The Victory Club

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  "Howard?" she called softly when she didn't see him behind the counter or in any of the aisles. "Hello?"

  "Be right with you," came a muffled reply from the back. Then the door to the storeroom opened and Howard stepped into view. He grinned the moment he saw her. "Lucy."

  His smile was infectious, and she returned it.

  "I've been thinking about you." He walked toward her. "I wanted to say thanks again for going with me to McCall. It did me a world of good to get away from the store for a day." When he reached her, he took hold of her hand and squeezed her fingers before letting go. "I mean it. I really appreciated your good company."

  "It's I who must thank you. It was a lovely day. It gave me something to write about to Richard. Something besides my job and the cat. He'll be grateful when he reads my letter."

  Howard motioned with his arm toward a couple of chairs near an old potbelly stove, and they moved toward them. "How's your friend?"

  "My friend?"

  "The one who was waiting to see you when we got back Saturday. Miss King, wasn't it?"

  "Oh. Dottie." She gave a little shrug as she sat in one of the chairs. "She's okay."

  "None of my business, huh?" He joined her. "Sorry. Shouldn't have asked."

  "I didn't mean—"

  Howard chuckled. "It's okay. I understand about girl talk. I've got my aunts, remember? Some things men just aren't supposed to know."

  Lucy hesitated a moment, then said, "To be honest, Howard, I am worried about Dottie. I'm worried about several of my friends from work. They seem so down lately. They have loved ones away at war, and there are problems here at home, too. Money worries and relationships and heaven alone knows what else. I want to encourage them, but I can't think how." It hadn't been her intention to unload her burdens onto anyone else, but it felt good nonetheless.

  "How about this?" Howard leaned toward her, his gaze gentle and caring. "You tell me what you can without breaching anyone's confidence, and then we'll figure out something between us. Like they say, two heads are better than one."

  The tension eased from her shoulders. "I'd like that. Thank you."

  V-Mail

  To: Miss Dorothea King, Boise, Idaho, U.S.A.

  From: PFC Gregory Wallace

  Wednesday, February 24, 1943

  Dear Dottie,

  I'm finally in England, but word is, we won't be here long. I suppose by the reports in the newspapers you'd be able to tell where we're headed. Not that we know for certain. They don't tell us GIs anything more than they have to.

  I wrote several pages to you on our way over, planning to post them when we got here. But they got accidentally dropped in water and the ink ran so you couldn't read them. I'm awful sorry because I know you must be anxious to hear from me. I hope this one makes it straight into your hands.

  I got some letters from you and my folks this week. They sure did make me homesick for all of you. But I miss you most of all, Dottie. I hope you know that. I showed your picture to the guys in my unit, and they think I'm lucky to have a girl like you waiting for me at home. I told them, "You bet I am. Don't I know it."

  The short while we've been in England has sure taught me to appreciate the blue skies of Idaho. I'm not cut out for the rain and gloomy skies all the time. It's a wonder these people don't have webbed feet. I don't feel like I'll ever get warm again. This damp cold goes right through to the bones. I shouldn't complain though. I'm in a friendly country and am safe for the most part, not counting the occasional bomb the Germans try dropping on us.

  Speaking of a friendly country, I've got to tell you, there are plenty of these "blokes" who aren't happy to see the Americans pouring into England, allies or not. They say we're an undisciplined lot with too much money in our pockets, but the truth is, English girls are falling for our guys and they can't handle it.

  You don't have to worry about those English girls, Dottie. Not as far as I'm concerned. Some of the guys in my unit have taken to calling me "Preacherman." They say I'd rather stay in the barracks and read my Bible than go to the pubs with them. Truth is, I wouldn't mind getting out for a while and seeing more of the area, but I've learned my lesson about avoiding temptation. (Not that I've told anybody here that.) As long as pubs are their destination, I'll pass.

  Besides, I'm saving my pay for when I get back to the States and we get married. I wish we'd done it before I shipped out, no matter what our folks said about it being better to wait until we're older. I don't think it was better to wait. So you start making those wedding plans so we can get married right away when I get home.

  I love you, Dottie. You remember that.

  Greg

  Chapter 21

  Ready to burst with joy, Dottie waited impatiently for the bus. She longed to share Greg's letter with someone. That someone wouldn't be her mother, that was clear.

  When Margo King pulled the envelope from their mailbox last night, she'd looked at it as if it were poison. Dottie had snatched it away and taken it to her room. She lost count of the number of times she'd read the letter. Enough to memorize it.

  Lucy would be glad for her, Dottie thought as she stood with her back toward her mother.

  She closed her eyes and replayed in her mind several lines from the letter: I miss you most of all, Dottie … They think I'm lucky to have a girl like you waiting for me at home … I'm saving my pay for when I get back to the States and we get married … So you start making those wedding plans … I love you, Dottie. You remember that.

  "I love you, too, Greg," she whispered. "I love you, too. Hurry home."

  "Does he know about the baby yet?" her mother asked, her tone low and disapproving.

  Dottie didn't look behind her. "No. Not when he wrote this letter."

  "Don't be so sure he'll welcome the news. He'll think you trapped him. He'll resent you for it. Mark my words."

  Dottie caught her breath. That's not true. Pressing her lips together lest she say something regrettable, she leaned forward and stared down the street, desperately needing the bus to arrive. It won't be like that for Greg and me. We love each other, and no matter what, we'll go on loving each other. Nothing you say will change that, Mom. Nothing.

  Even at nineteen, Dottie understood that her mother's words stemmed from bitterness over her own disastrous marriage. But why had it been such a disaster? Dottie doubted she would ever know the answer to that question. Her mother refused to speak about Bart King or the years they were married. Not under any circumstance. Not for any reason.

  Dottie's recollections of her father were sketchy at best. She had only a vague image of him in her mind and had no way of knowing if it was an accurate one, especially since the man in her memory bore a strong resemblance to Gary Cooper, the actor. On the day Margo received her divorce papers, she had destroyed every photograph of him. She'd even ripped to pieces their wedding photos. She hadn't kept so much as a snapshot for her children.

  Dottie felt a twinge of pity for her mother. So much anger. So much pain. Now that wall of resentment toward men was extended to Greg, and Dottie didn't know how to tear it down.

  The whine of the bus's engine pulled her from her depressing thoughts. She drew in a breath, reminding herself that she had cause to be happy this morning. Greg's letter was in her purse. He loved her and he wanted to marry her. That was enough reason for gladness. If her mother couldn't understand that, then so be it.

  The bus rumbled to a stop and the door whooshed open.

  Greg loves me and we're going to get married and we're going to love this baby. We'll raise our child to know and love the Lord.

  She felt some of that same joy welling up in her heart as she climbed the bus steps.

  "Well, good morning, Miss King." The driver chuckled. "Going by that smile on your face, I'd say you've received good news."

  She wanted to kiss him on both cheeks. "Indeed, I have, Mr. Pratt."

  "Good for you."

  Dottie hurried toward the empty seat next to Lucy, her sm
ile growing with each step.

  "You got a letter from Greg," Lucy said.

  "Yes."

  "Did he get yours?" She lowered her voice and leaned closer. "Does he know yet?"

  Dottie shook her head. "Not yet."

  "You'll get another letter soon."

  "He was in England when he wrote this—" She pulled the envelope from her purse and ran her fingertips over the lettering— "but he was expecting to ship out soon. He didn't say where he was going, but it must be North Africa."

  Lucy patted her hand. "We'll pray that your letter reaches him before he leaves England."

  "I've been praying exactly that. Believe me."

  Lucy's gaze moved across the aisle. "Is your mom handling things any better?"

  "No. She's barely speaking to me." It surprised Dottie how much those words hurt.

  "I have an idea that might help you two." Lucy looked at Dottie again, wearing an enigmatic smile. "We'll talk about it at lunch when everybody's together."

  Dottie was curious but didn't ask her friend to elaborate.

  Whatever Lucy's idea was, she certainly hoped it would work.

  Chapter 22

  A watched pot never boils. Wasn't that how the old adage went?

  Eager to meet with her friends on their lunch break, Lucy couldn't believe the way the second hand crawled around the face of her wristwatch, taunting her with the slow passage of time.

  She had Howard Baxter to blame for her excitement. It was something he said that caused the idea to blossom. "Seems to me you'd all take your minds off your worries if you were helping others with their worries.''

  He was right. At least it was true for her. She spent far too many hours thinking about her own fears and concerns. She needed to do something. Something more than what she was already doing. First, she needed to pray more. She needed to pray in a focused, organized manner. Her prayers were too scattered, like pellets from a shotgun. Second, she needed to serve others whose hardships and heartache were greater than her own, the same way Jesus would do.

  Another glance at her watch.

  Another impatient sigh.

  She reached for a piece of paper and scrolled it into place in the Underwood. Then she flipped open the top file folder on her desk and began to type.

  One report at a time, Lucy managed to work her way toward the lunch hour. At the stroke of twelve, she grabbed the paper sack containing her peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich and hurried across the base to Building B-301. Dottie was already there. Margo and Penelope came in together a few minutes later.

  "I have an idea," Lucy announced the instant they were seated.

  Everyone looked at her.

  "Remember a few weeks back when I said I was going to pray for victory and have a more positive attitude about things. Well, I haven't done a very good job of it. I want to do better." She clasped her hands in her lap. "Here's what I'm thinking. I'd like us to get together on Saturday mornings, to talk, to pray, to do something for others."

  Nobody said anything, but Dottie leaned forward on her chair, as if eager to hear more. Margo, on the other hand, wore a suspicious frown. As for Penelope, she looked as if she wanted to bolt from the room.

  Lucy continued, the words rushing out of her mouth, "We've become good friends in the months we've worked at the base. We sit together on the bus morning and night, and we eat lunch together in this little room every day. We share news about our loved ones, and we encourage one another when we're down. But we could do so much more. I read a verse in the Bible last night that says the Lord has become my victory. If I really believe that, shouldn't I be living it in practical ways?"

  "I'm not sure I understand what it is you're after," Margo said. "What are these Saturday meetings for? Some sort of club?"

  Lucy smiled. "I hadn't thought of it as a club, but yes. I guess that's what it would be. A victory club." She turned toward Dottie. "You know how difficult it's been for Lettie Hinkle since her husband was drafted. Those children need new clothes, the house needs a fresh coat of paint, and Lettie could use some moral support. And she's not the only one. There are many others like her." Lucy moved her gaze to Penelope and then to Margo. "Don't you see? If we were busy helping others, with our prayers and our hands, time wouldn't weigh so heavy on our hearts."

  "I don't know if I could do it every Saturday." Penelope pushed her red hair back from her face. "I already leave the children with their father every day of the week while I'm at the base. I'm not sure I should take Saturdays away, too."

  "Then come when you can, Pen. Maybe we won't want to meet every week anyway. I don't know. We haven't even tried it once yet."

  "Our church already does charitable work, you know." Margo gave her head a slow shake.

  "So does mine," Lucy answered. "But I see this as something more than that. Something we can do together as a group of friends. Besides, there are more needy people than there are programs to help them." It was unfair, but she decided to toss in a dab of guilt for Margo's benefit. "It's the Christian thing to do."

  "She's right." Dottie took hold of Lucy's hand. "This would be good for all of us. Count me in, Luce."

  * * *

  When Lucy arrived at the corner market after work that night, she was disappointed to find it filled with customers. She wanted to tell Howard what had happened at lunch, but the store was too busy.

  It wasn't reasonable to expect him to be free whenever she wanted to talk. She realized that. He had a business to run. Obviously he'd received a shipment of some hard-to-find item because the line to the counter was a long one. She debated whether or not to join the queue, then decided against it. She would go home, put her feet up, and ponder what the Victory Club could accomplish first.

  The name made her smile. She hadn't meant for these proposed get-togethers to become anything quite so formal as a club, but once the title came up, she had to admit she liked it. True, Margo's and Penelope's less-than-enthusiastic reactions left her disappointed, but Dottie had caught Lucy's vision. She hoped the other two would with time.

  "Thank God for Dottie," she said aloud as she followed the sidewalk toward home.

  Dear, dear Dottie. The girl might not understand it yet, but she would need the support this new "club" could offer, once her pregnancy became known. Others would condemn her. She would likely lose her job at the base. And if Greg died …

  Well, she would make Greg's safety one of her priority prayers.

  At home, Lucy glanced at the mail awaiting her. Only two pieces—a bill from the electric company and an invitation to hear a visiting author lecture at the community hall. Nothing from Richard. She dropped the two envelopes, along with her apartment key and pocketbook, onto the kitchen table.

  Followed by Empress, she went to the bedroom, where she changed out of her work clothes and into a comfortable shirt and a pair of loose-fitting slacks. By the time she returned to the kitchen, her hair tied at the nape with a kerchief, her stomach was growling. She made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, then sat at the table to eat her simple supper.

  And just like that, the solitude hit her, an overwhelming rush of aloneness so great it was a physical pain.

  "Oh, puss." She reached for her cat and pulled the feline to her chest, needing close contact with something living and breathing. "Sometimes I don't think I can bear it. God help me, I don't think I can."

  Chapter 23

  Penelope filled the sink with hot sudsy water while Stuart carried the last of the supper dishes from the table and scraped remnants of food into the trash can.

  Setting the dirty dishes on the counter, he said, "It's okay with me if you want to go with your friends on Saturday, Pen. Lucy's idea sounds like a good one. Maybe I could help with some of the projects, too. I can still use a paintbrush."

  "You'd like to help us?"

  "Sure. Why not? Even the kids could help with some things." He leaned his backside against the counter. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I asked the Thompson girl to w
atch the kids while I'm at the doctor's on Friday afternoon."

  "Mary Lou Thompson?" Penelope gave him a hard look. "She isn't old enough to babysit."

  "Come on, Pen. She's fourteen. That's only four years younger than you were when we got married."

  Don't remind me.

  "She's a good, responsible kid, and her mom will be right across the street if anything comes up. It's only for an hour or two. I should be home before you get off work."

  Penelope lowered the plates into the soapy dishwater. "What's this doctor visit for?"

  "I think he wants to run some more tests."

  "None of the other tests did any good."

  Stuart placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, maybe this time will be different. I'm doing better than I was."

  She shrugged off his hand while gritting her teeth. She didn't think this time would be different. Nothing ever changed around here. Not ever.

  "What's eating you, Pen? You've been out of sorts for weeks."

  She whirled toward him, sending droplets of water flying across the kitchen. "Why shouldn't I be out of sorts? You aren't working. Our medical bills are piling up. Frances has gone off to war. Evelyn has a perpetual runny nose, and Alan has grown out of most of his clothes. We're almost broke. We have a car but we can't afford to drive it, and we never do anything for fun. I'm tired of going off to work every day, then having to come back and take care of the house and you and the children. I'm tired of it all."

  Stuart stared at her in stunned silence. He obviously didn't know whether to reach for her again or keep his distance.

  "Just leave me alone, will you?" She turned back to the sink and resumed her dish washing with a vengeance. "I just want to be left alone."

  After a few moments, Stuart said, "I love you, Pen. I'm sorry you're unhappy. I never figured I'd be laid up like this at my age. I thought I'd be a better provider. I'd change things if I could."