Amber By Night. Sharon Sala
Читать онлайн книгу.
to fly…and we don’t fly.”
“Of course we don’t,” Rosemary muttered, as she exited the dining room. “Only birds fly. I swear, Willy. I think you’re getting senile. I read the other day where…”
Her sister’s jaw jutted dangerously. “I’m not senile…and you read too much.”
Amelia sighed. Casting another nervous glance at the clock, she began stacking dishes with a vengeance as the sisters disappeared into the living room.
A couple of hours later, she was fidgeting in her chair and trying not to watch the clock, wondering if they were ever going to go into their rooms. To her relief, Aunt Witty appeared at the head of the stairs wearing a bathrobe wrapped around her tall, spare frame like a faded blue pencil with wrinkles. A long gray braid hung over her shoulder and down across her flat chest, nearly lost in the garment’s loose folds.
“Amelia, aren’t you coming up?” she called down. “It’s nearly eight-thirty.”
The aunts were firm believers in the early to bed, early to rise philosophy and never veered from their routine. Amelia bit her lower lip. She hated lying, but she hated being afoot worse. She was going to buy that new car or know the reason why.
“No, Aunt Witty, not yet. I want to finish this book first. I’m at a really good part and don’t want to stop.”
Wilhemina frowned. She didn’t have to look to know that Amelia was probably reading another romance. They were her favorites.
“You’ve got to quit reading that trash. It will only confuse you. I recommend Little Women. It was always a favorite of mine and quite wholesome, you know.”
Amelia rolled her eyes. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll remember that.”
Aunt Witty’s door went shut just as Amelia looked up at the clock. She had less than thirty minutes to meet Raelene Stringer.
With a sigh, she marked her place and tucked the book down between the cushions, then dashed to the downstairs closet. She pulled out a small overnight bag and a pair of running shoes. Everything she needed for her job was inside. With one last glance up the darkened stairwell, she turned out the lights and quietly locked the front door behind her.
The streets were nearly empty. Amelia breathed a constant prayer that she would not have to explain her strange mode of dress and behavior, and headed for the corner two blocks over.
The dark gray sweatsuit she was wearing blended into the evening shadows as she jogged to her destination. It was Thursday night and nearly time for Amber Champion to clock in at The Old South outside of Savannah. To her everlasting appreciation, Raelene was waiting for her at the corner of Fifth Street and Delaney.
She giggled as Amelia slid into the passenger seat. “Ooowee, honey, I didn’t think you were coming,” then she turned on the headlights and put the car in gear. The engine rattled and knocked, a sure sign of something in need of repair.
Once Amelia had gotten the job at The Old South, her excitement had fizzled when she’d realized that getting to work was going to be a problem. Bus service between Tulip and Savannah was sporadic.
Raelene had taken one look at the tall, leggy woman coming out of the boss’s office and nearly swallowed her gum. The town librarian had been the last person she would have expected to walk into a place like The Old South.
The club was a hopping nightspot. Many of the men had a way of assuming that just because a woman worked at a place like this, that she was available for more than serving drinks. Of course, Raelene never minded their assumptions. She met some of her favorite men this way. But she recognized Amelia. And she’d never let on when Amelia had been introduced to her as Amber Champion. She simply cocked an eyebrow, shifted her chewing gum to the other side of her jaw, and offered Amber a ride. That a friendship of sorts had formed still surprised them both.
Amelia winced as the car belched smoke before smoothing out into its regular gait. Just what she needed. If Raelene’s car blew up on Tulip’s main street, it would be all over. She was supposed to be safely inside the house immersed in a book of romance.
To her relief, the car seemed to settle, and it was time for Amber to make her appearance. She pulled down the sun visor, adjusting the small mirror on the back, and then began sorting through her bag for makeup and trading eyeglasses for contact lenses.
Raelene eyed Amelia’s chestnut curls enviously. “Girl, I don’t know why you hide your pretty face behind those glasses. I tried to get my hair that color once and it came out as brassy as that bedstead in the display window at Murphy’s Furniture. And those eyes of yours! Lord have mercy, you oughta wear contact lenses all the time. Not everyone has eyes like yours. I don’t think I ever knew anyone who had blue-green eyes.”
“My daddy did,” Amelia said, pausing for a moment to let Raelene maneuver across the old bridge outside of town. It was difficult enough to put on makeup between bumps in the road. That planked bridge was impossible. “And I wear glasses because they are easier. Aunt Witty says they make me look professional.”
Raelene rolled her eyes. “Shoot, they just hide those pretty eyes and add about ten years to your age is all. If you have to wear them, you oughta get you some real stylish ones. I saw a picture…”
Amelia smiled and let Raelene talk. It didn’t matter what she said because Raelene didn’t expect an answer. Before she knew it, they had arrived.
Cars were already beginning to fill the parking lot. It would be a busy night. “We’re here,” Raelene said, as she turned off the highway.
Amelia began stuffing things back into her bag and gave her hair one last fluff. “We’d better hurry. Tony will have a fit if we’re late tonight.”
They jumped out of the car on the run.
“So, Tyler, what do you think? If you contract next year’s peanut crop to me, you’re bound to come out ahead. Regardless of how the price fluctuates at harvest, you’re guaranteed a substantial profit.”
Tyler grinned. Seth Hastings was a whiz at the commodity markets. And the fact that his father owned one of the larger mills in the area didn’t hurt his standing, either.
“Yes, Seth, I suppose I might make a real killing, unless my crop fails and I have to go somewhere and buy someone else’s whole damned harvest just to fulfill my contract to you.”
Seth Hastings looked over his steepled fingertips to the man sitting on the other side of his desk. “Now, Tyler, you know that’s not going to happen. You’re one of the best farmers in the state. You haven’t had a failed crop since you started wearing pants with zippers.”
“I’ve come too damned close too many times to take anything for granted and you know it,” Tyler argued. And then he leaned back in his chair and cocked one long leg across his knee. “But, I’m going to take a chance. I’ve got a hunch about the government pay base this year and it doesn’t feel good. If we don’t get someone in office up in Washington that understands farmers and makes some changes in the agriculture program, we’re all going to be out on our ears and that’s a fact.”
“All right.” Seth grinned and clapped his hands. “This calls for a celebration! And I know just the place. Ever been to The Old South?”
Tyler glanced down at his watch, calculating the time he knew that they’d spend at some club against the time he had to drive home to his farm outside of Tulip, and decided that he deserved a break.
“No, but I have a feeling I’m about to be taken there.”
“Like Sherman took Atlanta,” Seth said.
Tyler grinned. “You better not say that too loud around here.”
Seth laughed. “Come on reb, let’s go have us a party.”
“Lead on, Yankee,” Tyler retorted. “I’m due some R and R.”
Amelia glowed beneath the