The Memoir of Johnny Devine (29 page)

What he must think of her, throwing herself
at him like that … no different from all those silly, swooning
women …

She stumbled twice and nearly fell in her
hurry to get away from the house. The gate at the end of the drive
was a blur through her gathering tears.

What did it matter what John thought of her?
She wasn’t coming back.

Between her tears and the cloying mist, she
could barely see. When she reached the gate, the dam burst. Crying,
she tried to push the button for the gate but couldn’t find it.

A door slammed against the house, startling
her.

“
Eliza!”

She jumped at the sound of his booming
voice. She felt for the button again, frantic.

“
Eliza, wait!”

Heart hammering, she turned. She had never
felt more ridiculous or more alone. She waited, trapped.

John rounded the bend, working his cane as
fast as he could.

Must he fire her in
person? Couldn’t he just call the agency? Tears dripped from her
chin, soaking the collar of her dress.
So
stupid. I should have listened to Betty …

When John reached her, his eyes were black
pools of misery. “Yes,” he said, his deep voice ragged. He grasped
the back of her neck, pulled her close, and crushed his lips to
hers.

Stunned, she wavered like a sapling reed,
suspended between earth and heaven, nearly collapsing at the knees.
Couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. But she could feel. And what she
felt was …

Loved.

His lips lifted a fraction and hovered
beside hers. “Yes, I was writing about you. Yes, I am in agony when
you’re near. Yes, I have to leave the room because of you.”

Am I dreaming?

He kissed her again, gently but urgently,
his lips soft yet searing, shooting pure warmth straight to her
core.

Her tears flowed again, but this time from
blissful release. John loved her—Eliza, a quiet, penniless woman of
no renown.

With a stifled groan, he let go and backed
away. “No, no …”

“
What?”

“
Dear Lord, what am I
doing …?”

“
John? What’s
wrong?”

“
I shouldn’t have done
that. I’m so sorry. You left so hurt and I couldn’t let you leave
thinking—” He scowled, then turned away. “I only meant to stop you.
I’m sorry, Eliza. I shouldn’t have kissed you. That was
wrong.”

“
Wrong?” She stared at
him, waiting for his words to make sense, but they didn’t. “What
are you saying?” She shook her head to clear the confusion. “What
about what you wrote?”

He dragged a hand down over his face. “You
weren’t supposed to see that.”

“
But … didn’t you mean
those things?”

For the longest time, he just stood there,
motionless. “I meant every word,” he whispered.

Then say it. “I love you, Eliza.” Just say
it.

But the words didn’t come.

John turned to her, eyes red. “But it
doesn’t matter, because I can’t do this, Eliza. Not to anyone. And
especially not to you.”

“
Can’t do
what?”

He shook his head. “I can’t love.”

“
I
can.”

His gaze fell to the cobblestone between
them. “I know you can, and you must. Just … not me.” He scowled at
his cane. “Kissing you was purely thoughtless. I’m sorry.”

Why couldn’t he love her? Why couldn’t he—?
“John, if you’re worried about your past, none of that
matters.”

He shook his head, face
grave. “You may not think it matters now, but it will. Believe me,
it will. You still have a bright future ahead of you. My past and
reputation will trail me like a stench for the rest of my life.
People
never
forget. And there’s not a soul I would ever ask to share such
a burden.” He lowered his voice. “Especially you.”

“
I don’t care what people
think.”

He looked beyond her, as if searching for
reinforcement in the gate, then shook his head again. “I
can’t.”

She braced herself for the risk she was
about to take. “John, if you don’t want me, then say so. But if …
if you love me, then please don’t let me walk out of your
life.”

He didn’t move, didn’t answer. Instead, he
stared off in the distance, his stance rigid.

Her chest burned with a crushing ache she
hadn’t felt since her parents died. “I see.” She lifted her chin in
a pathetic attempt at dignity while her heart plunged in a free
fall. “I guess that’s my cue to leave.”

“
Please, don’t do that,”
John said. “I understand why you want to leave, and you have every
reason to, but if you could … find it in your heart to stay a
little longer, I need …” He scowled at his cane and wouldn’t meet
her gaze. “I need to finish the book, and I can’t do it without
you.”

That stung. He needed her, just not enough
to put aside what kept him from loving her. He needed her skills,
nothing more.

What Eliza
needed was to turn around. Open the gate. Walk
through and keep going.

Turn, Eliza. Move.

But not one of her limbs would
cooperate.

What would Betty do? That was easy. Betty
wouldn’t have gotten into this position in the first place.

What would Mama say?

Strange, but the only person coming to mind
was the compassionate, extraordinary Man in a story she couldn’t
forget. The One who offered acceptance and hope to a humiliated
woman.

Hope? No. Her only hope was to turn around
and leave and never come back, as painful as that would be.

If you let Me, I will make you new.

Or … she could summon the courage to stay
and finish what she had begun, but only because she was a
professional with many hours invested in a book that deserved her
best effort to see it through to completion.

“
Very well,” she said, her
voice surprisingly calm. “I will stay until the book is
finished.”

It took everything she had to mask her
broken heart and walk back into that house.

Solitude
is a small price in exchange for what God has
done for me. If I had to choose, I would rather be an unknown son
than a famous orphan.

~
The Devine Truth: A Memoir

Millie was waiting
inside, rooted in the front room like a tiny gray
flagstaff, her feather duster poking out from her tightly crossed
arms. She frowned at John, then inched closer to Eliza and examined
her closely.

Eliza must have looked a fright with her
frizzled hair and tear-stained face. She gave her cheeks a quick
swipe.

“
Ma’am, I’ll just take
that coat of yours—again,” Millie said softly. “That is, if you
gonna stay a spell this time.”

“
I’ll stay.”
But not for long
. Eliza
didn’t look at John.

Millie took Eliza’s coat and left them,
humming a tune. Halfway to the kitchen, she added lyrics to her
song. “O what peace we often forfeit … O what needless pain we bear
… all because we do not carry … everything to God in prayer.”

Eliza quickly took her seat at the desk,
still reeling from hurt and confusion and a growing realization
that staying may not have been such a wise idea.

It’s only one more day, two at the most.
Then the book will be on its way to New York, and I will be
finished here. Soon John and Millie and all of this will be nothing
but a memory.

No. The past two months would never be just
a memory. No matter how heartbreaking things had turned out, the
time she’d spent in John’s home had changed her life.

With the book so close to completion and
both of them anxious to wrap it up, Eliza spent the morning trying
to write John’s concluding thoughts, but met with little
success.

After an hour of intermittent dictation,
John leaned back and massaged his forehead with both hands. “I’m
sorry. You’re trying to finish and I’m useless.”

He wasn’t the only one struggling to
concentrate, but Eliza kept that to herself. It also didn’t help
matters that every time she looked at him, John was holding his
head in his hands, glaring at his feet.

He was angry with himself—she knew him well
enough to know that.

It also didn’t help that Eliza was still
numb from that kiss, and from what it meant. But the more she tried
to make sense of the things they had said to each other, the more
she realized how pointless that was. John’s mind was made up.
Begging had even crossed her mind but was, of course, out of the
question.

By lunchtime, they were both ready for a
break, though the idea of eating anything—even Millie’s
cooking—turned Eliza’s stomach.

Millie served pork chops with roasted
potatoes and chocolate cake in the dining room. Her trips to and
from the kitchen took longer than usual. But who wouldn’t be tired,
working so hard at her age?

Eliza eyed the thin layers of chocolate
separated by ribbons of shiny brown frosting and could only imagine
how frightful the thing would have turned out if she had attempted
it.

John said grace for the meal.

When he finished, Millie said there was a
telephone call for him.

He frowned. “Who is it?”

“
Says he’s your
attorney
,” Millie said,
one brow low, the other lifted high. “Want me to tell him the same
thing I tell them government agents?”

John removed the napkin from his collar,
grabbed his cane, and rose. “No, I’ll take it.” He turned to Eliza.
“You’re welcome to listen in if you like. It’s probably about the
book.”

Eliza followed him to the telephone in the
library.

“
Hello.” He listened, then
frowned. “Subpoena the
manuscript
? That won’t be necessary.
I already told them they can see it. I have nothing to hide.” He
turned and met Eliza’s gaze. “I’m not surprised. Do you know why
they’re finished talking to Oscar? He can say things that sound so
good you forget he hasn’t answered a single question.” He huffed
out a laugh. “Sure, but I still don’t see what difference it will
make. They already have names of party members. What do they want
from me?” He listened for a few moments more. “Fine. I won’t lie,
and besides, it’s no secret. I’ve worked with known party members,
including Carnovsky, Lawson, Odets, and”—his voice fell
low—“Marlow.”

Eliza barely stifled a
gasp.
Deborah
Marlow? She had tried to forget about the pink letters. But
now, all of her previous questions and assumptions came rushing
back.

Would Deborah’s name finally come up in the
conclusion of the book? In what capacity?

Did Eliza really want to know?

But then, what did it matter?

“
Let them try,” John said,
his tone more determined than before. “I’m not worried. I have
faith. The truth will prevail.”

Later
that evening, Eliza glanced at the telephone as she passed
through the hallway, half tempted to call Betty. If ever Eliza
needed a sympathetic ear, it was now. But Betty probably wasn’t the
best shoulder to cry on, especially since John was the source of
Eliza’s misery.

The note taped to the
telephone that said
Absolutely NO Calls
for Eliza
had been littered with doodling
and phone numbers. With a sigh, Eliza went to her mailbox and took
out her mail, sorted through it, and stopped.

A heavy linen envelope, addressed to her,
bore a United States emblem that included the letters HUAC.

With hands that shook, she tore the envelope
and took out a single paged letter.

November 30, 1953

TO: Mrs. Eliza Jane Saunderson

FROM: House Un-American Activities
Committee

Berkeley Branch

Your presence is hereby requested at a
special panel query convening at the HUAC provisional agency
headquarters located in the Whitecotton Room of the Shattuck Hotel
at ten o’clock a.m. on Thursday, December 10. Your cooperation in
this matter will be noted. Failure to appear and answer questions
to the panel’s satisfaction will result in a subpoena. You will be
asked to provide truthful information pertaining to your business
dealings with the “American Women’s Alliance” and their
anti-American and communist associates.

Would they even listen?

In the days of the Salem witch trials, the
whole town believed absurd accusations, even the magistrates.
People were convicted and death sentences were carried out based on
unfounded rumors.