Night Journey (17 page)

Harry ducked and caught him on the chin in an uppercut. Blood gushed from the man’s mouth and he hit the ground, bellowing in pain and anger, like an injured bull. Harry winced at the pain in his knuckles, put his arm around Ivy, and stepped over the fallen giant. They walked through the door and welcomed the fresh night air.

“Oh, my God, Harry,” Ivy shivered and Harry pulled her closer. “I was so scared.”

“Me, too.” Harry led Ivy to a bench near the front of the auditorium. The silvery light of the crescent moon helped to calm his jangled nerves and he breathed deeply of the smoke-free air.

“Gee, Harry. I’ve never had a fellow fight over me before.”

“I’ve never fought over a girl before, either,” Harry replied. He looked at Ivy and saw that her hat was askew. He reached up to straighten it and winced at the pain in his hand.

“Ohhh,” Ivy pulled his hand toward her face and looked closer. She brought it to her lips and kissed it. “Your knuckles are beginning to swell.”

“It’ll be all better now,” said Harry, just before he felt a sharp pain in his head. The last thing he remembered were the stars before his eyes and the sound of a woman’s scream.

Harry moaned, blinked, and attempted to focus his eyes. He licked his lips and tasted grit. Gravel scraped his cheeks and the dank odor of grass, dust, and alcohol irritated his nose. Face down on the ground, he tried to rise, but he was too weak and dazed.

Voices surrounded him, talking and shouting and sobbing. He saw dozens of legs and feet from a crowd of onlookers. Probing hands pressed down on him. Too close. He couldn’t breathe. Mustering all his strength, he gasped for air, rolled over and sat up.

Intense pain set Harry’s head to throbbing. He couldn’t remember ever having such a terrible headache. He reached up and touched the back of his head. His hand came back wet and sticky. His nostrils twitched. Something—or someone nearby, reeked of whiskey.

“Son, are you all right?”

Harry gazed in bewilderment at the two identical men who knelt before him. His eyes fluttered, and his fuzzy vision focused. Now there was only one.

“Name’s Doc Pruett. Can you tell me yours?” asked the gray-haired man.

Harry hesitated and then replied, “Harry Fuller.”

“That’s good, son. Okay if I take a look at your head? I’m a doctor.”

Harry nodded and then winced in pain. Dr. Pruett placed his hand on Harry’s head, carefully parted the saturated hair on the back of his head, and examined the wound. “Do you know what day this is?”

“Ouch!” Harry responded when the doctor touched a tender area. It stung like fire. “Uh, I think it’s Saturday. No, wait. It might be Sunday by now.”

The doctor’s eyebrows rose and he bent down to look into Harry’s eyes. “Can you tell me who’s the President of the United States?”

Harry didn’t hesitate. “Franklin Delano Roosevelt, sir.” His head throbbed harder, but he tried not to let on. “He’s a mighty fine man.”

Laughter rippled throughout the crowd. Harry felt his face flush when he realized he was the center of attention.

“That’s good, Harry. Can you stand up now?” Dr. Pruett stood first and held out his hand.

Harry accepted the assistance and rose. His knees wobbled, but the rush of cool night air filled his lungs and he grew stronger. He stood very still for a moment, making sure he had completely regained his balance.

“He’ll be all right,” the doctor announced and then patted Harry on the shoulder “It’s just a bump and a little scalp wound. He won’t need any stitches.”

The momentary hush from the crowd ended. People began to talk and laugh and go about their business when they realized the crisis was over. Harry glanced around, wondering what had happened and why the smell of alcohol was still so strong.

“Harry, are you okay?”

His beautiful angel—Ivy—stood next to him. Her hairdo had come loose and half of her curls hung down to her shoulders. The front of her dress appeared to be soaked. She reached to embrace him and the stench of whiskey grew stronger.

Puzzled, Harry returned her embrace, as Clyde and Tyme approached. He glanced around and saw the big man who had bothered Ivy lying prone, being carried away on a stretcher and placed into the bed of a truck. Had he hit the guy that hard?

“What happened?” asked Harry.

“Oh, that big palooka got all soused,” explained Clyde as he pointed beyond Harry. “And then you knocked him down, and he got real mad, so he came at you with a bottle of panther sweat. Then he hit you on your noggin.”

Tyme held her nose and pointed to Ivy’s dress and Harry’s jacket. “You both smell like a distillery.”

“But how?”

“Me and Tyme came out here when some people inside heard Ivy scream. They’d just awarded us the dance prize when everybody noticed all the commotion. We heard yellin’ about a fight outside, and when we couldn’t find the two of you we got worried.” Clyde’s eyes glittered as he related the story. “So we went outside and saw you layin’ on the ground and poor Ivy, all soaked with whiskey and cryin’ her eyes out. The big guy was standing there hollerin’ and waving a broken booze bottle around. So I just politely returned the favor with this.” Clyde held up the trophy, which was bent at an odd angle.

“You didn’t kill him, did you?” asked Harry. He held onto Ivy and he didn’t want to let her go.

“Nah. Doc said he just needs to sleep it off. He’ll have a big headache in the morning, same as you.” Clyde looked at the trophy, shook his head and said to Tyme. “Bet this woulda looked purty good on your mantle.”

Tyme reached for the trophy. “It’ll still look good. These dents just give it character.” She smiled seductively up at Clyde. “It’ll be a great reminder of how we first met.”

A heavy-set man wearing a khaki uniform and a sheriff’s deputy badge sauntered toward them. He scowled at Harry and Clyde and crossed his arms. “Heard you boys been stirrin’ up some trouble here tonight.”

Tyme’s eyes flashed and her voice was filled with contempt. “You’re more stupid than you look, Earl.”

The deputy glanced disdainfully at Tyme and hitched up his britches. “Well, you’re lookin’ mighty dressed up fer a newly-widdered woman, Miz Renfro.” He sniffed and spat a wad of tobacco onto the ground. “Ain’t seen ya up at the church lately. Pore ol’ Chauncey’d be rollin’ in his grave if he knowed how you’ve been behavin’.”

“Look, you wack,” Tyme bristled. “I’m sick of guys like you who think just because I’m alone now I’m lookin’ for some kinda lover-boy and you feel obligated to come sniffin’ around. I suggest you keep your observations to yourself and stay out of my store, especially after closing time.”

Earl glared at Tyme, shrugged, and turned to Harry and Clyde. “I think you two boys need to head on back to your camp now. Ya don’t need ta be comin’ into town, drinking and tearin’ up stuff no more.”

Protests rose up from the crowd. “They didn’t start it.”

Another person spoke up. “Yeah, it was that Dr. Ballew guy.”

“I saw him take a swing at the young fella,” A woman shouted.

“Me too, then he followed him and the girl outside and cracked him over the head with the whiskey bottle.” Another man joined in.

Dr. Pruett raised his chin defiantly. “You’d better be careful about who you go accusing, Earl.”

The deputy frowned and his shoulders twitched, forced to back down under the onslaught of protesting witnesses. “All right. I won’t run either of ya in this time, but you’d both better skedaddle outta here right now.” He spat on the ground again, swaggered off, climbed into a patrol car, and drove away.

“What a horrible man!” remarked Ivy. “Why did that deputy blame Harry and Clyde?”

Harry pulled Ivy closer, not caring about the pain in his head or the rude sheriff’s deputy.

“Because the person my dear Clyde cold-cocked is one of those so-called
doctors
up the hill at that Baker Cancer Hospital.” Tyme sniffed with disdain. “Baker’s got all the law enforcement in this town right in his pocket, you know.”

Ivy shuddered. “How could somebody like
him
be a doctor?”

“He probably bought his degree from a mail-order diploma mill,” replied Dr. Pruett. “I shudder to think about what goes on up there.”

“But my mother is up there right now being treated for cancer!”

“Don’t worry, Ivy,” Tyme soothed. “Your mother’s all right. She doesn’t really have anything wrong with her. It’s like she’s on vacation. She’s having the time of her life.”

“What?” Ivy stared at Tyme. “But she’s always complaining about some sort of aches and pains. And I heard Dr. Baker himself say she had cancer, but that he was in the process of curing it.”

“That’s the way Baker works, miss.” Dr. Pruett sighed. “He’ll tell anybody they’ve got cancer, if that’s what they want to hear. People like your mother, who aren’t really sick at all, come here, spend a lot of money, and then go home
cured
. It’s the ones who are really sick that make me sad, because they either miss out on real treatment or they spend their life savings on false promises.”

Harry interrupted Dr. Pruett. “So why doesn’t somebody do something about it? If what you say is true, why doesn’t someone put a stop to it?”

“What I just told you is practically blasphemy in this town,” replied Dr. Pruett. “If I tried too hard to rock the boat, they’d run me out of town and then there wouldn’t be anybody to take care of the folks who really need doctorin’.”

“Did ya’ll hear the racket Baker was making last night?” asked Tyme. “He’s always going up on the roof of his hospital and playing that thing he calls a
calliophone
. You can hear it shrieking all over town.”

“Is that what that music was? I thought the circus was coming to town,” said Ivy.

Clyde shook his head. “So what do we do now, Harry? Sarge isn’t supposed to pick us up to take us back to camp ‘til Monday night. We don’t want the deputy harassing us all weekend.”

“I tell ya what, boys. You stayin’ at Miss Effie’s boarding house?” Dr. Pruett asked and the two young men nodded. “I’ll drop you off there tonight, then you can come out to my place and help me with some fishing tomorrow afternoon. I got a stock tank the size of a small lake that’s just brimmin’ with bass. Cain’t catch ‘em fast enough by myself. Then Monday evening we’ll come back downtown for the big Fourth of July party.” He turned to Ivy and Tyme. “You young ladies comin’ to the social?”

Tyme looked at Ivy, smiled, and replied, “You couldn’t keep us away if you tried.”
Ivy practically floated up the stairs and into her bedroom. She’d never met anyone like Harry, never felt the way she did tonight. Her heart pounded when he looked at her. And the way her skin tingled at his touch was pure magic, unlike the emptiness in the pit of her stomach when she waved goodbye.

What was it about this man she knew practically nothing about? He wasn’t movie star handsome like Jared. No, he was very different. His face was young and boyish, with unruly strands of brown hair that tumbled down across his forehead. His nose was just the slightest bit crooked, and he had a little scar on his left cheek. He was tall, thin, and tanned from years of hard physical labor in blistering heat. But his sky blue eyes reflected a gentleness and she knew that he was the one her soul had been searching for.

Ivy wondered if Harry felt the same way about her. She thought he did. There had been an undeniable connection between them. She’d noticed it right away. The feeling had been tentative at first, gradual. But the way he’d come to her rescue and defended her against that awful man had accelerated the process and cemented the bond. There was no doubt in her mind that Harry was the man of her dreams.

The grandfather clock in the hall bonged twice. Two in the morning. She needed to get to bed and get some sleep, but her mind was so worked up from everything that had happened, she knew it wouldn’t be easy to settle down.

She ticked off in her mind everything she had to do for the next two days. Sleep late, and then attend evening mass with her mother at St. Elizabeth’s. Monday was a holiday, so the store would be closed. Maybe she’d help Tyme by doing a little cleaning in the store. Anything to keep her busy and her mind occupied until she saw Harry again. How would she ever manage it?

Her thoughts swirled madly as she turned the knob on her bedroom door. Then she stopped. Was that music? The soft, tinny, tinkling of
Tea for Two
grew louder as she pushed the door open.

Ivy gasped when she saw her. Sitting on the edge of her bed, playing with her musical powder box, was a little girl. She appeared to be about seven or eight years old and she was wearing a long, old-fashioned dress with a white pinafore. The girl glanced up in shocked surprise and then disappeared.