“What’s wrong with you?” Gram glared into my eyes like I’d gone nuts. She’d barged in from a storm and she was sopping wet with rain, but she was too busy being mad at me to even grab a towel. “How’d you hear about this subject, Reenie Kelly? From that serviceman you’re writing?”
“It wasn’t Skip,” I said. I didn’t want Gram to say we couldn’t be pen pals. “I read it in the paper. That front-page story of two brothers divided on the war.”
“You keep your nose out of that paper.” Gram scooped the paper off the table and smashed it in the trash. “There’s nothing in that paper fit for kids to read.”
“The funnies,” Dare tried to joke to calm Gram’s temper. He and Float had come inside in case of a tornado, but Dare was in a hurry to leave now.
“Let me see that book, Reen,” Billy said.
It was right on Gram’s buffet waiting to go back.
“It’s against objectors,” I said, handing it to Billy. “It says that they were wrong in World War I.”
“World War I?” Gram said, confused. “And how is that your business? If you want to read a book, stick to ones for kids.”
“Mom checked it out,” I said to Billy, while he stood there soaking wet, flipping through the pages. “In 1949. Betsy Brighton. Her name was on the card.”
“She did?” Dare said, closing in near Billy to have his own quick look.
“You sure about that, Reen?” Billy stopped his paging and gave me a long look, and I saw a hint of anger leave his eyes. “Mom’s name was on the card?”
“I don’t believe it,” Gram said. “What would your mother care of conscientious—” Gram stumbled on the word.
“Objectors,” I said, glad to know a word that Gram didn’t know. “Conscientious objectors. They’re men who stand for peace.”
“I don’t need a definition,” Gram said, reaching for the book. “We’ve already got one objector in this town. Now give that book to me, I’ll bring it back. Who finds trouble at the library? Your father won’t be happy, I can tell you that.”
“It’s just a boring book,” Dare said. “It’s not like a dirty magazine, Gram. Reen didn’t even read it. We’ve been playing cards all day.”
“You watch your tongue, Dare Kelly. Dirty magazine!” Gram huffed. “I better not find dirty magazines out in that tent. And I don’t want to hear that Billy—”
“You won’t,” Billy said, because he knew where Gram was heading. She was on her way to saying Billy couldn’t object. “I won’t shame the Kellys.”
“Your father would be furious,” Gram said above the thunder. “And I could never show my face—”
“To who?” I said. “That old crab Mrs. Strait? Who cares about Lake Liberty, when it’s Billy we should care about right now? Two more Minnesota boys were killed in Vietnam. Wouldn’t you rather have him living and objecting, than dying in that war?”
“Reenie!” Dare pressed his dirty hand over my mouth, but I didn’t stop.
“I mean it!” I said, pushing off Dare’s hand. “You’re all just acting stupid!”
Then I ran out of Gram’s house even with the rain and lightning, and I would have run to your house, but you never ever come out for that bell. I was nearly to the bottom of the hill when Billy drove up in Gram’s Plymouth.
“Get in,” he said, and he sounded twice as angry as he’d been about Mizzou. “I’m not going to chase you down this road, and you don’t want to stay out in a storm, you’re scared of storms.”
I got in, but I didn’t speak, and Billy didn’t speak either, we didn’t say a single word until he parked down by the beach, and we sat there in more quiet watching the rain beat against Gram’s windshield.
“You’ve got to stop this, Reen,” he said. “If I get called for Vietnam—”
“You will,” I said, “I know it. You’ll get drafted, and you’ll die just like Mom did.”
“Come on,” he said. He pressed my slimy face into his chest, tears and snot and rain, but he didn’t care. “You can’t think like that, Reen.”
“What else can I think?” I said. “You know that boys are dying.”
“They are,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean I will. We’ve got Mom up in heaven to keep me safe on earth. I can’t buy time with college. I don’t want to go to prison for objecting to the draft. You read that story, Reen. Five years in prison? Even a man as famous as Ali might go to prison. And you remember that book by Dr. Spock Mom always read. Well, they’ve sentenced Dr. Spock to prison for his work against the draft. A famous pediatrician, Reen.”
“Prison might not happen,” I said. And then I told him about the Draft Information Center in Minneapolis, and how on Saturday we could drive into the city to see the counselor, Keith. “We’ll tell Gram we’re going to the Art Institute,” I said. “Because it’s right down the street so it’s the truth. And we can go there when we’re finished at the center. I’ve never seen a real museum. I could navigate the way Dare always does for Dad. Or Dare can navigate.”
“Dare going to see art? Float too?” Billy laughed, and all the dirt and grease from Casey’s seemed to disappear. “Of all your wild ideas, Reen, this one is the worst.”
“The counselor said he’d help you, Billy. If you wouldn’t murder an intruder, and if you’re against all wars, and a bunch of other questions, you might not have to fight.”
“You mean like Mr. Marsworth?” Billy said. “That man who owns that cottage where you and Dare play all the time? You think Gram wants ‘traitor’ spray-painted on her house? Or mud and eggs smeared on her windows? You think that’s what Dad wants from his son?”
“Just talk to them please, Billy. Saturday. We’ll drive into the city. You don’t even have to lie to Gram. I’ll do all the talking.”
“I don’t think so, Reen.” Billy laughed again, and it made my heart so happy to hear his easy laugh. “I think Gram’s heard all the talking she wants to hear from you right now.”
Okay, so I won’t do the talking, Mr. Marsworth, but maybe Billy will. He didn’t flat out say no about that center! He just listed all the reasons Dad and Gram would be ashamed if he refused to serve. Kelly pride and courage were right there at the top. But it’s not Dad or Gram who could be killed in Vietnam.
I’m sorry you got tangled in a letter that’s too long. My next one will be shorter, because I know that’s what you want, but today I thought you better hear it ALL. The good parts and the bad parts, and the best part of my story, when Billy didn’t say no. He didn’t say no, so I’ll hope for a yes. At least he didn’t say “we’ll see,” because you know I HATE “we’ll see.” (Please don’t ever write that, Mr. Marsworth.)
So this is what I’m hoping: YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES YES.
Yes Believer,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. When you see this too-long letter, please don’t throw it in the trash. In fact, I better write that on the top.
Thursday, July 25, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
You know how much I like a morning letter in your box. (Hint, hint, hint.)
Have you forgotten all the people I don’t hear from, Mr. Marsworth?
Skip. (Too busy fighting.)
Dad. (Too busy working.)
Mrs. Lamb. (Too busy? I don’t know with what. Are teachers busy in the summer? What do teachers do when they’re not teaching kids at school?)
President Lyndon Johnson. (Too busy with America and war.)
If you’re too busy, Mr. Marsworth, maybe you could tell me what a shut-in does all day? Is Carl Grace still your assistant? Aren’t you free to answer letters with an assistant doing chores? If I had an assistant, I’d never scrub another toilet at Gram’s house. Or sweep the kitchen every morning. Or do laundry in Gram’s dungeon. Imagine all the letters I could write!
Could you please tell
me ASAP what you think about Billy and the center? Do you believe my Plan B is going to work? And what about Gram’s temper over one dumb book? Will Keith the Counselor rescue Billy? Is the art museum cool?
That’s five quick questions you could answer, Mr. Marsworth!
Just so you know I do more than wait for letters, here’s my Thursday schedule:
Nine o’clock I’ll call the Draft Information Center to make Billy an appointment just in case I get that YES, at 9:30 I’ll finish up the letter I’ve been working on for Skip, at 10:00 I’m stopping by the library to find out about that college that you like. Brandenbrook. Dare and Float are coming with me, so we can go straight to the cottage, but don’t worry, Mr. Marsworth, Dare won’t research a word. Bet you ten bucks, Dare will skip the library to wait outside with Float. (If Rat and Cutler try to stalk me, at least I’ll be with Dare.)
FINALLY, we’re going to end up at your cottage, and when I’m sick of batting at Dare’s pitches so he can keep his curve ball tight, I’m going to sit down at your dock, and write you every fact I learned about that name on the red pennant. Brandenbrook. I hope you’re right. I hope that college has the money to help Billy get to school.
Write me when you’re able, Mr. Marsworth.
I’ll be back at 4:00 to check your milk box. Signing off to call Keith the Counselor now.
Practicing My Patience,
Reenie Kelly
Thursday, July 25, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
From time to time even an old shut-in has appointments he must keep.
When it comes to steadfast siblings you are incomparable. What a lucky thing for Billy to have you in his life. If anyone can urge Billy toward that center it is you.
Shall I assume you’ve reconciled with your grandmother and returned that worthless book? However much you disagree regarding Billy, please do not doubt her love. Many loving, decent families believe duty to our country must come first. Of course a stand for peace is also a duty to our county, but very few can see how that is so.
Wars have always ravaged families, and this one is no different. In the end, despite your disagreements, love must be remembered. Love is all.
Sincerely,
H. W. Marsworth
P.S. The Minneapolis Institute of Art is quite "cool," as you would say. Many years ago, I went there often. The world beyond a small town like Lake Liberty is vast. In my opinion, a trip into the city would be grand.
Thursday, July 25, 1968
Dear Mr. Marsworth,
THERE ISN’T PEACE AND LOVE IN LAKE LIBERTY FOR US!!!
All our weeks of hard work at the cottage are destroyed!!! There’s a big red blotchy “commie” painted on the wall of your front porch!!! That same wall we painted white!!! And a horrible mess of egg yolk splattered on your windows. All our sanding, painting, scrubbing went to waste! You didn’t even get to see your cottage all fixed up.
Someone did this, Mr. Marsworth, and someone’s going to PAY. If you don’t call Sheriff Cutler, then I will. He ought to know one of the vandals is probably his own son.
You’ve wasted all your money, and we’ve wasted all our time, and after all that wasting, your cottage looks like crap. (You might not like that word, but it’s exactly what Dare said, and it’s the truth.)
I wish I could stop there, but the bad news just gets worse.
Before we’d even finished supper, a friend of Uncle Slim’s knocked on Gram’s door. Do you know a man named Clay McCardle who grew up in Lake Liberty? He’s a recruiter for the Air Force, and his mother’s in Gram’s bridge club, and he drove from St. Paul to Lake Liberty to talk Billy into signing up right now. Travel. Planes. Adventure. Training on the job. College money when his Air Force time is done. Money for a house when he gets married. “I hear you have a sweetheart in Missouri,” he said to Billy. “I bet she’d like a house. And we need good men like you. Smart men who can lead. You get called up in the draft you’ll be a grunt.”
While Clay McCardle bragged about the Air Force, Gram served him rhubarb pie and poured fresh coffee in his cup. Dare fired off his questions like he was ready to enlist, and mostly Billy listened in the polite way Billy does.
“Will you take me at sixteen?” Dare asked. He looked big enough, and tough enough, with his bulky freckled arms and rough red face, and that filthy, torn T-shirt too small for his wide chest. Between giant Dare and slender Billy, if I were looking for a soldier, Dare would be my pick. But I didn’t want Dare enlisting either. I know Dare can be a dope, but I don’t want him in this war. “If I get my dad to sign, can I quit school? Will I get to work on bombers?”
“High school first, then Air Force,” Clay McCardle said to Dare, and the pie swirled in my stomach when I realized that five years from now, Dare could volunteer for the war in Vietnam.
“U.S. planes have been shot down, Dare,” I said. “You ought to read the headlines once. And we’re killing people with those bombs. People who deserve to live like us.”
“Hush now, Reen.” Gram squeezed my wrist to give a warning, but I pulled my arm away.
“We’ll need our best to win this war,” Clay McCardle said to Billy, and I could tell he didn’t like talking to a girl. “And son”—he paused—“you don’t want to lose your chance to make a choice.” It was the same thing those soldiers said to Uncle Slim and Billy on the Fourth. Like enlisting was the safest choice that Billy could make now. “You let them send you in the draft, you won’t have a say in your assignment. You could well see the worst of it.”
“Billy’s never been up in a plane,” I said. Clay McCardle could ignore me, but I wasn’t giving up. “And it’s college that he wants.”
“Reen,” Billy said, embarrassed. “You don’t need to speak for me.”
“Or anyone,” Gram added.
“Well, someone does,” I said. “Your only choice can’t be the Air Force.”
“Reen can’t keep her mouth shut,” Dare blurted like a big shot. He gave me a hard shove, but I stayed put. “Go on in and do those dishes. He’s not here to talk to you.”
“Dare.” Billy rolled his eyes, disgusted.
Clay McCardle cleared his throat. He nudged his empty plate like he was done. “Best pie in the county,” he told Gram. “You’re sure doing God’s work taking care of three young kids for a whole summer. I bet you’ll be relieved when Frank comes home.”
“I do my best,” Gram said. “But you can see it isn’t easy at my age.”
“I surely see that, Blanche.” Clay McCardle turned again to Billy, and handed him a card. “You’re a man now, son. You call me anytime. You’re in a tough spot here, and I can help. Your uncle Slim is worried you’ll get taken in the draft. And remember, four years down the road your college will be covered. A young man in the Air Force can go far. You could have a bright career ahead.”
“No, thanks,” I said, but Billy took that card. (If he can’t argue with Clay McCardle, he sure can’t fight a war.) “It isn’t what Mom wanted for her son. And Billy doesn’t want it either.”
“Your sister’s quick with her opinions,” Clay McCardle said to Billy, but he still wouldn’t look at me.
“She means well.” Billy sighed. We’d been at that table for an hour and he’d barely said two words to Clay McCardle.
“Just ignore her, Clay,” Gram said. “Sometimes Reen’s too big for her britches. Doesn’t matter what the subject is, Reen puts in her two cents.”
“You don’t have to tell me, Blanche.” He stood up from the table, and patted at my head like I was Float.
“I’m not a dog,” I said. “And I don’t want my brother—”
“I got my own bigmouth girl at home,” Clay McCardle said to Gram. “Sally’s thirteen now and snotty as a hankie. All mouth.”
“I’m more than mouth,” I said, because I am. Then I looked straight at Billy. “And you should take my
side,” I said. “Because I’m always taking yours. And you should stand up for Mom’s dream, because I am.”
“Come on, Reen,” he said, but I walked off from the table, and ran up Gram’s attic steps.
That’s all I have to say now, Mr. Marsworth.
I AM MORE THAN MOUTH.
Vandals wrecked your cottage.
Uncle Slim sent in the Air Force.
Billy didn’t defend me, and he didn’t defend Mom’s dream. I know he’s not a fighter, but he needs to be one now.
Not Snotty as a Hankie,
Reenie Kelly
P.S. Oh, and by the way . . . Brandenbrook’s for QUAKERS, and it’s in PENNSYLVANIA, which is nearly to New York! A Pennsylvania Quaker college for a Catholic from Missouri who lives in Minnesota??? Don’t you think you should have said that from the start???
P.P.S. I’m sorry I wrote that, Mr. Marsworth. I’m still mad at Clay McCardle, and Uncle Slim, and Gram, and Dare, and Billy, too, and I want Billy off in college, but not in PENNSYLVANIA.
P.P.P.S. Saturday is nearly here, and I still don’t have a YES from Billy.
Friday, July 26, 1968
Dear Miss Kelly,
Please don’t waste your sorrow on my cottage. It’s a shell of what it once was, let it go. Perhaps you’ll understand now why I’ve left the place to ruin. This wouldn’t be the first time someone painted "commie" on my porch.
Your good work wasn’t wasted, because good work never is.
More alarming in my mind is Clay McCardle at your house. Do you think Billy was persuaded to enlist?
Yes, Brandenbrook is nearly to New York, and yes, it was founded by the Quakers, but neither of those things needs to be an obstacle just now. First, Billy has to have an interest, and then he must apply. It will be August all too soon, and right now you have the Air Force knocking on your door, and I’m afraid Plan B appears uncertain. I wouldn’t delay on Brandenbrook, would you?
Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth Page 10
