“Does he treat you good?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
He looked thinner than before, and the lines on his face had deepened. “Well, I only want what’s best for you, honey. If he’s not the one, you’ll find someone who’s right for you.”
“Mom told me if I broke up with him I wasn’t welcome at home anymore.”
He shook his head. “Oh, Lorraine. Don’t pay her any mind. You know how she gets. She just wants the best for you. She’ll get over it,” he reassured me. “You still plan on coming home for Easter break.”
The whistle blew and I had to go, so he patted my back and helped me on the train. He stayed and waved until the train left.
Would Daddy understand if I told him about Jens? If I told him what Mom had said to Jens when he came to our house, how she’d destroyed his letters? Would it drive a wedge between my parents, or between Daddy and me?
Since Pete’s death our family had been like one of the few remaining cornstalks that still stood in the fields, fragile and bent under the weight of the snow. And now I might be responsible for adding more weight on top of it. The guilt pressed heavily on me as the train pulled out of the station. What would happen if I broke up with Scotty?
I knew the answer. The cornstalk would snap off and break entirely.
Thirty-seven
1947
I stared down at the two envelopes in my hand that had been waiting for me upon my return to school—one from Jens and one from Scotty. I leaned against the cold windowsill in my room, reading quickly before my roommate Bernice returned from dinner. She was a shy girl who was studying to be a home economics teacher. Swatches of colored material lay strewn across her bed.
My breath puffed out in white swirls on the cold glass. I read Jens’s letter first. His choppy writing was interspersed with German when he didn’t know the English translation.
Dearest Lorraine,
War is schrecklich-horrible, but it performed one act of kindness, to bring us together.
I have felt this fate many times in my life. An meinem Geburtstag, my ten year of birth, my father trade a sheep for saxophone after we hear great American jazz musician Sidney Bechet play during fair in Leer, near my hometown. Despite small obstacles, no money for lessons, I learned to play. And it was by way of saxophone that I find a sponsor to bring me back to you. When I play I am back in Ostfriesland in my hometown again, the one of my youth before the war. And now it also make me think of you.
I stopped reading to wipe a tear from my cheek. I could hear it in his playing, how Jens transformed music, how it became more than notes and rhythm, how it spoke to him and became part of his soul.
Jens had saved me, just as I had saved him. The love we’d shared had helped me survive the unspeakable loss of my brother.
Jens wrote of how much he missed me, how he couldn’t wait to see me in a month. I’d gone to Iowa City with just one thought: to tell Scotty that the German soldier I loved was back. But I’d returned with an engagement ring still on my finger.
“Oh, Jens,” I whispered, my tears blurring the blue ink. “You should have come back sooner.”
Then I read Scotty’s letter.
Dear Lorraine,
We’re on the road again. I’m writing this on the bus on our way to Wisconsin. Hope you’re still rooting for this Hawkeye, because he’s crazy about you and can’t wait to see you at Easter break. Two months seems like forever. I’m so glad we moved up the wedding, although I have to admit that it will be hard to get any homework done when my beautiful wife is here. But I’m so happy just thinking of how you’ll be there every night when I come home. I’m already the envy of every guy on the team who’s seen your picture. And they don’t even know what a swell girl you are!
Coach Harrison is walking the aisle so I better end this and get busy with homework. Miss you and love you, future Mrs. Bishop—you’d better get used to answering to that, by the way.
Scotty
I put the two letters side by side, as though I could play a game of eenie, meenie, miney, mo to determine the rest of my life. Which path would I choose?
I hid one letter in my dresser drawer and laid the other on top.
That night I stayed up late after Bernice was asleep. I wrote letter after letter, but kept tearing them up until the wastebasket overflowed with white scraps. I spent hours searching for the right words and finally realized there weren’t any that would make it less painful for either of us. I settled on the truth.
Dear Jens,
Seeing you last week was both exhilarating and confusing. I’d given up any hope that we might meet again. We shared a special connection during the war and I will never forget the love we shared. But I can’t let those two nights of nostalgia distract me from the commitment I made to Scotty. We plan to wed this summer.
I’m happy you’ve made a new life for yourself in the US, and I know you’ll do well. Please understand. This is the hardest decision of my life.
Lorraine
My hand trembled the next day as I dropped the letter in the mail. Had I made the right choice? Being separated for two years had only strengthened my feelings for Jens. There were still so many obstacles. Even though the war was over, Mom would never accept Jens. The war had put us on opposite sides, and Pete’s death had cemented that division.
And then there was kind and dependable Scotty, who would provide a stable life for me. We shared a common history, and if Jens had never returned I’d have been perfectly content with him.
These thoughts did nothing to stop my blood from running cold at the thought of never seeing Jens again. I tried to concentrate on school. A new semester had begun. In addition to classes in voice, harmony, and music appreciation, I had signed up for freshman composition, biology, and a religion class titled The Life of Christ. That, combined with choir practices, kept me busy and distracted.
A week later I received another letter from Jens. This one had an Eau Claire, Wisconsin, postmark. I carried it in my pocket like a hidden jewel during class, kept patting my pocket to make sure it was still there. In the waning hours of the afternoon I found a private spot in a corner of the library and read his letter at least ten times.
Dearest Lorraine,
Your letter was very difficult to read. Perhaps if you receive my letters while I was away things could be different. But that is in the past and I know I must accept your decision. I wish you and Scotty happiness. You know that I will love you always. This will never change.
Jens
Tucked inside the letter was a ticket to the Prom Ballroom in St. Paul where Jens and his band would be playing in two weeks. On the ticket he wrote, If you change your mind.
I studied the ticket. How easily I could take the bus up to St. Paul, perhaps book a room at a women’s hotel, the kind where unmarried girls stayed. I’d go to the Prom Ballroom and surprise Jens. I’d watch him play and take in the sights of the city. And then what?
Just the mere thought of seeing him again made my heart race. It was like holding my palm over a candle, when all I could feel was the warmth, and not the hot lick of the flame burning my hand.
I closed my eyes and kissed the ticket, then dropped it in the trash before I could change my mind.
Thirty-eight
1947
I looked at myself in the mirror. I’d worn the blue dress to church this morning, but before that the last time I’d worn it had been with Jens at the Surf. I didn’t need something that would dredge up memories of him while I was at Scotty’s house. He was on my mind enough as it was. I shook it off and tossed it on the bed with two other dresses I’d already dismissed.
“Lorraine, are you ready yet?” Mom’s voice carried up the stairs. “Why don’t you just wear what you had on in church this morning?”
“I spilled jam on it,” I lied.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. When Scotty’s mom had invited us to Easter dinner, she’d said it would be the perfect opportunity to get to kn
ow our family better. The idea had caused a stone to take up residence in my stomach, weighing me down.
I finally settled for a pleated green-and-blue plaid skirt and a button-down white blouse with a wide bow at the neck. I tied back my thick reddish locks with a green ribbon. I’d lost weight the last few months, and my face had a sharper look to it. Would Scotty still like what he saw? I hurried down the stairs and grabbed my coat. Mom and Daddy were waiting in the car.
Mom had on her new pink pillbox hat over tightly woven curls. She’d insisted on a visit to the beauty shop. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d made an effort to look nice.
“My daughter is marrying Scotty Bishop, you know,” she’d babbled to Rosie Griffiths, who was combing out her faded brown hair. Rosie was four years older than me; her husband was in the navy, stationed somewhere in the Pacific.
“It’s the talk of the town,” Rosie said, encouraging Mom. “I remember Scotty from high school. He played on the varsity team as a sophomore, and was such a tall, skinny kid back then.”
I’d sat rigidly on a hard bench, staring at a Cream of Wheat ad in LIFE magazine while inhaling the ammonia fumes in the salon, trying not to listen to Mom’s endless prattle, and all the while the stone in my stomach grew.
“He’s still tall, but he’s filled out nicely,” Mom said.
“I know lots of girls who are heartbroken right now,” Rosie added, and Mom’s face lit up in the mirror with pride.
“What kind of pie are you making?” I’d asked Mom, trying to derail the conversation.
“You know I always make chocolate pie. It’s my specialty.”
Afterward, even though Mom looked exhausted, she’d made me drive to Lundberg’s to try on dresses for the dinner. I’d tried on three, none of which I liked, then made a visit to the cosmetics counter to see Stella, who acted more excited about the upcoming dinner than me. Our friendship had been rekindled by my recent engagement. Marriage was our common ground, even though Stella wasn’t dating anyone.
Now Mom tightened her death grip on the chocolate pie balanced on her lap, trying not to get her white gloves soiled in the process. “Don’t take the corners so fast,” she shouted at Daddy. “I didn’t spend all yesterday afternoon making this pie to have it end up on the floor of our car.”
Daddy rolled his eyes at me through the rearview mirror, but slowed down a bit.
I picked at the pleats in my skirt, feeling a rush of panic at my attire. I should have tried harder to find something suitable at Lundberg’s. I looked more like a schoolgirl than a fiancée.
As we parked in front of Scotty’s lakeside home, I watched Daddy’s eyes follow the columns of white pillars up to the tall overhanging roof.
“Looks like the kind of place where you need to wipe your shoes before you go in,” he remarked, then wiped a hand across his suit and straightened his tie. I had a sudden urge to go back home.
I hadn’t seen Scotty since Christmas, when I’d told him about Jens and we’d moved up the wedding date. We’d written a few times, spoken on the phone once.
I’d barely gotten out of the car before Scotty swept out the door. His dark hair was shorter, and he had on a blue sweater vest with a white shirt and tie over dark slacks. He flashed his debonair smile that made me feel like I was back in high school again, when having his attention had been a dream come true. He scooped me into his strong arms, twirling me around. The cold air took my breath away, or was it the handsome man who held me? He smelled of Barbasol, and I took in his scent as he set me down.
“I’ve missed you so much, Lorraine,” he whispered. “You look like a million dollars.”
He kissed me right there in front of Mom and Daddy. He tasted like peppermint and I kissed him back, letting my lips linger on his, feeling the warmth and comfort of his body against mine. I was so relieved at his enthusiasm that I almost forgot we weren’t alone. I finally pulled back, slightly embarrassed by my display. “Scotty,” I said, motioning toward my parents.
“Sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Kindred,” Scotty apologized, shaking Mom and Daddy’s hands. “It’s been hard being so far away from Lorraine.”
“Seeing as how we’re going to be family, you can call me Buck,” Daddy said, giving him a firm handshake.
Mom nodded. “We’re thrilled to be here, Scotty, and you can call me Mom.”
I thought I saw a grimace on Scotty’s face at that remark, but maybe it was me.
Succulent turkey smells wafted out the open door, and Scotty led us into the living room where his parents were waiting. Mr. Bishop stood near the fireplace, and Mrs. Bishop and Scotty’s sister Kate awaited us at the entrance. Blue floral chairs faced a beige sofa, separated by a glass oval table on which sat a large vase filled with white lilies. A Steinway grand piano occupied a place of honor near the windows, but Scotty had confessed that no one played it. Kate had taken lessons when she was young, but gave them up.
Scotty took care of the introductions. I watched as Mom with her fresh curls, holding the chocolate pie, and Dad in his Sunday suit, his hair plastered with Brylcreem, were both greeted warmly.
Mr. Bishop picked up a bottle of champagne, neatly wrapped in a white napkin. He winked at me, every bit as charming as his son, even with his receding hairline and portly appearance. Mrs. Bishop, in an elegant cream-colored suit, her dark hair piled in a neat bun on her head, held a tray of crystal glasses, while Kate busied herself hanging up our coats and hats in the hall.
“Thought we’d toast the young couple first,” boomed Mr. Bishop. “So much to celebrate, don’t you think?” He popped the cork and poured the sparkling liquid into the glasses.
“Oh, my goodness, yes,” agreed Mom, and I hid a smile. Mom was a teetotaler. She was out of her element here and flustered, but she bravely sipped from the flute pressed into her hand.
“To the happy couple,” said Daddy gamely.
It was the first time I’d been offered an alcoholic drink in front of my parents. We raised our glasses and there was a satisfaction in being treated like an adult. I sipped the champagne, which left a bitter aftertaste and reminded me of the last time I’d drunk it, the night Scotty had proposed at the Surf. The night I’d seen Jens again. My hand shook a little and I steadied it. We stood around in an awkward circle until bubbles flew up Mom’s nose and she sneezed. But at least it broke the ice and everyone laughed.
After they’d raved over Mom’s chocolate pie and Mrs. Bishop had asked for the recipe, we were ushered into the dining room. An enormous turkey, already carved, sat in the middle of a sideboard, surrounded by steaming dishes filled with sweet potatoes, vegetables, stuffing, gravy, and fresh biscuits. Next to them was a stack of elegant green floral china plates that I recognized from Mrs. Bishop’s display hutch the last time I had visited. We were to help ourselves and then settle around the gleaming mahogany dining table. There were place cards showing us where to sit. I relaxed when I saw my name next to Scotty’s.
Indistinct voices and the splashing of water into pots and pans echoed from behind a closed door. It was then that Mom must have realized Mrs. Bishop had help in the kitchen. She shot Dad a glance and motioned to the kitchen with her head, a smile of satisfaction plastered on her face. It was as if her thoughts were written on her forehead. Lorraine has made a good match.
I sat next to Scotty and looked up at the sparkling chandelier that spun a pattern of light across the table.
Mr. Bishop led the blessing. “Dear Lord, we give thanks for this food and for our families, especially our children who have brought us together today. May the happiness we’ve known as their parents be multiplied a hundredfold in their lives. We thank God for peace on earth, for our friends, and for the bounty we are about to receive on this Easter Sunday.”
As I mumbled “Amen” along with everyone else, I felt a sudden ache for my brother. The last two Easters had been so hard with an empty chair at the table. But the wedding was helping us move on. Mom was complimenting Mrs. Bishop on the tableware
, and Daddy was ruminating about when the ice on the lake would break up.
“How many points did you score in the last game, Scotty?” Mr. Bishop asked as he refilled my glass with champagne, even though it was just half empty.
“Six, but Coach Harrison took me out when we were ten points ahead and let some of the graduating seniors play.”
The conversation flowed along with the champagne, and I began to relax. Things were going well.
“I hear Brad Thistle’s little brother is playing center guard next year,” Scotty told Kate as he helped himself to a second helping of turkey. “They’ll have a tough time beating Algona.”
“No team is ever going to be as good as when you were playing,” Kate said. “And no one is ever going to sing the school song as good as Lorraine did at graduation.”
I looked at Kate with renewed appreciation. No one had mentioned my singing since that terrible embarrassment at the Surf a few months ago.
I listened to the voices surrounding me, thinking that this was how my life was supposed to be, at the side of Scotty Bishop. I took a generous sip of champagne, feeling safe in the glow of Scotty’s love.
“I had a terrible time finding material, what with the shortage still going on,” I heard Mom say to Mrs. Bishop. “So when I found a roll of ivory satin I bought it on the spot. Who knows when they’ll get more in? And if I do say so myself, the dress looks gorgeous on her. I can’t wait for her to wear it.”
“They’re such a good-looking couple,” Mrs. Bishop said. “We’re so glad that Scotty is marrying one of our own.”
I wasn’t sure what she meant by that. That I was a local girl, or a Catholic, or from the right family? I knew my parents didn’t run in the same social circle, and they’d never hire help for a meal. I thought of Jens, of how we’d forged such an unlikely friendship that crossed so many lines, a friendship that had grown into something more despite our differences; of how even in the midst of this celebration my mind kept turning back toward him, as though I was being guided away by unseen forces.
It was then that I realized Scotty was staring at me. Was my face such an open book? I blinked, trying to hide whatever was giving me away. My heart raced at the thought that Scotty might suspect.
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