Fields Of Gold

by Marie Bostwick

  The president lashed out against the Nazis. He announced that he had given the navy permission to clear the sea of enemy warships whenever it was necessary to protect American interests. The crowd was supposed to be made up of isolationists, dedicated to keeping America out of the war, so I was surprised at how many times they cheered the president’s words, especially when he verbally attacked Hitler as a despot. Apparently, the people of Des Moines were as torn between the desire for peace and the hatred of evil as the rest of the country. Between the reaction of the crowd and the president’s announcement that the navy was authorized to attack “enemy” ships, before we’d even officially declared an enemy, I could see our entry into the war wasn’t far off. There was no stopping it now.

  When the address ended, the audience applauded warmly, then laughed and covered their ears when the loudspeaker squealed as the microphones were adjusted for the America First speakers. They’d set them too high for Slim, I could see that. He was tall, tall as anyone I knew, but the stagehand set the microphone so high he must have thought Slim was some fantastic giant of Nordic legend and not a man at all. I knew better.

  The double doors burst open as the band struck up a patriotic tune. The committee came striding in, some grinning and pointing to people they recognized in the crowd, others looking nervous and pulling at tight collar buttons. Slim looked calm, serious, and resigned, like a doctor coming to give bad news to a terminally ill patient. He was so alone. Despite the questions that had driven me to be there, I couldn’t help but feel compassion toward him.

  For one ridiculous moment I thought that if I could push through the crowd somehow and reach him, I could tell him that war was inevitable and he should just thank everyone for coming and go home, before it was too late. The crowd that heard his words today might believe him for a moment, might even cheer him, but tomorrow they were going to war, and they’d forget. Once the declaration was made, all these people, everyone who’d been against fighting, would deny they’d ever said such a thing, and no one would remember if it was true or not, but Charles was too famous and his campaign too fervent for people to forget his words. They’d think he was a coward, a traitor to a just cause. I was afraid for him. What could be so worth hating as a hero made unheroic?

  Flashbulbs exploded in his face, but he didn’t look at the cameras. I leapt from my seat as he passed near me and tried to grab his sleeve, but one of the stern-looking men I’d seen guarding the door pushed me back. “Slim!” I called. He couldn’t hear me above the din of the crowd and the band. I yelled once more, so loudly it made my ears ring. “Slim!”

  He turned for a moment and searched the mob, trying to pinpoint the voice that must have sounded faintly familiar in his ears. When his eyes found me I saw recognition there, but nothing else. In fact, he seemed embarrassed and slightly annoyed, as though my appearance was an unwelcome development, designed to break his concentration. I knew then that nothing I could say to him would stop him from making his speech. He frowned at me and whispered something to the man in a pinstripe suit who was standing next to him. Frowning again, he shook his head at me in warning before continuing to the stage. He walked up the steps heavily, like a man ascending a gallows scaffold.

  Though the whole thing had taken a second, it seemed longer, and all I could think was, “He’s ashamed of me.” Ever since I’d decided to come to Des Moines, I’d imagined how his face would look when he saw me; I’d pictured many different reactions, possibly joy, anger, even denial. Somehow shame had never occurred to me.

  Well, it should have, I scolded myself. It should have. What did you expect? You should have left things alone. The room seemed even hotter and louder than before. I started to gather up my things and leave. I couldn’t wait to get out of there.

  But as I stood up, a hand reached out and gently pushed me back down into my chair. The man in the pinstripe suit laid his hand on my shoulder and spoke into my ear. “Stay right here until the speech is over and the crowd has left. I’ll come back for you, but it may take a while. If anyone asks, you’re waiting for me, Ben Hodges. You’re my cousin Edith, and I promised to introduce you to Colonel Lindbergh. You understand?”

  I nodded dumbly and murmured an awkward thanks, but I don’t suppose he heard me. By then the crowd was up on its feet, applauding and hollering as Slim was introduced. Mr. Hodges glanced at me for a moment, sizing me up with a flat look, as though he knew all about me and considered me just another unpleasant piece of business to be dealt with in a world where nothing could surprise him anymore. I wondered what he knew about me.

  Then Slim came up to the podium, and suddenly his face was the only one worth thinking about. He smiled automatically, as though he knew it was expected of him, and lowered the microphone so he could speak comfortably into it. For a moment he stood still, just to let everyone get a good look. The sight of him took my breath away. He was still so handsome. He stood tall, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd with good grace, not as if he deserved them or even as if he didn’t, just accepting it all, the way other people say grace for the blessing of food they receive every day of their lives, grateful but not surprised, never imagining a day when the bounty will cease, because it has always been there. He was so sure of himself, so straight and open and earnest. I loved him all over again, despite the life I’d lived without him. How could I not love him? He was so much more alone than I’d ever been.

  He began his address. In the shadow of a frown that creased his brow, I saw a tiny crack in the mask he covered himself with. He was afraid, too. I’d walked in on the pivotal scene. He’d already lost the battle for peace, peace for the country and for himself, and so this was the day he’d chosen to show them what he was, and dare these last loyal few to cheer him if they could. He already knew the outcome, so he was afraid. It was written on his face. If I could have, I would have stopped him, but I was what I had always been, a spectator. It was too late to choose another role.

  His words, carefully rehearsed, rang out clear and sharp. The audience clapped and acclaimed his statements as though they’d written the text themselves. “England’s position is desperate,” he boomed. “She cannot win the war by aviation regardless of how many planes we send her. Even if America enters the war, it is highly improbable that the Allied armies could invade Europe and overcome the might of the Axis forces.”

  The assembly applauded again. Slim paused to let the noise die down before continuing. “If it were not for her hope that she can make the United States responsible for the war, financially as well as militarily, I believe England would have negotiated a peace in Europe many months ago, and be better off for doing so.”

  More cheers followed that. Cries of, “That’s right!” echoed in the hall. Nobody but me seemed to wonder why handing half of Europe over to the Nazis would leave England more secure than she was now. If we were English, I thought, we’d fight to the death, even if winning was “highly improbable.” If he were English, Slim would be leading the battle cry.

  I half wanted to whisper this into the ear of the woman sitting next to me but decided there was no point. Everyone in that room had already made up their minds what to think; they’d just come tonight to have their own opinions confirmed. The audience grew quiet again as Slim continued.

  “I can understand why the Jewish people wish to overthrow the Nazis,” he said more softly. “The persecution they have suffered in Germany would be sufficient to make bitter enemies of any race.” He paused to let his words sink in. “No person with a sense of the dignity of mankind condones the persecution of the Jewish race in Germany. Certainly I and my friends do not.”

  For a moment, relief flooded through me. So many papers around the country had accused Slim and the America First supporters of hating Jews. Maybe this would quiet their criticism. I’d never actually heard or read anything by Slim that mentioned Jews by name, but plenty of people had speculated about his opinions.

  It was hard for me to precisely understand an
ti-Semitism. In my entire life, I’d never met anyone Jewish. But I knew all about feeling like an alien in my own land and how people were capable of ostracizing, even demonizing, people who didn’t fit into an accepted mold. Every day of my life I’d seen how ignorance and cruelty walked hand in hand. The papers never talked much about what was happening to Jews in Europe, not in a direct way. The reports talked about confiscated businesses and freedoms denied, but that was all. The rest was just implied and hinted at, but I knew from Nils’s letters to Paul that these weren’t just rumors. Something terrible was happening, but no one would talk about it.

  I couldn’t bear for people to think Slim condoned such evil. He had looked past my lameness and seen to the inside of me. People who tried to label him an anti-Semite didn’t know him like I did. Hearing him denounce the Nazi persecution, seeing his eyes cast down in sorrow and sympathy, no one could dare to pin such an ugly name on him. For a moment, I thought I’d been wrong to be so worried. Maybe everything would be all right.

  If he’d stopped right there, that would have been the moment everyone remembered about Des Moines, everything would have turned out differently for him, but he didn’t. That speech changed his life. No amount of explanation would soften its meaning. Sometimes I still try, but no matter how I rearrange the words or use the times to justify them, the phrases are still there, black and white and red. They mean what they mean.

  “But though I sympathize with the Jews, let me add a word of warning. No person of honesty and vision can look on their prowar policy here today without seeing the dangers involved in such a policy, both for us”—he looked up from his notes and stared into the eyes of the audience—“and for them.”

  “Instead of agitating for war, the Jewish groups in this country should be opposing it in every possible way, for they will be among the first to feel its consequences. Tolerance is a virtue that depends upon peace and strength. History shows that it cannot survive war and devastation. A few farsighted Jewish people realize this and stand opposed to intervention. But the majority still do not. Their greatest danger to this country lies in their large ownership and influence on our motion pictures, our press, our radio, and our government. We cannot blame them for looking out for what they believe to be their own interests, but we must also look out for ours. We cannot allow the natural passions and prejudices of other people to lead our country to destruction.”

  Even after he said this, many people were still cheering, but a few were frowning and even booing. Still more were whispering among themselves, shaking their heads as though they couldn’t quite believe that “Lucky Lindy,” the hero of all their childhood dreams, could actually say such things. It was as if Lindbergh, much like the despots he claimed to deplore, had declared Jews a foreign nation within our borders, to be tolerated only if they kept to themselves, made no noise, demanded no rights. It sounded almost as though he was issuing a threat. They could hardly believe their ears.

  I didn’t blame them. Neither could I.

  Chapter 18

  “Miss? Miss, your ticket?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I know it’s here somewhere.” I fumbled in my pocket for the ticket stub. “Here it is.” I tried to smooth out the wrinkles before handing it over, but it was no use. I had unthinkingly crushed the little slip in my pocket over and over, until it was so creased the conductor had to squint just to read the destination.

  “Oklahoma, eh?” He smiled and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “I got a cousin used to live in Oklahoma, but she and her family moved off to Utah when the dust came. Can’t see where that was much improvement. I been through to see her a time or two. Just as barren as Oklahoma was. A regular desert. Can’t think why anybody’d live there to begin with.” He spoke cheerfully, but then his cheeks reddened as he remembered where I was headed.

  “Sorry,” he sputtered. “No offense intended, miss. I’m sure Oklahoma must have its good points, same as anywhere,” he added seriously.

  “No offense taken. Every place looks like heaven to someone, I suppose. Though you’re right about it being flat, and the dust was terrible. But if you live somewhere long enough, flat starts to feel like coming home.”

  “Well,” he said with a laugh, “at least can’t nobody sneak up on you there. You can always see what’s coming.”

  “I guess so. Anyway, that’s what we tell ourselves.”

  He laughed again as he punched my ticket. “You have a nice trip now. You’ll probably be glad to get home. Looks like you didn’t get too much sleep in the big city.”

  I smoothed a hand over my hair, thinking how awful I must look. “Not used to all the city noises, I guess.”

  “You just close your eyes and we’ll be there in no time.” He winked and held out my ticket. As he moved on to the next passenger, he looked back once more. “No place like a train for a nap. Those wheels thump so regular, you’ll sleep like a baby.”

  I was looking forward to that sleep the conductor promised, for I hadn’t slept at all the previous night, and when morning came, I looked for the first train back to Dillon. There was no reason to stay longer, not after what had happened.

  Slim had been waiting for me in a small office near the auditorium. The room looked sterile and unused, housing only a gray metal desk and two folding chairs that faced each other straight on, as though they were ready to square off for battle. Slim stood near the desk with his back turned, his hands shoved in his pockets, tapping his foot nervously on the mottled linoleum, his impatience echoing through the empty space like a drum cadence. He cleared his throat when I came in and took care to make sure the door was closed after Mr. Hodges excused himself. Neither of us sat down or moved toward the other. It seemed safer to stand at a distance. I clutched the soft paper-wrapped package to my breast like a shield.

  After an uneasy hesitation, Slim spoke first. “You’ve caught me by surprise, Evangeline. You should have let me know you were coming.” He sounded uncomfortable.

  “And just how would I have done that?” I said, more archly than I’d intended. “Contacted Mr. Ashton? Who would have contacted some faceless lawyers in New York, who would have sent me a carefully worded letter suggesting that I stay home?” I checked myself and murmured an apology. This wasn’t how I wanted to start off. “How are you? How are your children?”

  “They’re fine. Growing like weeds, of course. I can’t think where the time has gone.” He paused for a moment. “How is Morgan?”

  I couldn’t help but smile. I would have made the trip again, just to hear him say Morgan’s name. “He’s away at college. University of Oklahoma. He almost quit before he got started, though. He wants to fly more than anything. I guess he got that from you.”

  “And did his valedictory speech go well?” he asked. “I was proud to hear he was first in his class. He’s obviously a much better student than I was. He must get that from you.” He smiled, and for a moment I was stunned into silence.

  “My letters ...” I faltered, uncertain of what to say next, but my heart beat a little faster.

  “I read them all,” he said. “Even before you began writing I had people check up on him from time to time—anonymously, of course. Though I much prefer your letters. I’m sorry I can’t answer them, Evangeline, but you understand.”

  “No, of course. You couldn’t risk ...” I agreed, but, truthfully, I couldn’t see that the risk was so very great. If he could anonymously make inquiries about Morgan, couldn’t he have anonymously responded to my letters? Still, I was pleased to know he’d read them at all, I didn’t want to push the issue. “It’s good to see you.”

  “You too,” he said. His face seemed to relax a bit. “Do you want to sit down or anything? At least take off your coat.” He came nearer and held my coat while I extracted my arms from the bulky sleeves. I put the package on the desk and covered it with my coat and handbag. We turned and leaned side by side against the edge of the desk. “I meant that, about it being good to see you. You were about the only frie
ndly face in the crowd.”

  “That’s not so. They cheered you like the star quarterback of the high school football team.”

  He snorted derisively. “The ones who weren’t booing, you mean. Government plants, most of them. Roosevelt is out to label me as a coward and an anti-Semite. The crowd cheered me because that’s what crowds do. They act like one big, mindless mass and follow the guy in front because it’s easier than actually thinking for themselves. They cheered, but they didn’t understand. Not a one of them.”

  He shoved his fist into his palm and ground it as if he were milling pepper, working hard at a task with no purpose. I wanted to take his hands in mine and let them rest, cool and soothing on my cheek, forgetting all about the speech, bathing him in comfortable words and assurance, but I couldn’t.

  “Neither do I,” I confessed. “I can’t imagine you really believe those things you said. Even if you do, how could you say them? You had to have known how people would react.”

  “You sound just like Anne,” he said, pushing himself up off the desk and beginning to pace the room nervously. “She begged me to leave out the last part. Said it was ‘like lighting a match near a pile of excelsior.’ She even rewrote it, but I changed it back.” He ran his fingers through his hair, that old, unconscious gesture that had always seemed so boyish and appealing. Now it just spoke of age and fatigue.

  “That’s why Anne didn’t come. She said she couldn’t bear to watch, so here I am alone.” He stopped his pacing, and for a moment I thought he was going to reach for my hand, but then he stepped back, shoved his fists in his pockets, and resumed his restless pacing.