Anchor In The Storm Part 3

"Your new job will be a stretch for you," Lucy said in the kitchen.

"Why? I've worked in pharmacies since high school."

"But you'll have to work with sick people, and you've never had any compa.s.sion for the sick."

What on earth? Arch stopped in the doorway.

Lillian stood at the sink with her back to him, her shoulders pinched together. "I was four years old."

Lucy placed the gla.s.ses on the counter. "You never wanted anything to do with me when I was sick, only thinking of yourself, playing with the boys, leaving me-"

"Girls!" Mrs. Avery set her hands on her hips. "Enough of that. You're twenty-two years old. And it's Christmas."

"Sorry, Mom," Lucy said.

"Sorry." Lillian turned for the door and met Arch's gaze, her eyes wide.

"Just bringing in the dishes," he said.

Mrs. Avery dashed to him and took the stack. "Oh, you don't have to do that. You're our guest. Lillian, show him back to the living room. Lucy and I can manage the dishes."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

Lillian led him through the dining room and paused at the door to the living room, her eyes guarded. "See? A big family isn't always so swell."

He spotted a crack and wedged it open with a smile. "So it isn't true what they say about identical twins being inseparable?"

"Not us." She glanced back, her voice low. "My fault mostly."

He leaned against the doorjamb, sank his hands into his bathrobe pockets, and willed the moment to last. "You were only four years old."

"Old enough to know I was being mean."

"And twenty-two is old enough to know you're being mean." He tilted his head toward the kitchen.

She dipped her head, and the green and red ribbons flopped forward. "Apparently not."

Arch swallowed hard. Why did he want to hold her? He'd known her less than a week.

Lillian lifted her chin. "Is it true about only children being spoiled brats?"

He chuckled. Yes, she had pluck. "Not in my case. My parents gave me ch.o.r.es, put me in public school, and refused to buy me everything I wanted."

Those large eyes dissected him, allowing him to study the rich mix of greens and golds and browns. "Did you have a pony?"

"A horse. Can you forgive me?"

One corner of her mouth edged up. "Without brothers, you needed someone to play with, I suppose."

"I was lonely." He gave her his most pitiful frown.

"I doubt that." She strolled into the living room.

Yes, he was falling hard. And that conversation had gone well. If only the Navy would keep him in Boston, but they were transferring much of the fleet to the Pacific. This last week in Ohio might be his only chance with Lillian. Come New Year's, they could be separated by thousands of miles.

Lillian sat on the couch and leafed through a book, while Jim and his brothers sorted the wrappings on the floor.

Arch sat on the opposite end of the couch. "Say, Jim, do we have plans for New Year's Eve?"

"We don't do much here."

Mr. Avery gathered his pile of gifts. "Don't worry about us. You young folks ought to go out and have fun."

"That's what I was thinking." Arch leaned forward on his knees. "Cleveland isn't far. What do you say, Jim? Martin? Would Mary and Lucy like an evening of dining and dancing? Lillian?" He turned to her.

Her face went flat. "I don't dance."

Inside, he groaned. For heaven's sake. Of course she couldn't dance. Somehow he had to recover. "You can still enjoy an evening out. As for the dancing, I'll sit out with you."

"No, thank you." She raised her book. Evil Under the Sun indeed.

"Well, I'm going to get dressed." Jim stood and ran his hand over his rumpled dark hair.

"I should too." As he changed, he'd think of an alternate plan. Why hadn't he said dinner and a show? That would have worked.

He followed Jim up to the room they were sharing and shut the door.

Jim faced him and crossed his arms over his blue bathrobe. "What are you doing?"

"Doing?"

"With Lillian. You're flirting with her."

Arch's mouth went dry, and he wet his lips with his tongue. "Would that be so bad?"

Jim scrunched up his face and shook his head. "Don't."

A slow measured breath. "I understand you want to protect your sister, but you know me."

"Yes, I know you. I've watched you date half a dozen women and discard them all."

"They were gold diggers. You know that. They only loved me for my money. Lillian-I know she isn't like that. In fact, if it makes you feel better, she doesn't like me at all."

"Good."

A burning sensation filled his chest. Apparently loyalty to a sibling ran deeper than loyalty to a friend.

Jim groaned and plopped onto his bed. "It's not just you. It's Lillian."

"What do you mean?" Arch sat on the other bed.

"She hasn't dated much. She's only had one boyfriend, when she was at Ohio State. I don't know the details, and she won't talk, but it ended badly."

"Oh." Arch folded his hands between his knees.

"I do trust you, buddy. I do, but . . ."

But not with his sister. Arch gave a stiff nod. "I respect both of you too much. I'll back off."

A long sigh. "You know what, though? Lillian could really use a friend. She hasn't had lots of those either." Jim's mouth bent in a smile, repentant and warm again.

"All right." Most likely, Lillian would reject his friendship as she had his flirtation. But if she accepted his friendship, perhaps he could earn her trust. And Jim's too.

4.

Boston, Ma.s.sachusetts

Monday, January 5, 1942

Lillian stood on the sidewalk across from Dixon's Drugs, her only chance to be secure and independent.

A neon sign on a brick storefront, a striped green awning over the door, and windows plastered with ads. Typical but garish.

Her breath formed icy coils before her, and her fingers found the anchor necklace under her scarf. "Jesus is your anchor, your hope in any storm," Dad had told her.

If only it were true for Lillian, but it wasn't. Not G.o.d's fault, but hers. Please be my anchor today, Lord. Please help me make a good impression.

She tucked in the necklace and rearranged her scarf over her bottle-green overcoat, the russet gloves warm on her hands.

Since the gloves were a gift from Arch, she hesitated to wear them, but they were so fashionable and supple and toasty. Besides, since Christmas, Arch had only been polite and kind. He'd abandoned the phony flirting he'd adopted as some strange way of apologizing for staring at her leg. As if acting attracted to her was preferable to staring.

He was much better company now that he acted normal.

Then she pulled herself tall. Only with cheer and confidence could she succeed.

Lillian opened the door, and bells jingled. In dim light, rows of shelves marched like soldiers, and a soda fountain ran along the right side of the store.

"May I help you, miss?" A matronly woman stood behind a cash register at a counter to the right.

"Hi, I'm Lillian Avery, the new pharmacist."

"Oh yes. Mr. Dixon's expecting you. I'm Mabel Connelly. Miss Felton isn't here today-she's the other cashier."

"I'm looking forward to working with both of you." Lillian headed down the center aisle, past shelves crammed with goods. No signs labelled the rows, which explained why Mary had a hard time finding things. That would be easy to fix.

At the back of the store, the prescription counter sat on her left, with a door straight ahead. In the prescription area, shelves were lined with bottles and boxes. The top shelves displayed colorful old apothecary jars with their marvelous Latin names.

Behind the counter stood a gentleman in his sixties with a round belly, gla.s.ses, and thick silver hair. That had to be Mr. Dixon. He handed a paper bag to a young lady and then held out a jar of marbles to the little boy at her side and told him to choose one.

How sweet. She'd like working here.

When the patients departed, Lillian approached with her most confident expression. "Mr. Dixon? Good morning. I'm Lillian Avery."

He grunted and glanced at his wrist.w.a.tch. "You're five minutes early."

"Yes, sir." Why did he sound disappointed?

He opened the door and pointed to the stockroom to her right. "Put your things in here. Not happy about hiring a girl. Customers won't like it, won't like it at all. But you'll have to do."

Apparently Mr. Dixon reserved his warmth for little boy customers. She stuffed her gloves in her pockets and hung up her coat, scarf, and hat. "I a.s.sure you, I'm a hard worker. You won't be sorry."

Another grunt, and he gestured back between the shelves. "This here's Albert Myers. He's my main delivery boy, stock clerk, and soda jerk. Reggie's my other clerk. You'll meet him tomorrow."

Albert stepped forward. He wasn't a boy, but a man in his thirties, with deep red hair and a friendly freckled face. "h.e.l.lo, Miss Avery. Welcome."

"Thank you. I'm glad to be here." She straightened her white coat over her brown skirt and cream-colored blouse. "Where should I start?"

Mr. Dixon poured tablets onto a counting tray. "Go learn your way around out front. I expect my employees to know where everything is."

"Of course, sir." She had to be prepared to answer any question.

Lillian returned to the main store and puffed out a breath. So the man was grumpy. She'd manage.

She strolled the perimeter of the store to note the general layout. After she finished, she'd study each aisle to become familiar with the stock.

Halfway down the side aisle, Albert caught up to her and set down a cardboard box. "Don't let old Dixon get under your skin, miss."

She smiled at him. "I won't."

"Good." He set boxes of razor blades on the shelf. "He ain't as bad as he sounds. I was a no-good scoundrel, and he took me under his wing and gave me a job when no one else in town would."

Lillian scanned the shaving supplies. "I like how he gave that little boy a marble."