Dorothy Garlock (7 page)

Sitting on the diner seat, he began leafing through the abandoned newspaper that lay at his elbow. The
Victory Herald
’s headline blared JAPS PUSH ON IN NEW GUINEA. Scanning through the article, Cole learned that the Japanese army had seized
a couple of towns on the island and were threatening Port Moresby and the American ships at anchor there. If they didn’t get
reinforcements soon, they could be pushed clean off the island. Cole closed the paper in disgust. Much of the news since Pearl
Harbor had been bad, but he still remained confident that the tide would soon turn. Heck, the Doolittle raid on Tokyo had
proven that America would fight back. It wouldn’t be long before the Japanese and the Germans would be back on their heels
and in full retreat.
If only I could be in the fighting, doing my part…

“Don’t you pay no mind to those headlines,” Marge said as she set a tall glass of milk on the counter. A golden burger, grease
and cheese dripping onto the plate, soon followed. “That sort of thing isn’t going to do much for your appetite. You mark
my words, we’ll win this war in short order.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am,” she said confidently. “It was American know-how that won the Great War, and that same knowhow will win this
one, by gum! We’ll make all the tanks, guns, planes, and ships we need and our boys will use them right. They’ll do what needs
to be done… just so long as they eat right.”

Cole chuckled. As if he had been ordered by an officer to storm a hilltop, he bit into his sandwich under Marge’s watchful
gaze. The burger was delicious, exactly as he remembered. A smile of satisfaction spread across her heavy face before he even
said a word.

“Still as good as you remember?” she asked expectantly.

“Better.”

As he ate, Cole told Marge all about college life, his studies, and about what it was like to live in Chicago, all of the
things about life in the big city he liked and disliked. She in turn told him of various bits of gossip he’d missed while
away. Occasionally, she would fill a coffee cup or take an order, but she always returned eager for more.

“And now you’re going to be a teacher over at the high school.” Marge smiled. “It’s hard to believe that the young boy who
sidled up here for a slice of apple pie every summer has grown up so fast! It just don’t seem possible!”

Cole chuckled. “I still love that pie.”

“Your father must be so proud!”

As if dark storm clouds had suddenly appeared in a clear autumn sky, Cole’s face changed. He had no idea what his father truly
thought of his return to Victory, but he doubted that pride in his son’s accomplishments played any part. It was almost certainly
the exact opposite. He was still what he’d always been to Robert Ambrose: an embarrassment.

“I think he’d be prouder if I was a bit more like Jason.”

“Don’t you say such things, darlin’,” Marge scolded him, her voice soothing at the same time. “Your father ain’t the sort
to go on judgin’ you two boys the same, no matter what you got yourself believin’. Just because your brother was the one out
runnin’ about and playin’ football and all, that don’t make him more special than you.”

“But—”

“But nothing,” the older woman cut him off. “Your father has every reason to be as proud of you as a peacock is of its feathers!
Why, it ain’t just anybody that’s smart enough to go off to college, to graduate and come home to teach those kids followin’
on behind. Heck, I’m bettin’ that if everybody had as many brains as you, this here world would be a heck of a lot better
off!”

“What I wish I could do is go off and join the fight,” Cole said bitterly as he slapped the newspaper with the back of his
hand. “I wish I could sign up for the army just like Jason did, but I guess with a leg like mine, the only thing I’m good
for is teaching.”

“You’ll do your part on the home front just like the rest of us will and no one will think you less for it,” Marge explained.
“Not your father and certainly not Jason. Your brother thinks the whole world of you and he knows you won’t be a soldier because
of a lack of heart.”

“I just want to do more.”

“You’ll do the very best you can, darlin’. There ain’t an ounce of shame in that.”

Cole opened his mouth to argue further but fell mute as the door to the diner opened and a young woman entered. She was dressed
simply in a dark blue skirt and white blouse with a small black purse hung over a thin wrist. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders.
With her high cheekbones, small nose, and full lips, her beauty was truly stunning. As the door shut behind her, her blue-green
eyes found Cole’s and set his heart hammering. Even as she looked away from him, he worried that he had been staring too intently
and felt a flush of embarrassment.

“Good afternoon, Marge,” the young woman said sweetly.

“Afternoon, Sophie.”

“They’re keeping us so busy over at the paper that I forgot all about lunch.” She laughed. “I don’t have much time so I was
wondering if I could have an egg sandwich to take with me, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, my dear. I’ll be right back.”

As Marge hurried off to place her order, Cole’s heart pounded in his chest.
What a strange feeling!
Her beauty drew him to her as surely as if he were a moth and she an open flame. Cole wasn’t the type who made a practice
of approaching strange women, and he’d certainly never had much luck in love, but this was a sensation he’d never experienced
before. Usually when he met a beautiful woman, he became self-conscious, achingly aware of his deformed leg. But something
about this time was different. He desperately wanted to talk to her, to say something, anything, that might make her smile
or laugh, but his mouth felt as dry as a desert.

Sophie! Her name is Sophie!

Cole took a deep breath, steadied himself, and turned on his stool.

Sophie hurried quickly down the street, her head to the pavement and her eyes watching her feet, trying her best not to run
into any of the people she passed. One of the few times she’d glanced up, she’d checked the clock above City Hall and hadn’t
been surprised to find that much of the day had already passed. In the end, she wouldn’t have needed to see the late hour
or even notice the western placement of the sun in the sky to know she was late; the rumbling of her own stomach would have
been more than enough.

I’m so hungry!

She’d gone to work at the newspaper that morning trying to take her father’s advice to heart; to act, as much as possible,
as if nothing had happened. She’d dressed smartly, plastered a warm smile on her face, and gone about her day intent on making
the best of it. Surprisingly, for the most part, her act had worked. The hustle and bustle of the office had been a comfort.
Even though there had been a slew of last-minute changes to this week’s edition that had forced everyone to work so frantically
that they had forgotten to break for lunch, it had been a good day. Sophie had laughed with her coworkers, worked hard, and
hadn’t given much thought to her troubles.

Outside, things were different.

On Victory’s streets she always felt as if she were being watched, observed by the eyes of strangers who wanted to do her
harm, and worried that she was being followed. The same worries that had haunted her for days, of danger lurking behind every
corner and door, returned with a vengeance.
Every man that I walk toward could be one of those from that night!
Fear teased at the edges of her mind and she wondered why she’d ventured from the safety of the newspaper office; another
rumble from her stomach answered her question.

As scared as she was of running into the three men who had hurt her family, Sophie was even more ashamed of her fear. In the
face of her father’s words and her grandmother’s faith in her, Sophie’s weakness felt like a betrayal, a slap in the faces
of those who had raised her. But no matter how much she scolded herself, no matter how hard she tried to be brave, she hurried
tearfully toward the restaurant, glad that no one in her family could see her.

Sophie paused for a moment outside the diner. She tried to compose herself, to slow her rapidly beating heart and quiet her
fright. Though she was leaving the openness of the street, those who meant to do her and her family harm could just as easily
be found inside. Another growl issued from her stomach.

“You can do this,” she muttered to herself.

Pushing open the diner’s door, Sophie found Marge Stewart, the restaurant’s owner, leaning against the counter talking with
a young man she had never seen before. His face turned to her as she entered. Beneath his short sandy blond hair, the man’s
eyes were a striking blue. As he took her in, his square jaw clenched tight for a moment before relaxing. His strangeness
should have been unsettling, but something in his face disarmed her fear, surprising her.

“Good afternoon, Marge,” she said in greeting.

“Afternoon, Sophie.”

Even as she spoke, Sophie could feel the man’s eyes on her, refusing to let go.

“They’re keeping us so busy over at the paper that I forgot all about lunch.” She laughed. “I don’t have much time so I was
wondering if I could have an egg sandwich to take with me, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“None at all, my dear. I’ll be right back.”

As Marge went off to fetch her order, Sophie fidgeted, her hand digging into her purse to retrieve her money, all the while
aware that the man’s eyes remained fixed on her. While somewhere in the back of her mind she wondered if he might have been
involved with the barn fire, her intuition told her that such an idea was misguided. She worried that her face would flush,
which only made matters worse.

“My name is Cole,” he suddenly spoke from beside her, his voice deeper than she had expected. The suddenness of his words
managed to startle her a bit. “Cole Ambrose.”

Turning to face him, Sophie found a warm and inviting smile on the man’s face. It seemed to her that he wanted to rise and
stand beside her, but he chose to remain settled on his stool. She took the hand he had extended to her and found his grip
to be firm yet welcoming.

“Sophie Heller,” she offered.

He nodded. “Nice to meet you. Good choice on the egg sandwich. Between those, Dick’s hamburgers, and Marge’s apple pie, I
reckon that I ate enough of them growing up to feed an army.”

“They are delicious, aren’t they?” She laughed despite her earlier worry.

“And then some.”

“You seem to know where to find the best food in Victory but I haven’t seen you around before,” she inquired with honest interest.
It wasn’t a common occurrence for her to run into a strange face in Victory—the middling town just wasn’t large enough—but
his was a face that she felt interested in getting to know a bit better.

“That’s because I’ve been gone for a few years,” he explained with a chuckle as he ran a hand through his light hair. “I just
got back into town yesterday from Chicago.”

“Why would anyone leave Chicago to come back to Victory?” she asked, the words tumbling from her mouth before she could stop
them. Sophie was embarrassed by her boldness, but the larger cities had always held a fascination for her, their tall buildings,
loud music and voices, and bustling crowds everything that life on the farm was not. She’d hoped to live in one someday, so
the thought of someone leaving Chicago willingly was a strange one.

Cole certainly didn’t take any offense at her blurted question; his response was warm as the day. “If I had a dime for every
time I’ve asked myself the same thing, I’d be rich! Quite frankly, I’d always wondered if I’d ever return. After all, that’s
why I left in the first place, to get as far away from here as I could. But things have a way of changing, I guess. After
finishing up at the university, I was offered the job of math teacher at the school and somehow here I am.”

“You’re going to be a teacher?”

“Hard to believe, I know.” He winked.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sophie stammered, suddenly fearful that she had accidentally insulted him. “It’s just that most
teachers are usually either old maids or stodgy balding men and you’re…”

“I’m what?” he prodded her.

Sophie held her tongue, unsure of what to say. What she wanted to be able to tell Cole was that he didn’t look like any schoolteacher
she had ever met; not with those blue eyes and tight jaw. She was about to crack a joke, to try to laugh her slip-up casually
away, when she heard the barest whisper of a voice from somewhere behind her.

“… nothin’ but a goddamn Kraut.”

Sophie spun around quickly, the hateful words already seamlessly blending into the other noises of the diner, but it was already
gone as surely as smoke caught in a breeze. Her heart thundered in their absence. For the briefest of moments, she wondered
if she had imagined the voice, but then her eyes found a booth at the far end of the diner and she knew that what she had
heard was every bit as real as the fire that had destroyed her family’s barn.

Three men sat in the booth, two of them staring directly at her and Cole, their eyes boring holes of murderous intent. As
her knees grew weak and a choking gasp racked her chest, Sophie was certain she knew their identities.

They were the hooded men who had burned the Heller barn!

…
NOTHIN’ BUT A GODDAMN
K
RAUT
.

Shivers of emotion raced across Sophie’s skin as she stared silently toward the rear of the diner. Over and over, the hateful
words she had heard echoed in her head. Her heart thundered relentlessly, her small fists clenched so tightly that her nails
dug deep into the soft flesh of her palms.

These are the men that attacked my family!

Though she had spent every day since that horrible night in fear of just such an encounter, she was surprised to find that
it was not fright that filled her; it was anger. Raw and blazing anger! Memories roared in her thoughts as brightly as the
flames at her family’s barn; she thought of her mother’s piercing scream as the butt of the rifle was brought down on her
husband’s head, the soft sobs of her brother, and the helplessness she had felt as she held her bleeding father in her arms,
staring daggers at the hooded men.