“And I would rather not know about it, especially when it involves my son.”
“James probably takes more risks than I do. He even has to carry a gun.”
“I remember when you used to say he gets to carry a gun, as if it were fun to have a device which could kill another human being, strapped to your hip.”
“I was just a kid, Ma. I’m grown up now. I understand what a police officer faces. I also understand the dangers of war. Every man on board the ship knows what to watch for in the water and every man is afraid of seeing that torpedo wake. Because I’m a signalman I’m out in the weather more than I’m not. Watching for the big fish is part of my job.”
USS Plymouth... sunk... German submarine... Crew of 204... 85 were rescued... shark infested waters... The word images suddenly jumped into Anne’s mind, so unexpected she nearly jumped off her chair. Everyone looked at her. “Ah... Johnny. Is the Plymouth a big ship?” she asked.
“To me it is,” Johnny replied. “But compared to destroyers, battleships and carriers, it’s small. I’d sure like to be onboard a battleship.”
“How big is the crew?”
“We’re only designed to carry about 150.”
Maybe I’m wrong, Anne thought.
“But right now we’re more than 200. I heard the Captain say we would sail with 205.”
Crew of 204...
James said, “What about that transfer you talked about?”
“Naw. I was all set to do it and the Chief talked me out of it. We have too many signalmen but he didn’t want me to go.”
“Transfer?” Anne said. “You were thinking of leaving the Plymouth?”
“Yeah. The USS Wadsworth needs signalmen. She’s just here until morning for an emergency repair. She’ll meet back up with a big task group heading for the Panama Canal and then the Pacific.”
USS Plymouth... sunk...
“Is it a bigger ship?”
“Oh, yeah! Lot bigger. A destroyer, and brand-new. She went into service in March.” Johnny’s voice took on a tone of excitement. “That’s where the real action is. The place to be is a destroyer. Better yet would be a battleship, or a carrier.”
“Then if that’s what you want to do, you should do it. Don’t let someone talk you out of it.” Anne found all three of them suddenly staring at her, a confused and somewhat angry look on Ruth Lamric’s face. “I mean, when you have an opportunity to do what you want, you should go for it,” Anne added. “Grab the moment.”
Johnny looked at James, and then his mother. He turned back to Anne. “Yeah. You’re right. I shouldn’t let the Chief talk me out of it.”
Ruth turned her icy glare away from Anne and onto Johnny. “Shouldn’t you think about this a little more?”
“No, Ma. I had already thought about it before talking to the Chief. It was the Lieutenant who offered it to me to begin with, and he is a lot more senior to the Chief.” He pushed his plate away. “This was great, Ma. I have to get back to the ship and talk to the Chief and the Lieutenant before they choose someone else. You give me a ride big brother?”
James looked at his mother then said quietly, “Sure.”
Johnny stood and walked over to his mother who was staring at her plate. He touched her shoulder and she looked up at him. “I don’t like this, Johnny. This other ship is going to more dangerous places, an entirely different war, farther away.”
“I know. But it’s what I want to do. There’s more opportunity there. Maybe I could get into code breaking. It’s a chance to learn more things. As Mrs. Waring said, ‘Grab the moment.’”
“A chance to be killed.”
“It’s just as dangerous right off the coast of South Carolina here. There have been mines planted right in the harbor.”
“And I worry every day you are out there. There’s just something that feels better about you being closer.”
He gave her a hug. “If I get the transfer I won’t be back before getting underway, so I love you, Ma.”
Mrs. Lamric stood and turned to give her youngest son a proper hug. “I love you, Johnny, so much. You just come back to me alive.”
“I will, Ma.” He looked at Anne. “Nice meeting you Mrs. Waring, and thanks.” Then to James, “Let’s go.”
“I’ll be back shortly, Ma,” James said and went out the door with his brother.
Anne didn’t know what to say, so only cooed softly to Elizabeth Anne.
“I can’t thank you for that, Anne.”
Anne looked up to Ruth’s tear-filled eyes. USS Plymouth... sunk... “I pray that you will.”
Ruth stared at Anne for a long time then started moving plates and bowls from the table to the sink. When the table was clear she said to Anne, “What do you mean by that?”
Elizabeth Anne fussed and then began to cry. “I guess you want dinner now, huh?” Anne pushed herself away from the table. “I think you had better sit down if I’m going to tell you why I advised your son to make the transfer.” She opened her blouse and situated herself and her clothing so that Elizabeth Anne could suckle comfortably. When her fussing was replaced by content slurping, Anne turned her head back to Ruth. “I told you that I see things in the future. It sounds really crazy, but these things are so vivid, so extraordinarily real, I cannot ignore them. I especially cannot ignore them when it’s life or death and I don’t know for sure if it truly is real.” Anne took a sip of the water that Ruth had left for her.
“So what are you saying?”
“I’ve seen words, typed on white paper. The words are a chronological list of major military losses during WWII. This was specifically Naval losses in the Atlantic. The words I see say that on August 5, 1943 the USS Plymouth was, or will be, sunk by a German submarine.”
Anne waited for a response from Ruth, some acknowledgment, good or bad; that she was crazy or insane would have been just fine. Instead Ruth only sat and stared at some point over Anne’s shoulder, not appearing to be focused on anything. After several minutes Anne broke the silence.
“Do you understand why I told him what I did? I can ignore all my other lunatic thoughts and visions, but this one I can’t ignore. This is your son’s life. How could I just brush it off? I’m taking a big chance here. If I’m wrong, it will be pretty clear I’m over the edge and should probably be put away. But if I’m right...”
Ruth turned her eyes and focus toward Anne. “How many men die? Everyone?”
Anne was a bit surprised at the question. “No. Only 70 out of 204 will survive.”
“204?” Ruth said. “Johnny said there are 205.”
“Not if he transfers.” Anne and Ruth looked at each other for a long few seconds. “The words I see say there were only 204 men on board the Plymouth.”
And then Ruth’s eyes shifted away. Many seconds ticked by before she took a deep breath and then seemed to Anne to come back from some distant place. She blinked several times and said, “What about this other ship, the USS Wadsworth? Do you see any words about it?”
“None,” Anne said. Not that nothing would happen to the Wadsworth but that she knew so little about that end of the war. She knew of a few Pacific battles and ship sinkings and everything from the flight of the Enola Gay on. That was all.
Ruth Lamric stood. She pushed her chair under the table and started walking toward the door to the living room. As she passed, she stopped and placed her hand on Anne’s shoulder, patted her twice and then left the room.
With each slow step up the stairs to the second floor of her home, Ruth Lamric felt lighter, less burdened by the fear that Johnny would not return home come the end of the war. With each step the worry seemed to peel from her in layers, like the leaves off a head of lettuce. One part of her mind wanted to scold herself for believing such nonsense, believing that someone could foresee the future. Another part of her mind suppressed the first, pushed it into a dark corner where it could not be seen.
At the top of the stairs Ruth took a deep, energy-refreshing breath, smiled broadly and entered her bedr
oom. It was at that moment that she knew. She would never be able to explain how she knew, but it was obvious that there was a purpose Anne Waring had entered her home and that purpose had just been fulfilled.
She turned around and headed back down the stairs.
Anne sat for a time and considered her words and Ruth’s departing silence. What did it mean? Did Ruth believe her? Did she believe herself? She realized Elizabeth Anne had fallen asleep so she stood and laid her in the bassinet. She was just finishing buttoning and straightening her blouse when Ruth rushed back into the kitchen. Reflexively Anne stepped back, thinking she was angry; and then she saw the look on her face as she rounded the kitchen table. Before Anne could say anything Ruth’s arms were around her and there was sobbing and tears.
“Thank you,” Ruth said. “Thank you.”
Anne had forgotten how much she missed the hugs of her own mother and found herself returning the warmth.
When James returned home, he stepped into a quiet kitchen. He knew after the scene with Johnny that his mother would probably be upstairs, in her bedroom, sitting in her rocker and looking out the window. From her window she could just see the lake. Her rocker was where she liked to be when she was upset. James continued through the equally quiet living room and up the stairs.
Two women in the house – three, if you count Elizabeth Anne. Things would be different but he had no idea what the difference would be. At the top of the stairs he could see that every door was open. No voices. No baby crying. He looked toward his brother’s room, now Mrs. Waring’s room and felt something inside his chest. “Smitten,” Eddie said. Maybe a little. After all, she is a fine-looking woman, but married. “Remember that, James,” he said to himself. “She’s off limits.” He turned away from her door and poked his head into his mother’s bedroom.
“Ma?”
Nothing. He walked in, called again and then walked out, down to Johnny’s, now Mrs. Waring’s room.
“Mrs. Waring?”
Still nothing. He peeked into the bedroom; saw the empty crib and the bag right where he had set it. It was open and a few things lay on the bed. The next thing he knew he was standing next to the bed, looking down at a jewelry box and an assortment of earrings – long dangling ones and little pearls. They were nothing like he had ever seen a woman in Charleston wearing. Boston? he wondered. Is this what it’s like? Is she what the women are like in the big northern cities? He picked up a lacy looking thing next to the jewelry box, a handkerchief he thought at first until he flattened it. As soon as he realized what it was he dropped it like it contained poison barbs and backed out of the room. Within a matter of seconds he was in the kitchen washing his hands and running a glass of water.
Dusk was just beginning to settle in when James heard the women’s voices. The front door opened. His mother held the door while Mrs. Waring pushed the carriage in. She closed the door and looked at him.
“What?” she said.
The light, humorous tone of her voice knocked James even farther off kilter. “Where have you been?”
“What do you mean, where have I been?”
“When I left with Johnny, you were upset and when I come back, you’re gone. I was worried sick. You never leave the house when you’re upset.”
“I appreciate you being concerned about me, James, but I’m a grown woman. I stopped setting rules and demanding explanations from you when you became a grown man. I think I deserve the same respect, at least until I become senile, which I don’t expect for some time yet. Did Johnny get the transfer?”
James’ mouth hung open.
“Well?” Ruth insisted.
“Ah... he said he would call if he did.”
“Pray he does.” To Anne she said, “Come upstairs. I’ll show you that quilt.”
Ruth went up the stairs while Anne lifted Elizabeth Anne out of the buggy stroller. She said to James, “We just went down to the lake. Had a long talk. I think your mother and I are becoming very good friends.”
“But what about?... Why?... She wants him to transfer to the Wadsworth? Why? What did you? . . ”
Anne put her free hand on his arm. “It’ll be okay, James. At least we are praying it will be okay. I’m not one hundred percent certain the Wadsworth is the right thing, right now, but the Plymouth, I’m certain, is the wrong thing. I’ll explain it to you tomorrow.” She turned away and went up the stairs.
James stood alone in the living room, running his mother’s and Mrs. Waring’s words over in his mind, trying to ignore the heat radiating from the spot on his arm where she had placed her hand. The more he ignored it, the more it grew until he thought his entire arm was on fire. Somewhere in his pacing, waiting and worrying about his mother, he picked up a kitchen towel. He wiped the beads of sweat from his brow and returned to the kitchen for another glass of water.
Chapter 24
Monday ~ July 26, 1943
Anne sat in the Lamric living room. The only light was the growing daylight from the frilly-curtained front window. Elizabeth Anne was asleep following an early, demanding breakfast. How does a woman do this plus work and run a household as well? Anne wondered.
But women don’t work if they have babies; she corrected herself, except sometimes to replace the men who have gone off to war. One of Ruth’s neighbors was a woman whose daughter and grandson lived with her. Her daughter, a wisp of a girl who always looked tired, worked at the shipyard with her father. Her husband was in the Army, somewhere in Africa. Her mother took care of the three-year-old when she worked. But once the war was over, Anne was told, and the men were back and everything returned to normal, the women would go back to staying home and taking care of the children. What if the men didn’t come home? Anne thought. What if the neighbor girl’s husband was killed?
Anne had a fair amount of money and with Ruth insisting she stay rent free, it could last some time, maybe as much as a year. All she had to do was help with food and keep up with clothes.
Then what? Once the money is gone, she couldn’t continue to live off of Ruth’s kindness. She would have to get a job, but doing what? And whom would she leave Elizabeth Anne with? Are there day cares? Ruth would want to do it, she was sure. How will the others whose husbands don’t come home survive? Will the temporary situations – Grandma’s Day Care – become permanent? Ruth would likely become Elizabeth Anne’s daycare. She already treated her as her own granddaughter.
Anne lay back on the sofa with Elizabeth Anne breathing lightly on her chest. The only other sound was that of the clock, ticking loudly in the fuzzy morning light. She kissed Elizabeth’s forehead. “What has happened to us, Sweetie?” she said softly. “Day eight since you came into this world and still I’m no less confused than I was on day one. Probably even more so.” She lay quietly for a while and heard the clomp of horse hooves, followed by the clink of bottles at the front door. The clomp-clomp continued on and off for a time until it was out of earshot. For a few more minutes there was only ticking and breathing, and then came the thump at the door.
Anne ran her fingers through the fine baby hair and breathed in the baby smells. Sometimes it overwhelmed her being a mother, having a human being 100 percent dependent upon her. At times it seemed like an insurmountable responsibility, yet at other times it felt so natural, so normal.
Slowly she sat up and carefully laid Elizabeth Anne on the floor on top of her blanket which was spread out on a throw rug. She then went to the front door and retrieved the morning newspaper and milk.
Anne left the newspaper lying on the kitchen table while she put away the milk and moved Elizabeth Anne to the bassinet. She poured a cup of coffee, added a dab of milk and a spoonful of sugar and then sat at the table and stared at the newspaper, still unopened.
“Am I crazy or am I psychic?” she said.
“You’re certainly not crazy.”
Anne turned to find Ruth standing just inside the kitchen door. Embarrassed to be caught talking to herself, she said, “I didn’t hear you co
me in.”
“No matter what the newspaper says this morning, you are not crazy. I take it you’ve not read it yet.”
“No. Still trying to gather the courage. What if it’s not there? What if I’m wrong and Mussolini is still in power? That would also mean I’m probably wrong about everything else.”
“It won’t mean you’re crazy. It would just mean that you have very vivid daydreams.”
“That’s fine if they’re only occasional, but this is constant. My daydreams never stop until I sleep, and then the night dreams start and they are really weird.” Anne ran her hands through her hair. “And the flip-side of it is, what if I’m right about Mussolini? I’ll be stuck with this burden of being able to predict the future. What the hell am I going to do with that? I know what is going to happen in the world, what has happened for that matter, but not one earthly thing about myself other than this last eight days. Either way, I’m still a person without a past, and a questionable future. All I’ve got is a bag full of things which only enforce my weird memories, and a rabbit which I have little memory of at all, except in my night dreams which make no sense.”
Ruth poured a cup of black coffee and then sat at the table with Anne. She nodded her head at the newspaper. “Open it.”
Anne held her cup with both hands, took a sip and said, “You open it.”
Ruth paused briefly and then unrolled the News and Courier and laid it out flat so the entire front page could be seen. The headline Anne expected, “Mussolini Expelled,” or “King Vittorio Hands ‘The Duce’ His Walking Papers,” or “King Trumps Duce,” wasn’t there. But what it did say was just as good, though not exactly what she had predicted.
King Of Italy Takes Helm As Mussolini Quits
“He didn’t quit,” Anne said.
“What do you mean?”
“He wasn’t only forced to resign, he was thrown in prison, and not just by the King, but also by his own Fascist Grand Council. They were watching their own country being destroyed by the Allied Forces and then we dropped those leaflets, telling them they must overthrow Mussolini and his Fascists or suffer the consequences.” She took another sip of coffee, thought for a few seconds and said, “In little more than a month now Italy will surrender. A few weeks or so after that, a German commando group will free him and he will set up a new Fascist puppet government in Northern Italy. Just before the end of the war he’ll be captured and executed.”
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