Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  Will the Quakers take a Catholic? Yes, they will.

  If you continue with your research, you might find that Brandenbrook fits Billy Kelly like a glove.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  P.S. Absolutely do not contact Sheriff Cutler about my cottage, young Miss Kelly. Unfortunately, law and justice are not always synonymous.

  Friday, July 26, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Happy Friday morning!!! Look what Billy left while I was on my route!!!!

  Don’t give up on my Plan B, it’s coming true!!!!

  I’m running to the Conoco to give Billy a hug!!

  Hey Pup,

  Want to see the Minneapolis Institute of Art? Gram agrees you need some culture, and Dare could use some, too. If you’re not booked tomorrow morning, let’s go into Minneapolis. Gram says you and Dare need baths before a trip to a museum, and Dare better get a haircut. Gram says Dare can’t go to a museum with that mop of filthy hair.

  You two get that done today so we can go.

  Have a great day.

  Love you,

  Billy

  Friday, July 26, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I can only write a minute, because I want to run this over before Gram gets home from work.

  Guess what??? Dare let me cut his hair and it looks terrible, ha-ha-ha. He wasn’t even mad, because he wants to look his worst. If kids weren’t scared of him before, they’ll be scared now!

  Billy says we’re leaving at 8:30 in the morning, and Dare’s already griping about leaving Float behind. (Not to mention having to go to a museum!) But Dare won’t miss a chance to do his navigator job. Dare is always in the front seat reading maps for Dad.

  Wait until Dare finds out our first stop isn’t even the museum! If he’s mad we’re at the Draft Information Center he can fume out in Gram’s car.

  Can they help us at the center? I sure hope so.

  In the meantime, wish us luck!

  Family Barber,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. We couldn’t make it to the cottage, but we’re never going to quit. If the sheriff won’t bring justice, then we will. We’re going to tack up the two more NO TRESPASSING signs Dare bought at Rash’s Hardware.

  P.P.S. I continued with my research while Dare went to buy the signs. Brandenbrook College. Founded by the Quakers, alias: the Religious Society of Friends. (That Society of Friends name FITS YOU like a glove.) Your religion stands for peace, and Brandenbrook does, too. Did you know Billy can study music at that college if he wants? It’s a college just for men, so I guess when I’m eighteen, I won’t get to go. That’s okay, I wouldn’t leave my family to move to Pennsylvania, and if Billy says the same thing, please don’t be surprised. He’ll probably say that Pennsylvania is too far. The Kellys stick together, that’s why we’re all with Gram. Do the Quakers have a closer college, Mr. Marsworth? Is there one in Minnesota?

  Just in case they don’t, I have that address in my pocket, and according to the atlas, it’s almost 1,160 miles far from Gram’s. 1,160 miles??? How would we see Billy? How would he come home?

  Saturday, July 27, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I have a hundred thousand million trillion things I want to write, but I’m too beat to tell them to you now.

  The big city makes you sleepy, have you ever noticed that?

  I’ll write you in the morning, I promise that I will.

  Until tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth . . . zzzzzzzzzz.

  Tomorrow: Sunday morning, 4:30 a.m. to be exact.

  Good morning, Mr. Marsworth!

  I’m up at the crack of dawn because I can’t sleep past 4:30, and for once I’m happy I don’t have a Sunday route. I’d rather be in bed writing to you. (Well, that’s not EXACTLY true. I’d rather talk in person, and I HOPE someday we will.)

  Please grab a cup of coffee because this letter might be long.

  Okay, so Billy borrowed a map from Mr. Casey, and Dare got us to the city telling Billy where to turn, but when we pulled up to the center, Dare was stumped.

  “This ain’t no art museum,” he said, and Billy had to tell him we were meeting someone first.

  “At the Draft Information Center?” Dare said, concerned. “Are you already signing up for war? Can’t you wait a little bit?”

  “Not signing up today,” Billy said. He rubbed his hands over his face like he does when he gets nervous, and I was nervous, too. I really was. “Information mission only.”

  “I don’t get what you’re saying.” Dare threw the map in the backseat, and we climbed out of the car. “We drove all this way for some museum and the draft? I knew this trip was screwy from the start. Don’t they got baseball in this city like St. Louis? Can’t we catch a Twins game while we’re here?”

  “You don’t have to come inside,” I said to Dare.

  “Oh no, he does.” Billy reached up to squeeze Dare’s shoulder. Dare may be taller now than Billy, but Billy is the brother we’ve admired all our lives—even Gram and Dad admire Billy—and I knew Billy wasn’t ready to lose our love over this draft. “I need Dare to hear this, too. ‘All for one,’ remember, Reen? The Kellys have to stay on the same side.”

  “Hear what?” Dare asked. City cars were rushing past, and the strangers on the sidewalk and the sirens and the skyscrapers in the distance made me feel too far from home.

  “Let’s just go in to see Keith.” I grabbed hold of Billy’s other wrist, and pulled him toward the door. “Dare can hear it all when we’re inside.”

  “Keep an open mind, Dare,” Billy said, with his hand still on Dare’s shoulder, “Please just hear them out. We’re not deciding anything. And you, too, Reen—”

  “I know,” I said, and then we went inside.

  First thing we saw were posters about peace, and framed pictures of protestors, and stories from the newspaper tacked up on a board, and STOP WAR NOW signs stacked against the wall. Two shaggy, bearded hippies were working at their desks, and I hoped one wasn’t Keith, because I knew Dare wouldn’t want a hippie talking Billy out of war. The only hippies back in Denton were the marchers on TV, and every time Dad saw them, he’d turn the TV off.

  “I bet you’re Reenie Kelly.” The blond one in the PEACE T-shirt flashed me a big smile. He stood and shook our hands before I even answered yes. “I’m Keith,” he said to Dare and Billy, and he seemed fine for a hippie, he truly did.

  “Sit,” he said, as he dragged three chairs to his desk. “So your sister filled me in,” he said to Billy. He leaned back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. “You’re eighteen years old, and registered, but now you don’t want to fight in Vietnam. You hope to find some way out of this draft, is that correct?”

  “Well, I’m not as sure of that as Reen,” Billy said with a shy smile.

  “Find a way out of the draft?” Dare said, alarmed. “But you can’t do that, Billy. You might not be as tough as Dad or me, but you’ll still serve. The Kellys ain’t afraid to fight.”

  “No,” Billy said, embarrassed, his tan cheeks burning pink. “I am. I am afraid to fight, Dare. And I don’t want to kill—”

  “Even Skip’s afraid,” I said to Dare. “And he’s a soldier. Boys can be afraid.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with fear,” Keith said to Billy. “You don’t need to be ashamed. Heck, I don’t want to die in Vietnam. We all should be afraid.”

  “Scared or not, the Kellys serve their country,” Dare said, and he sounded gruff like Dad does when he’s “had it up to here.”

  “But maybe Billy’s different,” I said quickly. “Let him make his mind up for himself.”

  “Can you just listen, Dare and Reen?” Billy said, so the two of us wouldn’t bicker anymore. “I came here to learn, and so should you.” He wiped his palms over his jeans and swallowed hard. “So what exac
tly are my choices?” he asked Keith. “That’s what I need to know.”

  “You can’t go to college, right?” Keith asked. “Is that definitely out? Reenie told me you were going, but then you didn’t have the money, so you decided to withdraw. I’m sure you know that college is one way out of this war. At least until you finish, they’ll draft you after that. But the young guys that they’re drafting, those are mostly poor kids. Not all the guys, of course, but plenty of them are.”

  “I can’t afford to go to college,” Billy said, impatient. “So what other things—?”

  “Well,” Keith said. “There’s Canada. If you can get across the border. Of course, you’d be a fugitive, which means you can’t come home.”

  “Canada?” My heart was in my stomach, and I knew that Dare’s was, too. “Billy can’t run away to Canada.”

  “A fugitive?” Dare added. “You think Dad would want a Kelly running from the law?”

  “No. I don’t think I could do that,” Billy said. “I can’t leave my family. So is the only option prison and a $10,000 fine?”

  “Like that story in the paper,” I said.

  “Hard to say,” Keith said sadly. “We have lawyers volunteering, but no one knows for sure what will happen with these cases. But first things first—you’d have to file C.O. status if you’re hoping to object.”

  “Conscientious objector,” I told Dare, because Billy knew already. “That’s where Billy says his conscience objects to the war in Vietnam.”

  “I know what it means,” Dare said. “You ain’t the big shot here.”

  “So what I know from your bright sister”—Keith interrupted, and I was glad Dare had a chance to hear a stranger call me bright—“is that you weren’t raised a pacifist, and you’re not opposed to war based on your religion, and you don’t have a public history of speaking out against the draft.”

  “I guess Reen covered all the bases,” Billy said. “I sure don’t have a public history—”

  “But Billy doesn’t fight,” I said. “He never has. Not even as a kid. And he didn’t play with BB guns like we did. And he didn’t hunt or fish with Dad. Could he write to the Tribune? Does the paper count as public?”

  “The Tribune would be a start,” Keith said.

  “A letter to the paper,” Billy said. “Does it have to be that public? I’m concerned about my family. My grandmother. She lives in a small town.”

  “All of us!” Dare said. “You want people spraying ‘commie’ on Gram’s house? You want to be like Old Man Marsworth? Chickens hung up on your gate?”

  “No,” Billy said. “I don’t want that, Dare.”

  “Well, C.O.s aren’t exactly popular,” Keith said to Billy. “Get ready for that, man. And you should have a public record, especially if you didn’t indicate your C.O. status when you registered. That would’ve been the time.”

  “He didn’t know about it then,” I said. “But he does now. You said it’s not too late.”

  “Or is it?” Billy asked, like he wasn’t sure of what he wanted, yes or no.

  “It’s not,” Keith said to Billy. “But this is up to you, not your sister. You take on Uncle Sam it means a fight. A long, hard public fight just like Ali’s. So you’ll have to fight for something—war or peace—you’ll have to fight. And someone painting ‘commie’ is the least of what might happen. Draft resisters are generally despised, you must know that from Ali.”

  “Billy knows that,” Dare said. “We all do. All of Denton hates him now.”

  “You know I don’t,” Billy said to Dare. “At least he’s following his conscience.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “And we don’t care if they paint ‘commie,’ if Billy’s safe with us. I bet Skip would rather face graffiti than those bombs in Vietnam.”

  “Would he rather be in prison?” Dare’s freckled face was burning red. “Like Alcatraz? San Quentin? Because that’s where Ali is headed, and Billy will be, too. You think prison will be fun, Reen?”

  “No one thinks that, Dare.” Billy tugged the collar of his shirt like just this talk of prison made it hard for him to breathe. “I’m not sure I’m strong enough for prison,” he told Keith. “Or the shame I’ll bring my family. My dad—”

  “It might not come to prison.” Keith pulled some papers from his file drawer and handed them to Billy. “Certainly not Alcatraz. Let’s all just take this one step at a time.”

  Okay, I have to take a break now, Mr. Marsworth. I need two bowls of Sugar Smacks before I write another word. Are you ready for more coffee? Go ahead and help yourself.

  Stay tuned, Mr. Marsworth. Chapter Two is still ahead.

  Chapter Two: The Art Museum, etc., etc.

  All of us were rattled after we’d said good-bye to Keith. Billy had a list of things he’d have to answer if he decided to object. Like, what does he believe? And why? And when did he first believe it? And who gave him the training to be against a war? What religion is he? Is there someone specific in that church that taught Billy war was wrong? (None of the priests at Holy Family back in Denton taught us that.) It was a list too long to write, but if I can borrow it from Billy, I’ll let you have a look. Or maybe you already know the questions that they ask? Stuff on self-defense, or fighting for your family if your family was attacked. How long has he been a pacifist? Is he against the use of force no matter what?

  Did you have to answer all these questions during WWI? Or was it enough to be Quaker, because Keith said being raised in a religion against war would really help. I said we’d learned the Ten Commandments, and shouldn’t “Thou shalt not kill” be good enough?

  It turns out that it isn’t, Mr. Marsworth.

  Anyway, all of us had too much on our minds to visit a museum, but Billy made us do it so our trip wouldn’t be a lie. We saw a bunch of paintings, and naked statues, and old tapestries, and fancy antique furniture, and we wandered all those quiet rooms like everybody else. (I guess no one likes to talk in a museum.)

  When Billy finally let us leave, we found a leafy park, and spread our lunch under a tree, and when a whiskered man stopped to say that he was hungry, Billy handed him his sandwich, plus a dollar from his wallet for more food.

  “You’re a good guy, Billy,” Dare said when the man had walked away. “You’ve been the best kid in our family, best grades, best at baseball, best at music, always good to me and Reen, but you stand against your country, no one else will see you’re good. They’ll think of us as cowards.”

  “Just me.” Billy hung his head like he didn’t want to be a coward. “But if you think you’d be ashamed if I object—”

  “We won’t,” I said. “We just want you living.”

  “Maybe you, Reen,” Billy said, and he waited to hear Dare say that’s what he wanted, too. “But I’m not sure that’s enough for Dare.”

  “Of course I want you living.” Dare tore off a hunk of sandwich and handed it to Billy. “But a traitor to your country? You want to live like that? You think we shouldn’t have fought back after Japan attacked? You think we should’ve let the Nazis keep on killing the Jews? If that’s what you believe, then go ahead. But someone has to fight like Dad did in Korea, and those soldiers are my heroes, not the cowards that object. If you want to be a coward—”

  “He doesn’t,” I said. “Billy’s not a coward. Didn’t you hear what Keith said? Billy has to fight for peace. It’s going to take a lot of courage to stand up against this war. Maybe peace is just as brave.”

  “Ask Dad,” Dare said. “He’ll tell you that it’s bull—”

  Billy turned his face up toward the sun like he was studying the sky. “I know the men who serve their country are heroic, I won’t argue with you, Dare. And I wish I had Dad’s courage, but I don’t. Or even Skip’s. Or any of the guys in Vietnam right now. But I don’t want to kill, I really don’t, or fight a war that could be wrong. I guess I’m more like M
om, or Mr.—” Billy looked at me like he was thinking of your name, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

  “You’re exactly like Mom, Billy,” I said, squeezing his warm hand. “You look like Mom. You think like Mom. You have all the good of Mom inside your heart. Mom didn’t want you in this war. Don’t you think it’d make her proud to see you fight for peace?”

  “Maybe.” Billy nodded.

  “Okay, okay, done with that,” Dare said, standing up abruptly, because talking about Mom is too much for Dare to take. “Let’s finish this fiasco and get home.”

  We didn’t go straight home like Dare wanted, instead we drove downtown to see the skyscrapers, and walk the busy streets, and wander through that fancy department store called Dayton’s where Mom took us to see Santa on that same Christmas trip to Minnesota when I stood outside your house. Dare asked to see Met Stadium, but it wasn’t near downtown.

  We did all that without more talk of war or what Billy might do next. Instead, we walked those city streets for hours because Billy said he was tired of Lake Liberty, and Casey’s Conoco, and Gram’s house, and the three of us might never have a city day again.

  “I got to hope so.” Dare shoved Billy’s shoulder like he was halfway between serious and fun. “You and scheming Reen won’t trick me twice.”

  Okay, that’s all I can tell you, Mr. Marsworth, because it’s nearly nine o’clock now, and we have to go to Mass. Wouldn’t it be AMAZING if Father Gleason stood up on the altar and spoke against the war? And wouldn’t it be STUPENDOUS if he said Catholic boys couldn’t kill?

  I know I’m just imagining, but maybe someday, Mr. Marsworth.