The Return

by Margaret Guthrie

The three sat around the kitchen table, sipped coffee that Margie had made and ate store-bought cookies. Pearl held the yellow ribbon bookmark with the peace symbol in her hands and turned it over and over. “We used to try to figure out what would persuade those who had misgivings about war, to get off the fence and start speaking out. We knew we couldn’t persuade those already militant. Fear held a lot of people back. Fear of disapproval, even retaliation. It takes courage to speak truth to power. Truth to power, that’s the term we used. When the powerful don’t want to hear something they have ways to silence the messenger. They take words out of context, twist them around so that what was good is made to look bad, mock them, throw out accusations such as communist, unpatriotic, helping the enemy, or other derogatory terms. In a democracy where freedom of speech is sacrosanct, we have to be ever vigilant.”

  “But what do those girls want with something from that shed?” Margie asked, her tone impatient, fretful, as if the subject matter was distasteful. “What are they looking for?”

  “Maybe they’ve been left wondering what went on with their parents just like we have,” suggested Lydia. “What kind of rumors have been repeated down through the years, Pearl?”

  Pearl lay the ribbon on the table and pushed it to one side. “I don’t know where the myth of dead children came from. I suspect some older brother, or sister, enjoyed a bit of teasing to get that one going. As for hearing noises in that corner of the gym, that could be a set-up, too. Some child walks around overhead, boards squeak, and one of the group underneath knows exactly how to bring attention to the squeaks.”

  “That’s one way to make ghosts appear and disappear,” Lydia chuckled.

  Pearl grinned. “Children love to scare each other; or at least get reactions from an unsuspecting victim. Just like they love to dress up, play-act, be someone they’re not.”

  “And look for treasures,” Lydia added.

  “Yes, treasures. The unexpected, the surprise, the excitement leading up to finding that something. Just what keeps us all living for the future. If we knew what would happen life would be no fun,” Pearl offered.

  “And yet,” Lydia started, then hesitated, not knowing for sure where her thought was taking her, “to talk about a real murder, one that you were involved in, well if I were a parent I don’t think I’d pass that on to my children. Maybe it’s easier to have a ghost than to live with what really happened.” When she looked at Pearl she saw a pained expression, one that hinted at more than could be expressed.

  “It’s amazing what people do to avoid looking at the truth,” Pearl said. She straightened her posture and smiled at the sisters. “‘War is not healthy for children and other living things’” she quoted as she looked over at the ribbon. “And yet, knowing that, so-called civilization just goes right on killing each other.”

  Margie reached for another cookie, then passed the plate, but there were no other takers. “I gather that our grandparents packed up a lot of stuff after That Night and just stuck it in the shed?” Margie asked as she set the plate down again.

  “I suspect that’s about it,” Pearl said. “After what happened to your parents, and to Dale, the war went right on. More young men went off to war and got killed. More people got together and marched to Washington with their peace signs. More silent vigils were held on courthouse lawns. More people began to ask questions about what we were doing in Vietnam. And finally, finally, the question of how to get out of Vietnam was the big one.

  “And in this community, there was another kind of war going on. The shock of what happened made it a real struggle to look at each other and know what to say when we met in the store, or post office, or church even. Oh, yeah, the high school kids went back to school, and the graduates went on to college, and the farmers kept on farming. But the feeling, the feeling that something terribly confused had happened was hard to put aside.”

  “Could I just ask one question?” It was Margie this time. Pearl nodded. “What was the beef this Dale really had with our parents? I gather it was something to do with the draft.”

  “Well, when his draft number came up he was forced into a decision. He was no longer deferred because of college when he dropped out. So it was the army recruiter’s promises against the draft counselor’s advice about conscientious objection and alternative service.”

  “Is that what Mom and Dad were doing, trying to persuade him to be a CO?” Lydia asked.

  “That wasn’t the object of draft counseling. It was just to inform young men what the law said about conscientious objection and the options the law allowed. Most young men raised in the Friends meeting have heard all their lives that war is wrong. Now maybe they haven’t been clear about why, but killing is against the ten commandments. As for Dale, he seemed to be undecided about what he believed. He latched onto the idea of being a medic, therefore not having to carry a gun. He was sorely disappointed when that didn’t work out.” Pearl looked at Lydia and Margie, her earnest blue eyes seeming to deepen in color.

  “That letter,” Lydia began. “I read it again. He said he was sorry. But Pearl, Mom and Dad didn’t ever get to know that.”

  She wanted to go on and say that’s why Mom is coming back asking why. Maybe she would have if Margie hadn’t been there.

  “That’s true, Lydia, but what happens on this side isn’t the end...” Pearl looked to Lydia, then Margie, studying their expressions, Lydia’s open one and Margie’s puzzled one. “You tell me you’ve felt your mother’s presence, Lydia. Well, you’re not alone on that one. And it’s strange. No one has ever admitted to feeling your father around. As if he just passed on peacefully without questions holding him here. But knowing your mother in real life, she just was always asking questions. She wanted to know what one thought and why one thought it. It did offend some people, I’m afraid.” She saw Margie look away, but Lydia seemed glued to her every word.

  “So,” Margie began, “did Dale hate her? Was he out to get her? Like she was an enemy or something?” There was strain on her face, her mouth turned down, near tears. “It seems like mothers get hated when they worry about their kids, and hated if they don’t worry about them.”

  “She’s talking about Dianne,” Lydia explained. “Dianne is sort of like Dale, right? Not knowing what she believes? Only she doesn’t have to think about being drafted into the army. Just how to get what she wants out of her parents.” Lydia let out a quiet little laugh trying to lighten things up.

  “Your daughter,” Pearl acknowledged, just now realizing how personal this was getting. “Well, daughters are in competition with their mothers don’t you think? They don’t want to be anything like their mother, but it’s a stage. Mother can never be a true enemy.”

  “Pearl, you don’t know,” Margie wailed. “Dianne’s now blaming me for marrying Brad, as if how could I love someone who wants everything his way and won’t listen. How can I explain that people change, that once you marry you find out who they really are. Then it’s too late.” Margie pulled her hands through her hair as if she’d like to pull it out, then let her head fall forward in defeat.

  Pearl reached over and gently rubbed her shoulder. “So you know how volatile the teen-age psyche can be,” she said.

  Margie raised her head, her arms still on the table and gave Pearl a long look. “But murder?”

  “An instant of striking out, never being able to take it back. Same thing with an accident. One moment of carelessness and the car is out of control. In Dale’s case his hands were out of control. Your grandmother always said he didn’t know what he was doing, and because Jesus said “Forgive them for they know not what they do,” she would too.

  “So we’re just supposed to accept it as like an accident?”

  Pearl sighed. Lydia looked like she wanted to speak but couldn’t. Maybe what she was thinking was too unreal to be spoken. “If Mom could hear that, I wonder if it would cons
ole her. Would it answer her ‘why’? Would it answer Jennifer’s curiosity about dead children?”

  “This treasure hunt,” Margie snorted. “They’re going to tramp around the school grounds some night looking for ghosts?”

  Pearl laughed. “Margie, didn’t you ever go with Dianne on a Halloween trick or treat night?”

  Margie sighed, grudgingly said yes.

  “Well, I think a treasure hunt is rather mild, actually,” Lydia said. “It’ll be a chance to see the children in action, so to speak. Maybe join with their parents, mothers at least, afterward in the gym for the refreshments.”

  “Oh stop it,” Margie exclaimed, slapping her hand onto the table and pushing herself up. “The point is, those children have their noses in the tent, so to speak, and what for?”

  Pearl said, “What you said awhile back, Lydia, about these children wondering about what their parents saw that night? It might be they think the whole truth is in that shed, or tent.”

  “You think Jennifer and Tanya want to see ghosts?” Margie asked, beginning to walk to the other side of the kitchen, then turning back and standing there over the other two as if daring them to come up with a rational explanation.

  Lydia shrugged her shoulders. “Or already think they see ghosts,” Lydia said.

  “Well, we’ll empty the shed, OK?” Margie threw up her arms. “Get them over here along with their parents and have a yard sale. How about that? Auction off all the mementoes of thirty years ago. Cleanse everyone’s soul. Or heart. Or whatever.” Margie turned on her heal and paced again. She looked at the clock. “Five thirty. Pearl, how about some supper?”

  “Oh, no. I really must go. But find something besides that ribbon for the girls. Something simple.” She stood up and got ready to leave.

  “Well, there’s some beadwork out there. I suppose from the Tama settlement. That should be neutral. No bad associations, memories. Okay?” Lydia then remembered she had spoken hastily about the Mesquakie wars and her suggestion they might appear the night of the treasure hunt. Maybe beadwork wasn’t such a good idea either.

  Chapter 15