THE RESCUE
By Bob Liter
Alice Turnbull placed her elbows on the library table, leaned forward, and covered her eyes with her hands.
A book, The Life and Times of Millicent Avery, lay before her. She had opened the book to page 75, the place she’d stopped the day before.
Now she had read to page 120 in the story of a young woman’s struggle to survive in a sod hut on the Nebraska prairie in 1888. The woman had been left alone when her husband died of pneumonia. She survived winter storm after winter storm and eventually married again, raised four children and became a force in the developing community.
Alice knew about being alone. She sighed and opened the book again, gazed at page 121 without reading, closed the book, got up, returned the book to its shelf, and wandered outside. She could check the book out, of course, but if she did she’d have no reason to leave her apartment now that she was on summer vacation.
She loved teaching high school history but summer vacations were always a disappointment after the first week or so. As usual, she was spending her time in the library reading American history. She admired women like Millicent Avery and enjoyed reading about them, but she knew it was a substitute for having a life of her own.
What about her sister, her sister’s husband and their two children? She would visit them next month. In the meantime she and her friend would go to Monica’s Restaurant, like they did most every week, eat too much and go to a movie.
She stood in front of the library, stretched, looked at the few fluffy clouds drifting by and felt a pleasant breeze kiss her checks. Arnold Street traffic pounded past. A child flashed from behind her toward the curb as a small ball bounced into the street. She took three quick steps and jerked the girl back from the curb.
“What’s the matter with you, child? You could have been killed,” Alice said in her most sever classroom voice.
Tears welled in the child’s eyes. She howled and tried to pull her hand away from Alice. A tall man, his arms filled with books, kneeled in front of the child, placed the books on the sidewalk, and held her to his chest.
“What’s the matter, Pumpkin? Don’t cry. You shouldn’t run ahead, I’ve told you about that.”
“I dropped my ball. It’s gone. This lady scolded me.”
The man picked up the child, stroked her light brown hair with his long, slender fingers and focused blue-gray eyes on Alice.
“I stopped her from running into the street. She could have been killed. Why do you let her run loose with all this traffic around?”
“Did you ever try to control a six-year-old child whose mother lets her have her own way? Besides I had my arms full of books.”
Alice bristled. She had controlled a roomful of such children. She bit her lip to keep from saying so. The man set the child on the ground, unfolded to six feet or more, and said, “Now you stay right here until I pick up the books. Then we’ll go get something to eat. You should thank the lady. You might have been killed.”
Alice admired the man’s neatly trimmed graying hair, his lean face and square jaw.
“Can I have a hamburger, gramps? I’m hungry.”
So, he was her grandfather. Looked to be about forty. About Alice’s age.
The man sighed and said, “I’ve forgotten whatever I knew about taking care of a child. Is there a good place we could eat around close?”
Alice hesitated. She planned to walk to the Quick Cafe and order her usual salad. Should she recommend the place? Why not? Wouldn’t hurt to walk with the man and his granddaughter to the cafe. She pointed up the block.
“Thank you,” he said. He and the girl were beside her as Alice walked toward the cafe.
“My name’s Henry Dawson, Hank, and this is my granddaughter, Catherine. We call her Kitty.”
He stopped and extended his hand. Alice extended hers. They shook formally.
“I’m Alice Turnbull, glad to meet you both,” Alice said.
Kitty held out her hand. Alice leaned over and took it.
She felt uncomfortable at first when they sat together at the only empty booth in the cafe. Kitty ordered a hamburger, french fries and root beer. Hank insisted she have milk.
“You come to the library often?” Hank said.
“Yes, most days. I’m a school teacher. On summer vacation.”
“I’m on vacation myself. Promised my daughter-in-law I’d take Kitty to the library. It could have been a disaster if you hadn’t . . . “
“What do you do?” Alice asked.
“I’m an instructor at the junior college. Teach woodworking, mostly. My wife died two years ago.”
The food came. Kitty chattered between bites. Hank gave her one of the library books. She opened it and was quiet for a minute.
“We have to come back to the library next week to return the books. Will you be there?” Hank asked.
Alice looked at Hank and back at the child.
“Yes, I’ll probably be there,” she said.
“Could we have lunch again?” Kitty said.
“Well, I . . . “
“A great idea, Kit,” Hank said.
Alice dabbed at her salad. Kitty swallowed the last of her milk and said, “Come on gramps. I want to go home and read my books.”
Kitty scooted out of the booth and Hank followed. He stood in front of Alice with his arms full of books.
Alice said, “Yes, we could meet again next Friday. I’d like that.”
“So would I,” Hank said. “Maybe then I could get your phone number?”
###
Bob Liter is a retired journalist who has written five Nick Bancroft novels published by Renaissance E Books under the PageTurner label. (Renebooks.com) The titles are: Murder by the Book, And the Band Played On, Death Sting, A Point of Murder and August Is Murder. The books, along with FORK IN THE ROAD, a romantic comedy, also are available at Fictionwise.com and other Internet publishers.
He has written numerous short stories published by print and Internet magazines. He may be contacted at: bobliter.verizon.net
