington. Frankly, Phoebe had never cared for Ada. After all, who would name a child
Marceline
? Of course, the poor girl couldn't help being named for some long-forgotten silent-film actress, and Phoebe wished her a long and happy marriage, but why did
she
have to be there?

“But if you don't go, Mrs. Ashcroft will have to drive all that way by herself,” Lily reminded her. “It'll be dark when she leaves for home, and what if she has a flat or takes a wrong turn? Why, there's no telling what might happen.”

Kate Ashcroft, who gave piano lessons and taught music in the Elderberry schools, had roomed with Ada's younger sister at Agnes Scott College, in Decatur, and was to be the accompanist during the ceremony. Learning of Phoebe's connection with the family, she had invited her to share the ride.