by Anne Mateer
“Tell me more about yourself,” Mrs. Latham said. She seemed truly interested. So I told her about Mama’s illness and Daddy’s farm. About Downington and my soldier brother.
Then her eyes took on a merry look. “What about your beau? Is he back home or ‘over there’?”
“Not back home.” I ducked my head like a shy schoolgirl.
She coaxed Arthur from me with more questions. I recounted his dreams of flying and living in a big city, but also the corn silk hair that waved above jovial blue eyes, the face that beamed with pleasure at most everything. I stopped before I told her about his lips, how they had pressed into mine. How I relived the warmth of them every night before I fell asleep. But I think she knew anyway. When she raised her eyebrows and laughed, I looked away, sure she could read my mind.
So I changed the subject to Frank Gresham. “Why did he go off to fight? Surely his age could have kept him here. Especially with a sickly wife and small children.”
She motioned me to follow her from the table, which I did. We sorted her dishes into a pile for her boys to load back in their wagon. “He’s not as old as you might expect,” she said as we worked. “He and Clara came here mighty young—and already married. Besides—”
A throat cleared behind us. We both turned. Sheriff Jeffries’s fingers fidgeted with his hat. He nodded at Mrs. Latham, and then his gaze locked on me. “Would you care to take a walk before the evening service, Rebekah?”
I looked past him, toward the group of children playing tag, then to the babies, Janie included, asleep on a blanket in the shade under the watchful eye of a gray-haired lady. “I think I’d better stay near. For the children.”
“Of course. The children.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks, as if he’d forgotten my purpose here. “Another time, then.” He settled his hat back on his head and strode away without giving me a chance to reply.
I glanced at Mrs. Latham. My face heated at the merriment in her eyes.
“Mrs. Latham, I—”
She patted my hand. “Call me Irene, honey. You’re plenty old enough, and we’re friends, aren’t we?”
I pressed my hand to my chest as tears filled my eyes. Friends. I really had a friend here—and an older friend at that. It made me feel grown up, even more than caring for the children did. “Thank you . . . Irene.”
Stop it, Dan. I told you not to scratch.” Ollie’s voice from the kitchen met me as I toted an armload of laundry down the stairs Monday morning. Dan’s head showed all the signs of healing, but keeping his grimy hands away from the spot proved difficult.
“You can’t tell me what to do!” Dan yelled back.
A shuffle of bodies. A scream.
“No! Let him go!” James had apparently joined the fray.
“If you don’t listen to me, God will send you to the bad place, with the devil.”
I charged into the kitchen, dropping the dirty clothes and grabbing Ollie’s arm. “You are not his mother.”
James stuck out his tongue at her. I reached out and snagged James with my free hand and marched them both up the stairs, their howls filling the house. I sent Ollie into the children’s room to put on her school dress while I left James writhing on my freshly made bed. Then I returned to the woeful Dan, coddling him and Janie until their tears melted into smiles.
When Ollie finally raced from the house, braids flying, eager to be off to school, relief and sadness tugged at either side of my heart. Had Mama felt this way when she put me on the train nearly three weeks ago? I suspected she did. Probably more so, for I wouldn’t return later that afternoon to sit at the table, drink a glass of milk, and tell her about my day.
I didn’t have time to ponder the strange motherly feelings. A full day of chores awaited. I scooped the laundry back into my arms and followed the boys outside.
When I pulled the envelope from the mailbox that afternoon, Frank’s familiar handwriting stared up at me, but it was the address that stopped me cold.
Miss Rebekah Hendricks, Prater’s Junction, Texas.
My mouth dropped open. I turned the envelope over and stared at the flap. Thankful that Ollie hadn’t arrived home from school yet, I slit the envelope with my hairpin. The paper shook as I drew it out. I leaned against the thick trunk of the half-bare oak tree.
Miss Hendricks,
I received word of Adabelle Williams’s passing on to glory and of you staying on with my children. I know they are not your responsibility, but from what I hear, you weren’t given much choice. Thank you for your Christian kindness in helping those in need.
Tell Ollie Elizabeth I’m depending on her. Keep the boys in line with a switch if you have to. Please let me know how they are doing. It seems so unfair for them to lose both their mother and their Miss Ada without their father to comfort them. Yet I must believe God knows best even if it seems a hard thing.
I don’t know how long you intend to stay, but if it could be until I return home, that would be greatly appreciated. If you need anything at all, ask George and Irene Latham.
Sincerely,
Frank Gresham
I blew out a long breath as I read over the words again. To my relief, he seemed to care, both about his children and about my being here. And how could I refuse his request? Arthur had not yet given me assurance that he would marry me before he left for Europe. If I stayed here, perhaps I could at least see him again before he shipped out. And being on my own and in charge was better than going back to my old life in Downington.
Ollie meandered into the yard as I finished hanging the clothes on the line. The other children napped upstairs, and I intended to keep it that way.
“Will you lay those towels and cloths to dry on the hedge bushes for me?” I said.
She dragged the basket over to the side fence. With careful concentration, she stretched each cloth until it lay fully exposed to the air, if not the sun. I shook out the skirt of my gingham work dress and pinned it to the clothesline before crossing the yard to help her.
“My mama used to let me do this. Miss Ada, too.” Ollie draped and stretched the last kitchen towel on the prickly green leaves. “I helped Miss Ada help Mama before she had Janie.” She smoothed the edges of each towel, making them line up with each other. I let the silence linger between us.
“When Miss Ada got sick, she told me I’d have to grow up right quick. I didn’t go to school for a few days. I thought it was fun being in charge.” When she turned to me, fear peeked out from behind her serious eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.
A fist seemed to close around my heart, wringing from its depths a compassion I didn’t know it contained. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”
She threw herself at me, her thin arms circling my waist, her shoulders heaving with sobs. “I’m sorry I made Dan mad. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep Mama and Miss Ada alive.”
I held her cheeks in my hands. “It’s not your fault. Do you hear me, Ollie Elizabeth? It’s not your fault your mama died. Or Miss Ada. It was . . . Well, it was just meant to be, that’s all.”
She buried her head in my body and wept some more. I wanted to join her. Who was I to offer platitudes when my mama remained in this world, even if Daddy’s letter had hinted she had one foot in the next?
Help me, Lord. I knelt in front of the girl, wiped the tears from her face, and prayed for the words to say. “Death comes to us all, Ollie. Miss Ada knew that. So did your mama. Your daddy knows it, too. He probably sees it every day. But God is always here, watching us, helping us. I know it.”
“How? Can you see God?”
Staring far off over her shoulder, I pondered how to express what I knew to be true. I thought of Irene, of the light in her eyes in spite of all the death she’d seen in her congregation, her community. The words rose up from somewhere deep inside of me. “I know it because the sun comes up every morning, no matter what. And the rain falls on the crops. And babies are born. I know it because even when death comes, we go
on living.”
The words slashed against my heart like barbed wire tearing flesh. Could I live out my own words if Mama died? Or Arthur? Or Will? Could Ollie endure it if death came for her father, too?
Both of us, our lives stretching out along an unknown road, would have to trust the Lord to work out our futures. Until then, I prayed we could find some comfort in each other.
Later that week, a short note arrived from Arthur. Talk of peace had him discouraged. He wanted to challenge the German aces in the air. But I hugged the information close, believing that the war might soon end, Frank would come home, and Arthur and I could begin our life together.
Irene missed church on Sunday. “Down in her back,” I heard from her eldest, Nola Jean. And Sheriff Jeffries’s undivided attention all day rubbed me wrong. Like sitting with Barney Graves in the parlor. A nice man, but one who seemed to want more from me than I was able to give.
The following Monday the back door burst open. Irene’s round face glowed red as a hot stove, her breath coming in chugs, like a steam engine. A newspaper waved in her hand.
“It’s over!” She wheezed out the words as I led her to a chair in the parlor. “It’s over. Early this morning.”
Could it be? I grabbed the paper from her hand. The moment I saw the headline of the special edition Junction Sentinel, I let out a holler. “The war’s over!” I danced a small jig before throwing my arms around my new friend.
She shook with laughter. “Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus!”
Janie grabbed at my skirt, a panicked look on her little face. I swung her into the air.
“It’s over, Janie.” I brought her down and danced her around the room. “The war is over. Our boys are coming home!”
Dan and James bounded in, yelling over each other, wanting to know what had happened.
“The war’s over.”
It only took a second for their eyes to light with understanding.
“Daddy’s coming home! Daddy’s coming home!” They grabbed hands, continuing their chant and spinning in a circle until they had to sit down.
Arthur would be through with his commitment, never having to leave American soil. And Frank would begin his journey home, as would my brother.
No more rationing. No more casualty lists. No more boys buried in faraway graves.
A knock at the door turned all our heads.
“Mind if I join in your celebration?” Sheriff Jeffries grinned, his hat doing its customary dance in his hands. His hair had been slicked back and smelled of tonic.
I held up the newspaper. “Why don’t we all celebrate together? Come to supper. I’ll wring some chicken necks, like we did to the Kaiser and his army.”
“Are you sure about that?” Irene pushed to her feet, her breathing finally normal again.
“Positive.” I twirled a circle before setting Janie on the floor and skipping off toward the henhouse.
The sheriff’s voice trailed behind me. “That girl sure is full of life.”
The smell of baking chicken wafted into the corners of the house, adding to the festive feeling. The chicken and cornbread and squash fed our bodies while our souls reveled in the news of armistice. Voices bounced off the corners of the rooms as everyone tried to talk over each other, each wanting to tell what they’d heard.
The sheriff sat across the table from me. He did have nice eyes. And a not-hard-to-look-at face. He’d make some girl a very respectable husband. And he’d be a good father to her children. I sensed that as I watched him bring James and Dan into the excited banter.
His gaze met mine. I smiled at him, hoping my gratitude showed but praying he didn’t read into the expression more than I intended. My heart belonged to Arthur.
By the time the Lathams and the sheriff took their leave, my back ached and every dish and pot and pan in the kitchen sat dirty on the table or in the washtub. Irene and her girls had offered to help, but I’d recognized the tired in my friend’s eyes. And I wanted to prove—to myself, if nothing else—that I could handle the household tasks.
I did let the older Latham boys haul in water before they left. The dishes could soak overnight. It wasn’t like we had pressing tasks to do in the morning, anyway. Just another day of chores, each the same as the last, only now in a world suddenly stilled with the peace of armistice. And what this new world held for me, I couldn’t wait to discover.
The thought of peace drove me happily from my bed early the next morning. I forced myself to clean a tubful of dishes and set another batch in water before I allowed myself even one sip of coffee. Finally I settled on the porch with my warm mug to enjoy the pleasure of yesterday’s newspaper beyond the front-page stories.
The cool breeze rippled my unbound hair as I scanned the pages. Then a headline leapt from page thirteen.
Wednesday, Dallas Day at Love Field: Arrangements Completed for Caring for Large Crowd at “Flyin’ Frolic.”
I bolted upright, sloshing hot coffee onto my skirt, and read on. A day of aerial demonstrations and pageantry for the public, combined with a celebration of the armistice. Special streetcars would run to Highland Park, with short-haul jitneys carrying spectators from there to Love Field.
Surely the aviators from Camp Dick would all attend, wouldn’t they? But it would cost money to take the train to Dallas. There’d also be the conveyance to Love Field, plus the price of admission. And food. I’d have to buy food. Or would Arthur treat me to dinner?
Plans crowded my head—clothes, train schedules, someone to care for the children. I ought to telegraph Arthur and let him know how to find me. Or should I take my chances and surprise him?
Never mind. I had the whole day to figure things out. I gulped down my cooling coffee. I needed to get caught up on all the chores and then bathe and wash my hair. A smile ached my cheeks, and my toes almost didn’t hit the ground on my way inside. If I could have squealed without waking the children, I would have done that, too.
But my self-control mattered little. Before I made it to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee, three pairs of feet pattered down the stairs.
Arranging my adventure would have to wait.
In the gray light of dawn I tiptoed down the stairs. My mouth stretched in a yawn, body and mind rebelling at the early hour, in spite of my excitement. My plans had come together quite well, although there hadn’t been time to go to town and send a telegram to Arthur. I’d just have to trust I could find him at the air show. I’d pray for it. God had shown me that Arthur was His plan for my life, so I felt sure He’d answer.
After all, He’d already smoothed the way by making Irene agreeable to keeping the kids for me for the day, even though her eyes had asked questions I had no desire to answer. I needed her to be my friend, not my mother. She’d given me a wary smile, but a smile nonetheless, and told me to go on and enjoy myself.
The trust in her face opened the door to guilt. I doubted she approved of me going to Dallas by myself. But I’d made my decision, and I intended to see it through.
As I opened the door to Aunt Adabelle’s bedroom, the mirror over the washstand beckoned me. A bottle of French perfume on the washstand caught my attention. Had Frank sent it to his wife before he knew she’d passed? After only a moment’s hesitation, I pulled the stopper from the heavy glass. The room filled with the sweetness of a thousand flowers at once.
I dabbed the fragrance on the skin behind my ears as I stared into the mirror. Brown eyes blinked back at me, lighter brown hair just visible beneath my hat. A couple of pinches on each cheek and they colored nicely. A turn from side to side returned a verdict of presentable. I clasped my hands beneath my chin, wanting to both laugh and cry. Today I’d see Arthur. But first I had to get to that train station on time.
I hurried back into the hall, peeked out the front door. Nola Jean Latham sauntered across the yard at that moment, spindly legs and arms shooting out from her too-small dress.
She spied me and came on a bit faster. “Mama sent me.” She hopped up on t
he porch. “I’ll take the little ones back to my house. Ollie can walk to school with the rest of us.”
My toes bounced against the porch floor, eager to be off. “That sounds fine, Nola Jean. Tell your mother I said thank you.”
She nodded, plodded into the house, up the stairs, and out of sight. I scurried to the kitchen, wrapped a piece of leftover cornbread in a clean cloth, and tucked it into my handbag. It would do for a bite to eat until I arrived at the Flyin’ Frolic.
James and Ollie shuffled into the kitchen. James rubbed his eyes, then blinked up at me from his bench seat at the table as he sniffed the air. “Mmm. You smell like Mama, Bekah.” His eyes and nose scrunched in confusion as he stared at me. “Where’re you goin’?”
Ollie’s head jerked my direction. Dan sauntered to the table, more awake than his brother. “Nola Jean got Janie up, too.”
“Yes, I know. Remember, James? I told you last night that I had to go to Dallas today.”
Ollie’s eyes narrowed to slits.
“I forgot,” James said, laying his head on the table. “Is Nola Jean goin’ to get my breakfast?”
“Yes, she is.”
The girl walked in that minute, Janie content on her hip.
“Be good for Nola Jean and Mrs. Latham, now.”
James’s bottom lip trembled. Dan nodded and stuck his thumb in his mouth. I laid a hand on each boy’s cheek.
James leaned into my hand. “When are you coming back?”
My throat tightened. Janie stretched her arms to me. I avoided her reach, kissed her head, and started for the door.
Janie screamed and wriggled until Nola Jean let her down. Still wailing, she crawled after me, red-faced but without tears. She gulped air, screaming, then breathing, and screaming again.