The Mine (16 page)

* * * * *

By the time they returned to their seats, and Tom and Ginny, the third inning had become the fifth, Seattle led three to one, and Grace was smiling and laughing.

"I almost sent for security," Tom said, grinning. "Where were you two?"

"We went to chase foul balls, chat with law enforcement, and greet the tightwads on Tightwad Hill. They're still pretty tight."

"I'll bet they are," Tom said, putting his arm around Ginny. "Sit down and stay for a while. This is a double date, after all."

Tom returned to the game, seemingly unaware of the daisy-cutter he had dropped in Row 12. Was this a date? For a moment Joel considered the question and two possible answers. He looked at Grace and Ginny and saw they were likely doing the same. No one wanted to address such a delicate matter on what was supposed to be a simple night at the ballpark. Joel changed the subject before others jumped in. He turned to Tom.

"Did you know the ponies ran today? It was the best opening day at Longacres ever. Some horse from Arizona, Over Drive, broke the track record for six furlongs."

"Did I know? Did I know? Do fish have lips? Of course I knew. If it weren't for this gorgeous dame next to me, I'd have been all over it. We're there next weekend, and I'm not taking no for an answer."

"You won't get a 'no' from me."

"Good. I'll hold you to it."

As the sixth, seventh, and eighth innings rolled into the ninth, San Francisco tied the score and then pulled ahead five to three. The hosts needed two in the bottom half of the frame to send the game into extra innings. But Joel paid less attention to the action on the field than to a report by the public address announcer that Joe DiMaggio had extended his hitting streak to forty games with a double and a single against Philadelphia.

"Do you think he'll get to fifty?" Tom asked.

"I know he will. In fact, he'll get to fifty-six."

"Fifty-six? Don't you think that's a bit optimistic?" Ginny asked. "He still has a long way to go. No one has reached fifty, and only a few have made it to forty."

"OK. I'll put my money where my mouth is. Tom, do you know a bookie who can handle something like this?"

Joel saw Tom redden and instantly regretted asking the question, at least in mixed company. He suspected that even compulsive gamblers liked to maintain a modicum of innocence around those who did not share their lofty opinion of high-stakes wagering.

"I think I could find one," Tom said.

"Great. Here's twenty dollars. Put it on DiMaggio to reach fifty-six – not fifty or fifty-five or fifty-seven but fifty-six. And while you are at it, put some lettuce on Ted Williams to bat .406 for the season. This is going to be a good year for baseball."

Grace smiled as she turned to face the man who tossed twenties around like candy at a parade.

"You sound rather confident. Did you consult a crystal ball this morning?"

"No," Joel said. "Just my intuition."

And a very good memory.

* * * * *

Seattle won seven to six in ten innings. Its star first baseman doubled off the wall in left field to bring in two runs and send six thousand fans home smiling.

Joel too had a smile on his face. On the drive back to the university district he locked eyes with Grace for forty delightfully long minutes. Heavy traffic, red lights, and a conspicuous absence of efficiency measures nearly doubled the length of the trip home. But no one in the Plymouth complained.

When Tom finally stopped in front of the house on Klickitat Avenue, he walked around to the passenger side, let Ginny out, and escorted her to the door. He kissed his girl good night, promised to call the next day, and returned to the car.

Joel found his closing act a bit more challenging. He helped Grace out of the back seat and walked her to the top of the stairs but froze when he arrived. For all of his worldly experience, he had never had to search for words to end a date – or at least what Tom Carter had flippantly called a date.

Ginny made the search easier. Standing inside the partially opened door, with her hand on the knob, she told her friend and sorority sister that it was time to come in. Joel knew then that he didn't have the luxury of time. The right words would have to wait for another day, if there was another day.

"Good night, Grace. I enjoyed tonight."

"I did too," she said, eyes fixed on his. "Have a safe drive back. Good night."

CHAPTER 35

Grace looked at the frequently replenished stacks of paper and wondered if she would ever finish. Since eight that morning she had filed hundreds of three-by-five-inch cards into narrow wooden drawers with uncompromising accuracy, so that faculty, students, and staff would be able to find new authors, subjects, and titles without blowing a gasket. By eleven thirty her mind had turned to mush.

"Machines will someday make that a whole lot easier."

Grace smiled but did not lift her eyes from the tedious work or budge from her chair at a small wooden table. She recognized the voice and its mischievous tone.

"Have you come here to harass me, Mr. Smith?"

"Not at all, miss. I'm seeking reference assistance."

"Then why don't you ask the reference librarians?"

"Because they're old and mean and ugly and go 'shush' a lot."

"They do not!" Grace protested. She lowered her voice and spoke dismissively. "And some are young and pretty."

"OK. I won't argue."

Joel pulled up a seat opposite the disagreeable file clerk and visually inspected the small, stuffy room, which architects had placed in a windowless corner of the main library. Two other girls filed cards at a larger table a few feet away, but no Dickensian authority figures roamed the workhouse to keep the coeds in line or inhibit the time traveler's private pursuit of a public employee.

"This doesn't look like much fun," Joel said with a playful grin. He grabbed a title card from the top of the stack and inspected it for typos. "Do you ever shuffle the deck to make things interesting or bundle the cards with chewing gum?"

"I do not," Grace said matter-of-factly.

She continued her work.

"That's good. You're a consummate professional."

He grabbed another card, held it up to the light, and shook his head.

"I don't think we can accept this one, Grace. It spells Smith with a 'y' and an 'e.' I don't spell it that way."

"Perhaps you should."

"Maybe I should. But if I took that name I'd have to order a stiff upper lip to go with it. That might make eating difficult."

"You'd manage."

Joel returned the card to the stack, sat up straight, and put his hands together on top of the table, as if finally realizing that the needle on Grace's annoyance meter was drifting into the red zone. He ditched the smirk and the attitude.

"I thought you worked in the rare books section. That's what Ginny said."

"I normally do. But they needed extra help down here this week, so I volunteered. There aren't many students around during the summer months." Grace pulled more cards from the nearest pile. "Why aren't you working today? Did Carter's run out of furniture?"

"No. The old man just decided to give me a weekday off. Business is pretty slow on Tuesdays, so that was the obvious choice."

"And so you've come here to watch me sort slips of paper."

"I came here to thank you for Saturday. I had a good time."

"I did too."

Grace took a breath, pushed the cards away, and looked at Joel. She knew he had come to the library to do more than thank her for an enjoyable evening. But she did not know how to handle his visit any more than she knew how to handle the conflicting thoughts bouncing in her head.

"When do you get off?"

"I can leave at four, but I may stay later."

"Great. Maybe I can come back."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Why?"

"Because I'm engaged to be married, and I don't think my fiancé would appreciate me spending time with another man, even as friends," she said in a firm whisper.

Grace patted herself for showing backbone and doing what both knew was right. But she immediately softened when she saw the disappointment and hurt.

"I'm sorry for being direct," she said. "I'm flattered by the attention. I really am. But I don't think we should spend more time together. Can you understand?"

"I just want to go for a walk. Is that asking too much?"

Yes, it is. I find you more than a little distracting and the last thing I need now is a reason to do something stupid
.

Grace put a hand to her forehead and glanced at her coworkers. Both, thankfully, kept to themselves, or at least did a good job of masking their interest in her affairs. She looked at Joel and studied his face. Solemn, focused, and sincere, it was different than the one he had brought in the room. Joel Smith was no flirt with too much time on his hands. He was a serious suitor. A simple brush off would not do.

"No, I suppose not. I get a lunch break in twenty minutes. We can walk then."

* * * * *

When Grace got off at noon, she took the initiative and led Joel south toward the water. She wanted peace, privacy, and as much distance on the education building, where Linda McEwan had two classes, as time allowed.

"I'm sorry I was such a bear at the library," she said. "I want to be your friend, but I don't know how to do so without upsetting a lot of people."

"I'm the one who should apologize. I had no right to put you on the spot."

Grace relaxed and started to view Joel with more compassion and less suspicion. He was no longer a cowboy or a salesman or a baseball fan full of bravado but rather a sincere and probably lonely young man who just wanted someone to talk to.

"Then let me put
you
on the spot. Are you ever going to give us more than your name, rank, and serial number? Ginny said she tried to learn more the other day and did not get far."

"I want to tell you more and someday I will, but I can't now. My situation is more complicated than you could possibly imagine. Just know that I'm not trying to pull some kind of stunt. My intentions are pure. I genuinely like everyone I've met here and want to continue to be a part of your lives."

Grace smiled.

"I like that."

"Like what?"

"That side of you. When I met you at Tom's party, I thought you were just another of his shallow drinking and gambling buddies. I see I misjudged you."

"That's OK. I haven't exactly put on the same face every day. I haven't worn my cowboy hat since the day you saw me on the street."

"That was a sight I won't forget," Grace said with a giggle. "You did look good in it, though. You should wear it again sometime."

"For you, anything," Joel said.

Grace laughed to herself. He didn't let up.

She thought again about the wisdom of spending even an hour with him. This was different than filling in for a sick friend at a baseball game or speaking to him in the presence of others. This private stroll was undeniably optional and probably more than a little ill-advised. But the longer Grace Vandenberg walked and talked with the loquacious Mr. Smith, the more she felt comfortable with her decision to leave the library. She enjoyed his company.

* * * * *

As they passed groves of cedar, pine, and larch, Joel couldn't help but notice how little the university had changed in six decades. The commercial strips were night and day different, of course, but the campus itself was much the way he had left it.

When they reached Pacific Street, Joel put his hand on Grace's back and gently steered her east – away from the blazing midday sun and toward the football stadium. He was in no hurry to double back toward the human race. He didn't know how many more walks he'd get with this enchanting woman and wanted to drag this one out as long as he could.

"Now that I've expended a million syllables not answering your questions, maybe you can do the same for me. What's your story?"

Grace stopped and stared at Joel with doleful eyes. He sensed immediately that she had a story she had told often and did not care to tell again.

"So you really don't know?"

"I know only that you're engaged and went to Westlake High. Straight-A student. Ginny said that anything else was none of my business."

Grace smiled.

"That sounds like something she would say."

They continued walking.

"Well, my story, as you put it, is pretty short. My parents were missionaries. I was born in Minnesota, but I don't remember it. We never lived in one place for more than three years, except for the six in Africa. When I was fourteen, we moved from the Philippines to a village just outside Nanking, China. I liked it there. So did my father, even though he didn't convert a soul – or at least none I knew about," Grace said with a sad, sweet laugh no doubt rooted in a sad, sweet memory.

Guessing what was coming, Joel kept his questions in check. He wanted to learn more, but he did not want to interrupt a narrative that was likely as therapeutic for the teller as it was informative to the listener.

"We stayed nearly three years. Dad preached, Mom taught school, and I attended that school when I wasn't running around getting into trouble."

"I can't imagine you getting into trouble."

"Not your kind of trouble, that's for sure," Grace said. "But I wasn't a saint. One morning I said I was too sick to go to church. But instead of staying in bed, I played with several kids from the village. We had a big mud fight. I ruined a set of clothes and some new shoes. Dad grounded me for a month. Nothing but school and church."

"Let me guess. You left when the Japanese came in."

"We left in late November, when Westerners could still get out. Dad wanted to go to the safety zone in the city and stick it out, but my mother convinced him to leave. She was always the sensible one. So we fled to Shanghai and took the first boat out."

"How did you end up in Seattle?"