White Bear Lake, Minnesota, 1925
If only this was something she enjoyed...
The outdoor dance floor covering the ground between the resort building and the water fountain overflowed with men and women set on having a good time. More people crowded the tables covered with alternating red, white and blue tablecloths that gave everything a patriotic feel, and the colorfully decorated Chinese lanterns hanging on the wires stretched from the tall corner posts added to the overall festive appearance.
Even the hill, as it gently sloped toward the lake on the other side of the fountain, was a flurry of activity, with people lined up outside the little red-and-white tents set up for them to change in and out of their swimming attire.
Her sisters had been right. As usual. People had come from miles around. Dressed in everything from fringed dresses and suit coats to beachwear. Age made no difference today. Betty Sandstrom, who’d turned ninety-one last month, sat in a chair with her cane hooked on one arm and on the other side of the table, Hannah Willis bounced her six-week-old baby boy, Henry. He was a cutie, with his tuft of blond hair and big blue eyes.
From her stance on the resort’s balcony, Josie Nightingale held her customary role, that of being a bystander, wishing she could embrace all of this. She’d much rather be watching from her bedroom window, but that wasn’t an option. She was expected to be in attendance today. Front and center, along with the rest of her family.
Resort employees served beverages by the trayload. Soda pop with striped straws and cocktails created to disguise the liquor filling the bottom half of the glasses. There was food, too. Lots of it. The scent of fire-roasted meat and corn boiled on the cob still hung in the air. Soon there would be dessert. Cake and ice cream.
The sigh that built in her lungs became too large to hold in. Too powerful. Josie let it out, feeling no relief when she did so. Everything was running smoothly. Extremely smoothly, but there was little pride inside her. Even less excitement.
There should be. A lot of work had gone into the party. The planning had started weeks ago. That wasn’t unusual. Nightingale’s Resort was known for its parties. What was different about this one was that it wasn’t just a Fourth of July celebration—it was her sister’s wedding.
Twyla and Forrest Reynolds had been married less than an hour ago. They were dancing right now, looking at each other with stars in their eyes. They’d been meant to be together. Josie had always known that. Had seen it with her own eyes years ago when they’d all been kids. She had a knack for that, seeing what others didn’t always see, especially in themselves. Still, Josie’s shoulders wanted to slump clear to her knees.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t happy for her sister. She was, and not just for Twyla, but also for their oldest sister, Norma Rose, who would marry Ty Bradshaw in a couple of weeks, and Ginger, who’d married Brock Ness down in Chicago last month. Everyone had been surprised this morning when Ginger and Brock had shown up, having driven from Chicago for Twyla’s wedding. Ginger and Brock, along with Norma Rose and Ty, were on the dance floor next to Twyla and Forrest, all of them looking happier than ever.
Josie tried to not feel it, but it was there. That deep, somewhat bitter sense of being the odd one out. The story of her life. For years, she’d told herself that was her choice. It still was. She truly didn’t give a hoot about all the fuss and finery surrounding the resort, surrounding her family.
She did love them. Her family. And she was thankful for them. That’s why she did all of this—planned parties she’d rather not attend, made beds and swept floors, even waited on tables and wrote out admittance tickets. The resort was the family business.
Today it was all just a bit unsettling.
Something must have changed inside her. In the past, she’d been better at putting on a smile—for show—when needed. Maybe it was just that currently, her life was in such disarray that keeping up the pretense that the world was as wonderful as her sisters claimed it was grew more impossible by the minute. She wanted to believe the world was a wonderful, happy place. She always had. But she knew otherwise. That notion weighed more heavily on her mind today than usual.
Another sigh built and burned inside her chest as an arm fell around her shoulders.
“Well, Josie-girl, it looks like it’ll be just you and me.”
The souring sensation in her stomach she’d had for days increased. Bucking up, for there was little else she could do, Josie planted a grin as big as her father’s billfold on her face and leaned against his shoulder as he hugged her close to his side with one heavy arm. However, she made no comment in response to his statement.
Roger Nightingale was feared as strongly as he was revered by everyone, including his daughters.
He kissed the top of her head. “Dare I say I’m happy there’s no man waiting in the wings to steal you away from me?”
The lump in her throat grew big enough to strangle a cow. Refusing to give in to the sadness or to peek toward the edge of the dance floor, Josie shook her head. “No chance of that, Daddy.”
“Don’t fret,” he said with another kiss. “The right man’s out there for you, too. Give him time.”
“I’m not fretting.” Lifting her gaze, because depending upon his answer, she knew things could get a whole lot worse, Josie asked, “Are you?”
“Nope.” His grin was broad and his blue eyes shimmered. “Losing three daughters in a matter of weeks is more than enough. I’m going to hang on to you until the very end.”
The strangling sensation happened again, and this time Josie couldn’t speak around it. Scrounging up a painful smile that was as wobbly as her insides, she once again rested her head near the front of his shoulder. Her gaze wasn’t controllable, either. Of their own accord, her eyes landed on Scooter Wilson. The sinking feeling within her could have sent her all the way to the other side of the earth.
Scooter was looking up to see if she was looking down at him, and when their gazes met, he lifted a brow. Though the Chinese lanterns were hung and the music had started, night had yet to fall, and she could clearly see, and feel, the challenge Scooter sent her way.
Josie swallowed. Why had she called him, of all people, when she’d been arrested? Because he’d been the one person she could count on to get her out without too many questions. Way back when she’d worn pigtails and hand-me-down dresses, Scooter had been the one to come to her rescue when any of the other boys, or girls for that matter, had picked on her for one reason or another. He’d never told anyone about those incidents. True to form, just like he’d kept all her other secrets, he was keeping this one. Despite the ultimatum he’d laid down. Either she stopped her activities, or he’d tell her father.
Neither of which could happen.
“Did Scooter fix your car?” her father asked, his gaze following hers.
“Yes.”
“Good,” he said gruffly. “I still think I should have Ned look into that entire escapade. One of my daughters being arrested for speeding is ludicrous. They should have told you to slow down and nothing more.”
Getting Sheriff Ned Withers involved would completely blow her last bit of cover. Her father thought she’d given Colene Arneson a ride up to Duluth to see a niece and that the speeding incident had happened on the way back home. “It was like Scooter said, Daddy,” Josie replied,