She kept her fingers crossed and sighed with relief to see her grandmother propped up in bed. Sara hugged her.
“Sit.” Grams patted the side of the bed. “I haven’t finished telling you about Jack, and I don’t know how much time I have left.”
Dismayed at Gram’s words, Sara wasted no time seating herself.
“A week later,” Grams began, “the first letter arrived.”
Chapter 11
October 1943
Fran had been in the doldrums ever since Jack left, surprised at how much she could miss someone she barely knew, but she did miss him, and in a big way.
She raised her right hand to touch the top edge of her sweater for reassurance. Beneath the soft material, she felt the aviator wings Jack had given her at the train station. She traced the edges of the pin and pressed it to her chest. She’d been officially pinned.
She hadn’t written Jack since his departure waiting instead for him to do so first. After all she didn’t want to appear foolish if he changed his mind. Every day she rushed to the mailbox with mixed emotions. On one hand she wished he wouldn’t write so as to make her life easier, but then felt disappointed to find the box empty. While on the other hand, she suffered anxiety that a letter would arrive and the decision would land in her court.
She knew she was being ridiculous expecting word so soon. The boys had been gone barely a week—hardly enough time to get settled back in, let alone post a letter. Jack no doubt had more pressing things to do, but still she couldn’t help wondering about him and often found her mind wandering back to the time they’d spent together. It would be nice to share her feelings with Amy, but since Amy still rambled on about Jack and said she’d already written him, Fran held her tongue.
Fran glanced up and sighed with relief. Lunchtime. She grabbed her purse and rushed to the front of the factory to meet Amy. Living as close as they did to work, they usually just went home for lunch, although occasionally they would cross the canal and eat at Ray’s Diner.
“See you at twelve-fifty,” Fran said to Amy as she turned toward her house and walked up the sidewalk to the porch. She glanced back at her friend as she continued down the street. Then with bated breath she lifted the lid to the black letter box hanging beside the front door. From inside it, she removed several envelopes which she quickly noted were bills. A sinking feeling of disappointment hit the pit of her stomach. That was all there was. She started to turn away, but suddenly felt compelled to reach back in. Her fingers brushed against a note-sized envelope.
Her heart did a somersault. She grasped the edges of what she hoped was a letter and drew it out. She knew without glancing at it who it was from. She hugged it to her chest. He wrote. He wrote. He didn’t forget me. She rushed inside, dropped onto the sofa, and with trembling fingers tore the flap open, careful not to rip the return address. She’d need it to write back.
Jack had beautiful handwriting. Why that surprised her, she didn’t know. It fit perfectly with everything she already knew about him.
With shaky fingers, she unfolded his letter and began to read:
My Dearest Fran,
It seems as though I’ve been gone forever instead of only a few days. I began to miss you as soon as the train left the station. There’s a constant nagging pain in my chest reminding me that a vital part of me is missing. And it’s you, Frannie Girl. I’m missing you.
Red and I have been extremely busy. Unfortunately, with the war on, I can’t share any work details. There is however a lot of tension in the air.
I don’t have much time to get this posted before I’m back on duty, so I have to make this short. I just wanted to tell you I had a terrific time last weekend and to send reassurance that I’ve not forgotten you. You are forever in my thoughts, as I hope I am in yours. Write soon!
Love,
Jack
Fran clasped the letter to her chest, smiling. He’d written. He hadn’t forgotten her. He really did care. She pirouetted around the room. Her heart swelled with an emotion she refused to name. She must hurry and write him back. If she wrote fast, she might get it done before the noon hour ended.
Forgetting about lunch, she rushed to her room and dug around in her vanity drawer for some stationery, but once she sat down with paper and pen in hand her mind went blank. What could she say of interest? Nothing new had happened since he’d left. After all, her days were not filled with great excitement. She didn’t want him to find her letter boring.
Hmm. She pressed the end of the pen against her pursed lips and thought. What should she say? Exactly how much did she want to convey of her feelings? Unable to decide, she set her pen down and pushed the paper away. She needed to choose her words carefully. She didn’t want to rush. Maybe it would be better to leave it until tonight when she had more time.
Decision made. She went downstairs to fix herself a sandwich before Amy appeared at her door. She’d post Jack a letter tomorrow.
Fran sat on the front porch and waited for Amy who all but skipped down the street, a happy smile on her face. Fran joined her on the sidewalk. “What’s got you all excited?”
Amy waved an envelope in front of Fran’s face. It was identical to the one Fran had tucked into her purse only a few moments ago. “Guess who I got a letter from today?”
“From the expression on your face, I’d say the President, himself.”
“Nope. Guess again.”
“Red?”
“You want to try again?”
“Not really, Ames. How about you just tell me.”
“Oh, pooh, Fran. It’s from Jack. Can you believe it? He wrote me back.”
Annoyed at her friend’s exuberance over Jack, she snapped, “Well, what did you expect him to do after spending the weekend with your family?”
“You make it sound like an obligation.” Amy’s voice held a hint of hurt. “You don’t think it’s possible he liked me and just wanted to write?”
Fran didn’t know how to respond to that. She hadn’t meant to trod on Amy’s feelings. “Of course he likes you. What’s not to like?”
“Do you really think so?” Amy grabbed Fran’s arm hugging it to her. “Because I sure liked him.” Amy pushed the envelope into Fran’s hand. “Tell me what you think. It’s really short, but he says he’s busy.”
Fran opened the letter and silently read.
Dear Amy,
Thanks for writing. There is nothing more a sailor likes to hear than his name during mail call. It’s nice to receive letters from friends. I want to thank you again for your hospitality this past weekend. Red talks about you often, and now I have a face to go with the name.
I’m sure Red’s written to tell you how busy we’ve been with drills and flying practice, so I won’t bore you with that. I just wanted to jot a quick note to say thanks for writing. Say hi to your friend Fran for me.
Jack
Fran noted the mention of her name. He no doubt knew Amy would show her the letter. “That’s nice, Ames.” She folded the stationery and placed it back in the envelope before handing it back with a heavy heart.
“Well, what do you think? It didn’t sound very personal, did it? He called me a friend. Do you think that’s all he sees me as?”
“How should I know?” Fran said rather grumpily, feelings of guilt nagging her again. She should just tell her.
“Geez, what’s made you so crabby? All I asked was a simple question. I don’t know why you get annoyed every time I mention Jack. Honestly.”
“Can we just forget about Jack McOmber, puh-leeze? He’s gone back to the city. The odds of his returning here are slim. Okay?”
“Fine.” Amy crossed her arms and stuck her nose in the air.
Fran opened the back door of the factory with relief. She never thought she’d be so happy to get back
to work.
The afternoon dragged by. Fran found herself making numerous typing mistakes as she struggled to keep her mind on work. Her thoughts continued to stray to Jack and what she would say if she wrote him. Deeply troubled by his letter to Amy and her reaction to it, Fran began to rethink her decision to write back to Jack. It was a relief to head home at the end of the day. Thankfully, Amy decided to go downtown to the stores instead of with her.
After a light supper with her mom, Fran went up to her room to compose a letter to Jack. After several scratched-out lines and two balled-up sheets of stationery, she stopped attempting to write. Amy’s excitement over her letter from Jack weighed heavily on her mind, and she questioned her own actions. She was deceiving her best friend over a guy she barely knew. What on earth was she doing? Being foolish, that’s what. What were the odds Jack would get another opportunity to return to Albion before shipping out? Slim to none.
After much soul-searching, she twisted the cap back on her pen and put her writing paper away. It was for the best, she convinced herself, before her heart became more involved and got seriously hurt. She knew she should write and explain to Jack, but after he didn’t hear from her in a while, he’d get the hint. Sadly, she admitted to herself, she was taking the chicken’s way out, but she just couldn’t bring herself to completely close the door on the relationship—not just yet.
When the following week came and no new letter arrived, she found herself feeling glum. Even Amy’s attempts to make her feel better had no impact on lifting her spirits. She’d made the right decision, she was sure. She just wished her heart felt the same. By the third week she’d begun to come to terms with her choice until Amy read her a second letter from Jack.
Dear Amy,
Thanks for the letter updating me on how things are in Albion. I hope this letter finds you well and I’m sorry to hear that your friend Fran has been feeling down. I hope all is well with her family, and she will feel right as rain soon. Friendship is a priceless commodity and not to be taken lightly. I appreciate yours as I know your friend Fran does as well. Good friends are hard to come by.
Red and I are staying busy as usual, although we did manage to catch a new movie on Saturday night and come morning were deeply sorry we over imbibed afterwards. Even the most stalwart sailor needs a break sometimes to boost his flagging morale.
Thanks again for taking the time to write. Tell your mom and Fran hello for me.
Jack
Fran refolded the letter, handed it to her friend, then stared down the road trying to ignore the uneasy feeling in her stomach. She glanced back at Amy. “Nice letter,” was all she could manage to say.
“Not very cheerful, though, was it?” Ames complained. “And all that talk about friendship, gee whiz, could the guy get more obtuse. He can’t possibly still think I’m only interested in being his friend. What gives?”
“I don’t know, Ames, but maybe he doesn’t think you’re his type. I told you from the beginning he wouldn’t be interested in us.” She managed the teensy, white lie with aplomb.
“That’s hogwash. He seemed to have a good time while he was here. Maybe it’s the war thing.”
“War thing?”
“You know, not wanting to get involved because of what could happen.”
“Maybe.” Fran bit her lip to keep from saying more.
“Yeah, that’s probably it. Red said in his last letter, Jack hadn’t been his usual cheerful self. He thought maybe the reality of the war was beginning to hit him.”
Maybe, Fran thought or maybe he realized she’d no intention of writing him back. She felt a stabbing pain in the center of her chest. She hated to hurt anyone more than she hated being hurt herself.
Amy stood and tucked the letter in her pocket. “I guess I’ll go write him back. Just wanted your thoughts on what he wrote. I’ll just have to be persistent, and hopefully given enough time, I’ll erode his resistance.”
“Tell him I said hello and appreciate his concern. Please let him know I’m feeling better.”
“Will do.” Amy waved and took off across the lawn.
It was obvious to Fran that Jack had written the letter as much to her as to Amy. He was letting her know he understood her decision but was not happy with it. Well, neither was she, but it was the right choice, which she continued to tell herself until the phone rang late one night while her mother was at work.
“Hello,” she answered absently, one ear still listening to the latest war news on the radio.
“This is the operator speaking. I have a person-to-person long distance call for Miss Frances Jones.”
“Yes, this is she.” Fran’s heart sped up from a rush of adrenaline.
“Go ahead, sir.” The operator hung up.
“Fran, it’s Jack.”
She let out a brief sigh then gripped the receiver tighter. “You scared me for a moment. I’ve never received a long-distance person-to-person call. I thought something had happened. Are you all right?”
“Yes, everything’s fine. I didn’t mean to alarm you. Since I hadn’t heard from you, I, uh, I, well, I just wanted to know how you are. Amy’s letter said you were down in the dumps.”
“I’m fine,” she lied, her throat tight with emotion.
Hearing Jack’s voice tore open the thin scab covering the wound caused by her decision. “How are you?”
“I’ve been better.” His words came out a little slurred. “Missing you.”
Fran didn’t say anything for a moment as she processed his words. She missed him too. Hearing his voice brought back the memories of the time they spent together, and she felt a deep regret in her heart.
“Fran, you still there?”
She nodded against the receiver before she consciously realized he couldn’t see her answer. “Yes,” she whispered, tears clogging her throat. “I’m here.” And before she could stop herself, she said, “I miss you too.”
Jack started to speak, but his words still slurred. He paused for a moment, cleared his throat then said more slowly. “I’m glad to hear that. I was afraid out of sight, out of mind.”
“Jack, are you sure you’re all right? Have you been drinking?”
He paused before answering. “Maybe. Needed a little Dutch courage.”
“Or perhaps, a lot of Dutch courage,” she responded. “But why would you feel you need that to call me?”
“I don’t handle rejection well.”
“I imagine it’s a new experience for you.” She teased lightly, but when he didn’t respond to her words, she wondered if he’d heard her. “Jack?”
“Nah,” he responded, his voice low. “I’m intimately acquainted with it.”
“With what?” she asked, puzzled.
“Rejection.” He sighed into the receiver then paused as if this was a conversation he did not want to have. Finally, he responded, “My mother got tired of my father’s long naval deployments and found herself a new husband to run off with, leaving my sister and me to be raised by my dad if he was home and my aunt if he wasn’t.”
Stunned, Fran grappled for words as she tried to imagine a mother who would abandon her children without regard to the devastating effect it would have on them. “I’m sorry,” was all she could manage to say. “Were you still able to see her?”
“Not often. With Dad’s job we moved a lot.” He stopped and cleared his throat before continuing. “To be honest, that’s the real reason why there’s been no serious girl in my past. I figured being in the Navy like my Dad, what’s the odds? Then I met you . . .”
Fran could physically feel her heart snap in two. She put a hand to her chest for a moment stunned by its intensity. She searched for the right words but struggled to find them.
Then the operator cut in. “That will be a dollar seventy-five for anothe
r ten minutes, please.”
“Just a moment,” Jack replied.
Fran could hear Jack fumbling with the coins. “Damn, I’m short.”
“Dollar seventy-five, please.”
“I’m out of change. Love you . . .”
“Jack? Jack?” The line went dead. Fran held the receiver cradled to her chest. What am I supposed to do now?
Fran collapsed in the chair by the phone, her mind scrambling to make sense of their conversation. Jack, her confident, carefree Jack had been afraid to let a woman get close for fear she would leave him like his mother—that she wouldn’t love him enough to be loyal through the hard times. Yet, he had trusted her, and she had failed him miserably unable to overcome her own insecurities. What should she do now? Write, resounded clearly in head.
She raced upstairs and removed a piece of stationery from her drawer and quickly sat down to compose a letter. She tried to be careful with her wording, but eventually gave up and just spoke from the heart.
Dear Jack,
I miss you too. Hearing your voice tonight on the telephone reminded me of why I didn’t want to fall for a serviceman—too many goodbyes, but as long as I know there will be hellos again, I can cope with it. Speaking with you made me realize how dear you are to me, and I’m truly sorry I didn’t write back. I never meant to cause you any pain. I just felt guilty over Amy and terribly afraid to love you lest I lose you. It feels as though I’ve known you forever instead of only a few days. I guess it’s the quality of the time together not the quantity.
You have been forever in my thoughts even when I tried to banish you. I try to be cautiously optimistic when thinking of you but find your cautious Fran flies right out the window when dreaming about the possibilities. Although I must admit, I’m a little frightened too.
Life suddenly seems dull without you here. Work continues to be just work, so I’ve nothing new to add from the home front except to say, please take care of yourself and be careful in your job. Albion misses you. Is there any chance you’ll get leave for the holidays? Write back soon.
Cherished Wings (Return to the Home Front Book 1) Page 8