Free A Time to Love by Al Lacy Page A

she’s saying she wants to die. That worries me. What if she decided to take her life?”
    “Linda’s not going to take her life,” Adrienne said. “Its not in her to do a thing like that. She was talking that way last night. Beth was worried about the same thing, but as Nolan told her, that isn’t Linda talking. It’s the hurt inside her talking. With prayer and lots of love, she’ll come out of this state of despondency, and she’ll be our happy, cheerful Linda again.”
    Lewis Carter and Janet Forrest left Manhattan’s Grand Central Station early on Sunday morning.
    As Lewis carried their overnight bags, Janet held his elbow with one hand and pointed at the surreys that stood in line for passengers all along the street on the depot side. “There’s one of the Hudson Transportation Company surreys, darling. See it? Remember, Max said in his letter to hire one of them because they’re the best in New York.”
    “Oh. Sure.”
    Lewis focused on the waiting vehicle and the large sign on its side:
    Hudson Transportation Company

We Cover All Five Boroughs

Reasonable Rates
    As they walked toward the surrey, Janet squeezed Lewis’s arm and said, “Oh, darling, I’m so happy!”
    “Me, too,” he breathed.
    “It sure was great of Max to work out your transfer down here,” she said, a lilt in her voice.
    “Yeah. And it was plenty nice of him to get the apartment rented for us, and ready to move into.”
    “I’ll say.”
    “Max was a good friend when he was my foreman in Boston, and he’s even a better friend now.”
    “He didn’t know anything about you and Linda when he left Boston and came to Brooklyn, did he?”
    “No. When he transferred here, Linda and I were just starting to see each other on a steady basis.”
    “Good. No questions to answer then.”
    “That’s right.”
    The driver smiled as he slid off the seat. “’Mornin’, folks,” he said in a friendly tone. “Needin’ a surrey?” He was a short, chubby man with rosy cheeks and a heavy handlebar mustache.
    “We sure do,” Lewis said. “We need to go to Brooklyn. My fiancée will be staying at the Kensington Arms Hotel. Know where that is?”
    “Sure. On Church Avenue, right by Prospect Park.”
    “Okay. And I’ll be staying at a friend’s house on Flatbush Avenue six blocks south of Linden Boulevard. He lives at 3119. It’s a two-story house.”
    “Got it. The fee will be four dollars, plus the fifty cents to take the ferry across and back.”
    Soon the surrey was heading south toward the ferry dock, where they would cross the East River to Brooklyn. Lewis and Janet sat behind the driver, who told them his name was Bob Long and joked that they’d named Long Island after him.
    Long proved to be quite talkative. He pointed out places of interest and told little stories about incidents that had happened on particular streets.
    The couple held hands, more interested in each other than in what Long was saying. He went quiet a moment, then said, “So where you folks from?”
    “Boston,” Lewis replied.
    “Yeah? Boston’s a nice place, but I like New York better. So when you gettin’ married?”
    “Tomorrow.”
    “Oh, really? Church weddin’?”
    “No. My friend Max Burton—the one whose house you’ll be taking me to—has us lined up to take our vows before a judge in his chambers in the morning.”
    “I see. So you’re gonna be livin’ in Brooklyn?”
    “Yes.”
    “What business you in?”
    “Shipping. I work for the Dunbar Shipping Company. We have docks both in Boston and South Brooklyn. We’re at the big pier on Gravesend Bay.”
    “Oh, yeah. I’ve seen the sign, now that you mention it. So the company transferred you down here, eh?”
    “Yes. Max was my foreman in Boston until they transferred him here a couple years ago. He put in to have me come down and be his number-one assistant.”
    As they drew near the ferry dock, Long pointed ahead to a massive bridge under construction, spanning the East