Interrupted Page 6

  I looked over my shoulder one last time before walking into the restaurant with Miss Beatrice.

  Someone squealed upon our entrance.

  What in the world? I looked up to see a woman in a hot pink dress come running in our direction, hands outreached. I didn’t know they made fabric in that color.

  “Irene,” Miss Beatrice said, holding out her arms. The two embraced, and from my spot I could just catch a whiff of the perfume Irene was wearing.

  “Oh, and who is this?” Irene asked, turning to me. She was young, maybe twenty or so, with bright red hair and green eyes. She gave me a dazzling smile, and for a moment I forgot that she talked in accented syllables and wore hot pink. She was that pretty.

  “This is Al-cee-u-nee.” Beatrice drew out every syllable.

  Irene wrinkled her little nose, amused. “I’m going to have to get you to write that one down.”

  “Call me Allie.” I was stricken with a sudden shyness that caused me to look down at my shiny new shoes.

  Irene grinned. “I’m Irene. And I just know I’m going to love you.” She winked at me. “After all, we’re sisters now.”

  Sisters? My brows pinched together. But that would mean …

  Miss Beatrice smiled and turned to me. “Alcyone, this is Irene Goodey, my daughter.”

  Irene grinned and squeezed Miss Beatrice’s spidery hand, then giggled. “Don’t let her get the better of you, cheeky. Stick up for yourself and she’ll never spank you too hard.”

  Miss Beatrice frowned at Irene and dropped her hand. But there was a twinkling in her eye. “Irene Goodey! Speaking like that to a child! I ought to spank you right now.”

  I found myself breathing a prayer — something I never do — out to the universe for poor Miss Goodey’s safety. However, my prayers didn’t need much answering, because the next second Irene was laughing and pouring us both tall glasses of iced tea.

  “How do you like my restaurant, darling?” Irene asked, sending me a wink.

  I looked around the room. The tiled floors were squeaky clean, the tables neat and tidy, the soda machines shiny and new. The whole place could have been a spread out of Mama’s Good Housekeeping magazine, were it not for the splashes of pink. Just where you thought there wouldn’t be, a patch of hot pink would flash at you from some discreet corner. The menus, the roses on the tables, the fuchsia-colored clock.

  I frowned. Honestly, pink was following me everywhere.

  I turned to Irene as realization dawned on me. “You own this restaurant.”

  Irene stared at me in silence before throwing back her head and laughing — a half choking, half snorting sound that was utterly charming and unpredictable. I ducked my head again.

  “Why, honey,” Irene chuckled, glancing at Beatrice, “you didn’t realize that?”

  Even Miss Beatrice couldn’t resist a smile. “It is called Goodey’s Diner, Alcyone.”

  “I can’t take all the credit for it, though.” Irene grinned at Beatrice. “Mom gave Daniel and me the money to start it.”

  I risked a sideways glance at Miss Beatrice and took a long sip of my tea. She gave Irene a warm smile and then sent it in my direction.

  As if I needed her smiles. Or her love. As if I would ever be part of her big, happy “family.”

  A knot formed in my stomach and I looked away. All of a sudden I felt tired and lonely and homesick. And empty.

  “I don’t want to go to church.”

  Miss Beatrice’s eyes widened. “Why not?”

  I stuck my chin out and looked away. “Mama says church is for superstitious fools who don’t have enough guts to stand on their own two feet.”

  Miss Beatrice put down the pretty white dress and bit her lip. “I see.” She sat down in the armchair and folded her hands in her lap, as if trying to think of what to do. “Allie,” she finally said, “faith isn’t about superstition or leaning on others because you haven’t got any … guts. It takes guts to believe sometimes. To know that even when things don’t look like they’re going well, God is still there and he’s still guiding you. Faith like that — the faith to trust Christ enough to take the place for your sins and take control of your life. Faith like that takes all the guts in the world. And it’s worth it. Do you believe me?”

  I squirmed under her gaze and refused to answer. “There is no God,” I muttered.

  As if shocked by a powerful current, Miss Beatrice stood and crossed over to the window. She pulled back the deep-red curtains and let the sunlight pierce the room.

  I squinted as my eyes strained to adjust. Outside the window, a thick green vine hugged the glass, and on its end a small purple morning glory lifted its face toward the sun.

  After opening the window, Miss Beatrice reached out and fingered the flower. “Allie, if there is no God, who do you think made the flowers? Who do you think made you?”

  I focused on the wall to her left. “It doesn’t matter because I’m in charge of myself. No God is going to rule me.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and lifted my chin.

  She sighed and shut the window. “I will be going to church, if you wish to come with me.”

  I bit the inside of my cheek. “No, thank you.”

  “Very well. I won’t make you.” Miss Beatrice paused in the doorway. “I don’t mind you staying home alone for an hour, if you promise to behave.”

  “I promise.”

  “Very well.” Her mouth twitched. “But I have always said that —”

  “Why do you do that?”

  She blinked slowly, clearly unused to being interrupted. “Do what?”

  I swung my legs and crossed them under my little chair. “You start many of your statements with, ‘I always say …’ ” I tilted my head. “I was just wondering why.”

  In a way I never would have expected of an older woman, Miss Beatrice rolled her eyes and opened the door. A smile played around on her lips. “I always say a child should never question an adult.”

  “That one didn’t rhyme,” I pointed out.

  She grinned and shut the door.

  Chapter 6

  I measure every grief I meet

  With analyctic eyes;

  And wonder if it weighs like mine,

  Or has an easier size.

  — Emily Dickinson

  The house seemed even bigger and emptier when I was the only living thing in it. I walked around the kitchen, taking the time to study everything while no one could see me.

  My stomach grumbled, leading me to the icebox. The amount of food took me aback: there was milk and eggs and fruit and anything else you could want. I reached for a jar of pickles, then halted. This is Miss Beatrice’s food, not mine.

  I shut the icebox firmly and made my way into the library. My pace slowed as I examined the titles. The Travels of Marco Polo … Alice in Wonderland … The Adventures of Robin Hood … Ivanhoe …

  Miss Beatrice must have quite the imagination.

  I settled on a worn copy of A Little Princess and sat down in a little chair by the window, so I could look out and see the roses.

  As I flipped through the book’s pages, memories flooded back over me of reading by the fireplace with Mama. I could still see her face, concentrated on her knitting, helping me as I stumbled over the harder words.

  Shutting the book with a thud, I slipped it back on the shelf and left the library.

  “I assure you, no one will stare,” Miss Beatrice said.

  I glanced at her uncertainly out of the corner of my eye.

  “It’s just a schoolyard, Alcyone. They’re just children.”

  I looked out the window at the dozens of boys and girls, dressed in clean, pressed dresses and slacks, running up to the doorstep of the school.

  I gulped. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “Pish-posh.” Miss Beatrice reached over and opened up my door. She bent her forehead until her eyes were only a few inches from mine. “You can and you will do this, Alcyone.”

  As soon as she t
urned to climb out of the car, I sent a fierce scowl at her back, feeling a little better.

  I reached down to smooth my burgundy school dress, glancing about as Beatrice marched up the school steps. A few of the children stopped to stare at me.

  The principal’s office was obsessively clean. White-washed walls, scratch-free floors, stainless desks. I squirmed and ducked behind Beatrice, and was immediately mad at myself for doing so.

  “Can I help you?” the secretary sighed, looking at us from behind her silver-framed glasses. She twisted her piece of pink gum around her finger.

  “Yes,” Miss Beatrice said, motioning to me with a grand air. “This is Alcyone Lovell.”

  “Alcyone Everly,” I interrupted.

  My correction fell on deaf ears. “I’ve come to enroll her in the ninth grade.”

  The secretary stared at me for what seemed like a whole minute before drawling, “I see. And how do you spell that?”

  Suddenly, the door burst open and a pretty blonde girl flew in. Her golden curls, tousled from the activity, whipped around behind her as she stuck her tongue out at a grinning boy and stamped her foot. “You stay away from me, Andy Brown, ya hear?” With a regal air, she turned and rolled her eyes at the secretary. “He just will not leave me alone!” With a fluid motion she straightened and smiled at me. “Hi, I’m Charlie, who are you?” A slight Southern accent made the words float across the air. “Where’re you from? Are you just visiting or staying forever?” She tilted her head. “Have I seen you before?”

  I must have looked like a total fool as I stood there and stared at her, because after a moment she wrinkled her nose and turned to the lady behind the desk. “Miss Mary, what’s wrong with this girl?”

  Mary sighed again and pushed up her glasses. “Dunno. She still hasn’t given me her name.”

  Miss Beatrice leaned forward and pointed at Mary’s book. “A-l-c-y-o-n-e.”

  The girl turned toward me again and beamed, flipping a stray curl off her shoulder. “I’m Charlie Cooper. My daddy’s the principal here. As of last year, at least.”

  “Charlie? Isn’t that a boy’s name?” Great, now I’ve probably offended her.

  Charlie snorted and threw back her curls. “Oh, no, not at all. My real name’s Charlotte, but when I was young the boys took to callin’ me Charlie, and it stuck.”

  “The boys?”

  “My brothers. I’ve got five of them,” Charlie said proudly, sticking up her palm. “Now what’s your name?” She peeked over Miss Beatrice’s shoulder at the sheet. “Al-ki-o-nee?”

  “You say it Al-cee-u-nee.” I paused. “But I like Allie. Allie Everly.”

  “Oh.” Charlie looked me up and down for a second. “I like you, Allie,” she said suddenly. “You’ve got beautiful eyes. I just know we’re gonna be best friends.”

  I looked down as I felt my cheeks heat. Beautiful eyes? They were just a light bluish-green. And I had plain, dark hair too. Not straight enough to hang loose and not curly enough to fluff; just sort of blackish-brown, wavy hair, rather than a gorgeous, golden halo like Charlie’s. And my freckles! Four under my right eye and five under my left! Talk about misfortune.

  “I just know you’re going to love this school,” Charlie was saying — no, gushing — as she looped her arm in mine. She opened the door and let me pass through first. “I’ll show Allie to her class,” she called behind her as she led me down the hall.

  I smiled and hugged my books to my chest. Boys were watching us discreetly as we made our way straight down the center. I glanced at Charlie and realized she was sort of strutting down the hallway. If I tried to copy her gait, would I look like an actress or a waddling duck? I decided not to risk it.

  “Why’s everyone looking at us?” I whispered.

  Charlie looked around and for the first time seemed to recognize everyone around her. “Oh, don’t mind them,” she whispered back. “They always do that. You don’t realize it after a while, though.” She squeezed my arm. “Say, did you know I met FDR? Yeah, I was on summer vacation and …”

  I held my head up high as I walked to my class. My friend was with me now.

  The window seat of my new bedroom was the perfect place to look out over the ocean. In my hands I clutched a stuffed animal I’d found on the bed. It was a cute little bear, with button eyes and a brown nose. It looked homemade, which was probably the reason I chose it.

  I looked back down at the notebook in front of me.

  September 19, 1939

  The sky is alive tonight, Mama. With thousands of sparkling stars. Usually they’re grand and silent, but tonight they’re feisty and bold. The last one on the Big Dipper keeps winking at me!

  I let out a deep breath and looked back up at the sky. Can you see stars in heaven?

  I know you said heaven doesn’t exist, Mama, but I wish I knew where you were right now. I heard a little girl once say that her baby sister died and became a star. Are you a star now, Mama, smiling down on me? Or are you just darkness, floating around in space? You know, you never told me what happens after death. I suppose it’s silly of me to think anything does.

  I paused and looked over what I’d written. It didn’t seem appropriate, so I ripped it out and started over.

  I made a friend today. Her name is Charlie Cooper and she’s funny and pretty and nice. And I have Miss Beatrice Lovell too, who is sometimes awful and sometimes sort of okay. Sometimes I think I can’t tell the difference anymore. I wish you were here to help me.

  I groaned softly and closed the notebook with a slam, biting my lip.

  Someone knocked on the door. I looked up to see Miss Beatrice standing in the doorway, in good spirits. Her hair was down and around her white-robed shoulders.

  “I see you found my teddy bear.”

  I nodded and let go of the bear a little bit.

  “His name is Mr. Bearington.”

  I hid my smile deep down inside and frowned. “That’s a silly name.”

  Miss Beatrice nodded and leaned in the doorway, watching me. “I haven’t seen him in ages. I was afraid he was gone forever.” She crossed the room and sat across from me on the window seat. I scooted away. “Isn’t that moon something?” she asked. “I watched it from this room when I was a little girl. And yet it never changes.” She looked down and rubbed the material of her robe almost nervously. “Allie, I’m sorry. I know how hard this has been for you. A new life, a new family.”

  She turned and looked me in the eye. A cheery smile spread over her face. “But we’ll get through this together.” I didn’t breathe as she reached over and tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, her eyes softening. “Allie.” Her hand lingered around my jaw. “I’ve always wanted another daughter.”

  My breath left my lungs so quickly all I could do was recoil, banging my head against the wall. “I’ll never be your daughter.”

  Miss Beatrice dropped her hand as if she’d been slapped. I thought I saw hurt and loneliness flash across her face, but then it was empty again.

  Without another word, the door shut and I was alone.

  I opened up my journal again and began to scribble fiercely, my tears making the page seem blurry.

  Why did you leave me, Mama? Why? Why did you leave me by myself?

  I made a strangled sobbing sound, looking away. The moon was still shining, but now it seemed distant — almost like it was retreating from my view. I rubbed my hand across my eye and ripped out the page again.

  I promise not to cry too much, Mama. I promise I’ll be good. I’ll never forget you, no matter what Miss Beatrice says. She’ll never be my mama. I won’t let you down. I promise.

  Until we meet again,

  Your Allie

  I slammed the journal shut and put a hand over my mouth to muffle the tears. I looked down. Mr. Bearington was still in my other hand.

  “Stupid bear!” I screamed, throwing it across the room. Then I collapsed against the window in tears, the glass cold against my sore, throbbing head.


  “Oh, Mama,” I whispered into my arm, “I just want to go home.”

  Part Two

  1943–1945

  Chapter 7

  A narrow fellow in the grass

  Occasionally rides;

  You may have met him, — did you not,

  His notice sudden is.

  — Emily Dickinson

  What are you reading?”

  I looked up to see Beatrice grimacing at me from across the table. Why should I bother telling her it’s Emily Dickinson? I broke our eye contact and turned the page.

  Beatrice buttered a piece of toast. The clinking of her knife pierced the silent air. “I have to make sure our dresses are pressed for this afternoon. I’ll wear the green one and you will be wearing the new blue one.” Without even bothering to look at me squarely, she said, “Don’t make that face, Allie. Russell will think the blue one lovely.”

  I put the book down just long enough to take a sip of milk. Natural light flooded the sunroom, casting shadows on my page.

  “And our nylons have to be steamed too.” Beatrice frowned to herself.

  The silence filled the table. For as long as I’d lived here, it had been like this. Awkward silence. Stilted conversation. Beatrice always reaching to pull something out of me that I wasn’t willing to give.

  Beatrice took a last bite of toast. “You know what? I think I’m going to go get ready. Finish up, Allie. The party begins at one.”

  She walked out of the dining room muttering, finally leaving me alone. I sighed and opened up Dickinson again.

  My eyes skimmed the page, but none of the words sank in.

  Gosh, could life be any more boring?

  “And boom! We blasted their heads off!”

  Laughter erupted among the group. I looked around to see Beatrice nodding as Debra Wilkinson gripped her arm. I forced a smile and went back to counting the blades of grass under my shoes. I held my notebook firmly behind my back so no one would take notice. Every fiber of my being longed to be giggling and talking with Charlie instead of being forced to play good society girl at this stupid party.