“And you’ll look after my victory garden, make sure my lettuce doesn’t die?” she asked.
I nodded. Rose’s victory garden was supposedly helping with the war. But I wasn’t exactly sure how her lettuce patch in our backyard was supposed to do anything. If only I could trade Rosie’s lettuce for Jay’s deployment overseas.
“Don’t overwater or you’ll kill them,” she was saying now. “Just a little water, every morning, Daise.”
“I know,” I told her, kissing her gently on the forehead.
“And Daise—” She grabbed my hand and I thought she was going to tell me more about the lettuce.
“I promise you, Rosie, your lettuce will still be alive when you get back,” I said.
She nodded. She was no longer worried about the lettuce. “Be good,” she said softly, instead.
I inhaled, wondering if she really could see what Jay and I had done last night from the expression on my face, or, hear it, in the huskier tone of my voice. But then she smiled at me, that beautiful, pure Rosie smile. She didn’t know. She was always telling me to be good. Always wanting me to see the world more like she did.
* * *
AFTER ROSE AND Daddy left for the train, I bundled up and headed to the club. I’d spent so much time with Jay these past weeks, I’d barely seen Jordan. And I knew if I wanted to talk to her now, it would have to be out on the course with her, walking beside her and her caddie.
It was chilly and windy outside; the December air felt almost crisp enough for that rare Louisville snow. But Jordan would still be out on the golf course. She was so obsessed with that silly little sport; she practiced in the heat of the summer and chill of winter.
The club course was a men’s course, and truth be told, I wasn’t exactly sure why they let Jordan use it at all, much less in any weather she pleased. But I suspected all the men in Louisville were a little afraid of Judge Baker, Jordan’s daddy. And maybe, they were also just a little in awe of Jordan’s game, which was supposedly very good. Not that I knew anything at all about golf.
Jordan was easy enough to spot on the course now, as no one else was out playing in this cold today. I found her preparing to take a shot on the ninth hole. I stood back, watched her for a moment. Her brow furrowed in concentration before she lifted the club, swung, and the tiny white ball flew through the air. Her power was impressive. And maybe a little terrifying, too.
“Daise, what are you doing out here?” she called out, noticing me watching. I waved and walked toward her. “Meet me at the next tee box,” she said to the caddie, then took her bag of clubs from him and handed them to me. They were heavy, and I sunk for a moment before righting myself. I hoisted them over my shoulder and walked with her to find her ball.
“Jay snuck into my room last night,” I told her, keeping my voice low. Though no one else was around to hear me now. “We were… together. All night.”
Jordan paused, put her hands on her hips, and frowned. Then she exclaimed, “Oh! There it is.” She walked around me to stand behind her ball. “Daise, nine iron.” She held out her hand.
I shook my head and thrust the bag of clubs toward her so she could take what she wanted. “Did you hear what I said?” I asked her. She took a club and positioned herself behind her ball, rocking her hips.
She swung and the ball flew through the air again, until it dropped, then rolled ever so slowly into the hole up ahead. Jordan smiled at her success, walked ahead, and picked up her ball. I walked after her. “Jordie?” I was practically shouting her name. She was my best friend. I wanted her to reassure me, to help me. The way she always did.
“What do you want me to say?” she finally asked.
Jordan had told me a few days after Adelaide’s party that she thought Jay seemed all right to have fun with, but not the kind of man I should fall in love with. You’re not going to marry him! she’d said, laughing. And I’d been turning her words over in my head ever since.
“I think I am going to marry him,” I said now, finally responding, weeks later. It felt as if Jay and I had taken that vow with each other last night. Not legally, perhaps. But we’d said it to each other, felt it with each other, and that meant something. That had to mean something.
Jordan put her club back into the bag, took it from me, and walked briskly toward the next hole, waving for her caddie to come back. I had to run to catch up with her. “Are you mad at me?” I called after her.
She stopped, turned around, and gave me a hard look. “Oh, Daise. We both know he’s not the kind of man you’ll marry. You’re young and beautiful and why would you give yourself away, just like that, to a soldier?”