Chapter 5 Absent Minded Inventor

Belle,

Your reading skills must be commended, I think, even if your cooking skills were found lacking. The very thought of your poor pie in ashes made me almost thankful for my army rations. I am now in no fear of your descriptions of food if they all follow the same demise.

I have not read Kidnapped, though I did read through a copy of Treasure Island a few years back which was a great adventure story and I never knew if I liked Long John Silver or not-he was a cheeky fiend.

Have you heard from your friend? The nurse? Has the earth settled into a new rhythm for you? I hope it has. I am not one who likes change much, myself. If I like nothing else in my new position as a soldier, I like the consistent rules and regulations. Everyone knows their place and what it is they are to do-at least in the in between times. When the fighting starts I don't think anyone can say they know exactly what they are doing, but can only press forward and follow orders, and hope to survive long enough to see the other side of it. Then to return and realize that I survived when someone who had family and friends didn't fill me with so much guilt I can barely breathe. I am not naturally an open person, I don't think I could tell you these words if you stood in front of me, so I now ask you if you could keep my guilt ridden secret?

Thank you for your letters, they are the warmest things to be had around here.

Your Friend,

Roger

Belle had never felt such a swirling range of emotions as she had reading that letter. She laughed at his teasing, smiled when he remembered her friend, and cried at his honest thoughts. She felt, and not for the first time, how young and naive she was. And then that he should think so little of himself, too, to feel guilty to survive and think that he had lower value because he had no family. She sobbed for more than an hour over his words.

After a good cry, she read the letter again, smiled at the last sentence and then knelt by her bed and prayed that wherever Corporal Roger Gold was right at that second, that he was warm.

She pulled out her paper and began writing a letter that would follow her Christmas card.

'Roger,

In retaliation to your scathing remarks on my cooking, I should give great detail to the Thanksgiving feast I prepared for myself and my Papa. Turkey, sweet potatoes, rolls, and green beans with a pecan pie, since my pumpkin pie didn't exactly work out last time. Everything was cooked to perfection, and I had the self discipline to not open a book until after I had cleaned everything up that evening. So there.

My friend has written to me and told me she is safe and doing well, thank you so much for asking. Life is different, and yet feeling always the same. My papa is what you might call absentminded (which is most likely putting it lightly. He has been an inventor his whole life and has something he is constantly working on. With all his intelligence, he has a hard time focusing on the world around him. My brother has the head for business and runs a company mass producing my Papa's inventions, though things have shifted since the war), and I have always tried to keep a constant routine so he will know what to expect from day to day, however, here lately he seems more absent minded than usual.

In response to your secret, you may rest assured that I would never betray your trust. However, I want you to know that you have a friend sir, in me, and I am thankful you've been spared thus far.

Please be safe.

Your Friend,

Belle'

'What's on the to-do list today, Bluebelle?' Her Papa greeted her with his coffee mug. He was up early, not a tool in sight and had made coffee. Belle bit her lip as she pulled down her cup and poured herself some of the dark liquid-it was dark, very dark. Belle worried he had forgotten how many scoops of coffee grounds he had already poured in there again. She took a sip and grimaced, yes, yes he had. She tried to smile through the bitter taste in her mouth.

'Today I stay around here, Papa, you're to help me fix the radio today, do you remember?' He bobbed his head with an 'o' shape on his lips, letting her know he had not remembered, even though she had reminded him for the past few days. She sighed, but smiled back at him and gave him a peck on the cheek and thanked him for the coffee.

'And remember, Papa, Morris and Cathy want us over for dinner tonight.' Just the thought made Belle's stomach churn. Morris hardly ever invited them over to his place, and none of the times ever felt very pleasant-she always imagined that he was looking over at their plates and calculating how much money was being wasted on feeding them. She supposed it must be Cathy's doing (the poor girl did her best to navigate the awkwardness that was their family dynamic) and Papa was so awfully proud of Morris, that she couldn't help but accept the invitation.

'Oh, oh yes, yes, they did, didn't they?' His eyes got that glossy far away look that he had adopted so often of late. She just nodded her head, smiled and asked him how he thought he might fix the radio.

A year ago, her papa would have told her what was wrong with the wiring and how easy of a fix it was, but her papa here lately thought about it for a solid five minutes before stating that he couldn't quite recall what the problem had been and perhaps he ought to get out his tools and give it a look. He had smiled during the proclamation, but she could tell he was a bit worried about his abilities. His tinkering over the past few weeks had been frustrating him to no end, and she had worried that he was getting overly tired, perhaps. She thought fixing the radio would be a simple thing, and perhaps give him some of that confidence that he had been lacking.

Two hours later and she regretted ever mentioning it. Her always blissfully happy Papa was muttering to himself and his tools could be heard clanking on the hardwood floors so forcefully, that Belle worried over the floors as much as she worried over her father.

She had tried to stick around as much as possible. He had never been one for wanting someone hovering around him-he had been most creative when in his own little world or bubble, yet Belle knew she needed to be around. She saw the need for intervention, and coaxed him to take a break with some light sandwiches and while he was distractedly eating, tried to see if she could find what the trouble was, herself. She wasn't the handiest person, but she could see at first glance that her father had gotten the radio so tangled and in a mess, that a new radio would be the best thing at this point, and put her mind to how best to try to talk him into doing that.

When she went back into the kitchen, his head was in his hands.

'Papa, papa, are you alright?' She was worried.

'Of course, Bluebelle, of course.' He gave a very small smile. And went to eat his sandwich as if nothing was wrong.

'I was thinking…' She began and then waited until she caught his eyes, making sure he was paying attention. 'I was thinking that I might want a new one, you know, for Christmas. The one we have is so old, and giving such trouble, and they have those small ones now that could sit right on a table and…'

Her papa sighed and bobbed his head. 'Of course, Bluebelle, of course, if that's what you want, then I'll put in a good word to Santa for you.' He tried to smile again but it was so sad and so confused Belle that she wanted to dart up to her room and cry. She would most likely have to write it down somewhere and put it in his wallet so that way it would literally stare him in the face when he next went to town. She pulled back her shoulders, cleaned up and went to do the remainder of her chores, suggesting to her father a game of solitaire as a break from all the tinkering he had done that morning.

Before she knew it, she was being ushered inside Morris' home. It was one of the nicer, newer homes on the block, yet once you got inside, everything in it had a practical purpose. There were no dainty feminine touches, no picture frames displaying the people that were loved by the family or even ornamental things that would show off the wealth that Morris had accumulated over the past few years. Everything was plain and useful. Cathy looked tired, like she always did, the boys ran wild all over the house and the youngest two in particular, and ran to 'Auntie Belle' as soon as she entered. Cathy looked up gratefully from her place on the stove when Belle pulled out a card game for them to play, while Morris barked at the noise from his place behind his newspaper in his oversized chair, only looking up at them for a moment when they had first walked in. None of this surprised Belle, so she paid very little attention to anything other than trying to get the boys to play a little quieter. Her papa just looked around at the scene happily and told the eldest boy, an ever increasingly taller boy of 12, if he had heard the story of his first invention. The boy had, in fact, even the very youngest boy of 7, had heard the tale at least a half dozen times. John, the eldest, shook his head dutifully, making Morris roll his eyes behind his paper, and her father began the tale once again.

'Belle, I want to speak to you.' Morris stood at the kitchen doorway with his arms crossed and his mouth in a tight line. Perhaps the dinner was not Cathy's doing after all. Belle helped Cathy rinse the last dish before turning to face her older brother. 'It's about Maurice.'

Belle winced then grimaced at the use of her father's name like that. She looked around Morris to make sure her father couldn't hear them. He was happily engaged in playing with the children, completely oblivious to any conversation going on in the kitchen. Cathy said she would just step into the living room and let them talk, looking completely uncomfortable.

'Alright.' Belle swallowed and finally said. 'What is it?'

'It's about his days at the plant. He's in my way, I cannot be productive with him there, and I want you to put a stop to it.'

Belle frowned. 'But those are his happiest days of the week! He loves visiting you and seeing what is going on, and what new things you might be coming up with.'

Morris shifted and crossed his arms even tighter, his expressions made Belle feel not much taller than an ant (not that it took much to make her feel small, but Morris had an uncanny ability to make her feel half the size she already was).

'I don't care. He is interfering with productivity and I won't stand for it in my business.'

Belle was peeved-she was angry enough that her fear was momentarily forgotten and she crossed her arms and tried to stand a little taller and glare at him in return.

'Don't' forget, you wouldn't even have a business if it wasn't for Papa's patents.'

'Oh I can't forget, he won't stop reminding me!' His voice got a little louder, which scared Belle enough to look around Morris once more. She was for once very thankful for her Papa's abilities to drown everything around him out when focusing on something. He was focused on his grandsons, and never registered the raised voices in the kitchen.

'And you cannot put up with a little reminding for a few hours a week? He's so proud of you, Morris, that's why he does that-he thinks so much of you.'

'Apparently he didn't think very much of me until he found out I had a way for numbers and the ability to save his floundering business. Wish he would have thought enough of me before…He was only proud of me when it made him prosperous. You told me that I wouldn't have a business if it wasn't for him, well I am telling you, that everything you have, your pretty little things you have to have in that old house of his are all thanks to me. I am what made the business successful, and if you don't want me to get angry in front of everyone at the plant and put down your father in front of everyone, you had better make sure he stays out of my business!'

Apparently Morris thought the subject was over, and Belle supposed it probably was-she had no doubt that he would publicly humiliate her papa in front of people her papa respected, just to make sure Belle did what he told her. Belle pushed away tears that stung her eyes once Morris left to go back to the living room, his face never giving away how much he detested that they were there.

…

The first Christmas card Roger had ever received was placed in his hands. This was sent with the normal mail, not the usual V-mail that was their normal correspondence, so he was confused at first. His confusion gave way to only a slight smile (he couldn't give away anything more) when a photograph slipped out as he opened the card. A smiling young woman looked at him. Her cheeks spoke of her youth, her eyes spoke of the kindness that he had read between the lines, and the entire picture was both everything and nothing like he imagined her to look like. She was very pretty, he thought as he took her picture and tucked it into his front pocket and now when he took up her card, he now had a face to go along with the words she spoke.

'Merry Christmas, Roger!

I am sending this with the normal mail, a letter in response to your last one should be right behind this one if I did my math correctly, as I've sent this a bit earlier in hopes it will get to you in time for Christmas. I have often wondered what you look like, and thought you might wonder the same, so I sent my graduation photo-it is almost a year old, I'm afraid, and hope it was an alright thing for me to do.

I am thinking of you, this Christmas. I wish I would have known you a few months earlier, as all the Christmas packages were sent in September by the Red Cross. I volunteered to put together some anonymous care packages, and perhaps you'll receive one? I hope you will. But I wish I could have given something specifically for you, something that perhaps you miss from here to make your Christmas a bit merrier. You have only my salutations, I'm afraid, but you have them most gladly.

My Christmas prayer for you is that you are safe and warm, and that the turkeys that the people on the radio told us were to be distributed to the soldiers somehow have made their way to you.

Your friend,

Belle

Author's Note: History stuff:

small, table top radios began to become popular in the early 1940s.
Roger is becoming a part of the 'winter line'. They moved forward towards a major battle that would be fought in Italy, but they had to battle the elements as much as the opposing force. I'll explore that a little more next time. I have read on what army divisions were put where, but this is fiction, so Roger may get involved in a couple of different things that would not have been possible at that time. Sorry about that!

Story things:
You may guess two issues the French family is working through... It will become clearer in future chapters, but I've given, hopefully, some hints as to what they are in this one. In other words, the 'drama' has begun, and Belle has her work cut out for her.

Thank you to those still reading-I would love to hear your thoughts. Comments really do help encourage me as I write. Thank you!

When Cassidy had first mentioned the correspondence, he had worried about being disappointed when he would write and she would inevitably not return the correspondence. Now he found that Belle had given him a wonderful Christmas gift without even knowing it. There was someone in the world that wanted him to be safe, someone that was praying for him. That was better than even the turkey that he did get for Christmas that year.