Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5)

by John A. Heldt

  "That's good," David said. "That's really good."

  It was good, Margaret thought. She wanted Tom to come home and fulfill the promise he had made, but she admitted the matter was complicated. He might be a stranger to her when he returned to Tennessee, a man different than the one she had agreed to marry.

  She feared they might have less in common than they did three years ago. She worried she might have more in common with other men — and this man, in particular.

  Margaret put away those troubling thoughts as Claire, carrying Hannah, passed through a door and stepped onto the deck. She did not want to think about distant fiancés and awkward reunions when she had new friends to see and a glorious day to enjoy.

  "It appears that lunch was more like a snack," Margaret said.

  David furrowed his brow.

  "What?"

  "Turn around."

  Margaret smiled when Hannah saw David. She laughed when the baby threw out her arms.

  "Your girl wants hugs and kisses, not carrots and peas," Margaret said. She giggled. "The love of your life approaches."

  CHAPTER 34: DAVID

  Chattanooga, Tennessee – Wednesday, May 30, 1945

  Sitting next to Claire in the last row of the balcony of the Mayfair Theater, David lifted his head, took a deep breath, and watched history unfold on a silver screen. He took a deep breath because the subject of the newsreel, the Battle of Okinawa, was all too immediate.

  Though he knew the fighting would end before Ron got out of boot camp, he did not like seeing such images on a night that was supposed to be fun. He had brought his sister to the theater to see a comedy and escape depressing headlines — not to see a fresh reminder that her husband, no matter how safe, was technically a wartime serviceman.

  David gazed at Claire, to see if she was all right, and then returned his attention to the battle on the screen, where the action had shifted from the air and sea to the ground. He wondered what each of the several young men in the audience was thinking as the U.S. Marines in the film shot snipers, blasted pillboxes, and cleared terrain. Were they excited? Scared? Did they want to jump into the fray before the fighting was done?

  David suspected they did not. He hadn't seen much enthusiasm for the war at the high school or on his legal rounds. After three and a half years of bloodshed, Americans were ready to end the conflict, bring the boys home, and get on with their lives.

  He glanced again at his sister and saw that the newsreel was slowly wearing her down. He saw a frown and wet eyes, clear signs that the war for Claire was not a cinematic treat but rather a real and constant threat. He draped an arm over her shoulders.

  "Are you OK?" David asked.

  Claire turned her head and forced a smile.

  "Is anyone ever OK in a war?"

  "Yeah," David said. "Some people are. Ron will be too."

  "I hope so," Claire replied.

  David started to say something comforting when the newsreel stopped and the ceiling lights came on. Somehow, someway, the movie gods had thrown a wrench into things and sent a projectionist into a panic. He used the unscheduled break to get in a few words.

  "What did you do today?" David asked. "You never told me."

  "I went to the military cemetery," Claire said.

  "Why did you go there?"

  "I wanted to leave flowers on graves. I even left some daisies on a Confederate grave. I wanted to do something to get my mind off Ron and show my respect to others."

  "Did you see a lot of people?" David asked.

  Claire nodded.

  "I saw dozens of people, including a lot of women. I saw a lot of wives linger in front of gravestones and reflect," Claire said. She sighed. "I don't want to be one of those wives."

  "You won't be. I promise you won't be."

  David knew the promise was empty. Though he was reasonably certain that Ron would leave boot camp in one piece, he knew that accidents happened. He also knew that they would have only days, perhaps hours, to reach the Painted Lady or Mexico before the Navy and law enforcement officials tracked them down.

  He berated himself yet again for losing and not finding the crystal. He hoped that his mistake would not result in anything more than an inconvenience.

  "Do you think Hannah's all right?" Claire asked.

  "I'm sure of it," David said. "She likes Margaret almost as much as she likes pureed carrots and peas. She'll be fine."

  "I hope so. I feel funny turning her over to a relative stranger."

  "Margaret's not a stranger. She's a friend and someone we can trust. She's also someone who adores our favorite baby."

  "You're right," Claire said.

  "I know I'm right."

  Of that David was certain. He could not remember seeing someone take to a neighbor's child as quickly and enthusiastically as Margaret had taken to Hannah.

  "She likes you, you know," Claire said.

  "Who?" David asked. "Margaret?"

  "Yes, silly. Margaret."

  "She's engaged, Claire. Engaged women don't like other men."

  Claire laughed.

  "It's so clear I failed you. You know nothing about women."

  "She loves Tom Pennington," David said. "She loves him a lot."

  "I'm sure she does," Claire replied. "I'm sure she loves him and wants to build a life with him when he comes back from the war, but she still likes you."

  David chuckled.

  "If you insist."

  Claire smiled.

  "I do."

  When he saw that his sister's spirits had clearly improved, David pulled his arm from her shoulders and pondered the matter at hand. What did it mean when a betrothed woman, a woman in love with her fiancé, liked the neighbor man? Did it mean she wanted him to serve as the altar boy at her wedding?

  David did not doubt for a minute that Claire was right. He could see the interest in Margaret's eyes every time she looked at him, but he knew the interest was temporary. The moment Tom walked through her door and back into her life, her enthusiasm for the boy next door would go the way of the dodo.

  That was just as well, David thought. Even if Margaret were free, he could no more start something with her than he could with "Fiddle" or "Faddle," the Hamilton County court clerks others knew as Betty Williamson and Barbara Baines. He was a visitor to 1945 and not a resident. As such, he would have to leave these women and all others behind.

  He gave the subject its due and then turned his attention to other things, like two teens cuddling in a corner of the balcony, an usher showing a couple to their seats, and a sister who had seemingly put away her worries for the night.

  "Do you feel better?" David asked.

  "I do now," Claire said.

  David did not question the statement. He did not have to. He could see that his sister, at least for the moment, had moved on to better things.

  A few minutes later, the lights dimmed again, the audience grew quiet, and a malfunctioning projector sprang back to life. Just that quickly, Brewster's Millions appeared on the screen, two siblings settled into their seats, and an evening out became fun again.

  CHAPTER 35: CLAIRE

  Wednesday, June 6, 1945

  The flickering candle penetrated the darkness like a lighthouse on a frosting sea. Four inches high and the width of a pencil, it illuminated a modest dining room, cast a light on several smiling faces, and reminded those assembled that Hannah Erin Rasmussen, daughter, niece, and child with a home, was now one year old.

  Seated near the guest of honor at a festive table for ten, Claire allowed the moment to linger before moving on to other things. She wanted to capture the awe in Hannah's eyes and the joy on her face before succumbing to social convention. She lapped up every second until her mischievous brother, the one with the grin, broke the splendid silence.

  "Shall we sing 'Happy Birthday'?" David asked. "Or go with 'Silent Night'?"

  Claire laughed.

  "Let's stick to the basics."

  David smiled.
>
  "OK."

  "Can someone get the lights?" Claire asked.

  "I'll get them," Margaret said.

  The helpful neighbor lady got out of her chair and moved toward a switch on the wall. A few seconds later, she reached the switch, flipped it up, and restored the lighting in the room to its brighter but less inspiring default setting.

  Claire waited for Margaret to return to her seat at the other end of the long table and then started the festivities. She raised a glass to the girl in the high chair, blew out the candle on the cake, and led the singing of the world's most recognized song.

  Despite what she had told the adoption counselor during her home visit on May 18, Claire wanted to do more for Hannah on her birthday than feed her cake and ice cream. She wanted to make a statement. She had feared the party would be a boring affair with only a silly uncle and a thoughtful neighbor as guests. As it turned out, she worried over nothing.

  Working behind his sister's back, David had invited half the town — or at least the town that Claire knew. In addition to Margaret, who prepared a roast beef dinner, he called Sarah Preston and Marie Weatherford of the Family Aid Society and Carter Galloway. Carter, in turn, brought his wife, Bette, and their ten-year-old daughters, Emma and Elaine. Each of the girls had fussed over Hannah nonstop since entering the house at five.

  Claire thought about her guests for a moment and then turned to the dessert in front of her child. With chocolate frosting and chocolate sprinkles, the devil's food cake was a tribute to a time when people put flavor first and calories second.

  "I can get the cake," Margaret said.

  "Are you sure?" Claire said.

  "Yes, I'm sure. You stay put and entertain Hannah."

  "OK.

  Claire smiled at Margaret as she rose from her chair, walked to her end of the table, and began cutting and distributing the cake. She admired this woman a lot and liked the positive impact she was having on every member of her family.

  David also jumped in to help. After snapping a dozen pictures of the birthday girl with his state-of-the-art Brownie camera, he opened a gallon of vanilla ice cream and began working the other half of the cake-and-ice-cream assembly line.

  Claire felt happy but also angry and sad. She was angry because an ambitious prosecutor and an indifferent judge had forced a good man to make a difficult decision. She was sad because that good man wasn't here.

  For the next twenty minutes, Claire put the matter aside and enjoyed coffee, cake, and ice cream with people who had come to celebrate and not reflect. She wanted them to know that she appreciated their presence on this special day.

  Claire particularly appreciated the presence of Sarah and Marie, who, as adoption agency representatives, had an obligation to maintain a professional relationship with the clients they still monitored. She considered their attendance at the birthday party to be a ringing endorsement of her performance as a mother.

  Claire returned her thoughts to Ron when Margaret started collecting dishes and David went for presents and cards that had been put in another room. She knew she wouldn't have a better opportunity to give her husband, the birthday girl's father, a seat at the table. She stood when Margaret and David completed their respective missions.

  "Before Hannah opens her presents, I would like to read a letter from Ron that arrived the other day," Claire said. "As most of you know, he recently completed his third full week at Great Lakes and is nearing the halfway point of boot camp. He tells me he is keeping busy and learning new things and that he frequently thinks about the people he left behind."

  Claire stuck a hand in the pile of cards and presents in the middle of the table and retrieved a small envelope with a military postmark. She pulled a folded sheet out of the envelope, opened it up, and turned to face her guests.

  "Ron wrote this last Wednesday," Claire said. "He writes: 'My Dearest Hannah, I think of you often. Not a moment goes by when I don't think of your disarming smile, your sweet temperament, and the spell you have cast on so many. It breaks my heart to know that I will not be with you to celebrate your special day, but I want you to know I am with you in spirit. If I have one regret, it's that I did not consider your interests when I chose my course. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me someday. I look forward to the day I can see you and we can once again be a family. Have a happy birthday, sweetheart, and know that I love you.' The letter is signed, 'Your adoring father.'"

  Claire patted herself for getting through the letter. She never got through moments like this, but tonight she did. For the first time all night, she did not succumb to emotion.

  Others could not say the same. When Claire looked around the room, she saw a host of tearful faces. Sarah and Marie smiled and dabbed their eyes. Bette reached for a handkerchief. Margaret left the room. The combination of absent parents and childhood birthdays apparently hit too close to home. David and Carter seemed speechless.

  "That is the most beautiful tribute I have ever heard. I feel good knowing that Hannah is surrounded by so much love," Sarah said. "Has Ron said much about his experience in boot camp? If so, I would love to hear it. My husband is a Navy man."

  "He hasn't said much at all," Claire said. She put the letter on the table. "He's said only that he's coping, like everyone else, and looking forward to his next big adventure."

  Claire didn't add that Ron's next big adventure might include deserting the Navy, crossing international borders, and escaping to the twenty-first century. She reasoned that Hannah's party was lively enough. Even so, she thought about Ron's next step, her next step, and wondered where the family adventure was heading.

  In his cryptic letter of May 31, written on Navy stationery, Ron had said very little. He advised Claire to keep her chin up, stick to their plan, and remain in Chattanooga until he could contact her by phone. He said he expected to receive his orders in three or four weeks and would report the details of those orders as soon as he could.

  Claire had not expected specifics. She knew that Ron, as a member of the military, was under close watch and that government censors, particularly in wartime, treated letters like intelligence time bombs. As a result, she assumed that each loosely sealed letter she found in her mailbox was something that someone else had read.

  Claire pondered the coming weeks for a moment and then turned to something more important. She lifted Hannah out of her high chair, wiped her face and hands with a cloth napkin, and then sat down, with Hannah on her lap, at a table topped with presents.

  "I guess it's time to open the gifts," Claire said. She smiled at her guests, including Margaret, who had returned to her seat. "Before we get started, I have a question."

  "What's that?" Sarah asked.

  "Are there any breakables in these boxes?"

  "There are none in mine."

  Claire appealed to Margaret and Marie, who seemed amused by the question. When she saw them shake their heads, she turned to Mrs. Galloway.

  "Bette?"

  "We bought Hannah some clothes," Bette said. She offered her hostess a warm smile. "We know what babies can do to fragile objects."

  Claire beamed.

  "I'm sure you do."

  "Turn her loose," David said dryly. "We'll be safe."

  Claire laughed.

  "In that case, let's get started."

  Claire repositioned Hannah on her lap and then reached for the closest box. She placed the birthday present in front of the birthday girl and let her lunge toward the gift.

  "Have at it, sweetheart."

  CHAPTER 36: RON

  North Chicago, Illinois – Tuesday, June 12, 1945

  Standing near the front of a line of fifty hungry men, Ron slid his tray along a long steel counter, looked at a server, and picked his poison. He picked the meatloaf because it looked slightly less disgusting than the corned beef hash — and in the world of military cuisine, that almost made it appealing.

  Ron pointed at a pan of carrots and then at a pan of peas. He didn't ask t
he servers to put the items on his plate because he couldn't speak to them. He couldn't speak to anyone in the mess halls or just about anywhere else at Recruit Training Command Great Lakes. As a new recruit at the biggest boot camp in the United States Navy, he did a lot of listening.

  The time traveler carried his metal tray into the heart of the dining area and looked for a place to sit. A moment later, he walked to a distant table, lowered his tray, and sat opposite a slender, dark-haired man he considered a kindred spirit.

  Like Ron Rasmussen, Tony Giordano, a coffee vendor from Queens, knew his beans and berries. He knew how to grade and roast, buy and sell, and operate a small business in a competitive environment. Like Ron, he had even turned a profit.

  Ron knew all this because he had spoken to Tony in fits and starts during the few times they could speak at all. In their barracks before taps, the bunkmates would often discuss processes and procedures. On occasion, after taps, they would whisper about their families.

  Ron looked at Tony, smiled, and then eyed two glass shakers at the end of the table. He requested salt with one knock and pepper with two and got both in a jiffy. He figured if he was going eat this stuff and do it in fifteen minutes, he might as well do it right.

  A moment later, Ron sprinkled the condiments on his meal, dug in, and pondered all he had seen and done in thirty-two days. He had seen and done a lot.

  Ron had found the first week — processing week — much to his liking. He considered his haircut, physical examinations, and physical training to be welcome retreats from the boredom and monotony of camp life. He even liked Bunk Making 101. Like the other procedures, rituals, and formalities of the first few days, it had a purpose.

  So did his many classes. As one who had not stepped inside a classroom since leaving Boulder in 2005, Ron welcomed the opportunity to learn again. He used the skills he had honed at Colorado to make the most of each instruction session and even help his peers.

  Ron was tempted at times to correct those with misguided assumptions, but he kept his knowledge to himself. He did not want to draw unwanted attention any more than he wanted to eat corned beef hash seven days a week.