Dakota Born (18 page)

When the dizziness passed, Joanie resumed the bed-making, but it wasn't long before she felt faint a second time. If this was going to continue, it would take her all day to change the sheets.

Disgusted with herself, she returned downstairs and popped a slice of bread in the toaster, thinking that if she ate something she'd feel better. She added peanut butter to the toast and had just swallowed her first bite when the phone rang.

It was her mother. “Hi, Mom,” she said, forcing a note of gladness into her voice. She was trying to hide her unhappiness from her family.

“Hello, sweetheart. I didn't hear from you yesterday.” Her mother's tone was slightly accusatory.

They took turns phoning each other on Sundays. Brandon hadn't said anything, but she knew he was looking for ways to cut expenses. “I wrote you, instead,” Joanie explained.

“Wrote me a letter?” Her mother sounded puzzled. “Joanie, is everything all right?”

“Everything's fine…. It's just that with wheat and corn prices so low, I was hoping to save a few dollars, that's all.”

“But I'll miss talking to you and the kids. Perhaps I should phone
you.
”

“No, Mom, that wouldn't be fair. Anyway, it won't be for long. Next year's sure to be better.”

“For your sake I hope so.” Her mother hesitated, then asked, “Is Brandon treating you well?”

“Mother, of course he is!” She didn't care to explain that her own husband seemed to be blaming her for the low price of corn, the current rainy conditions and just about everything else that was wrong with his world. “I love him—I've always loved him.”

“I know. It's just that…” Her mother let the rest fade. “The reason I wanted to talk to you has to do with Thanksgiving.”

“That's not for weeks yet.”

“It'll be here before you know it.”

Joanie suspected that was true; the summer seemed to go so quickly, and now they were halfway through fall.

“Your brother and Kelly are flying in with the kids.”

“Jay's coming?” Joanie hadn't seen her older brother in two years. “It'll be wonderful to see Jessie and Eddie.”

“It's hard to believe they're twelve and ten,” her mother said conversationally. “It seems only yesterday that they were born. I do hope you and Brandon will be here. Your father and I thought this would be a perfect opportunity to have a family portrait taken.”

The joy and excitement Joanie had felt for a moment left her. “I'll talk to him, Mom, but I can't make any guarantees.”

“Do try. It would be so nice if we could all be together.”

“It would be,” she agreed. “I'll ask him right away.”

“Ask me what?” Brandon said from behind her.

Joanie placed her hand over the mouthpiece and looked at her husband, trying to gauge his mood. “Thanksgiving,” she said.

His eyes revealed no emotion.

“I'll talk it over with Brandon and let you know as soon as we decide,” she told her mother.

“Will you write or phone me with your answer?”

“I'll write you, Mom.”

Brandon was waiting for her when Joanie finished with the phone call. “What's this about writing your mother?”

“It's nothing,” she said, dismissing the question rather than explaining why she wasn't phoning the way she normally did.

“We can afford for you to call your family, Joanie.”

Inexplicably, her eyes filled with tears.

“You crying?” He frowned as he asked the question.

“No…yes.” She plucked a tissue from the box and blew her nose, shocked at this unwarranted display of emotion.

“All right,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “You do what you want. Write your mother, phone her, it's up to you.”

She blew her nose again, wondering if she was coming down with a cold. It wouldn't surprise her with the cold damp weather they'd been having.

“About Thanksgiving?” she said, glancing at her husband, hoping she could convince him to leave the farm long enough to spend the holiday with her family. It would be like a vacation, and they could use the break.

“My brother and his family are flying in,” Joanie told him. “I haven't seen him in two years.”

“And you want to be with Jay and his family at Thanksgiving,” Brandon said. “I'd never keep you and the kids from seeing your brother and your parents.”

“Mom and Dad want you there, too.”

He shook his head even before he spoke. “I can't leave the farm.”

“But Gage said he'd be willing to look after the animals if we wanted to get away for a little while,” she said, rushing the words in her eagerness. “We'd only be gone a couple of days.”

“Joanie…”

“We could leave early Thursday morning, have dinner with them and then drive home on Friday afternoon. Mom mentioned something about a family portrait or we could leave their place sooner, but I don't think any photography studios would be open Thanksgiving Day.” She knew why she was rambling—because the instant she stopped talking, Brandon would tell her no.

“You know how I feel about your parents,” he muttered.

The tears were back, frustrating and angering her. “You don't have a clue how they feel about you! You've never given them a chance.”

“If you want to spend Thanksgiving with your family, Joanie, go. I won't stand in your way.”

“You'd rather spend Thanksgiving Day alone than be with your family?”

“Tell me, do I have a lot to be thankful for? Not this year.”

“You have your health and a wife and children who love you. Isn't that enough?” She knew there was no point in arguing with him; Brandon wasn't going to listen. Smearing the tears across her cheek, she forced herself to stop. “I'll plan on driving to my parents without you then,” she said as evenly as her emotions would allow. “We'll leave Thursday morning, like I suggested, and return on Friday.”

“There's no reason for you to hurry home.”

He might have hit her for the effect those words had on her heart. “Brandon, are you saying…you don't want us to come back?” she challenged. “Because if you are, then you don't need to wait until Thanksgiving for us to leave.” If he wanted out of their marriage, the least he could do was be honest enough to tell her.

He took his time answering. “You can leave when you want and you can return when you want. The choice is yours.”

 

The first Friday of November, Lindsay walked into Knight's Pharmacy after school, feeling excited and happy.

“Lindsay,” Hassie called to her from the back of the store. “You look like you just won a lottery.”

That was the way she felt. She held up a key dangling from a bright red ribbon. “Look what I've got in my hot little hands,” she cried, resisting the urge to jump up and down with glee.

“You have the theater key from Ambrose Kohn?”

“Got it.” Not without her share of angst and resentment at being manipulated into attending a ridiculous costume party with him. But it had all been worth it.

“You wore the prisoner costume with the ball and chain? You borrowed it from Calla Stern, right?”

“Yes and yes.” To Lindsay's way of thinking, if Ambrose was going to make her attend the Halloween party with him, she'd wear a fitting costume. She'd felt trapped—like a prisoner—but had agreed because she badly wanted the use of the old theater for the Christmas play her students were putting on. The kids were in on her scheme and Calla had lent her the Halloween costume her mother had designed for her the year before.

“You slay me, girl,” Hassie said with a laugh of sheer delight.

“Rachel's meeting me here, and we're going to take a look inside.”

Ambrose had told her the movie house had been closed for ten years and he had no idea what condition the place was in. He'd also let it be known that he was unwilling to commit even one cent to it. Anything she or the high-schoolers did was at their own expense and at their own risk.

“My heavens, it's been years since anyone went in there,” Hassie muttered.

“That's what Ambrose said.”

“Have you and Rachel got flashlights?”

She nodded. “Plus a kerosene lamp.”

“You'll need those and more.” With the approach of winter, the days were shorter now, and it was nearly dark by the time school was out. “Let me check my back room,” Hassie said, “and see what's there.”

A jingle of bells alerted Lindsay to the arrival of her friend. “You got the key?” Rachel asked.

“It's in my hand as we speak,” Lindsay told her, holding it aloft. “I picked it up this afternoon at the post office.” Ambrose seemed to think she'd abandon him the minute she took possession of the key, so he hadn't brought it to the Halloween party. He'd put it in the mail, instead.

Rachel glanced at her watch. “We'll have to hurry.”

Lindsay knew it wouldn't be long before the pizza orders started coming in, and was grateful Rachel had agreed to accompany her. “I know, I know.”

Despite what she'd said to Gage a week earlier, she was making friends. Slowly but surely. Since Rachel drove the school bus, she made a stop at the high school every afternoon. Lindsay had gone out of her way to talk to Rachel and was gratified by the fledgling friendship. She admired the young widow and wanted to support her business venture.

Hassie returned with a third flashlight. “I'd come with you girls, but I'm the only one at the store.”

“Don't worry, we'll be fine.” Lindsay was thrilled that the drama club had been such a success. She was pleasantly surprised by how much talent, ability and initiative her students possessed. The impetus for creating their own production had come after Joshua McKenna's classroom visit. Her students' play revolved around a bleak Christmas in the depths of the Great Depression. Everyone was involved, not only in putting together the script and performing, but in making costumes, set construction and all the other production elements. Everything hinged on being able to use the old theater.

“You ready?” Rachel asked.

“Ready,” Lindsay said.

Like giddy schoolgirls, they hurried out of Hassie's and down the street to the boarded-up theater. The door opened easily enough—a good sign, Lindsay decided. The interior was dark and smelled of must and mildew. Cobwebs cluttered the doorway and Lindsay swept them aside with a gloved hand.

Rachel flashed the light about the lobby. “I remember this place from when I was a kid,” she whispered, “and it didn't look anything like this.” The light shone on a glass counter where popcorn and other snacks had once been sold. Doorways on either side led into the theater itself.

“Why are you whispering?” Lindsay asked, as she moved toward a heavy velvet curtain to the right of the counter.

“I don't know—but it's kind of spooky, don't you think?”

“Nah,” Lindsay said, and she meant it. She was entirely focussed on the future and its possibilities.

“This place smells dreadful,” Rachel complained.

“Nothing some fresh paint and a few dozen bowls of potpourri won't cure.” Lindsay was too excited to let reality dampen her enthusiasm. She imagined the theater as it would look on opening night. The light fixtures would be polished and gleaming; the faded maroon velvet, draped with gold braid, would be cleaned and elegant. She could see the audience, farmers and ranchers from miles around, filling the seats, could hear the applause as the curtain slid open for the opening scene of
Dakota Christmas.

“We have our work cut out for us,” Rachel said with a deep sigh.

“Just you wait. It's going to be fabulous.”

Rachel laughed. “You're such an optimist.”

Lindsay thought of all the time she'd wasted on a dead-end relationship because she couldn't make herself stop believing that Monte would eventually marry her. “It's a curse,” she said, laughing now, refusing to let the memories distract her.

Pushing aside the drape that led to the audience seats, Lindsay used the handle of her flashlight to sweep away more spider webs. The light revealed rows of velvet-covered seats and her breath caught. They were beautifully preserved, at least those she could see.

“I'll light the kerosene lamp,” Rachel offered.

“This is incredible!” Lindsay cried. “I didn't dare hope.”

Once the lamp was lit, she saw that her first estimation had been correct. The seats were old, but for the most part in surprisingly good condition. “This place is a piece of history.”

“It first opened in the early 1920s,” Rachel told her. “At least that's what my mother thought. She remembered it from when she was a kid and recalls her mother talking about watching silent movies there.”