Wanda E. Brunstetter (2 page)

Bev headed in the opposite direction, anxious to get her daughter and head for home.

As Dan strolled down the hallway, he thought about the young woman he’d bumped into a few minutes ago. She wore her dark hair in a neat pageboy and had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. If he wasn’t mistaken, there’d been tears in her eyes, and he figured she must have been crying before they collided.

It’s none of my business
, he admonished himself.
My desire to help others sometimes clouds my judgment
.

Dan spotted the conference room and was about to open the door, when a middle-aged man with a balding head stopped him. “Hey, aren’t you Dan Fisher?”

Puzzled, Dan only nodded in reply.

“I’m Pete Mackey. We met back in ’39 when we were photographing the pedestrian suspension bridge that links Warren and Valley Streets. That was shortly after it was damaged by a severe storm.”

“I remember. That was quite a mess,” Dan said. “The new bridge is holding together nicely though.”

“Yeah, until the next hurricane hits the coast.”

“I hope not.”

Pete’s pale eyebrows drew together. “Say, didn’t you lose your wife a few years ago? I remember reading her obituary in the newspaper.”

“Darcy died of leukemia in the fall of ’43.” Dan’s skin prickled. He hated to think about how he’d lost his precious wife, much less discuss his feelings with a near stranger.

“That must have been rough.”

“It was.”

“Do you have any children?”

“No, but we wanted some.”

“Me and the wife have five.” Pete gave his left earlobe a couple of pulls. “Kids can be a handful at times, but I wouldn’t trade mine for anything.”

Dan smiled and glanced at his watch. In about two minutes he would be late for his appointment.

“You here on business?” Pete asked.

“Yes. I’ve been asked to photograph some of the managers. How about you?”

“Came to interview a couple of women who lost their husbands in the war.”

“I see. Well it was nice seeing you again.” Dan turned toward the door, hoping Pete would take the hint and be on his way.

“Say, I was wondering if you could do me a favor,” Pete said.

Dan glanced over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

“I’m working for
Family Life Magazine
now, and I’ve been asked to write an article on how people deal with grief. Since you lost your wife, I figured you might be able to give me some helpful insights.”

Dan pivoted on his heel. “Are you suggesting an interview?”

“Yep. I’m sure the article will reach people all over the country who lost a loved one during the war. Some might be helped by your comments or advice, same as with the folks I’ll be interviewing here today.”

Dan’s face warmed, and his palms grew sweaty. Even though it had been two years since Darcy’s death, it was still difficult to talk about. Hardly a day had gone by that he hadn’t yearned for her touch. He wasn’t ready to share his feelings—not even to help someone going through grief.

“Sorry,” Dan mumbled. “I’m not interested in being interviewed for your magazine, and I’m late for an appointment.” He hurried off before Pete could say anything more.

D
an leaned against his polished oak office chair and raked his fingers through the back of his hair, preparing to look over some proofs from a recent wedding he’d done. Things had been busy lately, and soon would get even busier, with Christmas only three months away. Many people wanted portraits taken to give as gifts, and he hoped those who did wouldn’t wait until the last minute to schedule an appointment. That had happened in the past, and there were days when he wondered why he’d ever become a photographer.

Dan thought about his first career choice and how he had wanted to join the navy shortly after he got out of high school. However, due to a knee injury he’d received playing football, he had been turned down for active duty.

Guess it’s just as well
, he thought.
If I’d gone into the navy, I might never have met Darcy. Might not be alive today either
.

He thought about the radio broadcasts he’d listened to during the war, and the newspaper articles that had given accounts of the battles, often mentioning those in the area who’d lost their lives in the line of duty. War was an ugly thing, but he knew it was a price that sometimes had to be paid in order to have freedom.

Dan’s thoughts were halted when the telephone rang. Knowing it could be a client, he reached for the receiver. “Fisher’s Photography Studio. Dan speaking.”

“Hi, Danny. How are you this evening?” The lilting voice on the other end of the line purred like a kitten, and he recognized it immediately.

“I’m fine, Leona. How are you?”

“Okay.” There was a brief pause. “You said you enjoyed my spaghetti and meatballs last week when you came over for supper, so I was hoping you’d join me tonight for my meat loaf special.”

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m busy right now, Leona.”

Dan’s next-door neighbor’s placating voice suddenly turned to ice. “I hope you’re not giving me the brush-off.”

“Of course not. I’ve got work to do in the studio, and I’ll be here until quite late.”

“I’m really disappointed, Danny.”

Dan clenched the phone cord between his fingers. Leona Howard was a nice enough woman, but why did she have to be so pushy? “Can I take a rain check?” he asked.

“Okay, but I plan to collect on that rain check soon.”

“I’d better get back to work, so I’ll talk to you later. Good-bye, Leona.” Dan hung up the phone with a sense of relief. He didn’t want to hurt the woman’s feelings, but they weren’t right for each other. At least, she wasn’t right for him. Leona was nothing like Darcy. In fact, she was the exact opposite of her. Leona usually wore her platinum-blond hair in one of those wavy updos, with her bangs swept to one side. Darcy’s chestnut-brownhair had been shoulder length and worn in a soft pageboy. Leona plastered on enough makeup to sink a battleship, and Darcy had worn hardly any at all.

Dan massaged his forehead, making little circles with the tips of his fingers.
Who am I kidding? I’m not ready to commit to another woman, and I may never be. Besides, Leona is not a Christian, and that fact alone would keep me from becoming seriously involved with her
.

A couple of times, when Leona first started inviting him to her house for a meal, Dan had asked her to attend church with him. She’d flatly refused, saying church was for weak people who needed a crutch. Leona wasn’t weak, and she’d proved that when her husband was killed on the USS
Arizona
during the bombing of Pearl Harbor. Leona had become a nurse and picked up the pieces of her life so well that it made Dan wonder if she’d ever loved her husband at all.

A rumble in the pit of Dan’s stomach reminded him that it was nearly suppertime. He momentarily fought the urge to call his wife on the phone and ask what she was fixing tonight. He glanced through the open door of his office, leading to the used-toy store on the other side of the building. There was Darcy’s quilt hanging over the wooden rack he’d made. The coverlet was a reminder of her undying love and brought him some measure of comfort.

Bev sank into a chair at the kitchen table and opened the newspaper. Yesterday had been her last day at Bethlehem Steel, and she hoped to find something else right away. She
needed
to, as the meager savings she’d put away wouldn’t last long.

She scanned the H
ELP
W
ANTED
section but soon realized there were no bookkeeping jobs available. “They’ve probably all been taken by returning war veterans,” she grumbled.

Her conscience pricked, and she bowed her head. “Forgive me, Lord. I’m thankful that so many of our soldiers have come home. I only wish Fred could have been one of them.”

Tears stung Bev’s eyes as she thought about the way her husband had been killed, along with thousands of other men and women who’d been at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. For nearly four years now, Bev had been without Fred, but at least she’d had a job.

She returned her attention to the newspaper. Surely there had to be something she could do. She was about to give up and start supper when she noticed an ad she hadn’t seen before.

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I should drop by there tomorrow after I take Amy to school.

Even if I don’t get the job, I might be able to find an inexpensive doll or stuffed animal I could put away for her Christmas present.”

As if on cue, Bev’s six-year-old daughter burst into the room. Her blue eyes brimmed with tears, and her chin trembled like a leaf caught in a breeze.

Bev reached out and pulled Amy into her arms. “What’s wrong, honey?”

“I was playin’ with Baby Sue, and her head fell off.”

“Why don’t you go get the doll, and I’ll see if I can put her back together.”

Amy shook her head as more tears came. “Her neck’s tore. The head won’t stay on.”

Bev knew enough about rubber dolls to realize that once the body gave way, there was little that could be done except to buy a new doll.

Her gaze came to rest on the newspaper ad again.
I really do need to pay a visit to Twice Loved
.

B
ev stood in front of Twice Loved, studying the window display. There were several stuffed animals leaning against a stack of books, a toy fire truck, two cloth dolls, and a huge teddy bear with a red ribbon tied around its neck. Propped against the bear’s feet was a sign that read: H
ELP
W
ANTED
. I
NQUIRE
W
ITHIN
.

Bev drew in a deep breath and pushed open the door. Inside, there was no one in sight, so she made her way to the wooden counter in the center of the room. A small bell sat on one end, and she gave it a jingle. A few minutes later, a door at the back of the store opened, and a man stepped out.