July

"Coupon thirteen is valid for five pounds of sugar through August 15th. But stamps fifteen and sixteen are good for five pounds each for use in home cannin'," Kate furrowed her brow as she read the book. "How would they even know how we use the sugar? Do ye think they're spyin' on us in our own homes?" Ever since rationing had begun, every trip to the store was filled with the same frustration and confusion.

In order to help each other out, Sarah had insisted they do their shopping together. "They couldn't," she said. The rationing rules were strict but she couldn't imagine any of it going so far.

"And how are we supposed to be gettin' by on one pound of coffee?"

"That's only through August and I think each person gets a pound," Sarah stated. "Why else would everyone have their own ration books?" She picked up a can of green beans and stared at it. "Sixteen points for green beans?" She shook her head. "That seems high to me." She set the can back on the shelf and sighed. "I think I'm ready to call it."

Kate looked into her basket. "What do ye intend to make with potatoes, ground beef, elbow macaroni, and coffee?"

"I'll just toss it all together and bake it. If my family loves me, they'll eat it without complaining."

They reached the checkout counter and Kate added a can of tomatoes to Sarah's pile. "It'll make a difference," she explained.

Sarah handed the ration book and a few dollars to the grocer and watched as he removed the appropriate stamps. Once finished, she stepped aside.

"What's the point of all of this?" Kate asked the grocer the moment it was her turn.

"It says right here in the book," the grocer said. "It's to help feed our boys overseas."

"By starvin' their families back home, ye mean."

"Kate," Sarah quickly intervened, hoping to cut her off before she started yelling. "No one's starving. Let it go."

Kate huffed. She snatched her book back and tossed it into her basket. "Fine." She picked everything up and followed Sarah out of the store. "This is absurd. I'm not goin' to be able to cook anything halfway decent."

"I know but what choice do we have? Here." She extricated the coffee from her own basket and set it in Kate's. "You can have this. None of us drink it. Now, are you going to tell me what's really bothering you?"

Kate sighed. "It's just…it's been so long since I've seen Tommy, ye know. I know how he gets into trouble and I keep thinkin'…well, anything could happen to him and I wouldn't know."

"You know that if something happened, you would know," Sarah said. "And you're forgetting that John's there. Tommy's not alone."

"It's just hard not knowin' what's happenin'."

"I know." It was something that Sarah tried hard not to think about. She knew that once she started worrying about John, she'd never be able to stop. "By the way," she said, giving Kate a light nudge. "You can also have all of our sugar so long as you share whatever you make with it."

"I always do," Kate replied.


John had arrived early to the bus station to meet Dottie the moment she arrived but, naturally, the bus was late. Instead of his wife, all he found were a crowd of other people, all eagerly waiting for their loved ones to arrive. He found the only seat available and tried and failed to keep the worries from his mind. What if the bus wasn't coming? What if Dottie wasn't on it when it did arrive? Surely someone would've told him if plans had changed.

After an eternity of waiting, the bus rumbled to a stop. He immediately jumped from his seat. The door opened and so slowly people began to file off the vehicle.

Dottie was the last one off. She stepped away from the bus, a suitcase clutched in her hand and looked around anxiously. Her eyes caught sight of him and she smiled.

All at once, everything from the past year and a half vanished. John rushed forward and swept her into his arms. He touched her face, her hair, her arms, her hands to ensure that she was really there. He kissed her lips, her cheek, her throat, and would've kept going if she hadn't placed her fingers over his lips and pushed him back.

"John," she said with a laugh. "We're in public. Control yourself."

"I've missed you so incredibly much."

She ran her hands over his shoulders, straightening his uniform. "It was a long bus ride and I'm tired so how about you miss me once I get to my room." Her cheeks suddenly blushed pink. "I didn't mean it like that. You did say that you found me somewhere to stay for the weekend, right? I'm not staying in your barracks with you and the rest of your company."

John laughed. "Yes, you have a room," he said. "There's a woman I know with the USO who has a spare bedroom. She says you're welcome to it."

"Woman?"

"You have nothing to worry about. You're ten times prettier than her."

"Only ten times?"

John picked up her suitcase in one hand and, with the other wrapped around her waist, steered her away from the bus station.

"Will she be there?" Dottie asked suddenly. "I mean, will we be able to…you know?" Her cheeks were pink once again.

John laughed. "You think I haven't considered that?" He planted a light kiss on her cheek. "I intend to make the most of my two day pass."

"Good Lord. You're lucky I like you."

The following morning, they sat outside of a diner eating breakfast—outside due to it being hotter inside. Dottie had devoured a plate of french toast in what must have been record time.

"Are you not eating at home?" John asked as she stole a forkful of eggs from his plate.

"Not anything this good," she replied. "And I'm not speaking of your mother's cooking. Everything's rationed like crazy and rather than figure out how it all works, we've been living off the garden."

"Lots of peas?"

"Peas, squash, and salmonberries."

"Good harvest this year." He picked up his plate and scraped half the remaining eggs onto her own. "How is everything else going?"

Dottie shrugged. "Fairly good, I suppose. Your father's still running the aluminum mill. I think he's finally getting the hang of it because he doesn't look nearly as panicked when he leaves in the morning as he used to."

"There's no more worrying about money then?" His father getting the better paying job was a huge weight off his shoulders.

"No worries but there's nothing to buy with it. Everything's rationed," she explained. "Eileen's been begging for a few new dresses but with fabric rationed and there's such strict rules on the sort of dresses that can even be sold—no hoods, no more than one pocket." She shook her head. "I offered to let her wear some of my dresses but apparently I'm old and no longer stylish."

"Were you ever stylish?"

"More stylish than you." Dottie finished the eggs and licked her fork clean. "I thought I might get a job," she said.

"Really?"

"With both of your parents working and Eileen at school, there's not a lot to do during the day. I'd like something to do." She looked at him expectantly.

"I think that's a great idea," John said. "But not anywhere dangerous. So no sawmills or silver mines."

She laughed. "I'm not interested in either and that sawmill closed down years ago."

"It did?"

"I saw a mention in the paper."

"Good." He still hadn't forgiven them for what they allowed to happen to his father. Closing was all they deserved. "Where do you want to work?"

Dottie shrugged. "I don't know yet. But I do know that we'll be needing a house as soon as this is all over with and one of us should probably start saving money."

"I send any extra money home to you so if I'm not saving, it's your fault."

"Hard to argue with that reasoning." She smiled. "Have you heard of the Women's Army Auxiliary Corps?"

"No," John replied. "You're not thinking of joining that, are you?" He had never heard of it before but, as it had the word 'Army' in it, he assumed it must've been something terrible.

"Of course, not. Don't be silly," she replied. "I just think it sounds interesting."

"I don't think women should be fighting. It's bad enough that us men have to do it."

"I doubt they're letting women fight. I think it's more of secretarial work. Filing things, answering phones, that sort of thing."

He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't have mentioned it if she merely found it interesting but he did not want to be the sort of man who would tell his wife what she could or couldn't do. Not only was Dottie strong-willed enough to do whatever it was she wanted regardless of his feelings, he also believed that she truly could do anything. He reached across the table and took her hand. "Just be safe."

"Safe?"

"Whatever job you end up taking," he clarified. "I already have a great deal to worry about and I don't want to have to worry about you as well."

"You know me. I never take risks."

"Except for all of those trees you used to climb."

"I'd have never met you if it weren't for me climbing trees."

John thought back to that day when she had dropped a pinecone on his head, nearly twenty years earlier. Twenty years. He could hardly believe how long they had known each other. He could hardly remember a time when she hadn't been there for him. He realized, suddenly, that she had asked him a question.

"John?"

"What?"

"I had asked if you've spoken to Jimmy at all since you told him about us."

John shook his head. "He's been avoiding me and I've been sort of avoiding him. It's probably for the best."

Dottie looked down at her empty plate. "I'm sorry that I put you in the position of having to tell him. I know I should've ended things with him long before. But, you couldn't make up your own mind and I think I was afraid. I didn't want to hurt anyone." She drew the tines of her fork across the dish. "Instead, I hurt everyone."

He squeezed her hand. "You didn't hurt me."

A small smile graced her face.

"I take it your parents haven't come around yet?"

She shook her head. "No but at least I have you. And your family's been wonderful." She pushed her plate away. "I've been sleeping in your room. I hope you don't mind."

John smiled. "I don't mind," he said. "I only wish I was sleeping there with you."


Pat had once promised to buy Sarah a ring with a stone in it and, for the longest time, he never thought it would happen. For years, he could hardly keep his family fed, let alone buy unnecessary jewelry. But now, thanks to the aluminum mill, he found himself with money for the first time ever. He still disliked working there—would he ever stop feeling like an imposter?—and there were days where he genuinely wondered if being able to afford food was worth it, but he had fallen into a routine that made it tolerable. At the very least, it was better than the dark tunnels of the silver mine as his office had a small window.

Fighting the guilt that always accompanied spending money on something that wasn't meant to keep them alive, Pat stepped into a jewelry store and picked out a ring with three tiny diamonds. He chose one with the slimmest band they had, hoping that Sarah would be able to wear it next to her wedding ring. He knew her well enough by then to know that nothing would've convinced her to replace it with another ring, no matter how many diamonds decorated it.

Coming home, he found her in the kitchen, busy smashing a hand of bananas in a bowl. There were other bowls spread across the counter and flour dusted everything, including her nose.

"Bananas?"

"Banana bread, I hope," she replied with a smile. "Your sister gave me a recipe."

"Ye have some flour on yer nose."

Sarah wiped her nose with the back of her hand, making it worse. "Better?"

He grinned. "Better."

She gave the bananas one final mash with the spoon, then set the bowl aside. She wrinkled her nose. "It's hard to believe that something as unappetizing as slimy banana mush can turn into such nice bread. I hope I'm doing all of this right."

"I'm sure ye are." Pat reached into his pocket for the ring. He held onto it, keeping it out of sight. "Do ye remember when I asked ye to marry me?"

"How could I forget?"

"And ye remember when I gave ye this?" Taking her hand, he ran a finger over her wedding ring.

"Yes."

"Do ye remember what I said about it?"

"Pat, you don't need to buy me a fancier ring. I'm happy with this one. It's perfect."

"Aye, ye can say that but I am a man of me word." He held out the ring. "It's not too fancy but I did promise ye a ring with a stone on it. This one actually has three stones so maybe I went a bit overboard."

Sarah stared at the ring in silence.

He felt a momentary flutter of panic. Maybe he shouldn't have bought her another ring. "I can return it if ye like?"

Sarah smiled. "It's beautiful," she said, giving him a kiss.

"It has a small band. The jeweler said ye'd be able to wear it next to yer weddin' ring. Like this." He took her hand and slid the ring onto her finger.

"Pat."

"I want to buy ye nice things," he said, cutting her off. "I want to take care of ye, not just keep ye alive."

"You do take care of me and I don't need nice things," she said softly." All I need is you and John and Eileen. Nothing more." She looked down at the flour on her apron. "And maybe a washing machine. Like what Kate has."

Pat smiled. "I've already looked into it."

"And?"

"Naturally, all large appliances are currently bein' rationed," he replied. "But I've already set the money aside and assumin' there won't be another market crash, ye'll have one the moment the war ends."

August

Cal walked into the living room and a feeling of foreboding started in the pit of his stomach. Arthur sat on the sofa, his face pale, staring at a letter in his hands. "Arthur?"

His son immediately tried to hide the letter.

"Let me see it?" Cal held out his hand.

Arthur hesitated then slowly held it out.

Cal hardly needed to read it to confirm what he had already suspected. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not going."

"We went over this with Tommy. If you're selected, you don't have a choice."

"Can't you fix it?"

"Fix it?" Cal sat beside him.

"Talk to someone. Call in a favor. Pay someone off." There was a plea in Arthur's voice that Cal hadn't heard since he was a small child standing at his door in the middle of the night.

"Arthur, that's not—"

"I can't go. I can't do it," Arthur insisted. "I can't do any of it."

"You can't or you don't want to?" Cal asked. "You can handle this."

"Please don't make me go."

"I'm not…" Cal ran a hand over his face and sighed. "Do you think I want you in the Army? You think I want you fighting?"

"Clearly you must because you won't do a damn thing to help me."

"I can't do anything."

Arthur glared at him. "If it was Victor who had been selected, you'd have done—"

"For God's sake, there's nothing I can do," Cal snapped, cutting him off. "This is the law. And I know you don't like it but there is nothing I can do to change it so you might as well be a man and accept it."

Arthur let out a breath. His hands were clenched into tight fists. "What good is having money if you can't do a damn thing with it?" He stormed out of the room.

"Arthur," Cal called to him but his son kept walking. He knew he had said the wrong thing, had gone about everything the wrong way. He didn't understand why Arthur couldn't see that there was nothing he wanted more than to keep him home, safe.

"What's gotten into Arthur?" Kate asked as she stepped into the room. "I've never seen him so upset."

Cal handed her the letter. "Do you think you could speak with him? He refuses to listen to me." He left the house before she had a chance to respond.

He climbed into the car and began to drive, the guilt he felt only increased from pushing Arthur's anger off onto Kate. He knew he should've, somehow, handled it himself but Arthur never listened to him when he was angry—everything he said would only make it worse.

It was almost without thinking that he parked the car and found himself sitting at a bar, a glass of gin before him. He couldn't remember deciding to go there or ordering the drink but there he was and there it was. He picked up the glass and studied the clear liquor within. It had been so many years since he had last had a drink. Kate would be so disappointed if she knew where he was, what he was about to do. But he had never needed a drink so desperately. He couldn't shake the feeling that should anything happen to Arthur, the blame would lay firmly on his shoulders. His son had a right to feel angry. He was helpless. It was too much.

Cal lifted the glass to his lips but then paused. Kate wouldn't be disappointed; she would be heartbroken. She trusted him more than he deserved, believed in him when she shouldn't, always stood by him. With a great amount of effort, he set the still full glass down and pushed it aside. He tossed a couple of dollars on the counter and then, without a word, left.

"Cal?"

He turned to see Sarah walking up, a basket in her arms, looking surprised. "I wasn't drinking," he quickly said.

"You were in a bar."

"But I wasn't drinking. I promise."

She still looked unconvinced.

Cal saw that her basket was full and wondered if she had walked to the store. There were clouds building in the distance and he thought it might rain soon. "Would you like a ride home?" He asked. "Beat the rain."

Sarah still hesitated, her eyes flicking to the bar then back to him.

"I promise I haven't had a drink," he insisted. "I almost did. I wanted to, but I couldn't do it to Kate."

"Alright then."

They both got into the car and Cal started it. "I hope it rains," he said as he pulled out onto the road and started to drive. "We could use it."

"So what happened that nearly made you drink?" Sarah asked suddenly.

He had known the question was coming. "Arthur was just selected. He received the letter today."

"I'm so sorry."

"He begged me to get him out of it," Cal continued. "He wanted me to bribe someone."

"And you won't do it?"

He shook his head. "I couldn't do it. It wouldn't have worked. And I know it wouldn't have worked because I tried when Tommy was selected. I was nearly arrested for it."

"Arthur didn't take it well?"

"No. He told me I must want him in the Army and that I would've done more if it had been Victor," Cal said. He paused before continuing. "Am I a terrible father? I feel like one."

"No," Sarah answered quickly. "We both know that we can't protect our children from everything. And sometimes they even volunteer to do stupid, dangerous things. Sometimes, I don't know how John is still alive." She looked at him. "If it helps any, John says that it's not so bad. I'm sure Arthur will be fine."

"That's funny. Tommy says every second is torture."

"And John says that all Tommy does is complain," she said, smiling.

"Now that's something I believe." He pulled up in front of Sarah's house just as a few tiny drops began to fall from the sky.

"It's too bad that Arthur wasn't selected a year ago," Sarah said. "He might've found it easier if he was with John and Tommy instead of being on his own."

"I doubt that would've mattered much," Cal replied. "Please don't tell Kate that I was in a bar."

"Can you swear to me that you didn't touch a drop?"

"I swear on everything and everyone that matters to me that I didn't drink."

Sarah smiled. "Alright then. I believe you." She opened the car door. "Your secret is safe with me."

Cal waited until she was safely inside before heading home. He drove slowly so as to put off the moment he arrived for as long as possible. He doubted Arthur would be any happier with him and there was a strong possibility that Kate might not be too pleased with him either. He sighed. Why did he always seem to make things worse?


Kate wasn't surprised that it fell to her to try to mend the relationship between father and son. Cal and Arthur both had difficulties listening to one another any time their conversation turned into an argument. She didn't know if it was stubbornness or an inability to express what was truly on their minds but she often found herself caught in the middle of them.

But this was one time that she found herself unable to fix things. Arthur refused to speak to her as much as to his father, choosing, instead, to shut himself in his room. She was at a complete loss.

While she was in the middle of contemplating her next move, Henry approached. "I need you to sign this," he said, handing her a sheet of paper, with the top folded down. "It's for school."

"School?" Kate moved to unfold it.

"Don't!"

If she hadn't already suspected something shady was going on, Henry's reaction told her everything. She gave him a sharp look as she unfolded the paper. She looked down at the page, the part that had been hidden, and read: "Consent of parents or guardian to enlistment of a minor in the Marine Corps—absolutely not."

"They're the only branch still accepting volunteers."

"I don't care if they're acceptin' volunteers. Yer not volunteerin'," Kate said. "Yer not eighteen."

"You only need to be seventeen with a signature."

"Ye'll not be gettin' a signature."

"But I don't want to be the only one left behind."

"Left behind?"

"Once Arthur leaves, it'll only be me and a bunch of girls."

Kate crossed her arms in front of her. "Me underage son is not enlistin' in the Marine Corps. For God's sake, the Marine Corps? What's the matter with ye. I shouldn't even have to say any of this."

"But—"

"I don't care if yer goin' to feel left behind. If ye want to serve, ye can wait until yer eighteen and yer unlucky enough to be selected naturally."

Henry huffed. "You never let me do anything fun." He turned on his heels and stormed off.

"Fun?" Kate wasn't sure what part of enlisting was supposed to be 'fun,' but her children never made much sense. She looked at Cal who had come in at the tail end of the argument. "What is wrong with me children?"

Cal shrugged.

"He tried to trick me into signin' this." She handed him the consent form.

"The Marine Corps?" Cal read. "Henry is certainly aiming high."

"I wish this war would end already." She wished she could keep at least one son safe at home but the longer the war went, the more likely Henry was to end up drafted.

"Soon, I'm sure," Cal replied.

"Ye know, he might try the same trick with yerself. Don't sign anything he might hand ye."

"I couldn't anyway. I'm not his parent or legal guardian."

"I wish ye were," Kate said. "But not so he could join the Marine Corps."

He sighed. "We're going to have to keep a close eye on him the moment he turns eighteen."

"Oh, no worries there," she replied. "I intend to tie him up if need be."


Arthur should have lied. He should have pretended he couldn't read or write or fainted the moment they asked his name. Anything to keep from being accepted. But he didn't think of any of that until it was over and he was given orders to report back in a few days to be taken to the reception center for processing.

His bag was already packed and every time he looked at it, he felt a lump in his throat. Evy had cried the moment he told her he was leaving. It was so unfair. It wasn't right. There were plenty of men eager to join the Army, eager to risk their lives and possibly die. Why should they force him?

Desperate for any way to free himself from it, Arthur had found a hammer in the basement. He brought it to his room, took a seat on the bed, and held it over his leg. A broken leg would heal. A broken leg would keep him home, make him worthless to the Army. A broken leg would be easy. All he needed to do was swing the hammer and he'd be safe.

There was a knock on the door.

"Go away."

The door opened anyway, revealing June. "Arthur!" She rushed forward and snatched the hammer from his grip. "What in the world are you doing? Were you going to break your leg? You can't break your leg."

"No, but you could—"

"I'm not going to break your leg so you can put that thought from your head this instant." She sat beside him. "I wish you weren't going," she said softly.

"I wouldn't be if you could only—"

"I am not breaking your leg."

"Fine."

June reached for his hand and held it tightly. "You're going to be alright," she said. "Tommy says it's not so bad. Boring and very hot, but not too terrible." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "I'll write to you, you know."

"I'm not your husband." He wished he was. He wished he had asked Tommy if he could marry her in his place. He was sure Tommy would've said yes. But he wasn't and he didn't and the letters she might write weren't the ones he wanted to receive.

"No, you're not," she agreed. "But you're my friend and I love you and it's going to be so difficult not having you to talk to."

Arthur stared at his bag, packed and ready to go. "I don't understand why my father won't…" He swallowed hard. He didn't want to break down in front of June, of all people.

"Maybe your father really can't do anything?"

He scoffed.

"Arthur, I know he loves you and I know he would do anything to keep you safe."

"Except try."

"I know you're upset but you're being unfair to him."

"Can we not talk about my father right now?"

"You're the one to bring him…alright, then." June rested her head against his shoulder, her hand still holding his.

Arthur looked at her. "When you said that you love me, what did you mean by it?"

"I meant I love you."

"But was that as a friend or…wait, forget I asked. I don't think I want to know." Having to leave his home and his family was hard enough. He couldn't stand having his heart broken at the same time.

September

Eileen still didn't have nylon stockings even though they were no longer 'too expensive.' She thought it was just her luck that the moment her family were no longer poor, was the same moment that everything made of nylon vanished from the store shelves. She did have two new dresses—'new' because everyone claimed they were new. She suspected they had been repurposed from a couple of Dottie's old dresses as they looked vaguely familiar but everyone denied it whenever she brought it up. She found it difficult to be too upset as whomever did the repurposing had done a good job. They were much more up-to-date than her old dresses. One, a deep blue Kitty Foyle dress, was the same shade as her eyes. That was the one she chose to wear on the first day of school.

She was at her locker, putting her books away, and wondering how many times she could walk past Richard before it became 'creepy,' when she heard someone approach.

"Hi Eileen." A young man stood beside her.

"Hi Gene." Eileen swallowed back the nerves that formed in the pit of her stomach. Gene, usually content to flirt with Virginia and Patty and Joan, had never before said a word to her. It must've been the dress. It certainly wasn't the still nonexistent nylon stockings.

"You look really nice today."

She glanced down at her dress to make certain that there were no tears or stains, to be sure that his comment wasn't mocking. The dress looked flawless. "That's nice of you to say." Feeling her cheeks start to grow warm, she directed her attention to the books in her locker, making a big show of organizing them.

"You know the fall dance?"

"I do." The fall dance had been all she could think about. She had never been invited to any dances before but she was determined to go to this one.

"You wouldn't by any chance already be going with someone, would you?"

"I'm not," she quickly replied. "Not yet." It was too quick. She would seem too eager. "I mean, I haven't given it all that much thought just yet."

"Would you like to go with me?"

Eileen's heart pounded so loudly she was sure he must hear it. Don't be too excited. Don't be too interested. Don't show any emotion whatsoever. "I'd like that." She was pleased with how steady her voice sounded.

"Swell," Gene replied. "I can pick you up beforehand. The dance is at eight so I'm thinking I'll pick you up around seven so that way we can get a bite to eat first."

"I'd like that." I'd like that? She couldn't believe she was repeating herself like a toddler who only knew a handful of words. "I mean, that sounds swell." Better.

"Great. I'll see you around."

The bell rang, Gene left for his class, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had managed to keep her composure throughout the entire conversation. Now that he was gone, all she wanted to do was melt into a puddle of happiness. She didn't know how she was supposed to concentrate in Geometry after what had happened.

Eileen picked up her books and began to walk to her class. The only thing that would've made the moment so much better was if it had been Richard who had asked her. Still, she could hardly be upset. Gene was more popular and had more girls after him. She knew for a fact that Patty was sweet on him. She smiled. Everyone was going to be green with envy.


Of everything they had done so far: obstacle courses, twelve mile runs, endless calisthenics, hours of being forced to watch sex hygiene films, disembarkation training was by far John's least favorite. It looked deceptively simple, a thirty foot tower covered in a giant rope ladder. And all they needed to do was climb up one side and then down the other.

Everyone was so confident before they began, John included. But he only made it halfway before he began to curse everything in sight. The rope ladder twisted and moved beneath his feet. The man in front of him kept stopping, throwing off his momentum. John was relieved when he finally reached the ground once more. He was less relieved when he was told to do it again. And again. The fourth time over the tower, John was ten feet from the bottom when his foot slipped through rope, twisting his ankle, and sending him painfully to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. He took a seat off to one side where he was allowed to watch the rest of his company go over it for the fifth and final time.

He stretched out his foot, wincing at the pain, as Tommy and Don joined him.

"If you were going to break your leg, you should've done it the first time over," Tommy said. "Save you a couple of trips."

"I didn't break it," John replied. "Just twisted my ankle a bit. It'll be fine."

Tommy leaned back. "At least this means we're finally going overseas."

"You think?" There had been so many rumors about when they were going to leave that all John wanted was to get it over with.

"It has to, right?"

"I don't know," Don said. "I heard they were planning on breaking us all up and sending us into other units."

"God, I hope not." John couldn't imagine being transferred away from everyone he knew. "Jimmy," he called out suddenly as he saw the man walking nearby. "Good job on the promotion."

"Go to hell," Jimmy said as he kept walking.

Tommy laughed. "I see he's finally forgiven you?"

"What'd you do?" Don asked, looking between them.

John sighed. "It's noth—"

"John married his fiancé," Tommy cut him off.

"Oh, I see." Don laughed. "I wouldn't forgive you either if you had married my wife out from under me."

John debated which one to hit, finally settling on punching Tommy's arm.

"Hey now." Tommy rubbed the place he hit him. "You know, I'm surprised you didn't get promoted."

"I didn't want to be promoted," John replied. While the extra pay would've been nice, the responsibility that accompanied a promotion frightened him.

"You keep telling yourself that."

"You didn't get promoted either."

"I got a Good Conduct medal and that's good enough for me," Tommy said.

"Everyone got a Good Conduct medal," Don pointed out with a laugh. "All you have to do to earn one is make it a year without getting the clap."

John gave Tommy a shove. "I would say that makes yours all the more impressive."

Tommy shoved him back. "You forget I'm a married man now."

"Doesn't stop half the men here," Don said.

"Well, it stops me." Tommy picked up a small stone from the ground and tossed toward an armadillo wandering by, missing it by several feet. "I'm trying to be good."

"Everyone up!" Sergeant Mullins' voice broke over their conversation. "We're running it again."

John groaned as he got to his feet, carefully testing his weight on his ankle. "I'm going to be climbing it in my sleep." His ankle was still sore but more of a dull ache than a sharp pain. He thought he could manage another climb or two. Not that he had much choice in it.


It was far worse than anything Arthur could have imagined. Packed close together with hundreds of other men, marching all day in the hot sun, being told where to go and what to do, constantly uncomfortable, always in pain. Every morning, he half expected to be sent home for being useless…he prayed to be sent home for being useless. But every morning only brought more of the same misery as the day before.

He laid in his bed at the end of another long day, miserable to his core. Today, they had tackled the obstacle course. A long, drawn out torture made of walls and ropes and barbed wire. Men shouting at him to move faster, faster, always faster. He was never fast enough. Never strong enough. A deep scratch stung on the side of his neck—he couldn't recall how that had happened. A large bruise bloomed across his thigh from the ungraceful way he had fallen over the wall. He held his hands before his face and stared at the blisters on them. He couldn't do it. Why was he even there?

A group of men sat nearby, engrossed in a card game, speaking loudly and talking over one another. "Hey, Hockley. Want to join the next game?" One of them called out to him.

Arthur shook his head, the movement making the headache that pounded behind his eyes worse. "No."

"Come on. You can't just lay there."

"I said no." He looked at his blisters once more and wondered how long it would take for them to go away. The next morning was probably a bit too hopeful.

"You should probably go to sick call tomorrow and get something for those blisters," the man said again. "Don't want to get them infected or anything."

"Leave me alone."

"Fine. I was just trying to be friendly."

Arthur turned away from him and closed his eyes. He felt guilty for snapping. The young man was only trying to be helpful. But he didn't want to be friendly. He didn't want to make any new friends. All he wanted was to simply serve his sentence and go home.

October

For a month straight, Eileen had not stopped talking about the fall dance. Sarah had never seen her so excited about anything in her life. First chance they had, they went shopping for a suitable dress. Sarah had been worried about being able to find something dance-worthy with all of the strict rationing going on and how difficult it was to find anything at all in the stores. But they managed to settle on a slightly too long pale pink dress with short sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. The dress was simple cotton with a single layer of pink chiffon over it. Simple. Legal. Good for both a dance and any other occasion that might require dressing up.

The moment they reached home, Eileen put on the dress and stood on a chair so Sarah could hem it up to an appropriate length.

Eileen couldn't stop running her hands over the fabric. "Do you think we'll be going steady after this?"

"Maybe," Sarah replied through a mouthful of pins.

"That's for the dance?" Pat asked from the doorway.

"It is," Eileen replied. "What do you think?" She tried to spin on the chair but Sarah, holding the fabric, held her still.

"It's very nice," he said.

"I want my wedding dress to be like this," Eileen said. "With the chiffon over it but white, of course. The chiffon makes it look a bit dreamy, don't you think? Do you think Gene would like a church wedding?"

"It's only a dance," Sarah reminded her. "Don't be getting too far ahead of yourself." She wasn't ready to think about her daughter getting married. Not for many, many years, if ever.

"I know," Eileen replied. "I'm just excited. No one's asked me to a dance before."

Sarah stuck the final pin in. "Alright, that part's done," she said, straightening up. "Now, carefully take it off. Mind you don't knock any pins out. I need to know where to sew."

"Can do." Holding the skirt up, Eileen carefully stepped down from the chair and out of the room.

"Can ye believe how much she's grown?" Pat asked. "Seems like just yesterday I was givin' her a tour of the house. A tiny baby in me arms."

Sarah smiled. "And soon, you'll be walking her down the aisle and then it'll be just us in the house."

"I'm not sayin' I'd mind a bit of alone time with ye but Eileen's never marryin' and she's certainly never movin' out."

"Pat…oh, you're not being serious."

"I'm bein' very serious."

She let out a sigh. "We can't hold onto them forever."

"We can try."

"Pat."

"I know." He kissed her. "But only if she finds someone good enough for her," Pat said. "I can't imagine there are very many of those out there. Eileen won't be settlin', that's for sure."

"No," Sarah agreed. "She won't be."


Cal sat on the front porch, staring straight ahead, clearly lost in thought. Kate knew he had been feeling guilty ever since Arthur left, as though he alone was responsible for his son being selected. No matter how many times she reassured him that he had nothing to do with it, the guilt seemed to remain.

She took a seat beside him. Knowing there was nothing she could say to make it better, she simply wrapped her arms around him.

Cal softly kissed her head. "I want a drink so damn bad."

Kate looked at him in surprise. They rarely spoke about his previous problems with alcohol. "I'm proud of ye for not drinkin'," she replied after a moment.

"Right after Arthur received that letter, I went to a bar," he continued. "I even ordered a gin. I nearly drank it but I managed to set it down and leave. I've been thinking about that gin ever since."

"Cal."

"If something happens to Arthur, he is going to die believing that I don't care about him."

"No," she said firmly. "Arthur knows ye care. No matter what he might've said, he knows. And nothing's goin' to happen to him."

"You know, I did try to get Tommy out of it."

"Ye did what?"

"I know you don't approve of bribery—"

"It's illegal."

"Like I said, I know you don't approve of bribery, but I offered every member of the draft board $1,000 to mark Tommy 'unfit for service,' but not a damn one would accept it. Bunch of patriotic bastards."

"Cal." As much as she was angry about the attempted bribery, there were no words for how much she appreciated the effort. She couldn't help but think of Hugh and how he refused to care for a son who wasn't his own. Cal was so different. He cared so much.

"There was nothing I could do to help Tommy and there was nothing I could do to help Arthur."

"But ye tried," Kate said. "That's what counts." She looked at him. "Arthur won't be angry with ye for long. I promise."


They were given very little notice when it was finally time to go. A few days to pack up and then everyone was piled onto a train and sent across the country arriving at the newly built Camp Pickett in Norfolk, Virginia to wait for embarkation. The wait was unpleasant as the weather was cold and rainy and everywhere they went was a sea of mud. They were on alert, no passes were being handed out, and there was nothing to do but nervously wait for the expected order.

"It's Europe," Tommy insisted as he sat on the edge of his bed, trying to scrape mud from his boots. "Where else could we be going?" The Pacific rumor had been squashed weeks earlier but no definite answer had yet taken its place.

"I still don't think we should entirely discount the Pacific," Don said. "Sure every single officer said we weren't going to the Pacific but that doesn't mean we're not going to the Pacific."

"What else could it mean?" Tommy looked to John to get his opinion but his cousin was asleep on his bed. He had been roped into helping pack up the company and the previous night had involved some midnight requisitioning from ordinance. The man hadn't even bothered to unlace his boots before drifting off.

"Did you hear about Willits?" Don asked. "Supposedly, he shot himself in the foot so now that lucky son of a bitch doesn't get to go overseas with the rest of us. No Pacific or Europe for him."

"Lucky him," Tommy replied. "You think he did it intentionally?"

"If it were anyone other than him, I'd say it was clearly intentional. But it's Willits. He's not smart enough to plan something like that."

"Regardless, it's better he accidentally shoots himself now than one of us later."

"Don't be cruel," John spoke quietly from his bed.

"I thought you were asleep," Tommy said.

"You lot are too noisy to sleep." John pushed himself up. "We're going to Italy, by the way. I saw the maps."

"Italy?" Don made a face. "What's happening in Italy?"

"War," John replied bitterly. "What else?"

Tommy sighed. "At least we're finally doing something," he said. "I'm tired of training." More than he was tired of training, he wanted to go home. The sooner they went overseas, the sooner they could kill whomever it was they were killing—Germans, Japanese, whomever was apparently in Italy, the sooner the war could end and they could go home.


Lelia was exhausted. Her eyes and throat stung from the smoke that hovered over the city. Fires still burned from the previous night's raid. She didn't understand why they still burned. Why hadn't anyone put them out? Their home still remained safe, perhaps protected by a miracle. But she wondered about their sanity. Every night she tried to stay awake for as long as possible, watching the children sleep, watching Fabrizio sleep—why did he always seem so unconcerned?—afraid to close her eyes for even a moment in case the sirens should go off. Every morning, Fabrizio left for work coming home late in the day, always with less money than the day before. The children no longer went to school. Some were still running but she refused to let them out of her sight, afraid of what might happen should she not be there to protect them.

She glanced up as Fabrizio came through the door at the end of another day, later than usual.

"When did you sleep last?" He immediately asked.

Lelia shrugged. "I'll sleep when it's safe to sleep." She gave him a hard look. "Why are we still here? We should've left a year ago. No, we should've left years ago."

"I know but—"

"We can't stay here. The city is burning around our home."

"I know. I'm thinking of plan."

"You've been thinking of a plan for years," she snapped. "I don't think you even care."

"Lelia—"

The air raid siren began to wail.

Lelia groaned. Two nights in a row was unthinkable. "Not again." She went to wake the children but they were already awake. "Shoes on. Be quick about it."

Fabrizio picked up Beatrice and held her tightly as they left their home, the stairs trembling beneath their feet.

Outside, the street was packed with people, screaming, running, pushing each other, trying to keep their families together. The many fires burning cast an eerie glow over the city while thick smoke obscured their vision and made their eyes water.

Lelia struggled to keep sight of everyone, struggled to follow Fabrizio as he ran, Beatrice still in his arms, and Carlo by his side. So many people pushed their way between them.

"Mama!" Maria cried out to her. "Caroline."

Caroline had tripped and with everyone pushing into her, struggled to return to her feet.

Lelia fought her way back to her, grabbed her tightly and pulled her up. "Come on." She kept a tight grip on each daughter as she looked around for Fabri.

"Where's Papa?" Caroline asked.

"He went on ahead and now he's waiting for us." It had to have been the truth. They both knew where they were going.

A bomb landed close by, sending debris over the street. Maria screamed.

"You're alright," Lelia said. "We're alright." She quickened her pace. They were near the entrance to the shelter but the crowd, despite still pushing, hardly seemed to be moving. She knew there was a steep staircase leading down to safety somewhere in that mass of people. She also knew they were more likely to break their necks if they stayed in the panicking crowd shoving itself forward. "Alright, we're going to go this way then." Taking each child's hand, she pulled them away from the crowd and down a side street. Spotting a stairwell leading down, she guided them down the steps. She sat in the corner, holding the children close, and prayed. Please let the bombs stop. Please let my family be okay. Please help us leave Italy. Please keep us safe.

After what felt like an eternity, they stopped and the sirens ceased. But even with the raid over, the screams and cries for help remained. She could hear the low roar of a fire burning unchecked nearby. "Alright," Lelia said, standing up. "Let's go find everyone else."

She still kept a tight grip on her daughters' hands as they climbed out of the stairwell and onto the street. There were still so many people, pushing, shoving, crying. She looked toward the shelter that still swarmed with people. She was at a complete loss on what to do.

"Where are we going?" Maria asked.

"Um…we're…" Should she take them home and then return to find the rest?

"Papa!" Caroline suddenly pulled away from her.

Relief flooded her at the sight of Fabrizio coming towards them. Beatrice was still in his arms and Carlo walked beside him. "Thank God." She kissed him without thinking. It was only as they broke apart that she realized how long it had been since the last time they had kissed.

He looked at her in surprise. "I turn around and you weren't there," he said.

"Caroline had stumbled and then you were gone," Lelia explained. "There were so many people at the shelter, I didn't think we'd even get in."

"No," he said. "There were too many. I think people died on the stairs."

"Can we go home now?" Carlo asked.

"Yes, we go home now," Fabri said.

"If it's still standing," Lelia muttered under her breath.

They reached home, tracing the same route they had taken only a moment ago. To everyone's relief, it was still standing despite a cracked window. She supposed they were lucky as the building across the street steadily burned.

"Wash up and get to bed," she said at once. The children immediately did as they were told. There was no arguing, no excuses, no pleas to stay up later. She was almost sad at their immediate obedience.

"Are you hurt?" Fabrizio gently touched her cheek.

"A scratch," she replied. She had no idea when it could've happened. "I'm not going through this again. I won't do it."

"Maybe this is last one."

Lelia stared at him. "Or maybe you could remember that you have a family, children, who are going to die if you keep waiting around, hoping for something to change by itself. For God's sake, do something." She shook her head. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving her with a deep seated exhaustion. "Honestly, I don't know why I haven't left yet." The truth that she hated to admit to, was that she was afraid of being on her own. Afraid of trying to navigate her way out of a foreign country with four children by her side. She desperately wanted Fabrizio to pull it together, to come up with a plan so she wouldn't be forced to manage on her own.

"Lelia—"

"I'm going to wash up and go to bed. Try to get a couple hours of sleep before the next one." The one good thing about the end of a raid was that there was usually a few quiet hours immediately afterward.

She left him standing there as she went to the bathroom to splash cold water over her face. She pulled her shoes off, one at a time, dropping them onto the ground with a satisfying thud. She then changed into a clean nightgown and slipped into bed, pulling the blankets up.

After a moment, Fabrizio joined her but he kept to his own side. Lelia briefly considered reaching out to him. There was no denying the relief she felt at seeing him again. The fear when she couldn't find him. She knew it wasn't just because of Carlo and Beatrice. She glanced over at him, lying with his back to her. She missed the nights he used to hold her, make her feel safe. But then shaking her head, she turned away. There may have still been something between them but she was too exhausted by everything to test it.

November

John could tell that the ship might've been luxurious at one time. Enough remnants still remained that pointed to the fact that, at some point, someone must've enjoyed being on board: crystal light fixtures, carved wooden balustrade, thickly carpeted hallways. There may have been more—supposedly there used to be a cinema on board. But all they were allowed to see was a single large room, filled with tiny bunks stacked eight high. Two foot wide aisles ran between the rows. The only times they were allowed to leave was to use the latrine, to eat their meals, and, every so often—weather permitting—for a few minutes on deck.

As if it weren't bad enough to be crammed together with so many other men, unable to move about or stretch out, a storm struck almost at once. Their tightly packed prison began to swoop up and down, up and down while men clung to their bunks. John clutched his pack to his chest as he listened to the sound of men running and shoving their way through the aisles in desperate attempts to reach the latrine before they could be sick. The air was hot and stale and ten times worse than the unceasing movement. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to imagine he was at home, perhaps on a ride at Natatorium Park, where the up and down, up and down movement was wanted. But the fantasy flickered out with the next downward roll and he found himself thinking of his mother. What would she say if his ship should sink? Would it sink?

"You alright, Tommy?" John asked the bunk above him.

"Go to hell," his cousin grumbled back.

"You must be feeling better then."

"What did I just tell you to go do?"

John would have laughed if he felt any better. His cousin was one of the first to fall seasick. He checked the time on his watch. "Well, it's chow time. You coming?"

"Go away."

John carefully extricated himself from his bunk—a tricky task that involved sliding sideways then using the three bunks below his own like a ladder while not stepping on anyone. "I'll bring you back some bread."

"I won't eat it."

"You should."

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Go to hell."

The storm let up in the night and the following morning, there were more men in the mess hall, eating breakfast, than John had seen in some time. Every chest high table—there were no chairs—was filled with men picking over their breakfasts, most still looking a bit green around the edges.

"Look at that, you're alive," he said as Tommy joined him.

Dropping his bowl of oatmeal onto the table, his cousin made a face. "How're you not dying?" He asked as he dug his spoon into the food.

John shrugged. "I've been doing my best to ignore my stomach. Seemed to work just fine."

"Wish I could ignore my stomach. It'd be the only way to digest any of this shit."

"Oatmeal's better than that other stuff they've been giving us." Their previous breakfast consisted of chunks of greasy hamburger in a yellowish gravy. John was fairly certain that it was never supposed to be yellow.

"Maybe." Tommy took one bite then pushed the bowl away. "I hope the food's better in Italy."

"It should be," John replied. "Italians are known for their food." But he doubted they would be seeing anything better so long as they were overseas but he hoped that without the ground moving beneath their feet, the food might, at least, taste better. "I guess we'll know in a few days."


Eileen had been dressed and ready to go for hours. Excitement radiated from her as she kept moving from seat to seat, waiting for her date to pick her up. "What time is it now?" She asked.

"Nearly seven," Sarah replied. "Sit still or you'll mess your hair up." She had borrowed Kate's curling iron to do Eileen's hair.

"Fine." Eileen threw herself onto the sofa. Her foot bobbed impatiently as she looked out the window. "Would it be strange if I waited on the porch?" She asked after a moment.

"It's a bit cold out and I think your dad and I would like to meet him."

"Oh. Alright." Eileen fiddled with the chiffon layer of her dress. "What time is it now?"

"7:15."

"He must be running a bit late. It's not icy out, is it?"

"I don't think so."

"I bet there's a lot of traffic," Pat said. "Lots of people goin' to yer dance. I'm sure it's slowin' him down a bit." He gave Sarah a worried look. They hadn't seen a single car drive by in the past half hour.

By 7:30, Eileen had gone quiet and still, her arms wrapped around herself.

"There could be car troubles," Pat tried to reassure her. "I'm sure he'll be here soon." And if he's not, I'll murder him, he added silently to himself.

"Maybe."

By 7:45, she began to look distraught. "The dance is going to be starting soon."

"Maybe you should call him," Sarah suggested.

Eileen left to do as she was told and came back looking relieved. "His father said he wasn't home so he must be on his way. I'm going to wait out on the porch."

At 8:15, Pat went out to bring her back inside.

"He's going to be here soon," Eileen insisted.

"Eileen, I don't think he's comin'."

She looked down at her dress, her pink dress with the chiffon layer that she had been talking about nonstop for months, and began to cry.

Pat reached out to her but she brushed him off and ran inside.

"That son of a bitch," he muttered as he followed her in to find his coat and car keys.

"Where are you going?" Sarah asked.

"I'm goin' to go find this Gene and show him what happens when he stands me daughter up."

"No, you're not."

Pat stared at her. "He can't be gettin' away with this."

Sarah took his hands and held them tightly. "And what precisely are you going to do? Beat up a teenager?"

"Nah, I'll beat up his father for raisin' such a waste of space. Why aren't ye angry?"

"I am angry. Of course, I'm angry. But right now, Eileen needs comforted, not avenged," she said firmly. "Your daughter is crying in her room and you want to ignore her to teach someone a lesson."

Sarah was right. He knew she was right. He sighed. "Alright. But if I see him on me way to work tomorrow, I'm runnin' him over."

"I hope you do."

Together they knocked on her bedroom door. "Eileen?"

"Go away."

"Your father and I just want to—"

"I said go away. I don't want to talk to anyone."

Pat reached over and opened the door anyway. Inside, Eileen had thrown herself onto her bed and quietly sobbed into her pillow. He sat beside her. "Sit up now, so we can talk."

She pushed herself upright, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Why don't they like me?" She asked in a quiet voice.

"Oh, me darlin'. Ye can be the most lovely person in the world and some people still won't like ye."

"But—"

"It doesn't mean there's something wrong with you," Sarah said. She had taken a seat on Eileen's other side. "It's just an unfortunate part of life."

"It's not fair." Eileen began to cry harder. "I do everything right. They let me sit with them at lunch and I join their group between classes and I'm always nice and now my dresses are just like theirs and I know I don't have nylons but they don't either anymore. I just don't understand. What else can I do?"

"Sometimes ye can do everything right," Pat said. "Wear the right clothes, say the right things, and it won't matter. Some people will still not like ye because none of it will ever be enough in their eyes." He thought of all the hatred he had dealt with over the years for simply being Irish, for being poor, for struggling with his mind at times. "Eileen, they don't think that yer good enough for them but they are wrong. They're the ones not good enough for yerself."

Sarah brushed the hair from her face. "I promise you that in a few years, none of this will matter. One day, you're going to suddenly realize that you haven't given them a single thought in years."

"That doesn't make me feel any better now," Eileen said.

"I know. And it's going to hurt so much for a while but you can get through this."

"But—"

"Yer a Murphy," Pat said simply. "Murphy's can survive anything. Sinkin' ships, the great depression, your uncle Hugh, a cad named Gene…it doesn't matter what. Yer goin' to survive it just fine."

"I'd rather be on a sinking ship than go to school tomorrow," Eileen said. She took a deep breath. "I should probably change."

"Or you can keep it on and we'll all go get something to eat," Sarah suggested.

Eileen shook her head. "And risk being seen by everyone. I can't be hanging around with my parents while everyone else is at the dance."

"How about a movie?" Pat offered. "It's dark in the theater and yer mother and I can wear disguises."

"No."

"Alright, then we don't need to go anywhere." Sarah lightly kissed her head.

"Can you leave me alone?" Eileen asked. "Just for a bit."

"Sure."

They left and as soon as the door closed, Sarah looked at Pat. "I've had a terrible feeling about this since the beginning. I wish there was something more we could do."

"Well, I might not be beatin' up this Gene but I still think I should be speakin' to his father. What he did is unthinkable and his father has a right to know the sort of cad he's raisin'."

Sarah let out a sigh. "You don't think she's being bullied at school, do you?"

"If she is, what can we do about it?"

"I can still hear you," Eileen called through the door. "Please go away."

Sarah took Pat's hand and pulled him away from the door. "Speak to his father tomorrow once your temper's cooled a bit," she said. "I don't need you getting in a fight. You never win them."

"I won a fight once."

She raised an eyebrow. "When?"

"It was before I knew ye," Pat replied.


"Sea detail report to aft steering."

John's hands trembled as he gathered up his gear. He looked around for Tommy but couldn't see him in the darkness but he was sure that his cousin must've been just as nervous. Everyone must've been feeling the same.

They waited up on the deck as men were broken into groups, slowly filing forward. At last, it was his turn. John climbed over the railing, feeling for the rope net with his feet. He thought of all the times they practiced on the disembarkation tower and recalled the time his foot caught in the net, causing him to fall. He hesitated.

"Move it," a voice barked from above.

"Sorry," John stammered as he started again, slowly, nervously.

The waiting boat rocked gently on the waves. John reached out for it and a hand grabbed him, yanking him aboard. Finding his seat, he clutched his rifle tightly, his knuckles white with tension, and waited as the seats around him filled up.

"Shove off."

John looked around but didn't see Tommy or Don. He was on his own.

He listened to the low rumble of the boat's engine, his heart pounding in his chest. Leaning over the gunwale, he marveled at the phosphorescent flecks shimmering in the dark water. He had never seen anything like it before. A sudden sweep of light swept over them, cutting through the darkness.

"Everyone down."

They all ducked into the bottom of the boat as machine gun bullets sprayed overhead. John squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable bite of a bullet. He wondered how much it would hurt.

The boat abruptly grinded to a stop.

"Everyone overboard."

John opened his eyes and was surprised to see they were still a hundred yards from shore. Were they expected to swim?

"Now."

The urgency in the voice spurred him into action and, with a deep breath, he jumped off the boat. There was a shelf of coral beneath his feet but even with that, the water reached his chest. Each wave struck him in the face as tried to push forward, the weight of his pack dragging him down like an anchor.

Still the searchlight swept back and forth, always followed by another peppering of bullets. Artillery echoed in the distance. John's foot found a crevice in the coral and suddenly he was underwater. Panic surged through him as he struggled to regain his footing. A firm hand grasped his arm, pulling up.

At long last, the sharp coral gave way to soft sand and he could move easier. He discarded his useless lifebelt—his pack had weighed too much for it to have done much good. The man beside him stumbled and fell to the ground but John kept going. He refused to look back to see if the man had been shot or if he had merely tripped. That was something he could face later.

It wasn't until he joined the others who had made it ashore, sheltering behind a grove of pepper trees that he was finally able to catch his breath. Two years of training and he still had never felt so out of his depth. Everything was unfamiliar, everything new. What was he even supposed to be doing? He looked at the rifle in his hands as though he was seeing it for the first time. He closed his eyes as he tried to will his hands to stop shaking.

"Clarke." Someone gave him a rough shove. "We're moving."

John opened his eyes and took a breath. "Right." He gripped his rifle tightly as he made to follow the rest out from behind the trees. "I could be home right now," he muttered to himself. "But, no, I had to volunteer."


The boat beside his own had overturned in the water, the soldiers on it dragged beneath the surface by the weight of their packs. Tommy wondered briefly if John had been on it. He couldn't see faces in the darkness. But he didn't wonder for long as they soon reached shore and there was no time to worry. After that point, everything moved along so quickly.

Tommy was surprised at how easily things came to him. He followed others of his Company, he fired when he was supposed to. He ducked for cover at the appropriate times. He was surprised to realize that the previous two years of training hadn't been a complete waste as he had originally thought.

The artillery continued to pound away as they searched the town, stepping carefully around rubble, their rifles in their hands. Tommy found himself inside a large building with beautifully tiled floors—slightly torn up and obscured by debris—and tall pillars. He looked around in awe, briefly forgetting why he was there in the first place. He had never been anywhere like it before. An artillery shell landed just outside, shaking the floor and breaking him out of his trance.

He thought the building must've been a hotel as there was luggage scattered about. But anyone who may have been staying there had fled long before they arrived. Tommy strode over to a desk and picked up a book that had been left open. He flipped through the pages. Line after line of names. None of it made any sense.

"I don't think anyone's here," someone said.

Before Tommy could respond, there was a thunderous roar as a shell struck the building. He instinctively threw himself to the ground as debris rained down on him, the room engulfed in smoke and dust.

"Everyone alright?" The same voice from earlier called out through the haze. "I think it's time to go."

Tommy nodded, his heart racing as he scrambled to his feet, the smoke stinging his eyes and throat. He wasted time in following the others out of the building. Almost at once a silence fell over the town as the artillery ceased firing. He drew a shaky breath. It was over.

"Tommy?"

He turned to see John standing nearby looking shaken, relief flooding through him at the sight of his cousin. "Some boat ride, huh?" he said in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"Sure," John replied. "Very fun. Almost as fun as the part that came afterward."

"You holding up alright?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"I'm kind of hungry," Tommy said as they started walking together. "You know, I really hate to point out you being wrong but I'm fairly certain this isn't Italy."

John shrugged. "All the maps I saw showed Italy. I have no idea how we ended up in Morocco."

"Is that where we are?"

"Fedala, Morocco," John confirmed. "I asked Sergeant Mullins the first chance I had."

"I see." Tommy removed his helmet and ran a hand through his hair. "Think they have bars here? Don't know about you, but I could use a drink."

John laughed. "Pretty sure they're not handing out passes right now. I think you're going to have to remain sober for a time."

"That's a damn shame."

December

Every day, Fabrizio went out to find work but every day it grew more and more difficult to find, forcing him to stay out later, work harder. Food was becoming scarce and the little he could find was priced too high to afford. Always, he wanted to make sure to set some money aside for when they were finally able to leave. He knew Lelia thought he wasn't doing anything and, in a way, she was right. He wanted to come up with some great plan to bring them all to safety but, no matter what he did, no matter how much he thought, he had nothing.

Streams of people fled the city everyday, some on foot, many more taking whatever vehicle they could find. Lelia wanted to join them but the thought of taking four children on foot with no food to bring with them, in December, was unthinkable. And even if he could bring himself to entertain the idea, he couldn't forget the opened mail. Who was reading their mail? Why? He told Lelia that everyone's mail was being read but he wasn't so sure. Never could he shake the feeling that they were being targeted or at least one of them—Lelia still retained her American citizenship—and the odds of them being allowed past a checkpoint were slim to none. He couldn't think of leaving without also thinking of her being detained, interrogated, or something far worse.

He awoke one morning, a plan fully formed in his mind. Lelia would disagree with him but he couldn't see any other way. If it all worked out, they'd receive the money they needed to leave. If it didn't…at least the attention would no longer be on his wife, if it ever was.

Fabrizio took some money from its hiding spot and went to the telegraph office first thing in the morning. As he walked, he looked around and wondered if he was being followed.

Once there, he grabbed a blank telegram form and took it to the side to fill out. He counted out his money and knew he could afford no more than five words. He stared at it for an eternity, aware of the clerk's eyes watching him. Finally, he wrote: MUST LEAVE NEED HELP FAST. Cal would have to know what it meant. Money, a way to escape, safety…he hoped it was clear.

He cast a quick glance at the clerk—still watching—before writing Cal's name and address at the top. He hesitated a moment before writing 'SPOKANE, WA.'

Fabrizio tried to appear calm as he handed it over to the clerk and paid.

"You're sending it to Washington?" The clerk raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, I have very, very good friend there," Fabrizio replied. Was it enough?

"I see."

He left the office looking over his shoulder the entire way.

Once he reached home, he ran up the stairs, skipping the last one entirely. He found Lelia standing at the window, a model of complete tension, as she stared outside. The children colored quietly in the other room. "They arrested that man who lives down the corner," she said the moment she saw him.

"What?"

"Dragged him away right in front of his wife."

"But they leave his wife alone?"

Lelia shrugged. "I couldn't watch it any longer."

Fabrizio hesitated, lingering in the doorway.

"What now?" She snapped.

Her voice broke him out of his thoughts. "Lelia, I need you to come here." He directed her to the table. "It's very important."

She sighed as she joined him. "What is it?"

"I send Cal a telegram."

"Why?"

"Like you always say, we need help."

"Yes, but…" She glanced toward the window. "I thought they're reading our mail. Why would you send him a telegram?"

"I save them the trouble of having to open it," he replied.

"Fabri—"

"I need you to listen to me now. This is very important." He hesitated again. Had he made a mistake? "If something happen to me—"

Lelia sat up straighter. "Fabri, what—

"No, you listen. I have…" He went to the kitchen and pulled out a small box from where he hid it behind the stove. He brought it over to the table and opened it. "This is all the money we have. Mostly lire but there some American dollars too. And this…" He took out a map and spread it out. "We are here." He pointed to Genoa. "And this is Switzerland. Switzerland is not at war so it's safe." He took a breath before continuing. "If something happen, you take the children and you go here." He traced his finger along one of the roads. "Stay off road as much as you can. When you get to here." He pointed to Geneva. "You send message to Cal and he'll help you."

Lelia's face had grown pale and she clutched the edges of the table. "Why are you telling me this? Why do you think something will happen to you? What did you do?"

"I told you. I send Cal a telegram," he replied. "I think it'll be fine but it's always better to have a plan."

"Again, why would you send him a telegram? What did it say?"

"That he should send us help and I don't know what else to do."

"Fabri, we are at war with the United States. You cannot send a telegram like that to someone in that country. Especially not since he started building planes for the United States Army."

"He only make the aluminum," Fabrizio said. "He doesn't build them."

"Is that really what you want to argue about right now?"

He reached across the table for her hand. "Lelia, you want me to think of something and this is all I can think of. I don't know…I can't…I will take my chances if it means you and the children will be safe."

She looked at the map, following the lines with her eyes. "No." She suddenly shook her head.

"Lelia, I think it was you they were watching," he admitted. "You wrote to Cal more than me and to your parents and many other people. But more than that, you're still American. Now that I do this, maybe they watch me instead."

"Fabri…" Her voice broke.

"Maybe we worry over nothing and Cal will send us the money and we all leave together." He could see tears clinging to her eyelashes. "I think it be fine," he said. "They would not let me send the telegram if it was a bad thing to do."

Lelia stared at him and finally she nodded. "It's late and I'm going to get dinner started." She rose from the table without another word.

Fabrizio repacked the box with the money and the map, folded small. He added in a coin he found on the ground earlier in the day and Cal's address, torn from the last letter they received from him. He stared at it, trying to think of anything else to include, anything else that might help her if worse should come to worse. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife, the same pocket knife he won thirty years earlier in a poker game. As he added it to the box, his thoughts drifted to Jack. He rarely thought about his old friend anymore but he wished the man was alive and with him now. He closed the box and returned it to its hiding place. Jack would've not only known precisely what they should do, but they would have had fun doing it. Nothing had ever bothered him.


Cal had recently updated his will, making sure to divide his assets among everyone who mattered. Kate would receive half of everything and the rest would be split evenly among his children. All of his children, step or otherwise. But despite having it in writing, he still couldn't stop worrying about it. Cal knew that Arthur wouldn't find any issue with Kate's children being included—assuming Arthur ever forgave him for not bribing Federal employees to keep him out of the Army—but Victor would most likely think differently. The last thing Cal wanted was for his children to become embroiled in lawsuit after lawsuit after he was gone.

He found Kate in the kitchen scooping balls of gingerbread dough onto a baking sheet. "I've been thinking."

"Have ye now? About what?"

"I would like to officially adopt Henry and Bridget," he said. "Tommy too if he's willing but I wouldn't want to take his father's name away. Daniel was a good man."

"But ye have no problem takin' away Henry and Bridget's father's name?"

"Hugh was not a good man so no."

Kate smiled. "I was only teasin' ye," she said. "It hurts me to see them with his last name." She set the spoon down. "Ye truly mean to adopt them?"

"I do."

"Ye'll have to ask them first but I know Henry and Bridget will be thrilled," she said. "Ye've already been more of a father to them than their own had ever been. And as for Tommy, I'm sure he'll be pleased. He's looked up to ye for years."

There was a time when Cal hadn't given the idea of children very much thought. They were simply something that happened after marriage, an item to cross off a To Do list. But then Victor and Arthur arrived and he was surprised by how much he loved them. Kate came next with all of her children and then came Evy, and in a blink of an eye, he found himself surrounded. Happily surrounded as he couldn't imagine his life without a single one in it.

"Why're ye thinkin' about it now?" Kate asked.

"I updated my will a few days ago."

She crossed her arms. "Yer thinkin' of dyin' then?"

"No, of course not," Cal quickly said. "I just think it's good to be prepared. I want to make sure that all of you are taken care of and I don't want to give anyone any legal recourse they might use to contest the will once I'm gone. If I legally adopt your children, I'm hoping that will save all of you some trouble."

"Cal?"

"Yes?"

"Ye know I don't like ye talkin' about this sort of thing."

"I know." He tried and failed to pry her arms apart but she kept them tightly crossed. Giving up, he planted a kiss on her forehead, instead. "But like I said earlier, it's important to be prepared. It's the one thing I learned from my father. Well, the one good thing, I learned from him. If anything were to happen, I don't want to leave you or the children in any trouble. That is all."

"Alright." Kate relaxed, uncrossing her arms and wrapping them around him. "I do love ye for all of yer thinkin' ahead," she said, kissing him. "But if ye bring up dyin' one more time, I'm filin' for divorce. Is that clear?"

"Quite clear."


Tommy sat on the back of the truck that bumped and jostled along the gravel road, his rifle tucked between his legs. Despite the open air, he still felt claustrophobic as they were packed together so tightly that he could hardly lift his arms. He wondered why the Army couldn't have found two trucks to transport all of them instead of stacking them up in a single one. John sat across from him, his gaze distant and entirely lost in thought.

He turned his head away from the rest of the Company, letting his own gaze drift across the passing landscape, taking note of the weathered adobe houses and the curious onlookers who stepped out to watch them rumble by. Before the Army, he had never been out of Spokane, had never even given a single thought to leaving Spokane. But as he stared up at the unbelievably tall palm trees, at the man walking down the road, leading a camel behind him, he realized there was one good thing about being drafted. The world was interesting and he was glad to be seeing a tiny bit of it, even if he would've preferred to have never left home.

Gradually the flat plains gave way to low dusty hills and they began to slow as they approached a small town—he had heard someone call it Guercif. The streets teemed with soldiers, all wearing unfamiliar uniforms. How many armies were there in Morocco? He wished he had known more of what had been happening in the world before they were sent overseas. He was fairly certain that when they landed on the beach, they weren't fighting Germans or Japs like he had expected.

Tommy twisted around in his seat as they drove past a blonde woman holding a delicate-looking parasol above her head. His immediate thought was of June but of course, it was impossible. June was back home with his family and Alice.

"Lot of Europeans here," someone remarked, breaking the silence.

"How can you tell?" Someone else asked.

"All the blondes."

"I only count one blonde."

Tommy sighed, letting the banter around him fade into the background. He didn't care who was there. He only wished he wasn't.


Eileen had wanted to skip school the day following the dance but her parents refused to let her stay home.

"Don't let them see that they bother you," her mother had told her. "Never let them know they can hurt you."

She thought it was poor advice and no matter how hard she tried to hold her head up high, the laughter still trailed after her as she went from class to class. Especially after she tried to confront Gene, hoping and praying that he had a good excuse.

"You actually thought I'd want to go to the dance with you?" His comment was wrapped in disbelief. It was all she could do to keep from crying as she walked away, humiliated and hurt.

She spent the rest of the time keeping her head down, focusing on her classes, eating lunch entirely alone, and hating every minute of it. At home, she did her schoolwork and immediately disappeared into her room where she threw herself down on the bed and cried. She was equally humiliated at home–how could she have been so excited?—and she couldn't bear to talk about it with anyone.

It was Dottie's idea to volunteer a few days at the local USO. Eileen thought it was a stupid idea. As neither John nor Tommy were there, they'd only be serving a bunch of GIs that none of them knew. But she had nothing better to do and Dottie mentioned a Christmas Eve party.

Eileen wore her pink dress and had her mother curl her hair. There was no making up for what had happened with the fall dance but if a handsome soldier should ask her to dance and tell her she looked beautiful, it just might lessen the sting a tiny bit.

The USO took up the two floors above a bank. One floor was devoted to the soldier looking to rest. Several desks were kept well stocked with stationary, a row of telephones allowed for long distance phone calls, and a ping pong table was always looking for players. The other floor contained the dance floor.

"Oh, no." Eileen's heart fell the moment she stepped into the room and saw that the dance floor was hidden beneath several large tables, each wearing a white table cloth with a pot of poinsettias in the center. "I thought you said it was a dance."

"I said it was a party," Dottie said.

"A party means a dance."

"In this case, a party means a nice dinner and music and I think someone's going to make a speech. But that's all for later. We're going to be serving the food."

Eileen groaned as she followed her to the back of the room.

A woman immediately handed them white aprons.

"This is Mrs. Keplinger," Dottie explained as she tied her apron on. "She runs the USO. Mrs. Keplinger, this is my sister-in-law Eileen."

"This USO, in any case," the woman said. "Now, go on and put that on, dear. You wouldn't want to get anything on that pretty dress."

Eileen did as she was told, hiding her dress beneath the plain white apron.

"Alright, Dottie, you'll be at the beginning, handing out plates. And Eileen, you'll be next to me on gravy duty."

They took their places and Eileen frowned as she looked at the dark brown liquid in front of her. It didn't look or smell like any gravy she had ever had before.

"Doesn't it look lovely?"

"Just looks like gravy to me."

"I meant the room, silly. We spent a week decorating."

Eileen looked around the room and only felt confused. There were streamers of red and green hanging down from the walls. A tiny tree stood in a corner buried in tinsel. Even with the radio set up to play music, she still thought it looked rather sad. "This took you a week?"

"Perhaps next year, dear, you'll be willing to help and then perhaps it'll look more to your standards."

Eileen bit back her retort and blinked back tears at the same time. She glanced down the line, hoping to catch Dottie's eye but the young woman was chatting happily with the volunteers on either side of her.

Servicemen began to file into the room, making a beeline for them.

"One ladle of gravy," Mrs. Keplinger warned her. "Any more than one ladle and we will run out and you'll ruin their Christmas."

"It's only gravy."

"And don't you let them flirt with you to get a second ladle," the woman continued. "They may try. The gravy is my secret recipe and I can assure you, it's very good." She nodded. "I only want you to be on your guard."

"Alright." One ladle. One ladle. One ladle. The woman's order played over and over in her head. She hardly looked up as she ladled, moving as quickly as the line moved. Hoping that time would move just as fast and soon they could go home.

"Excellent gravy work."

"It's my one and only contribution to life," Eileen replied. She glanced up to see a young man in uniform standing in front of her, his plate held out. She had ladled the gravy over his cranberries instead of his potatoes. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let me…" She scooped another ladleful of gravy and held it out. Beside her, Mrs. Keplinger loudly cleared her throat. Eileen lowered the ladle once more. "I'm sorry. I can't. A second ladleful would ruin Christmas for everyone in the world and possibly lose the war. Or so I've been told."

He laughed. "In that case, don't worry about it. And between you and me." He lowered his voice. "It all tastes the same and that same isn't good."

"I didn't make any of it," Eileen quickly said.

"I never thought you did."

"Oh." She tried to think of something clever or witty to say but nothing came to mind. She was all too aware of how she must look, wearing an oversized apron, standing over an oversized dish of unappetizing gravy.

"Merry Christmas," he said. He smiled at her as he continued on down the line.

"You too," Eileen replied. "I mean, you too. I mean, Merry Christmas." She was certain her face must've been the same color as the cranberries.

He laughed.

Mrs. Keplinger elbowed her in the ribs. "I said no flirting with the servicemen. This is not a dating service."

"What part of that looked like flirting?"

The woman looked into the vat of gravy. "Hm. Maybe I should take over here. Now, why don't you take that tub in the back and walk around, picking up empty plates?"

Eileen glared at her.

"Go on now."

"Fine," she said, tossing the ladle into the gravy. She picked up the tub and started walking around, going from table to table. She hardly needed to do anything as men carefully set their plates into her tub. Always as she walked, she looked for the man from earlier, the one whose cranberries she had gravied but she never saw him. Maybe he had taken his plate and gone home? She moved to the window and looked out. It had begun to softly snow, the flakes drifting lazily toward the ground, but aside from a passing car, the street below was deserted. She was just about to turn away when she saw movement down below. It was the soldier from earlier walking away from the building, his arm around the waist of a young woman.

"Of course," she said softly to herself. "Just my luck."