The House Near the River (5 page)

“Mr. Harper,” she began formally. “I have never seen you or your sister before in my life.”

He closed his eyes. “Monday,
December 8
, 1941. The president declared war that day. I drove up to Oklahoma City and stood in a line that wound around the block, most of
it made up of
boys still in high school or barely finished.” A smile flickered across his lips. “I felt like an old man that day
. I was almost thirty, but my country had been attacked and I wanted to do my part. I wanted to join up.”

She moistened her own lips. “You stood in line to join the army.”

“To join wherever they’d take me,” he corrected. “They weren’t too sure. They thought I was too old, but I talked them into taking me. I told them us farm boys already knew how to fight and shoot.”

“We met that day? Just that one day and yet you claim we’re engaged.”

The green eyes devoured her. “Everything was different about that day. The world had shifted, changed and in 24 hours we lived a whole  lifetime. We met at this little coffee shop. I was
exhilarated
, excited, out of mind. Didn’t have a clue what war was going to be like any
more than those kids I’d sig
n
ed up with. I was going to be a hero, go in and fix things. Hell, I never even liked to hunt that much.”

“A coffee shop?” she went to the core of his words.

“Ruby’s coffee shop on Shartel. Didn’t look like much but the food was good and it was full up. I was at a table by myself and there weren’t any
more available so you asked to share mine.” He grinned. “Pretty girl, asking for my company. I wasn’t about to say no.” His grin faded. “I saw you standing there and I fell in love just like that.”

She most certainly didn’t believe in love at first sight. “You don’t call a woman of twenty eight a girl,” she said.

He frowned. “Why not?”

Oops! Things changed, especially language. In 1941 no woman would have supposed herself to be insulted to be called a girl.

“Not then,” she stumbled over the explanation. “I’m twenty eight now. Anyway, I told you I wasn’t there. It wasn’t me. I’ve never seen you before.”

He was silent for a moment, still looking at her in that way that made her so uncomfortable. How silly to be concerned that she wasn’t looking her best after the long night she’d just been through.

“You were wearing a dress then
and you told me you were twenty eight
.” He glanced down at her jeans and shirt
with something that looked almost like disapproval.

“Women don’t wear pants here,” she remembered, “certainly not jeans.”

“Fact is, they do now, the younger ones. That changed with the war, lots of things changed. “He swallowed hard and she suspected he was pushing down unwanted memories. “It was blue with long sleeves. You didn’t have a coat and it was cold and you were shivering.”

“It would have been December,” she remembered what he’d said.

His face brightened. “You do remember.”

She shook her head
and
closed her eyes, trying to think. “Matthew,” she said, “I don’t think it’s happened yet.”

The Harper kids were shy with her at first. At least the three older ones were; Shirley Kay, the mop-haired four-year-old obviously never met a stranger, and by the time they finished supper, she sat on one
of Angie’s
knee
s
while David rode the other, listening intently to the story Angie made up as she went along.

The older children came in from helping with the chores and settled down over dominoes while their mother, her work for the day finished, but her hands busy with mending, rocked gently in her chair as she listened to the story.

Matthew hadn’t come back after supper and Angie was sure he was avoiding her. He was suspicious of her denials of a previous relationship, she guessed. He thought she was  lying about not remembering  him.

Clemmie waited until she’d finished the story, then sent the two younger girls to bathe and get ready for bed.
David snuggled against Angie.

“Usually
Danny
gives him his bath,” Clemmie said, “but I’m sure he’ll want you to help tonight.”

Acutely uncomfortable, Angie nodded. Feeling like she was taking a whole lot for granted staying here, even though at some future time the house and farm belonged to her grandmother, she didn’t know what else to do. Where could she go? And she had no car to leave  in.

“We don’t mean to take advantage, Clemmie,” she said, then stopped, slightly embarrassed. Back then, back here they probably were more formal. She should have said Mrs. Harper . . .no that wasn’t right. Clemmie was a widow. She would have her husband’s last name. “I’m sorry, but I don’t even know your last name.”

“Andrews,” Clemmie supplied the name
,
looking solemn. “But you called me Clemmie before and I called you Ange.”

“Actually my name is Angie. Ange was just the short form David chose to use when
he first began to talk.” She hesitated, glancing at the little boy’s face to see if this conversation was troubling him. He looked quite content as he drowsed in her lap, halfway watching Danny and
Sharon
as they played their game. “Matthew said we met in Oklahoma City, Clemmie. If we only were together that one day, then how did we connect with you.”

Clemmie smiled at the memory. “He’d been gone all day, nobody knew where. And then just at supper time we saw the lights of his
car
pulling
up
and he came in with you, presenting you proud as punch as the girl he was going to marry. Charlie, that was my husband, told him it was only fair to give you time to think it over because taking on
Matthew Harper was going to be a fulltime job.”

She looked down at her sewing. “Charlie was quite a cutup,” she said matter-of-factly.

“The four of us sat up talking for hours, about you and Matthew and your plans, and about the war that had just been declared. We were working hard at being happy, not knowing what the future was going to bring.”

Angie was reminded that for the older woman it had brought the loss of  the man who
was
her husband and father of her children.. She couldn’t think of anything to say that would be even halfway adequate. “I’m sorry,” she said.

Clemmie looked puzzled. “Oh,” she said. “You mean because of Charlie.” She nodded, accepting the sympathy, but not commenting on it.

Angie felt as though she had said the wrong  thing by even beginning to comment on her loss. Maybe Clemmie just didn’t talk about Charlie’s death.

“So I came here with Matthew.” Even the children, she realized now, even the children recognize me. They call me Ange.”

Clemmie nodded. “You were a big hit with everybody.”

She was beginning to have a theory about the whole thing. She had been moved in time like a checker on a board. If some d
i
vine spirit was managing this or it was just the universe out of whack, she couldn’t guess, but though the Harpers remembered meeting her, in her world it hadn’t happened yet and perhaps never would.

She held out her hands, palms up in a gesture of helplessness. “What do I do now, Clemmie?”

The other figure sagged slightly. “Give it a few days. Stay here with us and see what comes back to mind.
Tobe, the sheriff, will be back tomorrow
to check on David. We can tell him he belongs to you.”

“The sheriff?” The idea of a law official disturbed her for some reason.

“Sure. We figured that little boy had strayed off from somewhere and his folks were frantic.”

“They were. Mom never got over it and Dad . . .well, Dad just keeps  hoping.”
She stopped suddenly, realizing Clemmie was staring at her. “
Just a flash,” she
mumbled, “but it’s gone now. Don’t even know where it came from.”

“Reckon your brain has been injured some way and it’s trying to heal. That’s a good sign.”

“I suppose,” Angie agreed because she didn’t know what else to say.

They heard the  back door close and knew Matthew was finally coming in. He probably was hoping Angie had already gone to bed.
Surprise
, she thought sourly
. I’m still here.

He came in, bringing the scent of the outdoors with him. “Looks like it might be building for a storm,” he said, greeting the both of them with a nod.

Clemmie looked concerned. “Didn’t hear anything on the radio.”

“Sometimes they just pop up sudden like. Don’t worry I’ll stay up for a while and keep an eye on things.”

Clemmie got to her feet. “I’ll just hurry the girls along so you can give David his path.” She looked  to where her two older children were absorbed in their game. “You two go ahead and get into your pajamas. You can bathe in the morning before school.”

Reluctantly, the boy protesting, they got to their feet and put the dominoes away and followed their mother to the back of the house.

Except for David, she was alone with the man who said she’d promised to marry him.

“He’s your brother. And his name is David. You remember that much?”

She had to admit knowing it, otherwise they’d take him away from
her.
She nodded.

“Doesn’t look much like you.”

This was a sensitive point and she spoke before she thought. “I was adopted. My parents thought they couldn’t have children and then they had David.”

His eyes narrowed. “That was a convenient memory to pop up.”

Since there was no good reply, she kept her mouth shut.

He left the room without trying to engage her in conversation any further. She was sure he thought she was lying. Well, she was, but only about not remembering.

After David’s bath, Clemmie showed her to a bedroom next to her own on the main floor. The children’s bedrooms and the one occupied by her brother were all upstairs, she explained. This one was for guests.

“We have quite a bit of kin come to stay,” she said. “Charlie’s folks and mine.”

It was a plain, but comfortable room with a double bed covered with homemade quilts. David was already tucked in bed so Ang
i
e slipped back to the bathroom to put on the worn cotton nightgown Clemmie had handed her.

She thought of the suitcase she’d left in her car and wondered what she was going to do for clothing, then reminded herself that she faced more significant problems.

David demanded a story as they lay together in the darkness, but fell asleep before she’d more than got started. She heard him murmur  ‘Mommy’ in his sleep and felt her heart ache. No matter what else had happened, she reminded herself, David was back with her and safe.

She couldn’t understand what had happened to him, but was just thankful for the fact of his presence.

In the next few days she fell into the routine of life at the Harpers’ home, wearing Clemmie’s cotton dresses that she learned were made from the cloth sacks the chicken feed came in, and her own running shoes, which looked strange to the others.

After burning an item or two, she began to learn how to cook on the old oil stove, which they hoped to replace if the cotton crop in the fall brought in sufficient income.

Matthew was busy days getting the crop planted. The older kids were finishing the last days of the school year and itching to be free for the summer. She helped Clemmie with feeding the chickens, gathering eggs, giving milk to the young calves, and always trailing after her were David and Shirley Kay.

The sheriff
, the
big man named Tobe who obviously had more than a passing interest in Clemmie, dropped by and seemed to accept her loss-of-memory story, telling her  she’d best take advantage of the Harpers’ hospitality along with her brother while he put out a search for a woman and a little boy who had gone missing.

On the third evening after her arrival, Clemmie pulled out a stack of photo albums. Matthew and Danny had gone off somewhere and even
Sharon
had gone to bed. The evening was warm for May and they took glasses of ice tea along with the albums out to the front porch, sitting on a wooden bench that was close to the same spot where Angie remembered a swing. Light from the hallway behind them cast enough of a glow to see the pictures as Clemmie opened page after page, first showing those of her children and husband.

Angie blinked back tears at the sight of that happy family, now broken by a soldier’s death at war. Clemmie didn’t say much more than to comment on a child’s age at the time of the photography. Most were snapshots of doubtful quality; Angie couldn’t help wishing the already fading black and whites showed facial features a little more clearly. As they went back to the older albums, more of the pictures were professional shots. Perhaps ownership of camer
a w
as
rare
back then.

She was stopped short by a picture of a couple, probably taken on
a
wedding day. The man was seated, the woman stood at his side
. Unsmiling, they stared straight ahead, he in a dark suit, she in a long gown with a prim neckline and long sleeves. Her skirt reached past her ankles.