Wings of a Dream (2 page)

I settled on the middle of the three steps, straightened my skirt, and tucked my shoes up under the hem as Arthur walked into the schoolyard and lit a cigarette. The rumble of voices slipped across the still air. A smatter of clapping. By the time the droning began, Arthur had ground his glowing stub into the dirt and lounged beside me, leaning back on his elbows.

“This time next week I should be up in a plane.” His head tipped back as if he could see himself up in the sky now. “First over Texas, then over France. Or Germany.”

I followed his gaze to the heavens, thinking of the many times I had, as a child, wished upon the first star of evening. Now I believed God directed my path, but I prayed that path included Arthur.

“I wish I could fly up there with you.”

“Do you?” Arthur sat up a little, his laughing eyes roving over my face. “Wouldn’t you be afraid?”

I shook my head, remembering hours, days, years of yearning to be free from housework and gardens and livestock. Free from Mama’s scorching looks and sharp tongue. Ever since I’d graduated high school, I’d dreamed of leaving this tiny, boring town behind. “I want to go places, do things. I want a life full of more than planting and harvesting and chores. A life worth living.”

“I could teach you to fly an airplane,” he said.

The stars winked at me from above. I cocked my head and tried to imagine soaring above the ground all on my own. My stomach somersaulted. “Maybe you could teach me to drive a motorcar before I attempt a plane.”

Our laughter mingled together like honey in hot tea. And tasted just as sweet.

He leaned toward me. “We could do exciting things, Rebekah. You and me.”

I pressed my hands to my middle. Did he mean it? Would he be my wings to fly beyond Downington?

His usually languid voice turned intense. “You aren’t like any girl I’ve ever met. You dream big. I like that.”

My arms wrapped all the way around my middle now. Did he mean what I thought he meant?

He gathered my hands in his. “After I take care of the Huns, I’ll come back to get you. We’ll live in Dallas or New York or maybe somewhere in Europe. I can look around while I’m there.”

I sucked in the night air, closed my eyes, and for a moment envisioned all my dreams coming true. “You’ll be a celebrated war ace. I’ll be a clubwoman with my name and picture in the newspaper every week.” Tears pushed at the back of my eyes, but I refused to cry even happy tears.

My eyes flew open again as his fingers intertwined with mine. “Tell me you aren’t teasing me, Arthur. Tell me this is real.”

With a finger beneath my chin, he tipped my face up toward his. “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, Rebekah.”

He leaned closer. I swallowed hard, his face now inches from mine, his breath caressing my cheek. My eyes fluttered shut. His hands landed on my waist before the fire of his lips shot through me. It was like nothing I’d imagined or experienced before. Seconds passed—or was it minutes? It seemed ages, yet a mere flash of time. When he pulled away, I reminded myself to breathe.

He draped one arm across my shoulders as if it had been there a hundred times. I shivered once and nestled my head on his chest, beneath his chin. We sat there, silently spinning our dreams until applause burst from the schoolroom.

Arthur helped me to my feet. We tiptoed into the back of the room and clapped along with the others. Just as we’d suspected, no one imagined we hadn’t been there the entire time.

Arthur and I helped Mama and Mrs. Thacker put the room to rights after the crowd had gone.

“Rebekah Grace?” Mama called from the other side of the room as she slipped her handbag over her arm.

“I think we’re leaving.” The whispered words scratched my throat as I turned to Arthur.

He squeezed my hand, then let it go. “Don’t forget to write to me.” His breath tickled my ear.

Mama stopped near us, her company smile in place. “I hear you are leaving us, Mr. Samson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, you be careful over there.” Her gaze held his. “I expect you’ll come see us again when you can?”

The grin he threw in my direction tingled me from head to toe. “That’s my intention, Mrs. Hendricks.”

Mama’s eyes remained on him, though she spoke to me. “Say good-bye now, Rebekah.” She offered a curt nod before charging out the door as if we hadn’t a moment to spare. Would she forever treat me like a child?

“Good-bye, Mrs. Thacker, Mr. Samson.” I gave them each a shy curtsy before my eyes held a lingering farewell with Arthur’s. Then I hurried down the steps and scrambled into the waiting buggy. Daddy slapped the reins. We jolted forward.

I leaned out the buggy to look behind us, one last farewell. But Arthur was nowhere in sight. And already my heart ached with missing him.

T
wo days after the train carried Arthur to Camp Dick in Texas, a sweet yeasty smell from the kitchen tickled my nose. I pulled my shawl closer around me, debating whether to help Mama bake or remain brooding in the parlor. I sighed and looked at my hands. Mama said busy hands helped pass the time. But what did she know, really? She’d met Daddy here in Downington, where she lived but a short buggy ride away until the day they married. Still, I had to do something to occupy my mind or I’d go mad thinking about Arthur.

Before I made it to the kitchen, a knock rattled the side door. I stopped in the hall.

“Why, Mr. Graves.” Mama used her syrupy voice, the one reserved for my potential suitors.

Barney Graves’s deep mumble replied. His heavy steps resounded on the floor. Then a hollow thud. Mama’s box of groceries from his store.

The oven door creaked open. Now the scent of cinnamon overwhelmed me, but it couldn’t lure me in. Not with him there. A shudder passed over me as I pictured Barney’s pasty face behind bushy whiskers. He had to be thirty, at least. Why in the world did Mama think him a catch?

“Rebekah Grace?” Mama’s voice sent me flying into the parlor. I flattened myself against the wall and prayed she wouldn’t search for me. But Mama knew me too well. Before I’d finished petitioning the Almighty, she appeared. “There you are. Come walk Mr. Graves to his car.”

My shoulders sagged. Mama leaned close, her voice barely above a whisper. “I know you’re pining after Mr. Samson, but my advice in finding a man is the same as for baking a cake: it’s best to have the ingredients on hand for two, in case the first one falls flat.”

She had a point, though I didn’t doubt Arthur. Hadn’t his promises been as good as an engagement? After this horrible war ended, he and I would marry and head off on all kinds of adventures. Still, there was no use fighting Mama. I fixed a smile on my face and followed, determined to endure.

“Mama said you were leaving, Mr. Graves.” I crooked my fingers around his elbow and led him across the yard. What could I talk to him about? “You must be so proud to see your name up there with your father’s now. Graves and Son Dry Goods Store. It sounds quite prestigious.” Truthfully, I thought Graves an unfortunate last name, and not one I’d spread across my place of business.

His shy eyes lit with hope as I stared up at him. “Yes, Miss Rebekah. I’m right pleased.”

“Well, you should be. Quite an accomplishment for a young man like you.” I batted my lashes as he stammered an answer I didn’t really catch.

He climbed inside his new Model T, and the engine roared to life. I stepped back as the automobile chugged away, splaying a trail of dust behind. I felt a bit guilty after he motored out of sight. As my gaze drifted above the gritty spray and fixed on the expanse of clear blue sky, I prayed again for a life that stretched out into the unknown rather than one that trudged along in Oklahoma dust.

The old swing hanging from the massive oak creaked in the breeze. I sat on the smooth wooden seat and pushed with my feet, as I had so many times as a child. It was too early for Arthur’s first letter, but I figured it wouldn’t be too many more days before it arrived. Would he write words of love or simply tell me about his training? I leaned my head against the weather-worn rope. If only I knew how much longer until we could be together.

“Rebekah Grace?” Mama’s voice sounded as if she didn’t realize Mr. Graves had gone on his way.

“Yes, Mama?” I stopped the motion of the swing as she stepped onto the porch. Her gaze roved this way and that, looking for an automobile still lingering at the roadside.

“Come help with dinner.” A clipped tone now.

“Yes, Mama.” I trudged through a carpet of dry leaves, once again yearning to be free of the old routines—cooking, cleaning, collecting eggs day after day. The heat of the kitchen closed around me as I stepped inside, stifling as a wool blanket on a summer day. Mama wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her simple, old-fashioned dress.

“I’ll do this. You catch a breath of air,” I said. She nodded and stepped outside.

An hour later, Daddy sat down at the old trestle table in the kitchen to eat his fried chicken. As much as Mama tried to make us out as some kind of landed gentry, we were just plain farmers. The chicken had come from our overflowing henhouse. She’d wrung its neck herself that morning. We might own a farm that produced more than most, or one that looked as if a bevy of old-time slaves kept every nook and cranny spotless, but really Mama and Daddy’s hard work kept it all going.

Daddy bit into his chicken and closed his eyes, as if he’d somehow made it to heaven in that moment. And I think he had. Meatless Tuesdays always made him grumpy, in spite of his support for Hooverizing to help the war effort. After he swallowed down that first bite, he leaned back in his chair as if to relive the experience in his memory before chancing another in real life.

“Did I see Barney Graves earlier?” His eyes twinkled at me, and I tried to twinkle back.

“He was by for a minute. Seeing Rebekah Grace.” Mama’s smugness irritated me, like a bad case of poison oak.

I laid down my chicken leg and wiped greasy fingers on my napkin. “He delivered Mama’s order from the store.”

“He stayed a bit, didn’t he? That was for you.” Mama turned her attention back to Daddy. “I invited him for dinner after church on Sunday.”

Daddy looked at me, his eyes asking if I consented. I bolted for the stove. “More green beans, Daddy? They sure are good.”

As I returned to the table, Daddy passed a sly glance to Mama. She acted like she didn’t see, or didn’t understand. I sat back down, my fork spearing one green bean at a time, lifting them to my mouth in an even cadence.

Only the clink of our forks against the old tin dishes broke the silence in the room. Then Mama jumped from her chair and hurried to the window. “I do believe someone’s coming up the road.” She peered through the glass before she straightened and smiled. “Mr. Graves is back, Rebekah. You better run right out and see what he wants.”

“Yes, Mama.” I went out there all right, but not in any hurry. I figured he wanted to invite me to a house dance or share some tidbit of gossip. But that wasn’t it at all. He just handed me a telegram and said to give it to my daddy.

Did Barney tip his hat and take his leave? I didn’t notice. I held that slip of paper between my fingers, my legs shaking like a newborn calf’s.

Everyone knew a telegram meant death.