Maude

  Paul turned and, grumbling to himself, went to his room.

  Gene gave me a quick hug. “I better get upstairs myself or Evelyn will be chewing me out.”

  I watched him with a frown as he went up. Before he married, he never missed a Sunday service, but I wouldn’t call him to get up early in the morning. Evelyn’s mother was a Baptist, and the girl refused to go to church with me, but didn’t make any effort to go with her mother, either. Since Evelyn didn’t go, Gene stopped going. He preferred to spend every possible minute with his beautiful wife and daughter.

  I felt it was George’s fault that members of my family showed disrespect to church attendance. He’d set the example. I didn’t even try to stifle the resentment gnawing at me.

  I went to bed, but lay awake in the dark and listened for George and Bud to come home. It was after midnight when I heard the sound of voices singing loudly and George and Bud stumbling up the front steps. I almost ran to meet them.

  I planted myself in front of them as they came in the door. They held one another up, and both of them ignored me. They reeked of beer and cigarettes. Bud practically fell on the sofa and went right to sleep. George took Bud’s shoes off and covered him with a blanket. I went back to bed.

  I got up early the next morning and dressed for church. Paul refused to get out of bed, kicking at my hand when I pulled on his foot to wake him. I finally gave it up, and Betty Sue and I went next door and rode with Bessie and her family. I was grateful Bessie had the good sense not to ask about them. I knew she had to have heard the men come home.

  George had to work the next day, so Bud went out alone Sunday night.

  Monday afternoon, when George came home from work in John’s truck, he brought a full size set of bedding with him. He’d bought it second-hand from one of the men he worked with at the factory.

  I asked, “What’s that for, George?”

  “I’m putting it in the basement for Bud. I don’t want him to have to sleep on that sofa. It’s too short for him.”

  “He’s only going to be here for two weeks, and he’ll be drunk most of that time. What are we going to do with it then?”

  George lowered his head and glared at me. “He’s going off to war, Maude. If he’s scared and feels the need to ease that a little by drinking before he goes, then that’s all right with me. I’m scared myself. Once he leaves, we may never see our boy again, and I’m going to treat him right while I still have him.”

  I threw my hands in the air and went back to the kitchen.

  George and Bud went out together that night. George came home early by himself and came to bed without his supper. I lay with my back to him and said nothing. Sometime early in the morning, I woke when I heard Bud come staggering in and going to the basement. I guessed George explained the arrangement to him.

  Bud came home drunk every night. George went out and drank with him on Fridays and Saturdays.

  The two weeks leave came and went, and Bud made no move to pack up and re-join his company.

  I asked him, “Won’t you get in trouble?”

  “Nah. Me and the Old Man are buddies. I saved his life one time.”

  “How did you do that?’

  “I had a bunch of new recruits out on the firing range when the Old Man came to check us out. One of the greenhorns went a little nuts. He pointed his rifle at the Old Man and said he was going to kill him. I got between them and said he’d have to shoot me first.”

  “Oh, Bud! That was so brave of you!”

  “Not really. I knew the boy was just scared of going off to war. I talked to him until I could see he was calming down. He finally put down the rifle, and they took him off to the infirmary. We never saw him again. Since then, the Old Man goes out of his way to make my life easier. That’s why I got my stripes back.”

  One afternoon at the end of the third week, two MPs came to the door looking for Bud. He was still sleeping, and when I called down to him, he came and greeted the MPs like old friends. The three of them slapped one another on the back and joked like long-lost brothers. I couldn’t believe it. Like his father, Bud certainly could charm the birds out of the trees.

  The next thing I knew, the three of them had gone off somewhere. They didn’t come back until early morning. I found one sleeping on the sofa and Bud on the floor. The other one slept in Bud’s bed. They went out drinking together the next night and the next.

  Two more MPs came to the door, and Bud greeted them as heartily as he had the first pair. I couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made friends with every MP in his camp. As often as he’d lost his stripes over the years, I figured he probably was on a first-name basis with each and every one of them. This new pair must have had had stricter orders than the last and refused the offer of a beer. Bud finally gathered up his things and the five of them left after Bud gave hugs and handshakes all around. He promised to write home.

  George stood on the porch and watched them drive away with his oldest son, carrying him back to Kentucky and then to the war. He didn’t come inside for a long time, and when he did, he went straight to the basement.

  He didn’t come up until he had to get ready for work Monday morning. I went about my business. I knew I couldn’t comfort him, but I promised myself I would remember Bud in my prayers every night as much for George’s sake as for Bud’s.

  Chapter 46

  One day a few weeks after Bud went back to Fort Knox, I was getting ready to go to the grocery store. I put on my hat, and Paul grabbed the canvas bags we used to carry what we bought.

  “Tell your father I’m ready,” I said. Paul ran to the door. George was in John and Bessie’s garage, watching John as he worked on the truck.

  I stepped out to the porch just as a car with a seal on the door pulled up in front of the house. I stopped in my tracks. Two men wearing Army uniforms got out. One of them, an officer, had an envelope in his hand. He looked at it and then up at the house. When his eyes met mine, my knees went weak, and I leaned against the door jamb for support.

  “Run get your father,” I told Paul.

  “Why? I thought we were going to the store.”

  I squeezed his shoulder hard. “I told you to go get your father right now.” I clenched my teeth. “I mean it!”

  Paul’s eyes got big. He ran between the houses.

  The two men came up the walk and stopped at the stairs. I waited silently.

  George came walking around from the side of the house. “What’s wrong, Maude? Paul said I had to come out here right away. I was just telling a good story to John--” He stopped talking when he saw the uniforms. He walked up the steps and put his arm around my waist. It felt like he was doing it more to support himself than to support me. It was the first time he’d touched me since Bud left.

  Both soldiers removed their hats, and the officer stepped forward. “Mr. and Mrs. Foley?”

  George leaned against me. “Yes, we’re the Foleys. Maybe you should come inside.”

  Right then, John came around the side of the house carrying a wrench in his hand. His mouth was opened to say something, but he snapped it shut when he saw the car and the men. He ran to his house. I knew he would bring Bessie. We would need her.

  George’s voice rasped. “Why don’t we go inside,” he said again. He stepped back and held open the door for me and the soldiers.

  We all went in the living room. Paul was the only one who didn’t know what was happening. I took off my hat, “Please, sit down. Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Thank you, ma’am. We’re all right.”

  The two men sat on the sofa. I sat on the edge of the seat of the easy chair and George stood next to me. I could feel him shaking. Bessie and John came in the door without saying anything. Bessie gripped my hand.

  One of the men cleared his throat. “I’m sorry to inform you that your son, William James Foley, was killed in the line of duty.”

  George made a choking sound and sobbed, “How did it happen?”

&nb
sp; “They were on their way to ship out overseas. He was on his way to the railroad station, riding in a convoy with other GIs. His truck went over a big pothole, and he fell off the back. He was run over by the next truck in the line. You should still be proud of him. He may not have died in battle, but he died in the service of his country, just the same as if he’d been killed in action.”

  I didn’t ask, but I wondered if Bud had been drinking. Of course, they wouldn’t tell me that, even if it were true.

  They filled in a few more details, like when the body would arrive home and what the government would provide. Then they stood, the officer handed me an envelope, and took their leave. George walked them to their car. I could see him through the window, shaking both their hands. He stood for a moment, watching the car drive away, before he came back in the house.

  Bessie and Paul were crying. John and George held in their emotions. I sat in the chair and stared into space, and when Bessie tried to comfort me, I waved her away.

  John patted George on the shoulder. “I’m sorry, George. I know how you loved Bud.” George just nodded, unable to talk.

  John and Bessie went home, and George and Paul went down to the basement. I sat in the chair and felt sinful.

  My oldest son was gone, and what I felt wasn’t so much grief as it was guilt. Guilt, because when George’s mother first put him in my arms I hadn’t felt any love for him. Guilt, because for his whole life I hadn’t really loved him the way a mother should love her child. Guilt that I hadn’t tried harder, hadn’t done more. Why didn’t I feel the love I should for my son? Was it because George’s mother took him away from me for that first day and a half after he was born?

  I was still sitting there when Gene came in, carrying Donna. Evelyn had gone over to see her mother that morning, and he’d stopped on his way home from work to bring them home. As soon as Gene saw me, he knew something was wrong.

  “What happened, Mom?” He knelt down on one knee in front of my chair.

  I handed him the letter, and he put Donna on my lap and opened it. Donna seemed to pick up on his distress. She leaned back against my breast and watched her daddy while he read. As he took in the words, he groaned and tears came to his eyes.

  “What’s the matter?” Evelyn asked.

  Gene handed her the letter and asked me, “Where’s Dad?”

  “He’s downstairs with Paul,” I said.

  Gene left me holding Donna and went to be with his father and brother in the basement. I could hear them sobbing. I wished I could have the same release, but it didn’t come to me.

  I took Donna to the kitchen and put her in the high chair. Donna watched me, never making a sound. I made a meal out of leftovers. There would be no happy dinner.

  When the food was ready, I called down to the basement. Paul and Gene came up and sat at the table. I didn’t ask where George was. I understood too well. They ate quietly, and then Gene picked up Donna. “I think I’ll go on back to the Mayse’s and tell them,” he said. “They’ll want to know.”

  I nodded.

  That night George slept in the basement on the bed he’d made for Bud. He didn’t go to work for a week, went out drinking every night, and came home late. At almost any other point in history, he would have been fired, but his job was secure. I suppose during wartime, no employer would have been unsympathetic to a man who’d sacrificed his son.

  On Sunday, I rode home from church with Bessie. She always knew what was happening in her brother’s house, and she asked me, “Is George showing any sign of sobering up yet?”

  “Not that I can tell,” I answered.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Bessie said.

  When we got home, I went to the kitchen and Bessie went down to the basement. I opened the door and leaned over a little so I could hear what was being said.

  Bessie’s voice was loud, “George, wake up!”

  George mumbled something. Bessie raised her voice and said, “Wake up. I have something to tell you.”

  George said, “--lost my son, don’t care about anything…”

  “You had a week, and that’s enough.” Bessie told him. “Drinking your life away won’t bring Bud back. Now, you get yourself sobered up and get back to work in the morning--”

  He mumbled something and then her voice changed to one I’d heard before, the one that made the men’s faces go white. “Or else!”

  Bessie came back upstairs and gave me a hug. “He’ll be all right now,” she said.

  George stayed in the basement all day and night Sunday. On Monday morning, he came upstairs, cooked his breakfast, and went back to work. Nothing was said about Bud.

  I think now, I was grieving as much for the way things should have been as I was for losing a son, but I had to hold it all inside. I wanted us to put our arms around one another and find comfort. That didn’t happen. I wished George would talk about it, but when I brought it up, he went down to the basement.

  I talked to Bessie, but that wasn’t enough. I shared this loss with George, and even though it didn’t mean the same to both of us, I felt the need to discuss it with him. I didn’t have the slightest idea how to bring up the subject in a way that would break through his silence.

  We replaced the blue star on the banner with a gold one to signify our loss. It was a while before Bud’s body came home. The funeral director set up a platform in the living room to hold the coffin. It was plain wood, covered with a flag. Chairs were set up in rows. Neighbors and church members brought food and paid their respects. Brother Els, the pastor from my church led a service, and then they took him out to Forest Lawn Cemetery for the burial. Soldiers fired guns in the air. Then it was over, and we came home.

  Chapter 47

  We thought the war would end soon, but it went on and on. There was a big invasion of Europe on June 6, 1944, they called D-Day. I guess they were planning that for a long time, and it must have been the reason they were sending Bud overseas, to help. The papers said it was a great success, but I wondered how many mothers and fathers lost their boys.

  Everyone on the home front did what they could to help the war effort. In my house, there was nothing new about the slogan, “use it up, wear it out, make it do.” We’d always been frugal. I considered waste a sin, but even I tried harder not to waste anything. Everyone I knew did what they could to support the war effort.

  When Paul’s shoe soles wore out, I couldn’t find leather pieces to mend them, so I cut a stack of cardboard in the shape of the insoles and padded them so they would last longer. He changed the liners every night. I wore heavy cotton stockings instead of nylon, and when the elastic garters wore out I learned to stick my finger in the top of the hose, twist it several times and tuck it in the binding to make it stay up. I wore them until the toes and heels were completely gone and I had blisters on my feet. It wasn’t long until every one of the women in my house was wearing white anklets. They lasted better than stockings.

  I held the milk carton over Paul’s cereal bowl until the very last drop drained out, and when I broke an egg for breakfast, I took my fingertip and wiped out every bit of egg white from the shell. George tried to tease me about it. I didn’t care. Mostly, I felt his tomfoolery was just a way of covering up his laziness. After a while, he let it rest.

  George had his own streak of patriotism. He cut back on his beer and smoking. He stopped buying cigarettes in a package and went back to rolling his own the way he did in Missouri.

  Betty Sue graduated from high school in late June. I made a special dinner, borrowing ration stamps from Bessie to get enough sugar to bake a cake, and held a little party for her with just the two families.

  The friendship between Betty Sue and Evelyn was completely over, but Evelyn smiled and congratulated her. I couldn’t help but see the sorrow in Evelyn’s eyes and knew she was thinking about what she’d missed. For once, I felt sorry for her.

  The week after Betty Sue’s graduation, she got a job making Jeeps on the assembly line at the Willys
plant. We went shopping for two pair of slacks for her to wear to work. Betty Sue had never worn a pair of pants in her life, but she wouldn’t be allowed to help make an automobile wearing a dress.

  We found some trousers that fit, in dark colors that wouldn’t show the wear and the dirt. They had pleats on the front and zipped up the side.

  Betty Sue reported to work the next Monday with her long black hair tied up in a scarf. She came home bubbling over with stories about her job installing the little windshield in each Jeep as it rolled by her station. I envied her. Betty Sue would have a life I’d never dreamed possible, working alongside men and women in the outside world.

  By the fall of 1944, Donna was running all over the house. She ran to meet her daddy when he came home from work each day. Gene would scoop her up in his arms and hold her close to him.

  He would sit down at the kitchen table and play “This Little Piggy” with her toes, and she would squeal with laughter when he got to the end of the song and wiggled her little toe. They would sing “Itsy Bitsy Spider” and play “Pat-a-Cake.” I watched them play and it made my heart glad. Gene was happy with his family, and bowled over by his love for Evelyn and Donna. Maybe I was wrong to be afraid that Evelyn would bring grief to all of us.

  Betty Sue began dating a young man she met at the factory. Ellis Marshall was from Kentucky, tall, well-built, and good looking. He had wavy blond hair that fell over his forehead. He had a gentle way about him. He had a bit of a limp, but he seemed in good health otherwise. I asked why he wasn’t in the service. Betty Sue explained he’d been in the Army, but wounded in the knee and sent home for good.

  That made me wonder if other people looked at Gene and thought he was a draft dodger. You couldn’t tell by looking at him that he was 4-F.

  Betty Sue came home from work one day with a tear in her blouse and scratches on her arm.

  I dabbed mercurochrome on her and asked, “What happened?”

  “We were in the lunch room. That witchy Maris Tavers was rubbing herself all over Ellis. When I told her to stop, she shoved me and told me to mind my own business, so I punched her in the nose. She hit me back, and the next thing you know, we were rolling around on the floor, and Mitch, the foreman, had to pull me off her. When I stood up, I had a fistful of her mangy hair in my hand.”