Peaches in Winter Page 8

  She thanked him hurriedly and escaped.

  ~*~

  Jake ran his fingers through his hair and stared at the roses sitting flagrantly on the kitchen counter. He scowled. For a moment, he considered ripping them from the quart jar and flinging them wrathfully in the trash. But that would be childish.

  There really was nothing he could do to stop Matt from pursuing Betty—nothing except take her to the party, which he felt was like taking a lamb to a party of wolves, under the pretext of protecting her.

  Well, what else could he do, though? He couldn’t have Matt fixate on Betty and break her heart. She was too young, too innocent to know about guys like Matt. Jake knew Matt meant no real harm, but he wasn’t always careful of women’s hearts, not as he would have wanted other men to be of the hearts of women he cared about. Like a little sister, or a daughter.

  Yes, thought Jake, that’s what I feel. I want to take care of her like a sister.

  It didn’t help that he didn’t believe it for a second.

  He comforted himself with the thought that the party would be over by next week. The flowers would be dead and gone by then as well. Matt would surely have moved on. And if he hadn’t, well, Jake would find some way of dealing with him. He certainly would.

  ~*~

  As the days passed, Jake’s anger with Matt mellowed, but his worry about the party strengthened. And those roses seemed to be taking forever to die. At least Matt had kept his promise so far and stayed away from Betty.

  But Betty asked Jake about Matt once.

  “This publisher of yours...” She looked at the roses and twirled a bit of her hair. “What’s he like?”

  Jake made a wordless growl in his throat and didn’t answer at first. She looked at him, with that too-innocent-to-be-real look, which he was coming more and more to believe was genuine.

  “Maybe I should buy you flowers; then you’d ask questions about me,” he suggested.

  “Oh!” said Betty.

  Things seemed tense and awkward between them. Did she know? Did she realize what he’d started to feel for her; what he now felt every time he caught a glimpse of her pretty face, or the spring-like gold of her curls, or the swish of her skirt as she passed him in the kitchen?

  It was beginning to affect his work. Already, a golden-haired girl had snuck into his story, and he’d been unable to write her out. Her mannerisms, he realized belatedly and with chagrin, mirrored nearly identically Betty’s own.

  In preparation for the party, Jake got out his best suit and sent it to the cleaner’s. It still fit well, although he hadn’t worn it in over two years.

  That had been for his parents’ funeral. Memories of their deaths came back with the sight of the black suit and the smell of mothballs. And then he saw his father’s shoes, huddling hidden and dusty in the back of the closet. It made the week worse, grief keeping him awake at night.

  He lay with an arm over his forehead, listening to the old house settle, trying not to think about his parents, trying not to think about Betty.

  This was no way to live.

  His life, even though it had never been perfect, had once been full, not restricted to this small house, these round-and-round thoughts, and this narrow existence of surviving winter, managing to eke out a book or two every year, sometimes more.

  He’d served in the war and made it through that, gone through college and made it through that. Then he’d worked as a rough-and-ready reporter, fighting elbows with the best of them, shouting questions and pounding the pavement, and he’d managed to survive that. Why had his parents’ demise taken so much of his life from him? Why had their deaths made him feel there was so much to question? Made him wonder whether life was even worth living.

  What had he become—a recluse? A curmudgeon? A sad, dried-up example of humanity?

  He couldn’t marry a girl like Betty. He’d never be good enough for her.

  If she’d even have me. He scowled into the darkness, contemplating the unpleasant possibility again. Betty with Matt. Betty looking delighted (and delicious) in white, walking down the aisle—toward Matt, his chest puffed out with conceit and pride as he waited at the aisle in a suit almost as black at Jake’s. Even if Matt wasn’t the marrying kind of guy right now, who knew what might happen? Betty was a girl who could change a man. At least, she’d changed Jake.

  Would Matt even have the nerve to ask Jake to be his best man?

  He would, wouldn’t he?

  Morbid thoughts like these stole his sleep and left him a gift of dark pockets under his eyes. His writing suffered as well. He kept thinking of more and more morbid plot developments. He wrote them all down and promised himself he’d sort through them next week and edit out the obviously awful or unsuitable ones.

  He wondered if his life had been better without Betty. At least then he hadn’t wasted time longing for something he could never have. As though a nice girl like Betty would ever be interested in someone like him—even if she was a bit scatterbrained sometimes.

  He often spoke abruptly to her, as if he were really distracted and did not wish to be disturbed. In actuality, he would have loved to spend hours in her company, having long talks, long walks…but he knew that would only make his dilemma worse. So he tried to avoid her. That was difficult, too.

  One day when Betty was out shopping, Jake heard a knock at the door. He moved toward it, feeling too wretched left alone with his thoughts to mind any interruption at all. Even if it was Matt, he would welcome the intrusion into his dismal and depressed thoughts.

  “Yes?” He yanked the door open and leaned out, wondering if he looked as haggard and drawn as he felt.

  A brown-haired young man, wearing blue jeans, and a red-and-blue flannel shirt under a rather shabby jacket, glared up at him. The young man looked like he’d arrived straight from the farm. Although he held his cap in his hands to be polite, he gave Jake a venomous glare.

  “Is Betty here?” he growled.

  “No,” said Jake.

  “Well, where is she?”

  “Shopping.”

  “Ahah! So she does work here!” He jutted a finger accusingly at Jake.

  “I never denied it,” said Jake, bridling at the boy’s rude manner.

  “Listen, you. Betty’s my girl, and I want her back. You can’t steal her from me, with your—your fancy city ways!”

  Looking closer, Jake could see the young man was nearer to Betty’s age than his own—probably just the right age for Betty. Although how she could like someone as uncultured and unmannerly as this left him in the dark.

  Taking his time, looking the shabby young man up and down, Jake spoke. “She works for me. What’s that to you?” Betty hadn’t mentioned a boyfriend. Perhaps they had broken up. Would that explain her sadness?

  “Look. I’ve…I’ve got a right.” The fierce façade was slipping; the boy’s upper lip trembled.

  Jake sighed. He felt older than ever, bored and annoyed by the kid’s childishness. “Look kid—whatever you name is —”

  “Jimmy—James Peterson.”

  “James Peterson.” Jake gave a little nod, acknowledging the name—trying to remain more polite than he felt. “Betty works for me. You obviously have no say in that, or I would have heard about you before now. If you want to take something up with Betty, I suggest you do that—and not come trying to bother her while she’s at work.”

  He started to close the door, wondering if everybody in the country was as slow on the uptake as this young man.

  “She won’t talk to me.”

  “What?” Jake paused unwillingly.

  “I tried. She won’t talk to me.” Now the hat in his hands looked like it belonged there. Wetness lurked behind the defiance in the boy’s eyes. He looked as if he was daring Jake to make something of it and at the same time pleading for help.

  Jake sighed. Holding the door, still wanting to shut it, he relented. “Do you want to leave a message for her?” Betty would be home—back, that is—any t
ime now, and if she had refused to talk to this young man previously, she would almost certainly not wish to run into him now, caught unawares. Best send the lad on his way and take any message he had for Betty.

  “Tell her—tell her—I’m really sorry. I want her to marry me. And I’ll never look at another woman again.”

  For an instant, Jake stared at him, thunderstruck. Delivering another man’s proposal? It was ludicrous. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t.

  He recovered himself after a moment and murmured, “I should think if she won’t speak to you, she has her reasons. I’m not going to propose for you. If you’ve cheated on her already, you probably don’t deserve her. Good day, sir!” And he closed the door in the young man’s face.

  He stood for a moment, grinding his teeth, one hand still on the door, the other clenched in a fist. Then he slumped against the door, breathing raggedly.

  If that young man was not gone by the time he counted twenty-five, Jake would go out there himself and escort him away!

  He was determined Betty would not run into this callow youth again if he had anything to say about it.

  Asking Betty to marry him—before Jake could!

  Chapter Eight

  Betty set the bag of groceries down on the counter and let out a gust of breath. The crowds had been brutal. She felt invigorated from the rush and from managing to buy everything she’d planned to buy, despite the crush at the market. She brushed back draggling and sweaty curls from her face, feeling exhilarated by the walk in the chilly air.

  She felt relieved as well because she’d had a long talk with God during her walk, and she’d finally put her mixed-up, confused feelings about Jake into His hands. She felt more free and lighter than she had in a long time.

  She stopped in the process of fluffing and shaking back her hair.

  “Oh! Mr. Watterson, I didn’t see you there.”

  He leaned in the shadowy corner of the doorway to the kitchen, his arms crossed. His face was covered in the shadows, making him look inscrutable, almost dark and sinister, in a stage-play villain sort of way.

  As she spoke, he detached himself from the shadows and stepped toward her, becoming the same old Jake. Her insides fluttered briefly and were still. She reminded herself sternly she had given those feelings to God.

  Jake looked awfully grim.

  A bit of her happiness came back, and she wanted to share it with him.

  “Mr. Watterson, don’t stand there like the angel of death!” She stretched toward him, bringing her hand out and caught his, then released it. “Grab your coat! You need a walk.”

  She spun away from him, laughing and feeling so ludicrously cheerful, even brave enough to boss him around.

  He’d been so dreadfully grumpy this week. She knew he was probably thinking and worrying about the party too much, but really, who wouldn’t be “down in the dumps” if they never got fresh air and exercise? Betty knew there were plenty of people who couldn’t leave their house because of illness or disability, or because they were just too old or weak to manage it. But Jake Watterson was not one of those people, and he was going outside—one way or the other!

  Perhaps he sensed her determination. Wordlessly, he caught his coat off the rack and followed her out the door. Betty breathed out a little fog of air and shoved her hands into her coat pockets. She already felt rejuvenated from her walk to buy groceries, but the outdoors still felt welcoming and nice to her.

  “Even in the city, it’s beautiful out.” She looked over at Mr. Watterson and grinned. She moved closer and hooked an arm through his elbow. “What are you looking so grim about?” The dark circles under his eyes looked worse in the sunlight. He didn’t answer, so she continued. “It’s a beautiful day! Breathe the air! Look at the trees!” She gestured expansively to them with her free hand.

  She puffed fog into the air and tripped along beside him, holding onto his arm like a child and smiling. For the moment, nothing else mattered. It was just the two of them, walking in the winter wonderland.

  “Look at that!” As they reached the park, she pointed to thin branches overhead encased in ice. In the breeze, they moved against each other, making little crackling noises, winter’s own wind chimes.

  She grinned at him. “I never get over that! It’s like a rainbow—just so pretty!”

  Jake made a half snort, half laugh sound. He shook his head, smiling grudgingly. “Betty, you’re a wonder.”

  “Oh!”

  Now his brown eyes shone with reluctant good humor. “Tell me about yourself, Betty. Where were you born? What are your hopes and dreams? How did you come to waste your talents working for me?”

  Betty laughed. “My talents? Isn’t that a bit much, Mr. Watterson? I mean, I can barely type. I just cook for you!”

  “And cheer me up, despite my better judgment.”

  Betty turned her face away from him because she was starting to blush. It was almost overpoweringly interesting being next to him like this. He seemed happy for once, and somehow very attentive and alert to her.

  She found him intriguing even when he was busy running his hands through his hair, misplacing his pencil, and tapping out words on his typewriter. Now, when he was smiling at her and asking her about herself, she could barely contain the soft, fluttery feeling inside her chest.

  Perhaps she hadn’t handled all of those feelings toward him yet.

  “Um…” She gulped, thinking hard and trying to answer his questions. “I’m just a normal girl. Born in the country, raised on a farm. I didn’t do very good at school, but I tried hard.” She smiled in reminiscence. “I milked the cows every day and used to earn money sometimes by babysitting or selling lemonade or cookies. I always loved to cook. I learned from my mother and grandmother.”

  Because Betty was used to cooking, she didn’t think of it as a great skill. She felt almost as though she’d been born knowing how. Now, she realized this wasn’t true. I learned from my mother and grandmother.

  He gave her elbow a gentle squeeze. “Why did you decide to become a secretary?”

  “Oh, I always wanted to be one. I don’t know why. It sounded like such fun, working at an office, making things neat and tidy, and making those machines type down all the words somebody else was saying.” She turned away from him briefly. “Well, it turns out I’m not that good at it, and it’s not quite what I thought…but I’m glad I got the chance to try. I’d saved some money from my bake sales, and babysitting, and then I got the chance to go to school here in the city.” She turned away from him with a faint smile, hoping to skip over and avoid mentioning the reason she’d decided to come in such a hurry. Maybe he didn’t need to know that; certainly she didn’t mean to volunteer it!

  “But—”

  “Oh by the way, Mr. Watterson, I finished your book!”

  “You did?” He drew his brows up and his head tilted back in a look of surprise. “Which one?”

  “Oh, the-the one about the grandma, and the stolen cake, with the diamonds in it!”

  “The—” For an instant he looked puzzled, and then his face cleared. “The Missing Mustang. Yes.”

  “I thought that was really clever!”

  “Why, thank you.” A slow smile spread across his face.

  “I’d never have thought of all that stuff. It was really inventive. And I never guessed the ending! To be honest, I thought the mailman did it.” She laughed self-consciously at her own silliness. “But it all made sense when you wrote it out.”

  He reached up and scratched at his chin. “Thank you, Betty. That means a lot.”

  “What are you going to be wearing for the party?” asked Betty, changing subjects suddenly.

  He hesitated. “Er, a good suit. Why?” He looked like he wanted to talk about his story more, and she made a mental note to return to the subject and not let her attention flit around from subject to subject quite so much.

  She thought of the dresses she had back at her apartment: the gingham one, the professional-l
ooking brown one for work, and the spring-like dress she had originally worn when she first met Mr. Watterson. He was sure to show her up unless his “good suit” was ratty and second-hand. She couldn’t imagine looking fit to go to a party with him in any of those dresses.

  She glanced at him. “It’s just I don’t want to be under-dressed, but I don’t have anything really fancy to wear.”

  “Well, we could fix that,” said Jake, looking faintly pleased. He turned and led her back toward the street.

  “Where are we going?”

  “To buy you a nice party dress. I’ll pay for it, don’t worry.”

  “Oh! But— I couldn’t let you!”

  “Why not?” He kept walking, his hand gently on her elbow, leading her.

  “I— you pay me too much already! I…couldn’t let you…pay for…a dress!”

  “Oh?” said Jake. He looked at her, and his eyes snapped with good humor and friendliness. His gaze took the breath right out of her, left her gasping inwardly, and made her lose her train of thought.

  Jake smiled. “It’s my fault you’re coming to the party, so I may as well pay for the extra clothing you need to buy to attend it. That’s only fair, isn’t it? By the way, I can’t let you keep calling me Mr. Watterson. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

  “Yes,” said Betty rather breathlessly.

  “Then call me ‘Jake.’ Okay?” He said it so simply and kindly; she could only nod.

  “Come on.” He slipped his arm through hers. “Let’s go find you a dress!”

  ~*~

  “How about this one?” Betty murmured to herself as she twirled in front of the mirror in the changing room and made a face at herself in the mirror. She couldn’t seem to stop smiling at her reflection in a silly grin. She wore a cute little black dress that made her look better than she’d have thought possible, accentuating her womanly curves without making her look as though she was trying to show them off.