Along Waters of Sunshine and Shadow

by Ava Miles

  He was playing catch with little Frankie O’Keefe, one of her former students. How sweet of Noah. She wondered how they’d come to meet. Frankie’s mom worked at one of the defense plants, and he was often seen running wild through the neighborhood. Well, except at lunchtime. Father Shaughnessy had invited him to eat at the rectory, wanting to make sure the boy was fed. Of course, the women in the neighborhood also looked out for him, but they had mouths to feed too.

  “Hi, Miss Sims,” Frankie said. “I’m playing ball with your fella. He’s pretty nice. He’s got a wicked curve ball though.”

  She crossed the lawn to where they were standing, fighting the urge to kiss Noah on the cheek. With Frankie there, she was a little embarrassed. “I thought you didn’t like baseball,” she said to Noah.

  “Anyone can throw the ball around,” he replied, smiling at her in the sunshine. “I’m glad you came over. I wasn’t sure how early I could swing by.”

  Scanning his face, she could see the fatigue he tried so hard to hide, but there was genuine happiness radiating from him too. She hugged Frankie when he ran to her.

  “Thanks for entertaining my fella,” she told the boy, tousling his dark curls. “Did Father introduce you two?”

  “Nah,” Frankie said. “I saw him sitting on the rectory’s front steps and recognized him from last night. Asked if he’d throw the ball around with me. I figured he was waiting for you.”

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to interrupt your game.”

  Frankie threw the ball up in the air and caught it. “No problem, Teach. We can play again anytime, Mr. Weatherby. I’m around most days.”

  Noah inclined his chin. “I’ll look for you. Watch out for yourself, Frankie.”

  The boy thrust out his chin. “Always. I’m a tough guy like you. Okay, gotta go. You two might start necking. Yuck!”

  “Frankie O’Keefe! What in the world have you been watching?”

  He called out over his shoulder as he ran off, “Picture shows, Teach. See ya.”

  Anna was chuckling when she met Noah’s gaze. “That was nice of you. Frankie’s mom—”

  “Yeah, he told me,” Noah said, lifting her chin up and studying her. “What happened to your face, Anna?”

  He could see the mark? The underlying tension in his voice made her wring her hands. “I thought it was gone. I hadn’t planned on saying anything.”

  He only stared at her.

  “I don’t want you to be upset.”

  “Who hit you?” he asked, all solider now.

  “It wasn’t like that,” she said. “My mother got mad at something I said and…struck out. It’s…not… She doesn’t usually do this.”

  His face bunched up, and he kicked at the ground. “I thought it might have been… I guess I can’t knock your mom’s block off.”

  He would want to defend her honor. “I appreciate you rising to the occasion, but no, you can’t.”

  “I don’t like being the source of discord between you,” Noah said. “Martin wouldn’t want that. It weighs on me, Anna.”

  “Well, it weighs on me too, but I’m not about to let it hurt what’s going on between us.” She linked their arms. “You’re about as perfect as they come, Noah Weatherby.”

  His face closed up like an old summer house. “No, I’m not.”

  She wasn’t going to argue with him. “Let’s sit under my favorite tree in the schoolyard and talk.” She gave him a little tug in the right direction, and they started walking. “I assume you had breakfast?”

  “Mrs. Hughes is a marvel,” he said. “She kept filling my plate. Didn’t seem to understand I’m still getting used to something other than K-rations.”

  Is that why he’d been picking at his food? Why hadn’t she realized? “She means well.”

  “Indeed, she’s a good woman,” he said. “Did you sleep all right after everyone left?”

  “I sure did. You don’t seem to have gotten much.”

  “Sleep and I are…still making friends,” he said. “I had a nice talk with Niall though. I wasn’t sure about staying at the rectory at first, but now… I’m glad it’s worked out that way.”

  “Niall? Oh, Father Shaughnessy. I almost forgot his first name.” And this was interesting. To her knowledge, no one called him Niall except his family members.

  “He thought it might be weird for me to call him ‘Father,’” Noah explained.

  “I see.” She wanted to ask him more, but somehow she knew he would tell her if he wanted to. “I’m happy to hear it. Come with me.”

  When they reached the tree, Noah used his hand to clear a few stray leaves off the bench beneath it and then sat down beside her.

  “I’ve done some of my best thinking under this tree while the kids are at recess,” she told him.

  “What kind is it?” he asked.

  “It’s an American Elm,” she told him. “In Europe they call them the European Buckthorn. Very common in Chicago. They sprout up just about anywhere. I had the kids do a science project on the kinds of trees in Chicago.” Realizing she was blabbing again, she cut herself off. “But you don’t need to hear about that.”

  “I’d listen to you talk about anything, Anna,” he said, taking her hand. “Don’t you know that yet?”

  She leaned her head against his shoulder, letting the breeze wash over her. “I feel that way too. You could talk about changing a tire, and I’d be on the edge of my seat.”

  “After being restricted to only reading your words… Well, listening to you is like a buffet for the senses. That sounds corny.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” she said, tightening her hold. “I like it when you say things like that.”

  They were quiet then, and a sense of peace filled Anna. Sitting with him, being with him, was so easy. She loved that they didn’t always need to talk.

  “I need to figure out what I’m going to do with the rest of my life,” he said quietly. “I mean, I could be called back in to fight if the war drags on, but I need a plan. I can’t spend all my days lolling about.”

  She lifted her head to look at him, terror pinning her heart to the mat like a prize wrestler. Please God, don’t let him be called back. “What do you want to do?”

  “Something meaningful,” he said, gesturing to the sky. “Being a bartender doesn’t feel like enough anymore, not that it’s not good, honest work. Brian Dougherty was kind enough to offer me a job last night. Said if I didn’t like working at his bar, there are plenty more jobs out there. I could take it while I figure things out, but I’m not sure I want to. I don’t think I’d slip back into old ways, but…I just want to move forward.”

  “That was nice of Brian. But it sounds like you don’t want it. Why don’t you come with me to one of the Army offices downtown? I’m sure someone there can give you more information on that bill for returning soldiers.” She’d read about the Servicemen’s Readjustment Act in the papers. President Roosevelt had pledged to help returning soldiers with everything from college loans and job placement to lower interest rates on homes.

  “I had the same thought.”

  “Perhaps they’re starting some retraining programs. I’ve heard it was being considered at the USO last week. We’ve been planning for our boys coming home. Speaking of which, I’ve cut back some of my volunteering now that you’re back.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said.

  “I want to,” she said. “Besides, I need to prepare for school. We start in late August.”

  “And that’s only a month away. Time flies.” He rubbed his face. “Sometimes I forget the war’s still going on now that I’m back here. It seems…so far away.”

  “Do you miss it?”

  He was quiet a moment. “No…and yet it doesn’t feel right that the other men are fighting when I’m not.”

  “But you did your part in Europe,” she said. Surely he wasn’t thinking about volunteering to go to the South Pacific?

  “It’s still not finished,” Noah said. “S
orry, Anna. I’ve worried you, talking like that, and I didn’t mean to. It’s only… I heard the broadcast this morning reporting on the war while I ate breakfast. I feel like I should be helping those guys. I…know what they’re going through.”

  She laid her cheek against his shoulder again. “Do you want to go back?” she made herself ask.

  “Not especially,” he said. “But I would if the war continues. Heck, they could call me back.”

  “We’ll deal with it if we need to.” Oh, please God, don’t let it come to that.

  “Makes it hard to plan,” he mused.

  His body shifted, and she sat up straight, sensing a change in him. “I’m just glad you’re here, Noah. I love you.”

  He traced her cheek. “I love you too, but we should talk about the future. I imagine you have some ideas about how you want things to go.”

  Was he referring to marriage? “Well, when two people love each other, they…”

  “Form a more permanent attachment,” he said, the corners of his mouth tipping up. “I’ll be honest. I’d be more comfortable if we waited until the war’s over. Until I know I won’t be called up again.”

  “It wouldn’t change how I feel,” she said in a rush. “Whether we were married or not, I’d still love you and worry about you. I’d still want you to come home to me again.”

  He looked off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I wouldn’t want to leave you a pregnant widow. I don’t want my child to grow up without a father. I did, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  The look in his eyes spoke of a deep hurt. “I understand that, and I appreciate it. How did you end up…at the orphanage? You’ve never said.” And she thought she should know. That it might help her understand him better.

  “Well, from what they told me, they think my mother left me on the steps because she’d had me out of wedlock. I was a week or so old. On my shirt, she’d pinned a rough note that said, ‘Take care of him for me.’ They wondered at the time if she’d come back for me, but she never did.”

  How awful for both of them. She linked her arm through his. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”

  His shoulder lifted. “You get over it. Like I said, I never knew her. Or my father. Once I became a man, I found I was angrier with him. Who puts a woman in that situation and doesn’t take care of her? Or the child they made together? I decided I would never be such a coward.”

  More facets of his personality were making sense. “You’re a good man, Noah Weatherby, and it’s my honor to love you.”

  He only leaned against her in response, and they continued to sit in silence for a spell.

  “Speaking of love and honor, were we talking about marriage earlier?” she finally decided to ask.

  He turned and studied her, his green gaze direct. “We’re talking about plans. You deserve romance when it comes to the actual asking.”

  “Okay…but you’re saying you don’t feel comfortable making long-term plans about us until…the war is completely finished?” She didn’t like that answer. What if the war didn’t end for another year, or longer?

  “Right now, yes.” He took her hand, continuing to look into her eyes. “I expect you’d like to live in this neighborhood, right? I mean, you teach here and these are your people.”

  “I’d hoped to, yes,” she said. She’d tried to imagine living somewhere else when he’d told her he was coming home from the war, but she simply couldn’t. Still, they would have to find their own place. She couldn’t imagine sharing the house with her mother now like she’d hoped they might.

  “Let’s give it until just before your school starts,” Noah said. “You said you go back around August 27, right? Maybe the war will be over by then and… Well, we can…move forward. But I still need to do some more thinking about what I’d like to do. Talk to someone in the Army office like you suggested. I’ve got some money saved, but that’s not going to last forever.”

  “I have some money too,” she said.

  The look he gave her made her dig her heels in.

  “I do.”

  “That’s good,” he said, “but I want to do my part. Take care of you.”

  Oh, the women’s magazines had warned her about this! Why couldn’t a woman make money for the family too? She and her mother had always done so.

  “Even if Martin hadn’t gone to war, I’d still have wanted to teach. And I get paid for that. Why can’t I contribute to our life together?”

  “Because the man’s supposed to be the provider,” he said.

  “Noah Weatherby, you’d better consider letting me help with our family. That’s all.”

  His mouth twisted into a sidelong grin as he looked at her. “I like you when you get steamed up.”

  She gave him a good sock for that. “You are incorrigible.”

  “Just trying to lighten the mood,” he said. “Tiger.”

  He would call her that at a time like this. “At least I know you’re staying in Chicago.”

  He turned toward her, their knees touching. “I’ll grow to like the city, I imagine.”

  Which meant he didn’t like it much now. “Well, there’s a lot about Chicago that I don’t like either. Did you know some of the politicians treat the public schoolteachers quite abominably?”

  “Good thing you work in a church school then,” he said.

  “I’ve always wanted to work here,” she said. “Father wouldn’t have had it any other way.”

  Noah fitted his arm on top of the bench. “So we give it until you go back to school and see where things are. With the war. And with us.”

  She didn’t like him putting it that way. “We’re going to be just fine. It’s the war I’m worried about.”

  “My gut tells me it can’t go on much longer,” Noah said. “I’m more cut up about your mother. Especially after seeing how she treated you today. Her grief isn’t an excuse to abuse you.”

  Her hand lifted to touch her cheek for a brief moment before she realized it. There would be a bruise there, but it would be nothing compared to the pain in her heart.

  “My mother will come around.” Margaret O’Shea had broken through her wall, if only for a night. That meant it could happen again. “When I think about it now actually, I wonder if maybe there’s a silver lining to this whole situation.”

  “Usually I love it when you talk about silver linings,” he said. “You helped me see more than a few when I was over there.”

  She was glad to know how much she’d helped him. He’d certainly helped her on dark nights when she was grieving Martin and felt so alone in her room.

  “There’s only one problem with finding a silver lining in the clouds…” he began.

  She turned to look at him.

  “You have to get through the storm first.”

  Chapter 9

  Noah felt like he was in the midst of one of those storms he’d talked about with Anna yesterday. Her mother had invited him over to dinner as a peace offering, but he wasn’t overly hopeful given that it had only happened because she’d slapped her own daughter. She shouldn’t have taken a hand to Anna in the first place.

  But Anna wasn’t his Tiger for nothing. She was out to get her way, and she had set about it with the strength and heart he so admired.

  “Can I pour you some more tea, Mrs. Sims?” Noah asked, sitting tall in his chair.

  At the head of the table, Mrs. Sims was a dark force in the room, one even the small chandelier above them in the formal dining room couldn’t fully illuminate. Her black mourning weeds seemed to absorb all the light.

  Anna cut another piece of the roast chicken, but didn’t put it in her mouth. It was like she was waiting to see if the woman would accept a simple kindness from him. She’d all but bristled when he’d pulled her chair out for her earlier.

  “Yes, thank you,” she said after a tense moment. “Anna tells me you’re an orphan.”

  He and Anna shared a look before she said, “Mother, Martin wrote
you about that.”

  “Oh, I forget,” she said, reaching for the tea he’d carefully poured.

  He didn’t need the woman yelling at him for staining her white tablecloth.

  “Yes, Mrs. Sims. I am. Made the best out of it.” Older people liked hearing about young people learning lessons and the like, and he wasn’t above using it to his advantage. Anything to soften her toward him.

  “So you don’t know who your people are,” she said.

  This sounded like a loaded comment. “No,” he said. “You and Anna are very lucky to know your roots.”

  She merely harrumphed in response.

  The conversation was dragging, and everyone knew it. Noah was out of ideas. Hell, he’d even resorted to mentioning the weather.

  Anna forced a smile. “How has work been, Mom? You don’t say much these days.”

  “Pretty much the same as always,” she said, spooning up the English peas Anna had served with the chicken.

  Noah studied the woman. In her face, he could see where Martin and Anna had gotten some of their features. They’d both inherited her blue eyes and strong chin, and Anna’s hair was a similar shade of red, though Mrs. Sims’ hair was faded and speckled with gray. In some ways, she was like her hair. Gray. Lackluster. He couldn’t fathom this woman was the one Martin had talked about. The one who had danced in the kitchen with her children while making blueberry pie. Even her letters to her son had been more interesting than this conversation.

  “Anna mentioned you’re in a Victory Knitting group,” Noah said, scratching his head. “I didn’t even know about those. I’m sure there are a lot of soldiers grateful for the socks and scarves you’ve made them.”

  “Oh, yes,” Anna said. “Noah often wrote me about how cold it was over there.”

  He could still feel the cold in his bones some nights when he woke up from a nightmare.

  “It angered me how it was next to impossible to send a care package to my own son as the war dragged on,” Mrs. Sims said, cutting another piece of chicken. “A mother should be able to send something to keep her child warm.”

  Suddenly it felt like they were sitting on top of an underground bunker filled with bombs. “I’m sure all of the boys over there wish it could have been that way, Mrs. Sims. But your letters…and prayers were enough for Martin. He often spoke of how much they meant to him.”