Beyond the Carousel Read online

  He stayed for over an hour, leaning in with whispered tidbits of conversation and tales of how he and Monty had been doing business for the past three years. He told her he was a stockbroker with the Sampson Investment Company and worked in the Morgenstern building in downtown Wyattsville. He said he’d been with the firm for three years, and Burnham was one of his first clients.

  All the while he stood there talking, she was imagining what it would be like to have him kiss her, to feel his lips pressed to hers and his arm snug around her waist.

  Five minutes before Mister Burnham was due back, Franklin said he’d waited long enough.

  “It wasn’t anything important,” he claimed. “I can stop by again later in the week.”

  Considering that she was, after all, a secretary, Laura asked if Franklin wanted her to pencil in an appointment or have Mister Burnham call.

  “Not necessary,” he said and turned to go. Halfway across the lobby he looked back, smiled and gave a wink.

  That’s when she knew for certain the visit was just to see her.

  After Lunch…

  On Thursday morning Laura was awake a full hour earlier than usual. She rifled through her closet three times before she finally decided on a pink georgette dress that was nearly three inches shorter than the skirts she’d worn earlier in the week. When she arrived at the breakfast table, Emory raised an eyebrow.

  “Aren’t you a bit overdressed for work?” he asked.

  “There’s a special luncheon today,” she said, giving the impression it was a group event. To avoid any further questions, she gulped down a few sips of coffee, pulled on the straw cloche with a matching pink flower and hurried out the door.

  With more time than usual, she walked instead of taking the trolley. As it happened the Morgenstern building was on the way. Well, sort of on the way. It was a block past where she usually turned off for the bank. It was one of those office buildings she ordinarily hurried past without a second thought, but on this morning she slowed her step as she passed by. The sun was already bright, and the glimmer of something caught her eye. She looked up and saw rays of light flickering off the glass windows like a million tiny fireflies.

  He’s up there in one of those offices. Which one?

  Years later Laura would remember this day. She’d remember passing by the Morgenstern building, looking up at the windows and wondering which one might be Franklin’s office.

  By then she could no longer bear to walk along Broad Street.

  Franklin arrived at the bank a few minutes before twelve.

  “I’d like a word with Monty before we go,” he said.

  As was their routine, she tapped on Burnham’s door then opened it and said, “Mister Wilkes would like a moment of your time, sir.”

  “Franklin, come on in,” Burnham bellowed.

  He was in and out of the office in less than two minutes. He closed the oak door behind him then offered Laura his arm and flashed the smile she would come to love.

  “We’re good to go,” he said, and off they went.

  Laura assumed they’d go somewhere local; the coffee shop down the street perhaps or the Italian restaurant two blocks over. Instead he hailed a taxicab and after she’d climbed into the back seat gave an address on the far side of town. A look of apprehension settled on Laura’s face.

  “I have to be back at work by one o’clock, so I don’t think—”

  “No, you don’t. Monty said if we made it back by two-thirty, that would be just fine.”

  “Really?”

  Again he gave her that smile. “Really.”

  That day they dined at the Belmont Club, a place that during the day served excellent French cuisine and after dark, when it was supposedly closed, became a speakeasy. As they nibbled on petit fours and sipped a second cup of coffee, Franklin told her the secret of the club. Delighting in such forbidden information, she gave a smug grin.

  “I’ll bet you’ve been to the speakeasy, haven’t you?” she teased.

  “Once,” he said, then laughed and told her the thing he remembered most was how the music was very, very loud.

  It was impossible not to like Franklin Wilkes. He was the best of all things: handsome, charming and worldly. He had money in his pocket and a touch of mischief in his soul. He made her feel more alive than she had ever felt. Sitting across the table with her eyes fixed on his face, she could feel the warmth of his heart. It was as if she’d been waiting all her life for him, and now he was there.

  As they left the restaurant his hand circled the curve of her waist, and she felt the heat of it rising to her cheeks. They stepped to the curb, and he again hailed a cab. It was there in the back seat of the taxicab that he first kissed her.

  After the kiss he asked if he could see her again on Saturday. Laura nodded, too breathless to answer. By the time she returned to her desk, she knew she was in love. Not the “boy-down-the-block” kind of love she’d felt with Henry. This time it was an “I’ll-love-you-until-the-day-I-die” kind of love.

  It was only a day until she would see him again, yet she could scarcely contain the excitement of such a thought. On Friday she ate lunch at her desk, hoping he might possibly stop by or drop in to speak with Mister Burnham. Twice she glanced up quickly and thought she saw the swagger of a figure such as his crossing the lobby. Both times she was disappointed. Other men stood as tall and had thick strands of dark hair falling across their forehead, but no one else had Franklin’s smile.

  On Saturday morning when the Hawthorne family sat down to breakfast, Laura was at loose ends when it came to explaining exactly who her date for that evening was.

  “A fellow I met at the bank,” she said casually.

  “Does he work there?” Emory asked.

  “He doesn’t exactly work there. It’s more like he does business with them.”

  Rose nodded. “Oh, a customer?”

  Laura stuffed a chunk of pancake into her mouth and shook her head. Emory looked her square in the face and waited.

  “Exactly how did you meet this fellow?” he finally asked.

  Chewing on that piece of pancake as she tried to sort through the possible answers, Laura eventually swallowed and said, “Franklin does business with Mister Burnham.”

  Still not satisfied, Emory asked, “What kind of business?”

  “He sells investments. He’s a stock broker.”

  “Stock broker?” Emory’s tone indicated his annoyance. “How old is he?”

  Laura shrugged and went back to carving another chunk off of the stack of pancakes.

  “It’s only a date, Daddy. I didn’t ask him his life’s history.”

  “You say Mister Burnham knows this fellow?” Rose asked.

  Laura could see the wheels turning in her mama’s head, and she gasped.

  “Don’t you dare call Mister Burnham! You’ll embarrass the life out of me!”

  After answering several more questions and confessing that Franklin Wilkes had been the one who took her to lunch on Thursday, the conversation came to an end. By then Emory was determined to be on hand and check the fellow out before Laura left for her date.

  At ten minutes before six, Franklin parked his car alongside the curb in front of the house. The car was a snazzy Chrysler roadster with a convertible top, chrome-rimmed headlights and fat whitewall tires. He stepped onto the front porch and rang the doorbell. Rose opened the door.

  “Good evening, Missus Hawthorne,” Franklin said and handed her a bouquet of flowers. “These are for you.”

  “Good gracious,” Rose said with a pleased smile. “What a thoughtful gesture.” She pulled the door back and led him into the parlor.

  Laura came up behind her mama and greeted Franklin. He put his hand to her arm, and she felt the same tingle she’d felt that first time. Were it not for the mandate her daddy had laid down earlier she would have darted out the door immediately, but Emory insisted on meeting her date.

  “Emory, dear,” Rose said, “this is Frank
lin Wilkes. He and Laura are going out this evening.”

  Emory stood and stuck out his hand.

  “A pleasure,” he said in a less than cordial manner. He motioned for the two of them to have a seat then asked where they were going.

  “I was thinking dinner at the Wyndower Grill on Broad Street.” Franklin looked at Laura and smiled. “And perhaps the Rialto Theatre afterward. They’re showing the new Ben Hur movie, and supposedly it’s quite a spectacle.”

  Emory gave a thoughtful nod. He could find nothing wrong with that plan. As a matter of fact, he had spoken with Rose about possibly going to see the same movie on Sunday.

  He asked, “How exactly did you and Laura meet?”

  “At the bank. I represent the Sampson Investment Company, and Montgomery Burnham was one of my first customers.”

  “Sampson Investments, huh? How long have you been with them?”

  Franklin said he’d been there three years, and Emory could find no problem with that answer either. He asked several more questions, and when he ran out of things to ask about he said, “Did my daughter mention that she is only eighteen years old?”

  Rose popped out of her chair and gave him an angry glare then smiled awkwardly at the young man.

  “It’s been lovely meeting you, Franklin,” she said. “Now you and Laura shoo on out of here and have yourselves a lovely evening.”

  Emory stood and gave another nod. Not changing his tone, he said, “Yes, do have a nice evening. Just don’t be too late getting home.”

  Rose glared at him again, then turned and walked them to the door. Once Franklin’s car had disappeared around the corner, she returned to the parlor.

  “Why in heaven’s name were you so rude to that young man?” she asked.

  Emory sat there for a full minute before saying anything. “Did you see the way he was looking at Laura?”

  “Yes, I did,” Rose replied, “and I thought it was rather loving and sweet.”

  “He was looking at her the same way I looked at you the night we met.”

  “And what’s so terrible about that?”

  Emory leaned back in the chair and gave a labored sigh. “Laura’s only eighteen. She’s too young to be thinking of marriage.”

  Rose laughed. “Don’t make a mountain of a molehill. It’s only a date. Let’s not fret about this fellow the way we did the Jennings boy. Laura went with him for over a year, and nothing came of it. The same thing will probably happen again.”

  Emory gave a doubtful shake of his head.

  “Not this time,” he said. “Not this time.”

  A Season of Love

  Emory was right. That fall before the leaves began to change color, Franklin came to him and asked for Laura’s hand in marriage.

  “I love your daughter, and I promise to be a good provider,” he said. “I’ve got a steady job, and I’ve saved a bit of money…”

  As Franklin continued Emory sat there with a deadpan expression, giving no indication of whether he would answer yes or no. The truth is he would have said no in a heartbeat, but then he’d have Rose and Laura to contend with. How could he explain how he felt? That he couldn’t fathom that some stranger would swoop in and carry off the beautiful daughter he loved so much? Emory had hoped Laura would wait until she was twenty or twenty-one before even thinking of marriage, but that hope had flown out the window when he saw how she fluttered into Franklin’s arms the minute he showed up on the doorstep.

  “I can believe you’ll take good care of my girl,” he finally said, “but the problem is I’m not really ready to lose her.”

  “You wouldn’t be losing your daughter,” Franklin replied. “You’d simply be adding me and whatever children we have to your family. We’d live nearby, right here in Wyattsville. My job is here; Laura’s job is here. We have no reason to go elsewhere. We could come for dinner once or twice a week and have you and Mother Hawthorne on Sundays…”

  Emory noticed how he already called Rose “Mother Hawthorne.” It was a losing battle. Truthfully, he had never expected to win, but still he couldn’t go down without a fight.

  “Laura is awfully young to be married. It’s a lot of responsibility to be fostered on the shoulders of a girl so young.”

  “Wasn’t Mother Hawthorne seventeen when you married her?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  Emory turned and looked Franklin square in the face. He was going to say times were different then, that the world was less complicated, less challenging perhaps, but before he got the words out he saw the beads of perspiration blossoming on Franklin’s forehead.

  “You really do love my daughter, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Franklin answered. “With all my heart.”

  Knowing he had no real choice in the matter, Emory gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  “Okay then,” he said. “You have my blessing.”

  Franklin took hold of his hand and shook it vigorously.

  “Thank you!” he said. “I swear I won’t let you down. I’ll—” He was going to repeat the litany of promises he’d already made, but Emory cut him off.

  “I’m not agreeing to this marriage because of what you’ve promised to do or not do,” Emory said. “I’m agreeing to it because I’ve seen the way Laura looks at you.” He drew in a breath then gave a long and wistful sigh. “It’s apparent my daughter loves you as much as you do her.”

  * * *

  The following Saturday Franklin and Laura went for an early dinner at Renaldo’s. It was a restaurant with a strolling violinist and candlelit tables. He had the ring in his pocket but had yet to decide exactly when he would pop the question. Although reasonably certain she felt about him as he did about her and her answer would be yes, still he was nervous.

  Earlier in the week he’d visited the restaurant and reserved a side booth where she would sit next to him rather than across the table. It was a table where he could hold her hand in his, wrap his arm around her shoulder and plant a row of kisses along the edge of her cheek as he whispered the question.

  He’d walked through the restaurant and carefully selected the perfect table, one in a shadowy corner, away from noisy conversations and the hustle and bustle of waiters carrying trays of food. To make certain everything would go right, he’d slipped the maître d’ a five-dollar bill. Marcel had not only promised to save the booth, but he’d added that there would be a rose at the table for the lady.

  Everything should have been as he’d arranged it, but when they arrived at the restaurant there was no Marcel. Four people were crowded into the booth he’d chosen, and the only thing available was a table in front of the swinging door that led to the kitchen.

  “We can take that table or go somewhere else if you like,” Laura said.

  Franklin hesitated. Neither was a good option, and now he’d been thrown off his stride.

  “Let’s go somewhere else,” he said.

  As they walked back to his car Franklin tried to come up with another restaurant as romantic as Renaldo’s, but there was none. He opened the car door and Laura climbed in. Still trying to come up with a place, he circled around and slid behind the wheel.

  “Any place special you’d like to go?” he asked.

  She nodded and gave a mischievous grin. “Let’s go to that speakeasy at the Belmont Club.”

  “Tonight?”

  “Why not? I’ve never been to a speakeasy. It’ll be fun.”

  Franklin pictured the look on Emory’s face if Laura came home tipsy or smelling of whiskey.

  “That’s not a real good idea,” he said. “Maybe after we’re married—”

  Laura’s head jerked back as she turned to him with a look of astonishment.

  “Married?!”

  “Damn!” He smacked his hand to his forehead. “Now I’ve ruined it!”

  “Ruined what?”

  He pulled the ring from his pocket and held it out.

  “I wanted tonight to be special because I was going to ask you
to marry me.”

  “Well, then ask me,” she said and smiled.

  Already seeing the answer in her smile, he slid the ring on her finger and whispered, “Will you marry me?”

  “Of course I will,” she answered and kissed him as he’d kissed her that first day in the taxicab.

  They did end up in the speakeasy that evening and the music was every bit as loud as Franklin had said, but neither of them cared. Laura had her first taste of whiskey, and they danced until they could barely catch their breaths. As they drove home that night, he apologized for the way things had turned out.

  “I wanted tonight to be special,” he said.

  Laura laughed and put her hand to his face. “It was! I’ll remember this night for as long as I live.”

  In the wee hours of the morning as she closed her eyes and drifted into a dream of the beautiful future awaiting them, Laura couldn’t possibly imagine the heartache that was to come.

  * * *

  The months that followed were a frenzy of activity in the Hawthorne household. Yards and yards of silk organza were stretched across the dining room table as Rose cut and stitched Laura’s wedding gown.

  No matter where Emory went, there was yet another reminder of the upcoming wedding. His quiet evenings of sitting in the parlor were all but gone, because the telephone never stopped ringing. When Rose did have a few minutes to sit across from him, she was busy sewing tiny pearls on the bodice of Laura’s gown and not the least bit interested in hearing him read the news of the day.

  He thought when the first Sunday of December finally arrived he’d be glad to have an end to all the craziness, but that’s not what he felt as he walked Laura down the aisle. At the altar when he passed her hand to Franklin and kissed her cheek, he realized the end of the craziness meant the little girl who once depended on him would now belong to someone else.

  He looked Franklin in the eye and said, “You’d better take good care of my baby.”

  “I will,” Franklin replied. “So help me God I will.”