He showered before going to bed, luxuriating in the coolness of the water. He stood for the longest time, eyes closed, his face tipped up to the showerhead. The temperature outside had dropped considerably since midday, and the open windows allowed for a cool breeze, helping him to relax. He was so tired from physical labor, sleep came quickly.
Before long, he’d drifted into the darkness of the unconscious and into another place and time. The Rowboat Dream. It was nighttime. A full yellow moon hung overhead, casting a glow onto the surface of the lake. He was seated on the middle slat of a wooden rowboat, hands gripping the oars, rowing in perfect rhythm. She sat across from him, their knees not quite touching. Like in the other dreams, he had only an impression of her. He could never see her face.
They rowed across the water, heading to a specific destination, one that his dream self knew, but Joe himself never found out. The destination didn’t matter, though. It was just that he and the lovely young woman (and she was young, he knew that much) were alone at last. She laughed, and the sound of her mirth trilled across the water. He thought that if he could hear that laugh for the rest of his life, he’d be a happy man.
He kept rowing. Ahead of them came a little splash, startling him. She laughed again and said, “Don’t be so jumpy. It’s just a fish.”
Their world closed in and became the boat, the lake, the moon, and each other. When they landed where they were heading, he knew one thing for certain. He would help her out of the boat first, of course, and as soon as the moment was right, he was going to tell her he loved her. When she said she loved him back, he would lean in for a kiss. The thought was intoxicating. The idea of kissing her filled him with an anticipation he’d never experienced before. If only she felt the same way.
He leaned back and swung the oars as far back as possible, then pulled deep, making the boat skim quickly across the water. “Show-off,” she said, teasing. Her hand trailed into the water, her fingertips skimming the surface. He imagined her hands touching him, running the length of his body, then sheepishly brushed away the thought. There would be time for all that, if and when tonight went well. They’d have the rest of their lives.
The dream faded to black, the way it always did.
When Joe woke up, he felt like crying. He’d been there in the same way he was now in his own bed. He’d felt the resistance of the water against the pull of the oars. The sound of her voice still echoed in his ears. They had been so happy—he, the person he was in the dream, was so happy. That couple had thought the years stretched endlessly before them, but Joe knew better. It wouldn’t end well. The events of the Death Dream would come soon enough, and this other self of his, the man in the dream, would never know the happiness of a lifetime with this beautiful young woman. Now that was a tragedy.
He fell back asleep soon enough and didn’t dream again. When the morning sun glinted through the gap in his curtains, he groaned, then rolled over and closed his eyes again, trying for more sleep to make up for the time that had been stolen from him by another lifetime.
CHAPTER TWENTY
1916
As the days passed into weeks, John became part of the Bennett family—filling the big-brother role for the smaller girls and standing in as a son to their father. Each morning, he and Mr. Bennett harnessed the horses and rode the wagon to the mill. The mill was on the outskirts of town, a short ride by wagon, a half hour by foot. As an employee, John was more than satisfactory. Mr. Bennett never actually said as much, but his quiet nods of approval spoke volumes, and John once overheard his new boss tell one of the farmers at the mill that he would miss John’s steady work habits once the younger man had gone back to school. The farmer had roared with laughter at hearing this. “Enjoy it while you can,” he’d said, slapping his thigh. “You’ll not get any such deal from Wendall.”
John got the impression that Wendall was a bit of a mule who needed constant prodding to get the job done. John prided himself on working without need of supervision. His chores in the mill were physically demanding. It was hot and dirty, and the sacks of wheat flour were heavy, but he handled all of it, rarely even stopping to rest. He thought of each day as coming another step closer to paying his medical school fees and was pleased to be able to earn it among honest men who treated him well.
At the end of each day, he looked forward to returning to the Bennett house and relished the routine of washing up at the pump before eating one of Alice’s delicious dinners. If he timed it right, he could sit at the kitchen table and sip cold water, watching as she bustled around putting the finishing touches on the evening’s meal, oblivious to his watchful eyes. Pearl was the one he tried to avoid, a feat that proved to be harder all the time. She was a chatterbox, asking him countless questions about his life in Gladly Falls, none of which he wanted to answer. Most of which he couldn’t answer, at least not honestly.
Alice, sensing his reluctance, had saved him more than once. “Pearl, you’re being nosy to our guest. It’s not polite to ask personal questions.”
John sensed that Pearl resented Alice’s interference, but she listened to her sister, switching the subject to popular music or the latest styles in the movie industry. “I read that one film director said the greatest beauties have eyes bigger than their mouths. Like Lillian Gish. He said that big eyes show more emotion on the big screen. Isn’t that fascinating?” She batted her eyelashes at him, and he looked away, nodding as if what she’d said was of interest, even though he found the conversation excruciating.
Only once had John been upstairs, and that was to help Mr. Bennett carry Alice’s hope chest to the upstairs bedroom she shared with Pearl. Once the chest was in place alongside one wall, they hadn’t lingered, but he was there long enough to note the vanity table with its comb and hairbrush across from the tidily made bed. Being in the room where Alice slept felt very intimate.
Over time, he found that if he insisted on helping in the kitchen—mashing potatoes, chopping vegetables, or toting water—Pearl made herself scarce, and he’d have the kitchen alone with Alice and Daisy. He wasn’t sure what it was about Alice that had captured his attention. After giving it much thought, he decided it wasn’t one thing but a thousand things. She said more in a few words than Pearl did in an endless stream of blather. She was prettier than her sister too, without even trying. Sometimes when Pearl rambled on about Hollywood or Daisy said something silly, Alice gifted John with a smile, as if they were in on a secret.
Alice was smart. She read the newspaper that her father brought home each night. She also did the books for her father’s business and managed the household. She sewed all the girls’ clothing as skillfully as a professional seamstress. It was a lot for anyone to do.
John rarely saw her idle, and yet hard as she worked, she didn’t seem burdened. In fact, it was the opposite: she gave off an air of happiness that was contagious. She found joy in everyday things, celebrating the flowers Daisy picked for her and rejoicing when the cow produced more milk than usual. She sang as she worked and made silly jokes to make her sisters laugh. Alice anticipated what family members needed and had just that thing at the ready, whether it was a teaspoon of her homemade cough remedy, a cool wet cloth over a hot forehead, or a sympathetic ear. John didn’t think it was unusual that he was falling a little in love with Alice. The unusual part was that everyone else overlooked her. They all took her for granted, unaware they were in the presence of someone exceptional.