Home Front Lines

by Brenda Sparks Prescott

  Paco must have read my mind. “This is no three-star hotel, but we’re proud to offer safe haven for weary travelers.”

  “Do you know anything about this Señor Montes?” Rosita asked again. We could be here all night sparring politely about two possibly related subjects.

  Just as I was about to demand an answer to Rosita’s question, Chucho’s oldest tugged at his hand. “Papa, can the pretty ladies stay with us? Please, Papa?”

  “I would like nothing better. But all the noisy breathing of you kids will keep them awake all night.”

  “Please, Papa. We’ll breathe quietly. We promise.”

  Chucho glanced at his grandfather, who must’ve given him a signal that was invisible in the twilight. He shook his head, but his wayward tooth poked out of his small smile. “No. They’ll stay with Abuelo.”

  “But Abuelo snores.” The boy giggled.

  Chucho pulled him into a playful hug and rubbed his head. “Hush now and take your brother in to supper.”

  “Please, Papa, can we . . .”

  “No. Go on now, hurry.”

  A scene so familiar I almost promised them a treat if the ate all their supper. I wondered if Rosita felt the same.

  “How about some gum before you go?” she said.

  “Yes, yes!” The children crowded around Rosita as she ducked into the car to get her purse. I poked her—giving away valuable repair supplies—but she ignored me.

  However, Paco said, “Señora, you must keep your gum. You may need it for your car, as the roads are rough.”

  She laughed. “What’s with the gum and the cars? Are you a mechanic too?”

  Paco squared back his shoulders. “I know a thing or two about cars.”

  Rosita opened her purse and the kids jumped up and down with a burst of cheers.

  “Hush, children,” Chucho said. He went over to the old man and clapped him on the shoulder. “Abuelo is being modest. He drove the first automobiles ever to enter the province and raced in Havana in his younger days.”

  “Really?” I said. “What name did you race under?”

  “Pepi Ramírez,” Paco said.

  “He once drove a Bugatti owned by an American playboy.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I know of your career. My husband is of the La Luz family. He is called El Mechanico de la Playa.”

  “What a lucky woman you are.” Chucho flicked his eyes and beamed a knowing smile.

  The Beach Mechanic had other, less savory connotations, but Diego inherited the nickname from his father, so what was I to do? I lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug.

  “Do you machine your own parts?” I asked.

  “Yes, up at Doblase.”

  “Perhaps you will show me the shop if we have time before we leave?”

  “Me too.” Rosita’s voice was high and girlish. Of course. She wouldn’t want Chucho’s attention to stray.

  He clicked his heels and bowed as if he were wearing the finest linen. “My deepest pleasure,” he said to her. Of course.

  “Gum.” His youngest reminded us of the real matter at hand.

  “Abuelo said no gum for you,” Rosita said. The children protested as she snapped her purse shut.

  I felt bad for them. “We cannot disobey Abuelo, but . . .” I ducked into the car and pulled out a box tied with a string. The children’s anticipation rippled in the saturated air. Drops would condense right out of the air any minute. I held up the box. “How about chocolate?”

  “Yes! Yes! Please!” the children yelled.

  One might have thought me even more foolish to give away precious chocolate, but I didn’t care. For the first time in days I was a happy mother again, if only for a moment.

  “Just one, then off with you. All of you,” Chucho said.

  I opened the box and held it out as the children jostled each other. Chucho’s youngest was the last to choose a candy. He hugged me, and I let him, even though his arms were grimy and his face was caked with dirt. I held him close even after the other kids had run off and he tugged to go.

  After releasing him, I laid a hand on Rosita’s arm and looked her in the eye. “Let’s press on. Alone, if we must.”

  She shot a glance at Chucho. All these looks passed more or less with head movements, since few nuances could be deciphered in the dusk. Still, he answered her.

  “Please, Señora. Your stay here will not go unrewarded.”

  A big, fat raindrop plopped on my forehead.

  I looked around for Paco, but he must have slipped off to warn the old woman about her visitors. The next moment rain fell in curtains, straight down, and quickly soaked us all. Without another word, we scrambled to pull our suitcases out of the car and allowed Chucho to carry them all to his grandfather’s hut. Rosita scurried after Chucho, but I draped a jacket over my head while I made sure that every window of the car was closed tight and each door was locked. I carried the box of chocolates with me as an offering to our hosts. Anything more practical would be an insult to their hospitality.

  Woman Waving to the Future 3

  AFTER THE CHILDREN hustled off to catch the bus, Lucy returned to the kitchen to tidy up. The phone rang, and she immediately pictured Sonny, ignoring his own safety to talk with her one last time. Her pulse quickened, but she was not surprised to hear Betty Ann’s voice when she plucked the receiver from its base on the kitchen wall.

  “Lucy, hon?” Her friend sounded puzzled. “Something strange is going on.”

  Leave it to Betty Ann to state the obvious. Lucy watched through the kitchen window while a blue jay swooped across her back yard and landed on her clothesline. The cord swayed back and forth under its weight. Two squirrels chased up the trunk of the young maple at the back of the yard. Local life continued, heedless of any national crisis. “We knew that when we set up our operations. Didn’t Ray lie about routine exercises also?”

  “Not that. Something about Lonnie. I’m scared.”

  Oh Lord. Didn’t they have enough to worry about with the possible end of the world? Lucy promised to come right over as soon as she finished the breakfast dishes. She bustled around the kitchen and then dragged on her sweater and gathered up her pocketbook. She had the front door open and her car keys dangling from her hand before she remembered the idea of “Woman Waving to the Future.” Whatever news Betty Ann received might well knock the idea right out of her head, so even though she was rushing, she left the door ajar and went back in to find a scrap of paper. She scooped up the red pastel to scrawl the title and a bare bones sketch of her imagined action self-portrait. That would have to hold her until she could get back to it, who knew when.

  Betty Ann lived just up the street, but since Ray had left her with the old, somewhat unreliable Pontiac, Lucy took her own car in case they needed wheels to deal with this latest development. The Johnsons lived on the same side of the street but in the B duplex, so their layout was the same, only reversed left to right. Betty Ann had slices of a poppy seed coffee cake and a full pot ready when she arrived. Her friend looked calm but more subdued than usual. A thick, ecru business envelope with her address typed out was propped against the sugar bowl on the kitchen table. Clearly it was not from the military—the paper was way too good. It looked like the kind of stationery that you might use to invite a business associate to lunch at the Ritz. The mystery of its connection to Betty Ann’s son weighed, but neither remarked on it until their plates and cups were full.

  “Okay, spill it,” Lucy said. No need for preliminaries.

  “This envelope arrived in yesterday’s mail. I set it aside, but with all of the commotion getting Ray ready and everything, I forgot it until after he left.” She tipped out its contents: two pieces of paper that matched the envelope, and two pieces of plain notebook paper covered in handwritten Japanese characters. The letter was in standard form and covered both pages of the fine stationery; if it was an invitation to the Ritz, it was a long one. Betty Ann pushed the letter over. “Read it.”

  201123 L
a Bonita Drive

  San Diego, California

  September 30, 1962

  Dear Mrs. Johnson,

  I hope this letter finds you well. I had the great fortune to meet your son, Private Lonnie Johnson, while on diplomatic duty on the U.S.S. Princeton when it was patrolling the Bikini atolls. He is a lovely young man who reflects well on his upbringing. You must be very proud of him.

  When Private Johnson learned that I am a translator and can read and write Japanese, he asked me to review the enclosed letter that a fellow sailor wrote for him to send to his mother. I understand that you are studying Japanese in anticipation of living in Okinawa when your husband is stationed there.

  I applaud your ambition! Not many Americans would undertake the study of a language that is so much unlike their own. Private Johnson was very proud of your determination to learn as much as you can about another culture. The enclosed letter may be somewhat advanced for a beginner, but I think you will find much value in it. I assume that you may seek aide in understanding what is written. In looking for such assistance, I only ask that you seek someone that you trust to give you an accurate reading, as nuances can easily be lost in translation. Just imagine that the precious lives of all of the sailors on the U.S.S. Princeton depend on an accurate rendition, for instance, and you will surely do the right thing.

  I wish you the best of luck in your endeavors. May your diligence be rewarded.

  Very truly yours,

  Yūko Fuji (Mrs.)

  P.S. Any commanding officer of a U.S. military base would be interested in your success.

  Y.F.

  The handwritten signature was in both English and Japanese.

  “Is this a joke?” Lucy said.

  Betty Ann shrugged. “And what is this bizarre reference to a base commander?” Neither of them had touched their coffee.

  Betty Ann looked miserable. It was definitely time to worry if her son was involved in these shenanigans. “The only thing I can think of is the Hepplewhite boy. The obit said something about an accident in the line of duty in the Pacific. Kind of vague, but it did mention that his marine troop had also been stationed on the Princeton.”

  “Oh sweet Jesus.” Lucy reared back from the papers as if they were on fire before taking into account the turmoil her friend was feeling. She scooted in close to the table and considered Betty Ann.

  “What if Lonnie’s next?” Tears slipped down Betty Ann’s face, which she swiped away with her fingers. She was tough, but the unknown could kill you.

  The knock on the door can come for anyone. Even Mrs. Hepplewhite, as they recently found out. Of course they had sent condolence notes. As difficult as Mrs. Hepplewhite had been to deal with, she was still a mother who had lost a son. Each wife knew she may be called to stand in the shoes next to the grieving wife or mother or daughter.

  “We need to get this translated, quick-quick,” Lucy said.

  “How? How in hell did he come up with Japanese?”

  Lucy tried not to smile, despite the seriousness of the situation. “He was always the creative one, you said.” She took a healthy bite of her coffee cake and chewed with a finger over her mouth. “Wait a minute.” She swallowed and snapped her fingers. “How about that librarian?”

  “What librarian? Girl, I haven’t been back to the library since the Grayson House.”

  “The one that works in the children’s corner and wrote the book about a unicorn. I bought one for Erica. She loves it. She’s kind of grown out of it, but she reads it to the littler kids when they play school.”

  “What about a unicorn suggests she knows Japanese?”

  “Not that. Don’t be silly. She has a small, stone Buddha statue on her desk in the children’s section. Erica asked her about what she called the smiling man doll and the librarian replied that she got it growing up in Japan. It reminded her of home.”

  “I don’t know. We can’t trust just anyone.”

  “She’s not just anyone. Her name is Beth Willom. I tell you, this woman has a good heart. You should see how the kids flock to her. God love her, I could never do that all day. Anyway, we both have good radar. Let’s go sound her out. You want to know ASAP, right?”

  Betty Ann pushed away her plate, her slice of cake untouched. The scent of fresh bread lingered in the air, and two loaves cooled on the counter. She got up to wipe and straighten her already spotless and neat-as-a-pin counter. “All right. We have to solve this thing. Let’s go before I change my mind.” She refolded the papers and slipped them back into the envelope. She tucked it into her purse, and they headed out the door.

  Lucy steered her over to the far corner of the main room, where half-height wooden shelves surrounded low, round tables and kid’s chairs painted either red or black. A colorful poster of the Cat in the Hat adorned the far wall. Beside it was a drawing of Peter Rabbit and his friends clustered around a toadstool table with their little bunny noses buried in open books.

  A slender woman with chestnut hair and soft brown eyes behind round glasses sat at a nearby desk. She was reading a catalog with great concentration, yet looked up immediately with a welcoming smile when Betty Ann and Lucy neared.

  “Hello, ladies. May I help you with something today?” She placed a bookmark in the catalog and closed it without looking down. Buddha offered his infinite smile from the front of her desk.

  Lucy introduced Betty Ann and then herself as Erica’s mother.

  “Yes, of course. Erica is one of our best readers. I wouldn’t be surprised if she announces she has read every book in our section, even the ones supposedly for boys. She keeps me on my toes—luckily I have a few dollars to spend.” She tapped the catalog.

  Lucy beamed. She praised the unicorn book and related her story about her daughter reading it to the younger children in the neighborhood. Not wanting to lose Miss Willom’s attention to another patron, as nicely and as quickly as she could, Lucy turned the conversation to the request at hand.

  “Of course I speak and write Japanese. I’m flattered that you would remember such a thing.”

  Betty Ann took out the envelope and retrieved the two pages of notebook paper. She handed them to Lucy.

  “We think this message may be of a sensitive nature,” Lucy said. “May we rely on your discretion?”

  Miss Willom gently laid a hand flat on her upper chest. She drew a long breath in and exhaled, settling her body as if for meditation and relaxing her face into a somber expression. She nodded, and Lucy gave her the pages. Miss Willom pushed aside the catalog and squared the pages on her desk. She ran her fingers lightly down the paper as she read, and then pressed her fingertips against her lips when she finished. Her expression had melted from somber to sad, and her liquid glance up pulled Lucy and Betty Ann closer. Miss Willom surveyed the room. No one approached her corner, and all of the children’s chairs remained empty and neatly pushed up against the tables. It was early yet for the reading circle crowd.

  “Oh dear. This is not good news at all,” she said.

  “Is it about Lonnie? My son?”

  “Oh no. This says he’s fine.”

  Betty Ann leaned over the desk. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. But he sent this to you because it’s about the Hepplewhite boy. The one who died.” Miss Willom shook her head and looked out the window. Lucy followed her gaze. Trees shaded this side of the library. Their branches swayed slightly in a light breeze.

  “What about him?” Lucy also bent over the desk.

  “This says he didn’t die from an accident. Or rather, there was an accident, but he was ordered into a hot zone.”

  Betty Ann reared back and Lucy stopped breathing for a moment, knowing how soldiers are taught to disregard their own personal safety to follow orders.

  “What?” Betty Ann asked. “Why?”

  “They were ordered to make sure the nose of the rocket was secured. I guess it was very hot. The marines received massive radiation doses. Several died, including the Hepplewhite boy. The n
ote says this is what really happened, but the truth will be buried unless someone like General Hepplewhite hears the real story.”

  Betty Ann and Lucy looked at each other. Taking something like this straight to General Hepplewhite was strictly out of the question. They didn’t even have to say it aloud to agree.

  “We have to do something,” Betty Ann said.

  Miss Willom watched them. Somehow her calmness steadied Lucy and made an idea seem plausible.

  “We don’t have to do anything,” Lucy said. “Officers can take care of their own. But you’re right. We should do something anyway. After all, you would want to know if it were Lonnie, right?” Betty Ann nodded. “So let’s take it to Mrs. Hepplewhite.”

  “Oh no, too much is at stake. Lonnie. Ray.”

  “But she loved the dress, despite herself. And she even paid you double, like she said she would.”

  “Sure, but she made such a big deal about it that I almost didn’t want to take her money. And when she handed the check over, she said something about Ray leaving base at a time like this. How’d she know about that? No, thank you.” Betty Ann gave Miss Willom a polite smile of gratitude as she picked up the pages and refolded them. As she did, she brushed the catalogue, as if by accident, but her touch left it perfectly aligned with the side of the desk.

  “Look,” Lucy said. “Lonnie already took a big risk just getting this to you. Don’t you think you owe him something? As his mother?” She pivoted away and shook her head.

  “Then there’s that other thing, you know, the ring. She mentioned that, also. No. Think what might happen to Ray.”

  Miss Willom stood up, not to send them on their way but to bring their swirling attention to a focus. Lucy turned back to face her.

  “Ladies. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Miss Willom said. “But consider this. Is any of what you’re referring to worth more than this boy’s life?”

  Chita

  A Message from García 7