"Margaret tells me you have two boys."
"I do," Laura said. "Jack and I have twin sons. They turned one last month."
"Where are they now?" Claire asked.
"The boys are with my folks. They live in Cameron Hill."
"Where's your husband?"
Laura sipped some tea.
"He's visiting an uncle in Dalton."
Claire tilted her head.
"Isn't that in Georgia?"
Laura nodded.
"It just across the state line."
"Did Jack grow up around here?"
"No. He grew up in Knoxville. That's where we went to school."
Claire put her napkin on her plate.
"So you met in college?"
"We met my sophomore year."
"How did you meet?"
"He approached me at a dance," Laura said. "He said he liked my name."
"I can see why. Laura's a pretty name."
"Jack seemed to think so. But he was partial to my whole name."
"I don't follow," Claire said.
Margaret giggled.
"My husband is something of a character," Laura said. "When he approached me at that dance, he said he could make me a famous person."
"Oh?" Claire asked.
"That's right. He said all I had to do was marry him."
"I still don't get it."
"My maiden name is Ingalls, Mrs. Rasmussen."
Margaret and David laughed hard. Claire turned red and tried to stifle a laugh. Hannah squealed and pounded her fists on her high-chair tray.
"I'm sorry," Claire said. "I should have seen that coming."
Laura smiled.
"That's all right. Most people don't."
Claire shook her head and laughed to herself. She wasn't just getting slow in her old age. She was mentally shutting down. Deciding to salvage what was left of her dignity, she smiled at Laura and deftly changed the subject.
"What does your husband do?"
Laura put her napkin on her plate.
"He's a lieutenant in the Army Corps of Engineers."
"Have you lived in Detroit very long?" Claire asked.
Laura shook her head.
"We moved there in April. The Corps transferred Jack after he finished his work at Oak Ridge. We lived there for the better part of two years."
Claire wanted to ask more about Jack's work but didn't. Even though she didn't know the complete history of the Oak Ridge National Laboratory, she knew it was the facility that developed the first atomic bomb — a bomb that had not yet been dropped. She conceded it was possible that Laura knew nothing about the Manhattan Project.
"Well, I'm glad you still have the chance to see your families," Claire said. "That's really important, particularly in times like these."
"I agree," Laura said.
Claire smiled and then turned to the others.
"Would anyone like some pie?"
"Let me get it," Margaret said.
"No," Claire said. "I'll get it. You can play hostess on Saturday."
Margaret smiled.
"Fair enough."
Claire got up from her chair, wiped Hannah's face with her bib, and then moved toward the kitchen, where two cherry pies awaited. She took three steps when the phone rang.
"I'll get it," Claire said to David.
She walked to the black rotary phone on the kitchen counter and picked up the receiver. She almost fainted when she heard the voice on the other end.
"Claire?" Ron asked.
"It's you! It's really you," Claire said. She glanced at David, gave him a thumbs-up, and carried the phone farther into the kitchen for more privacy. "Where are you?"
"I'm in Omaha."
"Omaha?"
"Yes, Omaha," Ron said. "The Navy put us on a train shortly after graduation. I'm on my way to Mare Island. This is a quick stop, so I'll have to be brief."
"Why didn't you call earlier?"
"I did. I've been trying to reach you since Sunday night. I would have left a message, but oddly enough I couldn't. No one has invented the message machine."
Claire brought her hand to her forehead.
"You must have called when we were out on walks."
"It doesn't matter," Ron said. "All that matters now is that I finally reached you."
"So what's the situation?"
"I wrote the details in a letter I mailed tonight, but I can give you the gist over the phone. In a nutshell, I have to report to Mare Island when I arrive, check out my ship, and remain on base until Tuesday morning. At that point, I'll be eligible for a short leave."
"How long?" Claire asked.
"My commanding officer says three to five days."
"That's cutting it close."
"I know," Ron said. "Have you purchased plane tickets?"
"I did yesterday. I did right after the adoption hearing. She's ours, Ron. Our baby is ours now in every way, shape, and form."
"That's awesome. Is she walking?"
"She's running," Claire said. "You've missed so much."
"Then I guess I have some catching up to do."
"We all do."
"How about the others? Have you told them we're leaving?"
"I have. Margaret, Carter, and Marie Weatherford all know we're going to California for two weeks and may not come back. I informed Mr. Finch, as well, and paid our rent through August. I'll empty our savings account on Friday."
"What about the car?" Ron asked.
"I'm giving it to Margaret. I'll give her the keys before we leave and tell her she can drive it while we're gone. We can sign the title in California and mail it to her as a wedding present. She's done a lot for us, Ron. I want to do something for her."
"I do too."
"So what do we do now?" Claire asked.
"You get ready to travel. You pack your bags, take care of any loose ends, and get on your plane. When's your flight?"
"You mean flights. We have three on Monday. The first leaves Chattanooga at eleven in the morning. The last arrives in San Francisco just before midnight."
"Do me a favor then," Ron said. "Find a hotel near the airport, make a reservation for Monday night, and have the contact information ready when I call on Sunday. I'll take a taxi to the hotel on Tuesday morning. We can figure out the rest then."
"When will you call on Sunday?" Claire asked.
"I don't know. I'll call the second I get the chance. So stay by the phone the whole day. If I can, I'll call you first thing Sunday morning."
"OK."
"Claire?"
"Yes?"
"Don't miss that call," Ron said.
"I won't."
"I have to go, honey. Give our baby a kiss from me."
"I will," Claire said. "I love you."
"I love you too."
CHAPTER 47: RON
Vallejo, California – Saturday, July 14, 1945
Standing in a line to use a pay phone at the Mare Island Naval Shipyard, Seaman First Class Ronald Rasmussen tried to control his anger. He had done little else since losing his leave, his freedom, and perhaps a whole lot more at 0800 Saturday.
He had expected something different when he had arrived at the sprawling base Friday night with Tony Giordano and thirty other members of his graduating class. He had expected, at worst, a boring weekend of orientations, light duty, and perhaps a few hours of liberty in the City by the Bay. He received something else.
Told by his commanding officer at breakfast that all leaves had been canceled, he spent the next several hours trying to find spare time, a free phone, and answers for his wife. At three fifteen Pacific War Time, or six fifteen in Chattanooga, he had two of the three.
As he moved forward in the queue, Ron considered his two remaining options. Neither was appealing. He could board his assigned ship in an hour. Or he could run.
If he chose the first option, he would not see his family for months. He would ride a tin can in the Pacific for at least the rest of the year and
not reunite with Claire, Hannah, and David until early 1946. He found that prospect depressing.
Even so, the option had an upside. If Ron boarded his ship, he would have the chance to see his family again. He would almost certainly survive a war that was essentially over and keep all of his other options intact. He would have the chance to see the future again.
If he ran, he might lose everything. He might be arrested for desertion even before his family left Tennessee and spend the next several years in a military prison. He considered that prospect even less attractive. With less than sixty minutes to make the decision of his life, Ron found himself between a rock and a six-hundred-foot Portland-class cruiser.
Ron pondered his dilemma until he finally reached the head of the line, the phone, and an opportunity to at least share his misery. He picked up the receiver, dialed "0," and asked the operator to complete a collect call to Chattanooga, Tennessee.
The woman responded matter-of-factly.
"What is the number, sir?"
Ron answered the question and then waited a moment for something to happen. He prayed that someone was still in his house and able to hear the phone ring.
The operator broke in.
"Is this your home number?"
"Yes," Ron said.
"I'm not getting an answer."
"Try again."
The woman paused.
"Sir, I am not allowed . . ."
"Try again, damn it!"
"Sir, please don't speak to me that way."
"I'm sorry," Ron said. He put a hand to his temple. "This is an emergency. Please try one more time. I have to speak to my wife."
"OK. Please hold."
Ron felt a headache come on as he waited for an answer. He could not imagine where Claire — or David — could be at six thirty on a Saturday night. For the first time all day, he began to think he would not even be able to contact them.
The operator returned a moment later.
"I'm sorry, sir. I cannot make a connection."
Ron sighed and stared blankly at the wall.
"Thank you for trying."
"You're welcome."
Ron hung up the phone, turned around, and walked through a room of enlisted men to a glass door, an entry, and the outside world. As he stepped into the bright daylight and the cool marine air, he thought about his options, his obligations as a husband and a father, and his duty as an American serviceman during a world war.
He didn't want to walk back to his barracks. He didn't want to walk anywhere. He wanted to run toward his family and put this nightmare to bed, but he knew he could not.
The time to take the easy way out had come and gone. If he wanted to see Claire and Hannah again, he would have to play the percentages and take a risk.
Ron mulled the matter for a moment and then turned south, toward his temporary quarters, a duffle bag, and a new chapter in his life. It was time, he thought, to get on with the inevitable. It was time to board his ship.
CHAPTER 48: MARGARET
Chattanooga, Tennessee
Twenty-four hundred miles east of San Francisco Bay, Margaret Doyle lifted a bottle of Tennessee whiskey, poured a generous amount in three glasses, and waited for the oldest member of her dinner party to return from an important mission. When her guest finally stepped into the kitchen, she greeted her with a soft voice and a warm smile.
"How is she?" Margaret asked.
Claire smiled.
"She's fine. She's sleeping like a baby."
David laughed.
"That beats sleeping like an old man."
"What makes you think there's a difference?" Margaret asked. She giggled. "Most old men I know spend half their days taking naps."
"I can't argue with that."
Margaret motioned to Claire.
"Please sit. I poured you a treat."
Claire reclaimed her seat at the small square table and made herself comfortable. Then she picked up the bottle, looked at the label, and smiled at her hostess.
"I see you brought out the good stuff."
"I did," Margaret said. "I've been saving it for a night like this."
"Then I guess we should enjoy it."
Margaret glanced at a stack of dinner dishes she had left by the sink, decided they could wait until morning, and then turned her attention to Claire. She liked this woman and wanted to make their last evening together a special one.
"Do you think Hannah will be all right in my room?" Margaret asked. "I don't want her to roll off the bed."
"She'll be fine," Claire said. She returned the bottle to its proper place. "I placed her in the middle of the mattress and surrounded her with pillows. She's not going anywhere."
Margaret sipped her whiskey.
"I wonder what Ron is doing right now."
"I do too."
"Can he leave the base? Can he see San Francisco?"
Claire shook her head.
"He can't do anything until Tuesday."
Margaret settled into her chair.
"Are you looking forward to your trip?"
"I am," Claire said. "I'm looking forward to seeing my husband again. We've never been apart this long. This separation has been a trial for both of us."
"I understand."
"I'm sure you do. I keep forgetting you wrote the book on perseverance and patience in a time of war."
"I'm not doing anything a million other women aren't doing right now," Margaret said. "This war has been hard on all of us."
David sipped his whiskey.
"When will Tom return to Chattanooga?"
Margaret sighed.
"That depends on the war, of course. If the hostilities end this summer, he'll come home this fall. He's due for a long leave. If the war drags on, all bets are off."
David offered a comforting smile.
"I have a feeling the war will end soon."
"You said that in April," Margaret said.
"I meant it too."
"Well, I hope you're right. I don't think I could bear another year."
David looked at her thoughtfully.
"Maybe we should talk about something else."
Margaret nodded.
"Maybe we should."
"Is there something else you would rather do?" David asked. He took another sip. "We could play cards or sit on the porch or do cartwheels in the front yard."
Margaret smiled.
"No. Let's stay. I would rather stay here and talk than do something else. I suspect this is the last time I will ever see you and want to make the most of it."
Claire lifted her glass.
"I'll second that."
"Then what would you like to talk about?" David asked Margaret. "There must be something we can talk about besides babies and wars and Ferris wheels."
Margaret lifted her hand.
"Don't even joke about Ferris wheels. I still have nightmares about that night. I don't want to get near one of those things again."
David chuckled.
"That makes two of us."
Claire grinned.
"I know what we can do. We can play one of those question-and-answer games where we reveal something about ourselves."
"All right," Margaret said. "Do you have something in mind?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. When I was a freshman in college, my girlfriends and I used to dare each other to reveal our biggest fears or regrets or mistakes," Claire said. "The regrets round usually produced the best responses. Everyone has regrets."
David laughed.
"They do. That's why I'll take a pass."
Margaret reached across the table and grabbed David's wrist as he raised his glass to take another sip. She didn't care for his attitude.
"I think we should play. I would like to learn a few things about my neighbors before they run off like thieves in the night."
David lowered his glass.
"It appears I have no choice. My wrist is under house arrest."
Claire laughed.<
br />
"I think we have a quorum."
David smiled at Margaret.
"OK. I'll play."
"That's better," Margaret said. She released David's wrist and looked at Claire. "How do we play? I assume there are rules."
"That's the beauty of it," Claire said. "There are no rules. The participants agree on a single question and go from there. There are no winners or losers or points or anything of the sort. There are just revealing answers."
"Oh."
"Does anyone have a question in mind?"
"Why don't we start with regrets?" Margaret said. She finished her drink and poured herself another. "You said that brings out the best responses."
"I think it does," Claire said. "If it helps, I'll go first. I have more regrets than a philandering drunk in a Catholic confessional."
Margaret laughed.
"I sincerely doubt that."
Claire grinned.
"You didn't know me in my younger days."
"OK. I'll play," Margaret said. "What is your biggest regret?"
Claire emptied her glass.
"My biggest regret is that I put off adoption as long as I did."
"What do you mean?" Margaret asked.
"I mean I should have tried to find my Hannah sooner," Claire said. "Instead of trying and failing for years to start a family the old-fashioned way, I should have considered other options. I put myself through a lot of misery for nothing."
"She's changed you."
"You have no idea."
Margaret forced a smile.
"I'm sure I can guess."
"She's opened my eyes," Claire said. "For years I thought I could only be happy if I had a child of my own. So I pushed myself to have a baby. In the process, I missed the forest for the trees. I failed to see that what I really wanted all these years was not a child to bear but a child to rear. I love Hannah as much as any baby that could have come from my womb."
"I believe it," Margaret said. "Does Ron feel the same way? Does he regret putting off adoption as long as you did?"
Claire smiled sadly.
"That's a good question. I don't know the answer. I've never asked him directly. I know he was reluctant to consider adoption for a long time, but I don't know if he regrets putting it off. Ron keeps his own counsel on matters like that."
Hannah's Moon (American Journey Book 5) Page 20