The Victory Club Page 7

  "Did you love my father when you married him?" The question—one she'd never dared ask before—slipped from Dottie's lips unbidden.

  The color drained from Margo's face, but she answered, "Yes. I was foolish enough to love him."

  "Then can't you understand why—"

  "I understand more than you know, young lady."

  "Then tell me. You never talk about when you were young. You never talk about our father. You've never told Clark and me much of anything about your marriage or what went wrong between the two of you. Why did he leave? You act like he never existed, and we were too young to remember much on our own."

  "It's just as well that you can't remember. I don't intend to start talking about it now." Margo turned and walked away, arms still hugged to her chest like a shield.

  Pity. That was what Dottie suddenly felt. Pity for her mother, who was so afraid to let go of her heart.

  * * *

  It had taken more than twenty-five years, Margo thought as she returned to her bedroom, but here it was. The sins of the mother had been visited upon the daughter. Despite everything. Despite all Margo had taught her children—and especially Dottie. Despite being raised in the church and studying the Word of God and being warned time and again about the sins of the flesh, still Dottie had repeated the same offense as her mother.

  And this time Margo wouldn't escape the public shame by moving to a new state. This time she couldn't hide behind the lie that the baby arrived prematurely. Her daughter didn't have a husband and wouldn't have one before the baby arrived. Perhaps not ever. And everyone would know.

  "Did you love my father when you married him?"

  Margo got into bed, pulled up the covers, and turned off the bedside lamp, welcoming the dark, wanting to hide in it.

  "Did you love my father when you married him?"

  Love? This had nothing to do with love. She understood, as her daughter apparently did not, that God wouldn't be mocked. Sin had its consequences. Margo had paid for her sins with a loveless marriage to a heartless brute. She'd paid with a lifetime of struggling to stay ahead of the bill collectors. She'd paid with her guilt and her fears.

  "The baby isn't a surprise to the Lord. God won't love it any less because of the circumstances of its conception, and neither will I."

  Margo rolled onto her side and drew her knees toward her chest, wishing she could keen the way mourning women in other cultures did.

  Foolish girl. Foolish, foolish girl. So naive. Love wouldn't feed, clothe, and house that baby. Dottie didn't know what she faced. She hadn't a clue. She didn't know anything about raising children, and she certainly knew nothing about marriage.

  Wait until Greg was unfaithful to her. Wait until he abandoned her and her children.

  Then she would see.

  Chapter 16

  Lucy stared at her reflection in the mirror. She'd had a difficult time deciding what to wear today, but had finally settled on her favorite yellow sweater and a pair of light brown slacks. She hoped she would be warm enough up in the mountains. It was hard to judge the weather this time of year.

  Her pale, baby-fine hair hung in a smooth fall to her shoulders, defying attempts to shape and curl it in the current fashion. Richard said he loved her hair, that it felt like silky strands of gold slipping through his fingers.

  She closed her eyes and imagined he was with her now, touching her hair, kissing the back of her neck. Oh, how she ached for her husband. Sometimes she wondered if she'd imagined their wedding and their few short weeks together as man and wife. Had she truly ever known the joy of being in Richard's arms or was it merely a dream, the result of wishful thinking?

  Thankfully, the doorbell drew her from her thoughts before she descended into complete self-pity. She grabbed a scarf and her jacket, then hurried to answer it.

  Howard Baxter stood on the back stoop, hat in hand. "Good morning. Ready for our excursion?"

  "Oh, yes. I'm definitely ready."

  "Good." He motioned toward the street. "Your chariot awaits, Mrs. Anderson."

  Lucy pulled the door closed behind her, and together she and Howard followed the narrow sidewalk around the side of the house. As they neared the curb, Howard stepped quickly forward and opened the passenger door of the black Ford. Lucy gave him a smile of thanks as she got into the car. The simple act felt new and adventurous. When was the last time she'd done something out of the ordinary?

  Howard slid onto the seat behind the wheel. "I'm glad you agreed to come with me, Mrs. Anderson. To be honest, I've needed some time away from the store."

  "I'm glad you asked me. And don't you think it's time you called me Lucy? That's what all my other friends call me."

  He started the engine. "I'd like that, as long as you call me Howard." After a quick glance in the rearview mirror, he put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb. "We couldn't have asked for a nicer day for a drive."

  "Perfect."

  And it was. The sky was cloudless, the air warm. More like May than March. Although the trees were bare of leaves, there was a hint of green on the foothills and in the pastures.

  After they'd driven a few miles in silence, Lucy glanced at Howard. "Who's watching the store for you?" She couldn't recall a single time she'd visited the Bannock Street Market when anyone other than Howard himself was working there.

  "My uncle. He managed a store in the Midwest for most of his adult life. He sold it after he retired. He's in Nampa right now, visiting my three widowed aunts, his sisters. He said he'd be glad for a few hours away from all their chatter." He shook his head as he chuckled. "I don't blame him. They can rattle on about the craziest things."

  "Do your parents live in the area, too?"

  "No. They're both gone now. Passed away a number of years ago."

  "Mine are deceased, too," Lucy said softly, feeling a wave of aloneness. "But how wonderful that you have other family members nearby."

  "Yeah, I'm lucky to have 'em. My aunts are special ladies. You'll have to meet them sometime. They'd make you a part of the family right away. That's just the way they are."

  Howard turned the Ford north, and they wound their way up Highway 55 through the brownish gray, elephant-backed foothills of the Boise Front. Every so often, Lucy caught a glimpse of snowy, pine-covered mountain peaks in the distance, and with those glimpses came treasured memories from the past.

  "When I was a little girl, my parents and I spent one week each summer camping out. Sometimes in McCall. Sometimes in the Sawtooths. Dad and I would go fishing, and Mom would fry our catch over the wood fire in this big cast-iron skillet." Lucy looked at Howard again. "Why is it that food tastes so much better in the mountains, especially when it's cooked over a campfire?"

  He grinned but kept his gaze on the twisting, winding road before them.

  "Dad had a hammock that he would string between two trees, and sometimes all three of us would lie in it and stare at the sky through the branches. I love the way the lodgepole pines sway back and forth until you get dizzy watching them." She took a deep breath and released it on a sigh of pleasure. "My mom was a great storyteller. She could entertain me for hours. Dad loved her stories, too."

  "Sounds like you had a wonderful childhood."

  "I did. I had a perfect one. That's why Richard and I chose to live in Idaho after we married. We want our children to grow up like I did."

  "Your husband's not from Boise?"

  "No. Richard's from Chicago. His parents still live in Illinois. But Richard was always intrigued by the West." She smiled to herself, envisioning her tall, strapping husband who secretly wanted to be a cowboy, only in an airplane instead of on a horse.

  "How did the two of you meet?"

  "We were introduced at a wedding, and I made a fool of myself in front of him."

  Howard cast a quick, questioning glance in her direction.

  "I was the maid of honor at my friend Barbara's wedding. It was unusually hot for May, and the church was stuffy. They opened t
he windows in the fellowship hall, but there wasn't even a breeze." She glanced out the window of the car at the passing landscape. "We stood in the reception line forever. I think Barbara's parents invited every person in the state to see her get married. I was dying to get out of that bridesmaid dress, kick off my shoes, and sit down with a cold glass of iced tea."

  Even after three years, the memory was as clear as if it happened last week. She could still feel the stifling air of that crowded room. She remembered how her cheeks hurt from smiling, how her fingers hurt from shaking hands with so many strangers. She remembered feeling relieved to see a familiar face when Annie Edwards came through the line. With a twinkle in her eye, Annie stopped in front of her and whispered that she loved Lucy's dress. Lucy considered kicking her in the shin. The floor-length gown was hideous, and they both knew it. Poofs of satin and an abundance of bows in a particularly sick shade of green. What had possessed Barbara to select it?

  "And?" Howard prompted.

  Lucy looked at him. "A friend and her husband came through the reception line. Richard was visiting them from Chicago, and they brought him to the wedding."

  Annie's voice echoed in her memory: "Lucy, I'd like you to meet Peter's friend from college, Richard Anderson. Richard, this is Lucy Grover, the girl I was telling you about. Richard's thinking of moving to Boise to open a business of his own."

  "I reached out to shake his hand," Lucy continued, "just as I had to dozens of other people before him. And all of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. I remember asking him what sort of business brought him to Boise, and he said he was interested in aviation. Then the whole room started to tilt and sway."

  "An earthquake?"

  She laughed softly. "No. Heatstroke. I almost passed out from it. Richard caught me before I hit the floor. He carried me to a chair and got me some water, and pretty soon I was all right. Except for feeling like a fool for crumbling at his feet."

  Howard laughed, too. "So it was love at first sight, huh?"

  Punched in the heart by the pain of missing Richard, all traces of amusement vanished. "Almost." Her voice broke on the word.

  "I'm sorry, Lucy. I didn't mean to cause you sorrow by asking about your husband."

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. "It isn't your fault. It's just hard sometimes, being all alone."

  "I know what you mean."

  Remembering how many years he'd been a widower, she thought perhaps he did, indeed, know what she meant.

  * * *

  McCall was a small mountain town located on the south end of Lower Payette Lake. A few years earlier, Hollywood had invaded the area while filming Northwest Passage, but today it was its usual sleepy self.

  The dining room of the rustic-looking lodge had a beautiful view of the ice-covered lake and the snowy mountains that surrounded it, making Lucy thankful for the crackling fire in the stone fireplace.

  "I thought it was spring." She rubbed her hands up and down her arms, suppressing a shiver.

  "Not up here," Howard answered. "Not this year anyway."

  "I've never been in McCall when the lake's frozen over. It's beautiful. So serene." She turned her gaze from the window. "'I look up to the mountains—does my help come from there? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth!'"

  Howard leaned his forearms on the table. "Is that a psalm?"

  "Yes. One of my favorites."

  "It's very real for you, isn't it?"

  She wasn't sure what he meant and told him so with her eyes.

  "Your faith. The things you believe."

  She felt a familiar flutter of contentment. "Yes, my faith is very real to me. Jesus is real to me." She wished everyone could know the joy she'd found in her Lord. She wished Howard could know it. Perhaps that was why God arranged for this day. Perhaps it was so she could share the Good News with her friend.

  "You're an unusual woman, Lucy Anderson." He spoke softly. "You're special. I'm thankful for the opportunity to know you."

  She blushed and lowered her gaze to the table, uncomfortable without quite understanding why. She reached for the menu and pretended a great interest in her choice of entrees.

  Chapter 17

  Dottie knocked on Lucy's apartment door several times before giving up. Weary and disappointed that her friend wasn't home, she turned, sank onto the stoop, and started to cry. Huge tears streamed down her cheeks and plopped onto her slacks.

  "Oh, God," she whispered between sobs. "I need You. I can't feel Your presence. I'm all alone."

  The day had been unbearable. Her mother had scarcely spoken two words since Dottie told her about the baby last night. Every time her mother so much as looked at her, Dottie felt her disappointment and censure.

  Of course, Margo King would never succumb to passion, especially not a passion that led to sin. It simply wasn't part of her nature. That was why Dottie came to Lucy's this afternoon. She needed to talk to someone who understood about the ardent, fervent, whole-hearted love of a man. She needed to talk to someone who believed that even this sin was covered by the blood of the Lamb.

  Dottie wiped her eyes with her fingertips. "'Let all that I am praise the LORD; may I never forget the good things He does for me.'" She released a shuddering breath. "'You ransomed me from death, Jesus. I won't forget. I'll remember the good things You do for me. So help me, I will.'"

  She took another deep breath, let it out, then stood to leave. That was when Lucy rounded the corner, smiling, her eyes sparkling with good humor, escorted by an older man.

  Lucy stopped when her gaze met Dottie's. Her smile vanished, replaced by a look of concern. "Dottie? You've been crying. What's wrong? Is it … is it Greg? Has something happened to—"

  "No. Greg's okay. I just—" Her gaze flicked to the stranger standing beside Lucy. "I need to talk to you, but I can come back if you're busy." She descended the two steps to the sidewalk.

  "I'm not busy, Dottie. Stay." Lucy faced the man. "This is my friend, Howard Baxter. He was bringing me home. Howard, this is Dottie King. We used to attend the same church before I got married. I taught her Sunday school class when she was about ten or eleven. Dottie and her mother both work at the base."

  "A pleasure to meet you, Miss King." Howard extended a hand in greeting.

  "And you, Mr. Baxter," Dottie replied, taking it.

  "Well—" He looked at Lucy— "I'll be on my way, then. It was good to visit with you today."

  "Will I see you at church in the morning?" Lucy asked.

  He smiled and shrugged. "You might." After a slight nod of farewell toward both women, he turned on his heel and walked away.

  Lucy put an arm around Dottie's shoulder. "Come inside and tell me what's going on." She gave her a quick hug, then led the way into the apartment.

  Dottie had visited Lucy's home several times since Richard joined the Army Air Corps. She loved the small apartment. Dottie liked to imagine that she and Greg would have a cozy place like this when they got married.

  Lucy dropped her house key and purse onto the kitchen counter. "Would you like anything to drink? I can put the kettle on for tea."

  "Only if you want it. Don't make it just for me."

  "I would like some, actually." Lucy motioned to the table. "Why don't you sit there and we can talk while I get things ready?"

  "Okay."

  As Dottie took her seat, Lucy's big white cat entered the kitchen to welcome her mistress home. Lucy bent down and gave Empress the requisite attention. Then the cat crossed the room and jumped onto Dottie's lap, purring noisily.

  "Oh, Dottie," Lucy apologized. "I'm sorry. Empress has no manners. Brush her off if you don't want to hold her."

  Dottie laughed softly. "No. I like her. She's fine."

  The cat turned several circles before curling into a ball of fluff and closing her eyes.

  "Does Mr. Baxter go to your church?" Dottie asked as she stroked the cat.

  "No." Lucy filled the teakettle with water from the tap. "But he visited last Sund
ay for the first time, and I'm hoping he'll come back."

  Dottie glanced up. "How do you know him?"

  "He owns the market where I shop. Very nice man. Everyone in the neighborhood likes him." She put the kettle on the stove and turned on the burner. Then she removed a delicate china teapot and two matching cups from a cupboard. Finally, with everything ready for when the water boiled, she joined Dottie at the table. "So tell me what's wrong."

  To Dottie's dismay, her eyes teared up again.

  "Oh, sweetie." Lucy leaned forward and touched her forearm. "It can't be that bad, can it?"

  Dottie nodded. "It is, Lucy. It is that bad." She swallowed hard. "I'm pregnant."

  "Oh, my." The words held a note of surprise, but Lucy's gaze was compassionate.

  "Oh, my," Dottie echoed, a pitiful smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

  Lucy gave Dottie's arm a light squeeze, then she straightened in her chair. She didn't say anything more. She simply waited. That was one of the things Dottie appreciated about Lucy; she was a good listener.

  Why can't Mom be more like her? Why can't Mom show some compassion and forgiveness?

  The kettle whistled, and Lucy rose to attend to it. By the time she returned with the teapot and cups on a tray, Dottie was ready to tell her everything.

  "It happened on New Year's Eve. Greg and I wanted a romantic dinner away from everybody else. He was scheduled to ship out that next week, and we needed time for just the two of us. Later, we went to his parents' house, but they weren't home." She drew a deep breath and released it with a sigh. "We should have left right then. We knew our emotions were running high. We'd always been careful but …"

  Her voice faded into silence as memories of that night flooded her mind. The kisses. The passion. The storm. The shame.