Like she would fill in that blank.
“See you around,” she replied even though she had no intention of ever seeing this man again.
The dual-storied home stood vacant on the hill, its windows veiled in fabric, and stone tower rising above the trees. While the lawn was overgrown, several garden beds held freshly turned soil.
The wide front porch hosted four chairs that looked as if they had a few more years of rocking left in them, and a pot of red geraniums stood by the front door, a flag of defiance against the decay.
If Via Belle had left no family, who was taking care of her home?
14:Isadore
DECEMBER 1940
Cast-iron slats pressed against Izzy’s back, the chilly air biting through her coat, but the bench was the only place between the spit-and-polished homes that offered a view of Simon’s front door.
A bunch of professors lived on this fancy row, just blocks from the college, and she’d spent the past four evenings walking down their sidewalk to knock on Simon’s door. No one answered, even tonight when she knocked twice, and now she was all in a dither, worried about whatever detained him.
He should have phoned the dormitory—or at least sent her a letter—if he was traveling through the weekend, so she wouldn’t worry. He didn’t think, of course, that she might need him. Once they married, she’d know all the details of his work including where he had gone and when he’d return home.
According to the glow from her watch, she had twenty minutes until curfew, and she dreaded going back. Her roommates hadn’t stoppedasking questions about her illness, concerned that she might spread whatever ailed her. While she’d assured them she wasn’t contagious, neither girl seemed convinced.
Even now her stomach taunted her, pretending it was hungry, but she knew exactly what would happen if she dared eat. Food had become her nemesis. The enemy of all enemies.
Oh, she had to speak with Simon right away. Before someone discovered the reason for her nausea. And she didn’t trust Professor Farrow one bit. Not as a teacher and certainly not as a messenger since Simon hadn’t visited her on campus all week. She’d tried to catch his father after class on Monday, to make sure he’d spoken with his son, but the professor skirted right around her to talk with another student. As if he was avoiding her.
No matter. Simon could speak to his father after he found out that she was in a family way. Because she knew, based on what she’d read from a borrowed library book, that her doctor was right. She only needed a husband to complete the family.
Simon would console her, the moment he returned. They didn’t have to tell another soul besides Dr. Gauldin about the baby. Not even the professor. He’d told her to do what needed to be done, so she had. She bought herself a beautiful dress for her wedding and now she needed to marry Simon before her stomach grew.
While Professor Farrow didn’t seem to like her much, he’d soften up, especially if he wanted to remain with them. His son had already been generous enough, offering the old man a roof over his head until he found another house. While Izzy didn’t like the man much, thought he took Simon’s generosity for granted at every turn, he always spoke kindly of his deceased wife. Forty years was a long time to live with a person. Perhaps that’s why he had been so wicked to Simon lately. He must miss Mrs. Farrow a great deal.
What would she and Simon be like after four decades together? The many dinners and movie nights and more babies, perhaps, in the first years.
She giggled at the thought.
A drop of rain splashed her skirt, followed by another dot on her nose.Swell.She really would take ill if she stayed out here much longer.
Tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders, she fixed her gaze again on the warmly lit house across the street. It wasn’t right, really, for her to be waiting outside on a dreadful, drizzly night like this. Once they tied the knot, Simon would simply telephone and tell her he was delayed. She’d build a roaring fire and then warm his meal when he walked through the door.
They’d have the most perfect of lives.
A light blinked in the mist as a blue convertible rushed up the street. Izzy leapt to her feet when it rolled into the Farrow driveway, Simon hopping outside to open the garage.
She’d planned to run across the road, right into his arms, but the whiff of exhaust, the clotting smell of diesel, clogged her throat, then wrecked her stomach. Her hand pressed against a tree, she struggled for a clean breath as the little she’d eaten for dinner emptied itself on the ground.
The garage closed before she wiped her mouth, leaving her no choice now but to ring the bell again. So she did. Three times. Even then, no one answered the door.
Ten minutes until curfew now. The housemother would be furious at her tardiness, but she must speak with Simon tonight. Not a moment longer. If Dr. Gauldin was correct, it wouldn’t be long before her roommates and the housemother suspected her predicament. She most certainly was not going to be unwed when that happened.
She’d have to enter through the back door, the one Simon usually left unlocked so Izzy didn’t disturb the maid.
Light streamed out a window, halfway around the house, and she heard voices, growing louder as she leaned into the glass, the damp coolness soaking her cheek while she listened to the men.
Words flew like bullets from Dr. Farrow’s mouth.
Cleveland. Bank. Ruined.And then—
Girl.
