Defiant Heart (29 page)

Ben nodded. “Of course. I understand,” though he really didn’t. Poor Jon, he thought. After having his hopes raised, this news would be devastating. He sighed heavily.

Both men were silent for a moment.

“Well,” Ben said. “I won’t keep you any longer. I know you’re busy.” He rose from his seat and put out a hand. “Good luck in the election.”

Dahlgren accepted his handshake. “Thanks Ben.”

With a heavy heart, Ben walked to the office door. He stepped out, closed the door, and slowly descended the stairs.

#

Internally, Gwenda winced.

“Let me understand,” Mary had just said to Gwenda. “You don’t know exactly what happened to me, but you have a general idea, right?”

Mary and Gwenda were sitting in Mary’s bedroom. School had finished for the day. Gwenda had dropped by to visit, and Sam, who was meeting with Mrs. Bell to discuss plans for this year’s school play, would be along in a bit. For the moment, it was just the two of them. They’d been listening to the radio, and Mary had been peppering Gwenda with questions designed to discover the facts surrounding her injury.

It was a subject Gwenda had been much better able to deal with when Sam was around. For the past few weeks, Sam had been adamant about following the instructions from Mary’s father and had simply refused to allow answers to even the most innocuous questions about the incident. Gwenda was realizing, belatedly, that she did not share Sam’s discipline.

The irony was that Gwenda knew a whole lot more about what had happened to Mary than she could ever tell. Than she
would
ever tell. And, now, Mary had pulled loose a thread in the narrative, and she was exploiting it to Gwenda’s great discomfort.

Gwenda had been relieved when Mr. Dahlgren had instructed them to steer clear of the Lodge incident. She continued to be beset with guilt over her role in luring Mary to the Lodge, though, in that respect, she’d been an unwitting accomplice. Her real sin had come after the fact, when she’d denied inviting Mary to the bogus party. She’d done so reluctantly, but Billy had made it clear that, if she admitted the story, he would be arrested. Gwenda had been unable to abide the prospect, so she’d lied to protect Billy. As a result, of course, Jon Meyer had been arrested. Even worse, Vernon King had gotten away with doing something horrible to her friend. She prayed Mary would never find out. And, yet, here was Mary, working hard to extract the details.

“Ok,” Mary said, “do you know where it happened?”

Uncertainly, Gwenda said, “Yes.”

Mary cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh, no,” Gwenda said, quickly, “I can’t tell you. It’s your father’s instructions. He said the doctor…”

“Oh, poppycock,” Mary interrupted. “I know what my father said. But it doesn’t make any sense.”

Gwenda shook her head. “I can’t tell.” She gave Mary a direct look and said, plaintively, “I would if I could.”

Mary’s features softened. She looked down for a minute, then back at Gwenda. “Do other people know,” and she paused, then said softly, “what happened?”

Gwenda didn’t know how to respond, so she bit her tongue.

Mary looked distracted for a moment. Then she said, somewhat absently, “Does that seem fair? Is it right that everyone else…”

And then, she stopped, an odd look on her face. She blinked a couple of times, but her eyes did not seem to be focused on anything in particular.

“Mary?”

Mary continued to look off into nowhere. On the radio, Judy Garland was singing
How About You?

With a sudden chill, Gwenda leaned forward and put a hand on Mary’s shoulder. “Mary,” she said urgently.

Mary’s eyes slowly refocused, and she looked at Gwenda. “I saw him again.”

“Who did you see?”

Mary’s brow furrowed. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know.”

#

Walt Gallagher had finished the book Jon had given to him and was dying to discuss it with someone. Unfortunately, Jon was no longer around. After carrying out a spirited debate with himself over the past couple of days, he’d made his way to the high school late on a Monday afternoon, where he now paced back and forth at the foot of the front steps.

Jon had talked at length about his English teacher. She was a nice person, Walt knew. But would she give him the time of day?

Walt had arrived as the last class was getting out and taken up his vigil. The kids had now all come and gone, and he’d seen a few adults leave. A quiet had descended.

He’d worked out his greeting and was practicing it under his breath. “Hi, Miss Tremaine. My name is Walt Gallagher, and I’m a friend of Jon Meyer.”

He tried it with a different inflection. “Hi, Miss Tremaine. My name is Walt Gallagher, and I’m a friend of Jon Meyer.” No, that wasn’t it. He was in the process of auditioning the twentieth or thirtieth iteration when the front door opened, and a woman with red hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses stepped out and descended the steps. When she reached the bottom, Walt took a step toward her.

“Hi, Jon Meyer. My name is Miss Tremaine, and I’m a friend of Walt Gallagher.”

She looked at him curiously for a moment, her lips moving silently. Then she laughed. “If I’m following you, that would make you Walt, right?”

Walt nodded vigorously.

“How can I help you, Walt?”

Walt held out the book he’d been gripping in front of him with both hands. “Jon gave me this book to read. And I did. I finished it.”

Miss Tremaine tilted her head sideways to read the cover. “
The Mayor of Casterbridge
,” she said, approvingly. “That’s a good book.”

“Uh huh,” Walt replied, quickly. “Jon said it was. He said I was gonna like it, and I did.”

She nodded and gave Walt a long look. Finally, she asked, “Would you like to talk about it?”

Walt stood up straighter and smiled. “I was hopin’ you was gonna say that.”

#

On the morning exactly two weeks before the election, Jim Dahlgren was surprised to find Mary seated at the table when he entered the kitchen. She was in her robe, her hands folded and placed on the table top in front of her.

She sat very straight, looking up at him with a luminous expression. Her eyes were bright, and her face was alive with an excitement that Dahlgren hadn’t seen since the accident. She positively radiated energy. It was an amazing transformation.

He was about to say something when the next words out of her mouth caused him to stumble and almost fall.

“Jon Meyer.”

He reached for the back of the nearest chair to steady himself.

“I remember him,” she said with delight. “Oh, Dad, I remember Jon. I’ve been sitting here remembering him. I remember his face. I remember his eyes. His beautiful eyes. I remember the way he tilts his head, just so. And the little crease he gets between his eyebrows when he’s thinking.” She touched her brow lightly.

“And I remember,” she continued, thinking, “Oh my God, I remember his smile. I remember his lips.” She paused, her cheeks reddening slightly. “Dad,” she said, fixing him with a look of elation, “it’s so exciting.”

Slowly, Dahlgren pulled out the chair he was leaning against and sat down.

“It just came to me,” she enthused. “For the longest time, I just knew there was someone. I could almost see him, but I couldn’t quite make him out. And then, when I woke up this morning, there he was.”

She leaned forward and gave him a dazzling smile. “Isn’t it wonderful, Dad?”

Dahlgren was still processing the information, when Mary’s face suddenly clouded with consternation.

“I don’t remember how we met.” Then brightening, she asked, “Do you know?”

He shook his head slowly, and her brows knit again. “Oh,” she said. She looked down at the table and concentrated. Finally, she looked up and shook her head.

Then another thought occurred to her.

“Do you know where he is?”

Dahlgren looked away for a moment. Then he looked back and said, “He’s not here, honey. He went away.”

She looked crestfallen. “Oh,” she said again. Then she shook her head firmly. “No. That can’t be right. How can that be?”

Dahlgren reached out and put a hand over Mary’s. “Honey,” he said, with as much calm as he could muster, “you need to forget about Jon Meyer.”

“I already did that. Once. No, no, no,” she said, shaking her head in an animated fashion. “I can’t forget about him. I won’t forget about him.”

She pulled her hands back and set them on the edge of the table. Looking around, she said, speaking quickly, “I have to find him. I have to be with him.” She looked at Dahlgren and nodded rapidly. “Will you help me?”

He realized she was not going to be easily deterred. And, yet, he had to navigate the next two weeks without incident. He thought quickly. Mary would start extracting details about the boy from her friends. Could he keep her away from them for two weeks? No chance of that. The first thing she was going to learn was that Marvella Wilson was the boy’s grandmother. What if Marvella knew how to contact the boy? His mind raced.

He took a deep breath. “Tell you what, let me talk to Mrs. Wilson. She’s his grandmother.”

“Oh,” Mary said, a look of surprise on her face. Then her eyes widened. “Yes, she’ll know where he is.”

“I’ll pay her a visit today.”

“Oh, Dad,” she said, standing. She came around the table and put her arms around his neck. “Thank you.”

#

“How could she not know?” Mary asked, disappointment vying with incomprehension. She had been certain all day that her father would return home with information that would reunite her with Jon. She had been waiting on pins and needles. This was horrible news.

“I don’t know,” her father said. “I guess she doesn’t care that much for him.”

Mary stepped back, stunned. “How can that be?”

Her father shrugged. “I’m sorry, honey.”

When she’d seen Sam and Gwenda that afternoon, she’d revealed how the memory of Jon had suddenly returned and how her father was going to find out where he was. Sam had seemed somewhat relieved. Gwenda’s reaction had been more subdued.

“What else do you remember about Jon?” Gwenda had asked.

Mary shook her head, still baffled by the limited nature of her recollection. “It’s the strangest thing,” she said. “I remember him clearly. And I know that I love him. I know that. I just don’t remember how we met. Anything we did. Where we went.”

She looked intently at her friends. “What can you tell me about him?”

Sam and Gwenda filled in what details they knew. Jon was the grandson of old Mrs. Wilson. He’d come from back East and enrolled in school the prior fall. They described some of the problems Jon had experienced at school, and Mary started crying. They told her that, somehow, she and Jon had begun seeing one another around January. They further informed her, however, that she’d kept it secret from them. As a result, they had few details to share about the relationship.

When it came to revealing anything about the accident, however, they balked.

“The night you got hurt,” Sam started to say.

“That’s enough,” Gwenda interjected, giving Sam a sharp look. “You know what the doctor said.”

Sam nodded.

It had been frustrating for Mary, and she’d been looking forward to the information her father would provide. And now, unfortunately, she’d learned he had no information.

#

The results of the 1942 Eighth District Congressional election were the closest in the history of Indiana politics. Jim Dahlgren lost to the incumbent, John Barker, by fewer than a hundred votes.

Dahlgren had known that someone from the bank would be calling. They waited a decent two and a half weeks after the election before doing so, and, when the time came, it was Mort Fletcher who was tasked with the dirty work.

Fletcher invited Dahlgren to join him for a late lunch at the Lodge. He booked one of the private dining rooms off the main room. The two of them engaged in some desultory small talk, but both men knew why they were there. When the entrée arrived and the waiter discreetly left them alone, Dahlgren decided they’d put it off long enough.

“How bad is it, Mort?”

Fletcher finished chewing the bite he’d taken, swallowed and touched his napkin to the side of his mouth before responding.

“The board is adamant that we have a substantial paydown before the end of the month. This has been a tough year, unfortunately. I’d say about a third of the county’s male population between the ages of eighteen and thirty have joined up. You take that many people out of the work force, and it’s hard to bring in a full crop. Defaults have spiked this fall.”

Dahlgren nodded. He was not surprised.

When the funding from the AFC had fallen through, Dahlgren had decided to press on, making up the shortfall from his own account. Unfortunately, he’d exhausted his savings just getting through the primary election. When he got the nomination, he approached the Farmer’s Bank for a loan.

It had been a modest advance at first, one he knew he’d be able to repay without too much difficulty. But then his opponent started spending money like he was printing it. Dahlgren had been warned about the incumbent’s ability to raise funds. By the time he learned the lesson, though, he was far too committed to the campaign. He went back to the bank for more money. The second loan was for a much larger amount.

This time, the bank needed collateral. Reluctantly, he put mortgages on the house and the hardware store building, and he pledged all of the other hardware store assets. His thought at the time was that he’d raise more money as they came down the stretch and, once elected, he’d be in a position to retire campaign debt by fundraising as the new incumbent.

The intensity of Barker’s own fundraising and spending thwarted the former plan. Dahlgren needed every penny he could raise to match the effort of his opponent. The election results dashed the latter plan.

The promissory notes he’d signed for both loans were demand notes. They could be called at any time. If the bank required payment of everything at once, Dahlgren would be wiped out.

“When you say substantial, what exactly are you talking about?”

Fletcher hesitated before replying. “They’re looking for twenty thousand.”