Simon, in their ups and downs, had proven himself perfectly human this year with his frustration over her delay and his bouts of silence. And she’d exhibited a full range of imperfections as well. Hattie’s seeds of doubt had continued rooting in her head, but she and Simon cared for each other.Loved,she might say, although he hadn’t broached that sentiment since his clash with Hattie.
If she kept hesitating, he would most certainly find someone else, and she couldn’t imagine living her remaining years without him. Alone.Like Mr. Manning except she would have no Eli to keep her company in those later years.
“We should marry in Winfield next month,” she said, the theater lights casting long shadows on the sidewalk. “Then we can celebrate Christmas with your family.”
Simon took both her hands. “I think we should marry tomorrow. Before I leave.”
She studied the eyes that looked almost charcoal in the evening light. “I’m beginning to think you don’t want me to meet your family.”
“They are rather eccentric.” His easy smile turned grim. “But that’s not it. The government is calling up more men to prepare for war, and if I get drafted—I don’t want to wait to marry you.”
War.The word stopped her breath. Just last week she’d read how Virginia Woolf, months after her London house was destroyed in the Blitz, filled her pockets with rocks and drowned herself in an English river.
War tore apart one’s heart and mind.
Olivia blinked, returning her attention to the man in front of her. “President Roosevelt said he wants to keep the United States out of the conflict.”
“It won’t be long before he doesn’t have a choice.”
If Simon was called up before they married, she’d never be able to forgive herself for not agreeing to his proposal.
She slipped her hands into his. “I don’t want to wait until December either.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.”
Maybe Reverend Donahue could conduct the small ceremony at her house so Eli and Mr. Manning could join them along with Jillian and a few other church friends. No fanfare needed.
“Tomorrow, then?” she asked tentatively. “I can ask Reverend Donahue to officiate.”
Simon’s kiss in the falling snow was one she’d never forget. A pedestrian hooted at their affection, but she didn’t care what anyone else thought. By this time tomorrow, she and Simon would be husband and wife.
In the end, Reverend Donahue asked them to wait another week. Enough time, he said, to discuss their plans together.
But she and Simon had talked long enough about the future. They had no other reason to delay.
She thanked the reverend kindly and married Simon at the courthouse.
23:Harper
This isn’t your story to write.
Finn’s words looped through her head as Harper read a stack of newspaper articles at the Lititz Public Library. The librarian located the file of yellowed clippings when she’d asked about material on Via Belle. Apparently, she wasn’t the only person over the years who’d inquired about the missing novelist, but it seemed no one else except Elijah Lamb had stepped up to write a book.
Sissie was curious about Harper’s idea to base a screenplay on Olivia’s life and disappearance. Not enthusiastic, exactly, but interested. The threat from the estate didn’t faze her, but she was concerned about the ending. Harper could alter details, liberate facts even to make the story more compelling, but Sissie didn’t want any surprises. If Olivia was dead, her estate had no grounds for a defamation suit.
Sissie gave her another week to uncover the truth about Olivia’s disappearance, but no ending meant no script. It wasn’t illegal for an adult torun away on their own terms, but Harper suspected a stronger motivation for Via Belle to leave.
“What happened to you?” Harper whispered as she unfolded another clipping. This one dated October 22, 1943, from theNew Holland Clarion.
NOVELIST’S CAR ABANDONED NEAR PHILADELPHIA
Harper stared at a photo of Olivia beside the newsprint, her hand clutching a summer hat as if trying to keep it from soaring away. Her smile was wide, her face lifted to the sun. The picture was taken in 1941, perhaps not long after she’d remarried.
The second photo was of Olivia’s car, the front end partially obscured by an overgrown bush. Did she leave it there? Or had someone else tried to hide her automobile?
Police found Via Belle’s Plymouth sedan on Thursday near the old Concord Flour Mill, roughly 25 miles west of Philadelphia. While investigators combed the area for hours, they were unable to locate Mrs. Belle.
“We didn’t see any evidence of foul play,” said Randolph Henry, Philadelphia’s police chief. “We’re hopeful that Mrs. Belle will contact her friends or authorities soon to let them know her whereabouts.”
