Promise of Yesterday (12 page)

“Then why don’t we make it up for you? You go to that minstrel show and show Sally Worth a thing or two.” Marylu clutched it to herself. “Since it’s just basted together, we can try it on you, then I’ll hem it and make final adjustments.” She smiled at Jenny. “You’ll be so beautiful that Aaron Walck will leave Sally Worth’s side and come a-runnin’.”

Jenny’s laughter split the air. “Probably not, but it is lovely material. You’ve done wonderful work.”

“Who do you think it was who sewed all those little dresses for you growing up?”

“My mother, of course.”

Marylu chuckled. “You believe that if you want, but I’ve got enough pinpricks in these here fingers to prove otherwise.”

Jenny hesitated. Her eyes met Marylu’s. “You really think I should?”

Marylu crossed her arms and grinned. “Sure as Cooper’s going bald.”

With a wide grin splitting her face, Marylu followed a determined Jenny to the back room. As soon as the dress swirled down around her friend’s slim frame, she knew the dress was perfect. Jenny gave a little gasp of excitement when she saw herself in the mirror, and even did a little preening. Her friend looked anything but plain now. With the pink in her cheeks and her eyes bright with unbridled joy, Marylu swelled with pride.

“Yes, ma’am. That Aaron Walck is going to forget Sally Worth right quick when he lays eyes on you.” Marylu left Jenny to change and took the material straight to the chair in front of their Model 15 machine and set to work on the seams.

As her fingers guided the material, her mind went to Aaron Walck and the wistful expression on Jenny’s face as she talked of the man. Shy or not, Marylu was sure he’d seen something distasteful in Sally, else why would he feel badly enough to offer to pay for the material? Maybe he didn’t know how to handle the situation with her. He seemed the sort who would be unsure of himself in such matters, or maybe he just wasn’t sure how Jenny felt, whereas half the town knew Sally’s feelings.

“Seems to me two people can come right out and tell each other how they feel without all this mooning,” she muttered to herself. When she realized what she’d just said, she stopped pedaling and let the machine go silent.
I’m a fool
.

The sound of Jenny’s footsteps shattered her private reprimand. She knew what was coming. Sadness gripped her anew. She tugged the material around to begin sewing a new seam and worked the pedal to get the machine going. Jenny would nail her hide to the wall. She knew it for certain and didn’t relish the conversation. Being a realist, Jenny could give sympathy, but the moment she felt someone hadn’t made the best of a situation, her patience became short. Marylu closed her eyes and wondered if she had truly put off Chester. If he would ever return. Was he even thinking about her? Oh, to rewind time and get a second chance.

Jenny poked her head around the corner. “Marylu, I almost forgot, Lydia Redgrave’s order needs to be delivered.”

“Thought she was going to come get it.”

Jenny disappeared again, and Marylu heard her rustling around in the back, no doubt locating the two dresses of Lydia’s order. When she reappeared, box in her arms, Marylu took them from her and noted the sparkle in her friend’s eyes. Part of her wanted to bring up Chester, but the other half held back and eventually won out. Let her friend enjoy the moment. They could talk later.

Jenny took Marylu’s place at the sewing machine.

“You going to work on that while I’m gone?” Marylu asked.

“Yes.” Her head bobbed, and her foot began to pump the pedal.

When Marylu got out into the sunshine, boxes filling her arms, she thought of Sally’s boldness and what the young woman would do if she ever discovered Aaron had visited Jenny. As she crossed Baltimore Street, a train whistle rent the air and pulled past the square of Greencastle. And a plan formed in Marylu’s head. If Miss Jenny wouldn’t come right out and tell Aaron Walck how she felt, then Marylu would take matters into her own two, quite capable, hands.

If Aaron Walck thought it strange to see Marylu at his factory, he didn’t let on. If she’d had the choice, she would have gotten Cooper to do this bit of “man-to-man” for her, but his being down nipped that idea in the bud. Besides, some things a woman should handle.

No doubt about it, Aaron Walck was as handsome a white man as Marylu had ever laid eyes on. His dark hair prompted a body to think the man would have dark eyes to match, so when Aaron blinked up at Marylu, his light gray eyes, made even paler in the ribbon of sunshine, were a bit startling. And no Sally hanging on his arm. Which is the other reason Marylu had chosen to come to Aaron’s factory instead of meeting him at his house or church or, worst of all, at the Hamlin Wizard Oil Company’s minstrel show.

“Good morning, Marylu.”

She liked the way the man smiled, as if life were too short for grousing about hard work and long days. Marylu nodded and got straight to the point. “I know you’ve been hoping for Sally Worth’s company at the Town Hall show. She’s been singing about it to Miss Jenny for the last week.”

Aaron’s dark brows drew together when Marylu paused for breath.

“Anyways, I just came here to tell you right out that she is a hard worker and thinks you’re a wonderful, kindhearted man. She always had great admiration for what she saw between you and your wife.”

Since there was no machinery in this part of the shop, only a desk, a potbellied stove, and a coal bin, every word she said could be heard. She only hoped that the three men busily working on crafting slender pieces of wood, as another measured out some pieces against a pattern drawn on the floor, would keep what they heard to themselves.

Aaron grunted and glanced at the men, then back at Marylu. “You came here to let me know about Miss Worth or about Miss McGreary?”

“I just wanted you to give Miss Jenny a chance.”

This time the color flooded Aaron’s face, and he cleared his throat as he got to his feet. He motioned Marylu outside.

Sunshine steamed Marylu’s skin pretty quickly, and she aimed herself at a copse of trees where they could carry on a conversation in the shade, away from listening ears.

Aaron leaned against a tall oak and crossed his arms, an amused smile curving his lips. “Are you trying to tell me to court Miss McGreary?”

“No, sir. Knowing grief the way I do, I can’t tell you who to court or when to court, but if you’re ready to be looking, I am suggesting you at least look Miss Jenny’s way.”

“And you’re discouraging me from …
courting
,” the word came out hard, “Sally Worth.”

“Since you say it that way, yes. There are much nicer women.”

Aaron looked away and swallowed. Then a chuckle broke loose, followed by another. Before Marylu knew it, the man was laughing as if a comedy act was being performed before him.

She’d always known Aaron Walck to be soft-spoken, so his laughter at a subject so close to her heart miffed Marylu. She planted her hands on her hips.

He caught her gesture and held up a hand. “I’m sorry, Marylu. It’s just so …”

Marylu grunted.

Aaron straightened, though a smile still played along his lips. “Sally and I are not courting. Not even close. She asked me to the minstrel show.”

It was as if a load of bricks had slid off her shoulders and toppled to her feet. “Why, that’s right good news.”

“I accepted because …” He averted his face, but she saw the mischief die and the sudden rush of grief that cinched his features.

“No need to explain,” she offered. “I understand loneliness.”

He nodded. “My wife thought a great deal of Miss McGreary’s talent and counted her as a good friend.”

“I’m guessing Sally wasn’t on her list.”

He looked embarrassed. “She was quite a bit younger than my wife.”

“Flighty and immature, if you ask me. And if you’re a godly man, you won’t be trifling with her.”

Aaron ran a hand over the rough bark of the tree, but the red in his cheeks reminded her of summer-ripened tomatoes.

She reckoned she’d had her say and decided it best for her to leave. “That’s all I came for. No need to be letting on that we had this conversation. I love Miss Jenny, and, if I might talk so bold, I’ve seen the way you look at each other, like butter on biscuits. And there’s no sense in wasting time with all the preliminaries when you know a person’s heart. Miss Jenny is powerful lonely, and you being lonely, too, well, it only seems natural.” She wiped her hands down her skirts and turned. “Think on it.”

Without waiting for his response, Marylu climbed back into the wagon and got the horse to back up a bit before slapping the reins against the nag’s rump to encourage a nice clip.

Chester walked west of Greencastle toward Mercersburg. It would take a long time for him to reach the town where he was born, about ten miles of hard walking by his best guess. He patted the paper safely tucked away in his pocket. Mr. Shillito’s friend in Mercersburg went by a name unfamiliar to him. His mama might know the man though.

At some point that morning, he had managed to jam a splinter of wood into his index finger. As he walked, he rubbed his thumb over the area where the sliver had lodged deep in his skin. The pain provided focus as he walked in a void of confusion and anger, hurt and fear. His muscles tightened and pulled, but he kept a steady pace. One foot in front of the other. His heart beating hard both made him feel alive and reminded him that his heart might burst and shatter.

Any guilt over leaving Zedikiah had eased when Mr. Shillito agreed to allow the boy to work for him. Chester had no doubt the man would be good to Zedikiah. By this time, Marylu would know he had left town, and he wondered if she cared.

Her rejection had hurt. Yet what had he expected? Did it matter? The fact was only he knew the truth. Samuel’s betrayal had been complete by the detail with which he set Chester up. And the loss of his tongue had prevented Chester from defending himself.

When the question had left Marylu’s lips, he had hesitated, in shock. How long had she known? Other questions had crowded his mind, but the slowness of his tongue left him at a disadvantage, and he had found it much easier to simply rise and leave.

He paused at the enormous bridge crossing the Conococheague. Water poured and splashed over and around the rocks in its path. A wide river named by the Indians. To the west, he imagined what the skyline of Mercersburg would look like, and his heart raced with excitement at the thought of embracing his mama again.

Trees, capped with their glorious crown of leaves, rustled in the light, early evening breeze as he continued his walk. Eventually the light of day gave over to night. Wan moonlight washed across fields showing full stalks of corn and wheat. Before long the heat of summer would try to burn away the green of the crops.

His feet burned, but he dared not stop. Drawing closer to his goal stoked his need to get there without further delay. No one would be awake in Mercersburg. Not this time of night. He might be better off sleeping in one of the barns or in the cemetery.

He smiled as his mind went over his childhood spent wandering the fields edged by the Tuscarora ridge, splashing in the ample creeks that mottled the countryside. He wondered if old Mr. Brooks still scared the black children with his stories of ghosts and coming to haunt those who did not treat him well in life. He would be old now, Chester realized with a twinge of sadness, probably in his late sixties. Still working the livery at the large stone hotel in the square of Mercersburg.

Chester’s thoughts never ranged far from the scents of the night, the urgency of his pace, and the coldness in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. He paused only when he finally laid eyes on the pale white stone structures of the cemetery that marked the beginning of town. Opposite the cemetery, a stark structure with white cornerstones that contrasted with the brick and looked much like the backbone of a skeleton. The thought made him shudder. An innocent structure seemed suddenly foreboding. It had been a college at one time, but he could see no sign now through the darkness.

He tucked his chin to his chest and kept walking. His legs ached, and his back began a dull protest that started at the base of his spine. He went the opposite direction from town, up Linden Street and back to the cemetery where the blacks buried their own. The one where his father had been buried. It had been that dark day, watching his father’s coffin lowered by ropes into the gaping hole, when he’d made up his mind to leave home and go out on his own. He wanted adventure and knew another mouth to feed, without benefit of a man to help farm, meant hardship. He had promised her he’d get work and send money home.

He’d been a fool.

As he neared the cemetery he grew cautious. His father’s grave seemed to glow brighter than the others, drawing him closer. Beckoning. He went and knelt at the simple wood cross. His mother would never have the money to afford more, but she had insisted on this. Chester ran his fingers over the rough wood, remembering the grief of carving the shape and lashing the pieces together with rawhide strips. He still remembered the feel of the wood against his fingers as he’d stroked down the length of the cross, tears working their way down his cheeks.