The Victory Club Page 11

  "No," she whispered, her voice paper thin. The paintbrush slipped from her grasp. "No, not Greg."

  Nancy Wallace spoke with haste. "He's hurt, honey. He isn't dead."

  Her knees like rubber, Dottie sank to the porch floor.

  In an instant, her mother was crouching beside her, an arm around her shoulders. "Did you hear what Mrs. Wallace said, Dottie? Greg's alive. When he's able to travel, he'll be coming home."

  Her heart flipped. "Home?" Dottie raised her eyes, first to her mother, then toward Greg's parents. "They're sending him home?"

  Elation flowed through her. Greg was coming home. Home to her. They could be married. He would be here to see his child born. He wouldn't be in danger any longer. Everything would be all right now.

  Then reality set in. The army didn't send a soldier back to the States for minor injuries.

  She stared at Greg's father. "How bad is it, Mr. Wallace?"

  "They didn't tell us much."

  Dottie sensed that Ken Wallace was hedging, that he knew more than he wanted to say. "How bad?" she asked again.

  Greg's father drew a deep breath. "He's blind. They aren't sure he'll recover his sight."

  "Oh, God." Dottie hugged her arms to her abdomen and began to rock slowly, forward and back … forward and back … forward and back. "Dear God, don't let it be true."

  Chapter 28

  Hours later, tears spent, heart sore, Dottie sat in a chair by her bedroom window, watching dusk settle over the earth. She was alone at last and grateful for it. Although her mother meant well—staying nearby from the moment they returned home, asking over and over again what Dottie needed or wanted—her hovering only made things worse.

  Peace. Dottie needed and wanted peace.

  She looked at the open Bible in her lap. Softly, she read aloud. '"You are my Master! Every good thing I have comes from You.'"

  She paused, allowing the words to sink deep into her heart. You are my master, Jesus. Everything good in my life is from You.

  "'You guard all that is mine. The land you have given me is a pleasant land. What a wonderful inheritance.'"

  I put Greg into Your hands, El Elyon, God Most High. I will trust You with him, no matter what.

  "'I know the LORD is always with me. I will not be shaken, for He is right beside me.'"

  Dottie closed the Bible and pulled it close to her chest.

  I will not be shaken. I will not be shaken. Oh, Jesus, help me keep from being shaken.

  * * *

  Lucy lay on her living room sofa, the curtains closed, the lights off. Her chest ached, and she felt cold to her core. The image of Dottie, collapsed on the porch of the Hinkle home, wouldn't leave her. Worse still was knowing that her first thoughts hadn't been about Dottie or Greg or their unborn child. First Lucy had thought about herself, about her own fears, about her loneliness and her aloneness.

  "I don't think I can bear it," she whispered into the darkness. "I can't bear it."

  Richard could die. Richard could be blinded or crippled. Richard might never father children.

  Tears fell from her cheeks onto her arms. Large tears. Slow tears.

  Splat …

  Splat …

  Splat …

  Someone rapped on her apartment door.

  She didn't move. She didn't want to see anybody. Odd really, since she was lonely.

  Whoever it was rapped again.

  "Leave me alone," she commanded softly.

  And rapped again. Harder this time. Persistent.

  Why didn't people go away when it seemed no one was home? Didn't they have anything better to do than stand on her stoop and knock?

  Lucy rose from the sofa and walked from the living room through the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights. She touched the knob with her right hand while pressing her forehead against the door. "Who is it?"

  "It's me. Howard."

  She opened the door an inch.

  "Lucy, I heard what happened. About Dottie's fiancé."

  She wondered how he'd heard. Bad news carried fast, but still—

  As if he'd heard her thoughts, he said, "A couple of the volunteers from your church who helped you paint that house were in the store. I overheard them talking about Dottie."

  "Oh."

  "I came as soon as I could. I knew you'd be thinking about your husband. Anybody in your shoes would."

  "Would they?" she whispered.

  "Of course." He leaned toward the crack in the door. "I thought you might need a friend. I … I don't mean to intrude, but I'd like to help if I can." He hesitated, then asked, "Can I help, Lucy?"

  She didn't invite him in. She simply turned and made her way back to the sofa. Seconds later, the door closed with a soft click, followed by the sound of footsteps. It seemed a natural thing, having him sit beside her and gather her into his arms.

  "You go on and cry." He patted her back. "You've got a right. Nobody's gotta be strong all the time. Not even you."

  She choked back a sob as she turned her face into his chest. "Oh, Howard. I'm so tired. I'm so scared."

  "Of course you are. Of course."

  She let herself give in to the pent-up storm. It felt good to let go, to hold nothing back, to have strong arms around her and a kindly male voice comforting her. It was good not to be alone with her thoughts and fears. She'd been alone too long. Too long.

  But when the tears were spent, when her sobs subsided and her mind finally cleared, Lucy knew something had shifted in her friendship with Howard Baxter. She knew from the way he held her—more like a lover than a friend.

  A soft voice in her heart told her to flee from it, but she didn't. She couldn't. Not yet. Not quite yet.

  Lucy drew a shaky breath as she pulled back from Howard. His arms loosened but didn't release her. She lifted her eyes to look into his. Only the room was too dark to see.

  "Better?" His voice sounded husky, strained, as if he'd been the one crying.

  "Yes."

  "Good. If it were up to me, Lucy, you'd never be sad again."

  Her pulse quickened. "I think I'd better put some water on my face." She stood.

  His fingers trailed down her arm until he gently clasped her hand.

  Softly, she said, "I … I'll only be a moment."

  "Take your time." He squeezed her fingers before releasing her.

  Lucy hurried into the bathroom, pushing the door closed at the same time she flicked on the light switch. The sudden brightness was almost blinding. She stepped toward the sink and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were red and puffy, her cheeks tearstained, her hair disheveled.

  "What are you doing, Lucy Anderson? What in the name of heaven and earth do you think you're doing?"

  Nothing.

  Don't play with fire.

  I'm not. I'm upset and a friend came over to comfort me. What's wrong with that? Howard's just a friend.

  Is he?

  Of course. I'm a married woman. I love Richard, and Howard knows that. That's why he came. Because he knows I'm afraid for Richard. Because he's concerned about Richard, too.

  Be wise, Lucy. You're a sheep among wolves.

  He's been nothing but a gentleman with me. He's kind and thoughtful. He's a friend.

  He's a man.

  I know what I'm doing.

  * * *

  From the hallway, Margo looked inside Dottie's room. Her daughter lay on the bed, her back toward the door. She hadn't moved since the last time Margo checked on her—which wasn't all that long ago. Perhaps fifteen minutes at most.

  Her heart ached for her daughter, ached more than she'd expected it would. And she had expected it. She'd predicted there would be a price to pay. Hadn't she tried to tell Dottie that?

  But being right didn't lessen the sorrow she felt.

  With a sigh, she returned to her bedroom, removed her robe and hung it on the closet door, then sat on the edge of her bed. She closed her eyes and pressed her folded hands against her chin.

>   "O God, I know what Dottie did was wrong." How could she not know when her own sin had cost her dearly? "But please, Lord, don't make Dottie pay the same way I have. If You must exact a price for their sin, let her regret and his blindness be enough."

  She reached over, turned out the light on her nightstand, and slipped beneath the blankets.

  Greg would come home now. Did he know about the predicament he'd left Dottie in? Had he received Dottie's letter telling him she was pregnant before he was injured? If so, he hadn't bothered to answer. What did that mean? He would have to do the right thing by Dottie. Margo would see to it.

  At least a blind man won't be so easily unfaithful to his wife, the way Bart was to me.

  She felt a sting of regret for the cruel nature of her thoughts. And yet, wasn't it true? Greg would be dependent upon Dottie in many respects. He wouldn't be able to sneak out and run around on his wife. That might be one heartache Dottie would be spared.

  * * *

  Penelope listened to her husband's steady breathing and knew he finally slept. Thank goodness. He'd been more restless than usual tonight—sighing, rolling from one side to the other, sighing, fluffing his pillows, sighing again. If Penelope hadn't wanted Stuart to think she was asleep, she would have told him to go spend the night on the couch and leave her in peace.

  Carefully, she pushed aside the covers and got out of bed. She reached for her bathrobe, one she'd had since before Alan was born. The terry-cloth garment was faded and a bit shapeless, but it was warm and comfortable. She felt in need of comfort tonight.

  Tiptoeing on bare feet, she made her way out of the bedroom, down the hall past the children's room, and into the kitchen. Soft moonlight fell through the window, drawing her to it.

  Outside, the children's swing set looked oddly still. The tree with its new leaves seemed more crooked than it did in the daylight. The clothesline, empty but for the bag of clothespins that hung at one end, appeared longer than it really was.

  Penelope turned from the window, leaned her backside against the sink, and reached for the packet of cigarettes tucked behind the toaster. She'd started smoking about a year ago. Stuart hated it, but she didn't care. Maybe that was one reason she kept smoking—because she knew he hated it. She took perverse pleasure in irritating him any way she could.

  As she lit the cigarette, Penelope wondered if Dottie would one day feel the same way about Greg. She wondered if Dottie would resent her husband for who and what he was.

  Penelope often heard how quickly a person went from being young to being old. The elderly were always saying that time passed in the blink of an eye. She felt it slipping away from her now. Today she was pretty and slender and youthful, but she wouldn't be forever.

  She took a long drag on the cigarette, feeling the nicotine burn the back of her throat. With a sigh, she blew out the smoke, watching it curl upward, silvered by the moonlight.

  If ever there's been a time to live my life to the fullest, it's now. I can't wait until it's too late. I can't. I've got to do something or I'll go crazy.

  Chapter 29

  Lucy went through the motions of singing with the rest of the choir, but her heart wasn't in it. Nor were her thoughts. She didn't hear the sermon or the Scripture reading or the announcements. In her mind, she was far, far away, lost in a cloud of confusion.

  After the service ended, Lucy started for home, then changed her mind. She didn't want to be alone this afternoon. It alarmed her, how much she dreaded being by herself. She used to like her times of quiet reflection. But lately … lately everything was different.

  Since the day was pleasantly warm, she decided to pay a call on the Kings. The four-mile walk would do her good.

  Lucy hoped Dottie was doing better than when they parted yesterday afternoon. She'd looked so lost, so distraught, so young and vulnerable.

  But at least Greg's coming home.

  It was a selfish thought, but she couldn't help it. She couldn't help envying Dottie. Soon Greg would be home. Lucy wanted Richard to come home, too.

  And yet, as she followed the sidewalk through the center of town, it wasn't Richard she thought about. It was Howard. It was the tenderness in her friend's voice and the gentle strength of his arms as he'd cradled her and let her cry. He'd done many kind things for her since they'd become acquainted. He was a good man. A good, good man.

  Sometimes when he looked at her, it was as if he …

  She felt a nervous, pleasant-unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach. Her mouth went dry, and she stopped walking.

  Howard had wanted to kiss her last night. She'd known it at the time. He'd wanted to but he hadn't. He'd held back for her sake. She'd known that, too.

  But I didn't want him to hold back. I wanted him to kiss me.

  She gasped, trying to deny the truth but unable to do so. She'd wanted him to kiss her. She'd wanted him to take her back in his arms as they'd stood in her kitchen, saying good night, and kiss her, the way a man kissed a woman.

  That's impossible. I love Richard.

  Impossible, perhaps, but still true.

  Oh, God. I never meant to let this happen. Why didn't I see it coming? Why wasn't I more careful?

  God didn't have to speak to her. Lucy knew the answer. She had seen it coming. She'd simply pretended she didn't.

  Playing with fire, a girl can get burned.

  "What do I do now?" she wondered aloud. "What do I do about Howard?"

  Chapter 30

  We are pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed and broken. We are perplexed, but not driven to despair …

  When the minister read that passage of Scripture in the morning service, Dottie had known it was God speaking straight to her heart.

  Pressed but not crushed.

  Perplexed but not despairing.

  Even now, more than two hours later, she could close her eyes and recall the way she felt when she heard those words. It was as if God reached down and cradled her in His hands, the same way one catches and holds a fragile butterfly. Oh, how tenderly He held her. How safe and loved she felt, despite the storm.

  As Dottie washed the lunch dishes, she stared out the window over the sink and saw her mother watering the flower beds. She wished her mother could feel as safe and loved by God as she did. And why Margo King didn't feel it was a mystery. Dottie knew her mother was a believer, and yet …

  The door chimes rang, followed by the sound of Lucy calling, "Anybody home?"

  "In the kitchen. Come on in." Dottie reached for the dishtowel and dried her hands as she turned from the sink.

  A moment later, Lucy appeared in the kitchen doorway. "I hope you don't mind me dropping by like this."

  "Not at all. I'm glad to see you." She tossed the towel onto the counter. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

  "No thanks. But I would like a glass of cold water. It's surprisingly warm out today."

  "Have a seat. I'll get it for you."

  The two women had barely sat at the table, Lucy with her water glass in hand, when the front door chimes sounded again.

  "Goodness," Dottie said. "We don't usually have this much Sunday company." She rose from her chair. "Excuse me." She walked down the short hallway, surprised to see Stuart Maxfield on the other side of the screen door.

  "Dottie, is Penelope here by chance?"

  She shook her head as she opened the screen. "No. I haven't seen her today."

  "Oh." He gazed toward the street. "I was hoping she would be. Maybe she's over at Lucy's."

  "I doubt it. Lucy is here."

  He looked at her again. The desperation in his eyes was unmistakable.

  "What's wrong, Stuart?"

  There was a long, painful silence before he answered, "She's left me."

  "Oh, no." Dottie pressed the flat of her hand against her chest. "Stuart, are you sure?"

  He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket. "I'm sure. She left a note. I was hoping …" He let his words fade into silence.

 
; "Come inside. You don't look so good."

  "I don't want to bother—"

  "Come on." She took hold of his arm and gently drew him down the hall to the kitchen. "Have a seat, Stuart. I'll get you a glass of water." To Lucy, who watched her with a curious gaze, she added, "He's looking for Pen. Have you spoken with her today?"

  "No. I came here straight from church."

  "She's gone." Stuart covered his face with his hands, his elbows braced on the table. "She's gone."

  "I don't understand," Lucy said. "Gone where?"

  Dottie gave her head a slight shake, then took a glass from the cupboard. She turned on the tap and let cold water run into the sink for a few moments.

  Lord, what should Lucy and I do? Dottie inquired. What should we say? Give us wisdom, please.

  She filled the glass with water and carried it to the table. "Here, Stuart. Have a sip of this. Maybe it'll help." She sat next to Lucy.

  He didn't move, and Dottie wondered if he'd heard her. But finally, he lifted his face from his hands and looked at her, then at Lucy, before he pushed the note across the table.

  It was Lucy who lifted the slip of paper, holding it so both she and Dottie could read it.

  Stuart,

  I don't want to live like this anymore. I'm sorry. I need some fun and excitement before I'm old. Maybe I'd feel different if you were away at war, but the way things are I'm not ever going to be happy. I'm tired of working all the time and having nothing to show for it.

  I don't love you, Stuart. Maybe I never did or maybe those feelings died somewhere along the way. But what does it matter now?

  Tell Alan and Evelyn that Mommy will write to them when I can as soon as I know what I'm going to do and where I'm going to live. I know you'll do your best by them. You're a good father.

  Penelope

  Dottie gasped. Could it be true?

  But after a moment of reflection, she realized that Penelope leaving her husband wasn't a complete surprise. She'd suspected something was wrong between the two of them.