Circled Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

dismissive of Grandmother’s concerns. She lost a dearly loved daughter and missed her as much as I did despite the intervening years.
    Allen added, “She’s not the only one who would like to see you stay close to home, you know.” Surprised, I met his innocent gaze as he continued, “I’m sure your aunt and uncle and cousins all feel the same.” Allen stood up. “I’m on my way back to work, but I’ll see you tomorrow night. Your grandmother arbitrarily invited me to your homecoming party without, she told me shamelessly, even consulting you or your aunt.” We walked together to the door.
    “Grandmother always gets what she wants,” I commented, but even as I said it, I thought of my mother buried in a cemetery an ocean away and knew it was not true.
    Allen leaned to kiss me lightly on the cheek, a brotherly kiss with nothing but friendly affection in it, and said, “I am glad you’re home safely, Johanna.”
    I waved to him from the open doorway as he left, then turned to find my grandmother watching me from across the hallway.
    “Aren’t you glad I insisted you buy that lavender silk dress?” she asked, too sure of herself for her own good, and before I could respond, added, “May’s set supper and it’s getting cold.” I followed her into the dining room.
    “You don’t always know everything, Grandmother.” She didn’t dignify my remark with a response or a look, only let a little smug smile tug at the corners of her mouth as she sat down at the table.
    I quickly settled back into the placid life of Hill Street except for the discomfiting matter of Douglas Gallagher’s jewelry. The ring and the pin haunted me in a peculiar and inexplicable way. Rising in the morning, I always stopped long enough to open the lid of my jewelry box and stare at the two pieces lying on their velvet bed, sometimes touching the ring gently or picking up the stickpin and turning it so the diamonds sparkled in the morning sun that streamed through the window. I knew I could not keep the pieces but neither could I bear to part with them. Somewhere in Chicago a man named Andrew Gallagher went about his daily business, grieving for his brother and unaware that I had these meaningful mementos. I knew it wasn’t right for me to hold onto them, but I couldn’t help it. Something of the man was in the onyx and diamonds and gold, something of his cool poise and dark charisma, and I could not bear to part with the pieces he had entrusted to me. I would not betray his trust but I would delay it for while.
    The loss of the Titanic affected me more than I was willing to admit to anyone. I seldom thought about the experience during the day, but at night I was provoked by dreams of men toppling from the deck like rag dolls and women weeping seawater. Douglas Gallagher inhabited my dreams, too, stared at me accusingly over the railing as I rowed away, or reached up a flailing hand—the ring gleaming in the moonlight—through the black waves, or called something to me as he plunged into the ocean, I straining, desperate to hear, and furious that I could not catch his final words. The ring and pin became part of the dreams, haunted—and comforted—me in a strange way so that I could not part with them. Not yet.
    The night of my welcome home party I opened my jewelry box to reach for my mother’s strand of pearls and the little diamond G twinkled up at me, begging to be let out of its plush prison. I felt suddenly guilty and ashamed of myself. I had no right to hold onto either it or the ring. The jewelry belonged elsewhere and I determined to go in search of Andrew Gallagher and find him before the month ended.
    The lavender dress that looked so beautiful on the hanger did not look beautiful on me, and I could only sigh at my reflection. It would have been perfect for Jennie’s soft complexion and rosy lips but did not suit me. Too much coal in my hair and brows, eyes too dark, unbecoming freckles scattered across the bridge of