When he didn’t ask her out, however, she decided other tactics were needed.
"Well, I’d better get back. I just came by to say hello. I hope I’ll get to see more of you Joe," she said, her smiling eyes twinkling at him.
"I wish I could see you tonight," Joe said.
"And what’s keeping you ?" she questioned a bit too cheerily.
"We’re having my Uncle Vito and Salvatore and their families for dinner. Maybe I’ll see you Sunday."
"I hope so," she said, her heart sinking. She’d better leave before her chin started to tremble. Already tears were near the surface. She was surprised at how disappointed she was, but she had so planned to be with Joe tonight!
That night, as she lay in bed, she could hear the Italian music and the laughter above. She knew all of Joe’s relatives. How many meals had she eaten there? Why didn’t he invite her? She turned over and thumped her pillow.
If she didn’t see Joe tomorrow she’d die! She needed his love! She was becoming more and more sure of that. The problem was that he didn’t seem to care about seeing her!
Chapter Twenty-three
The next afternoon, a lazy Sunday, Laura wasn’t idle. Sitting in the backyard, she kept her eyes studiously on her knitting, hoping that Joe would glance out the window and see that she was alone. Where was he? He had seemed distant yesterday when she had expected hugs and kisses. Her fingers flew angrily. If he didn’t come down soon she’d take a plate of cookies up to the Menottis. That was rather a feeble pretext to see him, but what other excuse was there?
Putting down the bulky sweater she was knitting, she gazed out on the orange-and-yellow marigolds interspersed with asters lining the fence. She missed the bachelor buttons that used to be there, but since they were the national flower of Germany, they had been weeded out. It was such a pleasant fall day. Oh, where was Joe?
Then, as if in answer to her prayers, she heard his rich, deep voice behind her.
"I see you’re doing your war bit," Joe said, a trifle amused.
She picked up the brown yarn and began to knit furiously.
Joe came around and faced her, dressed in his khaki uniform. "I’ve never seen you quite so domestic," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his large mouth.
She bent her head over her work, paying particular attention to a cable stitch she had dropped. "Hello, Joe," she said as nonchalantly as she could. "I’m not being particularly domestic, as you call it. This sweater is meant for the Red Cross shipment." She stopped knitting and looked up. "How is your Uncle Vito and your Aunt Gemma?"
"Brimming with life. Vito’s leather shop is doing very well, and Aunt Gemma works there, too. She has built up quite a fashionable clientele."
How marvelous he looked, she thought, admiring his lean good looks. He had always been tall and slender, but somehow today he seemed taller. His Roman nose, straight and regal, dominated his face along with his dark, gentle eyes. She smiled when she remembered how he used to scoop back his thick hair off his forehead — he’d no longer be able to do that — not with such a bristly haircut! She refocused her attention on his conversation.
She seemed to be seeing Joe with new eyes since she’d been going with Shawn. Joe had some qualities that she wished Shawn had more of, such things as steadfastness, caring about her activities, warmth, and understanding.
Oh, she wished he’d stop talking about his relatives. She didn’t really care about Uncle Vito’s family. She wished he would talk about the two of them.
Joe went on, heedless of her exasperated look. "Uncle Salvatore’s bakery on Wisconsin Avenue is thriving, and Aunt Ida is doing —"
"Joe!" she cut in impatiently. "When do you need to report back to your base?"
He lifted his brows in mild surprise at the interruption, then grinned. "Are you anxious to get rid of me?"
"Oh, no. It’s just that I thought we could spend some time together and maybe…" She left her statement unfinished.
"I leave at four o’clock," he stated, watching her thoughtfully.
"Oh, no." She glanced at her watch. "It’s two o’clock already." She almost groaned aloud. "I thought with Fort Myer so near you might not have to leave until morning. After all, the base is just across the river in Arlington."
He chuckled. "Oh, then you do want me to stay?"
"Yes," she breathed. "Oh, yes. I’ve missed you, Joe." She didn’t care if it did sound as if she yearned for him to remain. It was true, and she’d never been one to hide her emotions. "There are so many things I want to tell you. About my schoolwork and the drama reading I’m doing in English, the suffragists' arrests, and the burning of Wilson’s speeches." Her words tumbled out.
"Hey, little one, slow down." He laughed and threw back his head, showing even, white teeth. He sank down in a lawn chair with his long legs stretched comfortably out before him. "When you were small, you used to get so excited that I couldn’t understand your rapid babbling!"
She smiled. "I guess I was talking too fast, but it’s so good to have you here and to tell you what’s been happening. You’re the only one that I can talk to about the suffragists," she ended lamely.
"I read about the arrests in the Post," he said. "What spunk! No wonder you’re a suffragist. I’m only surprised you didn’t join them when you were twelve!" He shook his head and his face sobered. "But burning the President’s speeches! That’s serious. Some folks look on that as treason, and they’ll be alienated from your cause."
"That’s too bad," she retorted sharply. "We’ve waited too long as it is for Wilson’s promises to be fulfilled, but he never delivers."
Joe stood up and walked to her chair. "Laura, let’s walk over to the gazebo in the park." He offered her his hand.
"That would be fun," she said, happy at last for his attention.
Sitting in the gazebo with the lindens and weeping willows all around them, she longed for Joe to take her hand, but he was too engrossed in asking her questions.
"… and what is this drama reading you’re doing?"
"I’m preparing excerpts from the Pankhurst journals."
"The Pankhursts were early suffragists, weren’t they?"
She nodded. "They’re called suffragettes in England. Alice Paul demonstrated with Mrs. Pankhurst and learned many techniques from her."
"Just be careful you don’t upset your teacher right at the beginning of the year. Remember Mr. Blair!"
She shuddered. "How could I forget him? No, this assignment on journals and diaries is for English class. Miss Foster is very understanding." She stopped and observed him. "Now it’s your turn to talk. How is boot training?"
"It’s not too bad," he said, slinging his arm atop the balustrade behind her. "We’ve learned how to take a rifle apart, put it back together, how to clean it, how to stand formation, how to march step, how to make a bed, and how to pack a knapsack. Nothing very exciting, like your suffragist meetings!"
Ignoring his friendly barb, she asked, "What’s Fort Myer like?"
"Fort Myer? Bustling. It used to be only for ceremonial troops, escorts, and firing squads for military funerals. Now there are ten thousand of us there."
"Do you like your officers? I hope you don’t have anyone like Mr. Blair."
"Worse. My commanding officer is Colonel King, who’s a real tyrant. In the two weeks I’ve been there, the only orders he’s given are with a shout or a growl." He gave a low chuckle. "It will almost be a relief to be sent overseas, just to get away from him."
Her heart stopped. "Overseas?" she said weakly. Why hadn’t she thought of that? "When will you be leaving?"