PRIMROSE JUNCTION

CHAPTER 1

Bertram Webb stood in the shadows by the general store. It was late August, and the day was hot. As a bead of sweat trickled down his back, he wriggled and rubbed his back on the post behind him. He reached up and took off his straw hat, wiping his brow with his sleeve. He was waiting for Jeanine Morse to get out of work, and she seemed to be running a bit late.

Finally, he heard the door open and Jeanine's voice called out, "Goodbye, Mrs. Campbell, I'll see you on Thursday."

Bertram knew that Lyle Chatterton would be driving down the street any minute now. He didn't have much time. As the door swung closed, he jumped out from his hiding place.

"Hi, Jeanine," he said, his face covered with his trademark grin.

"Oh, goodness, Bertram," Jeanine yelped. Her hand flew up to her heart. "You scared me."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Jeanine," he said contritely. "I've just been waiting for the longest time."

"Well, what have you been waiting for?" she asked. She couldn't help but return his smile.

"Well, it's just . . ." Suddenly, he felt shy. He reached his hands up to his overall buckles and twisted the straps as he talked. "I - I was wondering . . . your birthday is coming."

"Yes, I know."

"Well, I was wondering . . . could I take you on a picnic this Saturday?"

Jeanine's face fell. "Oh Bertram, really I would love to . . . but Lyle is taking me to Springfield on Saturday for a carnival. I'm sorry." She put her hand on his arm.

He looked down at her hand and then into her big brown eyes. He loved her eyes and her chestnut hair. She was wearing the prettiest pink and white dress, with a big floppy white hat to block the sun. His heart melted.

"Aw, that's all right, Jeanine," he said, pouting a little. "I guess I'll have to come up with something else for your birthday, then."

"Oh Bertram, you don't have to get me anything," she said.

He started to protest, but he heard the familiar roar of Lyle's sporty yellow motorcar coming up the street. Lyle honked his brand new horn and pulled up beside Jeanine, sending up a dusty cloud.

Bertram stepped back and coughed. His shoulders slumped as he watched Lyle hop out of his car and help Jeanine into the passenger seat. Lyle, as usual, was dressed in his finest dress pants and shirt, with a tan, thinly striped vest and a smart flat cap atop his head. Bertram looked down at his worn brown shirt and faded overalls. He sighed as he brushed his bangs back out of his eyes and put his straw hat back on.

"Goodbye, Bertram," Jeanine called out, waving. "I'll talk to you later, all right? I'm coming by to get some eggs from your mother."

Bertram nodded and waved. "Bye, Jeanine. Bye, Lyle." With his head hung down, he turned and headed for home, kicking a rock as he went.

As his wood burner was not running very well, he began the long walk back to his farm. Once he got out of town, he veered off the main road and followed the river. He was about a half mile away from home when he heard a squeaky yelping sound. Following the sound, he rounded a bend in the river and hiding in a large bush was a small, scrawny looking dog, all black with just a little white tip on her tail. As Bertram got closer, she lowered her head and whined.

Bertram crouched down and held out his hand and talked softly. "Come here, girl. That's right, come on."

The dog got up and started to walk cautiously toward him. That's when Bertram saw the puppy . . . well, puppies, but two appeared to be dead. There was one, however, that was still wiggling around and making squeaking noises.

The dog stood a few feet away, stretching her neck to sniff his hand. Bertram held still and kept murmuring little sounds to the dog. When she finally approached him, he ran his hand down her back. He was surprised to feel her spine and ribcage.

"Aw, you poor thing. You're starving. Come on, I think I can carry you both. Will you let me hold your baby?" The dog leaned against him and whined again. Bertram reached into the bush and gently picked up the puppy; then in his other arm, he lifted the dog. She reached up and licked his cheek.

Meanwhile, Jeanine Morse sat frozen in the motorcar next to Lyle Chatterton as they careened down the road. Lyle liked going fast, but it frightened Jeanine. She had tried to tell him when he first got the car how much the speed frightened her, but he dismissed it as typical female manipulation.

"So, what did Plow Boy want?" Lyle asked with a sneer.

"Don't call him that," Jeanine scolded. "He asked me to go on a picnic Saturday. I told him we were going to the carnival."

"Good. Whatever possessed him to think you would go out with him anyway?" Lyle shook his head. He and Bertram had known each other since they were boys, but Lyle lived a lot richer lifestyle than the Webb family could ever imagine. Lyle's father owned a logging company and the town's sawmill, both businesses being quite successful.

"Lyle, don't be mean. Bertram is a very sweet boy." Jeanine shook her head and frowned.

Her mother had died when Jeanine was only 16 years old. Then, last spring, her father was killed when a fierce storm took down their big oak tree, sending it crashing into their barn, where he had been doing some woodworking. He was killed instantly.

Lyle had been driving by in his brand new motorcar when the storm blew in and had taken shelter at the Morse home. When the tree came down, he was the one that was there to comfort Jeanine.

Ever since then, Lyle had taken control of her life; being so alone and grieving, she had come to lean on him. Lately, though,she was questioning whether it was love or just convenience. Not to mention that she was becoming frustrated with the way he treated people that he deemed below his social status; especially Bertram. Like Lyle, she had known Bertram since they were children. His family lived up the road from hers, and they had often walked to school together; although, Bertram was a few years older.

Jeanine put her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. She remembered the day last month when Bertram had entered his wood burner in the town's automobile race. Bertram had gotten arrested on a trumped-up charge, so his friend, Agatha, a saleslady from St. Louis, had driven it and won the race. Jeanine had been disappointed that Bertram hadn't been the driver; she had been named Queen of the Fair that day and was scheduled to kiss the winner on the podium.

She was snapped back to the present when Lyle rounded the corner into her front yard on two wheels. Jeanine let out a screech and dug her nails into his dashboard.

"Good Lord, Lyle," she yelled when he pulled to a stop. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Oh, stop being so dramatic," he answered. He turned to her and put his arm on the back of the leather seat, hoping that she'd slide over for a kiss.

Instead, she whipped open her door, jumped out of the car and headed for her front door in a fury.

"What are you so mad about?" he asked, completely perplexed, as he followed her onto the porch.

Honestly, she didn't even know. He wasn't behaving any differently than any other day he had driven her home for the past few months. Bertram. The thought snuck into her head.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied him. Bertram. He was cutting across the field beyond her garden, on his way home from town. She was trying not to look over at him; that would just alert Lyle to his presence . . . but it looked like he was carrying something awkward.

"Aren't you going to invite me in?" Lyle asked.

She didn't want to, but if he turned back to the car now, he would definitely see Bertram. That would only lead to more snide comments, and she didn't want to spend the rest of the afternoon arguing.

"Fine," she said, standing back and opening the front door. "But just for a few minutes. One glass of lemonade."

As Lyle barreled by her and headed to the icebox, Jeanine watched Bertram from a distance. He looked like he was happily chatting away to someone. She smiled to herself as she closed the door and went in to deal with Lyle.