BEFORE
I can tell by your face
That you're looking to find a place
To settle your mind
And reveal who you are
And you shouldn't be shy
For I'm not gonna try
To hurt you or heal you or steal your star
"As We Go Along"
The Monkees
September 17, 1940
Worcester, Massachusetts
"Sarah, you know what seven times three is," Chuck insisted, pointing to the paper on the table in front of Sarah. He tapped the line she had stopped at with his pencil eraser.
Her forehead wrinkled as she huffed in frustration, then furiously erased the line of numbers. She accidentally ripped the paper. Angrily, she slammed the pencil down on the table top, then crumpled the paper, tossing it on the floor beside them, an act of rejection.
"Sarah, what's wrong?" Chuck asked quietly. Her mood had been odd since they had arrived home from school. She was silent, sullen, as they walked from the bus to Chuck's house. Sarah had refused the usual after school snack Gertrude offered, claiming she wasn't hungry.
The routine of school again, after the long summer, had forced both of them to readjust. This past summer had been a repeat of the one before: hide and seek in the backyard, long walks in the park, trips to the library, fireworks, hot dogs, and ice cream cones…laughter and play. So much laughing and enjoyment, it was almost painful when Labor Day arrived and school began. The end of summer had always been melancholy, the summer far too short despite the endlessness of the days as they were lived. But for Chuck, as difficult as the transition from summer vacation to school had routinely been, he found that now, for the second year in a row, it didn't bother him so much.
For, regardless of the season, he saw Sarah almost every day. Any day when he didn't see her–an unplanned appointment or rearranged plans interfering with either the Caseys' or Jack's schedule–he missed her. Sometimes to the extent that he worried something was wrong with him. Why was he so different from the other boys he talked to at school? What was wrong with him…that he could not tolerate being alone, even feared it at times. But alone had its own peculiar definition for him: without Sarah. She alone was in the foreground; everyone else was in the background.
Casey, in his gruff way, would always tell Chuck he needed to toughen up, that he and Sarah being "attached at the hip" could prove problematic. Whenever he made such comments, Gertrude would click her tongue at Casey and scowl. Both she and her husband were outwardly undemonstrative when it came to their feelings. They were different with each other than his own parents had been. Chuck always tried to remember that his parents and the Caseys had grown up under very different circumstances, and were the way they were because of those differences. Neither better or worse, just not the same.
When Gertrude would talk to Chuck when Casey wasn't around, she would assure him nothing was wrong with him. Diplomatically, she would try to explain her husband to Chuck, so that his young mind could comprehend. Chuck could remember the conversation she'd had with him, only a few months ago, after he had told her about how he felt, what he was worried about. It was more of a speech, a homily, than it was a conversation. For her to have said it all, the moment had been special and unique, and he had paid close attention, believing what she was saying to be of the utmost importance.
"Growing up without parents is hard. I know you understand how hard that could be…especially if you had absolutely no one to care for you. John knows his job, our job, is to prepare you to take care of yourself…help you become an adult, not cater to the child inside you. But he forgets sometimes how he was when he was younger…when he was your age. John had to be tough, Chuck. I knew him then. We met when we were younger than Sarah was when you met her. It was harder for us to be together in that situation, in the orphanage, than it is for you and Sarah to be together. John thought it was a sign of weakness…to need to see me, spend time with me. We lived with the possibility of either of us being adopted at any time. Taken away from each other, for something that was supposed to be better. The nuns prayed at the end of every day that each of the orphans would find a forever home. We were expected to pray with them. It's hard to pray for something that you don't even think you want, or need. Or to pray, knowing that gaining something you need would mean losing something you want. As much as he wanted a home, wanted me to have a home, he felt selfish for wishing it also never happened…so we could be together. He knew he had to be strong…and he wants to help you be strong, too.
"But there is nothing wrong with needing another person. Or with needing your family, whatever that family looks like. Because Sarah is your family, too. She feels safe here, with us. And you certainly needed someone to care for; your heart is just too big to not have that. John doesn't want you to be hurt. He knows how much you've been through already, worse than either of us had to endure. That's all, Chuck. I know, no matter what, you and Sarah are a part of each other. You may not understand it now, but you will someday. I promise that."
That talk, so unusually heartfelt and open from so reticent a woman, stayed with Chuck, even now. He felt better about himself, the way he was and the things he thought. Gertrude had given him a gift, leaving him free to be himself, to care the way he wanted to care, as he felt obliged to care. Be everything to Sarah that she needed him to be.
Like now, when something was obviously wrong, and she felt the need to clutch it inside herself, rather than share with him. He wanted her to feel as safe as Gertrude said she could be.
"You can tell me," he added, waiting as she stayed perfectly still, staring at the empty table top in front of her.
"My Daddy and Roxanne won't stop fighting," she said, sad and meek, keeping her eyes on the table.
"Adults have disagreements sometimes," he said, though he understood. He hated listening to arguments. He was thankful that though Casey and Gertrude sometimes disagreed, there was no shouting or screaming. In Chuck's opinion, they fought like adults should fight, remembering who they were and what they were to each other. Too often, like that first time he had ever been in Jack's house, he found adults fought like children.
"Carina and I both heard them. Calling each other bad names. My daddy called Carina a spoiled brat…and…a bastard." She took care to pronounce the word correctly, as she was repeating it from memory. "That means her parents weren't married when she was born. Carina already knew that, just not the word, or what it meant."
How did Sarah figure that out? Even with her vocabulary, it seemed odd that she would know the word, and he wondered how she could have found out. He had to ask her. "How did you know that word?"
"Mrs. Winterbottom," Sarah said matter-of-factly. "She says that a lot. About everyone. The milkman when he doesn't leave the milk on the top step…or when someone counts her change wrong at the grocery store. I asked her once what it meant. She told me, then told me it was a bad word and I shouldn't say it, even though she does. Baahstard." She perfectly mimicked Mrs. Winterbottom's British accent.
"That sounds awful," Chuck sympathized.
Her voice lower, quieter, Sarah added, shame in her voice, "Then Roxanne said…so was I. Me." She flushed red, like she was sunburned, her shame now visible, not only audible. "My father told her…that was none of her business." She didn't elaborate; she shut down.
Not 'untrue', or 'uncalled for'…just 'none of Roxanne's business'. Sarah was intelligent enough to be bothered by that, and all the choice of phrase implied. Chuck was bewildered.
Chuck knew Jack and Emma were married. Chuck's parents had always referred to Emma as Jack's wife. Casey and Gertrude had as well. Emma and Jack had been married. He didn't know what else he could say, how he could offer comfort, or even an explanation. But he vowed to himself he would ask Casey. Chuck might very well get the answer from Casey that Chuck was too young, or that he wouldn't understand, or that he would understand when he was older (most annoying of all), but he had to try. Maybe Casey would tell him something.
"I'm sorry, Sarah," he said gently, sorry that she was upset, questioning herself, in pain…once again, because of the carelessness of her father. He watched her chew her bottom lip, the shame still showing on her face.
After a few moments of silence, Chuck offered, "Let's start over. Once you finish your math homework, we'll go outside and see if we can find those rabbits again." Yesterday, they had seen two white-tailed, brown rabbits running in and out of burrough hidden beneath a juniper bush on the side of Chuck's house. He had his own schoolwork to do, much more than he'd had last year, being in seventh grade now, but he could finish it once she went home. The thought of her upset, in any way, was a wound to him. If he could remedy it, he would.
She smiled at him, the muscles in her face finally relaxing, her normal color returning. His words calmed her. She reached for a new piece of paper and flipped the page in her textbook back to where she had started. Patiently, Chuck explained each math problem as she went. He always let her reason it out, only offering his help when she was stuck, and even then, he never answered for her, but tried to show her how he had arrived at the answer, so she could understand and repeat the steps again independently. Her lack of focus before had been because of her troubles, he knew. She was intelligent, normally an excellent problem-solver.
She had almost finished the entire paper, when she stopped again to talk to him. "Chuck, I heard Gertrude talking about…about…Selective Service. Mr. Casey has to register for the…draft?" she asked. Again, she was carefully repeating words she had overheard. She was worried. Chuck had the sudden realization that Sarah overheard more than she heard, that she was talked about more than talked to. Neglected and overlooked. Maybe that was part of why he mattered to her. He talked to her, looked at her.
He looked at her now, concern on his face. Chuck was worried about this too. He had been trying not to think about it. "Yeah."
"But…he's old. Why does he have to? My father doesn't," she reasoned.
"Casey is only 31. He was 20 when he started working for my parents. The law said men 21 to 35. Your dad is older than 35. My father would have been, too, if he was still alive," Chuck explained.
"But there's no…war yet. Why are they drafting?" she asked.
Chuck sighed, hearing the same question he had asked Gertrude after they heard the news just yesterday. "President Roosevelt obviously thinks we could be…or that we will be…and he wants America to be ready." It was logical but still upsetting. More of the outside world and the news infringing on his peace of mind, already fragile.
She pondered what he'd told her. "If we do go to war, it's going to last a long time, right? Years," she said, fretting. He could hear the sound of her breathing across the table.
"No one knows," he said, wishing he had a better answer, both for her and himself.
"Does that mean that…you might have to go, too, when you get older?" she asked. She obviously wanted to know, but she winced, fearing to know and already expecting an answer that would upset her.
The million dollar question, he thought to himself. When he first heard the news on the radio about the peacetime draft, they called it, all possible calamities came to his mind. Casey, himself…his friends at school…the men who worked in his father's factory. The Great War had lasted for four years, but America had only fought for one year before the war ended. Whatever this was…world war…by everything he heard, everything he knew, this one was worse. It started with Austria, then Czechoslovakia, Poland, Finland, Denmark, Norway. At the beginning of the summer northern France, Belgium, the Netherlands, and Luxembourg. Italy sided with Germany and invaded southern France. Romania, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Hungary. Only a few days ago, Egypt. The Germans, aided by the Soviet Union and now Italy, were farther on their way to taking over the world than anyone had ever imagined they could be, only a year into the war in Europe. It was a matter of time before America became involved. Inevitable. He believed that, and nothing he had heard anywhere contradicted that belief.
"I…I don't know," he answered, knowing his uncertainty was not reassuring, but he also didn't want to lie to her. He was only 11. If the war was still waging when he was old enough, it would be the longest war in the history of America. If it was the Armageddon it was often predicted to be, who knew? It wasn't a ridiculous worry.
She kept her eyes focused on the table, not looking up at him. Whispering, so softly Chuck strained to hear, she said, "I would miss you so much I don't know what I would do."
He felt the tenderness in his heart, throbbing, at her words. His own belief about himself, concerned that he needed her as much as he did, was now mirrored in the words she spoke. She needed him in almost the same way. He had always had a general understanding of that, during all the time that they had spent together. He had seen it…when she slept on the floor in his room, or pulled him inside her blanket fort when thunder shook the house. She had called him her home.
"Don't worry about it, Sarah," he implored her. "It's very far away, even if there is a chance of it. The best way to live is just one day at a time. When things are good…or when things are bad. Worrying is a waste of energy." Gertrude's wisdom, borrowed by Chuck and imparted to Sarah.
"When the men in the factories have to go to war, then…it's not so good anymore," she sighed. Chuck thought she must have also heard that from her father, then she confirmed it. "I know my father was worrying about that."
Was that all Jack ever talked to her about? Adult worries, concerns? Adult arguments? He must talk with no regard to his daughter, no concern about her well-being. No eight year old girl should have been worrying about the things she was talking to Chuck about. It seemed sometimes that what Casey would say to him…about his questions having to wait until he was older, Jack never said to Sarah. He had no filter that protected his daughter from the harshness of life, no concern to guard her childhood. From the conversation Chuck had had with Gertrude, he knew Jack should have been doling out only what was proper, in slowly-increasing increments, as her maturity allowed. Chuck wasn't surprised at all that Jack wasn't doing the right thing. Chuck wondered if Jack even understood that he wasn't doing the right thing.
He changed the subject, trying to lift the mood. "We're done. We can go outside," he told her.
They packed up their schoolwork and neatened the table top.
As they walked to the back door, Sarah started to speak again. "Chuck, you'll be 12 tomorrow," she reminded him.
"Happy Birthday to me," he grumbled, sorry he had done so the second it was out of his mouth. The Hurricane had hit just three days after his tenth birthday. His birthday celebration had been postponed, then canceled, forgotten in the aftermath of tragedy. Last year, the celebration had been subdued, but Sarah's presence had made it better somehow. She always made everything better.
"Gertrude is baking a cake. I can't wait to give you your present!" she added, her previous low spirits now buoyed by her excitement.
"Me either," he admitted. With her, the anticipation of any gift was less about what it actually was than what had been on her mind when she chose it. All of her gifts were thoughtful, in a way he had almost never known before. She knew him, better than maybe anyone ever had, except for his sister. Her knowledge of him was the greatest comfort he knew.
All around him, the entire world seemed to be exploding or on fire, and the flames drew closer every day. Yet, he felt peaceful, creeping quietly out the back door, scanning the bushes for signs of furry creatures. Sarah led the way, as always, holding his hand, guiding him. He heard the slight rustling, and she turned to him, her finger pressed over her lips to shush him.
He watched a rabbit slowly hop out onto the lawn. Skittish, twitchy, the rabbit froze when it saw them. Sarah stayed perfectly still, like a statue. One inquisitive leporine eye regarded them, the rabbit's nose winking, as it smelled the humans so close by. Chuck expected the animal to flee, but it did something surprising instead. It crouched down, then stretched out, relaxedly sunbathing in the long, intense rays of the afternoon sun.
"He's so cute," she whispered, keeping her eyes on the rabbit.
"He's not afraid of us," Chuck whispered. "He must be used to us, since the burrough is so close to the house."
"Animals can smell things we can't," she explained. "Like if we were afraid, or angry." She paused. "I think he can smell us…and he knows we won't hurt him. He can smell how kind you are."
Chuck smiled, warmed by her innocent words and their heartfelt intonation. He tried internally to describe the emotion he felt, but was not able to put a word to it. He wondered what the rabbit sensed, and what the creature thought. Sunbathing there, stretched out, it seemed to know everything. He wished he could ask the rabbit, and get an answer.
A/N: Thank you, Zettel, for pre-reading. Historical notes: September 16, 1940...FDR signed the Selective Training and Service Act, the first peacetime draft in the history of America. Drafting began in October of 1940, 21 to 35 year olds, with the service length of one year. Without notice one year later, a law passed by one vote in Congress, the ages were broadened to 18 to 45 and the length of service extended. (After Pearl Harbor, the age was lowered to 17.) Keeping true to their "real" ages, Casey is 19 years older than Chuck, which made him elligible for the draft. Also, keep in mind, in the 1930s (or even 1950s) the attitude of the general population towards children born out of wedlock was MUCH different than it is now. The setting is important in this story. Also, that cute little twitching that rabbits do with their nose is called "winking." Leporine is to rabbit as Bovine is to cow. A word I use at work...never dreamed I would use it in FF. :)