back the feelings of disbelief at seeing her again. God, what was it about her thatmade him feel this way? Even after all these years? What sort of power did shehave over him? He finally turned away, shaking his head, and went back to theporch. He checked the barometer again. It hadn't changed. Then he looked at hiswatch. Allie should be here soon.
Allie had finished her bath and was already dressed. Earlier she'd opened the windowto check the temperature. It wasn't cold outside, and she'd decided on a cream-colored spring dress with long sleeves and a high neck. It was soft and comfortable,maybe a little snug, but it looked good, and she had selected some white sandals thatmatched.
She spent the morning walking around down‐town. The Depression had taken its tollhere, but she could see the signs of prosperity beginning to work their way back. TheMasonic theater, the oldest active theater in the country, looked a little more run-down but was still operating with a couple of recent movies. Fort Totten Park lookedexactly the same as it had fourteen years ago, and she assumed the kids who playedon the swings after school looked the same as well. She smiled at the memory then,thinking back to when things were simpler. Or at least had seemed to be.
Now, it seemed, nothing was simple. It seemed so improbable, everything falling intoplace as it had, and she wondered what she would have been doing now, had shenever seen the article in the paper. It wasn't very difficult to imagine, because herroutines seldom changed. It was Wednesday, which meant bridge at the countryclub, then on to the Junior Women's League, where they would probably bearranging another fund‐raiser for the private school or hospital. After that, a visitwith her mother, then home to get ready for dinner with Lon, because he made it apoint to leave work by seven.
It was the one night a week she saw him regularly. She suppressed a feeling of sadnessabout that, hoping that one day he would change. He had often promised to andusually followed through for a few weeks before drifting back to the same schedule.
"I can't tonight, honey,
" he would always explain.
"I'm sorry, but I can't. Let me make it up to you later."
She didn't like to argue with him about it, mostly because she knew he was tellingthe truth. Trial work was demanding, both beforehand and during, yet she couldn'thelp wondering sometimes why he had spent so much time courting her if he didn'twant to spend the time with her now.
She passed an art gallery, almost walked by it in her preoccupation, then turned andwent back. She paused at the door for a second, surprised at how long it had beensince she'd been in one. At least three years, maybe longer. Why had she avoided it?
She went inside‐‐it had opened with the rest of the shops on Front Street‐‐andbrowsed among the paintings. Many of the artists were local, and there was a strongsea flavor to their works. Lots of ocean scenes, sandy beaches, pelicans, old sailingships, tugboats, piers, and seagulls. But most of all, waves. Waves of every shape,size, and color imaginable, and after a while they all looked alike. The artists wereeither uninspired or lazy, she thought.
On one wall though, there were a few paintings that more suited her tastes. All wereby an artist she'd never heard of, Elayn, and most appeared to have been inspired bythe architecture of the Greek islands. In the painting she liked the best, she noted theartist had purposely exaggerated the scene with smaller‐than‐life figures, wide lines,and heavy sweeps of color, a if not completely focused. Yet the colors were vivid andswirling, drawing the eye in, almost directing what it should see next. It was dynamic,dramatic.
The more she thought about it, the more she liked it, and she considered buying itbefore she realized that she liked it because it reminded her of her own work. Sheexamined it more closely and thought to herself that maybe Noah was right. Maybeshe should start painting again.
At nine‐thirty Allie left the gallery and went to Hoffman‐Lane, a department storedowntown. It took a few minutes to find what she was looking for, but it was there,in the school supply section. Paper, drawing chalk, and pencils, not high quality butgood enough. It wasn't painting, but it was a start, and she was excited by the timeshe got back to her room. She sat at the desk and started working: nothing specific,just getting the feel of it again, letting shapes and colors flow from the memory ofher youth. After a few minutes of abstraction, she did a rough sketch of the streetscene as seen from her room, amazed at how easily it came. It was almost as if she'dnever stopped. She examined it when she was finished, pleased with the effort. Shewondered what to try next and finally decided. Since she didn't have a model, shevisualized it in her head before starting. And though it was harder than the streetscene, it came naturally and began to take form.
Minutes passed quickly. She worked steadily but checked the time frequently so shewouldn't be late, and she finished it a little before noon. It had taken almost twohours, but the end result surprised her. It looked as though it had taken a great deallonger. After rolling it up, she put it in a bag and collected the rest of her things. Onher way out the door, she looked at herself in the mirror, feeling oddly relaxed, notexactly sure why. Down the stairs again and out the door. As she left she heard a voicebehind her.
"Miss?"
She turned, knowing it was directed at her. The manager. Same man as yesterday, aCurious look on his face.
"Yes?"
"You had some calls last night."
She was shocked. "I did?" '
"Yes. All from a Mr. Hammond." Oh, God. "Lon called?"
"Yes, ma'am, four times. I talked to him when he called the second time. He wasrather concerned about you. He said he was your fiancé"
She smiled weakly, trying to hide what she was thinking. Four times? Four? Whatcould that mean? What if something had happened back home?
"Did he say anything? Is it an emergency?" He shook his head quickly. "He really didn'tsay, miss, but he didn't mention anything. Actually, he sounded more concernedabout you, though."
Good, she thought. That's good. And then, just as suddenly, a pang in her chest. Whythe urgency? Why so many calls? Had she said anything yesterday? Why would he beso persistent? It was completely unlike him.
Is there any way he could have found out? No... that was impossible. Unless someonesaw her here yesterday and called .... But they would have had to follow her out toNoah's. No one would have done that.
She had to call him now; no way to get around it. But she didn't want to, strangely.
This was her time, and she wanted to spend it doing what she wanted. She hadn'tplanned on speaking to him until later, and for some reason she felt almost as iftalking to him now would spoil the day. Besides, what was she going to say? Howcould she explain being out so late? A late dinner and then a walk? Maybe. Or a movie?
Or... "Miss?"
Almost noon, she thought. Where would he be? His office, probably.... No. In court,she suddenly realized, and immediately felt as if she'd been released from shackles.
There was no way she could talk to him, even if she wanted to. She was surprised byher feelings.
She shouldn't feel this way, she knew, and yet it didn't bother her. She looked at herwatch, acting now.
"Is it really almost twelve?"
The manager nodded after looking at the clock. "Yes, a quarter till, actually."
"Unfortunately," she started, "he's in court right now and I can't reach him. Ifhe does call again, could you tell him I'm shopping and that I'll try to call himlater?"
"Of course," he answered. She could see the question in his eyes, though: But wherewere you last night? He had known exactly when she'd come in. Too late for a singlewoman in this small town, she was sure.
"Thank you," she said, smiling.
"I'd appreciate it."
Two minutes later she was in her car, driving to Noah's, anticipating the day, largelyunconcerned about the phone calls. Yesterday she would have been, and shewondered what that meant.
As she was driving over the drawbridge less than four minutes after she'd left the inn,Lon called from the courthouse.
