Debbie Macomber's Cedar Cove Series, Volume 3 (39 page)

“Your mother is no dunce,” she told Noelle as she knelt on the floor and found an appropriate shoe. Once down on all fours, Mary Jo saw that more than one board was loose. Retrieving a flashlight from her drawer, she aimed it at the closet floor, ready to pound away, when an object of some kind caught her attention.

“Noelle,” she said, her voice rising. “There's something underneath this board.”

The baby cooed from the other side of the bedroom.

Mary Jo used her fingers to wiggle the nail out, then managed to free the second one. Once the board was loose, she lifted it up and discovered, still partially hidden, what seemed to be a wooden box.

Mary Jo worked at the remaining floorboards in the closet until she could retrieve the box. Breathless, she sat on the floor, holding it in her lap. The wooden box was old; that much was apparent. It was larger than a cigar box and light. The writing on it had faded long ago to the point that it was unreadable.

“Shall I peek inside?” she asked Noelle.

The baby returned her look with wide-eyed wonder.

“I'm curious, too,” Mary Jo said. Holding her breath, she raised the lid. There were letters inside, old letters. She picked up the first envelope and turned to Noelle. Reading the postmark, she said, “These are letters written in 1943 by…” The ink on the blue airmail envelope had faded. “Major Jacob Dennison.” The letters were addressed to Miss Joan Manry, 1022 Evergreen Place, Cedar Cove, Washington.

“I'm going to read it,” Mary Jo told her daughter. “I can't imagine why Joan would hide them like this.” She carefully opened the flimsy paper.

The spidery handwriting was difficult to read, and some of it was obscured by black marks. “It's written by Jacob—Jake—during the war,” Mary Jo said. “He's in Europe…a pilot flying out of England, it looks like.” She bit her lip. “It's a love letter. Oh, Noelle, he's about to go on a bombing mission over Germany and he's afraid he's going to die and he wants Joan to know that if he doesn't survive, he'll find a way to come to her…that he'll always love her.”

For an hour or more, Mary Jo lost herself in the letters.
Sitting on the bedroom floor beside Noelle, she read one after another, her eyes often filling with tears.

She was startled into awareness by the ringing of her doorbell, followed by a knock. That signal immediately identified her visitor as Mack. Immersed as she was in the letters, she wiped her eyes and hurriedly got to her feet, excited about sharing her discovery with him.

She threw open the door.

“Mary Jo, listen, I think I might've given you the wrong impression.”

“No, no, it's fine,” she said. Grabbing his arm, she pulled him inside. “I found something I need to show you.”

Mack frowned. “What?”

“There was this loose board in the closet and—”

“You should've told me. I would have taken care of it.”

“That isn't important, Mack. The letters are.” She couldn't contain her excitement. “I came across a box hidden in the closet. It has the most beautiful love letters, all written during World War II.”

“You read them?”

“Well, of course. Anyone would have… You have to read them, too! Once I started I couldn't stop. They're so eloquent, so moving… I want to know what happened to Jake and Joan. I want to find out if Jacob Dennison returned from the war and if they married and had children. You need to talk to your friend right away.”

“My friend?” Mack sounded confused and, little wonder, the way she'd dragged him into the room, talking nonstop.

“The man who owns the duplex,” she elaborated. “They might be related to him. He'll want these letters—they're a treasure.”

Mack shook his head. “That isn't possible. My…
friend, the owner, can't be related. He only recently purchased the place.”

“Then maybe whoever he bought it from will know.”

“I can find out, if you want.”

Mary Jo nodded eagerly. “Please.”

He grinned. “I'll see who might have owned the house during the war years.”

“Thank you, Mack,” she said.

Suddenly the uneasiness returned. “I apologize,” Mary Jo said stiffly. “I didn't really give you a chance to explain why you came over.”

Mack shrugged. “No reason. I just wanted to be sure everything's okay between us.”

“It is,” Mary Jo assured him.

Reading these letters had put everything in perspective—although she couldn't have said exactly how that had happened.

Thirty-Six

“A
re you okay, Dad?” Megan asked, studying Troy closely. “You're pale.”

Troy couldn't remember being this nervous about anything in his life. “It isn't every day a man asks a woman to be his wife.”

“What's there to be nervous about?” Megan asked. As a child, she'd thought there wasn't anything her daddy couldn't do and she sometimes still seemed to believe it. “We both know Faith's going to say yes.”

Troy wished he shared his daughter's confidence. He hoped and prayed Faith would accept his proposal, and yet he had doubts. On the one hand he felt optimistic, certain there'd been signs that she wanted him in her life. On the other…there'd been a few serious setbacks, and he wasn't assuming anything.

“Okay, Daddy, go out there and get your woman,” Megan said, kissing his cheek. She steered him toward the front door. “You're sure Faith is home?”

Troy hadn't stopped to think that Faith would be anywhere else on a Friday night. They'd spoken a couple
of times since the arrest, more than a week ago, but their conversations had been mostly related to that.

“I think so.”

“Dad!” Megan's elbows jutted out as she put her hands on her hips. “You mean to say you didn't phone ahead?”

“Actually, no.”

Without a word, Megan stalked over to the telephone and punched in Faith's number. She placed her hand over the receiver and looked up at him. “It'd serve you right if Faith's gone out for the evening.”

That got his hackles up. “Who with?” If Faith was seeing another man, Will Jefferson, for example, he…he…

“No answer, Dad,” Megan said, shaking her head. “I can't believe you didn't phone and say you wanted to talk to her. You aren't even married and you're already taking Faith for granted.” Megan sounded more amused than annoyed.

“Who could she be with?” Troy wondered out loud.

“How am I supposed to know?”

Talk about taking the wind out of his sails. Troy left his daughter's house, calling himself every name for stupid that he could remember. He should've phoned, instead of assuming Faith had nothing better to do on a Friday night than sit home waiting for him.

He was back at his place and feeling miserable when Megan phoned.

“Don't ask me how I know, but Faith's at the movies with Olivia and Grace.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Which movie?”

Megan told him and then with a smile in her voice,
asked, “Do you have a burning desire to see Clive Owen all of a sudden?”

“I sure do! Bye, sweetheart, and thanks.”

“Good luck!”

Troy was out the door so fast he nearly ran to his car. The theater parking lot was full and he had to circle twice before he found an empty slot. He purchased his ticket; then, wanting it to look as if their meeting was accidental, he bought popcorn and a soda.

The movie had already started and the theater was so dark he couldn't see anything beyond his own two feet. He slipped into the first available seat and scanned the backs of people's heads, hoping to find Faith.

Although he squinted and leaned forward, nearly dumping his popcorn and his drink, he was unable to identify her. In fact, it wasn't until the credits scrolled across the screen and the lights came up that he saw Faith.

She was with Grace and Olivia, only about four rows ahead of him. If he waited for her to notice him, it might not happen, so he approached them.

“Faith, imagine seeing you here,” he said, hoping that sounded less contrived than he suspected it did.

“Yes, imagine,” Grace said, exchanging a meaningful glance with Olivia. Or was that a smirk?

“Megan phoned Jack,” Olivia said under her breath. In other words, they knew he'd been looking for Faith.

“Hi, Troy,” Faith said, ignoring her friends. Her smile was warm. “I'm glad we ran into you.”

“Yeah, me, too…” While Grace and Olivia might enjoy embarrassing him, Faith had gone out of her way to make him feel comfortable.

By this time the theater had emptied out. One of the
teenagers from the concession stand started down the center aisle with a broom and dustpan, checking the rows for stray popcorn and assorted trash.

“Maybe we should talk outside,” Troy suggested. He could hardly take his eyes off Faith. Suddenly realizing that Olivia and Grace were waiting, obviously interested in what he had to say, he added, “I'll drive you home, Faith.”

“We were going to the Pancake Palace,” Grace said. “Would you care to join us?”

Faith looked at him then, and everything else receded. The question finally registered when Grace repeated his name. “Oh…sure,” he muttered absently.

“Great. We'll meet you there in fifteen minutes.”

“Sure,” he said again.

The two women left, and Troy and Faith walked slowly out of the theater.

“Did you speak to Megan?” he asked.

“On my cell.” Faith nodded. “Just briefly.”

“Did she say anything?” He hoped his daughter was sensitive enough to keep her mouth shut about his proposal.

Faith laughed. “All she said was that I should be gentle with you, whatever that means.”

Troy frowned; they were halfway across the parking lot and he could feel sweat beading his upper lip. He'd rehearsed what he wanted to say in front of the mirror at least a dozen times. Megan had insisted he have a short speech ready. Now, for the life of him, he couldn't remember a single word.

As they reached the car, Troy licked his dry lips. “I think you know how much I love you,” he mumbled as he opened the passenger door.

“I thought perhaps you did,” she said.

Stepping back, Troy helped Faith inside and hurried to the driver's side. With his hands against the steering wheel, he said, “I was thinking, hoping, really—”

“Hoping?”

“Yes, you know, that you and I might…might get together.”

“For dinner?”

“Not for dinner,” he snapped. “For life.”

His words were followed by a strained silence and then she asked, “Troy, are you asking me to marry you?”

“What else do you think this is about?”

“Well, there's no need to get huffy.”

Tightening his grip on the steering wheel, he exhaled loudly. “Okay, I apologize.”

“For proposing?”

“No, for blowing this.” Troy doubted he could've made a bigger mess of it had he tried.

“Would you like my answer?” Faith asked him.

“No.”

“No?”

“I didn't mean, no, I don't want your answer. I meant, no, I want to try again and do this right.”

“Okay, then, I'll keep quiet and wait.” Faith settled back in her seat.

Troy had no idea how to start over, let alone do this a little more elegantly. Then he grinned. “Do you remember the night we were at our old necking spot and one of my deputies caught us?”

“Oh, Troy, I was so embarrassed.” She covered her face with both hands.

“You?” he muttered. “I was the one who had to look him in the eye the next morning and pretend nothing had happened.”

The memory lightened his mood, which helped ease the tension from between his shoulder blades.

“I do love you, Troy,” Faith whispered. She curved her fingers around his hand. “I loved you when we were teenagers and I love you now.”

“I love you, too.” His voice throbbed with the depth of his emotions. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to retire with you and travel with you and make our home here in Cedar Cove.”

“I'd like that, too.”

“Will you marry me, Faith Beckwith?”

She smiled tearfully. “I would like nothing better, Troy Davis.”

Troy had the urge to roll down his window and shout at the top of his lungs. He didn't, in spite of his desire to let the whole world know that Faith had agreed to marry him.

“Are you going to kiss me now?” she asked.

“I would like nothing better,” he said, echoing her response to his proposal.

They reached over the console, arms around each other. The kiss engulfed them both, fired by all the yearning of those long months apart. Those months of sorrow and misunderstanding….

“You know,” Faith whispered, her head on his shoulder, “I'm almost grateful for that break-in.”

“Me, too,” Troy admitted and kissed the top of her head.

They kissed again, then Faith said, “We should go.”

Troy started the engine. “I should phone Megan,” he said.

“I need to tell Scott and Jay Lynn,” she added. “Oh.”
She flattened her palm against her chest. “When do we want to do this?”

Troy hadn't given the matter a thought. The hurdle had been convincing Faith to accept his proposal; anything beyond that was unimportant. “Next week?”

“Troy, be reasonable! I was thinking June, maybe July.”

“In that case, I'd say June.” The sooner, the better.

“Where will we live?”

“Well, together, of course.”

“Yes, but where?”

“92 Pacific Boulevard.”

“Okay,” Faith said, looking thoughtful. “For now.”

Troy nodded. He wasn't sure what
for now
meant—probably that eventually they'd find a new house with no history except what they created themselves, the two of them.