January
Pat came home from work to see Kate sitting on their porch swing, a serious expression on her face. Sarah sat beside her but as he approached, his wife stood and went inside. At once, he knew something terrible must've happened.
"Ye look like someone's died," he said. He sat down beside her.
"That would be da. Here." She handed him a letter. "It's from our mam."
Pat looked at the letter. The very first line read: 'Your father is dead.' He almost had to admire their mother's bluntness as she was never one to mince words. It still took him a moment before he could continue on. The rest of the letter described the funeral and, at the bottom, was a request for them to come home. He sighed as he glanced at the date on the top right corner. The letter was written a month ago. Their father had been dead for a month and they hadn't known. It felt strange.
"Ye were always closer to him than I was," Kate said quietly.
"I still haven't seen him in…" He counted the years in his head. "Twenty-three years. God, it's been twenty-three years since I was last in Ireland."
"Thirty years for me." She looked at him. "When's the last time ye've heard from either of them?"
"It's been a few years," he admitted. "She still hasn't forgiven me for leavin' ye here. Twenty-three years for da. Ye know he didn't like writin'." Their father hadn't learned to read and write until he was in his twenties and had never felt confident in his ability.
"It feels strange to think that we won't see him again." Kate took the letter back from him and looked at it. "Mam wants us to come home. It's been a long time since we were in Ireland. Are ye goin' to go?"
"I can't," Pat answered quickly. It wasn't that he didn't want to see their mother again. He knew it would likely be his last chance to see her. But he couldn't think about going without also thinking about leaving Sarah. And, that, he couldn't do.
"Pat."
"I can hardly keep me family fed," he explained. "I can't be gone for several weeks. Everyone would starve, especially now that we don't have John's income."
"We have plenty of money," Kate said. "We could keep everyone fed. That wouldn't be—"
"No," he cut her off. "I can't go. I can't do it. I don't want to do it." He gave her a sideways glance. "And what do ye mean by we? Ye not plannin' on goin' yerself?"
"I have a baby."
"Evy's eight."
"Fine then. I don't want to go on a ship again. The very thought sends a chill right through me," she admitted. "And then with Tommy in the Army and all of us at war, I need to be home in case anything should happen."
"John's in the army too." Another reason he couldn't leave his family alone.
"So, neither of us are goin' then," Kate said. "Maybe she'll understand."
"No, she won't," Pat stated. "Ye know she won't."
"I'll try to explain." She carefully folded the letter. "Maybe she'll be willin' to come here. I'd like her to meet her grandchildren." She smiled. "And her great-granddaughter."
"Ye think that likely?"
"No, I suppose not."
"Is this terrible of us?" Pat asked.
"We're doin' our best." Kate looked at him. "Are ye alright?"
"I'm fine," he replied. "I knew it was comin'. The man was in his eighties."
"Still, he was…" She sighed. "I suppose I best get back to me children. I'll talk to ye later."
After Kate had gone, Sarah poked her head out the door. Pat thought she must've been watching for their conversation to end.
"Katie tell ye?" He asked.
"She did," Sarah came out and sat beside him. "Are ye alright?" She rested her head on his shoulder.
Pat wrapped his arms around her. "I'm fine," he replied. But he tightened his grip nonetheless.
They had all gathered outside the building, talking nervously while they waited for the tear gas training to begin.
"I heard someone died last time," Don said. He fidgeted with the flap of his gas mask pouch.
"I doubt they'd put us in any sort of situation where we could die," John replied. "During training, I mean. I'm sure there will be plenty of opportunities to die later on."
"Sure they would," Tommy joined the conversation. "Some recruit dropped on a twelve mile hike yesterday. Heart attack or something. Oh, finally."
John joined the others filing into the building. The room was dark with the windows already shut. As soon as the last man had entered, the door was shut as well. At once, he began to feel claustrophobic, being trapped in such a small room with so many other men. A similar nervous energy seemed to ripple through them.
A man up front, one of the officers—he thought it might've been Sergeant Mullins—did a last minute demonstration on using a gas mask. John took a deep breath. There was nothing complicated about it. He knew what to do. Once the bombs went off, he would put on his mask. Simple. Easy. He wiped his palms on his pants and wished it was over already.
Then it was time. The tear gas bombs were set off and a fog began to fill the room. John immediately took a deep breath. His fingers scrambled against the pouch slung across his chest as he pulled out his mask. For the briefest of seconds, it was upside down and then he flipped it around and pulled it over his head. His lungs began to burn as he tightened the straps. Once he was certain it was secure, he let out the breath he had been holding. His eyes stung from the tear gas but he could breathe. He wasn't coughing. He had done it.
He looked around the room. Others had not been so lucky. The man next to him still fumbled with his mask. In his growing panic, the man dropped it. John picked it up and forced it over his head.
When the door opened and they filed out, everyone removed their masks but the man continued to panic. Hyperventilating, coughing so hard he couldn't breathe, clawing at his own mask still on his head.
There was something too familiar in the man's panic. John approached him and removed the mask he had just put on. "You need to breathe," he said softly, a hand on his shoulder. "Take a deep breath. You're alright." It was the words he had heard his mother say to his father many times growing up.
"Clarke!" Sergeant Mullin's voice broke through his thoughts. "That's enough."
John immediately shut his mouth and stepped back.
"Willits," Sergeant Mullins turned his attention to the panicking man. "As you were clearly not paying attention during the demonstration, you will be going back in and doing it again."
"I can't—"
"You will do it again and again and again until you can do it correctly."
Don't do it. Don't say anything. John knew it would be best to remain quiet. Tommy was certainly remaining quiet. He glanced at him and saw that his cousin stared straight ahead, seemingly lost in thought. But then he looked at Willits and saw that the man was visibly trembling. His face had lost all color. John thought he had never seen someone looking so unwell in all his life and he made up his mind.
"Sir," he spoke up and, at once, he could feel the weight of everyone's eyes on him. "I think he should go to the hospital."
"Oh, you think that, do you?" Mullins stepped closer to him. "Are you questioning my authority?
"No, sir." John tightly gripped the gas mask still in his hands. He wished he could take back what he had said.
"Perhaps you'd rather be in charge."
"No, sir."
"You know what I think? I think you will rerun the training with him. As many times as it takes."
John sighed. "Yes, sir," he said, all the while silently cursing inside his head. He knew he shouldn't have spoken up and he knew that he'd be lucky if extra tear gas training was all the punishment he received for questioning an officer. But he also knew that his mother would've been disappointed if he hadn't said a word.
The aluminum rolling mill was going to be finished soon. Cal had visited the site several times and always left stunned at the sheer size of everything. The mill floor covered fifty-three acres while the entire complex filled nearly a square mile. Everything seemed unnecessarily large to him but he was always assured that that was simply how large an aluminum mill should be. He was also assured that so long as everything went smoothly, they would be able to begin operations just before summer. Assuming he found someone to run it.
Cal knew it wouldn't have been too difficult to find a willing man but finding a willing man he trusted was another matter entirely. Ideally, he hoped that Arthur would want to step into the role. With Victor managing the steel mills, it would only make sense for his other son to take charge of the aluminum ones.
But every time he casually broached the topic, Arthur changed the subject.
Finally, he was forced to be more direct. "Arthur," he began. "I'd like you to run the aluminum mill."
His son, with his head bent over his sketchbook, took a moment to respond. "I don't think…I'm not sure," he stammered.
"You're not sure?"
Arthur shrugged.
"Would you stop drawing and look at me?"
Reluctantly, Arthur looked up from his work. "I don't know anything about aluminum," he said.
"And you think I do?" Cal asked. "Do you think Victor knew anything at all about steel? You'll learn on the job."
"I don't think Victor knows anything at all."
"This is a good opportunity for you. And I shouldn't need to mention the advantages of keeping the management within the family. There'd be no one I trust more."
"Except Victor." He began drawing once more.
Cal watched him, his frustration growing by the moment. "Arthur." He reached over and pulled the sketchbook from his lap. "You've spent more than enough time sitting around doodling. It's time you grew up. You're going to do this."
"I don't want to run the damn mill."
"It's not about what you want to do—"
"No, it's only about you and what you want."
Cal sighed. He knew that he had gone about it the wrong way but he wasn't sure what he could have done differently. When he offered Victor the steel mills, he had accepted at once. "I swear, your brother never gave me half the trouble when—"
Arthur rose from his seat. "Then maybe you should go and ask him." He snatched the sketchbook back. "I'm sure he'll be more than happy to run everything all at once."
"That's not what I meant."
"No? Sure sounds like it. I'm sorry I'm not him." His son turned to leave.
"Arthur, stop." Cal called to him but Arthur kept walking. "Goddamn it," he muttered, bringing a hand over his face. He should have had Kate offer the position. He had never known her to say the wrong thing.
John tried not to take it personally. It wasn't a difficult task. It was one he had done a dozen times already. But it was the simple fact that it wasn't his turn that made it so much worse. He dunked his mop into the bucket before sloshing it onto the floor, the floor that always looked dirty no matter how many times it was mopped. He sighed as he glanced at the long row of toilets that still waited for him. He had been saving them for last in the strange hope that something would happen—a sudden deployment or perhaps a tree falling onto the building—and he wouldn't have to clean them.
John, on his way to dunk his mop once more, paused at the sight of Tommy standing in the doorway, an amused expression on his face. "What do you want?"
Tommy shrugged. "Just wondering what your mother's going to say when she finds out that you were being insubordinate."
"I wasn't being insubordinate."
"No? What was it Mullins said…questioning his authority or something like that?"
John pushed the mop beneath the row of sinks. "I think some men should have their authority questioned from time to time."
Tommy snorted. "With that attitude, if you're not careful, you're going to end up in charge."
"Not likely."
"Why'd you have to speak up anyway? You had to have known what would happen."
"That man needed help."
Tommy shook his head. "That man won't survive two minutes once we go overseas…unless you're planning to help him along the whole time."
John leaned on the mop as he stared at his cousin. "We're not overseas yet. And I'm not going to refuse to help someone just because I'm afraid of a bit of latrine duty."
"You're a better man than me," Tommy said. "I hate latrine duty." He lightly drummed his fingers on the doorframe. "You want some help?"
John looked at him in surprise. "I'm nearly finished but the toilets still need cleaned."
"Couldn't I just empty your mop bucket for you?"
John nearly rolled his eyes but stopped himself at the sincerity in his cousin's voice. "Sure. Have at it." He handed Tommy the mop and turned to tackle the toilets. "God, I hate the Army," he muttered.
"You and me both," Tommy replied.
February
Arthur walked beside June, holding tightly to Alice's hand. The toddler had insisted on walking by herself despite her mother's fear of icy patches. June, meanwhile, was stuck pushing the empty stroller before them, one eye kept constantly on her daughter.
"Have you decided what you're going to do?" She asked.
He shook his head. "There's nothing to decide. I don't want to do it. I wish he'd leave me alone about it."
"You know that you're fortunate to have a father willing to offer you such a good job." She paused as Alice stomped on a bit of snow. "It is a good job, isn't it?"
Arthur shrugged. "It pays well but that doesn't matter to me."
"Another bit of your fortune," she said. "Pay matters a great deal to most people."
"Who's side are you on?"
"Yours, of course," June insisted. "I'm just trying to help you view things a bit differently."
At once, he felt guilty. "Sorry."
"You're forgiven," she replied simply.
They walked in silence for a time, moving slowly. Alice nearly slipped on a bit of ice but with a surprised 'whoa,' she recovered her balance.
"When I first came here," Arthur began once they started moving once again. "He…" He felt self-conscious and it was a struggle to continue on. "He always made a big deal out of my drawings. But now it's like nothing about me is…God, I sound like a child. I don't mean to sound like a child."
"Arthur." June stopped walking and put a hand on his arm.
"I don't know what I want out of life but I know I don't want to manage his aluminum mill. Just the thought of being stuck in an office day in and day out or maybe surrounded by noisy machinery, having to fire people…it makes me want to throw myself into the river."
"Have you told him that?"
"Of course, I have," Arthur snapped. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…" He let out a sigh. "You know, he once told me that I had always been his favorite but it's clear to me that he wishes I was more like Victor."
"Well, I don't believe that one bit."
Alice chose that moment to let go of his hand and sit on the ground.
June lowered herself to the toddler's level. "Alice, dear, do you want to ride in your stroller?" She asked her.
"No."
"Do you want to keep walking?"
Alice huffed. "No."
"Do you want to be carried?"
"Pick up."
"I have her." Arthur scooped up the toddler. "We should probably be getting back. I think it's getting colder."
June turned the stroller around. "No offense," she said as they began walking once more. "But I find it difficult to believe that you told your father everything that's on your mind."
"He doesn't want to know what's on my mind." Alice had wrapped her arms around his neck, her head against his shoulder.
"Regardless, I still think you should tell him," she replied. "You might be surprised to learn that your father actually loves and cares about you."
Arthur thought of her words and sighed once again. He had already made his mind clear enough to his father and his father hadn't changed his mind regarding the mill. He didn't see what else he could do.
It was a tiny, dark place, filled with cigarette smoke and the stale smell of spilled liquor. A jukebox somewhere in the depths of the room played twangy music that Tommy had never heard in Spokane. But everyone else seemed to enjoy it as several people drunkenly sang along to a few of the songs. He didn't mind the music as it wasn't about that. He was there for the energy, the liquor, the people, the young woman he had been eyeing all night. Every so often, she met his gaze and a smile spread across her face.
Slowly, he pushed his way closer and closer to her until she was right beside him. He looked at her and she smiled at him. It was too loud for conversation but he wasn't looking for conversation. He didn't know what he was looking for. But the young woman seemed to know as she suddenly grabbed his arm and pulled him onto the dance floor.
The floor–too crowded to dance properly–was packed full of couples, all clinging tightly to each other, many of the men wearing uniforms. The woman wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her close, as close as they could be to one another. The song ended and suddenly her mouth was on his, his fingers entangled in her hair. She smelled of jasmine but tasted like gin. He wanted her desperately.
But then, he was being pulled away. His cousin stood between them. "He's married," John said to the young woman.
She looked disappointed but the disappointment was fleeting as she soon found another GI to smile at.
John kept a tight grip on his arm as he steered him through the mass of people and out into the cool night air. "Do you remember June?" He asked.
"Who?"
"Your wife."
Tommy thought of June and wondered what she was doing at that precise moment. "She's not here," he said.
"No, she's not," John agreed. "And you shouldn't be either. Bed check is in two hours."
"I've plenty of time."
"Yeah? What if you can't find a ride?"
"I'll walk."
"With how drunk you are, you're more likely to end up in Jacksboro."
"I'm drunk," Tommy said. "I mean, I'm not drunk. I'm not that drunk." He watched as John flagged down a passing truck as though he was watching a play. Nothing felt real. He touched his face then shook his head. "Maybe I'm a little bit drunk. But not drunk drunk."
"Ha." John hopped onto the back of the truck. "You're going to feel like shit tomorrow."
"That's tomorrow's problem," Tommy replied as he pulled himself up.
The truck began to move, bouncing and jolting over the uneven road as it picked up speed. Tommy leaned against the sideboard and closed his eyes to the cool air that blew over his face. He thought of the young woman from the club and felt guilty but couldn't explain why. He had only kissed her. And he was drunk. Drunk kissing wasn't real kissing. Nothing was real when liquor was involved. Nothing was real until the next morning when the realness was twice as real to make up for the unreality of the night before. "I wish she was here," he said suddenly.
"Who?"
"June."
"I didn't think you were that keen on her," John replied. "Despite marrying her."
Tommy shrugged. "I don't know. She's not bad. I don't mind her." He tried to remember what she looked like. Blonde hair and her eyes were blue. Alice had blonde hair as well and his smile. That's what his mother said. "I still wish she was here."
"You're an enigma," John said. "You know that?"
"That's alright," Tommy muttered. He closed his eyes once more.
When he opened them again, the truck had stopped at the camp entrance. Tommy jumped down from the truck bed, feeling unsteady on his feet, while John thanked the driver.
"You think we're going overseas?" Tommy asked as they walked the remainder of the way back to their barracks.
"Eventually."
"I hope it's sooner rather than later."
John looked at him in surprise.
"Sooner we go, the sooner we can go home." Tommy never felt so homesick as he did at the very end of a night of drinking. "God, I wish we were going home. I miss everyone"
"Me too," John replied with a sigh. "Me too."
Sarah had wanted to make a special meal for Valentine's Day but the thought of cooking something special filled her with dread. It ended up being a pleasant surprise to discover that Dottie was a fairly good cook despite how much the young woman claimed to hate cooking. Together, they were tackling a chicken pie.
"You're sure this will turn out right?" Sarah was slowly adding to a large pile of chopped potatoes.
"Not at all," Dottie replied. She dumped a ball of dough onto the counter in front of her . She was the one responsible for the pie crust.
"It's not too late to call Aunt Kate," Eileen pointed out. Recently home from school, she sat at the table, munching on an apple. Her schoolbooks were piled in front of her and, with a small smile, she opened the top one. Inside were a small pile of valentines. She took them out and made a show of flipping through them.
"Are those from all of your secret admirers?" Dottie asked.
"Not so secret," Eileen replied. "They're from all the boys."
"All of the boys?" Sarah set her knife down and went to look over her daughter's shoulder.
"Absolutely. Look at them all." Eileen fanned them out.
Sure enough, each one bore a different signature: Chester, Calvin, Richard, Gene, Albert. Each written in a loopy handwriting. There was something odd about them that she couldn't quite put her finger on but she pushed the feeling of unease aside at the sight of Eileen's smiling face. Sarah gently kissed the back of her head. "That's very nice but don't tell your father you have so many boys after you. He might not be so impressed."
"I won't." Eileen gathered the cards up. "But it's not like I'm seeing any of them. They're just sweet on me."
"Well, when you do pick one, just be sure to pick a smart one." Sarah returned to her chopping. "But not too smart. You want to make sure you're in charge."
"Are you in charge of dad?"
"I'm sure he would say that I am."
Eileen laughed as she tucked the cards back into her book.
It was the handwriting that seemed strange. "Eileen, did you…" Sarah saw the look on her daughter's face: hopeful, happy, wanting to be believed. "Want a cup of tea?" It was a poor attempt to redirect her question.
"No, thanks." Eileen rose from the table. "I'm going to go put these away so they don't get lost.
After she had gone, Dottie gave Sarah a look. "Did she write those herself?"
"Of course, not," Sarah replied at once. "She's a wonderful girl. Why wouldn't all of the boys send her valentines?"
"Or maybe they're all from the same boy?"
"Why would someone do that?"
Dottie shrugged. "Teenagers rarely make sense." She carefully lifted the rolled out pie crust into the waiting pie tin.
Sarah scooped up the chopped potatoes and dumped them on top. "Maybe." Secretly, she suspected that Dottie was right. The handwriting was too similar on each of the cards and it worried her that her daughter may have been hiding some unhappiness.
"I think we were supposed to cook those first."
"But the whole thing is going into the oven later. Why would we need to cook them twice?"
"The oven's only to cook the pastry."
"Oh."
Dottie laughed as she dumped the raw potatoes into a pan. "How has your family not starved yet?"
"We eat a lot of sandwiches," Sarah admitted with a smile. "It's hard to mess those up."
March
It was one of the first sunny days of spring and the moment Kate awoke, she gathered everyone's laundry, the sheets, the towels, several blankets, anything at all that could be shoved into the washing machine and hung out onto the line to dry. While the clothesline was used year round, there was something special about the spring sun that seemed to make a world of difference. At least, that was the argument she used to rope everyone into helping.
"So Arthur still won't do it?"
"He'll do it," Cal replied. He ran a hand along the clothesline. "He's reluctant because he's afraid of…I don't know. But once the building is finished and he's able to get his feet wet, he'll be fine."
"I see." Kate busied herself, trying to coax a large sheet to lay flat on the line.
"What do you see?"
"I don't think ye should be pushin' him so hard. If he doesn't want to run the aluminum place—"
"Mill."
"Mill. Ye shouldn't force him." She shook her head. "Ye can't force him."
Cal sighed as he took hold of one end of the sheet and pulled it straight. "Someone has to run it and Victor can't because he's too busy with the steel factories. I—"
"Mills."
A small smile crossed his face. "Steel mills," he corrected. "I suppose I could do it but I wouldn't know the first thing."
"I truly hope yer appreciatin' the irony of forcin' yer son to do something yer too afraid to do yerself." Kate grabbed another item from the laundry basket.
"I want Arthur to be successful."
"I'm not disagreein' with ye but ye push him too hard and he'll leave. Ye can't make him into someone he's not and ye'd be foolish to try."
Cal picked up a towel and held it in his hands. "I don't want to make him into someone else. I love my son how he is," he said. "But it still doesn't solve my problem."
She took the towel from him and pinned it to the clothesline. She had been thinking about the mill for the past few weeks and had her own idea about who should run it but she was reluctant to bring it up. "Cal?" She began tentatively. "Ye trust me, right?"
"I do."
"And ye'd do whatever I say?"
"Kate, where are you going with this?"
"I don't want ye to say no right away but I've been thinkin' about yer problem." She hesitated. "I think ye should ask Pat to do it."
"Pat?" Cal looked at her in surprise. "What would he know about managing an aluminum mill?"
"He knows more than Arthur," she insisted. "He's been workin' in that place, makin' cars for two years now. Or parts for cars…I'm not entirely sure what he does."
"Cars aren't made of aluminum," he replied.
"Ye can't deny that he's a hard worker."
"I'm not denying anything of the sort. I just can't see him as a…" His voice faltered at the look on her face.
Kate folded her arms across her chest and turned to face him. "Cal, I don't want ye to get offended with me askin' ye this but how many of yer reservations are due to Pat bein' of a lower class than yerself?"
"Kate."
"Maybe ye just can't see someone like him workin' in a management role? So much so that ye rather have someone who's never worked a day in their life over someone who's worked nearly every day since they were fourteen except for the time he wasn't workin'. Pat knows how a factory works."
"He…he's uneducated."
"So am I and ye like me just fine."
"I do but I'm not asking you to run an aluminum mill."
"Why not? Ye don't think I can do it?"
"Of course, I think you can…Kate, what do you want me to say?"
Kate had been prepared to yell at him some more but her expression softened at the look of complete panic on his face. "Pat's me brother," she said in a gentler tone. "He and Sarah need the money. Neither one will ask for help but I know how much they're strugglin' with John bein' gone."
Cal stooped to pick up a pillowcase. "Would he even accept it?"
"If ye tell him that he's the best one for the job and that ye couldn't possibly find better, he will."
He let out a sigh as he turned away from her to pin the pillowcase onto the clothesline.
She put a hand on his arm. "If ye love me, ye'll ask Pat to run the mill."
"I'll ask him," he replied. "But it's not because I love you, it's because you're usually right."
"Ye sayin' ye don't love me?" Kate feigned a distraught face.
Cal wrapped his arms around her. "I love you so very much. If you don't know that by now, I can't help you."
She smiled. "I love ye too," she said softly. "Please be kind to me brother. We grew up in a very different world than yerself and he's had it harder than is right or fair."
Guard duty was one of the most boring things Tommy found himself forced to do. Twenty-four hours waiting in the guardhouse for absolutely nothing to happen—he assumed guard duty overseas would be more exciting. Every four hours, he would be driven to some random place to wait for another four hours before being brought back to the guardhouse to wait, once again. The absolute worst were the overnight hours as there were dire consequences for being caught asleep.
Tommy currently sat in a tiny guardhouse, hardly large enough for a single man, positioned on a road that led into camp. Not only was it the middle of the night, there was also nothing around in any direction—not even the smallest amount of hill—and the whole thing felt pointless. What could possibly happen in Texas of all places?
All within the first hour, he had taken his M1 apart and put it back together a dozen times. He had counted how many steps it would take to walk around the tiny building (twelve). Then he tried to see the smallest number of steps it might take (eight). He wished he could've used the time for rifle practice but none of them were allowed ammunition outside of training. And while it wasn't difficult to acquire some—the man he had relieved had offered him some that he had pilfered earlier in the day—he didn't want to get into any trouble. The very thought made him sigh. What had happened to him? Usually, he wouldn't have cared.
He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and he swung his M1 around. A tiny yellow and black lizard stared at him from the rocky ground. Intrigued, he took a step closer to it. The lizard blinked then scurried away, vanishing into the darkness.
Tommy was so tired. His eyes felt so heavy. He couldn't wait until he was relieved. But then what? He checked the time. Three hours left at that location then still another twelve until he was finished with guard duty and could return to his barracks and his bed and everyone else.
He went inside and sat at the tiny table, putting his head on his arms. His thoughts inexplicably drifted to June. She really was pretty. He recalled the time he first met her at that dance hall. It wasn't his fault for approaching her. Warren had left her all alone. He thought of the other girls who used to climb through his window late at night when his family was asleep. June was the only one to insist that he climb through hers. He had always believed that she didn't have much backbone but she really did. Hers was in a quieter way. A gentler way. Softer.
There was a high-pitched yipping and Tommy snapped his eyes open, his heart pounding. "Shit," he muttered, looking around. He was still alone and he breathed a sigh of relief. If anyone had caught him sleeping, it was a sure court martial or something worse. He brought a hand over his face, slapped himself to wake up.
He went outside and stared up at the stars. Their sky was filled with them, more than he had ever seen in Spokane. He wondered what the stars would look like overseas. He knew enough to know that they would be different but not enough to be able to tell the difference. Or so he assumed. He let out a breath at the thought of going overseas. They were at war. He could die. He suddenly felt dizzy and he lowered himself to the ground. He had never considered his own death before. What would he do if he were to die? Would anyone even care aside from his own mother?
Tommy found himself thinking of June once more. Would she be heartbroken if it were to happen? He thought it unlikely. He sighed as he stared into the darkness. He didn't think he'd mind if she were heartbroken for him.
Despite agreeing to Kate's wishes, Cal still struggled to figure out how to ask Pat in such a manner that would lead to him accepting the job. His brother-in-law was a bit like a bloodhound; he had an uncanny ability to sniff out the faintest whiff of anything he thought might be charity.
Finally, Cal went to Pat's job and waited by his car. He realized how poorly thought out that was the moment he saw the look of panic cross the man's face. "Nothing's wrong," he quickly said.
"Then why in hell would ye show up here like that," Pat snapped. "I thought something must've happened to Katie."
"No, she's fine. I just wanted to speak with you."
"And it couldn't wait?"
"It…probably could but I'm here now."
Pat crossed his arms. "What is it?"
"Are you enjoying your job?" Cal asked.
"That's what yer here to ask me?" His voice was incredulous.
"Yes."
Pat still looked unconvinced. "It's fine. Better than workin' in a silver mine at any rate."
"I suppose most things are," Cal replied. "How much does it pay?"
"Are ye lookin' for a job?"
"No, I'm only curious." Cal wished he had thought to let Kate ask her brother. It would've made everything so much easier.
"It pays enough."
"How much is enough?"
Pat narrowed his eyes. "Why are ye askin'?"
There was no going back at this point. "My aluminum mill will be ready for operations in a little over a month and I still need a plant manager."
"And yer hopin' to poach someone from me job?"
"I'm hoping to poach you."
Pat stared at him. "You're mad."
"I'll pay you $6,000 a year and you'll have free reign to run it however you see fit."
"I'm not qualified."
"You're more qualified than my son who is my only other option." Cal chose not to mention that his son had already refused the job multiple times.
"I'm not educated."
"You can read and write and do basic arithmetic," Cal said. "I can't possibly see what else you would need to know."
Pat sighed. "Katie's makin' ye ask me, isn't she?"
"She did bring you up," he said slowly. He didn't want to lie but he also didn't want to admit to the entire truth. "But that doesn't matter. I think you'll do a fine job at it. You're a hard worker and you're honest. That's all that really matters to me."
"Ye have some very low standards then."
Cal suddenly remembered Kate's words. "You're the best man for the job and I couldn't possibly find anyone better," he said, repeating them aloud.
"Fine," Pat gave in. "I suppose I could give it a try. Probably put ye out of business in a week."
"Excellent." Cal couldn't believe it worked. "How are you with unions?"
"Unions?"
"You'll likely have to negotiate with them from time to time."
"I think I might be in one."
"You think?"
Pat shrugged. "I don't rightly pay all that much attention," he explained. "I prefer to just do me job and go home."
Kate trusted her brother to do a good job and Cal trusted Kate. He hoped he wasn't making a mistake. "You'll do fine," he repeated. "Now, there's some paperwork you're going to want to go through and you probably should start hiring now. I'd also contact the local steelworkers union. I think aluminum workers might fall under their jurisdiction but I'm not entirely certain. I don't know a thing about aluminum."
The look of panic had returned to Pat's face.
Cal slapped him on the back. "I'm glad this is settled. Now I better get home. I'll see you later." He turned to go before the man had a chance to respond. He wanted to be long gone before he could change his mind.
April
Sarah laid beside Pat but neither one was sleeping. He was clearly distracted and she wasn't feeling tired. "Patrick," she said softly, using his full name. She placed a palm on the side of his head and gently turned his face towards her. "What's on your mind?"
Pat reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze. "Cal asked me to run that mill he's building."
She smiled. "That's good of him." She had already known that Cal had asked him about the mill and had been wondering when he would mention it.
"It pays fairly well," he continued. "Eileen could go to college and ye wouldn't need to work anymore."
"I like working." She leaned forward to kiss him.
"I meant ye could still keep workin'."
"What did you tell him?"
Pat hesitated. "I wanted to tell him no but I said I'd do it."
"You don't want to?"
"I'm not qualified, am I? What do I know about managin' people? What do I know about aluminum?"
"Well," Sarah intertwined her fingers with his. "I may not know much about managing but I do know that you're hardworking and kind and that's all that matters. You're going to do so wonderful."
"I'd be managin' men who finished high school whereas I…I never…I'm not smart enough."
She took a deep breath and nestled against him. "Just because you were never given the chance doesn't mean that you're not smart."
"Cal brought over a great sheath of paperwork to look through and I swear, half of it is in a foreign language."
"Patrick Murphy," Sarah said firmly. "I know you. I know your good qualities and I know your bad qualities and I can tell you that you're honest. You're hardworking. You're kind. And, regardless of what you might believe, you're intelligent. You can do this job. I know you can."
Pat brought her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her fingers. "So what are me bad qualities then?"
"You don't have enough faith in yourself. You're a terrible driver."
"Too fast?"
"Too slow," Sarah replied. "And, you have an irritating tendency to keep things to yourself." She kissed him once more. "Cal offered you the job last month—Kate told me. I've been wondering for weeks when you were going to tell me."
"Sorry."
"It's alright," she said. "I still love you."
Mineral Wells was much less interesting during the day. There were so many GIs filling the sidewalk and so many MPs driving up and down the road, that it felt a little too much like being back at camp. In an attempt to escape that feeling, John ducked into the canteen.
The canteen was also filled with GIs, sitting quietly at the tables, some writing letters and one group playing a card game. Music—the twangy kind that Tommy hated so much, John personally didn't mind it—played from a radio that was set up on the stage. He knew that there were occasionally shows held there but he had never seen one.
He walked up to a large table that sat at the back of the room, filled with rows of upside down coffee mugs and several steaming pots of coffee.
The young woman behind it immediately flipped a mug over and filled it to the brim. "Not much happening here today," she said cheerfully as she held out the cup. There was a slight drawl to her voice.
John took the coffee from her. "I like when there's not much happening."
"If you can wait a few, there's a fresh batch of donuts being made."
"I can wait."
He brought his mug over to an empty table and took a seat. He sipped the coffee slowly. It wasn't very hot but it was strong which he thought made up for the temperature.
After a moment, the young woman brought over a plate piled high with steaming donuts. She set it on the table and slid into the seat across from him. "Hope you don't mind me joining you. There's not much else going on right now."
"It's fine." John picked up a donut from the pile and took a bite. "This is good."
She smiled. "We do donuts right here," she said. "Where're you from?"
"Spokane, Washington."
"My, that's far away." She took a donut. "You must miss your family terribly. I know I would if I had to move so far."
"I do miss them," he said. "I wish I was home right now."
"Well, we all appreciate the sacrifice you're making. You're doing a good thing."
John laughed. "I haven't done anything yet except clean the latrines a dozen times and march in lines."
"I'm sure you'll be doing great things before much longer."
He looked at the donut in his hands and started breaking it into pieces. He didn't want to be thinking about what he might be doing before much longer.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to worry you." She tilted her head to one side. "I bet you have a girl back home."
"I have a wife."
"Is she pretty?"
John smiled. "Inside and out."
"You should invite her down here."
He tried to imagine her in a barrack full of men and shook his head. "I couldn't do that to her."
"Why not? Lots of men have their wives down here. That's why there's never any rooms to rent. They take them all."
John drained the remainder of his coffee. "I still don't think she'd like it."
The young woman reached across the table and placed her hand on his arm. "Texas ain't so bad," she said. "I imagine she'd be over the moon if you asked her down." A large group of GIs came barging in through the door, bringing noise with them. "Shoot, best get back to work." She jumped up from her seat. "It was nice talking to you."
John watched as the new arrivals swarmed the table, helping themselves to coffee and donuts. He really did wish Dottie was with him. They had spent so little time together since they married, even before he enlisted. The thought of writing to her, asking her to come, felt ridiculous. She wouldn't do it. She couldn't do it.
He thought he might ask her, regardless. Just in case.
Alice's birthday was in March but June wanted to wait until April to celebrate it so they could hold the party outside in, hopefully, nicer weather. They brought the kitchen table into the backyard. A white tablecloth was spread over it and colorful crepe paper taped to the edges.
While June took her time attaching a poster of a donkey to a tree, Arthur set out paper party hats at each table setting, pausing only to stick one on his own head. He looked up at her. "Don't you think Alice is a bit too young to Pin the Tail on the Donkey?"
She shrugged. "It'll be for us then." She turned to look at him and laughed. "What are you wearing?"
Arthur touched the hat on his head. "I was just trying them out."
"You look ridiculous."
"You bought them," he replied. "And I do not."
"I know but…"
He picked up a pink hat and approached her. "Here."
"No, it'll mess up my hair."
"And you need your hair to look nice for a two year old?"
"I want my hair to look nice so it looks nice."
Arthur attempted to place the hat on her head but she ducked under his arm. "Get back here," he exclaimed with a laugh, pursuing her around the table. Finally, he managed to catch her, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her briefly off her feet. She let out a happy shriek.
"Arthur," Kate suddenly called out to him. "Would you give me a hand with this?" She had been busy sticking bottles of coke into a metal tub full of ice. She gestured to one side of it.
"Of course." He helped her carry it to the table.
"It's such a shame that Tommy's missin' this," Kate said. "I can't imagine how difficult it must be, bein' away from his wife and daughter." She gave him a pointed look as she spoke.
"I can't imagine," he replied, immediately taking the hint. He removed the hat from his head. "But I'm sure he'll be home soon."
June looked uncomfortable and mildly guilty. "I think I'll go see if Alice is up from her nap yet," she said as she quickly slipped away.
May
"If you're not out here in fifteen minutes, you won't get breakfast."
"Fine by me," Eileen called back. "Not hungry anyway." She leaned in close to her mirror as she removed the final pin from her hair. She frowned at the results. There was no denying that the pins had curled her hair but the curls weren't smooth like they should be and they turned in all the wrong directions. She grabbed a brush and pulled it through but it only made it worse. She hated that she wasn't allowed a curling iron. All the other girls in school used curling irons on their hair. With a sigh of resignation, she slipped a small flower-shaped barrette on one side of her head. She wished she looked older.
Eileen stepped back and looked at her bare legs. The other girls wore nylon stockings but her parents claimed nylon stockings were too expensive. It didn't matter that her own mother wore a pair whenever she went out. She wasn't even allowed liquid stockings—both of her parents claimed they were unnecessary and bizarre. She picked up an eyebrow pencil that she had swiped from her mother and, carefully and slowly, drew a line down the back of her leg. She turned in the mirror to see if it was straight. Looking from one direction it seemed fine but looking from the other, it drifted slightly to the left. Unsure what else to do, she quickly did the other leg. She hoped that it would look real from a distance. If she kept moving, perhaps no one would know the difference.
"Eileen, now!"
"In a minute," she yelled back. Eileen picked up a tube of lipstick and carefully applied it to her lips. Then she stepped back once more.
Her hair was all wrong, her stockings were pretend, and her dress had capulet sleeves. No one wore capulet sleeves anymore. Altogether, she looked awful. She sighed as she tried to pinpoint anything at all that looked right. She supposed the bright red lipstick was fine. And she didn't mind her eyes. No one had blue eyes like her. Still, it'd be better if she had a curling iron and real nylon stockings. And a dress that had been made within the last few years.
"Eileen!"
"Coming now!" Eileen called as she left her room.
She stepped into the kitchen where her mother and Dottie were eating breakfast.
"Lipstick off," her mother said at once.
Eileen huffed but did as she was told. She had been expecting it.
Dottie was the one to drive her to school, picking up her cousins on the way. Once they arrived, Eileen hung back as the rest piled out of the car. She looked at Dottie. "Could I borrow your lipstick?"
Dottie reached into her bag and pulled it out. "Just be sure to wipe it off before you get home. I can't afford to have another set of parents throw me out."
"No worries." Eileen blew her a kiss as she stepped out of the car.
She walked into the building feeling confident and pretty. Heads turned as she walked by and she smiled. She spotted a group of her friends and hurried to join them.
"...we wanted to marry before he left but my mama says I need to wait until I'm eighteen," Virginia was saying.
"Who'd you want to marry?" Eileen asked.
The girl ignored her. "It's preposterous if you ask me. I mean, he could be dead by then. Joan." She turned to one of the others. "You have someone in the Army too, right?"
"Air force," Joan replied.
"My brother's in the Army," Eileen said.
Every girl in the group turned to look at her. "Your point?" Virginia asked.
"I was just saying. He could die too."
"You want your brother to die?" Patty laughed.
"No, of course not."
"Then why'd you say it?"
"I was just...I only wanted…" Eileen's voice faltered.
The group looked at her for a moment longer before returning to their original conversation. "I suppose I should be lucky that they only want me to wait until I'm eighteen," Virginia mused. "As you remember, they weren't too keen on us going steady at all on account of him being so much older. But they changed their mind once he enlisted. No waiting around to be drafted for him."
"That's so heroic," Patty said wistfully.
"My brother enlisted too," Eileen added. "He's been at Camp Wolters for a year now and he'll probably be going…"
The group stared once again. "Are you in love with your brother?" Virginia asked.
"What? No, of course not."
"Well, you talk about him an awful lot."
"I don't…"
Laughter erupted and Patty subtly edged in front of her, cutting her off from the conversation.
Eileen tried to regain that confident, pretty feeling that she had had as she entered the school building but it felt so difficult to grasp. She looked around the hallway and spotted a young man. With a final glance at the group, she distanced herself and approached him.
"Hi, Richard," she said, putting a large smile on her face.
"Hi, Eileen," he replied.
"Did you get my note?"
"Note?"
"I put it in your locker."
"Oh, that. I'm sorry that you—" The overhead bell interrupted him. "Need to get to class," Richard said, turning away.
Eileen replayed his words over and over again in her head as she walked to class. She replayed them as the teacher droned on and on. I'm sorry that you...what? He was sorry that she wrote the note? He was sorry that she likes him? He was sorry that he's not interested? Sorry that he thinks she's a hideous monster who isn't worth loving? She took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the teacher's words. Spiraling into worst case scenarios wouldn't do her any good.
During lunch she sat with the girls but she ate in silence. She knew better than to try to join their conversation—they were discussing boys, once again. She wished she was a part of it but couldn't figure out how to insert herself in a way that wouldn't lead to her wishing she would be swallowed up in a giant hole.
"Eileen," Virginia suddenly turned to her. "Would you be a dear and take my tray up for me?"
"I...um...sure."
Before she realized it, every other girl at the table had piled their trays on top of hers. It was a heavy pile and she struggled to carry them. After unloading them, she realized that there was something on her dress.
Eileen slipped into the restroom. She took a paper towel and, after running it under the water, she dabbed at the spot on her dress. She could feel tears burning in her eyes and she forced herself to take several slow deep breaths to calm herself down. She couldn't cry at school.
A group of girls came in after her and took over the remaining mirrors to fix their hair and reapply their lipstick. They sniggered together and Eileen's face burned. She was certain they must've been talking about her.
As the group was leaving, one of them turned to her. "You have a little something on your leg."
Eileen looked and, sure enough, the eyebrow pencil had smeared. Feeling panicky, she tried to wipe it off but it only smeared more. Frustrated, she removed her lipstick instead. It didn't matter any more. The day couldn't end soon enough.
The rest of the day was a blur. Eileen kept her head down and tried to will time to move faster.
Finally, the last bell rang and she nearly ran out of the building to where Dottie waited to take her and her cousins home. As she settled into the front seat, she breathed a sigh of relief.
"How was school?" Dottie asked.
"Wonderful," Eileen replied with a forced smile. "I got so many compliments on my dress and Richard totally flirted with me."
"Richard?"
"He's really swell," Eileen explained. "And so good looking."
"That's very nice then," Dottie said. "And your classes?"
"All fine."
"That's great. Henry?" Dottie turned her attention to the back seat. "Your turn. How was school? Bridget, you're after him and Evy, you're after her."
Eileen stared out the window as Henry launched into his day. She wished she didn't have to go to school tomorrow or the next day or ever again. She never minded the classes but it was the people that made everything so incredibly impossible.
Tommy typically received mail a few times a week, usually from his mother and he had received a letter twice so far from Cal. But receiving a package was rare. He stared at the slightly squashed box in his hands and prayed that it was full of cookies.
Back in his barracks, he set the box aside and opened a letter from his mother. True to his wish, the box indeed contained cookies. She mentioned it before anything else alongside a request to share them with John. There was also a mention of an aluminum mill opening—he didn't understand what that had to do with anything—but it seemed like a big deal. His uncle was the one running it. Tommy looked to John to tell him but his cousin was busy reading his own mail. With a sigh, he returned to his letter, the rest of which went on and on about his daughter's second birthday party and how much he was missed.
He opened next a letter from June:
'I hope you're doing well,' she wrote. 'And I hope you're managing to enjoy yourself at least a bit. Do you get yelled at like in the movies? If anyone does yell at you, please let me know. I'll come down there and set them straight.'
Tommy smiled at that.
'I know this might not be your thing and you're welcome to send it back, but your mother thought it was a good idea. This was taken at Alice's birthday party. Don't be fooled by her smile. I know she misses you as we all do.'
He reached into the envelope and pulled out a photo of June and Alice. His daughter, wearing a paper party hat and a wide grin, stood in front of her mother who was smiling as well.
'Ps. I think she looks more and more like you everyday. She might have my hair but everything else is all yours, especially her smile.'
"Is that your girl?" Someone asked, looking over his shoulder.
"Wife."
"She's a pretty one."
"She is." His mother had once said that he had inherited his father's smile. And now, as he stared at his photo and his daughter's smile—the one that June said was so much his own—he came to the sudden realization that, in a peculiar sense, he was seeing his father, a man he had never had the chance to know, through his daughter. There was a lump in his throat.
"Can I have a cookie?"
"Like hell you can," Tommy snapped. Then, seeing that it was John who asked, softened his tone. "I mean, sure. Just don't take them all." With a sigh, he tucked the photo back into the envelope along with June's letter. Then he placed it into his foot locker among the other letters he had received, where they would all stay safe.
When Pat had reluctantly agreed to run the mill, he hadn't realized that it would be several buildings, massive buildings, larger than anything he had seen before. Hot and noisy, full of massive machinery, all of it a mystery to him. Every morning, he walked through each and every one of them, inspecting the facilities—although he didn't know what he was looking for—and waiting for someone to call him out as a fraud.
He reached his office—he'd never get used to having an office all of his own—and shut the door, shutting out the noise of the mill. He sat at his desk—he had a desk!—and stared at the paperwork that covered the surface. There were production reports, shift reports, budget reports, maintenance reports, an endless pile of paperwork, all of which needed his attention. Pat pulled one forward and slowly went through it, line by line:
'Total Tonnage Rolled: 180 tons, 'Production Efficiency: 94%'
He skipped ahead.
'Operating Income Margin: 8%, Projected Operating Income: $1,321'
He could feel the panic start to set in.
'Projected Current Assets: $8,546, Projected Current Liabilities: $4,736'
He couldn't do it. He was a fraud. Everyone must know he was a fraud.
'Projected Net Cash Flow: $1,321'
Every number was like a foreign language. Nothing made a bit of sense. He brought a hand over his face. "Basic arithmetic, my ass," he muttered.
There was a sudden knock on the door and he started. He took a deep breath, attempting to pull himself together, attempting to look as though he belonged. He opened the door, and there stood Sarah. Immediately, Pat pulled her into a tight hug, feeling instant relief.
"I got lost three times trying to find your office," she said. "You didn't tell me this place was so big. How's it going?"
"Great," he replied without much enthusiasm. "It's…it's fine. Everything's fine."
"Pat," she said softly, pausing to kiss him. "You know that I'm so proud of you." Letting go of him, she drifted over to his desk.
"What are ye doin' here?" Pat asked.
"I was on my way to work and I wanted to see you," she replied. "I really can't stay very long."
"This is very far out of yer way."
She smiled. "I left the house an hour early.
He wrapped his arms around her from behind. "Ye could just stay here all day." He pressed a gentle kiss on her neck.
"My boss wouldn't like it." She turned around until she faced him. "I really should be going. Otherwise, I'm not going to be able to leave. And I should probably let you get back to your work."
"You don't have to go," he said. "I don't have to get back to work."
"I nearly forgot." She reached into her purse and pulled out a photograph. "I realize it might be a bit presumptuous to give you a picture of myself but I thought you might want to keep it on your desk." She looked at it and frowned. "I wanted to give you one of all of us but we don't have any photos of the entire family," she continued. "As soon as John comes home, I want to fix that."
"It's perfect," Pat said. The photo showed Sarah sitting outside, half-blinded by the sun. A baby Eileen sat on her lap, looking off to the side, her attention taken by something long forgotten.
"Now, I really should be going." Sarah kissed him. "I'll see you when you get home. I love you."
"I love ye too."
After she was gone, Pat returned to his desk and propped the photo up against the lamp, where he could always see it. He took a deep breath as he pulled the paperwork forward. "I can do this," he said to himself. He looked at the first sheet and began, once again, at the top. No matter how difficult it was, no matter how much his brain screamed at him that he didn't belong, he took the job for Sarah and Eileen. He took it so Eileen could, one day, go to college. So he could finally buy Sarah a ring with a stone in it, maybe even her own washing machine. He was doing it for them.
June
It started with a letter from Cal. It had clearly been opened and poorly resealed. Fabrizio hid the envelope from Lelia. He didn't want to worry her any more than she was already worried. He did casually mention that perhaps they shouldn't write to him for a time. Italy was at war with the United States and there were no words for how much he didn't want anyone to get the wrong idea about them, particularly as Lelia still held an American citizenship.
And then he was dismissed from his job. It came suddenly and without warning. He hid that from Lelia as well. Each morning, he still went out, picking up whatever odd jobs he could find, purchasing each day's food from his meager wages. Whatever lire were leftover, he put aside in the hopes that they would soon have enough to leave. But at the rate that he was saving, the war would be over long before they had enough. It felt so pointless. Despite his constant assurances to his wife, he still hadn't figured out how to get them to safety. Fortunately, the air raids had grown rare and spread apart.
Fabrizio wished he could ask Cal for help. He wished he could ask him for money as with enough money, they wouldn't need to worry. Before heading home, one day, he stopped in the post office. He wasn't sure if it was only the mail that they received that was being read. He hoped they might be able to send a letter out. Perhaps, one could slip by whomever was watching them. Cal would know what to do.
"Surprised it's you and not your wife here," the man working behind the desk said as he slid a small sheet of stamps forward.
"Excuse me?"
"Your wife. She's the one usually sending letters, right?"
Fabrizio counted out a few coins and handed them over. "My wife sends no letters."
"Well, I'm sure she won't be sending them soon."
He felt a flicker of unease. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The man shrugged. "Nothing can get out of the harbor, nothing can go out by train, how much longer do you think mail can be sent? No one will be sending letters soon."
"I see." He took the stamps and left in a hurry. As he walked away he glanced back and saw the man standing in the doorway, watching him.
He reached home and immediately found Lelia. "No more letters to Cal," he said.
"I haven't written to him in awhile," she replied. "You didn't buy any food?"
"No, I forget," Fabrizio admitted. "I'll go back out and find something. But…" He hesitated. He knew he couldn't keep things from her any longer. "They reading our letters. The ones that come to us and I'm sure the ones we send."
"What?"
"The last letter from Cal, it had been opened already. Might be a mistake," he quickly added. "And maybe they read everyone's letters. But I don't want problems."
Lelia looked at the children sitting at the table, engrossed in their schoolwork, oblivious to their parents' current worries. Her brow drew together as she fidgeted with her wedding ring.
Fabrizio took her hand, feeling grateful that she didn't pull away. "I'm sure it's nothing to worry about," he said. "We both be more careful and everything will be fine. Now, I'll go buy some food. What you want?"
"A meat and a vegetable," she said. "Bread if you can find it. Maybe potatoes? Whatever we can afford."
He smiled. "I'll see what I can do."
Fabrizio left feeling hopeless. It'd be a miracle if he could afford half of what she wanted. "Why I have so many children?" he muttered as he stepped out onto the street. It'd be so much easier if it were only Lelia and himself.
John sat in the day room, crafting a letter to Dottie. He wanted to tell her about every little thing that had happened to him since his previous letter but he struggled to capture what it was truly like. Everything had settled into a sort of routine: he woke at the same time every day, breakfast, classes, lunch, training, supper, boredom, bed. Even when they bivouacked in open fields outside of the camp, the routine had hardly changed.
He picked up the pen and began to write:
'We spent the last few days sleeping in pup tents outside of the camp. It is strangely beautiful here, the way the land stretches on forever. Lots of short trees and scraggly looking bushes. Tommy disagrees with me. He says it's too hot here and that the temperature overrules anything that might be good. But I think he was just being grumpy because something had bit him the first night. You know, there are supposed to be snakes out here but you don't need to worry. I've been here over a year now and I haven't seen a single one.'
He thought of that night. Tommy had insisted it must've been a snake or a scorpion but John thought it was more likely a fly as, aside from a great deal of itchiness, his cousin was fine.
'It did rain the first night we spent out there which was a nice change from the usual brutal heat. I only wish the rain had lasted longer.'
He recalled how his tent had flooded until he figured out how to dig a small ditch around it.
'We recently spent some time at the rifle range. It felt nice to finally be able to fire our M-1s considering we've been carrying them around for a year now. You should know that I qualified as marksman my very first time. It's not nearly as impressive as it sounds as there's two better classes (sharpshooter and expert). But at least I qualified. Not everyone did.'
Tommy had actually managed to qualify as sharpshooter. His cousin was surprised and wondered aloud if it was because he had fired a gun once before. John thought he must've been lying. He couldn't imagine his aunt ever letting him anywhere near a firearm.
'Some of the other married men have had their wives move down here to be close to them. I know I can't ask you to do such a thing—I love you too much to subject you to Texas—but, perhaps, you could visit for a weekend. I could manage a two day pass and it'd be nice to see you one time before we're sent to the Pacific—'
He crossed the last bit out and wrote: overseas, instead. Despite the Pacific only being a rumor, he still didn't think it would make it through the censors.
'I can wire you the money if you need it. I need you. I miss you. I want to see you. Please.'
John signed his name at the bottom. He stared at it a moment longer before adding:
'Ps. Tommy's wife sent him her photo and it's incredibly unfair that you haven't done the same for me. I hope you remedy this at once.'
"June," Kate began. They sat beside each other on the front porch while Alice played in the yard.
The young woman looked at her.
Kate hesitated. She knew what she wanted to say but had a hard time starting. She wanted to be delicate. She wanted to be understanding—and she did understand. "I know sometimes our heart can get away from us and it can be very difficult to pull it back even when we know it's the right thing to do." She felt as though she was speaking nonsense.
"You're talking about me and Arthur?"
"Arthur is a very nice young man." Kate was relieved that she caught on so quickly.
"Handsome too."
Kate smiled. Arthur looked a great deal like a younger version of his father. "He is," she agreed. "But ye made a vow to me son and I know me son is far from perfect—he has his demons and he has treated ye unfairly. I won't deny it." Even as she's speaking, she understood how it sounded. "I don't want anything to get to the point where someone's heart is broken."
June sighed. "I'm afraid we may be past that point, if I'm being truthful."
Kate looked at her and wondered whose heart she was referring to. Her own? Tommy's? Arthur seemed the most likely one as it was obvious how quickly he had fallen for her.
"I could love Tommy, you know," June continued. "If he only made a bit of an effort. Maybe if he wasn't hurting so much."
"Hurtin'?" Kate knew her son had his problems but she had never attributed any of them to hurting. She felt guilty at the inference as though she should have known. She was his mother, after all.
"Tommy's hurting," June said. "I don't know why but I knew he was hurting the first moment I met him. I think that's part of what drew me to him. I like taking care of people."
"June…" Kate briefly wondered whether she was crossing a line, speaking of something she had no business bringing up. "Tommy's stepfather was a...a violent man. He had a difficult time acceptin' a son who wasn't his—Tommy's own father having passed a month before he came into this world. He was…" She shook her head. "I know I've done wrong by me son. I should never have married that man. I've often wondered if I've ruined Tommy's life." She looked at June. "I don't want to see Arthur's heart broken—he's a sensitive young man—but I also don't want to see me own son's heart broken either."
"Tommy's not in love with me," June insisted.
"I know how stubborn me son is," Kate said. "He wouldn't have married ye if there weren't some feelin's there, likely deep down. He might not even know they're there."
June looked uncomfortable as she watched her daughter pulling up handfuls of grass. She let out a soft sigh. "I wish he'd come home. It'd make everything less complicated."
"Me too." The fact that Tommy and John hadn't been sent overseas yet gave Kate hope but, unless the war was to end soon, she knew that hope could only last for so long.