by Dean Hughes
Alex leaned back in his chair and tried to think. He knew he had to go home and see his parents. They hadn’t called, so they probably didn’t know yet. He breathed deeply, and then he looked at his watch. It was five-forty. His parents were up by now. Dad might not go out for the paper immediately, but Alex knew he needed to get over there as quickly as he could. So he hurried out to his car and drove across town. Gasoline was being rationed now, and Alex didn’t have a lot to spare, but he pushed the speed limits a little. He got to the house shortly after six. There were lights on upstairs, but he found the paper still on the porch, and he picked it up. The front door was unlocked, as usual, so he slipped in, stepped to the bottom of the stairs, and called, “Mom, Dad, it’s Alex. I need to talk to you about something. Can you come down?”
“Just a minute,” Mom called back to him. “What’s wrong?”
Alex didn’t answer. But his mother soon hurried down the stairs. As she got close to Alex, she must have seen the concern in his eyes. “Is it Wally?” she said.
“I think he’s all right. Don’t worry,” Alex said, even though he didn’t really know that. He took hold of her hand. Dad was now coming down the stairs. He had shaved, and he had his white shirt on, but no tie. Alex backed into the living room, still holding his mother’s hand. He could see that she was frantic. As Dad stepped into the room, Alex said, “The Trib says our forces in the Philippines have been defeated. It sounds like a lot of the troops have been captured.”
Mom grasped Alex’s arm and clung to it. Dad was standing well away from Alex, but Alex saw him take a quick breath.
“This might save his life,” Alex said. “I think there’s a good chance he was taken prisoner and not killed.”
But Mom looked terrified. Alex took her into his arms and then looked over her shoulder at his dad. Dad was stiff as a mannequin, his face revealing nothing. But he walked closer, and when he touched his wife’s shoulder, she turned and embraced him. Dad looked at Alex, and his steady gaze seemed to say, “I’m not going to fall apart. We are not going to fall apart.” “Were there any details?” he asked.
“No. Just that the troops were overrun, and there was nothing else to do but surrender. Here’s the paper. You can read the article.”
“How can we find out if he’s alive?” Mom asked, still crying.
“We may not for a while,” Dad said. “But the army wouldn’t have a bunch of airplane mechanics on the front lines. I’d say it’s pretty sure that he was taken captive.”
“How will they treat him?”
“I just don’t know, Bea,” Dad said, and Alex heard the stress in his voice.
But it was Mom who suddenly said, “Come with me. Let me make breakfast.” Alex and Dad followed her to the kitchen, where President Thomas picked up the newspaper and began to read. Mom was already tying on an apron, as though she had made a decision not to go to pieces, to keep moving ahead.
Dad sat down at the table with the paper in front of him. Mom began to rattle pans and pull things from the refrigerator. Neither spoke, but Alex was pretty sure he knew what they were wondering: If Wally had been taken captive, could he hold up?
President Thomas finished the article and set the paper down. He looked up at Alex. “I think Wally’s alive,” he said. “And he’s a Thomas.” He looked at his wife. “And a Snow. Our families are made of good stuff. He’ll have to rise to this.”
Alex heard someone walking in the house, and he thought maybe it was Gene. But the kitchen door opened and Bobbi stepped in. She was dressed in her jeans and the old flannel shirt Alex had seen her in before. She had the newspaper in her hand. “You’ve already seen it,” she said. Alex could see she had been crying. “I think maybe it’s good news, don’t you? I think it means he’s alive.”
Mom walked over to her. “Maybe,” she said. “That’s what I’m trying to think. I just hope they’ll treat him all right.”
“How did you find out so early?” Alex asked.
“I got up to study. And I looked at the paper.” She held up her own newspaper. “I borrowed my neighbor’s car to get over here.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” President Thomas said. “I want to have a family prayer. We need to combine our faith.”
“That’s a good idea,” Alex said.
But Dad didn’t move to call the kids. He looked at Alex and then at Bobbi. “I feel good about where we are right now,” he said. “Alex and Bea are serving the cause down at the plant, and I think I’ll be helping over there more all the time. My business is grinding to a halt, with no cars coming in. I also think about the shortage of nurses we’re going to have, and I see some inspiration in Bobbi’s choice to switch to nursing school.”
But all that bothered Alex. Dad had pressured Bobbi to go to nursing school. It was his inspiration he was referring to. And he had not wanted Mom to work with Alex. All the same, Dad had opened a door. Alex wasn’t sure his timing was right, but he decided he had to step through. “Dad,” he said, “you’re right about Mom. She’s doing a great job at the plant. She could run the place.”
“Well, I don’t think—”
“Especially if you can get there more often from now on.”
“I couldn’t give it my full attention, Alex, and your mother could never be a boss to all those men.” Dad had obviously seen, too late, the direction of Alex’s thought.
“I don’t know why she couldn’t,” Alex said. He took a step toward the table and looked down at his dad. “All the men think very highly of her.”
Dad leaned back and stared up at Alex. “Is this about going back to college?” he finally asked. He seemed alarmed, maybe even angry.
“No, Dad. It’s about doing what I have to do. I’m going to sign up with the military. I can’t put it off any longer.”
“No. I’ve talked to the men on the draft board. They agree with me—you’re needed here.”
“Dad, you just said that your business is winding down. You and Mom can handle the plant. You don’t need me now.”
“That’s not true, Alex. Even with your mother helping out, you’re still putting in long hours down there. It’s going to take all of us to meet the demand.”
“Dad, that’s not really the point. I can’t have my little brother in some prison camp while I sit at home and get rich. I won’t do it. I’m going to the recruiting center today.”
It was Mom who said, “Alex, please. Don’t do that to me right now.”
“Mom, I’m sorry. I can’t live with myself anymore. I’m out of excuses.”
Dad stood up. “Now listen to me, Alex,” he said. “I’m telling you not to do this.”
“Dad, we’ve been through all this before. I have to make my own decision.”
The two of them stood facing each other, the table in between. Alex could see the desperation in his father’s eyes. He seemed at a loss for an argument—but not for conviction.
“Dad,” Bobbi said, and she stepped up next to Alex, “you might as well know now. I’ve signed up with the navy. I’m going in as soon as I graduate.”
“What?” President Thomas’s eyes widened. Alex looked down at the table. He knew the fight was on now, and he
hadn’t wanted that.
“Dad, you always talk about the great battle between good and evil, but now you want Alex and me to stay out of it. How can we do that?”
“Are you telling me you already joined?”
“Yes.”
“Without talking to me?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’re going to unjoin. You’re not going into the service, Barbara. I’m not going to have one of my daughters involved with . . . that element.”
“Dad, I’ll be at a navy hospital somewhere. I’ll be helping with the war effort and doing what you want me to do anyway—working as a nurse.”
“No, Bobbi,” Mom said, “you need to stay home and find a husband. You can’t go running off in the middle of all this mess.” She walked to Bobbi and put her
arm around her waist.
“You’re not going, Barbara,” Dad said. “You’ve always gotten these wild ideas in your head, but this time I’m putting my foot down. You are not going.”
“Dad, I already signed up. And I’m over twenty-one.”
“Maybe so. But when I get through with those recruiters, they’ll just be happy to give the paperwork back. I won’t put up with them going behind my back.”
“Dad, that’s not what happened. I went in and applied. And I’m going.”
“I’ve got to go too, Dad,” Alex said. “It’s not that I want to go. I have to.”
Dad’s face was like stone, but Alex saw the truth in his eyes: he knew he had lost, and he had no idea where to go from there. “I didn’t talk to my father this way,” he finally said. “I listened and learned.” He walked around the table and headed for the door.
“Wait, Al,” Mom said. “Your breakfast is ready. Don’t leave. Let’s all sit down and talk about this.”
“Talk? What is there to talk about?” Dad said. “They aren’t going to listen.”
“Al! What are you saying? Is that what talk is? Listening to you?”
He looked at his wife. There was doubt in his face now, but still the fury. “I don’t know how to do this,” he finally said. “Our family is being pulled apart, and every time I try to stop it, you all accuse me of being a tyrant.”
Mom walked to her husband, stood in front of him, and looked into his eyes. “Come on, Al. Every time you lay down edicts, you only shove them away.”
President Thomas seemed to hear that, seemed to stop and consider, but then he turned and pushed the door open.
“Don’t go, Al,” Mom said.
“There’s something I need to do,” he said, without anger, and he walked out the door. In a few seconds, Alex heard him tromp up the stairs, his steps resounding in the kitchen.
Mom turned around and looked at Alex and Bobbi, who were still standing next to each other near the kitchen table. “This is all too much for him—all at once,” Mom said. “Can you understand that?”
“Sure, Mom,” Alex said. “But sooner or later, he has to let go of us.”
“Oh, Alex, that’s so easy to say at your age.” Tears began to drop onto her cheeks. She was grasping a spatula in front of her as though she needed to keep hold of something real. “This is hard for us. I don’t want you running off around the world—people shooting at you. I want you to come here on Sundays for dinner. I want you to get married and give me grandchildren. I want life to go on.”
“That’s what we want too, Mom,” Alex said. “But we don’t have that choice.”
Mom walked to the table and sat down. She was still holding the spatula against her chest. Across the room, the eggs and bacon were sizzling. “You need to talk this out with your dad—not argue with him,” she said. “We have to come to some kind of agreement that everyone can live with.”
“We’ll talk,” Bobbi said. “There’s just nothing to negotiate. We’re both going.”
“I know that,” Mom said. She got up and walked back to the stove. “But let’s do it right. Let’s not have hard feelings.” She took the pan off the stove and looked at the eggs. Alex could smell that they had begun to burn.
Alex heard footsteps on the stairs again, and he thought his dad was leaving for work. But the footsteps came to the door and hesitated for a time. Then the door came open and Dad stepped in. Dad looked ahead, not at anyone, and he spoke quietly. “I’ve been praying,” he said.
Everyone waited. Alex heard the change of tone, and he did want to listen now.
“Let’s sit down,” Dad said.
Mom set the eggs aside, wiped her hands on her apron, and came to the table. Dad sat in his usual spot, at the end, with Mom on the corner, next to him.
Dad gripped his hands together and took his time. Alex could tell he wanted to start over and say things differently this time. “I don’t want to lose both of you now—not with Wally where he is. But I tried to tell the Lord that, and I was overwhelmed by my own selfishness. I remembered what the prophet told us in General Conference. We only had the small group, with just leaders there, and he opened up to us. He told us we had to be ready to sacrifice more than we ever have before.” Dad continued to stare at the table. “I’ve been telling you all your lives that you had to stand up for what’s right—and as hard as it is for me to accept, I know that’s what you’re doing.”
Dad didn’t cry, although his voice had become shaky. He held himself together and said quietly, “I guess it might work for Bea and me to take over the plant. The only thing I ask, Alex, is that you hold off a little while so you can train us. And maybe by then we’ll have some word about Wally.”
“All right. But Mom can train you in most things. She really does know what’s going on.”
Dad nodded, but it was obviously not an easy idea for him to accept.
“Don’t worry,” Mom said, smiling, “I’ll have you up to speed in no time.”
But Dad couldn’t smile. He twisted around to look at Bobbi. “I do worry about you leaving these mountains and going out among people who don’t believe the same things we do.”
Bobbi walked back to the chair, where she had been before. “Dad, don’t worry about that.”
“Will you move back home for a while now, before you go?” Dad asked.
“Sure. I’d like to do that.”
So everything was settled, but reality began to set in for Alex. He felt that he was breaking a vow. He had promised his German brothers and sisters that he would never be their enemy. He hoped they would understand.
“It’s time for the kids to get up, isn’t it?” Dad asked.
Sister Thomas looked at the wall clock. “It will be before long,” she said.
“Let’s get them up and have them come down to the living room. We need to have a prayer while we’re all together.”
Mom got up from the table and walked upstairs. Dad and Alex and Bobbi went out to the living room. But when Gene and LaRue and Beverly came down, still in their pajamas and looking sleepy, Dad had to tell them that Wally had probably been taken captive—and then he had to address all the questions that couldn’t be answered. After that, he explained what Alex and Bobbi were planning. The girls cried, and Gene looked at the floor. By the time everyone knelt down, the pain was so raw that Alex wondered how the family would survive it.
Dad’s voice, softer than usual, was full of the anxiety everyone was feeling. “Lord,” he said, “thou knowest our hearts and our troubles. Thou knowest the ache we feel this morning.”
He cleared his throat and then said with more intensity, “Father, we know that we must join this battle against the forces of darkness, however much we would prefer not to. We plead with thee for protection, but we hold nothing back. We accept thy will. If death should visit our family, we pray for the strength to deal with the loss. And if we must suffer, we pray for the will to hold to truth and honor, and to survive whatever comes.”
He hesitated for a long time, as though he were mulling everything over. “Lord,” he finally said, “now is our great trial—our refiner’s fire. We pray that we can keep the faith and grow stronger. We pray for the Church, for the Saints all over the world, who may have to fight each other, and who will perhaps die in great numbers. Let the Church survive, and let the membership come away from this war more deeply committed to the building of the kingdom. Bless the dear friends Alex made in Germany, and the good people of Japan. And help us to forgive those who have taken our son.”
Dad’s voice finally broke. “Father,” he said after a moment, “give our son Walter the strength to endure. And if it be thy will, please bring him back to us alive, that he might establish his own family and pass the gospel on to our posterity. I need so much to speak to him one more time. It would be my own greatest blessing if I could have that privilege.”
Dad was crying now, and everyone in the room was sobbing. Alex had plunged his face into
the couch, and he felt his tears soaking into the fabric. Beverly, who was next to him, was shaking and clinging to his side.
“Finally, please bless Barbara and Alex as they prepare to part from us. Let them carry with them, from this blessed valley, the strength of these hills. Let them remember their heritage, that they are children of the promise, with a great destiny to fulfill. We ask that they return to us in good time, well and whole . . . but we accept thy will in all things.”
He closed in the name of Jesus Christ.
No one got up at first. They stayed on their knees, all crying. When they did finally begin to rise, they took turns embracing each other. Gene clung to Alex for a long time, sobbing as though he would never stop, and the girls seemed almost beyond consolation as Bobbi and Mom tried to comfort them.
Dad stayed to himself. He stood straight, his eyes focused on the east window. Alex had the feeling that he was still trying to accept all this, still trying to convince himself that he could let go. Or maybe he was just looking at the mountains, trying to draw some strength.
***
When the sun came up, Wally was forced to stand, and to march again—across the southern end of the Bataan peninsula. He no longer hoped for trucks, and he had no idea whether he would eat this day, but he kept praying, repeating the words that had been in his head all night. He didn’t expect quick results, didn’t ask for any miracles; he concentrated on the task at hand. He needed the power to make it through this day, this hour.
The road, the crowded march, the heat, the hunger—all continued the same. And now the prisoners were in the target area of the artillery that was slamming into the mountainside from Corregidor. The explosions frightened the guards, who shouted for the prisoners to move faster. Wally was part of a massive group of men, thousands of them, herded forward on a narrow road that wound its way over a string of hills. The men simply couldn’t go any faster, frightened as they were by the artillery themselves.