Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  Brother Stoltz also got up early. He began searching through the rooms. He went to a door and found that it opened into the hallway. “Anna, come with me,” he whispered.

  Anna followed him into the hall and then up the stairs. “I want to get into the apartments above us.”

  “They’re destroyed, aren’t they?”

  “Not entirely. Some of the walls are still standing on the first floor.”

  “But what—”

  “Let’s just see whether we can find anything that might help us.”

  The entrances to the building, both front and back, were blocked by rubble, but inside, the stairs were clear, and Anna and her father could get through to the two apartments on the next level. Anna assumed that her father was looking for bedding, kitchen utensils, and such things, and that did make sense, but she wondered how dangerous it might be to enter the rooms. What they found at the first level was that the doors to both apartments were jammed.

  “This one is open a little, but it’s all twisted,” she said. “I can’t move it. Things might fall if we force it open.”

  “Is there anything we could pry with?” Brother Stoltz asked as he looked around.

  “Would that be safe?”

  “I don’t know. But we have to chance it.”

  Anna couldn’t imagine that anything in the apartment could be worth that much, but she told her father, “There’s a broom downstairs. I’ll go get that.”

  Anna hurried downstairs and brought the broom back, and Brother Stoltz was able to budge the door a little with it, but not enough to get inside. “Stand back a moment,” he said. “Let me try something.”

  He raised his foot and slammed it into the door, and it moved a little more. But Brother Stoltz had to stand and breathe for a time—overcome by the pain—before he could try again. “Oh, Papa, don’t,” Anna said. But he repeated the kick several times and then finally was able to squeeze his way in.

  Anna followed him. She saw immediately that the apartment was in worse shape than she had expected. Most of the place had collapsed. Only the living-room walls were still standing. Brother Stoltz glanced around, and then he walked to a little desk in the corner. “Anna,” he said, “see whether that closet door will open. Check to see what’s inside. But be careful.”

  Anna had already noticed two little pillows on the couch that would be helpful. The couch was better than the one downstairs, too, but there was no way to get it out, and she wasn’t about to suggest that anyone sleep up here. She tried the door on the closet and found that it opened. Inside, she saw boxes and old shoes, even some clothes. She could sort through those things later, but they weren’t of any immediate help.

  “Anna, come here,” Brother Stoltz said from across the room. “I’ve found something.”

  She walked to her father. He was standing by the desk. He held up a little booklet, and suddenly Anna realized it was a set of identification papers. And now she saw that her father’s eyes were full of tears. “In the night,” he said, “I fell asleep for a time. And I had a dream. I was looking in a drawer, like this one.” He pointed to the desk. “I found a man’s papers. And now, here they are. God is still helping us.”

  Anna took the papers from her father. She looked at the picture of the man, read his name. “Horst Niemeyer. But he doesn’t look like you, Papa.”

  “I know. I’ll have to figure out what to do. But it’s something. And God led me to it, so it must have a purpose.”

  “Won’t Herr Niemeyer have applied for new papers by now?”

  “If he was back there, in one of the bedrooms, he might not have made it. His whole family must have been lost. President Hoch said that many died in this building.”

  Anna felt a chill go through her. “Let’s go,” she said.

  “Yes.” But he touched her forearm. “Anna, I don’t know why things happen the way they do. But I had the dream, and the papers were here. I’m not going to ask the other questions. I’m merely going to trust in the Lord—even though it’s not my usual way of doing things. You do the same.”

  Anna nodded, and then the two walked back to the basement apartment.

  Chapter 5

  Bobbi arrived in San Francisco on a train that was jammed with troops. She got in three hours late, at two in the morning. She had tried with little success to sleep sitting up, and she had put up with a lot of soldiers, most of them younger than she was, who were away from home for the first time and trying to act like big-time lady’s men. Flirting was one thing, but some of these fellows were obnoxious, and once they got drunk, they became vulgar. Bobbi was worn out by the time she managed to get a cab and then check in at the St. Francis Hotel, with the night almost gone.

  But she had another full day before her ship departed, and so she slept until almost ten and was only then awakened by the phone ringing. Bobbi picked up the receiver and heard a girlish voice say, “Excuse me. Is this Barbara Thomas?”

  “Yes.”

  “My name is Afton Story. I’m one of the nurses going to Hawaii—like you.”

  “Oh. Thanks for calling. Are you here in the St. Francis?”

  “Yes. We all are. Twelve of us. Or at least we all will be, once everyone gets in. I noticed on the list that you’re from Utah. Does that mean you’re LDS?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Oh, golly, that’s good. I am too. I’m so glad to know another Mormon girl will be in the hospital with me over there.”

  Afton sounded awfully young, and maybe she would turn out to be too dependent, but right now Bobbi was very pleased. “Oh, that’s good,” she said. “Do you want to have lunch—and then maybe look around town a little?”

  “That’s just exactly what I was going to ask you. Gosh, you don’t know how relieved I am.”

  And so the two young women agreed to meet. Bobbi took a hot bath and then did what she could with her hair. She had fine hair—sort of blond, a little red, and always rather difficult. She never looked in a mirror without thinking that she was not very glamorous. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose, and round, gray-blue eyes. This morning, when she looked at herself she could think only that she was the same Bobbi but that everything else had changed. She had cried when she told her family good-bye, but she had also been excited. Now, alone in this hotel and knowing that she might not see her family for at least two years, she was suddenly homesick. The grand adventure of getting away from Salt Lake—which she had longed for—suddenly seemed far less appealing than she had expected.

  And so she hurried—and tried not to think. She put on a civilian dress, not the white, Class-A navy officer’s uniform she had traveled in, and she found her comfortable loafers in her suitcase. Then she headed down to the coffee shop, fifteen minutes early. As it turned out, Afton was a little early herself. She was a nice-looking girl, with dark, rather short hair and an especially engaging, wide smile. The two walked to a table and sat down, only to notice soon after that everyone else was waiting to be seated. The girls were embarrassed, and they laughed at themselves, but immediately, Afton said, “Oh, Barbara, I’m having a hard time. I got in yesterday, and you’re the first person I’ve said a word to. I’ve never been away from home.” She giggled—but she was clearly trying not to cry. “Gee whiz. I can’t believe I’m such a boob.”

  “I know what you mean,” Bobbi said. “I was doing okay until it hit me I wouldn’t see my family for years.”

  “Oh, don’t say that. That’s what I’ve been thinking.” Afton was definitely crying now, but she was still trying gamely to smile. “You can’t die of homesickness, can you?”

  About then a waitress in a white dress showed up at the table. She had a glass coffee urn in her hand. “Coffee?” she said, and she reached for Afton’s cup.

  “No!” Afton said, sounding almost alarmed.

  The waitress jerked her hand back. “Excuse me,” she said.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I just meant I didn’t want any.”

  The waitress
, a woman of fifty or so with severe, thin lips, took a long look at Afton as if to say, “What is wrong with you, girl?” But she only said, “Then what would you like?”

  “Oh . . . uh . . . do you have root beer?”

  “No, ma’am. We have coffee, tea, milk, or Coca-Cola.”

  “What about lemonade?”

  “No, ma’am. Coffee, tea, milk, or Coca-Cola.” The woman let her eyes drift away, as if to say, “Why do I have to put up with this?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Could I just have some ice water then?”

  “Of course.” The waitress looked at Bobbi.

  “The same for me.”

  Without a word the woman turned and walked away, and Bobbi and Afton looked at each other and laughed. “Oh, Barbara, I’m such a hick,” Afton said.

  “Call me Bobbi, okay?”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize,” Bobbi said. “You didn’t know.”

  “I’m sorry.” And then her face brightened. “Golly, do I do that too much?”

  Both were laughing again. And they were already friends. Bobbi sensed without putting the thought into words that Afton was a godsend, someone to get her through this experience.

  And so the two ate club sandwiches—with ice water—and they talked about their backgrounds. Afton was from Mesa, Arizona, the sixth of nine children. Her father was a dairy farmer—and a bishop. Two of Afton’s older brothers had recently joined the army and were still in training. Bobbi got the impression that the Storys were prosperous enough but that the depression had been a strain on them, as it had been on almost everyone.

  “My mom sold eggs and even worked part-time at a cannery in the fall each year,” Afton said, “just to help me get through nursing school. After all that, she about croaked when I told her I was joining the navy. But I felt like I was going to end up staying home my whole life—and everyone I knew was leaving.”

  “What about boyfriends?”

  “Oh, Bobbi, I’m so stupid. I’m in love with this dumb boy who treats me like I’m a fence post or a tree stump or something. And now he just got drafted. I don’t think I’m ever going to get married.”

  Bobbi didn’t think Afton was exactly over the hill, but she understood her worry. So many young men were going off to war, and so many girls were being left behind. A lot of them probably wouldn’t find anyone; Bobbi had already accepted that, and she feared the worst. But she didn’t want to think about it. “What are we going to see today?” she asked.

  “I guess we sail under the new bridge—the Golden Gate—in the morning, and that’s the one thing I wanted to see for sure while I was here. I’ve never seen the ocean either, but I think we’ll see lots of water in the next few days.”

  “Well, let’s just start walking, and we’ll see what there is to see.”

  And so the girls finished their sandwiches, and Bobbi added a second dime to her tip when she saw that Afton hadn’t remembered to leave anything. Then they strolled outside into the cool June day. They wandered through downtown San Francisco, in and out of stores and into China Town. Later, they caught a trolley to Fisherman’s Wharf. Afton complained about the smell of the place, but they ate fried shrimp at a little outdoor cafe, and finally, both being very cold, decided to go to a show.

  They saw “My Gal Sal,” a musical, starring Rita Hayworth and Victor Mature. Bobbi found it rather silly, but it was in Technicolor, which was exciting, and it was enough fun to take Bobbi’s mind off her homesickness. They had come in too late to catch the first part of the movie, so they stayed to see what they had missed. Before the feature started again, however, the Fox Movietone News came on, with films of the Battle of Midway. The crowd cheered at the pictures of smoking, sinking Japanese carriers. Four big flattops had been destroyed, but the Yorktown, an American carrier, had also been sunk. Lowell Thomas, in his penetrating voice, explained that the advantage the Japanese had established over the American navy at Pearl Harbor had now been reversed. Bobbi did feel good about that, she supposed, but the destruction was so ugly. Afton leaned toward Bobbi when she saw scenes of wounded men being transferred off the Yorktown—before it could roll over and go down. “I wonder if some of those boys will end up at our hospital,” she said.

  That made it all real to Bobbi. This was not just a “great victory,” with little pictures of burning ships on the front page of the Deseret News. Thousands of actual men had died, both American and Japanese.

  The next news segment was about the prisoners of war in the Philippines. Bobbi felt her breath catch; she was almost sure she didn’t want to see this. There were no actual films—except a few of the battle before the surrender of the American and Filipino forces—but on a map, the march of the prisoners was shown with a moving black line up the east coast of the peninsula, and Lowell Thomas described rumors of the “hellish” treatment the prisoners had received. “Hundreds, perhaps thousands,” he said, were reported by Filipino contacts to be “dead from starvation and disease.” He called it the “Bataan death march.”

  Bobbi put her hand to her forehead. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. Alex had hinted at some of this, but he had played it down. Thomas made it sound much worse. All Bobbi could think was that Wally wasn’t the sort to hold up under that kind of deprivation.

  Bobbi had already told Afton about Wally, so she wasn’t surprised when Afton took hold of her hand. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  “I guess so,” Bobbi said. But she hardly noticed what was happening when the feature came on.

  After only a few minutes, Afton said, “Jeemaneze, Bobbi, let’s just go. You don’t want to watch this now, do you?”

  “It’s all right,” Bobbi said, but mostly she wanted to sit there a little longer and not have to talk.

  After a few more minutes Afton said, “This is where we came in. Should we go?”

  Bobbi got up, and the two walked outside. Out on the street, Afton put her arm around Bobbi’s back. “How are you doing?” she asked.

  “I’m okay,” Bobbi said. “It’s just hard to think of my brother being starved, of all things.”

  “I hate the Japs so much!” Afton said. “They don’t have to treat people like that.”

  It was exactly what Bobbi had been thinking, but not what she wanted to feel. Just minutes ago she had experienced a real sense of compassion for the Japanese sailors who had gone to the bottom of the sea. She didn’t want to hate anyone, but she had been fighting with the impulse to hate the Japanese since the day Wally had been taken prisoner. “Wally would never hurt anyone,” she finally managed to say. “He only went into the air corps to do something exciting. I don’t think he thought at all about going to war.”

  “I hate this war,” Afton said. “I just lost a cousin who was only nineteen. He was on the Lexington, in that battle in the Coral Sea—just a few weeks ago. A lot of the sailors got off, but my uncle thinks my cousin was killed in one of the explosions. He was kind of a rebellious boy, and he had gotten away from the Church. But that only makes it worse. My aunt and uncle felt like he was starting to straighten things out in his life—and now he’s gone.”

  San Francisco was under a blackout; all outside lighting had been turned off, and the streets were dark. With so few cars moving about, the city was also quiet. Bobbi could hear the echo of hers and Afton’s footsteps. She wasn’t frightened, but she felt the gloom of the darkness. She wanted to get back to the hotel and go to sleep. Or just go home.

  “Wally’s healthy,” Bobbi finally said, “but he isn’t tough. He doesn’t stick with things very well. If the Japs are brutal with him, he might not be able to take it.”

  “Maybe he’ll find his strength when he has to.”

  “Maybe. But he’s not very religious either, and I don’t know whether he’ll get stronger or be destroyed.” Bobbi thought about that for a moment and then added, “But why would the Japs not feed them? I don’t understand that.”

  “They’re not human,
that’s why. They’ll commit suicide rather than be taken prisoner. And they do awful things to . . .” She stopped. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be talking about that.”

  Bobbi didn’t have to hear the rest. She knew the stories of Japanese torture and depredation. Again she felt the hatred well up in her, the anger. It was so easy to talk about loving your enemy in a Sunday School class, but these people were hurting her little brother.

  On the following morning Bobbi and Afton met the other nurses on board the ship. About half of them had already been serving in the nurse’s corp, and they were merely transferring to Pearl Harbor. The others, like Bobbi, were new to the navy and not very clear about military protocol. They had each received a little orientation but nothing more. What they were told was that they were nurses first and navy officers second, and they would receive most of their training on the job.

  Some of the women were in their thirties, and they had the aura of having “been around.” Bobbi sensed even a kind of hardness about them. A couple of them smoked, and most of them seemed to lace their talk with more swearing than Bobbi had ever heard from women.

  The younger girls, however, seemed more like Afton and Bobbi. A girl from Iowa named Dolores Matthews seemed especially nice, and maybe even a little more frightened of being away from home than Afton was. She had made friends already with a girl from South Carolina named Iris Smithton, however, and Iris seemed much more confident. She was a beautiful girl, with lively eyes and an open, easy way of dealing with people. Bobbi liked a number of the girls, but she knew she would always feel more kinship with Afton.

  The ship got under way just after nine. It was pulled slowly into the channel by a pair of tugboats, and then it sailed under the Golden Gate and out to sea. Clouds were hanging over the top of the bridge, which blocked some of the view, but the massive structure looked ethereal, seeming to hang from the clouds. It was fun to pass under it and then to look back toward the city. Bobbi took a few snapshots with her Kodak, and then she turned around and looked at the ocean, which seemed to stretch out forever.