Take Me Home (9781455552078) (18 page)

In the Führer's name, he was going to kill someone.

Y
OU DID
WHAT
?!”

Olivia stepped back as her mother rose from where she'd been working in her garden. Elizabeth had a dirty trowel clutched tightly in her hand and her apron was stained at the knees with grass and mud. A few stray strands of her long hair drifted lazily in the afternoon breeze, a slip in appearance that Elizabeth wouldn't tolerate for long; even when working in the yard, Olivia's mother had a reputation to protect. But right now, at that instant, Elizabeth wasn't at all worried about what she looked like, or even what the neighbors might think.

She was far too angry for that.

When Olivia had finally left her room, it had been nearly eleven o'clock. After what had happened the night before, she hadn't been able to sleep, the memory of slapping Billy playing over and over again in her mind. She'd tossed and turned restlessly on her bed for hours, finally slipping into a fitful slumber in the hours just before sunrise. Waking from a dream with a start, she'd been thankful that this wasn't a day she was supposed to work at the hardware store. As quietly as a mouse, she'd made her way down the stairs, pausing to look in Peter's room. His door stood open, his bed made, but he was nowhere to be seen. Olivia thought this was probably for the best; even if she'd done the right thing in breaking off her engagement to Billy, she wasn't ready to face Peter, at least not yet.

Standing in the kitchen, she'd spied her mother working in the garden. Once again, feelings of hope welled inside her, a belief that Elizabeth might understand her predicament.
Isn't that what mothers are supposed to do?
Right then and there, Olivia made a decision to tell her mother about Billy; after all, it wasn't as if she could keep it a secret forever.

Olivia went to the garden. Before she could say a word, her mother began to chastise her for staying in bed so late. Apologizing, she wiped sweat from her brow; standing beneath the blazing sun made her feel as if she was being accused of something. Finally, just as she'd done when telling her mother about Billy's proposal, she blurted it out. Elizabeth's reaction was swift and furious.

“I ended my engagement to Billy last night,” she repeated.

“Why?” Elizabeth snapped. “Why would you do such a thing?”

“Because I don't love him,” Olivia shot back, her mother's indignation causing her own anger to flare. “He's my best friend, but nothing more. I couldn't become his wife knowing that. It wouldn't be fair to either of us.”

“Don't be a fool!” Elizabeth sneered disdainfully. “You can't possibly be so naïve! What do you think, that every marriage is like that slop they make in Hollywood? That it's all wine and roses? Far from it!” Her mother's eyes narrowed. “Take your father and me, for example…”

“What…what are you talking about…?” Olivia stammered.

“Do I love your father now?” Elizabeth asked. “Of course I do. But if you would've asked me that same question the day we were married, you might have heard a different answer.” Olivia was so stunned she could have been knocked over with a feather. “What I saw in John was a man destined for great things,” her mother continued. “Someone people would look up to, who would command their respect. To me, he was a means to a greater end, and that's exactly what William should be to you. The love will come later.”

“I'm not like you,” Olivia said defensively.

“You most definitely are not,” her mother agreed.

“I won't marry Billy just because he and his family have money. Not even if it means I end up living in a hovel and struggling to make ends meet. I won't disrespect him like that. I'll marry someone I truly love!”

“Stop being such a romantic! Besides, I didn't say that you would
never
come to love him. Just that it will take time.” Her mother paused, thinking. “A marriage is a lot like a hand-me-down piece of clothing from your older sister,” she explained. “It's something that you have to grow into.”

“By your way of thinking, it's also something I'll grow out
of.”

Elizabeth frowned. “You always have an excuse.”

“I've made my decision.”

“Don't be ridiculous!” her mother answered. “You've already changed your mind once, you can do it again. All you have to do is go over to the Tates' and apologize. Better yet, go right to the bank. You may have to play it up a bit, explain that you've got a case of the jitters, something that can happen to any bride-to-be. Make sure to lay it on thick. Cry if you have to. As head-over-heels in love with you as William is, I'm sure he'll take you back in the end.”

Elizabeth's manipulative suggestions, that a relationship was simply something that could be bartered for a better life, made Olivia feel sick. “You're not listening to me. There's nothing for me to apologize for other than having accepted his proposal in the first place. I don't want him to take me back. I don't want to be his wife. All I want is for things between us to go back to the way they were. I want us to be friends.”

“It's too late for that,” her mother said with a derisive laugh. “Ever since he proposed, all you've done is make mistakes! You should have set a date for the wedding just as soon as he asked. Instead, all you did was spend time with that man who pushed you out of the way of Sylvester's truck…” Olivia watched as a revelation struck Elizabeth; her eyes grew as big as saucers before narrowing to the smallest of slits. “This is because of
him
, isn't it?” she asked, her voice rising. “
He's
the reason you did this!”

Olivia's composure faltered and her mother noticed; even if she wanted to lie, she knew that Elizabeth would never believe her now. Her mother's accusation was both right
and
wrong; while her decision to break off her engagement to Billy was largely because she'd never had any romantic feelings for him, there was no point in denying that her relationship with Peter had played a role. He brought out things in her that she'd never felt before. Kissing him had opened the door to her heart further. Now she wanted to see where it led.

But how could she admit as much to her mother?

Elizabeth had always been obsessed with standing and appearances, measuring her own life by how others saw it. Through that prism, there was no way Peter could ever hope to equal Billy. Though Peter had been lauded around Miller's Creek for keeping Olivia from harm, it wouldn't be enough. His smarts, charm, and good looks didn't count, either. The only thing that truly mattered was what he had in his bank account; in that way, he was a much poorer man than Billy, so in her mother's eyes he would never be good enough for her daughter. Olivia chose to disagree.

“I made this decision on my own,” she answered, neither confirming nor refuting her mother's claim.

“I doubt that,” her mother said. “Young ladies like you, the ones who don't have a shred of common sense in their heads, are easily swayed. Slick talkers come along and promise the moon and stars above but they never deliver. Who knows what sort of nonsense he's filled your head with? I wouldn't be surprised if everything he's told you has been a lie!”

“You're being paranoid.”

“Am I?” Elizabeth asked. “How would you know? There's no way of checking. Where he's from, his family, what he does for a living, even his name, all of it made up off the top of his head in order to get what he really wants!” She paused, looking closely at Olivia. “You haven't slept with him, have you?”

“Mother!” she shouted, unable to believe what she was hearing.

“I'm just asking.”

“I haven't!”

“Thank Heavens for that. You know,” she added. “I wouldn't even be surprised if he's lying about the Army.”

“What could possibly make you think that?”

“Look at him!” her mother answered. “I don't care what he says he does, no army I've ever heard of wouldn't want a man his size in uniform. William at least has the excuse of his heart, but your dear Peter looks as fit as an ox. He's practically a ringer for the soldier on the recruiting posters!”

Olivia's head spun. She remembered what Billy had told her, the claims he had made; it had been much the same. But whenever she thought of the things Peter had told her about his life, the way he'd smiled at her from across the room, and especially the way she had felt when they kissed, she couldn't bring herself to doubt him. What reason could he have for not telling the truth?

Deep in thought, Olivia was startled when her mother grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her toward the house. “We're going inside and I'm going to call your father,” she said. “Maybe he can talk some sense into you. I can't remember the last time you listened to anything
I
had to say!”

Olivia jerked her arm free. “That's because what I want doesn't matter to you! I tried to tell you that I had my doubts about marrying Billy, but you didn't hear a word I said. As long as you don't end up looking bad, you couldn't care less if I'm happy.” Without waiting for her mother's reply, she turned and walked away.

“Where do you think you're going?” Elizabeth shouted. “We're not done talking about this! Get back here this instant!”

But Olivia didn't listen. Her mother kept hollering, but she didn't follow; there was too great a chance that someone might see her. The sound of her voice dwindled the farther Olivia walked until, finally, it was gone.

For the second time, confiding in her mother had been a disaster.

Peter stood beneath the diner's awning and looked out into the street. The afternoon sun beat down hard and steady, too warm to stand in for long. Townspeople occasionally passed him on the sidewalk; though most of them seemed friendly enough, smiling or saying a word or two, Peter felt conspicuous, as if he stood out. Though he'd been in Miller's Creek for almost a week, he wondered if he would ever feel comfortable. All around him, there were reminders that he was far from home. Red, white, and blue flags fluttered in the breeze. Posters were taped to windows and pinned to telephone poles, calling for support for the war effort. Walking back to town from the cabin, he'd heard shopkeepers behind their counters, friends in the middle of conversations, even voices calling out from radios, all of them speaking English; the words still sounded foreign to his ear, even when he was the one speaking them. That he was standing where he was, an escaped German prisoner of war, waiting to meet the town's sheriff, the father of the woman he was falling in love with, seemed stranger than fiction.

Growing nervous, Peter glanced at the clock above the bank. It was a quarter past two. John was late.

Suddenly, he was startled by the sound of a car's horn; he looked to see John waving as he drove past and pulled into a parking spot across the street. Peter crossed to meet him.

“Sorry I'm late,” the sheriff said as he got out. “Turns out I had more work to do than I'd expected.”

“On account of yesterday's fire?” Peter asked.

Olivia's father nodded. “Lots of loose ends to tie up. My phone's been ringing off the hook. I have to watch Huck or he takes his out of the cradle and lays it on his desk,” he added with a smile. “Now, come on. There's something I want to show you.”

Peter followed as John led the way down the street. Just like when they'd eaten at the diner, everyone they passed shared a word with the sheriff.

“Doesn't that ever get tiresome?” Peter asked.

“Talking with people? Naw, not one bit,” John explained. “The way I see things, it's more than just a part of my job. Rather, it's what makes this community so great. In a town like this, everyone knows each other. Most folks are friendly enough to want to talk, no matter for how long. Especially with the country at war, that bond makes us all feel like we're in it together.” Looking over at Peter, he added, “Stick around long enough, you'll be doing it like all the rest.”

John waved to everyone inside the barbershop, rounded the corner, and then began to climb the wooden stairs mounted to the outside of the building. Peter followed. At the top of the steps was a door. The sheriff fished a key out of his pocket, opened it, and stepped inside.

It was an apartment. The largest room faced toward the street; a picture window gave a view onto the post office and a furniture store. Toward the rear, there was a small kitchen and a bathroom. Down a short hallway, Peter saw a bedroom beyond. The furnishings weren't much, a couple of chairs, a table in the kitchen that leaned to one side, a mattress on the bedroom floor, and an old phonograph player in the corner near the window.

“It may not be the Ritz Carlton,” John said with a chuckle. “But it sure beats sleeping in a train car.”

Peter flinched; John couldn't have known how close to the mark his joke had come. Still, he was confused. “I don't understand.”

“This is for you,” the sheriff explained. “I made a few phone calls, cashed in a favor or two, and rented it out for you. It's yours for as long as it takes to get your feet back under you and on your way.”

Stunned, his head spinning, Peter stammered, “It…it might take me a while to repay you.”

“No need. I wouldn't accept it anyway.”

“Why…why would you do this for me…?”

John smiled. “On account of what you did for my daughter, for one thing,” he replied. “But also because I know you're a good man. I saw what you did out at the fire. You risked your life to help folks you'd never met. You did what was right, and that's a quality I hold in no shortage of regard. If this,” he added, waving a hand around the apartment, “helps you in some small way, I reckon that's the least I can do.”

Peter was speechless; he was also conflicted. On one hand, he was proud to know that John thought so highly of him. He'd always strived to do what was right, to help those in need, just as his parents had taught him. But on the other hand, Peter knew that he'd been lying to the sheriff and his family since the moment he'd met them. It made him feel unworthy of the gift he was being given.