by Dean Hughes
“Let me tell you what makes me proud. Most of the men who won this war were just kids. They would rather have stayed home. They didn’t go into battle as career soldiers. They just did what they had to do. I saw kids hunker down in their foxholes and cry. I heard wounded guys beg for their mothers. I saw plenty of seasoned soldiers vomit when they walked across a battlefield, after a battle, and saw what they had done. These were just young guys who hated what they were
doing but felt they had to do it.
“So that’s what I want to say. Let’s honor our soldiers—for doing a dirty, stinking job. But let’s not honor war. I wish we would just stop all this talk about glory and honor and spend a little more time feeling disgusted that humans can’t come up with any better way to solve problems.
“I was a missionary in Germany, and then I returned to that land with a dark purpose—one I didn’t choose, but still, one that I did believe in. But I wish that it had been otherwise. I wish I had been able to finish my mission. I wish I had never had to kill. I’ve struggled for two years since this war ended just to live with myself. That’s what war is to me: a black chapter of my life, a time I hope to overcome and put behind me. What I pray is that future heroes will find better answers. That’s
what I want to work for. I hope you do too.”
The applause was more than polite, and it built as people seemed to realize that they were not alone in their enthusiasm for what they had heard.
Alex was especially pleased when Mr. Christensen said, “These young men have given us more than I expected. I put them in a position where they might have voiced a few platitudes and sat down. Instead, each one has tried to make us think. My hope is that Richard and Wally and Alex, each in his own way, will use his wisdom to make this country better. And I’m going to talk like a Dutch uncle to try to make Republicans of all three of them. We made tremendous strides in this last election, but to move forward, as we want to do, we need the best of our young people to join us.”
This, too, brought on more applause.
Anna had hold of Alex by then. She was whispering in his ear, “You said what you really believe. That’s what you need to keep doing. That’s one of the things that will help you get better.”
Alex was surprised to find himself thinking the same thing.
Chapter 29
The dinner ended early. Richard, Wally, and Alex had kept their remarks so brief that the event was over before nine o’clock. As all the Thomases walked out together, Bea asked, “Would you like to come over to the house for a little while? We need a little time just to chat, by ourselves.”
“Oh, good idea,” Anna said. “I want Gene to be sound asleep when we get home, so I don’t have to put him down, for once.”
Bea saw Anna glance at Alex; he smiled and nodded. Bea was pleased. Alex did seem a lot better tonight.
“Don’t complain, Anna,” Lorraine said. “At least Gene sleeps through the night, once he does go down. Our little Kathy will probably wake up and want to play about the time we get home.”
“Then don’t you want to come over?” Bea asked.
“Oh, I didn’t say that.”
And Bea was pleased again. It was harder for the kids to find time to visit these days, what with babies and work and school. She thought this would be a nice time tonight, with the babies home with babysitters and everyone seeming to be in good spirits.
So the four couples drove in two cars back to Sugar House, and Bea got out some of her bottled grape juice and served it to everyone. They sat in the living room and talked about this and that—almost anything but what the boys had said in their speeches that night. The men talked about Joe Lewis’s next fight and about the Utes winning the NIT basketball championship that spring.
No one was happier than Al. After a time, he couldn’t seem to resist turning the subject back to the dinner. “I hope you know, boys, Hyrum wasn’t joking about recruiting the three of you to the party. Expect to hear from him.”
Wally laughed. “I’ll tell him how much I like President Truman. That should scare him off.”
“I hope you don’t mean that.”
“I do. The guy has guts. He’s been a good president.”
Bea knew she didn’t want this to get started—not with the way Al felt about Truman. She was sitting on the arm of Al’s chair, and she leaned over and said, emphatically, into his ear, “My, hasn’t the weather been nice lately?”
Al managed to laugh, and he let the subject go, but he did look across at Alex and ask, “What was that you were saying tonight about getting interested in politics?”
Alex was sitting on one of the dining-room chairs, next to Anna, who was on the couch with Bobbi and Richard. “I’ve just found myself thinking lately that I’d like to do something that makes a difference,” he said. “I thought I wanted to be a professor, but I’ve watched those guys at the university this year, and I don’t know, it just seems like they do a lot of talking, pushing ideas around, without ever doing anything.”
“There’s a lot of frustration in politics,” Wally said. “You try to make changes, but everything ends up a compromise. You have to vote for this guy’s bill, whether you agree with it or not, just so he’ll vote for yours.”
“Yeah, I know. And maybe I wouldn’t like it. But it’s the one thing that gets my blood pumping a little. I listened to George Marshall’s talk the other day—about how important it is that we help rebuild Europe—and I just thought I’d like to help make things like that happen.”
Bea knew that Al was less enthusiastic about the Marshall Plan, or at least had lots of questions about how it would take place. She put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a quick squeeze. He didn’t say a thing.
“I don’t think you can come out of school and just start running for office, Alex,” Lorraine said. “You have to build a reputation one way or another.”
“And usually you have to make some money,” Bobbi said.
“I know,” Alex said. “I’ve thought about that, too. Dad’s going to fall right off his chair, but it’s crossed my mind lately that I might want to come back to one of his businesses after I get out of school. Or maybe work for the foundation Mom is setting up. I wish that could even become a lifelong work.”
“You can’t give your money away faster than you make it, Alex,” Al said.
“I know. I can’t have it both ways. But I do want to do some good on this earth from now on. Most people don’t think of politics as the best way to do that. But I think it could be. It should be.”
Al was nodding, and Bea knew he was elated to hear such talk. “Alex,” she said, “I don’t care what you do. But the last couple of weeks, I’ve watched you come back to life. You seem like Alex now, and that means you can do anything you set your mind to.”
Alex looked down. “I’m not doing as well as you might think,” he said. “I don’t feel much light inside me. But I’m trying to figure out what it’s going to take.”
There was quiet for a time, and then Richard, in his usual soft voice said, “I guess I’m searching around the same way. But it’s leading me in the opposite direction. I’d rather be at a university, where the questions can be asked without all the political rhetoric. We need some people who think but don’t have anything to sell.”
“Maybe,” Alex said. “But I think it takes both—the theoretical and the practical. Somebody has to try to find a way to put the ideas into action.”
Bobbi patted her husband’s hand. “I’m just happy that you’re both starting to figure out what you want out of life.”
“Well, that’s fine, honey,” Richard said, and he laughed, “as long as you can live with the vow of poverty I’ve taken.”
“You won’t ever be poor,” Dad said.
Everyone looked at him.
“Our businesses will be handed down to everyone. Those who work for the companies will get salaries, but all of you will earn money from your share in the ownership. I want all of you to cho
ose what you want to do—without worrying about money all that much. I don’t want some of you rich and some poor.”
“I couldn’t take your money that way, Dad,” Richard said.
“You won’t. If you become a professor, you won’t get a red cent from me, but in time, Bobbi will own twenty percent of everything. If these other lugs don’t run the businesses into the ground, there should be plenty for all of you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Hush, Richard,” Bobbi said. “It’s my money, so don’t try to give it away.”
Everyone laughed, but Bea was now patting her husband’s shoulder, not squeezing it to keep him quiet. She had been worried these past few years about having too much money, not too little, but she had also worried about those who worked with Al having so much more than those who didn’t.
“I agree with what Alex was saying,” Al said. “I want all of you to do things that make a difference. Selling cars, making washing-machine parts, developing land—all those things are fine. But what matters to me is that you serve the Church, and you do things to make this valley—even the whole nation, if you can—better places. That’s our heritage. That’s what
we do.”
Bea was moved by that. Al had a bigger vision than she sometimes gave him credit for. But life still looked complicated to her: five children starting five families, if LaRue and Bev both married, and then another generation to follow. How did everyone keep the vision, understand that heritage, keep it going? And there were always so many problems, so many evils. Money could do plenty of good, but more often it seemed to do harm. She hoped her grandchildren wouldn’t have too much of it.
***
When Alex and Anna got home, Alex walked the babysitter down the street, paid her, and then came back to find Anna in Gene’s bedroom. She was looking down at him, in his crib. Alex walked over and stood next to her. The light from the hallway, through the door, allowed only a dim picture, but Gene’s long eyelashes rested gently over his cheekbones, and his fine blond hair swirled about his ears. Alex thought he was the prettiest little boy he had ever seen. “I love you, Gene,” he whispered.
Anna turned and wrapped her arms around Alex’s waist. They watched the baby for a time, listened to him breathe, and then finally walked out quietly and into their own bedroom.
Anna sat down on the bed and took off her shoes. “Oh, Alex, I’m so tired,” she said.
That’s not what Alex had wanted to hear. He sat down next to her and loosened his tie. “I’ll get up with Gene in the morning,” he said. “You can sleep a little longer.”
“I wake up anyway.”
“I know. But rest a little longer tomorrow. You need it.”
She turned and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”
“We need to get a bed for Gene, don’t we?” Alex asked.
“Yes. I haven’t wanted to say anything about that. He can stay in the crib for now, but certainly, when the new baby comes, we’ll have to get one. Your father made it sound like we won’t ever have any money worries. But that’s only in the future.”
Alex pulled off a shoe. “That’s what I was thinking. But most young couples don’t have as many resources as we do. All we’d have to do is tell Dad that we needed a bed, and he’d go buy one for us.”
“I know. But I don’t want that.”
“I’m glad you don’t.” He pulled off the other shoe and then stood and pulled his shirt out of his trousers, began to unbutton it.
“Alex, I was surprised by what you said tonight. You’ve never said that to me, that you might go back to work for your dad. I never thought you would do that.”
“I get different notions in my head every day, Anna. But right now, that seems to make the most sense. What do you think?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what will make you happy.” She lay back on the bed and shut her eyes. She cupped her hands over her round belly.
She was so like Gene, so beautiful, with her eyes shut the same way, her pretty hair around her face.
“I have to make me happy, Anna. That’s what Doctor Kowallis and I talked about yesterday. A lot of it really is a choice.”
Her eyes came open. “Maybe. But for so long, you just kept saying that you were all right—and I knew you weren’t. It doesn’t do any good to lie to yourself.”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid now.” He sat down by her again but turned so he could look into her face. “He introduced me to a couple of other vets yesterday. He wants to start a group and get us together once a month or so. He says there are hundreds of guys around this valley who are going through the same kind of stuff—but they never admit it to each other.”
“What will you do when you get together?”
“Just talk about what happened to us. Maybe talk about things that bother us now. I’m not sure.”
“And you’ll do that?”
“I guess I will. I’d rather talk to Wally and Richard, but he said it’s better to meet on a regular basis and talk to guys who aren’t your relatives.”
Anna sat up. She took hold of his hand. “Alex, I can hardly believe you’re willing to do all that.”
“I’ve got to do something. I’ve been making everyone so unhappy, the way I’ve been acting—especially you and Gene.”
She rested her head against his shoulder. “Oh, Alex, this has all been so hard for you. But I love you. I always love you.”
“I know you do, Anna. And sometimes this last year I haven’t deserved it.”
“Don’t say that. I’ve been so awful lately. Tired all the time.”
“Hey, you have to sleep for two.”
She touched his chin, turned it gently, and kissed him more affectionately than she had for a time. “Thanks for trying so hard, Alex. I know you’re going to be all right. I know who you are.”
Alex took her into his arms and held her. “I don’t know, Anna. The guy you remember is that young missionary you met, all those years ago. The doc says I can’t keep worrying about that—getting back to being like him again. We all change, no matter what.”
“I know, Alex. But there’s something . . .” She switched to German and said, “I know your spirit. I know who you are, and you are good.”
“I’m glad you still believe that,” he said, also in German. “It heals me just to know you feel that way.”
“I’ve loved you since I was sixteen years old, Alex.”
“But I was easier to love when I was off at war, wasn’t I?”
“I was easier to love when I wasn’t pregnant and tired and worn out from putting up with a two-year-old all day.”
“Life is hard, Anna. I didn’t know that when I first met you.”
“But it’s good, too. It really is.” And then she kissed him, this time with more interest.
“I thought you were tired,” he said, and then he kissed her again.
“Not that tired. Especially if you’re going to get up with Gene in the morning.”
***
Bobbi was still wide awake when she got home. She didn’t want to go to bed quite yet, so she went to the kitchen. “Do we have something sweet?” she asked Richard, who was in the bedroom, taking off his suit.
He appeared at the door in a minute, wearing his pajamas. He smiled. “We had that brick of ice cream. Did we eat it all?”
“Oh, good idea,” Bobbi said. She walked to the freezer and got out what was left of the ice cream. “I’ve eaten so much tonight. I shouldn’t be looking for more.”
“You don’t have anything to worry about.”
In one sense, he was right. Bobbi knew that she had never gained back all the weight she had lost when the baby had miscarried. She really was as thin as she had been at any time since high school. But she also knew she couldn’t get into the habit of eating too much. If she got pregnant again, she didn’t want to be one of those women who gained a lot of weight and never lost it.
“Richard, does it bother you when everyone starts compl
aining about how their kids keep them up at night?” She had opened the carton of ice cream. It was Neapolitan, with stripes of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry. She sliced it in half and then lifted the halves into two bowls.
“I guess what bothers me is that no one stops to think how it might make you feel.”
“I’m sure they think I’ll get pregnant before long.” She got out spoons and then brought the ice cream to the table.
“And I think that will happen, Bobbi.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
“Worse things can happen. We’d be okay.”
“I guess.” She spooned in a mouthful of ice cream.
Richard began to eat too, and neither spoke for a time, but then Richard said, “Bobbi, I’ve been looking forward to being a dad for a long time. I want a baby as much as you do. In fact, I’d like to have quite a few kids—and do all the things with them that my dad never did.”
“Why do you think your dad was like that?”
“I don’t know. That’s just the way he was. I think he figured women were supposed to raise the kids. It wasn’t that he wasn’t good to us. He’d tease and laugh, and he’d pile us into the car once a year and take us somewhere on vacation. But he never once talked to me about anything—you know, anything important. When I was growing up, if I had anything on my mind, it was my mom I always went to.”
“Did you do that very often?”
“After a certain age, I didn’t. By high school, I just figured things out for myself.”
Bobbi ate some more of her ice cream. But she had kicked off her shoes, and now she reached across and rubbed her foot against Richard’s.
“Sometimes, I think we try to do things different from our parents,” Richard said, “but we’re usually more like them than we think. Maybe I won’t be one to talk with my kids either. I don’t know.”
“You’ll be a good dad. I know that.”
Richard smiled. “I hope so.”
Bobbi continued to rub her foot across Richard’s bare skin, over his foot and up his ankle. “You gave such a good talk tonight. Were you scared?”