A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (5 page)

Chapter
5

I channel-surfed for a while, hoping to
find a good movie to get lost in, but quickly clicked off the remote when the
ten o’clock news flashed a picture of the creep who had taken Mark hostage. I
didn’t want to know anything about him. I needed to focus all my emotional
energy on Mark‌—‌not on the anger or outrage I felt every time I
saw that man’s face or heard an update about what
might
have led him to
do it.

I needed a distraction. Quick.

I reached for the diary, pressing my nose
against its cover again. “Oh, Aunt Lucille, talk to me. Help me get my mind in
a better place. Tell me your story.”

I pulled the satin ribbon, opening to the
page where I last read. Glancing at Mark, I reminded him of where we’d left
off.

“Lucille was about to get off the El at
her stop,
Gary
said it was his stop too, which, of
course, she didn’t believe, and . . . okay, here’s where we pick
up.”

“I’d be happy to walk you
home, if you’d find that agreeable,” he said as we stepped off the train. “I
realize that may seem rather forward of me
‍—‍
”

“A little, yes.” I couldn’t
take my eyes off his smile. I tried to tell myself this was all wrong, much too
fast, and utterly ridiculous, but it wasn’t helping.

“I assure you, my
intentions are completely honorable.”

“Oh? I bet you say that to
all the girls.”

When his face crimsoned, I
wondered if I’d pegged him correctly. Was he just using some tried and trusted litany
of pick-up lines?

“Look, Lucille,” he said,
taking my elbow and moving us out of the path of other commuters. “I like you.
I admit it. And it makes me . . . well, it saddens me to think I
might not ever see you again.”

Was he reading my mind?
Was I that transparent?

“Lieutenant
‍—‍
”

“
Gary
.”

I looked into his eyes, so
inviting, so . . . sincere? I wanted desperately to believe him,
but I knew enough from my years at Northwestern to never trust a guy’s sweet
talking ways.

“
Gary
, you’re very nice. But how many times
have you used that line on other girls? How many times have you told a girl you
want to know ‘everything’ about her? How many times
‍—‍
”

“It doesn’t matter, I’m
‍—‍
”

“Yes, it does!” I abruptly
started making my way down the station sidewalk.

He rushed up beside me,
slapping his cap on his head. “All right
‌—‌
I agree. It does matter.” He fell in step with
me. “What will it take for you to give me a break? I just want to walk you
home. Is that so much to ask?”

I kept walking, the battle
between my head and my heart raging on. What would Father say if I walked
through the door with a stranger? In uniform, no less! I said nothing, because
I couldn’t think of a thing to say. We walked in silence for a half block or
so.

“Aren’t you even going to
answer me?”

He sounded so pitiful, I almost
laughed. I bit the side of my lip, trying to appear contemplative. What could
it hurt to let the lieutenant suffer a bit? Let him stew for a while.

After another block, in my
periphery I saw his shoulders slump in resignation along with a weary sigh.
Still, he kept pace with me. Thinking he looked like a little puppy tagging
along, I had to press my lips together to keep from chuckling.

And who can resist a cute
little puppy?

I turned the corner, and
he was halfway into the street before he noticed. He rushed over to my side,
whistling as though he hadn’t a care in the world. When I turned at our
driveway, he stopped. I gazed over my shoulder at him as I headed toward my
house.

“Well? Are you coming,
Lieutenant?”

Once inside, Mother gave
him a warm welcome.

“Lieutenant Gary Reynolds,
this is my mother, Elizabeth Alexander.”

Gary sent a triumphant
smile my way, having finally learned our last name. “How very nice to meet you,
Mrs.
Alexander.
It
was such a pleasure getting to know your lovely daughter on the train this
afternoon. Thank you for allowing me to stop by for a few minutes.”

Little Jack, always shy at
first with strangers, gradually warmed to our guest, sneaking peeks at
Gary
when he wasn’t looking. I had to laugh
when I caught
Gary
making a silly face at Jack, who giggled
before hiding his face behind Mother’s skirt.

Of course, Mother insisted
Lieutenant Reynolds should stay for dinner. When Father arrived home, he gave
our guest a more guarded welcome, glancing my direction when he noticed the
uniform. But just as Jack had, Father gradually warmed to
Gary
too.

Later, at the dinner table,
he asked
Gary
about his plans after the war.

“I hope to return to the
University
of
Illinois
to complete my degree in architecture.”

“And your folks, Gary
‌—‌
do they still live here
in
Chicago
?” Mother asked.

“Yes, ma’am, they’re still
living in the house I grew up in, over on
Yale Avenue
.”

“I’m sure they must be
thrilled to have you home for a visit.” Mother handed him the plate of
biscuits.

“Yes, ma’am, they sure
are.” He took a biscuit and passed the plate to Father. “Of course, my mother is
worried sick about me heading over to the war. My brother deported last month,
and she’s not too keen about having two sons so far away.”

“I can’t imagine,” Mother
said. “I don’t envy her.”

Father continued to engage
Gary, asking lots of questions, but I could tell he was still checking out the
lieutenant from head to toe.

Gary
turned to Father. “Mr. Alexander,
Lucille tells me you’re in management over at Armour.”

Father took a sip of tea
then dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “Yes, I’m the plant employment manager.
I oversee hiring and personnel matters.”

“World’s largest
meat-packing plant. You must hire a massive number of people to keep production
moving.”

“Yes, but my
responsibilities are for the plant only. The administrative and corporate areas
are completely separate.”

“Still, you must have
thousands on your payroll. In your position, do you handle all the union
relations as well?”

Father’s brows rose a bit.
“Interesting question. Do you have union folks in your family, Lieutenant?”

“Oh, no sir. My father
isn’t a union guy. He can’t stand all the politics.”
Gary
winced, obviously wondering if he’d just
stepped into it. For all he knew, Father was a champion for the unions. I
suppressed a smile, knowing what he couldn’t.

Father’s face relaxed.
“Then I’m sure your father and I would get along just fine. Seems all I do some
days is wade through the red tape those folks keep throwing at us. Worst thing
that ever happened to Armour. To the country, for that matter.”

“I should tell you Father
is a gentle giant,” I added. “At six-four, he towers over most of them, but his
disarming, quiet spirit keeps them in tow. They constantly try to rile him up
over this or that, but he just takes it all in stride, settling them down
without uttering so much as a single word.”

“A slight exaggeration,”
Father said with a smile.

Gary
chuckled. “With that kind of demeanor,
they could sure use you in Washington, Mr. Alexander. Dad says free enterprise
will never be the same, thanks to FDR’s New Deal.”

“He’s right. The president
bought himself more than enough votes to keep him in the White House, but he’ll
ruin this country in the long run. Mark my words.”

“Well, now, let’s talk
about something else,” Mother said, passing the roast platter back to
Gary
. “Unions and politics are never good dinner
companions.”

“My apologies, Mrs.
Alexander.”
Gary
wiped his mouth. “You and my mother must
be on the same wavelength. She always reminds us that such discussions over a
meal are a guaranteed recipe for indigestion.”

We had such a nice time.
Mother and Father seemed to genuinely like Lieutenant Reynolds. There was no
doubt about it
‌—‌
he
was full of charm and had a way of drawing you in, as if you’d always known
him. So many thoughts wrestled through my mind as I observed him across the
dinner table. How fascinating he was. How his eyes lit up when he told stories.
And oh my goodness, how handsome he was. There was just something about him
that attracted me, but at the same time frightened me more than I wanted to
admit. Was he involved with someone? Were there several other “someones” out
there, waiting for his call?

After Mother served pie
and coffee,
Gary
thanked her for the delicious meal then
surprised us when he stood and began to gather our dishes. “The very least I
can do to show my appreciation for such an unforgettable evening is to do the
dishes.”

“You’ll do no such thing!”
Mother stood, laughing. “What kind of hostess would I be if I let you wash all
these dishes?”

“A gracious and acquiescing
hostess, that’s who.” He grabbed more plates and silverware.

“But Lieutenant, I
couldn’t possibly!”

He set the stack of dishes
back on the table. “Well, all right then. If it would make you feel better,
Jack can help me. Right, Jack? You ‘n me, little buddy. Here, you grab the
crystal and I’ll get the plates.”

We all laughed heartily as
Gary
kept the ruse going, as if he and Jack
washed dishes together every day. Jack looked back and forth between us, a
confused smile twinkling his eyes.

“All right, all right!” I finally
said, raising my hands in defeat. “You obviously don’t have little brothers,
Gary. I think we’ll let Jack go help Father build a fire, and I’ll assist you
in the kitchen. Fair enough?”

Jack hopped down from his
chair and made a beeline for the fireplace. “C’mon, Dad. Let’s build a fire!”

Mother still wasn’t
convinced. “But I can’t let you
‍—‍
”

“Yes you can, and yes you
will.” I took her shoulders and pointed her in the direction of the family room.
“Go put your feet up. Read the paper. Relax for a change.”

She started to protest
again, then a knowing smile suddenly lit her face. “Ohhh . . . I
suppose you’re right, dear.” Mother gazed over my shoulder, and I prayed
Gary
couldn’t see her acknowledging wink.
“Yes, I think I’ll do just that.”

As I carried a stack of
cups and saucers into the kitchen, I stopped in my tracks to watch
Gary
tie one of Mother’s aprons around himself
at chest level. He turned, his hands raised in presentation. “Be honest. Does
this pink apron go with my uniform?” He twirled around. “Does it make me look
fat?”

I laughed so hard, I
barely set the dishes down before doubling over.

His face fell. “That bad,
huh?”

My eyes brimmed with tears
of laughter as
Gary
kept the act going. He was such a ham,
occasionally breaking into song while we did the dishes.

And oh my, could he sing!
His rich tenor traipsed in and out of a number of familiar show tunes; the
kitchen his Broadway stage, and Mother’s spatula his make-shift microphone. Occasionally
he’d draw me into his antics, twirling me across the kitchen floor like Ginger
Rogers to Fred Astaire. Though I doubt Fred ever dropped Ginger when he lunged
her into a final dip.

“Lucille! I’m so sorry!” He
knelt down to help me up.

I could not stop laughing!
I’ve never laughed that hard in my entire life. The sight of him down on one
knee, doing his best to help me up with his soapy hands, made us giggle even
harder until he finally collapsed on the floor beside me.