He tried to remember how many New Year’s Eves he’d sat in this kitchen, the last in the household to go to bed. How many times had he been the only family member to see in the new year? Half a dozen, at least. The Hennings weren’t much for late-night parties, not even this time of year.
Understatement, he thought with a chuckle.
Tonight, after Helen retired, Andrew had pulled out his Bible and read for more than an hour. He’d returned once again to the book of Joshua, this time in chapter 6, where he’d written the date moments before. After reading about the conquest of Jericho, he’d closed his eyes and envisioned himself marching around Berlin. He’d asked God to give the Allies that city the way He’d given Jericho to the Israelites. He’d asked the Lord to bring the war to an end in the new year. He’d begged Him to keep Ben safe, to give His angels charge over his oldest son.
Now he rose and added fuel to the fire in the wood-burning stove, trying to chase the chill from the room. He thought about going to bed but felt a restlessness that he knew would keep him awake. So he sat down at the table a second time, this time with a pen and paper.
Dear Ben,
It is nearly midnight as I begin this letter. Very soon it will be 1944. I think back to the morning of December 7, 1941. How innocent we were as we returned home from church. That was barely two years ago, but it feels like decades. Your mother and I long for our family to be together again. All of us in one place. Everyone felt your empty place at the dinner table this Christmas, although each tried to hide it in their own way.
Oscar has been struggling with his school studies ever since the death of Charlie Atwater. There is an anger inside of him that worries me and your mother. I understand his wish to join the fight, but the hatred in his heart is pushing out all that is good. He is ready to fight with anyone who disagrees with him, even his closest friends. I think even Rose is beginning to be afraid when she is with him, because his temper seems so volatile.
Grandfather Henning is feeling better at last, although he isn’t back to full strength as yet. Not surprising that recovery takes longer at his age (68 on his next birthday). He suggested that Oscar go to stay with him and your grandmother when spring planting begins. Oscar can help with their farm over the summer, and perhaps your grandfather can help your brother find a way to let go of his anger. Something I have failed at.
Louisa continues to write to Samuel Valentine, her sailor friend. She fancies herself very much in love with a young man she has never met. As you know, she is nearly eighteen, and she says that if Samuel gets leave, she is going to find a way to join him in San Francisco or Honolulu or wherever the navy sends him for rest. I don’t know how she would afford the fare to get to him, but there will be no way to stop her if she does come up with the money. Your sister is nothing if not determined.
At least I can say that Frani and Andy are causing us no grief. They are in good health, and neither gets into mischief beyond what is normal for children their ages. With Andy about to turn eight, your mother is beginning to feel the day approaching when all of her chicks have flown the nest. That’s still a good ten years away at the earliest, but she feels it keenly anyway.
Rationing has been the topic most talked about when people get together here in Kuna. This year it was canned goods, meat, fat, cheese, and shoes. We all wonder what will be rationed in 1944. We are better off than many, so I remind everyone to be grateful rather than complaining.
Salvage drives, the newspaper reports, have collected over 255,000 tons of tin cans, six million tons of wastepaper, and twenty-six million tons of scrap metal. I always hope that what we have salvaged here at home will make a difference for my boy and the men who serve with him.
I am sure I told you that Jewel will foal in late March. Remember when Jewel was born, when you and I waited up through the night with Belle? I suppose it will be Frani or Andy who wait with me this time. Frani, most likely. Her love of horses hasn’t dimmed one bit.
Speaking of waiting up through the night, the clock in the living room just announced that the new year has arrived. I will end this letter with wishes for a safe 1944 for you, dear Ben. We are all very proud of you. God bless.
Your father,
Andrew Henning
Chapter 18
It didn’t matter how much nail driving or mowing he did. Ben’s thoughts returned to Ashley throughout that Sunday afternoon. They were still on her when, after a shower, he settled at the table with Andrew Henning’s Bible. Without any particular verse in mind, not even one from that morning’s sermon, he flipped from book to book, reading a verse here and a verse there. He had no idea how much time passed before he found himself in the book of Joshua. There, toward the end of that book, he discovered a slip of paper, pushed deep into the gutter. He removed and unfolded it. Bold handwriting filled the page. Handwriting that he recognized from other places in this Bible. The note belonged to Andrew Henning.
Is my loyalty being tested by setbacks and delays? I am weary, for there is no end in sight. Joshua tells me to hold fast to God. Finish well. The Lord is present. He rewards faithful obedience. See what He did for the people of Israel. He will do the same for the Henning family. A. M. H. February 1945.
He read the words once, then a second time, savoring them. He wondered if Jessica had read this note. Had her grandmother Frani read it before her? Or was Ben the first to see it since the day Andrew had penned the words?
Wait until he showed it to Grandpa Grant.
He turned his attention back to the Bible, intent on finding the passage or passages that had caused his great-great-grandfather to write that note to himself. But the notification sound on his phone interrupted him.
Ashley: I could use a friend. May I come over?
Ben: Yes. Come anytime.
He waited for a response. None came. He could only assume she was already on her way. He refolded Andrew’s note and returned it to the gutter of the Bible, tucking it firmly between the pages so it wouldn’t be inadvertently lost. Then he said a quick prayer for Ashley, asking that he might be the kind of friend she needed, whatever the reason. Afterward, he went out onto the porch to await her arrival.
It wasn’t long before Ashley’s truck pulled into his driveway. A moment later she hopped to the ground. As soon as she looked in his direction, he knew she’d been crying. He seemed to feel her pain, and a need to protect her surged in his chest.
“I’m sorry for bothering you,” she said as she walked toward him. “I didn’t know who else to talk to.”
“You’re not bothering me, Ashley.” He resisted the urge to go to her and gather her in his arms.
“It’s about my brother.”
“What happened?”
She climbed the few steps to the porch. “It’s a long story.” Defeat was written on her face.
“I’m a good listener.” He motioned toward chairs on the porch. “Let’s sit down, and you can tell me about it.”
Ashley sank onto the nearest one, her gaze lowered to the porch floor in front of her. Ben waited a few moments before crossing to the chair beside her. Silently, he studied her expression, his heart hurting on her behalf without knowing the reason why.
When she spoke at last, her voice was low. “Dylan started acting out while he was still just a kid. He was six when our dad died, and it was like he lost his compass after that. He couldn’t navigate anymore. Mom did her best, but she was never good at discipline and enforcing rules. As Dylan got older, he kept pushing boundaries.”
Ben made a soft sound in his throat to let her know he listened.
“I’m not sure when he first started drinking. Maybe when he was twelve. Maybe a little younger. All I know for sure is he was addicted young. He was drunk more often than he was sober in junior high.”
Ben’s pulse skittered with alarm. He hadn’t guessed this was her brother’s problem. Should he have suspected because of something she’d said in the past? Had there been a sign that he’d missed?
“Eventually drugs entered the picture too. Prescription drugs that he stole wherever he could, mostly from the parents of friends. Any medicine drawer or cabinet that wasn’t carefully watched was fair game to him. Later he faked injuries to get opioids.” She drew a slow, deep breath and released it. “He’s good at playing the system. Mom always believed him, no matter what.”
Ben swallowed any comment he might have made. Especially the one about most addicts being master manipulators. He should know. He’d lived it. He’d been one.
“My brother can be mean when he’s using. He got in fights a lot.” She rubbed her jaw.
Ben suspected she was remembering a time when Dylan hit her. Anger stirred in his chest. Anger and sorrow. And trepidation over what this might mean for him. For them.
“He started getting in trouble with the law while he was still a juvenile. It got more serious when he became an adult. This last time—” Her voice broke, and she was silent for a while.
Waiting grew harder for Ben. He longed to offer words of advice or comfort or both.
“This last time, he did something that could have put him in prison, but the judge decided to give him one last chance. He ordered him into rehab. A six-month program with a long probation to follow. He wasn’t happy, but Mom and I hoped it would work this time.”
She sighed. “He left the center the other night. We’re not sure how he got out. It’s supposed to be secure, although it isn’t like a jail. But when they catch him, he’ll go to prison. That’s guaranteed.” She looked at him at last. “He came to my house earlier today. He came to ask for money, although he must have had some because he wasn’t sober. I refused to give him anything. So he called Mom. She probably gave him what he wanted.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “She always does.”
“I’m sorry, Ashley.” It was cold comfort.
“I don’t know what to do now. If I tell the police, wouldn’t Mom be in trouble for helping him?”
“I’m not a lawyer, but probably not. Not more than a scolding anyway.” Ben looked away from Ashley, his gaze sweeping over the barnyard and farmland. He prayed for wisdom. What should he tell her? He understood so much more than she realized. From both sides. “He’s got to want to get clean.”
“I know.”
He drew a long breath, hoping she would understand how much he cared, how much he wanted to help, even while he gave what he thought was the best advice. “Have you tried going to Al-Anon or Celebrate Recovery? They’re twelve-step programs for family members of alcoholics. A group like that might help you deal with everything. But you’ve got to want the help, just like he does.”
“I’m not the one who needs help.” Irritation had entered her voice. “And I don’t have to deal with Dylan. Either he disappears because he’s escaped, or he gets caught and goes to prison. Regardless, he’s gone.”
“And you don’t think either of those options is something you’ll have to deal with?”
Ashley sucked in a breath as she straightened in the chair. Her eyes told him he’d hit a sore spot. He was sorry, but he wouldn’t have taken the question back, even if he could. It was a truth she needed to face.
“Look, Ashley. Nobody can tell you exactly what to do. You’ve got to figure that out on your own. I sure don’t have answers. But I know something about what your brother—”
She stood. “I shouldn’t have involved you in this. I’d better go.”
Ben rose to his feet, wishing he could take her in his arms and simply hold her. But he was certain that would be no more welcome than his advice. She wasn’t ready for anything he might have to offer, including his own experiences. He would have to wait until she was.
* * *
Ashley fought tears all the way home. She’d expected to feel better after seeing Ben. She didn’t. She blamed his suggestion that she attend some of those stupid meetings. She wasn’t the one with a problem, and she certainly wasn’t an enabler like her mom. Ashley had never lied for her brother or cleaned up after him or bailed him out of trouble.
As if responding to that thought, her mom’s ringtone sounded on her phone. Without a word of greeting, she answered, “Did you give him money?”
“No.” Her mom’s voice caught on a sob. The sound hit Ashley like a truckload of guilt.
She pulled off to the side of the road. “What happened?”
“He had his friend wait for him in the alley. When I didn’t have any cash to give him, he . . . he left.” The hesitation in her mom’s voice told her there’d been an altercation. A bad one.
“Do you need me to come over?”
“No. I’m going to lie down. I’m just . . . tired. I’m so very, very tired.”
“Mom . . .”
“It’s okay, honey.”
Another wave of regret swept over her for the way she’d answered the call. “There must have been a reason you called me besides to say you’re going to lie down.”
“I . . . I wanted to hear your voice.”
“Oh, Mom. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s all right. Really.”
“Let me know if . . . if you hear anything.” She didn’t bother to explain what she meant. She didn’t need to.
“I will.”
After ending the call, Ashley sat in silence for a long while. An occasional vehicle drove past her, but for the most part the road was untraveled. In the field to the right, stalks had begun to dry following the last harvest of sweet corn. She supposed within a few weeks the stalks would disappear beneath the wheels of a combine, and then the ground would be turned under by a plow, readied for planting in the spring. A cycle of life. A farmer could count on it. Plant seeds. Add sunshine and water and time. Harvest. Till. Wait out the winter. Plant seeds again. Trustworthy and sure.
Unlike people.
She drew a deep breath, looked in the side mirror, and pulled back onto the road. It wasn’t long before her thoughts returned to Ben. Had it been rude to leave like that? With hardly a word of goodbye? Of course it had. He’d listened to her. When she’d looked at him, she hadn’t seen judgment or censure of any kind. He’d behaved like a friend. A good friend. Exactly what she’d wanted him to be. And while his suggestion about twelve-step groups upset her, it wasn’t advice she hadn’t heard before. In fact, she shouldn’t have let it bother her. She supposed he was even right about her having to deal with whatever happened to Dylan.
That realization darkened her mood a second time.
Thursday, February 24, 1944
“Mother! Dad!” Louisa’s voice rang through the house.
Helen left the kitchen, drying her hands with a towel, at the same moment Andrew came down the last step from the attic bedroom.
“Samuel’s been wounded. They’re sending him back to the States. To San Francisco.”
Andrew met his wife’s concerned gaze.
“I’ve got to go to him.” Louisa looked from Andrew to her mother. “You’ve got to let me go.”
“Louisa . . . ,” Helen said softly.
“Please.” Louisa’s gaze shot back to Andrew. “When he’s better, he says he’ll be sent back to his ship.”
“You’ve got school.”
“I could miss a few days. A week or so wouldn’t matter. My grades are good. I could catch up whatever I miss.”
Andrew rubbed his jaw. “You couldn’t travel alone, Louisa. You’re too young.”
“Then one of you could go with me. Or Grandma Greyson or Grandma or Grandpa Henning.” Louisa’s voice rose with each name.
“Darling,” Helen began, “you’ve never even met—”
“I’ll die if you don’t let me go. I’ll just die if I can’t be with him when he needs me.”
Andrew was tempted to say she was being overdramatic. Wisely, he bit back the words.
Louisa waved the paper in the air. “He could die the next time. If Ben had a sweetheart, wouldn’t you want him to see her if he was wounded? Especially if you couldn’t go to him.”
/> His daughter’s question hit its mark. Ben glanced at Helen again and saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. After drawing a deep breath, he asked, “Do you know the date the ship is to arrive?”
“No. Not for sure.” She looked at the V-Mail. “Maybe it’s there already. Can we find out? How do we find out? I don’t even know how badly he’s injured. It must be bad if they’re shipping him back to the States. They don’t do that for anything minor, do they?”
“There might be a different reason.”
“I’ve got to know how he is, Dad. I’ve got to.” She seemed close to hysterics.
“Louisa.” He spoke softly, steadily. “I think you should go to your room and lie down. Be calm. Pray. Your mother and I must talk about this alone. I can’t say now if you’ll be able to see this young man in San Francisco or not. But I will promise to do whatever I can to learn where he is and the state of his health. That will have to be enough for now.”
“But, Dad—”
“That will have to be enough for now.”
Crestfallen, she nodded. A tiny sob escaped her throat as she moved past Andrew and disappeared into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
“We never should have let her correspond with that boy.” Helen turned and went back into the kitchen.
Andrew followed her. “Could we have stopped her?”
“We could have tried.” She gripped the edge of the sink and stared out the window above it.
“He is a young man serving his country. He needed to hear from someone at home.”
“Oh, Andrew. What are we going to do?”
“Let’s find out the young man’s condition first. He may not even be allowed visitors.”
She faced him. “He was able to write to her.”
“He might have dictated the letter to a nurse or to a friend.”
Helen was silent a long while before saying, “It’s been so long since we had a letter from Ben.”
“If anything was wrong, we’d have heard.” He’d meant the words to comfort them both. It didn’t work for him. He doubted it worked for her either.
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