At times like these Delia realized how worldly Finn had become, but instead of being threatened by it like when he moved to Hammondsport, she admired him. What would it be like to be as daring as Finn, who never encountered a sport he wouldn’t try or an adventure he wouldn’t undertake?
She, on the other hand, was a cheerful coward and always would be. When she refused to put on the skates, Finn flagged down a passing boy and offered the skates to him. She stood watching as Finn guided the boy around the ice. The boy wobbled and teetered, but he seemed thrilled too, having fun while learning to skate. Helooked at Finn with hero worship when they had come to the end of their skate, and who could blame him?
As December turned into a frigid January, Delia noticed the first hints that the daily rounds of public speaking were beginning to take a toll on Finn. It wasn’t revisiting dark memories that got to him; it was fear for Mathilde and the Verhaegen children that haunted him. He confided in her one night as they sat in a Broadway delicatessen between shows.
“I’m worried they don’t have enough fuel to keep the house warm,” he said, staring at the radiator at the end of the front counter. Steam heat kept even modest places like this kosher deli toasty warm on chilly nights like tonight. “Winter can be brutally cold over there, making coal for heating about as prized as gold. And here I sit with a plate of hot pastrami and potato salad. They’ll be lucky to get a bowl of oats.”
He pushed the plate with his half-eaten sandwich away, as if he felt too guilty to eat another bite. “The little girl’s name is Jeannette,” he continued. “She’s puny. I don’t know if she’s naturally little or if it’s from malnutrition. If I ever have a daughter, I’m going to name her Jeannette and spoil her with candy and cake and toys. She’ll never know a day of hunger or a night of cold.”
His hands balled into fists. It wasn’t like Finn to be so dark. She covered one of his clenched hands, stroking it gently. “Are you okay?”
He nodded. “Don’t worry about me. I’m just mad the war is dragging on.”
The Western Front was now an entrenched stalemate. Rumors of a major spring offensive by Germany had the Allied forces on edge, Finn included. He was tormented by guilt for remaining in New York while his fellow pilots fought on without him.
Ever since the day Finn was overtaken by waves of despair in President Taft’s office, she’d kept a watchful eye on him. There had been no more uncontrollable fits of crying, and yet she remained worried. For all his cocksure charm as he retold his storyover and over again, it all came at a cost, and she couldn’t carry the load for him.
On the first of February, Delia set off with Finn to a remote town on the eastern tip of Long Island to secure a donation from a reclusive millionaire. Martin Galloway had made a fortune off his patent for a pencil eraser. After pulling up stakes in Cleveland, he bought a lonely house overlooking the cape, continuing to collect royalties on his invention while living in the middle of nowhere.
Delia hoped to persuade Mr. Galloway to part with a portion of his monthly eraser royalties. She had already prepared a legal form to shift the payments directly into the CRB bank account.
It hadn’t been easy to get to Mr. Galloway. The journey began with a ferry ride across the choppy waters of the East River as the sleet fell sideways. Her hair and clothes were damp by the time she met Finn at Camp Mills, but at least the train was warm as they chugged farther east through barren fields and leafless forests. They rode the train as far east as they could go, at last arriving at a tiny town where they rented a horse and buggy to take them the final eight miles to the Galloway home.
The street outside the stables looked completely vacant. It was a touristy town, with white clapboard storefronts and a few restaurants. But tourist season was long over, and most of the shops were now closed. Aside from a few people leaving the post office, it appeared as though the livery yard was the only place doing any business.
Delia blew into her hands to warm them as she huddled on the seat of the buggy. The elderly man who owned the stables tossed a horse blanket over the back of the mare, and she hoped the poor horse wasn’t as cold as she was. It seemed to take forever as the old man attached the leather straps and harnesses to prepare the buggy. Once done, Finn pressed a few dollars into the man’s hands, then joined her on the bench and grabbed the reins.
“Do you know how to drive this thing?” he asked, and she turned to look at him in horror.
“I don’t know anything about horses. I thought you did!”
Finn pulled back to gape at her. “Why would I know anything about horses?”
“Because you said we could rent a horse and buggy here,” she said.
Mr. Galloway lived eight miles away, a difficult walk under any circumstances, but especially in this wind and sleet. Why did Finn rent a horse when he didn’t have the foggiest idea of how to handle it? She wanted to shake him, but he looked so dejected. With the reins held awkwardly before him, and his face so pale she feared he was ill, she scrambled for a solution.
“Maybe we could hire a driver,” she suggested.
“I already asked,” Finn said, looking even more despondent. “The man working the stables said he doesn’t have any help today, and he can’t leave the stables untended...” The tail end of Finn’s sentence was choked off, as if Finn was smothering a laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” she demanded.
“Because one of my jobs at the fish cannery was driving the wagon to deliver supplies. Don’t you remember?” He practically howled with laughter as he deftly grasped the reins, gave a click of his tongue and a snap of the reins to start the horse trotting forward.
Now she reallydidwant to strangle Finn but was too busy laughing.
As they rolled along, they reminisced about their wonderfully awful years at the cannery the entire ride to the Galloway home. Her nose was probably as bright red as Finn’s, they both were wild-haired from the buffeting wind, and she could barely feel her feet, but who cared? They were having a grand time. With the narrowing stretch of land between Long Island Sound and the Atlantic Ocean, it felt as if they were heading toward the edge of the world.
When they finally reached the Galloway home, Delia clambered down from the buggy the moment it stopped moving. She stamped her boots, welcoming the tingle in her feet as she stared at the cottage.
It wasn’t the sort of house she’d expected of a millionaire. The shingles covering the cottage sides and roof had weathered to a silvery gray. Dormer windows, a gabled roof, and large windows overlooking the sea made it look cozy, not imposing. She found it rather charming. Finn, however, wasn’t looking at the house. He shaded his eyes with one hand as he stared out across the ocean. He was motionless and expressionless.
“Finn?”
He still didn’t move. “Over there, beyond the horizon ... the next piece of land is France.”
She moved to stand beside him. The sea was a pale bluish-gray, blurring the line between water and sky. While France was thousands of miles away, it was calling to Finn.
