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Scooter lifted an eyebrow before he leaned closer. “Miss Jenkins,” he whispered, “was too busy chasing after the older boys to teach anyone anything.”
For some unfathomable reason, heat stung her cheeks. It didn’t have anything to do with Miss Jenkins. She barely remembered the woman. The influenza epidemic had hit shortly after she’d taken over as teacher and school had been closed for months.
“She married Dac’s cousin,” Scooter said. “They live over by St. Cloud and have five or six kids, last I heard.”
The cheering crowd brought her attention back to the dance floor, where Twyla and Forrest were embraced in a rather heated kiss. Along with everyone else, Josie watched, and wondered. Many things had changed in her life. Teachers. The epidemic that had taken her mother, brother and grandparents away in a swoop. She’d missed them terribly at first, still mourned the losses, but not even their deaths had left her with the uncanny sense of dread she felt today.
Perhaps because she’d been too young. She was twenty-one now, an age where she understood cause and effect, and consequences.
After a roaring round of applause, girls started passing out ice cream and cake. Josie once again looked for an escape route, but people were crowding closer, vying for the next bowl. Scooter handed her one that held both cake and ice cream, and a spoon.
“Let’s move over a bit.”
She started to protest, but was cut short when someone bumped into her.
Scooter caught her bowl before it toppled. “This way,” he said.
Josie followed him a few feet, to where he stopped next to Ty and Norma Rose. She’d barely taken a bite when Norma Rose shoved another bowl in her direction.
“Hold this.” Her sister then grabbed Ty’s bowl and Scooter’s. “We have to get those tables off the dance floor.”
“Why?” Josie asked as she took the bowls Norma Rose handed her. Having waited tables plenty of times, balancing all four was easy.
“That’s why,” Norma Rose said.
Josie turned in the direction her sister pointed. Their other newly acquired brother-in-law, Brock Ness, had positioned himself behind the piano that had also been transported outside as another round of applause echoed through the air. Brock was an excellent musician and the locals had missed his performances since he’d left for Chicago.
“Once he starts playing, people will crowd the floor, tables or not,” Norma Rose said.
Ty and Scooter followed Norma Rose. Frustration filled Josie as she glanced down at the four bowls full of untouched cake and ice cream. Spying a waitress nearby now gathering empty plates, Josie wasted no time in getting rid of all four. A touch of guilt ensued, but she ignored it. Scooter, as well as Norma Rose and Ty, could get more cake and ice cream. There was plenty.
She’d made it almost to the far side of the dance floor when a familiar hold once again caught her arm.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Scooter asked.
“I have things to see to,” she said, twisting her arm.
“No, you don’t,” he said. “I heard Moe tell you everything was under control.”
“In the kitchen,” she said. “But there’s—”
“Nothing you need to see to right now.” Turning her toward him, he said, “Let’s cut a rug.”
“I don’t want to dance,” she said, spinning around. The flash of a camera bulb momentarily blinded her. Newspapermen were everywhere today, hoping to get a picture of Babe Ruth.
“Too bad,” Scooter said. “Whether you want to or not, we’re dancing.”
She truly didn’t have much of a choice. Others were pushing their way onto the dance floor, hurling her and Scooter forward with their momentum.
Brock hit the piano keys and the first notes ripped through the crowd like a buzz saw. People shouted, their hoots and hollers loud enough to frighten the seagulls from the air.
Josie stifled her protest as Scooter glided her into his arms and she allowed him to whisk her across the floor. He was an excellent dancer, especially of the Charleston. The two of them had been paired up in an impromptu dance-off a few weeks ago, which had been more fun than she’d had in ages.
The tempo of the song increased and she and Scooter held hands as they spun forward to rush through the steps of the popular dance. People bumped into her and Scooter pulled her closer before swiftly guiding her around to his other side.
“I don’t want someone to step on your toes,” he shouted above the ruckus. “Your feet have already been damaged enough from wearing those ugly green shoes.”
Josie had to laugh. “Thank you,” she shouted in return. “Your gallantry is outstanding.”
In the middle of his fast dance steps, he gave her a brief bow, which had them both laughing. Having grown up with him, she’d never felt uncomfortable around Scooter, as she’d felt around others, and she’d gone to him, on more than one occasion, when she’d needed things. Mechanical things usually. Having a car she could count on was an important aspect of her life.
They danced through the next two songs Brock played, and when, after striking the final chords as only Brock could, he stood up from behind the piano, Josie was more than a little winded.
Scooter was, as well, or at least he acted that way, and said, “Water, I need water.”
Laughing, Josie led him away from the dance floor, to where a table of nonalcoholic punch and soda was set up. She picked up a soda and drank half of it as Slim Johnson made his way to the piano. Wayne Sears, another musician they’d hired for the night, was somewhere at the resort, too. When the dance-off started, they’d need more than one. A large number of people had signed up for the contest.
Her father was beside Slim and as the musician sat down, her father once again held up a hand, drawing everyone’s attention to him. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, as a hush came over the crowd. “I want to thank all of you for attending this first ever Fourth of July barbecue here at Nightingale’s.” Once the applause died, he added, “It’s been so successful, we’ll have to make it a yearly event.” Finding the baseball player amid the crowd, he asked, “What do you say, Babe?”
Babe Ruth held his glass up in salute, and once again the crowd went wild.
“You’ve all met my daughter Twyla,” her father then said, “the girl who got married today, and I want to introduce you to my other daughters.”
Josie’s heart sank. He’d never publically introduced them before. Although she was proud of her father, never being in the limelight suited her. She liked being the mediocre sister. The one no one recognized. It meant she could wear britches and go barefoot when she wanted to.
Scanning the crowd, her father said, “Norma Rose, you and Ty come up here. Twyla, you and Forrest. Ginger? Where’s my baby girl? Aw, there she is. Brock, bring her up here. And Josie...?”
She wanted to slink under the table. Particularly when her father said, “Scooter, bring Josie up here, will you?”
“Come on,” Scooter said.
Scooter’s hand landed in the middle of her back. It might appear he was simply guiding her forward, but in actuality, he was shoving hard.
“Everyone’s watching,” he said, without making his lips move.
“I know,” she answered in the same manner.
“It’ll only take a minute,” he said.
The dread that had been inside her doubled. She’d always known it would happen someday, that she’d be pointed out as one of The Night’s daughters, and that it would change her life. She’d no longer be able to hide in the shadows.
She and Scooter arrived near her sisters, but the pounding of blood in her ears was too loud for her to hear what her father was saying. Something about Nightingale’s being a family business, and that this was the family. The family. Her sisters claimed they’d felt like prisoners, trapped in their bedrooms, but this was where she felt the iron bars surrounding her. Being a Nightingale had come to mean being something she wasn’t. It had given her a station in life she’d never wanted. And it was full of expectations. There were things being a Nightingale provided, but the list of things they couldn’t do was longer. Unfortunately, those were the things that made her who she was.
Eventually her father stopped talking, and the clapping and cheering slowed. Josie wasted no time in making her exit. She made it all the way to the resort building, but didn’t go up the balcony steps—there were too many people—instead she headed for the corner of the building and the side doors there.
“Good grief, do you have wings instead of feet?”
Josie hadn’t realized Scooter was still at her side. The fact he’d been pulled center stage along with her overrode any lingering anger. “I’m sorry about that.”
“About what?”
“That,” she said. “Being pointed out.”
“Your father’s proud of you, Josie, of all of his daughters. He just wanted to acknowledge that.”
“Maybe some of us don’t want to be acknowledged,” she answered, finally arriving at the side door that led to the storeroom. Josie clasped the doorknob, worried Scooter was going to start another argument. That would take more energy than she had right now. This day truly couldn’t end soon enough.
But it wasn’t Scooter’s voice that had her spinning around.
Chapter Three
Scooter stepped aside so Josie could see past him. Having recognized Gloria Kasper’s voice, he hadn’t turned around. Anger once again stirred his insides. The fury had left him for a few minutes, while he and Josie had been dancing. Now, seeing the shadows back in her eyes, he wanted to tell Gloria the same thing he’d told his mother. Leave Josie alone. Find someone else to do their dirty work.
“Hello, Eric,” Gloria greeted him.
He bit the tip of his tongue before turning about. “Hello.” The bitterness in Gloria’s eyes told him exactly what he’d already known. His mother had told the other woman what he thought. What he knew. Not that it would matter to Gloria. She had her own agenda. As always. Short, round and gray-haired, she looked as fierce as an angry badger as she strolled toward them.
“I know you won’t mind, Eric,” she said formidably, using his given name as if that gave her authority. “I need to speak with Josie.”
“Actually, Gloria, I do mind,” Scooter said. Normally, out of respect, he addressed her as Mrs. Kasper. He wasn’t feeling overly respectful right now. “Josie and I are busy.”
Gloria’s wrinkled lips pursed while a gasp sounded from Josie.
“Well, I never,” Gloria snapped, her nostrils flaring like a bull’s. “I insist on speaking with Josie this very moment.” She reached out and grabbed Josie’s arm, tugging her forward. “What I have to say is extremely important.”
Scooter grabbed Josie’s other arm. “I can’t believe it’s that important.”
“Eric,” Gloria snarled, “don’t do this.” She pulled Josie toward her again.
He tugged her back his way. “I could say the same to you, Gloria. Now is not the time or place.”
Gloria gave Josie another hard pull. “Young man, I—”
“You’ll what?” Scooter challenged, pulling Josie back.
“I—”
“Stop!” Josie twisted until neither of them held her arms. “Stop it, both of you.”
Regret washed over Scooter. He was acting like an idiot, to both Gloria and Josie. The older woman wasn’t bad; she’d helped a lot of people, including his family when they’d needed it, and continued to assist others. He just didn’t want her sending Josie out on another run. Not today. Not ever. It had grown too dangerous, yet he seemed to be the only one to realize that.
Josie glanced between him and Gloria. The sorrow in her eyes stabbed at him, and left him feeling about as low as a flat tire. He had no right to step in, but his intuition said he had to.
“I have to talk with Gloria, Scooter,” Josie said, almost apologetically. “I won’t be long.”
He’d fully expected her to tell him to get lost. It wasn’t as if she’d invited him to wait for her, but what she’d said could give that impression. “I’ll wait here,” he said.
A tiny smile tugged at her lips and she shook her head. “Go back to the party. I’ll see you there.”
He shook his head. “I’ll wait here.”
Gloria rushed Josie through the door before any more could be said. It was just as well. Scooter didn’t have much more to say. He wouldn’t until he figured out a way to stop Josie. Telling her to stop wasn’t working. Josie had a mind of her own. He’d always admired that about her, long before any of this nonsense had started.
Even as a kid, Josie had caught and held his attention. Although she’d always been quiet and thoughtful, when riled, Josie had stood up for the underdog like no other. That had all been years ago, before he’d left school to become the family breadwinner.
Whenever he heard someone complain about how slowly time seems to go by, he wanted to tell them to start paying a few bills. They’d soon see how fast the first of the month rolled around, how quickly another month’s rent was due and how gallons of milk could disappear as if they’d never been there in the first place.
He’d never known his family was poor. At least his parents had never complained about it. After his father died, Scooter quickly discovered the few dollars he made delivering groceries on his motorized bike wasn’t enough to keep a family of mice in cheese. His hobby of tinkering with motors came in handy then. The location of their house along the highway played in his favor, too. Little by little he’d added services, but it wasn’t until Nightingale’s took off that he’d started making enough money to truly live on. That had been a godsend, and he knew it could disappear just as fast. Without Roger Nightingale and the business the man brought in, this entire area would dry up faster than yesterday’s bread left uncovered on the counter.
A lot had happened in the past ten years. He’d been fourteen when his father had died, and three years later, his brother-in-law had been killed while serving in the army overseas. Maize had just given birth to Jonas when they’d received word about John. Shortly thereafter, Maize could no longer afford to stay in the house she and John had rented since getting married, and she had moved back home. When Jonas had started school three years ago, Maize had gone to work over at the Plantation, and had come up missing less than a month later.
Another bout of disgust, or guilt, assaulted Scooter’s guts. He wasn’t exactly sure what had happened back then, but he knew Gloria had been behind Maize’s return. Scooter understood he was indebted to Gloria for bringing his sister home, but he couldn’t let what had happened to Maize happen to Josie. Gloria had to realize not even Roger Nightingale was in the same league as the gangsters that were responsible for the girls working the docks in Duluth.
It really was a tangled mess.
If Josie was captured, there was no guarantee she’d be rescued like his sister had been. The Ladies Aid Society his mother and Gloria were associated with was the way Josie had become involved. Dressed in britches, she visited the shipyards of Duluth regularly to pass out rubbers to the women working the docks, selling their wares to the sailors.
None of this was something a Ladies Aid Society should be a part of.
It wasn’t all of them. Just a select few knew the activities taking place under the concealment of their meetings. Most of the women thought all of the members were busy throwing birthday parties and putting on bird-watching symposiums. A good number would faint dead if they learned about Josie hauling condoms up to Duluth every Tuesday.
He’d only learned about it because his mother had told him a car had been delivered to the station that needed to go faster. Seeing the vehicle was Nightingale’s hadn’t surprised him. He’d rebuilt carburetors, put in larger radiators and fitted extra fuel tanks in all of the automobiles Roger Nightingale’s hired men drove. A month later he’d discovered the latest coupe he’d worked on was being driving by Josie. Bronco, Roger’s number one man, had brought the car over to get fuel, as he did for all of the cars the daughters drove, and had mentioned Josie sure used a lot of gas going to her Ladies Aid meetings.
Scooter’s stomach fell almost as hard and fast now as it had in the past. He should have put a stop to it then. That had been his first mistake. His second had been keeping his mouth shut all this time.
“Hey, Scooter.”
“Hey, Dave,” Scooter replied, as Josie’s uncle walked through the manicured trees. Dave Sutton lived in one of the bungalows on the other side of the pine trees. Not wanting to have to come up with an excuse as to what he was doing hanging around the resort’s back door, Scooter asked, “How’s your Chevy running?”
“Good. Those new tires you put on sure made a difference.”
“Glad to hear it. Firestone makes a good tire, but only Fords come off the assembly line with them. Henry Ford knew what he was doing when he formed that partnership,” Scooter said, trying not to look at the door behind him. He should never have let Josie go with Gloria. They had to be up to something.
“It’s all about who you know, not what you know,” Dave said before he asked, “How are Maize and Jonas?”
“Good,” Scooter answered. The baseball bat, mitt and ball that had been left on the family’s porch a couple of weeks ago had been from Dave. Just like several other birthday and Christmas gifts that had magically appeared on their porch over the years for Scooter’s nephew. For whatever reason, Dave didn’t want anyone to know he was the one that dropped them off. “Jonas had a birthday a couple of weeks ago, turned eight.”
“Time flies,” Dave said. “I remember when John got the letter from Maize saying the baby had arrived and that it was a boy.”
A moment of silence spread between them. Dave and John had been shipped overseas together, and though the other man never spoke of it, Scooter had heard Dave was at John’s side when he died. Even though Dave had been Josie’s mother’s brother, he’d moved back in with the Nightingales when he returned home, and now was Roger’s top salesman. He carried around a suitcase full of resort brochures, but sample bottles of whiskey—Minnesota 13—were tucked inside hidden compartments. The home brew was better than the stuff the Canadians made and had become world-renowned. Thanks to Roger.
Everyone knew that, but no one mentioned it. A man might as well cut his own arm off if he did. The entire area thrived because of Roger’s business, and no one wanted things to go back to the way they’d been.
“Jonas is here somewhere,” Scooter said, still trying to keep the conversation off what he was doing. He nodded toward the crowd that littered the slope leading toward the lake. “He’s excited to stay late enough to see the fireworks.”
“It is the Fourth of July,” Dave said. “And those nieces of mine outdid themselves with this party.”
“They sure enough did,” Scooter agreed, glancing toward the door.
“I’ll mosey around, see if I can find Jonas and say hi,” Dave said.
“Try the beach,” Scooter said. “He was convinced he’d learn how to swim today. Otherwise just listen for the popping noise. I bought him several rolls of firecrackers.”
“I bet that made him happy.”
“It sure did,” Scooter said. The firecrackers were only a nickel for a hundred, and he’d gladly paid the minimal price. There had been times in his life where a nickel had seemed like a dollar. Now, thanks to Roger Nightingale’s success, his fueling station allowed him to spend money a bit frivolously once in a while. He’d picked up several boxes of sparklers, too, for Jonas to share with his friends later on in the evening.
“I’ll see you around,” Scooter said, stepping closer to the door. Josie should have returned by now.
Dave nodded and waved as he took his leave. Scooter grabbed the doorknob but didn’t have time to pull it open.
“Hey, Scooter, hold up.”
His fingers clenched the door handle before he let it loose and Scooter pulled up a smile for the couple walking hand in hand toward him. Getting hit by a Studebaker couldn’t have shocked him more than the sight of Brock and Ginger pulling up to his gas pumps that morning. He and Brock had been friends since childhood and Scooter had questioned if he’d ever see Brock again when his old pal had headed down to Chicago to perform on the radio several weeks ago.
Brock had defied Roger Nightingale by refusing to perform solely at the resort and leaving town, which had been an act few men would have the guts to follow through on. Marrying Ginger, Roger’s youngest daughter, could have gotten Brock killed, too. Scooter figured Brock didn’t have a chip on his shoulder; he had an angel.
“Where’s Josie?” Ginger asked.
Scooter gestured toward the door. “Inside, talking with Gloria Kasper.”
Ginger shot a concerned glance at Brock and then asked, “Why? Is she not feeling well?”
It was still hard to believe Brock and Ginger were married. Then again, Scooter had been shocked to see Norma Rose at his gas station with Ty Bradshaw earlier this summer, and again when he’d heard Twyla had gone flying with Forrest in his airplane. A lot had changed this summer. Maybe all that contributed to his urgency to make Josie stop her Duluth runs. The fact her sisters weren’t around to keep her in line meant it was up to him.
He doubted any of the sisters knew of Josie’s activities. They’d have told their father and Roger would have put a stop to it all long ago. “She’s fine,” he answered. “It was probably something to do with the party.”
“I can’t believe all that’s happened in the short time we’ve been gone,” Ginger said. “It’s like I left one world and returned to another.” Her sparkling eyes were once again gazing up at Brock.
The two of them looked as love-struck as two doves on a telephone wire. Feeling a bit like an intruder, Scooter looked the other way when Brock leaned down to kiss her, and didn’t turn back until Ginger spoke.
“I’m going to find Josie,” she said. “The dance-off is about to start.”
The prize for the winner of the dance contest was a hundred bucks. Not for the couple to share, but a hundred bucks each. Scooter had read that in the advertisements. Add Babe Ruth, Twyla’s wedding and fireworks, and it was no wonder half the state was in attendance. Those who lived out of town and couldn’t find rooms to rent had set up tents in empty lots and backyards. This would be an event the town would remember for a long time.
When Ginger disappeared through the side door, Scooter once again attempted to shift his attention off how long Josie had been gone. “I thought I was seeing things when you pulled into my place this morning.”
Brock laughed. “Your face said as much.”
“That new car you’re driving says things turned out real swell for you in Chicago.” Scooter stated the obvious.
“If I hadn’t lived it, I wouldn’t have believed it.” Brock’s gaze shot back to the door where Ginger had disappeared. “Some days I still don’t believe it.”
Scooter playfully punched his friend in the arm. “We all knew you’d make it big.”
“I don’t think I would have if not for Ginger,” Brock said. “She’s the reason we’re home. When she heard about Twyla’s wedding, she told Oscar—Oscar Goldman, he’s the owner of the radio station, that we were coming home. She promised to bring back a case of baseballs signed by Babe Ruth to give away on the radio.” Brock laughed. “She already has two cases, signed, in the trunk.”
Scooter chuckled. “I’m sure Babe Ruth couldn’t say no to Ginger.” Curious, he asked, “How’d she end up in Chicago?”
“Now, that, my friend, is a long story,” Brock said. “And calling Roger to tell him I’d found her under the tarp of my truck when I’d stopped for fuel on the other side of Wisconsin was one of the scariest things I’d ever done.”
“Under the tarp of your truck?” Scooter shook his head. “I put the tarp on your truck while you were locking horns with Roger about leaving.”
“I know,” Brock said. “And she climbed in right afterward.” Growing serious, Brock added, “Don’t let any one of those Nightingale girls fool you. They’re sneaky when they want to be.”