Go Away Home

by Carol Bodensteiner

  “I’m sorry,” Joe said. He pulled off his shucking gloves and wrapped both hands around the hot coffee jar. “Do you want me to come along?”

  “No,” she said, tucking her hands into her armpits. “Dinner’s in the oven. I’ll be back to fix supper.”

  “Stay as long as you need to.”

  She thought he looked relieved.

  The cake was cooling on the counter when Liddie let herself in the kitchen door. Minnie was kneading bread.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, hugging her friend tight.

  A shudder ran through Minnie’s body. Her voice trembled. “I get my hopes up and then . . . nothing. It’s not fair.”

  “I know it’s not.” Liddie hugged her again. “What did the doctor say?”

  “That it happens.” Minnie picked up a dishcloth and wiped her hands calmly. Then her eyes flashed with anger. “It happens. I know that. But why?”

  Liddie felt useless. “Why don’t you sit with me for a while?”

  “I can’t.” Minnie looked around absently as though she knew she should be doing something but couldn’t figure out what. “Vern will be in to eat.”

  There was nothing on the stove. Aside from the cake, Liddie didn’t see that Minnie had anything ready for dinner. “Where’s Mama?”

  “In her room.” Minnie lifted her hands in a helpless gesture before letting them fall to her sides. “I . . . I snapped at her. I know she was trying to be helpful, but I wanted to be alone.”

  “Would you rather I left, too?”

  “No.” Minnie tried to smile. “I’m glad you came.” She pushed her hair back from her face and looked blankly at the bread dough. “I feel bad about Mama. I think I upset her.”

  “I’m sure she understands.” Liddie put on an apron. “Let me help. Do you have any leftovers?”

  “A little roast from yesterday.”

  “I’ll make a hash. You finish the bread.”

  Liddie set a cast-iron skillet on the stove to heat, added a scoop of bacon drippings, then set to chopping onions. They worked together in silence, taking solace from the dependable rhythm of labor.

  Two weeks later, Vern showed up at their door after breakfast. “Morning, Joe. Liddie,” he said.

  “Vern! Come on in.” Liddie looked past him. “Is Minnie along?”

  “She stayed with Ma.” Vern stood inside the door.

  “Take a load off.” Joe motioned him to the table.

  “Yes. Have a cup of coffee,” Liddie said. “We’re done eating, but I can fix you a couple eggs.”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  Liddie poured a cup for her brother, then topped off Joe’s cup and her own. She set a plate loaded with oatmeal cookies between the men.

  “Get the last of your corn picked?” Joe asked.

  “’Bout finished. Glad it ain’t snowed yet.” Vern pushed his chair back a few inches. “Looks like you’re settled in.” He leveled his pale-blue eyes at Liddie.

  “Yes, we’re settled in.” Liddie returned his gaze. He wanted something. She dunked a cookie in her coffee. She knew to wait.

  “I’ve been meaning to talk to you, once you was. We think Ma is better off living with you.”

  Liddie dropped the cookie in her coffee. “Is something wrong?”

  “Ma’s gout’s making it hard for her to get up the stairs.”

  He couldn’t have said anything that would have surprised her more. “Vern, Mama has lived on that place since she and Papa married. It will upset her to move someplace else.”

  When Vern and Minnie had married, Mama had given them her bedroom on the main floor and moved into Vern’s old room upstairs. That was the way every farm family she knew did it. Liddie never imagined her mother living anywhere else.

  Vern didn’t take his eyes off her. “Minnie and me think Ma’d be better off living with you.”

  Liddie looked at Joe.

  “If Mama wants to live with us, we’d be glad to have her,” he said.

  “Of course,” Liddie said, though she wished she’d had time to think about it. “Of course she can live with us.” She spoke with more enthusiasm. “I’ll talk with Mama and Minnie. We’ll get it figured out.”

  Vern relaxed visibly and took a cookie. “Got time to go huntin’ this week?” he asked Joe.

  “Always got time to hunt.” Joe nodded.

  While the men talked, Liddie washed the breakfast dishes and bided her time until her brother left.

  “Well, that was something I didn’t see coming,” Liddie said after Vern was gone. “I wonder why Minnie didn’t say anything to me?”

  “You told me how Vern said Mama was hard on Minnie.”

  “I’d forgotten that. I thought it didn’t amount to much because Minnie brushed it off.”

  “Must have been more than we knew.”

  “Hmm.” Liddie raised her eyebrows as she looked around the kitchen. “I wonder what Mama will think of my housekeeping?”

  “It’ll be fine.” Joe pulled her into his arms. “Think of this. Vern and Minnie didn’t even get a couple of weeks alone after they got married. We’ve had two months.”

  Liddie blushed. “Do you have to go out right away?” She brought her lips to his.

  Chapter 37

  Propped up against the headboard of their bed, Liddie stretched the fabric of her shift until it was smooth across her abdomen. She touched the tip of her little finger to her right hip bone and stretched her fingers wide. She imagined the palm of her hand resting directly over her baby’s forehead.

  Her baby. There’d been no nausea, no faintness, no food cravings. She wouldn’t have known she was pregnant except that her monthly courses had stopped. Now there was this gentle mound to her stomach.

  Liddie believed this baby was conceived on the very day she’d finally said yes to Joe. The day she’d said yes and they spent the entire afternoon in bed. The day she’d said yes and the soup burned on the stove. The day she’d said yes and discovered why Minnie blushed.

  She’d told no one, holding this precious knowledge to herself until she was absolutely certain. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth.

  In the kitchen, bread dough was in its second rise, ready to form into loaves. She stroked her stomach for another minute, then slipped into her wrapper and tied an apron around her waist. From these shapeless clothes, no one would know she was pregnant unless she told them. But it was time to tell the father, and she had an idea how to share the surprise.

  She formed three tiny loaves with some of the dough. Then she rolled more dough into a thin rope and pinched off lengths to craft letters on the top of each loaf. When the three little loaves came out of the oven, she wrapped them in a towel, bundled up in a heavy coat, and followed the path Joe had shoveled through the snowdrifts from the house to the barn. The snow, sparkling in the sun, looked as though it were strewn with shards of cut glass.

  “Whooo! It’s cold!” she said, pulling the barn door closed behind her.

  “Why’d you come out?” Joe was forking clean straw around the pens. “I’d have been in shortly.”

  “I have a surprise.” She pushed the cat away and sat on the feedbox.

  “Do I smell bread?” He propped the fork against the wall and joined her.

  “You do.” She unwrapped the towel and handed him a loaf.

  “What’s this?” He turned the loaf over and over.

  She took the bread out of his hands and turned it upright. “See? It’s an L—for Liddie.” Before he could take a bite, she took another loaf out of the towel and gave it to him.

  He considered it. “A J for Joe?”

  “You’re a quick learner.” She laughed. “I have one more.” She uncovered the last loaf and handed it to him.

  He turned it around and looked at her, confused. “B?”

&nb
sp; She ducked her head, shy, and whispered, “For baby.”

  “Baby?” He looked at the loaf in his hands and again at her, thunderstruck.

  “Our baby.” She kissed him on the cheek.

  “Our baby,” he whispered. “Our baby.” His eyes glistened as he gathered her in his arms, the bread forgotten. “I love you, Liddie.”

  She felt as though her heart would burst.

  Chapter 38

  “We’ll head to town soon as I finish chores. Wouldn’t want to miss the festivities,” Joe said as he left to do chores. He’d been making light of signing up for the draft ever since they had read the announcement in the paper.

  “I don’t know how he can be so casual.” The plates clattered as Liddie took out her anxiety on the breakfast dishes.

  Once President Wilson had convinced Congress to declare war on Germany, talk shifted to manning the army. They needed men—American men, Iowan men, her husband, maybe—to fight. Today, June 5, men between twenty-one and thirty were required to register for military service.

  Liddie dipped her hands into soapy water, washed two plates, and then whirled toward her mother, splashing water across the counter. “He promised to keep us out of the war. He promised!” She stamped her foot in frustration.

  “Now don’t get so het up,” Margretta shushed. “You’ll upset the baby.”

  Automatically, Liddie ran her hand over her stomach. She was sure her baby was fine, but with Minnie’s history . . . she stopped that thought as fast as it came. Minnie was pregnant again, and there would be only positive thoughts. Healthy babies for them both. “Did I tell you Amelia helped get other Wyoming women to vote for Wilson to avoid this exact thing from happening?”

  “You did.” Margretta sat on a tall stool, taking the weight off her foot, while she dried the plates. “But the president’s no better at predicting the future than the rest of us.”

  The war had seemed so far away for the past three years. The paper reported escalating tensions, but President Wilson stood strongly on nonintervention, even after the Germans sank the Lusitania. She had not been willing to believe the United States would put men on the front line. She had been content to believe that by being generally frugal and using less flour, they were doing their part.

  “Surely Joe can’t go,” she said. “Not now.” They were married. They were going to have a baby.

  Margretta squeezed Liddie’s elbow. “Nobody thinks married men will have to go.”

  Liddie straightened up. “I have to believe that.” She wrung out the dishcloth and wiped off the counter. “I’m going to change clothes.”

  In the bedroom, Liddie slipped off her wrapper and stood in front of the mirror wearing only a shift. She stared at her body, circling a hand over the mound of her stomach. In the last few weeks, she’d begun to fill out, and she’d felt the baby move!

  Daily, she was caught in the swirl of emotions that surrounded the feeling of this living being growing inside of her—the pride, the fierce protectiveness. Now she could imagine the devastation Minnie felt anticipating babies only to lose them.

  All her growing-up years, Liddie had imagined adventure as living in a city, seeing spectacular sights. She had never thought her adventure would be this, to be married, to be with child. Then she remembered the war and shivers rippled up her back.

  “Don’t worry, little one. We’ll take care of you.” She patted her stomach.

  “Du bist so schön.”

  She looked up, surprised. She’d been so lost in her own thoughts that she hadn’t heard him come back into the house. She faced Joe and smiled, one hand still resting on her belly.

  He came to her, putting his hands over hers. “So beautiful,” he said.

  “I never guessed how this would feel,” she said.

  When his lips touched hers, Liddie relaxed against him. She felt complete. He stepped away, and when she forced herself to open her eyes, she saw him grinning at her.

  “Do you suppose you should dress before we leave?” he asked.

  She laughed. “Walking down Main Street like this would be more than the ladies of Maquoketa could bear.” Holding hairpins between her lips as she drew her hair into a bun, she spoke out of the side of her mouth. “Minnie said they’d be ready to leave as soon as we show up.”

  “Could be the Fourth of July,” Vern said as Joe turned onto a street crowded with buggies and automobiles. American flags hung on the fronts of most buildings.

  “I read some towns planned to close the schools—get the women to do registration—even close businesses so no one has an excuse not to show up,” Joe said.

  “Some of the guys at the feed store said they’d go to Canada before they’d get drug into a fight in Europe,” Vern said. “I say we oughta be willing to fight for ourselves.”

  Minnie had been silent through most of the drive, but now she took Liddie’s hand. Liddie could tell Minnie’s nerves were getting the better of her.

  “By the looks of this crowd, people are showing up.” Joe reined the horse to a stop. “I guess having the sign-up in a pool hall will do it.”

  “I can’t believe that was necessary,” Liddie said.

  Since the state had passed Prohibition, all the saloons along Main Street had installed pool tables and now called themselves billiard parlors. Jackson County and all the other river counties had voted against the law, and though the saloons didn’t advertise it, most folks knew a drink could still be had at the right time of night for the right price.

  “Men’ll show up for a drink.” Joe grinned as he jumped down and tied the lead rope to the rail. Apparently, the restrictions on alcohol would be totally overlooked today.

  “Personally, I thought we were on the right road with mediation,” Liddie said.

  “The kaiser didn’t leave room for talking. Not when he promised Mexico he’d give ’em half the American Southwest if they joined him,” Vern said.

  “Maybe not.” Liddie held Vern’s hand as she stepped down from the buggy. She whispered, “Try to talk about something besides the war. For Minnie’s sake?”

  Vern’s eyes darted to Minnie, who stood waiting on the sidewalk. He turned to Joe. “How’s the hay looking?”

  Liddie patted his arm. She and Minnie strolled a few paces behind the men, stopping from time to time to look in the store windows.

  “Sure would like to take one of these for a spin,” Joe said, stepping into the street to take a closer look at a Model T.

  “Never thought I’d hear you go for anything but a horse,” Vern said.

  Joe ran a hand along the fender. “I heard they go up to forty-five miles an hour. It’d be something to go that fast.”

  The dreamy quality in Joe’s voice caused Liddie to glance his way. He liked fast horses; it made sense he’d like a fast car, too.

  As the two men debated the relative merits of cars and horses, Liddie spoke softly to Minnie. “You seem well. How are you feeling?”

  “Good.” Minnie touched a hand to her abdomen. “I expect to feel the baby any day. This is the time. I know it.” She turned toward Vern. He saw her looking and tipped his hat. In response, she touched her fingertips to her lips.

  “You’ll never guess what he did yesterday,” she said. “He picked irises and put a bloom in each room of the house!” Tears sprang up in Minnie’s eyes. She turned her back to the men, dried the tears with a hankie, and forced a smile. “We’re both ready for this baby!” A frown settled between her eyes. “If it weren’t for this draft.”

  “Try not to let it worry you. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” Liddie wished for a distraction, and her eyes fell on Minnie’s favorite bakery. “After the men register, let’s get a pastry at Becker’s.”

  “Didn’t you hear? They found glass in his flour.”

  “No! How did that happen?”

  “Some on the
county Council of National Defense say he did it himself in support of Germany. Anyway, everybody’s afraid to go there now.”

  Liddie was speechless. Mr. Becker had never been anything but friendly. Even though Mrs. Becker spoke only a few words of English, she greeted everyone who came into the bakery with a cheerful smile. Her fruit tortes were famous. Why would they destroy their own products? It made no sense.

  Joe joined them on the sidewalk. “Let’s get this done.” He steered her toward the pool hall, where groups of people congregated outside. The smell of stale beer reached them from twenty feet away.

  “Oh.” Minnie put her hand to her nose.

  “Are you okay?” Liddie asked.

  “The smell. I don’t know if I can go in.”

  “You can stay out here,” Vern said.

  “We won’t be long, Liebchen.” Joe touched Liddie’s arm.

  A man who’d been leaning against the building straightened up and spoke loudly. “Do you smell sauerkraut?” He scanned the crowd, then moved forward, planting himself squarely in front of Joe. “That’d make any American sick, wouldn’t you say, boys?”

  “Sure would, Mac,” another man agreed as he stepped up next to the first man. “Damned sick.”

  Other men standing nearby laughed as they moved in around the two couples.

  “What are you getting at?” Joe frowned.

  “You forget where you live?” A sneer curled the first man’s lip.

  “What?” Joe asked.

  “This is the United States of America.” The man’s clothes and breath reeked of alcohol. “We speak English here.” He thumped a finger against the American flag pin on his chest.

  “No offense intended,” Joe said. He moved toward the steps. The man braced his arm across the door and angled a knee out, blocking the path.