In Search of Serenity, page 11
He narrowed his eyes, trying to understand. “You’re ashamed of them?”
“No, of course not. I love my mother, and I respect my grandfather for his ideals, though we’ve never met. But try living among people who judge others for where they come from—and try to fit in despite all that. The boarding school my great-uncle sent me to was full of those kinds of girls. Girls like Muffy and Julia. I was lonely. I wanted friends, just like everybody else had. I soon found I had a gift for literary drama and helped put on school plays. A few of those classmates who would never have anything to do with me before started being kind to me. When the chance came and several of the most popular girls in my class opened their circle to accept me into their fold—two of them from my own hometown—I was determined to do whatever I could to keep their favor.”
“Even if that means sacrificing what you believe in?”
She gasped. “What are you talking about?”
“It seems you would have to live a life of pretense in order to keep such friends. Pretending to go along with what they believe while burying your own values, just to be accepted. Life isn’t one big stage play, Hannah—it’s real, and it hurts, and it can hurt you. You can’t go on assuming fantasy roles as an escape just because you’re afraid to face who you are.”
Flustered, she shook her head. “I’m not afraid—what makes you think I am? Just because I like having a good time and enjoy the motion pictures? Just because I don’t look at life as one big depressing newsreel?” She glared at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I’ve seen enough.”
“All right. Maybe Julia and Muffy can be. . .overbearing. I’ll give you that. But at least they offered friendship when others wouldn’t give me the time of day!”
“And what kind of friends are they if their primary goal in life is to find new ways to hurt others? I’ve seen their type, I know what they’re like. What makes you think they won’t turn on you one day and pull the rug out from under you?”
Her mouth parted in shock, but he continued. “You told me you want my friendship. That’s all I’m trying to offer. I don’t want to see you hurt by those girls. Maybe I have no place to talk to you like this. But if you continue hanging around them, I’m afraid you could be hurt very badly. Your schooldays are over, mon amie. It’s time you moved on. Are Julia and Muffy really the type of people you want to be with the rest of your life?”
She stood up so suddenly, he felt the rush of air. He looked up at her.
“You’re right, Eric. You don’t have any place to talk. Especially since you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She opened her mouth to say more but instead turned on her heel and marched to her room. The slam of her door told Eric he’d overstepped the line, but he didn’t feel sorry about it. He only hoped his well-meaning words had found their mark.
❧
Definitely a rogue!
Hannah felt like throwing something.
With her back pressed to her bedroom door, she swung her gaze around the room, looking for a worthy target. Her hand closed around a novel. She hesitated, looking down at the illustrated cover. The memory of his emphatic words twisted in a relentless circle in her mind.
Infuriation, rage, disbelief, mortification, guilt—all fought for predominance. Guilt won.
Tears misted her eyes, and she hung her head.
Earlier, Julia and Muffy had baited Hannah about her pathetic attempts to snag Eric, before he came into the library and put a blissful end to their torment. She had watched his interaction with Muffy and Julia, had mistaken his kind smiles for delight in their interest, and had tried to attract him by emulating her friends. But she’d been wrong. . .so wrong.
He had seen right through her. . .shocked her with his knowing words, angered her with his presumptions of her character, embarrassed her with his blunt disapproval. But more than that, when he looked at her with such concern, admitting his fears to see her hurt, a blade of shame had twisted deep inside her excuse for a heart. The irony didn’t escape her, since she was engaging in a plan that could wind up hurting him. Oh, she had hoped in the end it wouldn’t, of course, hoped he would laugh it off and chalk it up as a good joke. Or if not that, hoped at least that he might not fall hard for her. But she’d soon discovered Eric wasn’t like the boys she’d known. “Boys” in the true sense of the word, immature and insensitive. Silly rich boys who flirted with girls and fell all over themselves to gain their attention. Eric wasn’t like that. . .
Eric was a man.
The boys in her social circle cared more about status, wealth, and ego, and less about other people’s feelings. Perhaps they deserved to be the target of such a foolish challenge, but Eric did not. Eric put others first and volunteered his help when needed, even when he wasn’t shown the appreciation he deserved. He acted more mature than all those boys put together.
“God, what have I done?” Hannah uttered the short plea and set the book down, shaking her head in distress as she moved to her bed. Her novel lay concealed for the moment in her box of photographs of her favorite motion picture stars, but she felt no desire to jump into it and lose herself in the fictional world she’d created.
The world she had control over when nothing went right in her own life.
She stared in dawning shock.
Eric had accused her of crawling within the pages of fantasy to escape life and in the process, lose who she was. Was he right?
She did love to pen her stories but now realized that desire only intensified once she’d gained recognition and acceptance because of her skill, from those who’d shunned her before. She did have talent, or they wouldn’t have been impressed. But maybe she should consider a better way to use her craft, something worthier. She didn’t have to give up her stories completely.
An idea teased her mind. Unable to resist the lure, she grabbed pen and paper and jotted everything down, hoping Clemmie would approve. More importantly, hoping Joel would agree. She read through what she’d written, experiencing a sense of satisfaction that had been missing with her unfinished novel. She didn’t speculate about the reason too closely, her thoughts finding their way back to Eric.
With grim resolve, she knew what she must do.
And the biggest irony above all ironies. . .
She realized she was falling fast and hard for him.
Eleven
The air held a brisk chill, hinting of the weather to come. Eric stood on the green with the rest of the town who’d turned out for the Founder’s Day celebration and watched the play unfold. The original plan had been to hold the production inside the colonial-style building, but a broken pipe had made it impossible, flooding the floors of the renovated structure. So the entire affair was being held in front of the building, outdoors.
He stood a short distance from Hannah’s family and friends, her brothers giving him hostile glances on occasion. Clemmie had attended with her friend, Thea, their husbands covering the event for the newspaper. Clemmie nodded toward Eric with an uncertain smile, and he sensed her nervousness to have him there.
He hadn’t planned to attend but realized how important it was to Hannah that he do so. In the end, he’d agreed, not wanting to injure her feelings. Over the past several weeks, when she wasn’t swamped by work on the play or they weren’t exchanging clipped words about the value or triviality of their daily lives, he saw a quality in Hannah that intrigued him. Despite everything, she had a sweet naïveté about her, so much different from her haughty friends, and he hoped that gentle part of Hannah would never change.
The play continued, the little colonists and Indians acting out one scene of many in the fictional story Hannah had composed using their town history as a guide. A boy dressed in the clothes of a former century delivered a soliloquy about the founding fathers and their first difficult year, speaking as if he’d also experienced the events by his use of the word we, while behind him, other children silently and dramatically acted out the roles of epidemics, crop failures, and more. At times, the boy narrator turned to the side, as if to become part of the audience, and also watched what took place. When that happened, the play became more lifelike as the characters interacted with dialogue, the overall idea unique and interesting. This went on back and forth as the narrator took them through the first hundred years, then solemnly bowed his head. Another narrator, a girl dressed in contemporary clothes, took the opposite side of the stage and continued with the last hundred years of the town’s history, also using first person to portray events.
Eric watched, impressed with Hannah’s talent to write and organize such a play. He had thought her desire to become a novel writer foolish, in light of all their country suffered, but maybe he’d been too quick to form an opinion. She obviously had creative skills; the play was informative without coming across as heavy or dull.
The only problem that arose she handled smoothly: One of the littlest Indian’s feathers came loose from his headband, and he started chasing it over the grounds. The crowd chuckled, as did Eric, and the narrator became flustered, stumbling in his speech. Eric watched Hannah, who stood on the sidelines, quietly say something to the older boy with an encouraging smile, and the narrator resumed while the little Indian chased his feather.
Within minutes of the play’s conclusion, Hannah sought Eric out.
“It was awful, wasn’t it?”
Her question surprised him, as did her evident insecurity.
“I thought it was good.”
“Really?” Surprise lit up her eyes. “You actually liked it?”
He couldn’t blame her for her skepticism; he hadn’t given her an easy time about how she chose to use her hours each day. “It was very well written.”
She smiled then looked uncertain again. “It would have been better with the proper lighting. The spotlights were supposed to be on the narrators at certain moments, for effect, but who could foresee a water pipe bursting?”
“You did the best with what you had and made quick decisions when things went wrong. It was splendid. In fact”—he grinned in sheepish surrender—“maybe such entertainment is good for the soul.” Everyone appeared in high spirits, even those in the community he’d rarely seen smile.
She laughed, her features relaxing. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”
The day continued in a whirlwind of fun, feasting, and laughter. The food was simple fare, but there was so much it practically ran off the tables. Hannah’s play and the sight of the provisions made him think of the first Thanksgiving and the nation’s celebration of the event, which the president had designated to happen five days from now. Eric noticed Hannah’s fixed attention on the food table, her eyes distant.
“Are you hungry?” He captured her attention. “Would you like a sandwich?”
She shook her head. “I was thinking about Shirley and Jimmy.”
Her admission astonished him, and he regarded her in tender approval. “Would you like to walk to the park and see if they are there?”
“Oh, could we?” Her eyes sparkled with hope. “I also thought. . .I could locate a box. Maybe we could fill it with food and take it with us?” She sounded hesitant, as if seeking his approval.
He nodded. “I like that idea, mon amie. Let’s do that.”
Once she found a container a little bigger than a shoebox, together they filled it with delicious food until it would contain no more. The hostess behind the table asked their reason for collecting so many sandwiches. When they explained, she told them to wait a moment and disappeared. She returned with a pie and set it on top of the box Eric held.
“For the children.” A twinkle lit her eye. “With so much food, it won’t be missed.”
They thanked her and began their walk to the park. He spotted Julia and Muffy looking at them from across the green, and Eric sensed Hannah go rigid. She grabbed his arm. “Let’s go this way. I know a shortcut.”
He didn’t ask why she wanted to avoid her friends, curious but relieved he wouldn’t have to be the victim of the fawning Muffy and the vamping Julia once again.
They strolled through a patch of rough grass, the shrubbery growing closer, clearly not the best of paths to take if it was a path at all. But Hannah’s tension soon eased. Her lips turned up at the corners, her eyes bright in her excitement. He had never seen her more beautiful.
Once they reached the area where they’d first met the children, he and Hannah searched but found the park empty. No one was in sight, and he assumed it had to do with the celebration they’d left. He noticed the disappointment cloud her eyes and wanted to make it disappear.
“They said something about an alley behind the coffee shop.”
Her eyes brightened again then looked troubled. “Yes, let’s try there.”
The walk took a short time. The streets were practically empty of traffic. Entering the alley behind the shop, Eric felt Hannah clutch his arm suddenly. “Oh Eric. . .”
Dismay trembled in her voice, and he also felt a wave of horrified sympathy.
Shirley and Jimmy scrounged through a trash bin of rotting garbage like two scrawny alley cats. Another smaller child nibbled from the well-eaten core of an apple turned brown.
“Don’t eat that!” Hannah rushed forward.
The curly-haired tot lifted huge dark eyes to them, flashing with fear. The girl dropped the core, whirled away, and ran as if fearful Hannah might lash out and hurt her.
“No—don’t go,” Hannah called after her. “We brought better food!”
Eric was certain nothing else Hannah could have said would have stopped the panic-stricken child. But at the promise of good food, she cut short her mad retreat and warily turned.
“It’s okay,” Shirley said. “I know these people, Lily. They won’t hurt you.”
The girl peered at them distrustfully through her tousled brown curls. Her woolen dress was as dirty as the rest of her, and she wore no coat. Her face was gaunt, her eyes haunted. Eric had become accustomed to seeing such horrible poverty and misery at the mission, especially during the past years of great depression, but he saw Hannah’s profound shock at this new slap of reality.
“Why don’t you give them the sandwiches?” His voice came as a gentle nudge. He knew from experience that being the one to administer aid would help lift her spirits.
She glanced his way, her eyes glazed with stunned sorrow for the little ones’ plight. Gingerly, she took a sandwich in each hand and approached, offering the sandwiches to Shirley and Jimmy. They grabbed the food, bringing it to their mouths in the same motion. The other child, seeing her friends’ enthusiastic response, edged closer.
Hannah took another sandwich from the box and, with the same caution the littlest girl displayed, moved forward a few steps then hunched down at a level with the child, smiling and reaching across the small chasm toward her.
“It’s really very good,” Hannah whispered. “They’re from the celebration the town is holding on the green. Did you children not know about that?”
Shirley nodded. “We thought they might throw us out or chase us down if we tried to get some food there.”
“Non, it’s free to everyone,” Eric said when Hannah looked stricken and unable to speak.
The little girl slowly came forward, her acceptance of the sandwich just as gradual, before taking several quick steps back. Like Shirley and Jimmy, she crammed the bread in her mouth.
“Lily’s scared ’cause some people yelled at her and threatened to call the cops last night,” Shirley explained. “We sneaked into a snazzy food joint on the other side of town and tried to take food when no one was looking after some people got up to dance. The waiter caught Lily. Me and Jimmy got away. The woman called her filthy and told the waiter to throw her in jail, that the streets weren’t safe with vermin like her. She was wearing a sweater like yours.”
Eric noticed how the color seemed to rush out of Hannah’s face, leaving it white and nowhere near the rose color of her sweater.
“What happened then?” he quietly prodded.
“Me and Jimmy was hiding behind some plants. Jimmy ran and kicked the waiter in the shin so he’d let go of Lily, and I dumped a plate of spaghetti in the woman’s lap then grabbed Lily’s hand, and we scrammed out of there fast.”
“Did your mother know where you were?” Hannah’s voice came as a mere wisp, and Eric shot her a concerned glance.
“No, ma’am. She was out looking for work.”
“At night?” Hannah’s shock didn’t escape him.
“Yes, ma’am. She wouldn’t have cared.” Shirley shrugged. “She don’t mind when we find our own meals. Says it’s less of a burden on her.”
“Is that pie?” Jimmy spoke for the first time, hungrily eyeing the dessert and licking his lips.
“Sure is, son.” Eric handed over the box. “Take this home and share it with your little friend. But I want you to make me a promise. No more digging through garbage cans for any of you. Do we have a deal?”
Jimmy shrugged. “I s’ppose.”
“You ain’t gonna tell on us?” Shirley seemed surprised but relieved.
He wished he had a car to take them home, wished also that his family mission was just down the street. “Who would I tell? Now you three skedaddle before it gets dark. You shouldn’t be out on the streets at night.”
“Okay—thanks, mister!
“Thanks!” Jimmy echoed his sister as the two took off running. Lily gave them a shy smile before she followed.
Concerned for Hannah, Eric looked at her. “Are you all right?”
“They’re so little.” Her voice cracked as if it might break. “Too little for this. . .”
Understanding what she didn’t say, he put his arm around her shoulders, drawing her to him. Her tight fists lay pressed against his chest. From the manner in which her body trembled, he realized she was trying hard not to cry. It seemed the most natural thing in the world to stroke her hair and bring his other arm around her waist, holding her closer.
