by Janette Oke
“And so you came here,” Bethan said quietly.
“Aye, that we did.” Moira’s gaze refocused upon her daughter.
And a smile formed, one which was so full of love that it made Bethan’s own heart ache. “And I met your darling of a father, and had this angel of a daughter, whose face shines with the light of heaven, and who worries me to distraction with her addled ways.”
“I don’t know who’s the addled one,” Dylan announced, his heavy boots treading into the kitchen as the screen door slammed behind him. “But I sure do smell something that’s near about overdone.”
“My biscuits!” Moira leapt up and raced for the stove. She used her apron to open the door, fanned away the smoke, pulled out the pan, and pronounced, “And not a moment too soon.” She turned about with, “I’ll thank you to go clean yourself up, sir. You look as though you’ve brought half the pigsty in with you.”
“You’re welcome,” Dylan said with a deep bow, offering Bethan a wink and a glimpse of his easy grin, then ambling out.
Moira’s gaze followed her son from the kitchen. “How that boy can manage to smile, with him barely a year from conscription, is a mystery I shall never unravel. Not in all my days.”
Bethan felt the same chill every time mention was made of the war in Europe, the one people were already calling The Great War. Most of the time it seemed so distant from Harmony—the papers occasionally predicting how the United States was bound to become involved was about as close as the conflict came. That and the difficulty in buying things like fuel oil and rubber parts. Otherwise, the war might as well have been on the moon as far as their town was concerned. “But Dylan’s only just seventeen,” Bethan heard herself protest. “The war can’t go on so long that he’d be taken.”
“Your words in God’s ears,” Moira sighed, lifting a lid and stirring the contents. “Now come over here and help me, daughter. Reach up and get me the big serving bowl—yes, that’s the one. And tell me what it is you heard the teachers say about Jodie.”
After a discussion that continued all through dinner, Bethan was sent to find Jodie and deliver the news. It being Wednesday and Wednesday being market day, the Harland Apothecary was still open to serve outlying farmers. Jodie was there behind the counter with her father, as she was almost every afternoon and all Saturday. She was very matter-of-fact about her work, as she was about much of her life since her mother was gone. The apothecary was the only place, she told Bethan, where her father showed much interest in life or spoke more than a few words. It was nice to be able to talk with him, even if it was only about his business. Plus she loved the work and the smells, she went on, and besides, anyplace was better than the hollowness of their home.
When Bethan pushed through the double screen doors, Jodie was busy with a farm woman whom Bethan did not know. She could hear Mr. Harland moving around in the back room where ingredients were mixed and packaged. Bethan hung back, inspecting row after row of unfamiliar items. She was suddenly very shy about her errand. It was hard of late to anticipate Jodie’s reaction to anything. She had become so reserved since her mother’s passage, so self-contained. Even Bethan was confused at times about just exactly where Jodie’s mind might be.
“Well, I just don’t know, Miss Harland,” the heavyset woman was saying. “My family’s been using blackberry balsam against colic ever since I was a child.”
“And you were just telling me it wasn’t working on your youngest.” Jodie showed an amazing amount of patience when working. She stood calmly, apparently willing to meet every objection reasonably but head on. “That’s why I thought you might like to try this new seltzer compound. Many of our customers have been pleased with the results.”
Bethan sidled on down the aisle, listening with one ear as she inspected the display of bottles and boxes. Her admiration for Jodie and her remarkable intelligence increased every time she stepped into the apothecary with its supplies. There on the shelf stood Dr. Worden’s Female Pills—for weak women, sallow complexion, and absence of strong blood. Then came Dr. Hammond’s Nerve and Brain Pills, followed by Dr. Rose’s Arsenic Complexion, the glass bottles wrapped in delicate white tissue. Boxes of Reliable Worm Syrup were stacked alongside the Twenty Minute Cold Cure and Laxative. She picked up a box of Electric Liniment to better see the label—a fist holding lightning bolts. The last rows were for the Egyptian Pile Cure, bottles of Vin Vitae Wine of Life, and White Ribbon Secret Liquor Cure.
“But it’s sixty-seven cents,” the woman complained. The lacquered black cherries on her flat hat shook with indignation. “I could buy three bottles of the blackberry balsam for that price and have change left over besides.”
“If one bottle didn’t work, it’s unlikely three would do any better,” Jodie pointed out. She leaned across the counter. “Why don’t you try it this once, and if it doesn’t work, bring back what’s left and we’ll refund that part of the price.”
“Oh, very well.” The woman opened her shoulder bag and brought out a battered coin purse. “I don’t mind telling you, that young’un has been worrying me something fierce. Seems like he’s been in pain and colicky far too much this autumn.”
Jodie wrapped the box in brown paper, tied it with twine, accepted the coins, and handed over the package with a smile and a query. “What are you feeding him?”
“Only the best. We’ve had ourselves a right good late crop of greens, what with the warm weather and all.”
“Turnips are known to cause gas in some children,” Jodie pointed out. “You might want to cut them out for a week or so, and see if that helps.”
The woman cocked her head in thought about the young lady’s comment. At length she nodded, making the cherries bob again. “Well, thank you. I’ll surely do just that.” The woman gathered up her purchase, lowered her voice, and asked, “How’s your daddy keeping?”
Jodie’s smile became a little forced, in Bethan’s view. “Just fine, thank you. Doing just fine.”
“Well, you’re a help and comfort, I am sure, helping out like you do.” The woman patted Jodie’s hand. “Bless you, child.”
When the woman had trundled out the front door, Bethan walked over and quipped, “Listen to you, giving out advice like a doctor.”
“It used to scare me something awful, these people asking me all sorts of questions,” Jodie admitted. “Some of the things that come up you wouldn’t believe.”
“I don’t even want to hear,” Bethan said.
“I told Doc Franklin about it. He said these country folk don’t like calling out the doctor unless life or death is hanging in the balance. He stops by every day or so, picks up his supplies, and lets me ask him anything I like.” Jodie shook her head, her expression full of wonder. “He says he’s just helping to prepare his replacement.”
“You’d make a good one,” Bethan said, though the thought of a woman doctor startled her.
“I told him I didn’t want to become a doctor,” Jodie said, “but he doesn’t listen when I talk like that. Doc Franklin says his hearing is becoming mighty selective in his old age.”
But Bethan did not want to speak about her best friend’s desires for the future. Whether a doctor or a scientist, such discussions always became linked to Jodie going away somewhere else, a thought that Bethan could not abide. “Can we talk?”
“Sure.”
“What about your father?”
Jodie did not even glance around. “Daddy lives in his own little world when he’s in the back.”
Again there was that disconcerting matter-of-factness. Bethan was unsure what to say. Jodie seemed to be growing into someone else, someone she did not really know. Bethan hesitated, then said quietly, “I heard Miss Charles talk about the state spelling bee.”
“Oh. The championships this spring.” Jodie’s calm maturity failed her, and she became once again the young girl Bethan knew.
Her shoulders slumped as she sighed, “She spoke to me too. I can’t go. I was hoping that something would
happen. But Daddy, he won’t even talk to me about it. He’s not budging out of town, and he doesn’t like the idea of me going off alone.” She seemed to struggle for a moment, as if trying to present an unconcerned face to the news. But it slipped away. “I don’t care,” she said sadly.
“Yes you do. And you should.” Bethan allowed a glimmer of her own excitement to show through. “Because you’re going to win.”
Jodie gaped at her. “What on earth has gotten into you? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”
Bethan nodded happily. “It’s all arranged. Momma’s going to talk with Miss Charles tomorrow morning. She and Daddy are going to be your official—something, oh, now I can’t remember the word.”
“Chaperons,” Jodie said softly, her eyes growing round.
“That’s right. Chaperons. And here’s the best part. We’re all going up together. Me too. On the train. To Raleigh.”
“You’re not just joshing me,” Jodie said, her voice scarcely above a whisper. “Not about this.”
Bethan saw the light growing in Jodie’s eyes and suddenly could scarcely keep from dancing in place. “There’s more. We’ll have to miss two days of school. And we’re going to stay in a hotel. And we’ll eat in restaurants, with waiters and everything.”
Jodie whirled around the counter, grabbing up both of Bethan’s hands. “You mean it? You really mean it?”
Bethan stared into her best friend’s eyes and saw there the first real joy in what seemed like years. A joy so fierce it hurt Bethan’s heart to look at it. You deserve this, she wanted to say. You, more than anybody. But she didn’t want to cloud the moment with any mention of what Jodie had been through. So all she did was return the grand smile and say, “Really.”
SEVEN
THE WAR CROWDED in the instant they boarded the train for Raleigh. Up to that point, Jodie and Bethan hadpaid it no more mind than they did the fight for universal suffrage. They were too young to be affected by either, and there were other pressing matters which required their immediate attention. They left it to the old men who gathered by the Harmony courthouse and around the benches outside the apothecary to talk about both issues. Usually it was an argument as to which would destroy them first, a president who had gotten them involved in Europe’s war, or giving women the right to vote. Most felt the latter to be far more dangerous.
The train ride from Harmony to Raleigh brought the war up close—too close for comfort, in fact. The cars were crowded with khaki-clad young men hardened by basic training at Fort Bragg, clutching precious travel passes as they went home a final time before being sent overseas. Their packs cluttered the passageways. The air was thick with their loud chatter and smoke from their cigarettes. Younger boys hung over the backs of their seats, innocent eyes bright with envy and the excitement of distant battles. The soldiers, some of whom seemed barely older than the kids who competed for their attention, reveled in the chance to play heroes.
Jodie and Bethan sat crammed up against a window. Moira and Gavin tried to present a stern front to the nearest soldiers, but the boys were paying it no mind. One of the most handsome of the group leaned across the back of their seat, looked straight at Bethan, and said, “I’d be obliged, miss, if you’d favor me with your address, so’s I can write once I’m settled.”
Bethan blushed a deep rich scarlet. In her best Sunday outfit, with her hair brushed until it shimmered a rich copper-gold, and the hated eyepatch left in Harmony, she fulfilled Jodie’s early prediction of being the prettiest girl in the county.
Moira answered for her daughter. “I’ll be thanking you to mind your manners, young man,” she snapped, her voice lilting with indignation. “My daughter happens to be barely on nodding terms with her fifteenth year.”
“Momma,” Bethan protested mildly, her color even deeper.
“Yes, ma’am, I can surely see that,” the young fellow responded, touching his cap to Moira, as unabashed as ever. “That’s why I’m gonna be writing on the outside of this here note that she can’t open ’til she turns eighteen.” He turned sparkling green eyes back to Bethan. “You see, missie, soon as we’ve done gone and won us this here war, I’m gonna be coming by and asking you to marry me. That’s what my letter’s gonna be saying.”
Bethan could not take him seriously. Especially when she saw the twinkle in his green eyes.
But Moira’s indignation turned to anger. “That’s more than enough of that,” she cried, brandishing her folded-up Chinese lacquered fan. “You’ll be turning around and minding your own affairs and leaving us in peace!”
“Yes, ma’am,” the handsome young soldier drawled. Ignoring the laughter and comments from his fellows, he kept a friendly eye fastened upon Bethan. “Just as soon as that pretty thing gives me a kiss to seal the bargain.”
Bethan raised both hands to hide her face and giggles. But his bold statement proved too much for Moira. She rose in her seat and whacked at the soldier with her fan. To the cheers of his fellow soldiers up and down the coach, the young man raised arms in protection over his head and slid back down into his seat.
Moira harrumphed herself back down, her face red with exertion. She looked across the aisle to where her husband sat and huffed, “A fat lot of help you were.”
“Oh, Moira,” Gavin said shakily, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I wish you could have seen yourself, I truly do.”
“Well, somebody had to defend our daughter’s honor, and it surely wasn’t you.” She snapped open her fan in disgust, and the poor thing gave up the ghost, showering Moira’s lap with shreds of bamboo and colored paper. She looked back at her husband. “Just look what you’ve gone and done now.”
This was the final straw. Mirth spilled out of Jodie in great waves of laughter, as though all the months of grayness were being pushed away in a single moment of release. Gavin sat beside his daughter, his solid girth bouncing in glee, while Bethan covered her face with both hands and tried to smother her giggles. Moira looked askance from one to the other, until she too gave into the moment, and laughed out loud. She raised the poor battered fan and made a parody of trying to fan herself, sending further shreds in every direction. The soldiers to either side joined in the laughter, then crowded close, demanding to know who they were, where they were going, and what for.
News that Jodie was traveling to compete in the state spelling bee resulted in pandemonium. Before she knew it, strong arms had her up and steadied on top of a seat and against the compartment wall. From the position where everyone could see her, with every face turned her way, voices throughout the coach began shouting out words for her to spell.
On and on the words kept coming. Her face flaming with some embarrassment and even more excitement, Jodie spelled out the answers. As the words became more and more difficult and her answers continued to be correct, the coach gradually quietened.
Finally there was only one who kept calling out words, a darksuited gentleman near the far wall, resplendent in a pearl-colored silk waistcoat and mutton-chop sideburns. His voice resonated throughout the now-silent car as he called, “Leprechaun.”
Jodie spelled it swiftly.
“Pneumonia.”
“Obfuscate.”
“Illiterate.”
“Conundrum.”
After that word, there was a long pause as the man studied her. Then he simply said, “Remarkable.”
Jodie started to spell it as well but stopped as the entire compartment began cheering, and she realized that he had meant the word as a compliment. The soldiers whistled and clapped their hands and shouted as the man walked over and extended his hand. “I am Dr. Walton Connolley,” he said when the noise died down. “And you are a most astounding young woman. What is your name?”
Jodie blushed and slid back down into her seat before introducing herself.
“Do you have any plans for your future, Miss Harland?”
“I want to be a scientist,” Jodie said, her voice quiet but firm.
Dr. Con
nolley’s face did not mirror the surprise shown by Gavin and Moira Keane at this announcement. Instead, he studied her for a moment, then gave a single brief nod. “I am Chancellor of the State College in Raleigh. When you have completed your schooling, I suggest you write to me. We shall see then what fur-ther can be done.” He tipped his hat to the group. “Now I shall bid you good day.”
The four of them remained in astonished silence as Dr. Connolley walked back and resumed his seat. Gavin finally breathed, “Well if that don’t beat all, I don’t know what does.”
The handsome face appeared above the seat, and the young man announced to Bethan, “You’re still the one who’s won my heart, missie. Say you’ll stay truly mine ’til we’re back home again.”
“That will do, young man!” Moira’s voice rang out, to the repeated mirth of all the surrounding soldiers. “And this time it won’t be a fan I’ll be applying to your head.”
Jodie joined in the laughter, watched her friend blush once more with pleasure, and decided this trip was already the best thing that had happened to her in a long, long while.
Bethan had never seen anything like Raleigh. And the more she saw of the city, the less she was certain if she liked it.
For one thing, the war was everywhere. Uncle Sam pointed at her from every wall, every mailbox. He looked big and strong and accusing, demanding that she give up her precious brother to a war she did not understand. Not at all. For once she agreed with the irascible old men who gathered on the courthouse steps back home and wished they had never even heard of all those countries over in Europe.
Ribbons and bunting were strung throughout the city’s main streets, for Raleigh had recently had its own enlistment and war bond parade. Bethan could not abide the thought of celebrating the war, so she imagined as hard as she could that all the red, white, and blue banners were really there to celebrate Jodie’s arrival.