by Terrie Todd
“I’d like to announce that today I enlisted in the Royal Canadian Air Force.” The room grew quiet as all eyes turned toward Mr. and Mrs. Weinberger and then back to their son. “That’s right. You are looking at one of His Majesty’s loyal and most honor-bound subjects, prepared to serve king and country come what may. I’d like to thank my parents for this fabulous party, though they had no idea when they planned it that it would be my glorious send-off. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I ship out next week. Carry on! God save the king!”
He stepped away from the microphone and promptly missed the step down to the dance floor, landing face down on the gleaming hardwood. He scrambled to his feet, laughing and brushing off the assistance offered by the bandleader, who clearly didn’t know whether he should pick up his instrument or wait for further instructions from Mr. Weinberger. A lone pair of hands clapped together, and soon everyone picked up the cue and gave Carlton a round of applause. Mr. Weinberger made his way to the microphone and raised his glass.
“Here’s to a swift end to this war,” he said with a quiver in his voice I’d not heard before.
“Hear, hear!” someone shouted. This was followed by more clapping as Mr. Weinberger walked over to his son and patted him on the back. As the applause faded, the band began a subdued rendition of “Over the Rainbow.” The Oz analogy was complete. Couples waltzed slowly, but the festive mood had disappeared as completely as if it had been picked up by a tornado and carried far away.
Chapter 19
December 1940
Fresh from boot camp, Victor Harrison and the rest of his company waited to board the train from Winnipeg to Halifax. They scratched at their newly issued wool uniforms and tugged on the field service caps that did not sufficiently protect their freshly shorn heads against the cold of a Manitoba winter.
He’d spent the previous night in his own bed back home. With two days’ leave to spend, Victor had returned to Bleak Landing to celebrate Christmas with his family, and to say goodbye. His mother and sisters treated him like he was some kind of celebrity, waiting on him hand and foot. He’d sat beside them in church, singing “It Came Upon the Midnight Clear.” When they reached the third verse, Victor had to stop singing. He stared at the hymnbook he shared with Bobby and listened to the voices around him as they raised up the words:
Yet with the woes of sin and strife the world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled two thousand years of wrong;
And man at war with man hears not the love-song which they bring;
O! hush the noise, ye men of strife, and hear the angels sing.
That evening, when they sat down to Christmas dinner, Ma prayed for a swift end to the war and offered up a special prayer of protection over Victor. His father added a loud Amen. The next morning, when Victor stepped off the platform to board his train, Pa clapped him on the back and spoke the words Victor had dreamed of hearing all his life:
“Proud of you, son.”
But the praise fell flat. For more than two years, Victor had carried a secret he’d done nothing about, and the weight of it was crushing him. He was convinced the locket he’d seen Bruce Nilsen drop the day after his father died belonged to Bridget O’Sullivan. Yet he’d never confronted Bruce or asked if he knew anything about Bridget’s whereabouts. He’d never told his parents. Never gone to Mr. O’Sullivan to tell him what he knew.
What am I so afraid of? He had sat in church every Sunday, riddled with guilt, unable to answer his own question. He’d done everything to avoid thinking about it, throwing himself into the farmwork and helping out neighboring farmers when he could, working for only a meal. Most people were just getting back on their feet after the Depression and didn’t need the added burden of paying for help. Victor had even volunteered to teach Sunday school, taking on the older boys that his mother found more challenging. They seemed thrilled to have him as their teacher, but he knew their hero-worship would dissolve if they knew what a coward he really was.
Is it that I don’t want to risk Bruce’s friendship? Or am I afraid to learn some horrible truth about Bridget? The questions tormented him in his bed each night, yet every time he made up his mind to confess to someone what he’d seen, the words refused to come.
His mother had noticed the change in him. “You’ve been so sullen, Victor. Ever since Mr. Nilsen passed.”
She tried to diagnose his melancholy. “Are you worried you could lose your own father? Because he’s healthy, you know. And even if such a thing happened to us, our family would be all right, son. The responsibility for the family wouldn’t be on your shoulders alone. We’d pull together, and God would provide. He always has, always does.”
When this didn’t bring Victor around, she tried a new tactic a few weeks later.
“Are you worried about this war? You know, Prime Minister King has promised Canada will not resort to conscription. You needn’t worry about getting called up.”
This, too, failed to lighten Victor’s mood. Eventually, Ma gave up trying to pry anything out of him.
She would never know that she was the one who planted the idea. It was the perfect solution, the just penitence. If Victor signed up for service, he figured, he could make up for his failures. He could learn to be brave, he knew it. He mulled over the idea for weeks. Other fellows in the community were signing up. Victor secured a brochure and kept it under his pillow, reading it at least twice a day. By the time a recruitment officer visited Bleak Landing and set up shop at the community hall, Victor’s mind was made up. Once he’d signed and submitted the forms, there was no turning back.
His parents said little about his decision, though Victor could hear his mother crying after they all went to bed the night following his announcement. Though her tears added to his guilt, he knew she would support his decision and keep praying for him. And if it took death or a maiming to make him a man, then so be it.
“You’re crazy.” Bruce Nilsen had shaken his head when Victor told him. “Completely crazy. You know what could happen to you? I’m not joining you, I’ve got an education to finish.”
“I’m not asking you to join me,” Victor said. “A little support would be nice, though.”
Victor thought back to the childhood years he’d spent with Bruce. They’d had so much fun, getting into mischief and creating happy memories. He’d always figured he and Bruce would remain lifelong comrades. But it seemed life was pulling them in different directions now, and maybe he didn’t know his old friend as well as he’d thought.
Then Bruce surprised Victor even more. “Besides, sometimes I think you’d be fighting on the wrong side. If you ask me, the Nazis are onto something.”
Victor stared at him, hoping he was joking. But the set of Bruce’s jaw matched the conviction in his voice.
“Now who’s the crazy one? I can’t believe you’re still hanging on to your father’s old-fashioned attitudes.” They clearly ran deep. But so did Victor’s loyalty to his old friend. “I would have thought life in the city would have shown you a broader perspective. Opened your eyes to what’s going on.”
“Maybe I’m not the one who needs my eyes opened.” Bruce sighed. “You really figure this is something you need to do?”
Victor nodded. With any luck, he’d come home a new man. A real man. And if he didn’t make it home, it wouldn’t matter anymore what he was.
“Then I’ll support you all I can,” Bruce said, clapping Victor on the shoulder. “From here. Try to come home in one piece.”
Victor did just fine at boot camp. Years of rising early, slinging hay bales, and mucking out the barn had built strength and stamina into his nineteen-year-old muscles. Pa’s training had taught him how to respect his superiors and follow orders without question. And his mother’s prayers had showed him how to rely on God’s power when his own strength failed.
Now the training was behind him and he’d soon be faced with real battles. While the other guys covered their nerves with joking and jostling, Victor s
at quietly and looked around the exquisite domed rotunda of Winnipeg’s Union Station. A gigantic Christmas tree adorned its center, and at least half the people bustling about were dressed just like he was: as soldiers, either headed out or coming home.
Then he saw someone he had thought he would never see again.
At least he thought it was her. Maybe the constant strain of guilt over Bridget O’Sullivan was finally making him nuts. Maybe he’d be imagining he saw her in random places for the rest of his life. But the more he watched, the more convinced he became. Two young women had just entered the station from the tracks on the east side and were swiftly headed across the lobby to the street on the west side, carrying their bags. One was tall and blond and was talking in an animated fashion to her companion. The companion was a dead ringer for Bridget. Oh, she looked a little older than last time he’d seen her, and definitely more sophisticated. She had more meat on her bones and a healthier glow to her face. But that hair! It had to be her. Didn’t it?
Victor watched the pair cross the lobby. He studied the redhead. Had Bridget ever carried herself with such confidence and poise? Maybe it wasn’t her. But the resemblance was uncanny. He had to know, but if he didn’t hurry, they’d be gone. Just as he stood to follow them, an announcement came over the public-address system.
“Harrison, we’re boarding!” one of his buddies hollered.
Victor kept walking toward the young women. Instead of exiting through the main doors, they stopped in front of the ladies’ room.
“Harrison, c’mon! Where you going, man? It’s this way!”
Bridget—if it was Bridget—went into the ladies’ room while her friend took a seat on a bench, their bags by her feet. Victor had no more time to waste. He rushed toward the woman, ignoring the calls to board with his troop.
“Excuse me, miss.” The blonde looked up at him through pale blue eyes. “Sorry to bother you, but my train is boarding and I only have a minute. My name’s Victor Harrison. That other girl with you, the redhead. Is her name Bridget? Bridget O’Sullivan?”
The young woman scrutinized his uniform before she spoke. “Not exactly.”
Not exactly? What kind of answer was that?
“Harrison! We have to go!” His buddy called out again. “Now!”
“It’s just—if it’s her, if it’s Bridget . . .” Victor stumbled over his words. “We’re old school chums. She went missing. Years ago. I need to know if she’s all right. Please, if it’s her, tell me.”
The woman glanced back toward the door to the ladies’ room. “Want me to get her for you so she can tell you herself?”
“Private Harrison!” Victor recognized the voice of his commander. “You will board this train now.”
Victor pleaded with the blonde even as he backed away from her. “I have to go. Please, just—just tell her you saw me. Victor—Victor Harrison. She can write to me in care of the armed forces.” He jogged back to join his group and threw his duffel bag into the pile with the others being loaded. He was the last to step aboard, but managed to claim a window seat. The train was about to pull out when he heard rapping on his window. He turned to see the blond girl on tiptoe, reaching as high as she could. He pushed the window open. The girl held a slip of paper toward him, and as the train began to chug away, he reached out and took it. She waved, and Victor gripped the paper tightly, waving at her with it. He pulled it inside and read what appeared to be a label of some kind.
It said BRIDGET SULLIVAN, followed by a Wellington Crescent address.
Victor tucked the slip of paper deep into his shirt pocket while his traveling companions hollered at him to shut the window against the winter air. He slid the window closed with a glance up at the December sky. Thank you, Lord.
Bridget was alive. And by all appearances, she was thriving. As the train picked up speed, two other words resonated in Victor’s head. Though he never imagined he’d apply this description to this particular girl, the thought persisted with the rhythms of the rails as he closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the seat.
Bridget O’Sullivan was stunningly beautiful.
Chapter 20
Maxine and I had enjoyed another memorable Christmas with her family, and I was still replaying certain developments in my mind when I visited the ladies’ room at Union Station. The biggest change was, Maxine’s plan to start beauty school had been postponed. The course had been canceled, thanks to the war. Though tearful at first, Maxine agreed with her parents that it would be smart to keep her job at Weinberger Textiles, which now produced uniforms for the Canadian military. Once her initial disappointment passed, her happy attitude returned, to my amazement. “The Lord has already mapped my life out for me,” she said. “As long as I stick with him, I won’t get lost.”
What a knucklehead.
The war had a dampening effect on Christmas, too—not the least of which was, folks could get a seat on a train only if it wasn’t needed by a serviceman. As a result, Maxine and I had been delayed in Pinehaven by a day and should have been back at work by now. We’d managed to catch this morning’s train back to Winnipeg and would now ride separate buses to our respective workplaces.
When I left the ladies’ room, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Our bags still sat by the bench where we’d left them, but Maxine was nowhere in sight. Even her purse lay abandoned. Had she followed me into the ladies’ room without my noticing and left our belongings unguarded? If she needed to go that badly, why hadn’t she said so? I dropped onto the bench with an unladylike plop and scanned our bags to make sure nothing was missing. Maxine was going to get a piece of my mind!
Suddenly, I heard her, roaring in like a hurricane. A train was pulling away from the station, and she was running in through the east doors.
“Bridget!” she yelled. “You’re not going to believe this in a million years!”
I swear every eye in the place was tracking her as she flew across the lobby. My face was probably turning fifteen shades of red. When would that girl learn that she didn’t have to be so exuberant about everything? She ran toward me, her unbuttoned coat flying behind her like a magic cape. She stopped in front of my bench, trying to catch her breath.
“Victor,” she said, panting.
“Huh?”
“While you were in the loo.” She took a big gulp of air. “A soldier came over and asked me if your name was Bridget and I didn’t know what I should tell him, so I offered to go get you so you could talk to him yourself, but his train was leaving and he had to run but he said his name was Victor Harrison and he recognized you and he said you went missing.” Finally, she took another breath.
I was glad I was sitting down. Victor Harrison? A soldier?
“And Bridget, he wanted to know if you were all right, and he said you could write to him! And you’ll never believe this. He thought your name was O’Sullivan. With an O. It’s not, is it? Have I had it wrong all this time?”
I must have blinked fifteen times, trying to absorb what I was hearing. “Well, I—”
“And Bridget, he’s so handsome! Why haven’t you ever mentioned this Victor guy before?”
“Victor.” This time, I managed to actually form the word. Maxine was nodding and grinning like an idiot. “What did you say to him?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said. “I swear. Except—well, I sort of gave him your address.”
“You what?”
“Well, he was running off. There was no time to wait for you. He would have missed his train. But I didn’t think I should just let him get away, so I pulled the label from your suitcase and ran after him. He was already on board. But then I spotted him through a window—and oh my gosh, Bridget, he’s dreamy!—so I knocked on the glass and he opened it and took the label from my hand just as the train was pulling out, and he yelled thank you at me. At least, I think that’s what he said. I had to read his lips over the train whistle. Isn’t it the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard of?”
I looked do
wn at my bag. Sure enough, the transparent slot where my address used to be was now empty.
“Well, you’re right about one thing,” I said. “I don’t believe it.”
Maxine sat on the bench beside me. “Well, I’m not making it up. How could I when I never heard of Victor Harrison before today? Why does he think you’re missing? This is so romantic, Bridge! He’s going off to war with your address in his hand. You know he’s going to write to you, don’t you? And you’ll write him back and he’ll cherish your letters and they’ll sustain him through the mud and the muck on the battlefield—”
“Maxine, please.” I rolled my eyes and gave her my most earnest stop talking face.
“So who is he to you? Were you really just school chums, like he said, or was there something more?”
“I’d hardly use the word chum.” More like mortal enemies. “He locked me in the outhouse and I’ve never forgiven him. Never will, either.”
To my horror, Maxine laughed. I wanted to sock her one.
“Locked you in the outhouse? When was this, when you were six?”
“Twelve.”
“Oh, believe me, princess. If you’d seen him looking all handsome in that army uniform, you’d have let go of your grudge in a heartbeat!”
“I doubt it. Look, if we don’t get out there and catch our buses, we’re going to be waiting here all day.” I picked up my belongings and headed for the door. “I doubt I’ll ever see or hear from Victor Harrison again, so I don’t see what difference it makes.”
Maxine followed me. “Bridget’s got a boyfriend,” she singsonged, like an eight-year-old. Suddenly, she switched gears. “Oh, I wonder if I made his uniform? I could have, you know. How dreamy would that be?”
I was glad to be getting rid of her for a while. My bus pulled up first, but before I could board it, Maxine stepped in for a hug. “Thanks for coming home with me for Christmas. And you better call me the minute you get a letter from that Victor. The very minute! And if you don’t want him, can I have him?”