Sunday Kind of Love (11 page)

This is crazy, this is crazy, this is crazy…

T
HIS IS CRAZY,
this is crazy, this is crazy…

Hank drove toward Mansfield, just as he'd done dozens of times before. He crossed the covered bridge over Milton's Creek. He passed through Sunnyside, a wisp of a town made up of a couple of houses and a makeshift post office. He looked up at Eunice Weber's weathervane, still in the breezeless afternoon, although it was covered in so much rust that it would scarcely have moved in a thunderstorm. In almost every way, this trip was the same as all those others. But this one had one huge difference.

Gwen Foster was sitting beside him.

Every once in a while, he stole a glance at her. Gwen leaned against the door, her dark hair caught by the breeze from the open window, forcing her to occasionally tuck a few unruly strands behind her ear. She seemed content to sit quietly, watching the countryside zip past. She was as beautiful a woman as he'd ever laid eyes on.

When Gwen had arrived, Hank had been taken aback, unsure what to say or do. He hadn't considered that she might want to see him, to thank him for what he'd done. Watching her walk toward him, his heart racing, he had wondered whether she'd told her parents where she was but had quickly dismissed the thought. In the end, it didn't matter. All he cared about was that she was here, with him. Still, at first it had been awkward. But as they talked, he'd found himself more at ease, enjoying her company. By the time Gwen had complimented his chair, the smile she flashed making his heart pound, he'd known that he didn't want their time together to end, not so soon. The boldness of asking her to go with him to Mansfield had surprised even him, but once he'd spoken the words, he couldn't have taken them back. Fortunately, she'd accepted.

And now here they were…

“So what's it like living in Chicago?” Hank asked, wanting to hear her voice again, to know more about her.

“Busier than I could ever have imagined,” she answered. “I still don't understand how there can be so many people in one place. Most days it feels like I can't turn around without bumping into someone. It was a little overwhelming at first, but over time, I suppose I got used to it.”

“The biggest city I've ever been to is Cincinnati, and that was plenty large enough for me. All the buildings, the cars honking. I couldn't wait to leave. Give me open country any day.”

“It's not
all
bad there.”

“How so?”

“There's always something to do,” Gwen explained. “If I want to go to a movie, a play, or a concert, I have plenty to choose from. If I have a hankering for some particular food, odds are I can find a restaurant that serves it. There are museums, an aquarium, libraries, and boat rides on Lake Michigan. I even went to a baseball game last year.”

“Which team?” Hank asked, curious.

Gwen thought about it. “I don't really remember.”

“Where was it at?”

“What was the name…oh yeah, it was Wrigley Stadium.”

“Wrigley
Field
,” he corrected her.

“That's it! It was a nice enough day and the people around me were awfully excited, but I thought the grass growing on the walls was kind of ridiculous.”

“It's not grass, it's ivy!”

The sound of their laughter filled the truck's cab. Hank might have
hated
the Chicago Cubs, but the fact that Gwen had been to see one of their games impressed him. It even made him feel a little envious.

“Does your fiancé like baseball?” he asked.

For days, Hank's conversation with Kent Brookings had been roaming around in his head. He'd disliked the man almost instantly, though there was clearly something about him that Gwen found attractive; after all, she'd agreed to marry him. Hank still remembered how Kent had initially been incapable of helping, frozen with shock. He recalled how the expensively dressed man had offered money for rescuing his fiancée. Worst of all, he could still hear the almost bragging way Kent had commented on wanting to see Gwen without her clothes. It made Hank sick to his stomach.

Still, his disgust didn't change a thing. Gwen and Kent would be married. Knowing that, accepting it, made his attraction to her seem pointless. Nothing would come of it. At least, that's what he'd been telling himself.

And that was why her reaction to what he'd said was so surprising.

Immediately, Gwen's smile vanished. She looked away, her gaze shifting out her window. When she finally spoke, her voice was so soft that he could barely hear her. “I'm not engaged.”

Hank looked at her, at the road, and then back again. “Wait…” he began, not understanding, “then who did I talk to that night?”

“Kent,” she answered.

“I thought he was your fiancé.”

“He isn't.”

“Does he know that?”

Finally Gwen turned to him, her expression serious. “Kent sort of proposed without proposing…”

“That doesn't make sense,” Hank admitted.

“I agree,” Gwen replied. “But Kent doesn't see any problem with it. Even though I never actually answered, even if he didn't really ask, he just assumed that I'd accepted.” She paused. “So did my parents.”

“Hang on. Does that mean you're going to marry him or not?”

“I don't know.”

Hank shook his head. He was more confused than ever. “Pardon me for saying so, but isn't that something you ought to be sure of?”

“There are plenty of reasons why I should marry Kent,” Gwen began. “He's kind, smart, and well-spoken. My family adores him. He's already an accomplished lawyer. Someday he might even be made a partner at his firm. Everything he does, he succeeds at.” But then she sighed. “Unfortunately, there are reasons, a few in particular, for me to turn him down…”

Hank waited, thinking that Gwen might explain, but she remained silent. Though it was hard, he chose to do the same. Clearly this was a personal matter, one that was still unsettled, and he didn't want to pry.

But he'd learned something, too. Gwen's relationship with Kent wasn't as rosy as he'd thought. Maybe her agreeing to come along with him wasn't such an odd decision after all. An unexpected feeling coursed through him.

He recognized it right away. It was hope.

Gwen thought that Mansfield looked a lot like Buckton. As they drove down its long Main Street, she saw a diner, a bank, the police station, a post office, and a movie theater. There was even a bakery, a small storefront nestled between a hardware store and a shoe repair shop; seeing it caused her another pang of guilt for having deceived her parents.

But it was too late to turn back now.

“We're almost there,” Hank told her. “Just a couple more blocks.”

He drove into a neighborhood, the street lined with tall elms whose branches provided plenty of shade from the afternoon sun. Children raced down the sidewalk playing a game, shouting and laughing; Gwen waved to them when they drove past. Hank eventually pulled into the driveway of an enormous Victorian and turned off the engine.

“Before we get out, there's something I need to tell you,” he said.

“What's that?” Gwen asked curiously.

“The woman I made the chair for, well, she's…she's a little…” Hank faltered. “Let's just say that she can take some getting used to.”

“In what way?”

He gave her a mischievous smile. “You'll see.”

While Hank lifted the chair from the back of the truck, Gwen stretched her legs and thought about their conversation during the drive. Hank had been surprisingly easy to talk to. Still, she hadn't expected to be so forthcoming, especially about her relationship with Kent, but hearing him referred to as her fiancé had made her angry. Fortunately, when she'd stopped talking, Hank had respected her silence and hadn't pried.

“There you are!” a voice suddenly shouted.

Gwen looked up to see an old woman emerge from the house and hurry as quickly as she could down the steps toward them. She was thin and quite frail-looking, her shoulders stooped, her skin a mess of wrinkles. She was dressed in a bright-pink blouse and white slacks, with lipstick that matched her shirt. Her curly hair had been dyed midnight black, in great contrast to the white of her eyebrows. Bracelets jangled at her wrists and every finger on either hand was festooned with rings. Hank met her and the woman flung her tiny arms around his muscular neck, hugging him tightly.

“You're right on time!” the woman declared.

“I wouldn't think of being late,” Hank answered. “Come here, there's someone I'd like you to meet.”

He brought the older woman over. “Gwen,” he began, “this is Mrs. Winnifred Holland. She's probably my best customer.”

“I'd better be!” the woman said with a chuckle. Taking Gwen gently by the hand, she added, “Please, my dear, call me Freddie.”

Gwen introduced herself. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“So,” Freddie began, smiling brightly as she looked up at Gwen, “I take it that you're his sweetheart.”

“No!” she exclaimed, louder than intended, which made her feel so uncomfortable that she was sure her face was the same color as Freddie's blouse.

But Hank didn't seem the least bit put out. “It's not like that,” he told the older woman. “Gwen went to school with Pete.”

For a moment, Gwen wondered if that was indeed how he saw her, if all she was to him was a figure from his past, tied to his dead brother.

“That's too bad,” Freddie said with a frown, looking a bit disappointed, before leaning closer to Gwen and lowering her voice. “I think you should reconsider. He's a rascal but he'd be a fine catch.”

“Do you want to see your chair?” Hank interrupted, oblivious to what was being said about him.

“I do!” the old woman exclaimed, clasping her hands together in glee.

Gwen followed them in a daze, her thoughts spinning.

Freddie's face lost twenty years as she inspected her new piece of furniture. She walked around the chair, occasionally touching it, marveling at all the details. Hank watched with obvious pride in his craftsmanship, his muscular arms folded across his chest.

“It's exactly how I had imagined it! Better, even!” Freddie exclaimed. She took Hank by the hand, her small fingers practically disappearing in his. “This is the fourth thing I've hired him to make and each makes me happier than the last. There's more to him than meets the eye.”

“How about I take it inside so you can see how it looks with the others,” Hank offered. Freddie agreed, so he lifted it and headed for the stairs.

“Then we can talk about the next thing I have in mind,” the old woman said. “I want a chest of drawers for my napkins and tablecloths. I have more lying around than I know what to do with! Oh, and I made lemonade!”

Watching the two of them together, Gwen could see the dutiful way Hank spoke to Freddie, as well as how much she cared for him in return. She then thought about the horrible things she'd heard about Hank, from the hateful words of her father to the warnings of her mother, and even Sandy's gossip. What she was seeing simply didn't match.
This
was the dangerous man she was supposed to stay away from?
This
was the drunkard whose irresponsibility had gotten his poor brother killed and earned him the disgust of everyone in Buckton?

Right then, Gwen realized that Freddie was right.

There was
far
more to Hank Ellis than she could ever have imagined.

They left Mansfield with the sun beginning its slow fall toward the horizon. Freddie had filled them with cookies and lemonade. Hank had sketched out a rough drawing of the chest she wanted, this one to be decorated with a flock of birds soaring across the front of each drawer. When it had been time to go, the old woman had hugged them both tightly, then waved from the porch as they drove off.

“Freddie is wonderful,” Gwen said.

“She's a heck of a lady, all right,” Hank agreed. “Now do you understand what I meant when I said she was a little different?”

“She's eccentric, that's all. She reminds me of my aunt Samantha.”

“Really?”

Gwen nodded. “She's the same kind of colorful soul, walking to the beat of her own drummer, not caring what anyone else thinks.”

He shrugged. “That sounds an awful lot like Freddie.”

“How did you meet her?”

Before answering, Hank turned onto the main road headed back to Buckton, his arm lying lazily along the open window, a hand loosely gripping the wheel. Through a break in the trees, sunlight flooded the cab, coloring his skin such a bright yellow that Gwen had to look away.

“It was at an art fair a while back,” he explained. “I go around to towns in the area, Vicksburg, Thornton, Quinn, and the like, and set up a few pieces of furniture—a table, some chairs, or a dresser, whatever I've been working on. Freddie came by and liked what she saw. We started talking, she wanted a bookcase, and the next thing I know I'm making regular trips to Mansfield.”

“She sounds like a good customer.”

“The best. I just wish I had a dozen more like her.”

It was faint, but Gwen thought she heard a touch of dissatisfaction in his voice. Tentatively, she asked, “Is it hard making a living this way?”

Hank shrugged. “Some times are better than others, but what's the hardest is that I have to look so far and wide for a sale.” He paused. “Most folks in Buckton would rather spit on me than give me a dime. I understand, but that doesn't make it any easier.”

Gwen was quiet for a moment, weighing whether she should voice the words in her head. Finally she plunged ahead. “I'm sorry about Pete.”

Ever since she'd made up her mind to thank Hank for saving her, Gwen had wondered whether she should mention his brother. She worried that he might get upset or ask her to leave. Undoubtedly it was a sore subject. Still, ignoring Pete's death felt wrong. In the end, she decided that even if Hank was responsible for what had happened, that didn't mean she couldn't be sorry, for the both of them. She'd gotten the chance, and taken it.