Sentimental Journey (Home Front - Book #1)

by Barbara Bretton

  Oh, yes, she remembered that night. She would always remember it. That was the night she lost Douglas.

  And the night she met Johnny.

  Past, present and future had all come together then in a dizzying whirl of sorrow and rebirth. God had taken from her with one hand but been generous enough to hold her close in His other. But now that thought no longer comforted her.

  “Lucky you,” she whispered into the evening breeze that ruffled her curtains. “You’ve loved two men and lost them both.” One to death, the other to circumstance. There was nothing she could have done to save Douglas’s life, just as Eddie’s fate had been beyond her control.

  But as she sat there and watched dusk settle over Forest Hills, she wondered why it couldn’t have been different with Johnny.

  Few things in life lasted. Her love for Douglas hadn’t ended with his death. Her love for Johnny wouldn’t end simply because she said it must. Her heart had a will of its own—and that night she was afraid her heart would break.

  * * *

  Morning didn’t come a minute too soon.

  Catherine hadn’t slept well at all. She’d sat in the window seat until well after midnight, trying to make sense of the emotions at war inside her chest. Guilt over Eddie’s death. Regret that she hadn’t tried harder to help him, even if that help had been unwelcome.

  Her thoughts were jumbled and bleak as she walked with her family to St. Mary’s for the funeral. She’d stuck to her principles, and see where it had gotten her? She’d lost her position at Wilson, and more important, she’d lost the man she loved. How arrogant she was to throw away a gift like that for something as insignificant as the right to sit behind that scarred oak desk.

  How foolish she was to still wish there was a way she could be Johnny’s wife and her own woman, both at the same time.

  But there wasn’t, so why even think about it? The moment the war in Japan ended, America’s female work force would trade their soldering irons for lace-trimmed aprons and march en masse back to hearth and home. The returning soldiers would take their places again in the factories and the office buildings, and life would go back to normal. Everyone would be happy.

  Why don’t you stop tilting at windmills? she thought as she took her seat in the half-empty church. She tried very hard not to look at Eddie’s casket resting near the main altar, but its presence compelled her. Life was precious; Eddie’s premature death was proof that the war would continue to take casualties even though much of the fighting had stopped. Any day, any moment, could be your last. Did it make any sense at all to turn away from love if you were lucky enough to find it a second time?

  The funeral mass was unbearably poignant. Catherine cried through the brief eulogy. What could you say, after all, when a young man died of a broken spirit?

  “Requiescat in pace,” prayed Father O’Herlihy, and she sent her own prayers heavenward that Eddie would find the happiness with the Almighty that had been denied him on earth.

  You missed so much, Eddie, she thought. Love and marriage... a home and children... the chance to grow old with someone who loves you....

  All the things she’d turned her back on when she’d walked out the door on Johnny.

  But that was different, her mind argued. You were right to toss that ring back at him. What kind of life could you have with a man like that?

  But I love him, said her heart. Nobody said loving a man like Johnny would be easy. When did anything in life that mattered ever come easy?

  The church emptied. Still Catherine sat in the pew. “Honey?” Her mother touched her arm. “Should we wait for you?”

  She shook her head. “I need to be here for a while.” Her father patted her on the head the way he used to when she was a little girl. She wished she could run to him with her problems and have him make those problems disappear, but those days were over. Her father was a different man now, and it was his decision that had changed her life and Johnny’s.

  What a hopeless complicated tangle her life had become. If only she could sit down with Johnny now that the first passion of anger had cooled and tell him what was in her heart. But it was pointless even to think about it. Someone had to make the first move and she knew her stubborn pride would keep her from being the one. And when it came to stubborn pride, Johnny was her equal.

  Gathering her purse and gloves, she rose to leave the church. She was halfway up the aisle when she saw him. Johnny, standing at the back of the church. His hands were clasped behind his back, and his countenance was sober, as the occasion warranted.

  She was oddly touched that he had chosen to acknowledge Eddie’s passing, and she nodded briefly, eyes averted, as she walked by. It was only fitting, after all, that the man in charge of Wilson Manufacturing pay his respects to a former employee. It had nothing to do with her.

  She pushed open the heavy doors and stepped outside, pausing a moment to let her eyes adjust to the bright summer sunshine. Johnny was right behind her. She started down the steps. So did he. He paused with her at the corner, then crossed the street when she did. His steps sounded behind her, steady, unrelenting. Leave me alone, Johnny! It’s over... it’s all over.... But he didn’t. Every step she took was matched by one of his. Finally, a half block away from the railroad station, she whirled about and confronted him.

  “Stop following me,” she snapped, nerves at the breaking point. “Walk on the other side of the street.”

  “The hell I will. In case you’ve forgotten, this is a free country. That’s what all the fighting’s been about.”

  “I don’t need a lecture on why we went to war.” She unceremoniously yanked the tiny black hat from her head and tucked it under her arm. “If you don’t quit following me, I’ll call the police.”

  She hurried down the street with Johnny a half step behind her. Say something, you idiot! her heart screamed. This is the man you love, not a stranger. Don’t give up without a fight. She slowed her step at the start of Hansen Street. He bumped into her, almost knocking her off her feet.

  “Damn!” She grabbed for her right ankle. Tears spilled down her cheeks and she angrily brushed them away with the back of her gloved hand. “Can’t you watch where you’re going?”

  She remembered how it had felt to be held in his arms, to feel his lips on hers, to know the future was as bright as the sun shining overhead. He steadied her with an arm about her waist, and that simple touch released a flood of other memories.

  “You stopped short.” His hand brushed her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

  She had never felt more forlorn in her entire life. “Please go away,” she said, voice breaking. “I just don’t have the heart to fight you today.” Hold me, Johnny. Let’s start again. Happiness is too precious to let it slip away....

  “I don’t want to fight you, Cathy.”

  She looked up at him, into those beautiful blue eyes. “Let me go, Johnny,” she said, glancing away. “There’s no future for us.”

  She looked so desolate, so sorrowful, that hope leaped to life in Johnny’s battle-scarred heart. She didn’t grieve only for Eddie Martin; she grieved for what they’d lost between them. He knew it in his gut, his bones, his soul, and that knowledge gave him the courage.

  “I think there’s a way,” he said, picking a path carefully through a mine field of emotions. “I think we can make it work.”

  Her laughter was shrill and high. “The United Nations couldn’t make this work, Johnny. We’re two different people. We’ll never agree on the way to live our lives.”

  He grabbed her by the elbows and spun her around, forcing her to meet his eyes. I love you, she’d said the night he asked her to marry him. I’ll love you forever. It couldn’t be over. He wouldn’t let it be. He drew a deep breath. “There’s one thing we agree on—we can’t be happy without each other.”

  “That’s just too bad, isn’t it?” she shot back, the fiery, opinionated woman he loved. “Because we also know we can’t be happy with each other, either.”


  “Maybe we can.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Are you going to give me back my job at Wilson?”

  “No, but—”

  She broke away from his grip. For a moment he thought she was going to take a swing at him, but she got a handle on her anger and glared at him instead. “I’m not going to be your secretary, Johnny. I’m not going to be your wife. I’m not going to be your friend.”

  “Would you be my partner?”

  Her jaw sagged comically. He wanted to laugh, but knew he’d be risking dismemberment if he did. “What?” she said.

  “My partner.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No. I’m not kidding at all.”

  “Equal partners?”

  “I wouldn’t ask anything less of you, Cathy.”

  “I—I don’t understand. If this is some kind of charity, Johnny, so help me, I’ll—”

  “Listen, woman.” He grabbed her again and pulled her close. She smelled of softness and flowers. “Don’t give me credit for being charitable. Your dad made a mistake. The company needs you.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “Who am I kidding? I need you.”

  Was he crazy or did he see a twinkle in her eyes? “All that paperwork getting you down, Johnny?”

  Pride had gotten them into the trouble they were in. It was time to put his pride aside and speak from the heart. “I can’t do the job, Cathy, not all of it. Wilson’ll be in debt up to its eyeballs if I’m the one making the financial decisions.”

  She closed her eyes against a wave of hope that flooded through her body. Forget your idiotic pride, her heart begged. Listen to him. This is the man you love, the man you want to spend your life with.

  “I’m not very good dealing with the workers,” she said, voice low. “If I had to deal with them on a daily basis, I’d end up with an empty factory.” There, Catherine Anne. That didn’t hurt so much, did it?

  He pulled her closer, so close she could feel his breath against her cheek, the warmth of his body.

  “Looks like we’re not much good alone, are we?”

  She breathed deeply of his scent, then touched his cheek. His skin was smooth; only the slightest scratch of beard rasped against her fingertips. She longed to press her lips against the curve of his jaw, feel his lips against hers.

  “Are you sure you can share responsibilities with a woman?”

  He thrust a hand through his hair. She noticed again the way the last few fingers were rigid, his permanent legacy of war. “Want the truth?”

  She nodded. “Nothing less.”

  “I want a wife, Cathy. I want kids to carry on my name. I’ve spent most of my life alone. That’s not the way to live. I want a home of my own, a family of my own. But...” This was going to be harder than he’d thought. He struggled for the right words. “But I want you to be happy. I want that glow in your eyes to be there until the day I die, and if that means we work together at Wilson, well, I’ll have to learn to live with it.”

  “That’s not exactly a vote of confidence,” she said, although she knew how much the admission had cost him.

  “I love you. It’s the best I can do.”

  And Catherine was a child of her times. “I want to make a home for you,” she said slowly. “I want children, and grandchildren, and I want to grow old beside you. But there’s a part of me I never knew was there.” She laughed again, but this time her laugh was soft and almost sad. “I’m smart and I’m capable and I can make a difference. No,” she corrected herself, “I have made a difference at the factory, and I deserve a chance to continue what I’ve started.”

  “I’m willing to give it a try.”

  “People won’t like it,” she said, her heart swelling with emotion. “My father won’t understand.”

  “He’ll learn,” said Johnny, reaching inside his pocket. “We all will.”

  Neither one understood why such a simple solution would make everyone so uncomfortable, but there it was. In a country trying desperately to return to normal, Catherine and Johnny had discovered that the old roles didn’t fit quite the way they had before. Like it or not, change was in the air, and there were tough times ahead for men and women in love.

  He held out his hand to her and in his palm she saw the glitter of her engagement ring.

  “I shouldn’t have thrown it at you.”

  “I shouldn’t have let you walk out that door.”

  “We can make it work,” she said, her voice fierce with love and hope. “We will make it work.”

  “I love you, Catherine Wilson.” He slipped the ring on her finger. “That’s one thing that will never change.”

  She looked down at the diamond ring, the beautiful symbol of the future they would share together. She wanted to shout her happiness to the world, fling wide her arms and dance for joy that she’d been lucky enough to find love in a dangerous world. But more than anything she wanted Johnny to know just how very much she would always love him.

  So there, right in the middle of the street, Catherine raised herself on tiptoe and pressed her lips to Johnny’s ear. “I love you,” she whispered. “Forever and ever.”

  And then, in full view of everybody, Johnny kissed the woman he loved.

  * * *

  Down the block, Dot Wilson and Edna Weaver watched as Johnny swept Catherine into his arms.

  “Well, well,” said Edna, dabbing her eyes with the cuffs of her gardening gloves, “What do you think of that, Dot?”

  Dot Wilson thought about the war, about love and separation, about second chances and happier days ahead. And then she threw back her head and her laughter floated up into the summer air. “Edna, I’d say it’s about time.”

  Epilogue

  “Nancy! They’re going to cut the cake.”

  Nancy stuck her head back inside the front door. “In a minute, Mom.” The Wilson house was so noisy and smoky and crowded, she could barely hear herself think. Catherine and Johnny had wanted a small and private wedding, but they hadn’t counted on Dot’s indomitable will. Somehow Dot had conjured up a long white dress, Edna Weaver’s red roses, champagne and fifty happy guests waiting to taste the spun-sugar wedding cake and see who would catch the bridal bouquet on that beautiful Saturday in October.

  The past two months had been a blur of excitement and upheaval. Japan had surrendered on August 14, and New York City had erupted in ecstasy as the electric sign of the Times Tower flashed the words: “Official—Truman announces Japanese surrender.” By the time V-J Day arrived on September 2, Nancy had already sipped more champagne in two weeks than she had in her entire life.

  The war was over. The bloodshed, the sorrow, the years of wondering if life would ever be the same as it was before Pearl Harbor.

  Of course, everybody knew the answer to that one. Nothing was the same as it had been. President Truman’s decision to drop the A-bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki had ushered in a new era of warfare—deadlier, more costly, more frightening than anything a Hollywood scriptwriter had ever imagined.

  But nobody on Hansen Street was thinking of such things that Saturday afternoon. Catherine and Johnny had finally taken their vows at St. Mary’s in a beautiful, tearful ceremony, and now the entire neighborhood was gathered at the Wilsons’ for a celebration.

  Everyone, that was, except Nancy. Oh, she was happy for Cathy and Johnny. She couldn’t imagine any two people more right for each other than her sister and the handsome young man. It had been a rocky road to the altar, but somehow they had worked things out and their future seemed as bright as the lights of Manhattan.

  And she was happy for her parents, too. Her dad still wasn’t the same self-confident man who had marched off to war so long ago, but if the sparkle in her mother’s eyes was any indication, it just didn’t matter. Dot Wilson had her husband back at home and all was right with their world.

  Aunt Edna and Uncle Les were in seventh heaven because Mac had come home on furlough—safe and sound—two weeks ago, and he and a date were inside
toasting the newlyweds with everyone else.

  It seemed there were happy endings all around—for everyone except her.

  “Quit feeling sorry for yourself,” she said out loud, hugging herself against the brisk autumn air. “He’ll be here. He promised.”

  She glanced down at his high-school ring dangling from a chain around her neck. I’m going to replace that with a diamond, Nance, his last letter had said. The first second I get back to the States...

  “Things change,” her mother had said, trying to cushion her probable disappointment, “I’m sure the boy meant what he said, honey, but you know that war makes people say and do a lot of things they’d never do otherwise.”

  Foolish little Nancy, believing that her pen pal really loved her. Wasn’t that a hoot? Falling in love through the U.S. Mail. That Nancy, always cooking up some damn fool scheme to get attention—

  “Nancy!” Her father’s voice this time, louder and more insistent. “Get in here now or else.”

  “I’m coming,” she called back. “I’m—”

  She stopped, her gaze riveted on a lone figure at the head of the block. Bell-bottom trousers, a jaunty strut, a duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

  “Gerry?” She placed her hand on her chest, as if to control the crazy pounding of her heart. “Gerry!”

  He stopped in front of the Bellamy house. That wonderful, beloved face lit up with a smile so joyous she would remember it for the rest of her life. He tossed the duffel bag to the ground and opened his arms wide.

  Lifting the skirts of her long, pale blue dress, she flew down the steps toward her future.

  Watch for Nancy and Gerry’s story, Stranger in Paradise

  More eBooks from Barbara Bretton

  The Crosse Island Harbor Time Travel Trilogy

  Somewhere in Time

  Tomorrow & Always

  Destiny’s Child