Forever Friday Page 9

  “I’m thirsty,” Gabe said, then pointed to a rustic beach house built above the sand on stilts. “Bet there’s a cistern. And that looks like a mighty comfortable porch swing hanging underneath.”

  “It would be nice to have some water and sit for a few minutes,” Huck said. “No one appears to be home. Do you think they’d mind?”

  “Honored.” Gabe grinned. “It’s the rule of the West to accommodate weary travelers or, in this case, beachcombers. Which means it would be okay to borrow the privy too.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” Huck replied, scampering toward the privy. Lupper’s pink champagne and coffee were begging for departure, and she’d about decided to tour the tallest sand dune.

  “Be careful,” Gabe called. “Bang on the door first, in case it’s occupied.”

  She knew he meant occupied by varmints, recalling her childhood days before indoor plumbing and her mother’s stern warning about scaring away any “uninvited visitors.” The term always made her smile because it automatically inferred the opposite: guests receiving an invitation would be welcome. And who in their right mind would entertain in an outhouse?

  Five minutes later, they quenched their thirst from the same tin dipper, then lounged in the weathered swing as a brilliant moon rose, sparkling its path across the placid Gulf of Mexico. “Not exactly spring water, but a good clean cistern gets the job done,” Gabe remarked, offering Huck his handkerchief. “You must have a hole in your chin. Your dress is wet.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Huck daubed the damp spots and returned the handkerchief. “You bumped the dipper.”

  “At least it’s water rather than chocolate smears.” His face crinkled into a grin.

  “Was that today?” Huck thought back to the toddler on the streetcar. Morning in downtown Houston seemed a lifetime ago, but she was glad the boys had finger-painted her future.

  “If it wasn’t today, I’ve slept in this suit,” Gabe said, then winked.

  Huck laughed. “I’ve been up since dawn and should be exhausted, but …” She stood, twirling around on bare tiptoes, her shadow spinning happy girlish shapes against the white moonlight. “It will be May Day until midnight. Dance with me.” She stuck out her hand and pulled Gabe to his feet.

  They barefooted back and forth across the blanched sand to the soft rhythm of night waves, holding each other close while millions of stars popped to life. After dancing a hundred carefree dances to a timeless clock, they shared another dipper of water, then returned to the swing, Gabe speaking quietly in the pre-lovers’ language of “what if.”

  What if this date led to another?

  What if they began a serious courtship?

  Into their mostly one-sided conversation, Huck inserted an occasional “I would like that” or “Sounds wonderful.” But when Gabe paused to light a cigarette, her brain ricocheted thoughts like an answering line of melodic counterpoint. She knew that her roller-coaster romance with Clark was over, whether or not Gabe ever asked her out on another date. And when he’d mentioned the possibility of—how had he put it?—“future encounters,” she was thrilled for them to spend more time together. She definitely longed to be with Gabe and was in the process of picturing them married when he uttered the words “our serious courtship.” Even though Huck’s mind had already considered a step even further than courtship, Gabe’s words caught her off guard, catapulting her heart into a state of thrill. She had no choice but to laugh.

  “Telling yourself jokes?” The ash end of Gabe’s cigarette glowed orange in the night.

  “Just happy.” She rested her head on his shoulder, his clean smell now augmented with the pleasant leftover traces of sun and surf. Her mind whirled, wondering over and over when she’d fallen in love with him. Was it this morning, when she’d stumbled into his lap on the floor of the streetcar? Or was it that blustery March day they’d met … the corny oyster comment … the sea-sky eyes?

  Huck listened to the distant surf and measured the pulse of her feelings. But more than mere feeling, her in-love-ness was a knowing, a severely protected knowing undergirded by the gentleness shared between soul mates. It felt safe, and it provided the freedom to communicate hidden fears and innermost desires without mock or rejection. She snuggled closer, and a joyful tear rolled down her cheek as she began to tell Gabe her story, her secrets. As she spoke, Gabe stroked her hair. She explained in detail about Mister Jack and the unusual Anacacho orchids. Finally, she revealed her mistaken engagement to Clark Richards and her decision to end it.

  “I’m not surprised about the other guy,” Gabe said tenderly, “not really. What man wouldn’t want to be engaged to you?”

  She didn’t answer but snuggled even closer as Gabe continued stroking her hair. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Then, after taking a few deep breaths, she told him about the foolish accident that had left her unable to bear children. “That’s why I teach school,” Huck finished. “It’s my life’s grand calling.”

  Gabe stopped stroking her hair. “I need to tell you something.”

  Huck said nothing, feeling his chest muscles tighten as a sudden tremor of doubt jarred her insides. Had she been wrong about her inner knowing, or had the lingering effects of alcohol made her bold? She wanted to look at him but was terrified she’d revealed too much. Not the Mister Jack or Clark Richards part. Angels were biblical, and engagement to another man could be remedied. However, being unable to bear children was another matter. Mocked by hard hindsight she closed her eyes, ready for the worst.

  “Remember this afternoon when you said that we were so much alike, it was scary?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well …” Gabe briefly paused, then continued. “I decided years ago that married couples shouldn’t base their happiness solely on the children God chooses to give them … or not give them. It has to do with a concept I call ‘The Long Division.’ ”

  “Sounds like an arithmetic problem.”

  “It’s more of a marriage dilemma,” he replied, then explained his idea about how the pressures of career, multiplied with life’s never-ending responsibilities, constantly divided and redivided a couples’ time together, finally producing comfortable strangers rather than passionate lovers. “Unless I inherit a gold mine, working for a living is not a choice.” Gabe cleared his throat, then chuckled lightly. “Do you think it’s unrealistic to want lasting romance?”

  “Of course not.” Huck wanted to leap out of the porch swing for a hundred more moonlit dances. Besides calming her worst fear, Gabe was implying they might end up together. “Count me in on the concept.”

  “Since we’re telling secrets,” he continued, “there’s more I need to say.” He told about his near engagement to an old girlfriend, Amelia Addison, then recalled the terrifying duty of serving his country overseas during the Great War. Huck felt him tremble as he remembered the untimely deaths of his parents.

  She sat up and faced him. His eyes were wet with tears.

  “I love you, Gabe Alexander.” Huck knew it was early in their relationship to say such a thing, but her words were spurred by the honest tenderness between them and the strong conviction that he was the soul mate she’d been searching for since age ten. She placed her arms around his neck, her childbearing worries now weightless. “Want to know why I love you?”

  “Tell me.” Gabe wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

  “Because we’ve just bared our souls into the wee hours for the first time. And you weren’t afraid to show your emotions.”

  Gabe grinned. “All cowboys cry, the real ones anyway. Bayou captains too.” He paused for a moment, as if contemplating the silence. “Know why I love you?”

  “You do?”

  He smiled. “Want to know why?”

  She nodded.

  “Because you said ‘first’ time we’d bare our souls into the wee hours. That means many more wonderful nights together.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  With both his arms, Ga
be drew Huck in, pressing his lips against hers with confident strength. “Marry me, Huck.” He reached into his shirt pocket and produced a simple gold band. “This ring was my mother’s. She advised me to carry it always, so I could give it to the girl of my dreams.”

  “Oh, dearest Gabe.”

  He slid the ring on Huck’s finger and they kissed deeply. This time, the tears belonged to Huck.

  They remained in the swing awhile longer, holding each other until the hesitancy of new love evolved into deep, contented kisses. Then after a final visit to the privy, they located their shoes and stockings, retraced their steps along the beach, and climbed up the seawall to the boulevard. Gabe hailed a passing party trolley still loaded with drunken Splash Day revelers, the intoxicated driver singing about love, thrilled to deliver a pair of starry-eyed lovers to the interurban station. Then at two a.m., Huck and Gabe boarded the last scheduled coach and sped back to the mainland.

  “Do we really look like starry-eyed lovers?” Huck clung to Gabe’s arm, her head comfortably upon his shoulder.

  “According to the singing trolley driver. I guess that makes you my dazed darling,” Gabe replied, his answer trailing into a yawn.

  “Me too,” Huck agreed, then followed suit. “I mean, ‘me too’ about your yawn. But you’re also my dazed darling.” She laughed softly, thinking how she’d awakened early that May Day morning with wild imaginings, never dreaming that almost twenty-four hours later, she’d be engaged to another man. A man who was undoubtedly her soul mate.

  “Aren’t we a pair?” Gabe’s eyes rolled above a smile. “Staying out most of the night on our first date. Your father would have me executed.”

  “He’d never get the chance. Remember, Mother would torture you to death first.”

  Their lighthearted banter continued in spurts, with Gabe stealing a kiss every few miles in the dimly lit rail car. Huck knew they could have become much more involved. They were destined to be lovers, and lovers longed to be as intimate as humanly possible. But before the heat of her desire burned out of control, Gabe backed off.

  Once, when she and Clark were in college, he wanted more physical passion than she was willing to give. So he forced his touch, until she finally convinced him to stop. The next day he was standoffish and pious, blaming her for enticing him during a weakened state. She refused to see him after that for weeks, until he showed up one day with a silver bracelet. As with the hair-cutting incident and countless others, the man thought expensive gifts righted any wrong. Huck sighed, finally admitting to herself that her problems with Clark weren’t entirely his fault. She’d accepted the gifts every single time.

  “The Houston station’s up ahead,” Gabe said, gently interrupting Huck’s thoughts. He checked his pocket watch. “It’s almost three. We’ll have to hire a jitney bus since streetcars don’t run past midnight.”

  “I thought jitneys were outlawed two years ago.”

  “If they don’t take business away from streetcars, the law looks the other way. Most of the drivers are former doughboys and friends of the cops anyway.” He laughed. “Thought about going into the jitney business myself. After the war, several of my army buddies transformed their old jalopies to carry passengers.”

  “I’d ride with you,” Huck said, noticing how handsome Gabe looked in the middle of the night.

  At the station, they shuffled off the interurban to a waiting jitney bus. Even though it had room for eight, Huck and Gabe were the only passengers. Huck shouted her address over the engine’s rattle while Gabe paid the driver.

  “I live only a few blocks from your boardinghouse,” Gabe said as they sputtered noisily along. “So I’ll just walk home from there. I think this heap’s on its last leg.”

  “Don’t you mean ‘last wheel’?” Huck laughed. “My older brother Andrew used to sing a popular song about a jitney.” The cool night air was invigorating, awakening her weary senses. “Something about a jitney driver named Gasoline Gus who steals Satan’s wife.”

  “Pardon my speech, but she must have been one hell of a woman.” Gabe’s face possessed the same lively intensity as the stars that sparkled low overhead. “I remember the tune but not the words. Why don’t you sing it?”

  “Here?”

  “Bet you’re better than the drunken trolley driver.”

  “Okay,” Huck agreed. “At least I’m sober, but I only know the chorus.”

  Gabe chuckled. “What a proper way to end the day … with a song.”

  By the time they reached Mrs. Thompson’s boardinghouse, they were laughing hysterically, making up comical verses, then shushing each other, with Gabe singing harmony to Huck’s melody.

  “Good thing no one’s home.” Gabe stepped off the jitney, then offered Huck his hand. “I hope we didn’t wake the neighbors.”

  “They’re all elderly and couldn’t hear a locomotive steam through their yard.” Huck hopped down and released Gabe’s hand as the jitney motored away. She spun in a circle. “Dance me to the door,” she said merrily, “to the tune of Gasoline Gus.”

  So with more laughter than song, they swayed across a dance floor of dew-covered grass, then scuttled up hollow wooden steps onto the front porch of the boardinghouse.

  “It has been an enchanting day,” Huck said, placing her arms around Gabe’s neck, the warmth of his sea-sky gaze blazing through the predawn shadows.

  “Our days have only started, my darling.” He bent to kiss her, when the porch swing creaked in the darkness.

  “Who’s he?” demanded a surly voice.

  Huck shuddered.

  The voice in the darkness belonged to Clark Richards.

  We danced from moonlit laughter

  Into a shadow cold as steel;

  Sharp truth honed by jealous rage,

  A fight for life, until

  Love’s desperate cry made madness flee.…

  A miracle!

  And our finality.

  Forever, Gabe

  May 1926

  Houston, Texas

  In less than an instant, Huck felt the vise of Clark’s athletic grip, his rough thumb and fingers twisting her forearm, jerking her out of Gabe’s protective embrace.

  “I said, who’s he?” Clark repeated, then cursed. Bright moonlight reflected the shiny six-inch blade of the hunting knife he clenched in his right hand. “Answer me, Huck. Who’s the laughing moron?”

  “Clark! No!” Huck struggled to break free. “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand plenty.” Clark’s eyes bulged, revealing dark windows of jealous rage. He raised the knife.

  “I’m Gabe Alexander,” Gabe said coolly, edging distance between himself and Clark’s weapon. “Let her go. Your argument is with me.”

  “Shut up!” Clark spun Huck around, encircling her with his left arm like an iron band.

  “Clark, please.” Huck’s voice trembled, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. She knew Clark was possessive and impatient but never in her wildest imagination had she thought he’d pull a crazy stunt like this. “Are you insane?”

  “Insane?” Clark forced a laugh. “I ended a hunting trip early to surprise my fiancée. Rushed straight here to inform her of my promotion to a large bank in Chicago.” His ranting grew louder. “Insane? I’ve waited for hours, sharpening my knife to pass the time. I’m glad my effort wasn’t wasted.”

  Huck felt his grip tighten even more. “If you’ll just let me explain.”

  “You don’t deserve the privilege,” Clark sneered.

  Gabe spoke softly. “There’s just been a simple misunderstanding, that’s all.”

  “Simple? My fiancée’s apparently been cavorting all night with another man, shouting senseless songs from the back of a low-class jitney, and dancing like a drunken fool.”

  “Just let her go before someone gets hurt.”

  “I’ll decide who gets hurt!” Clark released Huck and lunged toward Gabe, the knife slicing through layers of moonlight and shadows.

  G
abe ducked, the steel blade missing him. He motioned for Huck to stay clear, focusing on Clark and remembering that it had been seven years since he’d fought in the gas-filled trenches. Seven years since he’d last experienced the exhilarating, heart-pumping horror of kill or be killed. He’d learned the technique well, saving his own life more than once. “Drop the knife,” Gabe said, his tone firm but calm. “Don’t do anything foolish.”

  “You’re the fool, Alexander.” Clark faced Gabe in street-fighting fashion as both men began moving in a circle.

  “Stop it, Clark.” Huck’s voice escalated into tearful hysteria. “You’ve gone mad.”

  “It’s okay,” Gabe said, keeping both eyes glued to Clark while trying to comfort Huck. “Trust me. Everything will be all right.” Even though he’d been up almost twenty-four hours, his newly awakened warrior senses were keen, evaluating every possible defensive measure. Clark was physically strong but obviously lacked the skill of hand-to-hand combat. If they tangled again, Gabe would end it. There would be no contest. “Just drop the knife and we’ll talk.”

  “Talk is for cowards. No man touches my fiancée.” Clark lunged a second time, slashing at Gabe’s face with all his strength. Gabe dodged sideways into a low spin, then quick-punched underneath his attacker’s rib cage. Gasping for air, Clark doubled over, dropping the knife. In a final swift movement, Gabe kicked the knife off the boardinghouse porch while twisting Clark’s arm, forcing him facedown onto the wooden decking.

  “I’m not … your fiancée … Clark,” Huck managed between sobs. “Not now … not ever.”

  Clark’s muscled rampage deflated then into limp silence, followed by a series of low whimpers. Gabe released his hold and backed a few steps away. Keeping his eyes on Clark, Gabe removed his suit coat, then laid it over the porch swing. He swallowed hard, having witnessed this very same behavior on the battlefield when a defeated enemy thought his life was over. In a strange way, he felt sorry for Clark. Losing Huck would be difficult for any man to bear, if not impossible.