“Yeah, me, too.” He pulled his hand away from hers and shone the flashlight on his wrist. “It’s time for you to meet your sisters.”
Reluctantly, she nodded. It was time and she’d promised Jane she wouldn’t be late again.
She climbed into bed that night thinking about Henry, about him being adopted, not having a family or home and traveling all the time, chasing criminals. He was the most interesting person she’d ever met, a true hero. A very handsome one, and though she shouldn’t admit it, even to herself, she was sorely disappointed that he hadn’t kissed her again tonight.
Sorely.
She’d wanted to fully kiss him. To feel his hands touching her. His body pressed up against hers. The ache for that, the ache for him, had been burning hot inside her since the dance-off, and had grown stronger every passing day.
She was contemplating that the following morning, when directly after breakfast, her father requested her presence again.
Without delay, she entered his office and sat on the edge of the sofa. This could be because he’d found dust on a lightbulb, and, no matter who had dusted, she was the oldest, so it was her fault, or any other small household matter. Or it could be about James Bauer. The one thing she was certain about was that it had nothing to do with Henry, or sneaking out. She’d believed him when he’d said he wouldn’t tell anyone.
Father was a formidable-looking man. Tall, with short gray hair and a permanent frown etched in his face. “James Bauer has asked my permission for the two of you to get to know each other. Starting next month, you will attend one event with him per week.”
She sucked in air and blew it out, working up the wherewithal to answer. It was Henry who helped her. The Henry who lived in her head. The one who used to make sure smaller children had food and the one that would only be here for another month. She had to hold in a smile when she thought of Henry as Robin Hood. “When next month?”
Her father frowned.
She kept her head up, her back straight. She’d never outright rebelled against her parents, and wasn’t about to do that now, but did have pertinent questions that she would like the answers to. “Next month, by the calendar, is a week away, or do you mean next month, such as four weeks from now?”
Father slapped the top of his desk. “What difference does it make?”
She didn’t flinch at the sound of his hand smacking the wood or at his bellow. Years of experiencing such actions also aided her in holding her gaze on him. That was just Father. How he acted, how he spoke. It was as if he was always frustrated at everything, everyone. “I would simply like to know.”
If Henry still needed her assistance, she wanted to provide it. Actually, it went deeper than that. She had to provide it. Had to help him because that made her feel good, and she hadn’t had much of that.
Father huffed out a half sigh, half grunt. “I will let you know.”
“Thank you,” she said, but didn’t move because she hadn’t been excused yet.
“I will also let you know the exact date of the wedding,” Father said.
She didn’t move, not even her head to nod in acknowledgment. Something inside her wouldn’t let her because if she nodded, that meant she agreed with it, and she didn’t.
“You can leave now,” he said.
She rose and left the room.
Father left the house a short time later, and Betty completed her list of chores, counting the hours and minutes until she’d be able to sneak away and show Henry the list she’d compiled.
When that time finally came, he was once again sitting at the table near the piano when she entered the speakeasy, and though that instantly made her smile, by the time she arrived at the table, a raw sadness was welling inside her.
“Is something the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head and sat in the chair he held out for her. The meeting with her father hadn’t totally struck her until this moment. She had a month, or less, before her life changed completely. She’d known it was coming, that she would marry James, but it suddenly was too real, too soon. She didn’t expect Henry to save her like some prince on a white horse, but she wanted fun, a life, before it was too late.
Betty glanced over her shoulder, looking for Jane. Her sister was right where she expected her to be, talking to the piano player. Jane loved music and was telling the piano player what song he should play next.
Henry was still standing at her chair and Betty stood back up. “Can we go to the tunnel?”
“Why?”
“Privacy.”
He took her hand, led her to the curtain and through the storage room. Once they were in the tunnel with the door shut behind them, he asked, “What’s the matter?”
She didn’t know where to start. How to explain what she was feeling, what she wanted.
He shone the flashlight down the tunnel, then back at her. “Could you not find the list you said you had?”
She shook her head. “No, I have the list. I thought we could go over them, back here, where it’s quiet.”
“We went over most of them last night.”
“I know, but I had more written down than I remembered.”
He nodded. “All right. Shall we sit down?”
She walked down the short flight of steps. “Can we walk?”
He was still standing on the steps and looking at her with a slight frown.
“All the way to the house?” she asked. “I’d like to see it.”
“There’s not much to see. Some of the furniture is in the basement covered with dust sheets, but other than that, it’s just a house.”
“I know, but I want to see it.” She shrugged. “Please?”
“All right.” He stepped down the stairs and shone the flashlight ahead of them as they started walking along the
