Tessa McDermid - Family Stories (24 page)

Your father was devastated and was ready to drag her back home. The house is empty, with al of you gone now Don't worry about us, though. Enjoy the rest of your trip. We have to trust that Alice wil be fine.

Love,

Mom and Dad

Mrs. Marian Robertson

Lincoln, Iowa

March 1955

Dear Margaret,

Your trip to Paris sounds delightful! And how wonderful to have a personal tour guide fluent in French. I can't wait for your article. And the neighbors feel the same way. You're a hit!

Wel , you'll be an aunt twice over this year. Alice is expecting. She's told us several times that this was not the reason for their marriage, just a natural consequence. I worry about her, Margaret, so young and already married, with a baby on the way. The school won't let her finish her classes, even though Tom's stil al owed to go. I tried to sway the principal but he was adamant about the rules. I'll help her with the classes at home and we'll see if she can at least obtain her high school diploma.

I didn't want to upset your trip with this news, Mags, but I was worried you'd hear variations from some of your friends. Alice visits us each week and we've been having Sunday dinner together after church. Tom is a sweet boy. We want the marriage to be successful and his parents feel the same way. She'll need her sisters, and I know you'l be a support for her when you come home.

I lave a lovely last few weeks, dear.

Love,

Mom and Dad

Mrs. Marian Robertson

Lincoln, Iowa

May 1955

Dear Margaret,

Your father and I will meet you at the station in Des Moines. I'll try not to embarrass you when you arrive, but we've been a long time without our darling girl. Wil we recognize you or have you acquired a continental air that will separate you from your provincial family and friends?

Just a quick last letter with some news you should know. Alice has moved back home. She and Tom are getting a divorce. He is leaving Lincoln to go to col ege. She assures us this was a mutual decision. For now, she's going to stay with us and we're going to convert Anne's old room into a nursery. I can help with the baby and I hope she'll attend the junior col ege for the next two years.

Have a safe trip, sweetheart.

Lots of love,

Mom and Dad

Chapter 16

Lincoln, Iowa Fal 1959

The pounding woke her up. "Margaret, aren't you teaching today?" her mother cal ed through the closed door.

Groggy, she squinted at the clock on her nightstand. "Omigosl Thanks, Mom!" She scrambled out of bed, tossed on the clothe she'd laid out the night before, grabbed the slice of toast he mother handed her and raced out to her car.

The students were already seated when she entered the junior col ege classroom. She brushed her hands against her skirt, wiping off the perspiration. Her first class and she was late.

"Today is a good example of how writing can engulf you life," she said as she walked to the front of the room.

The talking stopped, al the students watching her progress. "Last night, I had a wonderful idea for a story and I wrote until the wee hours. Before I knew it, I'd overslept and I had to bolt to make it to class on time. As you can see, my bolting wasn't quite last enough."

Their laughter calmed her. She was soon engrossed in her topic—the influence of personal history on writers and their work. The bel surprised both her and the students. Fifty minutes passed more quickly when she was the teacher.

She assigned them homework—"write the autobiography of your writing life"—and dismissed them.

She packed up the books and materials she'd brought with her. At a sound from the door behind her, she paused. "Yes?"

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to rush you but I'm teaching a class in here at nine."

She glanced over her shoulder, taking in the well tailored suit, the polished black shoes, the neat haircut. Her perusal stopped at the unruly reddish-brown beard.

He smiled and she turned away, her cheeks hot. "I must be looking at the famous local writer, Margaret Robertson. So, wil I end up in your next story?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to stare."

"How wel do you have to know someone before they get star bil ing?"

She snatched up her briefcase and marched to the door. He leaned against the wal , his long legs crossed at the ankles.

"Oh, much better than this," she couldn't resist saying. "I almost have to live with them first." She could have bitten off her tongue.

His grin widened. "Hmm. Could we start with dinner? Tonight?"

"Dinner? Tonight?" Al clever repartee was gone. No one would guess she had published even so much as a grocery list.

"I'm sorry." He lifted his hands. "Don't you eat? I'm afraid I don't understand famous writers."

A tiny semblance of her wits returned. "I do eat. It was the short notice that startled me."

He had the decency to look somewhat abashed. Or what she supposed would be abashed if she could see more of his face. "I'm assuming no one else has a claim on you. Am I wrong?"

She was tempted to say yes, to knock him down a peg, but her whole being was suffused with sudden excitement. When had she last gone on a date? The men who lived in town knew her, had always known her.

She might be a local celebrity, a writer with a number of nationally published stories to her name, but she was also the Margaret Robertson who'd wandered about the school in baggy clothes and dreary moods.

This man didn't know that Margaret.

Students filed into the room. She made a quick decision. Life was an adventure; hadn't she learned that on her European trip?

"Tonight would be fine. Seven. Ask the secretary for my address."

She eased past him and out the door.

Halfway down the hal way, she stopped. He hadn't told her his name! She pivoted and smiled when she saw him stick his head out the door. "Alex Martin."

"Thanks."

"But who is he?" Marian had asked a variation of that question ever since Margaret arrived home from her class and mentioned she was going out.

"He teaches at the col ege," Margaret repeated patiently. "Alice says he just moved here, from someplace in Kansas. She has him for a class on Monday evenings."

"But he could be married." Marian folded the towel she was holding and placed it in the basket. "He could be using you for cheap entertainment."

"I'm not exactly cheap entertainment material." Margaret laughed. "Mom, what about Dad? You ran off with him! I'm just going to dinner."

"Can't a mother watch out for her daughter?"

"Of course, Mom. But I'm giving this a try. Who knows?" she said flippantly. "He could be the one."

Her mother swatted her with a towel. "Just take your time.

You have your whole life ahead of you. You don't have to rush into marriage."

"I'm not rushing," she said. "I'm twenty-five, years older than any of the other marrying females in this family."

"Wel , be careful."

"You weren't careful, and here you are, enjoying another year of wedded bliss." She leaned forward and kissed her mother's cheek. "You're the reason I keep searching for the right man, Mom. Come help me pick out something to wear tonight." She raised one hand as her mothers mouth opened. "I'm not planning in run off and get married but I do want to look my best."

Fifteen minutes later, she was surprised to hear the doorbel . "I'm not ready! He's early." She couldn't hide the panic in her voice.

"I'll have your father stal him." Marian patted her cheek. "Breathe, dear. He's just a man."

She didn't have a chance to retort before her mother disappeared down the hal .

A minute later, she was back, with Alice fol owing her. "What are you doing here?" Margaret demanded.

Alice lifted an eyebrow. "Hel o to you, too. Marcia and I were taking a walk and thought we'd drop in on Grandma and Grandpa."

"Wel , help me."

Alice sifted through the clothes. "If we had time, I'd throw most of these out. You have atrocious taste, Margaret." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "Let's see what's the best of this stuff."

She settled on a dark-blue patterned skirt and soft white blouse, with a bright blue cardigan Margaret had bought in Scotland. "And a hint of makeup," Alice insisted. "You have a lot of wasted potential, Margaret."

"Be nice to your sister," Marian said automatical y as Alice applied rouge and a touch of face powder.

Alice grinned and stepped back to admire her handiwork. "I am. Now, just be your natural charming self. You have a chance to start something here with someone who doesn't know you at al ."

Margaret burst into laughter. "That doesn't exactly give me confidence."

The doorbel rang again, and Margaret sent them another panicked look. Alice pushed her toward the door.

"Go, before Dad scares him off."

The introductions were made. Four-year-old Marcia was fascinated by him and stood in the middle of the room, her thumb in her mouth, staring. Margaret understood her reaction. He was better looking than she remembered, his shoulders broad and his brown eyes deep. It took al her concentration to remember how to walk to his 1954 Chevy.

"Junior col ege teachers don't drive fancy cars," he explained as he opened her door.

She slipped in, holding her skirt careful y so it wouldn't catch on the door handle. "Part-time junior col ege teachers don't own cars at al ." And what did he think about her stil living with her parents?

He chuckled and she relaxed.

The talk was light and easy. The owner of the restaurant led them past the crowd waiting for tables to a quiet one in the corner.

"I stopped to make reservations before I went to your house," Alex whispered in her ear. "Otherwise, we wouldn't be seated for at least an hour."

"Ah, an organized man." His breath tickling her neck had driven her senses to a near-frenzy.

He grinned. "My parents would say I'm a perfectionist. That's why I asked you to vacate the room. I need at least five minutes alone to prepare for my class."

She thought of her own rushed arrival and ducked her head to study the menu. Punctuality was not in her repertoire. It was only thanks to Alice and her mother that she'd been ready on time tonight.

Waiting for coffee after their dishes were cleared away, he leaned his elbows on the table. "You're good at the questions, Margaret Robertson. Lucky for me, I have nothing to hide. I'm just your ordinary, never-been-married thirty-year-old. Which is a good thing, since your father gril ed me while we were waiting."

"Oh, I'm sorry." Her father could be the most gentle of men but let anyone threaten one of his four women, and a fiercely protective beast would emerge.

"Perfectly natural," Alex said. "Three daughters. A beautiful wife. The man must have his hands ful ."

Margaret grinned. She would definitely share the "beautiful wife" comment. Might make her dad spit nails but her mom would warm to Alex the next time they met.

And she hoped there'd be a next time. He was funny and charming and—

"Hel o, Margaret?"

She blinked. "Sorry."

"Were you plotting a story?"

She shook her head. How could she admit she was actual y plotting to see him again?

"It's my turn," he said, and she forced herself to pay attention.

"Do you have the happy outlook on life that my secretary assumes you enjoy, based on your stories?"

Margaret choked on the sip of water she'd just taken and almost choked again when he patted her on the back.

"You don't have a happy outlook? Or your stories aren't?"

Without warning, she was tel ing him about Andrew and the years of sadness she'd suffered. His comments were few and sympathetic and she soon launched into tales of her trip to England before coming to a sudden stop.

He counted on his fingers. "Andrew died when you were fourteen. You graduated when you were almost eighteen and went to England when you were twenty. Either you've left out a few years or you're only twenty-one."

She sipped at her water. "I forgot you teach mathematics. In the last four years, I finished my col ege degree and wrote for the paper. I sold a book last spring, a novel, after a dozen or so short stories. As a local writer, the col ege offered me a few creative writing courses. You saw me in action. Or, rather, winding down."

"I would like to see you in action."

His voice was quiet and she sent him a suspicious look. Was this a pass?

He laughed. "I meant in the classroom, but now you have me curious."

She blushed. Seeing the crowd mil ing about in the lobby, she turned back. "Shouldn't we let some other hungry souls eat?"

She waited discreetly by the door as he settled the bil . She pushed at the door but he reached across her before she could do more than nudge it partway. "Don't your dates usual y open the door for you?" he asked.

His arm rested over her shoulder and she was finding it hard to catch her breath. "I—that is..." She swallowed and tried again.

"Most of the guys I've dated recently have known me forever."

She thought she heard him say, "Lucky them," but he was bending down to unlock her door and she couldn't be certain. Probably just more of her daydreaming.

He backed out of the parking lot and headed in the opposite direction from her house. "Where are we going?"

"My apartment. I don't want this evening to end yet, and I can't talk to you with your parents breathing down our necks."

He didn't want the evening to end. A warmth flowered within her. "But I can't go to your apartment. What will people think?"

He looked at her, al trace of his easygoing smile gone. "Do you care?"

His hair fel over his forehead, a tiny crease between his brow. "No," she said. His right hand touched hers briefly before returning to the steering wheel.

His apartment was on the second floor of a house at the edge of town. A large painting of a rushing sea occupied the wal above the couch, the only item in the room that wasn't neat and orderly. Margaret hated to sit down and rumple the cushions. She stood in the doorway.