January
"Ready?" Sarah, holding John's most recent letter in her hands, looked at those sitting on the sofa. It had become a tradition to read his letters aloud and then speculate on the censored words. There usually weren't too many missing words as her son seemed to do well with avoiding any information that the Army decided should be kept secret. Tommy, on the other hand, was the opposite. Kate had vented more than once about how impossible it was to read any of his letters, as some seemed to be missing nearly every other word.
"Go on," Pat said.
"Alright," she took a deep breath and began to read:
Dear mom, dad, Eileen, and (my lovely wife) Dottie,
I can't say where we are but it's very different from anything I've seen before. The people here are very nice. I can't understand most of them but they're still nice. They drink a lot of tea here but they also have coffee that they serve in these tiny cups. It's incredibly strong even after stirring in a great deal of sugar–which seems to be the way it's done. The first day we tried it, Tommy asked for milk in his and everyone laughed a great deal. I think only the women usually drink it with milk but we couldn't really understand what they were saying. The coffee was good though and I wonder if we could find it in the US.
They've been keeping us busy lately with training and guarding roads and long marches. A lot of long marches. My legs will likely be falling off any day now. I heard a rumor about a big [CENSORED] being held here soon and we suspect a lot of [CENSORED] will be attending. I'm sure I won't recognize a single one of them. But I never paid much attention to that sort of thing.
This is such a strange place. There are a lot of beautiful buildings here but right next to them people sleep in the street. It's surprising to see so many Europeans here. I think most are fleeing from the war but some genuinely live here. I think those are mostly French. I don't understand the ones fleeing the war because there doesn't seem to be any room here for them. They all end up crammed together in a single building. I don't know how comfortable they are. But I suppose it must be better than whatever they're running from.
I wish I knew how long we're going to be staying here. Surely, it can't be for the entire war. I don't understand why we're here in the first place. It seems to me we'd be more useful in [CENSORED] but I don't make the decisions. I only follow orders.
Anyway, I hope everyone is doing well. I'm going to send you all a souvenir just as soon as I find something worth sending. I wish I could send everyone a [CENSORED] but I imagine they'd be difficult to mail. Probably bite the postman.
Love,
John
"Not much censored in this one," Pat pointed out. "He's gettin' better at it. Alright, what was the first one again?"
"A big something being held with a lot of something attending," Sarah read.
"A dance?" Eileen suggested. "There's a big dance with a lot of movie stars attending."
"I like it," Sarah said. "I heard a rumor about a big dance being held here soon and we suspect a lot of movie stars will be attending. I'm sure I won't recognize a single one of them."
Dottie laughed. "Not recognizing a movie star does sound like John. He's always been terrible at that."
"Okay, moving on. I don't understand why we're here in the first place," Sarah read. "It seems to me we'd be more useful in something but I don't make the decisions."
"United States," Pat said. "He'd be more useful in the United States."
"Not to the Army," Eileen said.
"No, but it'd certainly be more useful to us."
"I'm counting it," Sarah said. "It seems to me we'd be more useful in the United States but I don't make the decisions."
"What was the last one?" Dottie asked.
Sarah looked at the letter once again. "I wish I could send everyone a something but I imagine they'd be difficult to mail. Probably bite the postman."
Silence fell over the room as everyone tried to work it out.
"I hope he's not referrin' to a German," Pat said at last.
"Do Germans bite?" Sarah asked.
"I would if I was packed in a box and shipped overseas."
"Maybe he meant a dog," Dottie suggested.
"But then why would they be censorin' it?"
Dottie shrugged. "Maybe it was a German dog."
"Okay." Eileen jumped up from the sofa and leaned over the map they kept out on the table. "So we know he's not in Europe otherwise he wouldn't mention Europeans fleeing the war," she said. 'He also doesn't feel useful. Maybe Italy?"
"Italy is in Europe," Sarah pointed out.
"Oh, right. Maybe he's in Japan. I know they drink tea there."
"Nah, I think he's in a country that's not even at war," Pat said. "Like this one." He pointed to the map.
"Spain? Lucky him," Eileen said. "I wish I was in Spain. I bet it's lovely."
"I heard it's very sunny there," Dottie said. "He's probably enjoying himself more than we are right now."
Sarah didn't believe for a single moment that John was in Spain, enjoying the sun and sightseeing, and knew that no one else did either. But it felt good to pretend he was even if only for a moment. It was much better than picturing him fighting, in danger, tired or hurt, and almost certainly homesick.
Tommy stood in line with all of the others, his M1 perched on his shoulder, trying to ignore the bayonet fixed to the end. He never liked it—having an irrational fear of somehow accidentally stabbing himself—and he hoped he never had to use it. A P-40 flew overhead with a roar. He started to tilt his head up to watch it pass by but, beside him, John lightly smacked his arm. Tommy immediately returned to looking straight ahead. He hated standing at attention even more than he hated the bayonet at the end of his rifle. He didn't even know what they were doing there, standing at attention for what felt like an eternity. A chilly breeze blew over them and he tried to stifle a shiver.
Finally, the rumble of a jeep came from the end of the line, slowly coming nearer. Tommy had to resist the urge to lean out to get a better view. As it passed in front of him, he was only more confused. Amidst the generals riding in the vehicle, a man sat in the front seat wearing a gray suit. A matching gray hat was clutched in one hand while the other was in a sharp salute. The man looked important.
"Who's that?" Tommy whispered to John. He had a feeling that he was missing something important.
John gave him an amused look. "That's the President."
"Our President?"
"No, the German President. Of course, our President."
As the jeep drove slowly by, the President spoke to a few of the men, his words lost on the breeze. Tommy was disappointed to see him stop after only a few as the jeep continued on its way. He would've loved to have been able to brag about meeting the President.
Later over lunch, John was still amused. "How do you not know what the President looks like?"
"How do you know?"
"He's in the paper all the time," John replied. "You don't read the paper, do you?"
Tommy shrugged. "It never seems relevant." He speared a potato on the end of his fork. "This is better than usual. I wish the President could visit us every day."
John laughed. "I'm sure he has better things to do with his time," he said. "And I doubt we'll be here much longer."
"Everyone's been saying that since the day we arrived," Tommy pointed out. "Doesn't mean shit." He refused to believe they were going anywhere until he was forced onto a ship.
John gave him a look. "I thought you hated it here."
"I hate being in the Army," Tommy clarified. "I don't mind being here. Here is a little too hot but nice. Here is likely better than wherever they're sending us next." He picked up his roll and took a bite. "Unless that next is home."
It had been a month since he sent the telegram. Nothing had happened, good or bad. No sudden arrests, no executions, but also no help from Cal. Not even a reply. Fabrizio wondered if he had even received the telegram. He couldn't imagine Cal ignoring his request for help. Perhaps it had never been sent and that, alone, was the punishment for trying to send it. He had been so sure that something terrible would happen but, perhaps, for once they were lucky. The telegram had slipped through the cracks and nothing had happened at all.
Another stroke of luck was that there hadn't been any raids in nearly three months. Fabrizio knew it'd be naïve to believe it was all over with—they were still at war—but it was hard to be worried when the skies remained clear. The last fires had been extinguished months ago and people were already beginning to rebuild. But Lelia was still unhappy. He could see it in her eyes whenever she looked at him.
Despite the lack of raids, despite the lack of trouble, Fabrizio still took some money he had saved and purchased a large canvas bag. Shaped like a tube, it had a long strap that made it easy to carry. If they needed to leave on foot, he didn't want to be encumbered by a half dozen suitcases. He had also purchased a few tins of food which he hid in the never used warming drawer of their oven. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much food they would need to carry for six people to walk all the way to Switzerland.
Fabrizio sat at the table, staring at the map. He had studied it so much that he already knew every road by heart. Nearby, Lelia angrily chopped a potato while a piece of meat sizzled on the stove. He could tell she was angry by the way she brought the knife down on the cutting board.
"Lelia," he said. "I'm sorry there's no more food." He did his best to buy food each day but there wasn't much to be found and even less they could afford. He didn't know how Lelia was managing to keep all six of them fed.
"Fabri." Lelia said without turning around. "When this war is over, I would like a divorce."
He wasn't surprised to hear her say it. For a year now, he had expected to simply wake up one morning to find her and the children gone. Perhaps, if they still lived in New York, that would've happened long ago.
"Did you hear me?" She asked.
"I hear you." Fabrizio wanted to argue. He wanted to take her in his arms and shake the love back into their marriage. But he knew it was too late. He had waited too long to listen to her. He had watched their relationship crumble into dust and did nothing to stop it. "You know I still love you." It was a weak attempt and they both knew it.
"No, you don't," Lelia replied simply. "If you loved me at all, we would've gone home years ago, long before this war started."
"I am trying," he said.
"Trying? You sent one telegram months ago."
He sighed. "I save money. I buy food. I ask Cal for help. What else you want me to do? We have four children. We cannot walk four children to Switzerland. And then if we get there, maybe they not even let us in. It's not possible. Just...tell me what to do and I do it." He had heard recently that Switzerland stopped taking in refugees unless they carried with them entry visas. Impossible to acquire entry visas.
Lelia dumped the chopped potatoes into the pan. "You keep saying we cannot walk but if we had left the moment the first bomb dropped, we'd be safe by now."
"Or starve to death halfway between here and there."
She turned to face him, her arms folded in front of her. "Do you remember our first date?" She asked.
"Yes." He wasn't sure where she was going with it. She still looked so angry.
"You had just been stood up by Louise Brooks and I invited myself to your table. We talked about theTitanicand Italy and I told you to not shut yourself off from the world or you'll miss wonderful things."
"I remember." It was the moment he had first started to fall in love with her.
"I should've just gone home."
Fabrizio sighed. "Yes, I get it. You hate me. You wish you not marry me. It been nothing but constant unhappiness since day we met." He stood up. "You make it very clear," he said, moving to the door.
"Fabri—"
He heard Lelia call to him but he kept walking, down the stairs and out the door.
The street outside was mostly empty. Two uniformed soldiers walked past, ignoring him entirely. He didn't know what to do. His family was trapped in the middle of a war. His marriage was over. Lelia wanted him to do something but she didn't seem to understand that there was nothing he could do. Nothing he could think of. He wished Cal was there. He was certain his friend would know how to fix everything.
Fabrizio looked at the wedding ring on his finger. The ring he had worn for every moment of the past eighteen years. A ring that meant so much to him. He slipped it from his finger. Lelia thought it'd be easy for the entire family to walk to Switzerland. Simple. If she wanted to go so badly, they would go. They would try. He would try. He hoped it was possible to buy entry visas for the family. He hoped his ring was worth enough.
Eileen ate lunch by herself. Her head down as she ate, just trying to get through it. It was difficult to listen to the multitude of conversations going on around her, knowing that no one wanted to include her. That if she had tried to join in, they would only laugh. The one and only good thing about lunch was that it meant the day was halfway finished. Soon she would be home.
There was a clatter as someone dropped a tray onto the table right across from her. "May I sit here?"
She glanced up to see Richard standing there. "It's not my table," she said quietly.
Eileen kept her attention on her food as he took a seat. She couldn't think of anything to say and even if she did, why would he want to talk to her? He must've been sitting there because every other table was full. There was no other explanation.
"Leave it to our school to mess up a ham sandwich," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"The sandwich is terrible."
"Oh, I suppose it is." She picked up her sandwich and took a bite. She thought it tasted fine.
"I had heard what happened last year with the dance."
"You and the entire school." She felt her face growing warm and wished she could hide inside the ham sandwich.
"I don't think it's right," Richard continued. "I'm sorry he did that to you."
Eileen finally looked up and was surprised to see him watching her, sincerity in his eyes. "Thank you," she managed.
"I would've asked you, you know. But I was seeing Shirley Rogers so I had to go with her."
"Okay." She couldn't figure out the point he was trying to make. She was certain it must've been leading to a joke. She was almost impressed at the amount of effort he was putting into it.
"Eileen, would you like to maybe study together?" He asked. "After school, I mean."
Her eyes narrowed. There it was. There was the joke. At last he had gotten to the point. "Why?"
"There's an exam coming up and you're very good with math," he explained. "And I'm not."
"I see." She was suddenly tired. Tired of being bullied. Tired of being humiliated. Tired of getting her hopes up only to be let down. Why couldn't they target someone else for a change? Why did it always have to be her? "If you really want to humiliate me, why don't you just dump this on me right here and now." She slammed her milk carton onto the table. "Save us both the trouble." She grabbed her tray and left.
Eileen dumped her food into the trash, blinking back the tears in her eyes. She was grateful that she only had one year left of school, one year left to endure. She had just added her tray to the stack on the counter when she felt a touch on her arm.
"Hey, crazy," Richard said. "I don't want to humiliate you. I like you."
She must've misheard. "What did you say?"
"I said I like you."
"What about Shirley Rogers?"
"We broke up over the summer."
She stared at him, searching for the faintest whiff of a joke. She was sure it must've been one.
"I'm asking you to the library," Richard said. "Not to get married."
"Fine," she said at last. "But I have to stop home first or my parents will worry."
"Alright."
When the final bell rang, Eileen hurried home. She ran to a mirror, fixed her hair, then rushed back out, calling, "I'll be at the library," over her shoulder as she went. She wasn't entirely certain if her mother had heard her but she made the effort and that was enough.
She was first to the library. A heavy weight seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach as she took a seat and pulled out a book. Of course, she was being stood up again. Why wouldn't she be? The time ticked past the agreed upon meeting time and she sighed. She supposed she should've been grateful that it didn't happen in a more public setting.
Eileen wiped the tears from her eyes and looked down at the page. She would study for an hour then go home. Maybe she could claim that she had never intended to meet anyone. Maybe she could—
"I'm sorry I'm late." Richard appeared seemingly out of nowhere. He dropped his books onto the table and slid into the seat across from her. "My mother started carrying on and on about the war and you know moms. Once they start, they never stop. It took all I had to get away. You haven't been waiting too long, have you? Are you okay?"
"Fine," she managed. "I'm fine. It's…it's nothing." She pulled her book closer. "So, math then?"
"Math." He smiled and her heart fluttered in her chest. "How are you even supposed to study something like this?" He asked. "It's got to be impossible to memorize every formula there is. Might as well memorize every number next."
"It's not so much memorizing as it is understanding theorems." Eileen brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "After that, it's only pattern recognition and learning how to rephrase the problem in a way that might make more sense to you."
"Right," Richard said. "That sounds…easy."
"It's easy if you do it often enough."
"Are you sure you're alright?" He asked suddenly. "You didn't think I was coming, did you?"
"Of course, I thought you were…" She took a deep breath. "No, not so much. People don't usually…like me."
"Well, a lot of people at school are crazy or incredibly stupid. Maybe a bit of both," he replied. "I don't stand people up."
"That's good to know." Eileen looked down at her book. Richard might've seemed earnest but she still didn't entirely trust it. She couldn't stand to have her heart broken once again.
"So, math," he said, changing the subject. "I think the exam's only covering chapters twelve through fifteen, right?"
She smiled. "Twelve through fifteen but you don't understand something in the first eleven, it might come back to bite you. So, we should probably start at the beginning."
February
When John was assigned to help load a truck, he was, at first, happy to have something to do. As it turned out, life in the Army could be incredibly boring at times. But he was less happy when he saw Jimmy standing there next to the truck, holding a clipboard and waiting for him.
Jimmy sighed heavily at the sight of him. "Let's just get this over with," he said. He looked down at the clipboard. "We need sixteen crates of a thousand 30-.06 springfields, eight crates of twelve hundred .50 calibers, and two crates of half dozen radios. Start with the springfields?"
"Sure."
"Sir."
"Sure, sir." John didn't think it would ever stop feeling strange to call Jimmy 'sir.'
He reached for the first crate and together they hefted it onto the back of the truck. He could feel the irritation radiating off of Jimmy as they worked. His thoughts inexplicably drifted to the time the young man had paid him a visit at the silver mine and he felt guilty. Jimmy had been a good friend to him through years even if that friendship wasn't always returned as it should have been.
"Jimmy," John spoke up, breaking the silence. "I really am sorry for what happened. It wasn't fair to you."
"No shit, it wasn't."
"That's what I just said...sir."
Jimmy wiped his palms on his pants. "Honestly, I should've seen it coming. You two were always sweet on each other. Anyone could see it."
"Except the two of us, apparently." It had taken them so long to realize there were feelings between them.
Jimmy shook his head. "I suppose I just always hoped she'd fall in love with me before she realized she was in love with you. You best be taking good care of her."
"Of course I am," John replied. "Or will, just as soon as the Army lets me go home again."
"I'm sure it won't be too much longer."
John looked at him. "Do you know something? Are we leaving soon?"
"I hardly think that's information you need." Jimmy climbed onto the back of the truck to move the crates to the back.
"You don't know, do you?"
"Not so much."
John laughed. "You know." He picked up a crate of radios and lifted it up. "If you're still looking for someone, Helen's available."
"How many times did you have to end things with her before she finally accepted it?"
"Yeah, she never did," John replied. "Technically, we're still seeing each other." He had hoped that she may have taken the hint but didn't feel confident. Helen lived in a constant and perpetual state of denial.
"Seriously?"
"A few years ago, I might've told her that I was going to be out of the country on a world tour. I haven't seen her since but I assume she's still waiting for me to come home."
Jimmy laughed. "You're an idiot."
"An idiot who took your girl."
The smile faded from Jimmy's face. "Careful or I'll have you cleaning latrines for the rest of the war. I can do that, you know. I outrank you."
"Yes, sir," John said. "For the moment." He still didn't relish the idea of being responsible for other men's lives but, just as much, he didn't enjoy the fact that Jimmy could order him around. A single promotion, to his former friend's rank, wouldn't be too terrible.
Lelia found the tins of food hidden inside the warming drawer when she was cleaning the stove. At once, she was irritated. They had been going hungry while Fabrizio had been hiding food. She did understand his reasoning—at least what she assumed was his reasoning—but he could have at least told her. Their children could have had more to eat.
The slam of the drawer coincided with Fabrizio's arrival through the door, a bag slung over his shoulder. She straightened up, crossing her arms and shooting him a withering look. "Why have you been hiding food?"
"Because I hope if we leave, we have something to eat," he replied. He set the bag onto the table.
"I see. But since you clearly have no intention of us leaving, it seems you prefer your children to go to bed hungry each night."
Hurt crossed Fabrizio's face. He looked at the children who stood nearby, watching. "Caroline, take Carlo and your sisters to your room."
"But—"
"Now." He waited until they were gone before turning to look at his wife. "Lelia, can you sit. It's important."
A sigh escaped her lips as she took a seat.
"I went to see someone about Switzerland," he said.
"What?" She had expected an argument and the sudden change in topic caught her off guard.
"They don't let anyone in now without an entry visa. They used to but not now. I think too many go to Switzerland and now they don't want more. Anyway, they don't give visas out anymore."
"So we're trapped then?" Anger rose up within her. If they had left a year ago, it wouldn't have been a problem. But, no, Fabrizio had wanted to wait and see.
He shook his head. "No, not exactly." He reached into the bag and pulled out several documents. "I have visas."
"How?"
"They would not give me visas so I...I sell my wedding ring and I buy them." He looked down at the pages. "They're not real but they say they look real enough and no one know the difference."
Lelia reached for the papers and flipped through them, looking at the names on each one: her own, Caroline, Maria, and Carlo. "There's only four here."
"The ring wasn't enough for more," Fabrizio admitted. "They want a lot of money for them. I think Beatrice is still too young and maybe she won't need one."
"And you? Will you not need one?"
He hesitated. "I go with you as far as I can. Maybe they let me in."
She had wanted to leave for so long but now that the possibility was right in front of her, she could hardly wrap her head around it. "And what if they don't allow Beatrice in?"
"Then she stay with me."
"No," Lelia quickly replied. "I can't...I won't be…" She shook her head. "My children stay with me. All of my children stay with me." She couldn't bear the thought of being parted from any of them.
Fabrizio nodded. "We'll think of a way, then, for her to stay with you." He didn't sound sure. "Now, I think we should go soon and leave at night. Before they...before something happen."
She stared at the visas on the table, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. "This is foolish. You want us to leave in the middle of the night with counterfeit visas and not even enough for everyone."
"Foolish?" He brought his hand over his face in frustration. "You want me to do something so now I do something. But you're still not happy. You're always angry with me. Maybe I should just give up."
"I'm not angry. I'm frightened," Lelia snapped, her voice sharp. Outside, the rumble of a passing truck mingled with raised voices, but it sounded like any other day. "What if something happens? What if we're not allowed in or we get lost or separated." Her voice quavered with emotion. "I can't do this on my own. You know I can't do this on my own."
"Lelia." Fabrizio reached for her hand and, for once, she didn't pull away. "You remember what I tell you? Stay off roads, go to Geneva. That's north. And then send message to Cal. There's plenty of money in the box."
"I remember. But—"
"If something happen, you can do this." He gently squeezed her hand. "I think it should only take two weeks and then you have your divorce and be happy again."
"Fabri, I don't want—"
The door burst open, startling them both. Armed men rushed into the room. Fabrizio sprang to his feet, sweeping the visas off the table in a frantic motion, positioning himself protectively in front of Lelia.
She tightly clutched his arm, her heart pounding like mad. They had heard. They must have heard. They knew they were leaving. They knew about the visas. They had to have known. Panic surged through her.
Two of the men seized Fabrizio, trying to wrench him away from her. But she refused to let go, as if her sheer will could keep him by her side. One of the men shouted in rapid Italian.
Fabrizio shouted back, his voice tinged in panic. "Qual è il significato di questo?"
"Why are you taking him?" Lelia demanded. "What are you doing?"
One of the men roughly grabbed her wrist, tearing her hand from Fabrizio's arm. He shoved her aside.
"Prego, non farle del male," Fabrizio pleaded. "Vi prego."
"No, you can't take him." Lelia made another futile attempt to reach for him.
The man who had pushed her before shoved her back once again. "Staçe zitto o ti vengo a pigliâ."
"Lelia," Fabrizio looked at her. "Do what I say."
"I can't."
"Papa!" Caroline rushed out of the bedroom.
"No." Lelia grabbed her and held her tight.
"Lelia," Fabrizio's voice cracked with desperation as their eyes met. He looked as frightened as she felt.
And then he was gone. The room fell into a deafening silence broken only by Caroline's sobs.
Lelia couldn't hear anything over her own heart pounding madly in her chest. It all felt surreal, like a nightmare she couldn't wake up from. "Stay here," she instructed Caroline, her voice strained. "I'll be back in a moment."
She raced down the stairs and out of the building just in time to witness them shoving Fabrizio onto the back of a waiting truck. She found a man dressed nicer than the rest, one she hoped must be in charge. "Why are you taking him?" She asked. "He didn't do anything wrong."
The man ignored her.
"Please," she implored, grabbing his arm.
He jerked away, leveling the weapon in his arms at her. "Va indrê in dutta subito! Se mi tôci anca un ciòco, te sparò!"
Lelia quickly stepped back, her hands held up. She watched helplessly as the truck pulled away, carrying Fabrizio further from her grasp. It turned the corner, and only then did the feeling return to her limbs. Slowly, she ascended the stairs, re-entering the apartment to find all the children gathered in the living room, their eyes wide with fear.
"Where's Papa?" Caroline asked at once.
"I don't—"
"Why did they take him?"
"Don't—"
"Is he coming back?"
"I can't…" The words caught in her throat. It was too much. It was all too much. "Go to your room."
"But—"
"Now," Lelia snapped. "I need a moment to think."
Alone, she began to pace the room, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as panic threatened to overwhelm her. She knew that she needed to do something. Anything. But she couldn't put her thoughts in order. Should they wait? Would they realize that there was a mistake and release him? But deep down, she knew the truth. They wouldn't release him. They'd never release him. It wasn't right. He hadn't done anything wrong. Perhaps it was the telegram from months ago. They had been watching, waiting for their moment, and now… A sob escaped her lips as she sank to her knees. It wasn't fair at all.
Neither of them had heard from Arthur since he left despite writing to him regularly. Kate, knowing how worried Cal was about it, tried her best to reassure him that Arthur was probably too busy to be writing back. She thought it was more likely that he was pouting but kept that bit to herself. She also thought it was possible that he was writing to June. She knew how close the two of them had grown in the past year.
Kate waited until June brought Alice over for a visit to ask her about it. "June," she said cautiously. "Arthur wouldn't, by any chance, be writin' to ye, would he?"
"Why would he be writing to me?" June seemed strangely fluttery as she removed Alice's coat.
"I know how close the two of ye are," Kate said. "But I don't care about that at the moment. His father and I haven't heard from him since he left and we're worried. So if he is writin' to ye, just tell me so we can stop thinkin' he died."
June focused on smoothing the wrinkles from Alice's dress as the toddler squirmed to get away. "Arthur's fine," she said at last. "He hates every moment of being there but he's fine."
"That's...that's good to know." Kate tried to ignore the hurt over knowing that Arthur was willing to write to June but not to her. She always cared a great deal about Cal's son and had thought they got along well. But apparently Arthur's anger at Cal extended to her by proximity.
"I'll tell him he needs to write to you," June said.
"I'd appreciate that." Alice broke loose from her mother's grasp and ran off. Kate reached an arm out and swooped her up, eliciting giggles. "Are ye also writin' to Tommy?" She asked after returning Alice to the ground.
"Nearly every day," June replied. "I promise."
Kate sighed. "I think yer goin' to have a bit of a choice once they both come home."
"I know." June looked at the coat in her arm. "We haven't done anything, you know. Me and Arthur. We haven't even kissed."
Kate didn't know what was going to happen once the war was over but she did know that someone was going to find their heart broken. Assuming they both came back safe. They had to come back safe.
They returned twice the following day, tearing the place apart searching for something Lelia didn't know. Proof, perhaps, of whatever allegations they pinned on her husband. Each time, she stood in the middle of the room, holding tight to her children, trying not to make a noise, to do nothing to draw attention to them. Both times, she was relieved that they hadn't found the box hidden behind the stove. The visas she kept tucked inside her dress, next to her skin. Always, she wondered what would happen when they grew tired of digging through their belongings. Would they come for her next? The children?
After the men had gone the second time, she sent the children to their room to rest. She knew every day it grew more and more dangerous to remain in their home. If it weren't for the armed men who kept coming back, the raids that were sure to start up again at any moment, she also had no job. Without a source of income, they'd quickly lose their home. Still, she was reluctant to leave even though she knew it was foolish to wait for something that may never happen. They weren't going to release Fabrizio. It wasn't going to happen. They had to go.
Lelia retrieved the box from its hiding place. She was surprised to see how full it was. Fabri must've been saving for some time. He had also added a pocket knife and a letter. Both went into her pocket. Taking her children's coats, she tore a small hole in the lining of each one. She tucked some money into them—just in case—then sewed them shut. Into Fabrizio's duffel bag, she added two changes of cloth for each of them alongside extra socks. She removed some photographs from their frames and tucked them into a small bible. She then wrapped the book in Fabrizio's sweater—the one she had once knitted for him. The whole bundle went into the bag. On top of it all, she added in the tinned food and a small loaf of slightly stale bread. She knew it wouldn't be enough. It couldn't possibly be.
As soon as night fell, she woke the children and had them dress in their warmest clothing. She shouldered the bag herself as they left their apartment.
"Is it a raid?" Maria's voice carried a note of concern as they descended the stairs.
"No."
"Are we going to go get Papa?"
Lelia hesitated. She didn't want to lie to her children but she also didn't want them to lose hope. "He's going to catch up to us later."
Caroline gave her a questioning look but didn't say anything.
She pushed down the guilt, the feeling that she was abandoning Fabrizio. She wondered if he was still alive or maybe they had already executed him. She shook her head. She couldn't think like that. She refused to think like that. She fought tears as she ushered her children out of the city, cutting through a cemetery and climbing over a low wall to avoid any checkpoints.
"Mama, I'm tired," Beatrice whined. She had started to lag behind.
"I know," Lelia replied, slowing her pace to let her catch up. "We're just going a bit farther tonight and then we can rest." She wanted to put as much distance as possible between them and Genoa before the sun came up. She wasn't certain how much danger they were still in—if any—but she didn't want to take the risk.
The sky was just beginning to lighten, a pink tinge on the horizon, when she spied a small church and ushered the children inside. They all took a seat in the corner of the room. She opened the bag and passed out slices of bread. It wasn't enough and she hated to see how quickly they wolfed it down but she wanted to save the tinned food for later, for when they might really need it.
As soon as it was light enough to see, she pulled out the map. Just as quickly she folded it back up. It wasn't helpful as she didn't know where they were in the first place.
Lelia let out a weary sigh and closed her eyes, leaning back against the stone wall of the church. Fabrizio had said two weeks. Two weeks and they'd be safe. Only two weeks.
Week after week, Arthur received the same trio of letters: one from his father, another from Kate, and the third from June. And, like every week, Arthur set his father's aside, still unopened, on the pile of other unopened letters from his father. He refused to open any of them as he didn't want to read more excuses on why nothing could be done. He still didn't believe any of it.
But he did open Kate's. He skimmed through it: 'Your father and I are worried that we haven't heard from you...just a short note to let us know that everything is alright…' He set it aside with a sigh.
Finally, he picked up June's letter, the one he really wanted to read. He tore the envelope open and smiled at her handwriting inside. She always began her letters with a recent story about Alice. Apparently the toddler's love of ducks hadn't lessened a single bit. A recent trip to the park nearly ended in disaster as she chased a duck straight into the pond. Thankfully, the water wasn't very deep and they were able to fish her out at once. The remainder of the letter was a bit less eventful:
Evy's been taking art classes in school. You should see the picture she painted recently. She's already quite good–although not to your level yet. Henry's gotten a job in a factory. He says he plans to go to college once the war's over with. Right now he's trying to save up to get himself a car. Cars are rationed so I suppose that will also happen after the war's over with. I know your parents want him to go to college but they didn't do much in the way of fighting his decision. But I think that's only because they're hoping that him working in a factory will keep him out of war. I had already told you how he had wanted to enlist with the Marines Corps. Thank goodness that idea is out of his head.
I don't have much in the way of updates about Tommy. He doesn't write too often, as you know, and his last letter was only a short note saying he was doing fine. The letter before that, however, was quite long–he wrote three pages on coffee…I wouldn't have thought such a thing possible but he managed it–so it all evens out in the end. It's nice to know that he seems to be enjoying himself.
I hope you're also enjoying yourself in some small way. You should know that I think about you every single day. I have no one to talk to with you gone. I miss you so very much. Please take care of yourself and please come home safe.
Your dearest friend,
June
Ps. Please write to your parents. They're beside themselves with worry. If you don't wish to write for their sake, write for mine.
He stared at the words on the page, June's request that he write home. He reached for a piece of paper. In large letters he wrote: 'Still alive.' He carefully folded it and slipped it into an envelope. June never said what he had to write. 'Still alive' had to have been enough to distill any worry.
March
There was a knock on the door and Pat opened it to see a young woman who looked vaguely familiar. "Can I help ye?"
"I'm looking for John," she replied, trying to peer around him into the house. "If he's home."
"John?"
"I'm Helen."
"Oh, yer Helen." Pat had seen her before but it had been years and, as John hadn't been all that interested, he hadn't paid much attention at the time. "I'm afraid John's not home."
"So he's still on his world tour then? Lucky him."
"Right. The world tour." He had forgotten that John had told her that. "He's actually in the Army now."
"He was drafted? That's a shame," Helen said. "But also a bit of a relief, if I'm being honest. I was wondering why my letters kept getting returned. Do you know when he might be back?"
"Duration of the war plus six months."
"I see…" She looked thoughtful. "I suppose I could send him a letter, now that I know where he's at. Does he—"
"Helen," Pat cut her off. "I'm not sure how to tell ye this but John's gotten married. I'm not sure ye should be tryin' to write to him."
"Oh, that's fine."
"What? Ye did hear me?"
"Yes, John's married." Helen smiled. "That's actually sort of the reason I was trying to get a hold of him." She held up her hand, revealing a glittering ring. "I'm getting married myself."
"Congratulations, I suppose." Pat inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. He had been afraid she might cause a scene.
"Thank you. He's in the Navy."
"That's very nice."
"Would you be so kind as to let John know when you see him next?"
"Sure."
"Let him down easy, will you? I don't want his heart broken."
"I'm sure he'll manage."
Helen smiled. "Thanks a bunch."
After she left, Pat turned to Sarah who stood just on the other side of the door. She immediately laughed. "John is going to be thrilled," she said.
"Ye think she's truly engaged?" Pat asked. He pulled Sarah toward him and kissed her. "That poor sailor might've just been askin' for directions."
"Stop it," Sarah laughed. "Helen's a sweet girl. A bit pushy but sweet."
"A bit pushy is bein' kind," Pat said. "I suppose we should write John a letter." He knew that John would be relieved to know his Helen-issue had gone away on its own, assuming he remembered that she existed in the first place.
They had been walking for so long. The food they brought was gone. Beatrice cried that she was hungry but the older children didn't say a word. Lelia was especially proud of Caroline who, at fifteen years old, was closer to being a young woman than a child. Holding Beatrice's hand, Caroline distracted her with stories as they walked.
Lelia was so tired. Whenever they stopped for a break, the children napped but she remained awake, too afraid to close her eyes. They tried to take the road as much as possible as it was easier than trudging through fields. Every time someone came down it, she pushed the children into the bushes to hide.
Often, as they walked, her thoughts drifted to their life in New York. Typing away as Rose's secretary, the long walks in Central Park, ice skating with Fabri, trips to Coney Island, being happy and in love. Happy. Then she would look down at herself, her clothes dirty, exhausted and hungry beyond belief and couldn't figure out precisely what had happened.
They sat beneath a tree, resting, when an old man came upon them suddenly, a rifle in his arms.
Lelia immediately jumped up, putting herself between him and the children. She hadn't heard him approach.
"Chi sei? Cosa fai qui?" He asked her.
"I don't understand." Lelia kept her eyes on the weapon in his arm.
"He wants to know who we are," Caroline said from beside her.
Lelia had forgotten that her children knew Italian. "Tell him we're just resting but we'll be on our way now."
"Stiamo solo riposando," Caroline told the man. "Mama dice che presto riprenderemo il cammino."
The man relaxed his grip on his weapon and let it hang by his side. "Hai fame?"
"Sì."
"What did he say?" Lelia asked.
"He asked if we were hungry," Caroline replied.
The man gestured for them to follow him. He led them to a small farmhouse hidden from the road. Tendrils of smoke lazily rose from its chimney. Inside was a young woman who immediately put food on the table for them.
The children ate as though they had never eaten before. The young woman, who spoke a little English, asked where they had been going. Lelia, reluctant to say anything in front of the children, waited until the food was gone and they had been ushered off to an upstairs bedroom to get some sleep.
Once they were gone, she told the woman about New York and Italy and Fabri and wanting to go home. She mentioned the war and the raids and her decision to seek a divorce. She described Fabri's arrest, the terrifying search of their home, and the fear that drove them to flee in the dead of night. Everything she had been holding inside spilled out in a rush. "I feel like I've abandoned him," she admitted softly. "He'll be wondering where we went."
The woman exchanged a look with her father. "No, he not wonder," she said. "He never know you gone."
"But when they release him…" Lelia's voice trailed off.
"They don't...release people. They hold them and they…" The woman searched for the right word. "Giustiziare farli." She mimed firing a gun with her hand. "I'm sorry."
"I don't understand," Lelia said, desperate for a different meaning in the woman's words than what she suspected.
"Dead," the woman said simply. "He is soon dead. Maybe already dead."
Lelia shook her head. "No. I don't believe it. Fabri isn't...he couldn't be." It was impossible to believe. "He's going to be meeting us in Switzerland." She repeated the lie she had told the children so many times. She desperately wished it was the truth.
"Switzerland?" The woman raised an eyebrow.
"That's where we're going."
The woman shook her head. "You walk wrong way for Switzerland."
"What?"
"You walk east," the woman said. "You need go north." She patted Lelia's arm. "But you go nowhere tonight. You stay here long as you like. It's safe here."
"Thank you," Lelia said with as much sincerity as she could muster.
The woman led her upstairs to a bedroom where her children were already asleep on the bed. Lelia took off her shoes and climbed in next to them. Exhaustion overwhelmed her and immediately her eyes began to close.
"Mama?" Caroline's voice came quietly from beside her.
"Yes?"
"Are we walking more tomorrow?"
"No," Lelia replied. "Now go to sleep." She didn't like the idea of accepting charity from strangers but she couldn't deny that her children needed a break. They needed to have food in their bellies, to feel safe. She still intended to make it to Switzerland but that could wait.
Dear June,
[CENSORED] is amazing! I wish you could see it! Especially the giant [CENSORED], all full of colorful tiles. You should see how tall some of these [CENSORED] are. Stretching way up to heaven. I haven't seen any coconuts though. I always thought [CENSORED] had coconuts but apparently movies lied to me.
Yesterday I met an [CENSORED] woman here, originally from [CENSORED]. She's not an actress like you would think but apparently she used to live in a great big house in [CENSORED]. Her husband was a [CENSORED] in the [CENSORED] but not the ones on our side and after we landed, he fled but left her behind. Now, no one knows precisely what to do with her because she's married to the [CENSORED] but she's still [CENSORED].
I have to end this now. They have us training like mad. A great deal of jumping out of [CENSORED] so I think they're about to send us somewhere else. There's a few rumors that we're finally about to go to [CENSORED] but the previous rumors were wrong so I suspect these might be as well. Maybe we'll go to [CENSORED] instead. I know my mother has a friend who lives there but I can't recall his name. If you could ask her that would be swell. I might get a chance to pay him a visit.
Tell Alice I'll send her something soon.
Your husband,
Tommy
Several times Cal started writing a letter to Fabri and Lelia but every time, he put it aside. The two countries were at war with each other and he didn't want to do anything that might lead to trouble, no matter how much he was worried about them. He even reached out to Rose to see if she had any news but, while he hadn't heard from them in over a year, she hadn't heard from them in even longer.
He struggled to think of a way he might be able to safely send a message but the best he could come up with was to physically go to a neutral country and send a telegram or letter from there. When he brought the idea up to Kate, she immediately folded her arms across her chest.
"Absolutely not," she said firmly. "Yer not abandonin' yer family in the middle of a war.
"But—"
"Fabri's me friend too and I am worried for him but endangerin' yerself isn't goin' to help anyone," she continued. "All we can do is hope and pray and trust that they're alright."
Knowing that she was right didn't do anything to lessen the worry. "Kate, they live in Genoa," Cal said. "I don't know if you've been reading the papers but Genoa's been getting hit fairly hard."
"Fabri is smart. I'm sure he's keepin' his family safe."
"I would hope so."
"Ye don't think he would?"
Cal hesitated before answering. "I think Fabri has a great deal of pride and I think because of that pride, he may wait too long to leave."
Worry crossed Kate's face but, after a moment, she shook her head. "Yer still not goin' over there. Yer family needs ye here."
"Alright," he gave in. "I won't go." He wrapped his arms around her and smiled. Kate was always so soft and warm and the perfect height that he could rest his chin on her head. He loved holding onto her.
She looked up at him. "What would ye do if we were there? Would yer pride keep us from leavin'?"
"What pride?" Cal replied. "I'd throw you over my shoulder and carry you out of there."
"And the children."
He shrugged. "They can follow if they want."
"Cal."
He kissed her. "You better believe that all of us would be gone at the first hint of danger."
"And where would we be goin'?"
"Canada," he stated. "We could be there in two days if we drive. Only a day if we go by train."
"Ye sound like ye've already thought this out."
"I made a plan the day war was first declared." It had taken him so long to find his family with people he loved who loved him back. Nothing was going to jeopardize any part of his happiness.
Kate smiled at him. "I like ye."
"I like you too," Cal said, returning the smile.
April
Eileen swept the floor while Dottie restocked and straightened the stationary at the desks. Eileen didn't know why she kept coming back to the USO as she hated sweeping and she hated Mrs. Keplinger even more. But Dottie liked being there and Eileen liked spending time with her. She had always wanted a sister and now she finally had one in her sister-in-law.
There were very few people in the USO that morning. Two men played a surprisingly quiet game of ping pong. One man was asleep at a desk, his head buried in his arms. And a small group of women—all wearing uniforms—drank coffee and chatted in the corner.
Eileen couldn't stop looking at them. She had never seen women in military uniforms before. "I didn't know they let women in the Army," she said, pointing them out.
"They're in the Women's Army Corps," Dottie explained. "Aren't they swell? You see the stripes on that one's arm? That means she's a sergeant which means she outranks some men."
"So she can order them around?"
"I'm not sure about ordering but they all have to salute her." Dottie sighed. "I wish I could join."
"I am horrified to hear you say such a thing." Mrs. Keplinger loomed over them, her sudden appearance causing them both to jump. "What would your mother say if she knew you were speaking of becoming one of them."
"There's nothing wrong with the Women's Army Corps," Dottie insisted. "They're just doing their part for the war like the rest of us."
Mrs. Keplinger lowered her voice. "Oh, would you open your eyes? Those women serve the soldiers."
"Of course they do. They answer phones and type memos and—"
The woman laughed. "My dear, their slogan is 'Release a man for combat.' What precisely do you think 'release' means?"
Dottie shook her head. "I don't believe it."
"Of course, you don't. You have such an innocent soul. It's a good thing you have me to keep you on the right road, especially with your poor husband being gone." She gave the uniformed women a look. "I wish I could ban those types from this place. We are not a brothel, after all. But, it's not allowed." She shook her head. "Now, why don't one of you go wake that young man up and see if he might be more comfortable on the sofa." She walked away without waiting for a response.
Eileen, who had struggled to follow the conversation, had the distinct impression that she had missed something. "What does release mean?"
"It means…it means nothing. Ask your mother," Dottie said. She looked at the women once more. "You go wake that man up. I'm going to go find out just how wrong Mrs. Keplinger really is. I mean, I doubt those women are doing what she claims they're doing."
"What does she claim they're doing?"
Dottie ignored her as she went over to speak with the young women.
"Fine, don't tell me." Eileen said over her shoulder as she approached the sleeping man. She stared at him. He seemed perfectly comfortable the way he was and it'd be a shame to wake him up. "Sir?" He continued to sleep. "Sir?" She spoke louder, accompanying it with a light poke. She could see Mrs. Keplinger watching her from the other side of the room. "Sir?" She tried a third time, roughly shaking his shoulder.
The young man sleepily raised his head and looked at her. A smile spread across his face. "Gravy Girl."
At once her face grew warm. Of course, it was the same young man from Christmas. "It's Eileen and I'm still sorry about that."
"It's fine." He rubbed his eyes. "Did you wake me up just to apologize for something that happened months ago? Because while I appreciate the sentiment, I'd be more appreciative of being allowed to sleep."
"No, of course not. I was supposed to…I mean…wouldn't you be more comfortable on the sofa?" Eileen managed to ask. "And what's got you so tired anyway? It's not like you're out fighting."
"Not yet, in any case. I'm sure my turn will come soon enough." He yawned. "Where's this sofa?"
"Over there." She pointed to a worn and slightly lumpy looking sofa that rested along one wall.
"Alright." He stood and stretched. "Goodnight Gravy Girl," he said, starting toward the sofa. "You wouldn't by any chance have a blanket, would you? Because that'd be swell." With that he fell onto the sofa.
Eileen went to the back and found a blanket—it may have actually been a tablecloth—and brought it back out. "For the second time, it's Eileen," she said, tossing it at him.
Dottie was in a great mood when they were later walking toward the car. "Mrs. Keplinger couldn't be more wrong," she said. "They have to go through boot camp just like the men and then they get to learn all sorts of technical things like wiring radios and reading morse code and repairing jeeps. All sorts of stuff that men usually get to do."
"I'm not sure I'd like to repair a jeep."
"Yeah, that doesn't sound all that great but wouldn't it be nice to not need a man?" Dottie asked. "Not saying I don't love your brother or anything. I just don't like being dependent on anyone."
"That's fine," Eileen said. "I don't think John knows how to fix a jeep anyway. Was that woman really a sergeant?"
"She was," Dottie confirmed, a wistful expression on her face. "There's promotions and everything just like in the real Army. Some even get to go overseas but apparently everyone always fights over those positions."
Eileen looked at her and frowned. "You're not going to join, are you?"
"I think I might."
"Then maybe I'll join too." Eileen really didn't want to join but she preferred to put up with it than have Dottie leave.
"You wouldn't be able to yet," Dottie replied. "You have to be twenty-one."
"Oh." Eileen's heart fell. She had already lost her brother and now she was about to lose her sister. It wasn't fair.
"I'll write to you."
"Alright."
"Are you upset?"
"No, of course not." Eileen managed to smile. "I hope you make general so you can boss John around the moment he gets home."
"I don't need to be a general to do that."
They reached the car and climbed inside. "What was Mrs. Keplinger talking about earlier?" Eileen tried again.
Dottie started the car. "Sex. She was talking about sex."
"Oh." Eileen could feel her face grow warm once again. She knew of sex, of course, but as she was still waiting for her first kiss, it was a subject she never gave much thought to. "So they're not having sex then?"
Dottie laughed. "They might be having sex but that has nothing to do with the Women's Army Corps."
"Oh, I see."
All of Sarah's recent dreams had been about John, not her son but her first husband. Every morning she woke up feeling sad, the sadness soon turning to guilt for its existence in the first place. She was happy being married to Pat. She was happy with her life. It had been so long since John had died. If her son didn't look so much like him, she knew that she wouldn't even remember what he looked like. It was strange how time had flown by. It was strange to realize that she had now known Pat for longer than she had ever known John. There was sadness, again, at that realization. She had loved John so much and now he was hardly more than an asterisk in her past.
Sarah removed a small flat box from the back of her drawer and opened it. Inside was John's letter—the ink still smudged by sea water and rain, their wedding rings, and a white feather. She picked up the letter and read it over again, smiling as she did so. 'Regardless of what may or may not happen, I wouldn't trade our time together for anything because a single day married to you is worth more than a lifetime without you.' For the longest time, she couldn't even think of him or the letter without breaking down. Now she could read it and smile—although still not without a dull pain in her chest. She didn't know if that day would ever come. She hoped not.
She set the letter down and picked up his wedding ring, feeling the cold metal, imagining him taking it off and handing it to Cal. She pressed it to her lips.
"Sarah?" Pat stood in the doorway.
She jumped, the ring dropping from her fingers. It fell to the floor. Quickly, she scrambled to put everything else back into the box.
"Sarah, stop. Ye don't need to be…just stop. It's alright." He gently touched her arm.
She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. You know that I love you, right?"
"I assume ye wouldn't be with me if ye didn't," Pat replied. He picked the ring up from the floor and held it out. "I also know that ye loved John. There's nothin' wrong with that."
Sarah took the ring and looked at it. She shook her head. "I've been dreaming about him lately and I don't know why. I hardly remember him. I had loved him so much once and now I can't even remember his voice." She placed the ring in the box. "I don't even have a photo," she said. "Ihada photo but that…well, it went down with the ship, I suppose."
"Have ye ever thought of writin' to his family?" Pat asked. "They must have a photo of him."
"They never liked me much when he was alive," she replied. "They tried to throw me out onto the street after he died. I don't think they'd be very willing to give me a photo of him. Especially not thirty years later."
"Ye won't know unless ye try."
Sarah shook her head. "No. There's no use." She placed the lid back on the box. "It's just my silly head that has me thinking of this at all right now." She smiled. "Maybe I meant to dream about his son, John, and my brain chose the wrong John by mistake."
"Maybe that's it." Pat kissed her. "Now, whenever yer ready—and no rush at all—we just received another letter from John that's waitin' to be read aloud. There are six missin' bits in this one so it'll be a bit of a challenge."
"Alright," Sarah replied. "I'll be out in a moment."
"Take yer time."
Once Pat left, she opened the box and went through the items once more: the letter, the rings, and feather. She wished desperately that she had a photo to go with them but she didn't dare reach out to his family for one. She was going to have to content herself with his memory and their son. Sighing, she closed the box and returned it to its place in the drawer. She paused briefly at the mirror and looked at her reflection. Since when did she have so much gray in her hair? She wondered, briefly, what her life might've been like if John had survived. But then she shook her head, pushing the thoughts away. No, she was happy with her life as it was. She was happy with Pat and Eileen and John. There was no use in trying to imagine anything else.
June,
You'll be pleased to hear that I can finally run six miles without getting sick. I'm not great at it but I'm also not the worst so I believe that's worth celebrating. I am also one of the fastest at taking apart and putting back together my rifle. I can't think of a more useless skill to have.
And speaking of useless, they've moved us to Fort Dix, New Jersey to do more of the same. I suppose that's better than being moved to Germany. I really shouldn't complain. But I don't understand the change of location and if they explained it, I didn't catch it.
Thank Evy for sending me the drawing. She'll be better than me in no time at all. I miss her. I miss all of you. June, I feel so alone here. I'm not good at any of this and everyone knows it. I cannot imagine anyone wanting me around them once we find ourselves in a dangerous situation. Duration of the war plus six months, I don't know how I'm going to survive it.
I know I should make more of an effort with the men in my company but all they ever want to do is drink and talk about girls back home. I don't mind the drinking but the only girl I want to talk about is you and I know that is something I cannot do because you are not my girl.
I wish I could go home. I suppose it'd be inappropriate to ask you to visit me but I wish you could. I miss having someone to speak to. Would it also be inappropriate to ask for a photo? I suppose it would be as well.
I hope you and Alice are doing well. Please continue to write. Your letters are what keep me going. That and hope of seeing you again soon.
I miss you,
Arthur
They had stayed there too long. The young woman and her father never complained but Lelia felt guilty watching her family eat their food. There were simply too many of them. Always, her thoughts were on Fabrizio: where he was, what he was doing; was he even still alive? Despite what the woman said, she had to hold onto the tiniest thread of hope, she had to believe that he was still alive, that she would see him again. But she knew that if he were ever released, he would never find them again unless they continued on.
Deciding to leave, to take her children away from sure food and safety, was a difficult decision. As she repacked their bag, she reminded herself that they had to reach Switzerland. There was nowhere else any of them could go. They would never be entirely safe until they were there.
Before they left, the woman gave them food for the journey and pointed them in the correct direction. North. The children looked sullen as they waved goodbye and started walking once again.
"I don't want to walk anymore," Beatrice whined.
"We have to walk," Lelia replied. "Papa's waiting for us."
Caroline shot her a look, as she always did when Lelia told that lie, but kept her thoughts to herself.
Flowers were just beginning to bloom along the sides of the road. Beatrice collected them as they walked, building a tiny bouquet in her arms, while Caroline told her the names of each one—Lelia suspected she was making most of them up. Maria and Carlo walked together, discussing the first thing each would eat the moment they reached Switzerland—a hot dog for Maria and a block of chocolate for Carlo. Everything was peaceful, the day was beautiful—it was easy to forget that they weren't just a family out for a nice afternoon stroll.
The sun was beginning to set when a light rain started to fall. Lelia removed her coat and wrapped it around Beatrice. She could see a house in the distance and she immediately steered her children toward it.
As they neared, she could see that a section of the roof had fallen in but smoke still drifted from the chimney. A man ran out, a rifle in his arms. "Chi sei? Chi sei?" He pointed it at them. "Cosa fai qui? Sei una spia?"
Lelia froze. Beside her, Beatrice whimpered, clutching her arm tightly.
"Mama?" Carlo tugged on her other arm.
"Hush," Lelia said quietly. "Everything's fine. We're fine."
"Inglese?" The man asked. He suddenly turned and ran back into the house.
A moment later another man took his place. An older man with a large mustache. "You speak English, yes?"
Lelia nodded.
"Good. I speak English." He nodded. "Not well but enough English. Come in." He gestured for them to follow him inside.
A crack of thunder echoed overhead.
Not seeing any other choice, Lelia looked around to make sure her children were with her then followed him inside.
It was warm and dry in the house despite the hole in the roof. A fire had been built up in the fireplace casting a flickering glow over the room. A small group of men huddled around it, exhaustion etched in their faces. Each wore remnants of a military uniform, mostly covered up by civilian clothing.
"You're American, yes?" The mustached man asked.
Lelia was almost too afraid to answer. "Italian," she said. "My husband's Italian." And possibly dead, she added inside her head.
"This is big house." The man gestured to the room. "We can all share while it storm. I give you word, you're safe."
She nodded. Her hands trembled as she pulled her children to the opposite side of the room, as far from the men—and the fire—as possible. It wasn't as warm as it could be but it was the safest place. Safety was all that mattered.
"Where you walking to?"
Lelia was so focused on making sure her children removed their shoes to let their feet dry out that she hadn't noticed the man join them. She looked at him warily. "Someplace safe," she said. "I want to get my children to someplace safe."
"They have father?"
"He's waiting for us." She ignored the twinge of pain that accompanied the lie.
"I have six children myself," he said proudly. "I not seen them in many years." He let out a sigh. "But war will be over soon."
"What?"
"It nothing but defeat after defeat after defeat and now we hear Americans come."
"What about the Germans?"
He snorted. "What about them? They over there and we over here." He looked at his men. "No, we all go home before they send us some place to die."
Pieces suddenly tumbled into place: their exhaustion, their wariness, the remnants of military uniform. They were deserters.
"I'd like to see my children again," he said. He reached into his bag and pulled out a small box. "I have this." He opened it to reveal several chocolates. "I carry for a while and I want to give to my children but they not here and these children are." He held it out to Carlo who looked at his mother.
"Go ahead," Lelia said.
Smiles spread across their faces as they each took one. It was the first time in a long while that she had seen that sort of smile on any of their faces and Lelia felt a wave of gratitude toward the man. Wanting to keep those smiles on their faces for as long as possible, she pulled a can of spaghetti out of her own bag along with Fabri's pocket knife. The spaghetti was the best of their tinned food and she had been saving it for a special moment. She lined up the point of the knife against the tin and started to cut into it.
"Here." The man took both items from her. He quickly opened the can and handed them back.
"One bite at a time," she told her children as she handed Caroline the can and a fork. "Pass it around."
"You eat too." The man handed her a chunk of bread.
"Thank you."
"Piero," he said. "You call me Piero."
"Thank you, Piero." Lelia ate the bread slowly. She hadn't realized how hungry she was. It was strange to feel so safe, strange to feel cared for. She had been surprised at how kind everyone was, everyone except the men who took Fabri. This was the part of Italy that her husband had loved so much. She understood it.
That night, they slept close together, using their coats as blankets. Lelia clutched her bag tightly to her. Despite the kindness of the men, she couldn't risk anything happening to it. Everything they owned was inside.
In the morning, they were woken up by the men getting ready to go. It had stopped raining but a chilly mist hung in the air.
Piero looked at them pulling on their shoes and coats and shook his head. "No, you take this," he said, removing his overcoat.
Lelia hesitantly took the coat. It was made of heavy wool.
"And you take this too. We have plenty." He handed her a heavy metal canteen. She could hear water sloshing inside of it. "Now, you stay on this road and you be there in no time at all."
"Thank you for everything," Lelia said sincerely.
Piero nodded. He turned to his men, called an order, and they all left together.
She turned to look at her children and saw them all eating polenta out of tin cups. "Where'd you get that?"
"They gave it to us," Caroline replied. "There's some for you too." She handed her mother another cup.
The polenta was tasteless and undercooked but it was hot and filling and Lelia could've happily eaten an entire pot of it. After they finished, the tin cups were added to their bag. They passed around the canteen and drank their fill.
"Alright," Lelia said. "We're alright. Let's keep moving, yes? Papa's waiting for us so we better hurry."
As they set out, once again, she desperately wished it was true.
May
My dearest John,
Do you remember when I came to visit you in Texas and I told you how I wanted to find a job? Well, I've found one and I hope you will not be disappointed in me.
I've joined the Women's Army Corps (formerly Women's Auxiliary Army Corps…they changed the name for some reason). I want to feel useful. I want to wear a uniform and be called Sergeant. I want to be close to you in whatever way I can be. I know there are rumors about the WAC but I can assure you that there is no truth to them whatsoever.
The standards at the WAC are very strict. Before I was even allowed in, I had to take a quiz and pass a medical check. They even weighed me. I won't tell you the number but thankfully, I'm well within the weight range. The woman beside me was not so fortunate. After I was accepted, I received my uniform. It's not nearly as flattering on me as your uniform is on you.
I'm nearly finished with my training now. Who knew that it could be so difficult to walk in straight lines. You'll be pleased to know that I had no trouble telling my left from my right. A few of the other women seemed to struggle with that but I'm fairly certain it was just nerves.
I'll be receiving my assignment soon. I'd like to learn how to operate a radio. I feel like it'd be the most useful job to have and it might lead to me getting to go overseas. I know what you're going to say but we've all been assured that we will be far away from danger. And it's hardly fair that you get to see the world and I do not.
John, I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I want you by my side. I want you in my bed. I want you. I need you. I hope you can feel my love because none of these words are doing justice to how deeply I feel. Please stay safe and take care of yourself. I cannot wait for our marriage to finally be able to begin. I love you.
Love, love, love,
Dottie
xoxoxoxoxxoox
"I'm almost disappointed," Eileen said over ice cream at the Big Dipper Ice Cream Shop. "I was expecting it to be much harder. I mean, I hardly had to think at all."
Richard laughed. "Leave it to you to be disappointed that the exam was too easy."
"I'm not saying I'm disappointed," she insisted. "It's just…well, disappointing to spend all of that time studying and then none of that studying being needed at all."
"I'll try not to be too hurt that you think all of our time studying together was a waste of effort."
"I never said that. It wasn't a waste. I like…" She took a bite out of the ice cream. It was pistachio. "I like studying with you." She scrunched up her nose at the resulting ice cream headache. "No studying is a waste of effort."
"I've enjoyed studying with you too," he replied with a smile. "You're dripping."
"What?" Eileen lifted her cone to see the ice cream slowly dripping onto the table. "Oh, shoot. Could you hold it a moment?" She handed him the cone. "I'll go get some napkins."
"Sure," Richard replied. "And I'll try not to eat it."
"Don't you dare," she called back as she reached the lunch counter.
She grabbed a handful of napkins from the dispenser. She turned to go, bumping into a woman who had been standing behind her. "Oh, sorry."
"Watch it."
"I said I was sorry."
"Gravy girl?" A young man joined the woman who immediately wrapped her hand around his arm. "Imagine seeing you here. I thought you lived at the USO."
"Eileen," she snapped at him. "My name is Eileen. You don't see me calling you…" She couldn't think of an insulting name.
He laughed. "Peter."
"Peter," she repeated. "…rabbit." The moment the word left her lips, she wished she had never existed.
The woman laughed. "Introduce me."
"This is my fiancée, Elsie," Peter said.
"Nice to meet you." Eileen glanced toward the table and saw Richard watching them. Both ice cream cones in his hands were dripping onto the table. "I need to get back to my friend before he eats my ice cream."
Before either could respond, she hurried back to her table and dropped the napkins onto it.
"Who was that?" Richard handed back her ice cream cone.
"Just an infuriating man," she said. She paused to wipe up the melted ice cream on the table. "I see him sometimes at the USO. He likes to call me names."
"That's awful." Richard shook his head. "Just because they wear that uniform, they think they can get away with being rude."
"Will you ever wear that uniform?"
"I suppose I'll have to if I'm ever drafted."
"Oh, right." Eileen knew it was a dumb a question. Of course, he'd have to wear it. Men didn't have a choice on enlisting. "I hope you're not."
"You do?"
"I already have a brother and two cousins in the Army," she replied. "That's enough for me."
"Your brother volunteered, right?"
"He did," Eileen smiled. "Almost the very first day."
"That's brave of him."
"It is." She wished she could be half as brave as her brother. If she were half as brave, she'd be able to ask Richard if they were only friends. If they could, maybe, be something more.
They spent weeks landing in Lake Bizerte. Weeks spent loading onto a ship, climbing down into a boat and rushing ashore. Weeks spent landing under the sounds of artillery fire. Everyone was exhausted and pushed to the edge but no one could deny that it was helping. Whereas before their landings were slow and could best be described as a controlled chaos, they now went smoothly with everyone in sync. Whatever it was they were preparing to do, everyone was confident in it going well.
A group of them sat beneath a tree, trying to soak in every bit of coolness from the shade. Most were too exhausted to speak, simply dozing with their eyes open. One man read aloud from a newspaper, his tone heavy with skepticism. "There are many interesting and useful duties for women in the women's army corps. The WAC has proven that women can do most types of work as well as men." He snorted. "I assume the only types of work they're referring to is cooking a meal and having babies."
"I would say that women are likely better than men at having babies," another man pointed out.
"One point for women then," the first man conceded with a chuckle. He straightened the paper as he continued to read. "By joining the WAC, you—an American woman—can send more strength to our Armies abroad by releasing a man for combat." He laughed. "Too bad we can't get some of them over here," he said. "I could use a bit of release."
John had listened to him in silence, his thoughts on Dottie. He knew that she could do anything just as well as a man. He was proud of her for joining the WAC regardless of what many other men might think. But at the man's last comment, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Would you shut the hell up?" He snatched the newspaper from the man's grasp.
"Struck a nerve did I?" The man said. ""Oh, that's right. I had heard your wife is one of them. It's nice of you to share her like that."
John swung his arm, his fist connecting with the man's jaw, sending him reeling. The man shook it off and lunged forward.
Without hesitating, Tommy pushed his way between them in an attempt to break up the fight before it could escalate. "Fuck," Tommy shouted as the man's fist hit him instead of John. "You asshole."
"That's enough!" Jimmy commanded as he joined the group. Everyone immediately stepped back. He turned to John. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
"He jumped me," John said.
"For good reason," Tommy interjected. "You should've heard what he said about his wife."
Jimmy turned to the man. "Go clean the latrines," he ordered before the man could argue. "Now."
"Yes, sir." The man shot John an angry look as he turned to do as he was told.
"Tommy, you go help him."
"What? Why?" Tommy protested. "I mean why, sir?"
"Because I said so."
Tommy huffed as he went to follow the man.
The moment they were gone, Jimmy sighed. "What did he say?"
"Dottie joined the WAC," John replied.
"She did?"
"She just finished training," John said proudly. It was impossible to keep the pride from his voice.
"Is she happy?"
John shrugged. "She's bored out of her mind, I think. She wanted to learn how to operate a radio but they have her sorting mail."
"They're wasting her potential by having her in a mail room but that's the military for you. Never put people in the right spots." Jimmy smiled suddenly. "I'd ask you to stop the fights but we're all going to be too busy for them soon enough."
"So we are leaving then?"
"I'm only a corporal. Do you really think they tell me that sort of stuff?"
"I don't know what they tell you," John admitted. "What's a corporal supposed to do anyway."
"I'm sure you'll learn soon enough," Jimmy said. He scratched his head. "You know, I'm glad you hit him. I would've if I had heard him talking about Dottie like that."
"You still love her?"
"I'll always love her," Jimmy said. "How could anyone not."
"She is something."
"She is. Which means that if you get yourself killed, you should know that I'm moving right in."
John smiled. "Fair enough."
Alice and Evy finger painted at the kitchen table. An old table cloth had been laid down to protect the surface. Kate kept an eye on them from the counter where she was busy making carrot cookies. Baking had gotten much more complicated with rationing in place and she was quickly having to adapt her usual recipes to manage the various shortages. Carrot cookies was an adaptation that she had never tried before.
"Look, mom." Evy held up her painting. "It's a horse."
"That's very nice," Kate replied. "That's very good." She wasn't sure how good a typical nine year old might be at painting but she was certain that Evy was better than most. Ever since the day she met Arthur, her one goal was to be just like him. Every painting, every drawing Evy did was usually accompanied with a variation of 'do you think Arthur will like it?'
Evy looked at the painting in her hands and scrunched up her nose. "It's not as good as Arthur's."
Kate slid the baking sheet full of cookie dough into the oven. "I'm sure it's much better than any of Arthur's drawings when he was yer age." Her eyes fell on Alice who stared intently at her paint covered fingers. "Alice, don't be eatin' the paint, now." She took a dish towel and began wiping the toddler's fingers clean.
"I think she already ate some," Evy said.
"Well, stop her next time if ye see her doin' it again."
"You know, if we have some cookies, then none of us will have to be eating paint."
Kate laughed at her reasoning. "They'll be done soon enough." She peeked into the oven at the slowly browning cookies. "I hope they turn out." They weren't the type of cookies she usually made but she didn't have enough sugar for any other type. Like always, Cal had offered to procure her some but she didn't like asking him too. It seemed like there was never anything he couldn't find but she knew that his methods to do so were often of questionable legality. "Now are ye goin' to be sendin' that drawing to Arthur?" She asked Evy.
"No," Evy replied. "Maybe. Do you think he'll like it?"
"I know he'll love it," Kate assured her. "And maybe we can send him Alice's drawing along with it."
"Alice's drawing is terrible."
"No, it's good!" Alice insisted.
"It's not even anything," Evy said.
"Is so!"
"Stop it, both of ye," Kate quickly intervened before their argument could lead to a tantrum. "Both of yer drawings are very good." Both children huffed but their bad moods were forgotten the moment she pulled the tray of cookies out of the oven. "Now, go clean up and when yer done, ye can each have a cookie."
The two children ran to do as they were told.
Kate carefully picked up one of the cookies, holding it lightly in her fingertips. She blew it on a few times to cool it down, then took a bite. They were fine. Not great but far from terrible.
June
Lelia was exhausted. Her head pounded. She was dizzy. Any other time and she would assume it was the flu. But she knew the truth. It was walking for miles with little food or water. She couldn't even recall the last time she had slept. Always awake, always watching. It wasn't safe for them to all sleep at once and she couldn't bring herself to ask one of the children to stay awake.
They had all grown quiet. No more stories, no more deciding what they were going to eat. Beatrice didn't even cry anymore. She knew they were hungry, so hungry but there was nothing she could do but walk faster. Push them harder. There would be food in Switzerland. Safety. Two weeks. Fabri had said it'd only take two weeks. Of course, he hadn't counted on her walking the wrong way or staying too long with the kind family or how slowly they all seemed to move when they were hungry. No. He had believed that she could bring the children to Switzerland within two weeks. He had been wrong.
Behind them came the sound of approaching vehicles. Two large trucks. She was too tired to hide. Instead, she pulled the children to the side of the road and waited for them to pass. The first passed by slowly. She watched it go, a giant red cross painted on the side of the canvas. A red cross? Something about it seemed familiar. The second truck came nearer and realization dawned. Red Cross.
Lelia ran out into the middle of the road, holding her hands up.
The truck swerved to the side and slammed on its brakes, narrowly missing her.
"Jesus, woman." The driver stepped out of the truck. "The hell you doing?" He spoke with an American accent.
"We need help. Please. My children, they…" She looked at her children, standing close together, watching her. How could she possibly make the man understand? "My husband was arrested and we've been walking since the end of April. We have no food and we ran out of water and I haven't slept in a week."
The man stared at her.
"I have these." She dug into her bag and pulled out the visas. "They're for Switzerland. Are you going that way? Can you take us with you?" A flutter of fear moved across her heart. Perhaps she had been mistaken. "You are with the Red Cross, right? You're supposed to help people."
Wordlessly, the man took the visas from her and flipped through them. His eyes darted to the children. After a moment, he handed them back. "Come on. We have room."
Lelia nearly kissed him.
They sat in the back of the truck, nestled among the crates and boxes. There was already another woman sitting back there. She wore a uniform and looked at them in amusement.
"Are we close to Switzerland?" Lelia asked.
"170 kilometers, give or take," the woman replied. "We'll be there in five hours. Have you really been walking since April?"
"We walked the wrong direction for a few of those weeks."
The woman smiled. "You're going the right way now."
Lelia leaned back against the side of the truck and closed her eyes. Beatrice pressed up against one side of her and Maria, the other. Both children had fallen asleep at once. Caroline and Carlo were still awake—she could hear them talking quietly—but she doubted they'd remain awake much longer.
They were safe. They had done it.
"I think I'd like to study mathematics," Eileen said, picking up a brochure from the pile on the kitchen table.
"Are ye sure?" Pat asked. "That sounds difficult." Eileen had recently graduated high school and Pat and Sarah were both thrilled that she was so interested in college. The fact that she would be the first in the family to attend college wasn't lost on either of them.
"I've always been good at math and a lot of people don't think women can do math which sort of makes me want to do it all the more."
"I suppose provin' someone wrong isn't the worst reason to do something."
"This is the one I'm thinking of," she said. She slid a brochure toward him.
"Whitworth College?"
"It's here in Spokane and it's close enough that I can stay home and take the bus every day."
"Ye don't want to stay in the dorms?"
"Eventually, but I don't need to for my first year," she explained. "It'll be cheaper this way too."
"Cheaper is always good," Pat said. "But we can afford it if ye want to stay in the dorms yer first year."
Eileen shook her head. "I don't mind the bus. And I don't want to leave home," she added. "Not yet, anyway."
"Well, yer mother and I certainly aren't about to toss ye out. Ye can take the bus as long as ye like."
She smiled. "Do you think I should do the mathematics physics path or just mathematics? Physics is more challenging but it's also more interesting."
"Yer askin' the wrong person. I think it's all challenging," Pat said. He always hated that he never had a chance to finish his schooling. There was so much he didn't know but wish he did. "Now, what about yer friend, Richard? Where's he goin'?"
Eileen suddenly looked sheepish. "He's going to Whitworth too. At least, he hopes to because he wants to study business management and it'd be nice if he could do it right here in Spokane."
"Is there something special goin' on between ye two? Because yer mother and I are goin' to be wantin' to meet him before too much longer."
She blushed pink. "We're only friends." A smile slowly spread across her face. "We're friends and we study together sometimes."
"And go for ice cream." Whether there was anything more than friendship between them, Pat didn't care. He was merely happy to see Eileen happy. She had always struggled to make friends and it seemed as though she finally found a good one. He was certain they'd like him once they finally met him.
"That only happened once and it was to celebrate getting good marks on an exam."
"What mark did ye get?"
"An A." She beamed proudly.
"Smartest in yer class."
Eileen laughed. "I'm not the smartest. Might be in the top five though."
"Smartest in the family, at least," Pat insisted.
"Don't let mom hear you say that."
"Nah, I'm sure yer mother would agree." Pat looked at the brochures in front of them, imagined his daughter graduating from one of them, being successful and looked up to, an expert and he was nearly overcome with emotion. "I am so proud of ye," he said softly. "Now, go tell yer mother yer plan so she can be proud of ye too."
Eileen scooped up the brochures. As she passed behind his chair, she surprised him with a quick hug. "Love you, dad," she said, kissing his cheek. And then she was gone.
Pat looked at the one college brochure that had escaped her and smiled. He may not have been very educated and not many would call him smart, but he and Sarah brought Eileen into the world. And that was a very smart thing to do.
It was the Swiss Red Cross that put them up in a crowded school alongside a hundred other people who had fled from their homes. Lelia knew that there was no room for them and she felt guilty for every moment they were there. She felt guilty for the blankets they wrapped around themselves as they slept on the floor in the corner of a classroom. She felt guilty for the soup and stew they ate two times a day. She felt guilty for feeling safe, for being warm and dry. She felt guilty for the way the children seemed to make themselves at home almost at once.
She waited until she had a meal and a good night's sleep to think of what to do next. They couldn't stay in Switzerland but they couldn't walk any farther. She wished she could go home to New York but, even with every bit of money cut out of the linings of her children's coats, it wasn't enough for passage to the United States—assuming any ships were sailing across the Atlantic at the moment. Cal suddenly crossed her mind. Fabri had said to send him a message. She wasn't sure how he could possibly help when he was so far away. But her pride was long gone and she didn't know what else to do.
After instructing Caroline to watch her siblings, Lelia pocketed the money they had left as well as Cal's address and stepped out of the school.
Geneva was large and overwhelming, a mish mash of different languages. It took her an hour to find someone who spoke English and then another hour to find the telegram office.
The clerk looked at her suspiciously as she stepped inside. Lelia, feeling self-conscious, looked down at her dress. It was dirty, faded from the sun, and had been mended more than once. She took a deep breath and stepped forward. "I have these," she said, holding out the Italian lire and the American dollars, hoping that one of them would work.
The clerk looked them over, frowning. Finally, he nodded. He took the dollar from her hand and slid a blank form forward. "Seven words," he said. "No more."
Lelia looked at the form and felt momentarily defeated. There was so much she needed to tell Cal, so much she needed to explain. Fabrizio had been arrested. They spent weeks walking the wrong direction. They were sleeping on the floor. They had very little money. She didn't know what to do. What could she possibly do? Finally, she wrote: 'IN GENEVA FABRI GONE NEED HELP LELIA.' She neatly added Cal's address to the top corner and handed the form to the clerk. It would have to do.
It took her twice as long to find her way back to the school. The school that seemed to have grown twice as crowded in the time she was gone. Lelia took count of her children: Maria and Carlo had found other children their age and were currently playing a game, Caroline was trying to teach Beatrice how to sew. Content that they were alive and staying out of trouble—as if they had even tried to get into trouble in the past year—she settled on their blankets, next to their bag. They all looked happy but she knew that looks were deceiving. Despite all outward appearances, they were suffering. Children shouldn't be forced from their homes. They shouldn't spend months hungry and tired, walking to someplace that may or may not be better.
Lelia reached into the bag and drew out the bible. She flipped through the pages until she found the photos tucked within. The first was of her parents, both staring stoically at the camera. She hadn't heard from them in years. Were they still alive? Did they worry about her? Maybe she should've sent them the telegram instead of Cal. The second photo was of her children, gathered together, large smiles on their faces. Happy. Fed. Safe. The third photo was taken at her wedding. She looked at Fabri standing beside her, an arm wrapped around her waist, and a wave of grief threatened to overwhelm her. Was he still alive? Would she see him again? She knew how unlikely it was. Even if he was released, how could he possibly find her? The world was a large place.
A tightness started in her throat. She quickly put the photos away and took several steadying breaths. She refused to let herself cry. She could cry when it was over. She could cry when her children were safe, when she no longer needed to worry. Then, and only then, would she allow herself to break down.
John hadn't expected the promotion. He didn't understand why it happened. He hadn't done anything to deserve it. And he certainly wasn't seeking one out. All he had ever done was to stay out of trouble and do what he was told with minimal arguing. He hated every bit of being a corporal from the way men suddenly acted around him, to all of the 'sirs' peppered into any conversations they had with him. He hated even more that they were finally about to set out, which is what everyone wanted, but now he had to set out with the weight of responsibility around his neck.
The sun had just dropped behind the olive trees but the temperature hadn't dropped a single degree. John found himself sitting among the other officers in a semicircle, trying to look important, trying to look as though he belonged. Everyone had been given the day off from training—the surest sign something was about to happen—and he longed to be with his friends, drinking and enjoying a bit of freedom, instead of listening to a bunch of strategy and what could only be described as pep talks with the other officers. Why did they have to promote him?
General Truscott, a man John had only seen in the distance and certainly never been close enough to hear speak, took his place in the center of the circle.
The man cleared his throat before beginning to speak. "Gentleman," he said, looking around at each one in turn. "We are on the eve of a great adventure. We are about to set forth upon the greatest amphibious expedition the world has ever known. We are going forth to engage the enemy and defeat him."
John didn't think 'a great adventure' was the correct choice of words to describe what they were doing. Great adventures were exciting and fun. People wanted to be on great adventures. He was fairly certain that the only person wanting to be on their current 'great adventure' was General Truscott.
"We do not know the world 'failure," General Truscott continued. "We know only that we will be successful or that we will be successful beyond our utmost expectations."
Of course, failure wasn't an option. John sighed. What would happen if they did fail? Would America withdraw from the war? Would the war be lost? Or, more likely, would they simply be replaced by the next group of men, forgotten and buried on the Sicilian soil. He impatiently drummed his fingers against his leg, silently urging the speech to end faster. He hoped he would have time to send a last letter to everyone he knew but he knew better than to expect much. One thing he learned in the Army was that they would have all the time in the world until suddenly, without warning, there was no time at all.
Cal sat outside in the hot sun. He had somehow been roped into holding up a hose while Evy ran through the water. Kate, not wanting to get wet, had volunteered him. As she remained safe and dry inside the home, he completely intended to throw a cup of water at her later, when she was least expecting it.
"No, you have to hold it higher," Evy insisted.
"I am holding it higher."
"No, higher."
"Like this?" He put his thumb over the nozzle, causing it to spray her in the face.
Evy shrieked and ran out of its reach. "Now do that again but hold it higher and not in my face."
"Yes, ma'am." Cal did as he was told.
He watched as Evy stood beneath the water, her hands held out. She clutched her heart suddenly and dramatically fell to the ground. She jumped back to her feet and did it all again in an even more dramatic fashion. He was fairly certain she was reenacting a scene from a movie but he couldn't recall which one.
"Sir? I have this for you."
Cal jumped. He turned to see a boy standing next to him, an envelope held out. "Where did you come from?" He had been so caught up in watching his daughter that he hadn't noticed the boy riding up on his bike.
"Just take it, please. I have six more to deliver before my shift's finished."
Cal took the envelope from him. He turned it over and saw the words, 'Western Union,' printed across the front. His heart nearly stopped. Arthur was still in training. Arthur was still safe. It had to have been Tommy.
"Dad, you're not holding it up," Evy said, suddenly.
"Go find your mother," Cal replied, setting the hose on the ground.
"But I'm wet. Mom won't like it."
"Tell your mother it's only water and it'll dry but she needs to come out here at once."
She went to do as she was told.
Cal tore open the envelope and was struck with a wave of relief. There was no 'regret to inform you…' It wasn't from the War Department at all. But the relief faded as he read the words: 'IN GENEVA FABRI GONE NEED HELP LELIA.'
"What is it?" Kate came running out of the house, with Evy trailing behind her. "Is that…oh God." She clapped her hands to her mouth.
"No, no, no." Cal gently removed her hands away. "It's not Tommy," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"Arthur?"
"It's from Lelia."
"Who?"
"Fabri's wife." He handed her the telegram.
"In Geneva, Fabri gone…what does that mean? Did he leave her?" Kate looked as confused as he felt.
"I don't know." Cal thought for a moment, recalling the way Fabri had always talked about her, and shook his head. "No, he wouldn't have left her. Or the children. They must be with her, I hope." He brought a hand over his face. How was he supposed to help her?
"Does she need money?"
"There's no address to send it to."
"Tell her to come here."
"How? Again, there's no address," he said. "I can't write back." He thought of how much trouble Lelia must've been in to have sent the telegram. The fact that it came from her and not Fabri worried him more than anything. Something was terribly wrong. He could feel it. "Kate," he began tentatively, already knowing how she was going to react. "I know we talked about this before but—"
"No," Kate cut him off.
"Kate, they could be in a great deal of trouble."
"Ye said, yerself, there's no address. Ye wouldn't even be able to find them."
"I have to try."
She folded her arms across her chest and looked away from him. He could see her struggling to hold in tears.
Cal took her in his arms. "I owe Fabri everything," he said softly. "If his family is in trouble, I can't ignore it." He gently kissed her head. "Switzerland isn't even at war. It'll be as safe as can be."
"Ye'd be gone so long. What if something…what if Tommy…"
"Three weeks, at most." The thought of being away from her for so long was hard to fathom but he knew there was no way around it. He couldn't ignore Lelia. "A week there, a week to find her, and—"
"And if ye can't find her in a week?'
He took a breath. "Then I'll come home regardless."
"It'd be longer than a week there," Kate pointed out. "Ye can't take a ship from Spokane. Ye'll have to take the train to New York first and then another week after that. Ye'd be gone at least a month."
"Kate, if our places were reversed, I would hope that Fabri would do everything he could to help you and the children."
"Fine." She shook her head. "I still don't like it. But don't ye set foot outside of Switzerland."
"I don't think I can sail directly to Geneva—"
"Cal."
"I'll be safe, I promise."
"That's all I—Evy! Ye spray me with that hose and ye won't have dessert for a week."
Evy stood facing them, the hose poised in her hands. "I have to spraysomeone."
"Spray yer father then." Kate turned to go back inside.
Cal crossed his arms. "You spray me with that hose and I'm going to find a lake and toss you in it."
A mischievous smile spread across her face. "Okay."
Things were finally happening. Tommy stood with the others waiting to load the convoys, trying to keep his nerves in check. They had been practicing amphibious landings for a month. Everyone knew what they were supposed to do. They had even already done an 'under-fire' amphibious landing when they first arrived in Morocco. Tommy knew all of this. He repeated it to himself inside his head. He knew what to do. They all knew what to do. But none of that stopped his hands from shaking or the anxious fluttering in his stomach.
At least they knew where they were going. They were going to Sicily. Sicily, which he had been told was a part of Italy. It felt surreal to think that their days of endless training were finally at an end. He tried to remember everything he had learned but his mind was blank. He hoped it would come back to him when he needed it like it did when they first landed in Fedala.
The line began to move. The moment Tommy set foot onto the ship, bobbing gently in the water, his stomach lurched in a way that he knew had nothing to do with nerves. He still hadn't forgotten how miserable he had been on the way over.
Don nudged him. "Think a storm's coming," he said, pointing to the dark clouds gathering on the horizon.
Tommy groaned. "Probably should just jump overboard now," he grumbled. "Save me a tiny bit of misery." He looked around for John.
"We won't have to fight if we're sick, right?...sir." Tommy asked, adding the 'sir' as an afterthought. It was too easy to forget that his cousin was recently promoted.
John sighed. "What do you think?"
"I think I'm going to die."
"Nah," John replied. "You'll be fine."
"Easy for you to say," Tommy muttered. "You don't get seasick."
They were embarking on what was supposed to be the greatest amphibious expedition in the world but he was likely to have died of seasickness long before they reached the shore. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The sooner they arrived, the sooner they landed, the sooner, he'd feel better. The sooner they could go home.