Chapter 11
The dead children. The phrase rang in Lydia’s head, being repeated and repeated as if it were some song that she had once heard, or known. Some vague memories started coming, meetings in the living room where adults, their parents, grandparents, and friends talked about serious things. It seemed that dead children were part of that talk. Perhaps it had to do with the draft counseling her parents had done. She followed Margie into the kitchen. She had put out a plate of sandwiches on the round table and asked Lydia if she wanted some tea.
“OK, that might be good.” Lydia collapsed into a chair and let Margie bring the tea. “Thanks, Margie.” She proceeded to swish the tea bag, pulling it out and dropping it back into the cup as if it were a most important, delicate job. “You know what I found out there? Besides Jane, of course.”
“Should I care?” Margie asked. She plopped herself down across from Lydia.
Lydia looked at her. Margie kept her attention on unfolding a napkin and placing it in her lap, her shoulder and arms tense with disinterest.
“Maybe. It’s stuff our parents must have gotten in the mail, or some-thing. Crude hate mail. I wonder if anyone figured out who sent it. I wonder why it was saved.” Lydia reached for a sandwich. “Ah, tuna. Thanks, Margie.” She took a bite. “Good.”
Margie raised her eyes but did not quite look at Lydia. Her face expressed caution and discomfort. “I think I heard something about that. I suspect its stuff the police returned when the case was closed. Grandma probably just stuck it away without looking at it.”
“Do you remember when people came over in the evenings and we were shuttled off to our rooms? Did they ever talk about dead children in those meetings?” Lydia took the tea bag out of the cup and squeezed it, the heat nearly burning her fingers.
“Yes, I remember. Sometimes they worked around this table. But no, I don’t remember what was said.” Margie watched Sid amble into the room and go over to the windows, choosing one and jumping up on the sill. His tail soon twitched as he watched something outside.
“I found these yellow ribbon bookmarks with the words ‘war is not healthy for children and other living things.’ I gather that was a special slogan for their cause?” Lydia found herself hungry and the sandwich disappeared quickly. “Do you remember them?”
“No,” Margie said in a tone that said she didn’t want to remember, either.
“Well, I’m going to do a search on the internet. I’m getting more and more curious about what draft counseling was all about. And just how it affected the relationships in this community.” She was ready to get up, but saw that Margie was lingering over her food. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Lydia. I’m just not as eager as you to know all those little details. But I’m sure you’ll find lots on the internet. I have to help Sherrie this afternoon. She’s going to leave in a couple weeks and I’m just a little nervous, that’s all.”
“Oh, well, I guess.” Lydia got up, took her dishes to the sink. “My turn to fix supper? How about some vegetarian chili?”
“Sounds fine.”
The Return Page 17