to see John behind her husband’s back, maybe there is some worry about money,” he remarked. “That young woman doesn’t miss a step.”
“If John loves her…”
“A scandal would ruin him in Atlanta. Not to mention her good name. Her people were always mercenary, but there was never a breath of scandal about them.”
She remembered John coming home wounded to find Diane comfortably married. John had been in a terrible state at the time, stoic and unapproachable in his recovery. Claire had gone with Uncle Will to see him in the hospital, having heard the gossip about his badly broken engagement. At eighteen, Claire had felt the first stirrings of love for the wounded soldier who bore his pain with such courage and had even won a medal for bravery.
“It must be terrible to lose someone you love that much,” she remarked, and thought of herself, because she’d loved John for almost two years…
“There’s a circus coming to town very soon,” Kenny said. “Would you care to go with me to see it on Saturday?”
She smiled. “I should like that very much, Kenny.”
“I’ll ask your uncle for his permission,” he said, beaming.
She didn’t tell him that her uncle was much too modern for such things, or that she didn’t feel that she needed permission to do what she liked. Kenny was nice and uncomplicated, and he took her mind off John. Anything that could accomplish that made the day worthwhile.
UNCLE WILL JUST HAD finished fixing a leaky radiator. Kenny said his piece and left while Claire was changing into a clean skirt and blouse and shoes. Grimacing, she gave the dress to Gertie.
Gertie sighed. “Miss Claire, you have a gift for soiling clothes,” she remarked, a twinkle in her eyes.
“I do try to stay clean,” she told the older woman. “It’s simply that fate is after me with a broom.”
Gertie chuckled. “It seems so. I’ll do what I can with this. Oh, and I won’t be here on Sunday. I’m going to meet my father at the station and go with him to a family reunion.”
“How is he?” Gordon Mills Jackson was a famous African trial attorney in Chicago and very well respected.
“He’s as wicked and devious as ever,” Gertie said, laughing. “And my brother and I are very, very proud of him. He faced down a lynch mob a few months ago and rescued a farm laborer from a rope. The man was innocent, and Daddy defended him successfully.”
“He’ll be a Supreme Court judge one day,” Claire predicted.
“We hope so. Can you manage by yourself on Sunday or would you like me to see if I can find someone to cook for you that day?”
“I’ll do it myself. You taught me how to make chicken and dumplings, after all, and I’m not so squeamish that I can’t kill the chicken.”
Gertie looked dubious. “Suppose you let your uncle do that part for you. He’s much faster than you are.”
“Well, I have to ease up to doing it,” she said, defending her procrastination.
“He doesn’t. You’ll spend enough time dressing it fit to cook.”
“You’re right, I suppose.”
“I’ll have something on the table in a couple of hours for lunch. No guests?”
Claire shook her head. “Kenny had to get to work. It will only be Uncle and me.”
As Claire walked toward the workshop, she called, “I’m back. Need any help?”
Her uncle leaned out from under the front of the car. “Hallelujah! You’re just in time! I had to fix a leak in the radiator. Hand me a wrench and those hoses, and then bring me those new spark plugs!”
IT TOOK ABOUT TWO HOURS to get the new part in place, the plugs in, the gaps set, and the timing just right. Her uncle had to take one of them out and worry with it until it fit properly, but just before lunchtime the engine was running prettily.
“It works! You’ve got it going!” she exclaimed.
He stood up, his white hair darkened with grease from his big hands, a huge smile under his thick silver mustache. “By golly, I sure have! Thanks to you, girl! It was a great day for me when you came to stay. I had no idea what a mechanic I’d make of you.”
She curtsied, ignoring the grease spots on her formerly pristine blouse and her face. “Thank you.”
“Don’t let your head get too big, though. You didn’t replace the last screw in the boiler when you put it back.”
She groaned. “I got interrupted by Gertie.”
“That’s right,” Gertie called from the porch. “Blame it on me.”
“Don’t eavesdrop,” Claire called back.
“Stop talking about me and I won’t. Lunch is ready.”
Gertie went back into the house, and Claire shook her head. “Uncanny, isn’t it—how she always knows when I’m blaming her for some—”
Her uncle broke in. “Let’s go for a spin.”
“It’s pouring rain. Besides, Gertie’s got food on the table.”
He sighed angrily. “Just my luck, darn it! When I’ve got it running right! Why don’t they make tops for motorcars?”
AFTER THEY ATE, THE TWO OF THEM sat in the parlor while the rain beat down outside.
“Why did Kenny bring you home?” he asked suddenly. “Where’s the buggy?”
She drew in a long breath. “The horse took it over a rock I didn’t see and busted the axle. Now, now. It won’t cost so much to have it replaced…”
Her uncle’s husky shoulders slumped. “Oh, dear. Oh, dear, dear,” he murmured. “And I’ve spent the last money we had to buy that new motorcar part, haven’t I?” He looked up. “Why, Claire! I have a thought—we can sell the horse and buggy now,” he exclaimed. “We have a horseless carriage that runs!”
She grinned. “So we do.”
He let out a sigh. “Gasoline is very cheap at the druggist’s, so it won’t be expensive to run it. And the extra money will pay off the last big mortgage I’ve had to take out on the house.” His face assumed a blissful expression. “Our troubles are over, my dear. They’re quite—” He stopped. His face seemed an odd gray color and he clutched his left arm. He laughed shortly. “Why, how very odd this feels. My arm has gone numb, and I have a very hard pain in my—in my—in my throa…”
He looked at her as if he was seeing right through her and suddenly pitched forward, right onto the rug.
Claire ran to him, her hands trembling, her eyes huge and tragic. She realized at once that this was something more than a faint. He was lying so still, not breathing, and his skin
