Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  Please say that you didn’t send her to Gram’s house.

  Odd Girl Out Now,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I’m staying home to work on Billy’s letter to the paper so he can have a public record of objecting to the draft the way Keith said. I’m not going to lose my brother like Skip lost Jackie Moon. Don’t worry, I won’t send it. And I’ll let Billy change whatever words he wants when he comes home.

  P.P.S. And what about the Kelly-Marsworth tie the sheriff mentioned? Gram won’t give an answer, but of course Gram never does. You had a Kelly friend before me, that much I know for sure. Did he mean Betsy Kelly? I have a hunch he did.

  Friday, August 2, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  An unexpected friend is one of fate’s great gifts.

  Don’t turn away an unexpected friend.

  Who taught me that, Miss Kelly? I believe it would be you.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Friday, August 2, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Did I really teach you something??? You’re so smart and wise with your million-dollar words, and adages, and poems, and metaphors like “no man is an island,” I thought every lesson in our letters came from you. Knowing that I taught you one small lesson makes me proud.

  I guess that means you’re right about the unexpected friend, or I was right when I chose you, whatever way it works. So I’ll give a chance to Moira, and I’ll try not to be jealous if it’s Dare she really likes. (Everyone in Denton liked Dare more.)

  The truth is, I’m just blue, sitting in Gram’s attic, feeling sorry for myself while they have fun.

  You know what??? I’m going to take your good advice and walk out to your cottage, even though I hate that long, hot walk alone.

  Your Sometimes Teacher,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I didn’t get far on this first draft of Billy’s letter. Go ahead and mark it up with your red pen like Mrs. Lamb.

  Dear Minneapolis Tribune Opinion Section,

  I am an eighteen-year-old boy who believes the government is wrong to force young men to fight in Vietnam. The draft takes away our chance to follow our own conscience, and if my conscience disagrees with killing the people in that country, the draft just doesn’t care. Every boy that’s called is forced to go. Even one that’s never killed a living thing, except maybe some insects, and I don’t think an insect really counts. Otherwise, all my life I’ve tried to be a peaceful kid.

  As far as my religion, I believe the Ten Commandments, and I’ve always lived them all including “Thou shalt not kill.” I’d have to break that good commandment if I’m sent to Vietnam. I’m not against any of the soldiers fighting for our country because I know that they’re all brave, I just don’t have it in me to be a hero in a war.

  I hope I can do service work at home.

  William Kelly

  Lake Liberty, Minnesota

  Saturday, August 3, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  Please leave this public declaration to your brother. This is a letter he must write in his own words. (Just as you must write in your own words.)

  But what of Brandenbrook? I find you strangely silent on the subject of that school. (I, too, remember what I ask.) Did you ever talk to Billy? Did he write to Dr. Price?

  This summer will be gone soon. Please don’t be deterred by Pennsylvania: a train or bus or plane could bring him home. Holidays and summers you’d have him here with you.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Sunday, August 4, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  You don’t have to worry about me writing the Tribune. Somehow Billy did it. Between pumping gas at Casey’s and writing back to Beth and taking Gram for groceries and helping Dare practice his pitch, and working on my swing, and trying to coach us both on making peace with Rat and Cutler, he wrote his letter to the paper, and he woke me up past midnight because he wanted me to be the first to hear the words he wrote.

  Me. His one and only loyal little sister.

  It was 100 percent better, no, 200 percent better than the one I gave to you, and I hope someday I’ll write as well as Billy. (If I get a chance to steal it, I’ll let you have a look.)

  It was brave and strong and sure, stronger than the way he sounds in person. He said he had to put his conscience before his country so he couldn’t fight in Vietnam.

  “You’re sure?” I whispered in the darkness when he came to those last words. He was on the edge of my twin bed lit up by a little patch of moon, and even in the shadows, I could tell he was afraid.

  “I guess I have to be.” He closed his hands into a steeple, and dropped his head against them like a prayer. “If I want out of this war, I have to say that I won’t serve. It’s not enough to hope I won’t get called. The draft board has my name—”

  I laid my hand on Billy’s back to give him comfort, and I wished I was older, and I wished it could be me, not him, to stand against this war.

  “But Dad and Gram,” he said. “I know they’ll be ashamed. They won’t want a coward—and getting sent to prison—” Billy’s voice broke in the darkness. “And Dare will be embarrassed to have me as his brother. Even Beth. She doesn’t want a felon for a boyfriend, that’s for sure.”

  “Did she say that?” I asked Billy. “After all these years of going steady, shouldn’t Beth be on your side? She doesn’t want you dying in that war.”

  “Well, she’s not for prison either.” Billy cleared his throat. “She won’t stay with me for that.”

  “We will,” I said. “You’ll always have us, Billy.”

  “If they print this in the paper, you’ll have ten times the trouble you have now in this small town. And Gram will suffer, too. And Dad when he comes home from North Dakota.”

  “We’re tough enough,” I said, even if I wasn’t really certain that we’d all take Billy’s side. (Did your family take your side in World War I? Did you have to write the paper?)

  “I’ll probably lose my job at Casey’s. And you know we need the money, every dime I earn. Maybe Gram will lose her job at Brindle Drug. And we’ll never get a house. Or earn enough to move our family back to Denton like Dare wants. And Beth,” he said again.

  “Is there another way besides that letter to the paper?” I asked, because to tell the truth, I didn’t much like the list of trouble moving through his mind, and I still don’t like it now, writing you my worries when it’s nearly 2:00 a.m.

  Isn’t there a better way to get out of this war?

  Maybe he ought to wait to send it? I wonder if he should.

  Did you suffer all this worry way back in World War I?

  Billy’s Sleepless Sister,

  Reenie Kelly

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  You left a letter in your box for Billy Kelly, but not for me???

  Or maybe your assistant did, because it’s not your watery blue cursive on the outside of that envelope. (I know exactly how you write.)

  But why would Carl Grace address an envelope to Billy? Why would you?

  Did you tell about our letters? Billy doesn’t know we’re sort of pen pals.

  Did you tell him all the secret stuff I’ve shared about the draft? I hope not. Billy likes to keep his private business to himself.

  Did you tell him about Brandenbrook??? You don’t need to do that, because I talked to him already, and he said a private East Coast college was a thing we couldn’t afford. He didn’t believe about the scholarship, he didn’t. And he said it was too late to even try.

  I would have told you sooner, but—

  Well, never mind right now.

  Right now I have this envelope from your milk box addressed to Billy Kelly, and I’m not sure I should deliver it.

  I’d rather know what’s in it
, before Billy finds out first.

  I could steam it open. Dare used to steam his grades before Dad saw them, but I’d rather you just tell me what you wrote. Or what Carl Grace wrote Billy.

  Impatient for an Answer,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. WRITE BACK ASAP!

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  Rest assured your summer stories are quite safe inside my home.

  The envelope you mention is a note from Carl Grace, a Brandenbrook alumnus, urging Billy to apply. They’re acquainted from the Conoco where Carl Grace buys gas, and he believes as I do, that Billy is a fine fit for that school.

  Perhaps a kind note from an alumnus will be the encouragement Billy needs to write to Brandenbrook himself. It is August 5, Miss Kelly, and if Billy hopes to be considered he’ll have to contact Dr. Roland Price at once.

  That is essentially the content of letter, paraphrased of course. No need to steam for curiosity; no dark secrets have been leaked.

  Let us hope together he applies.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I DO hope it with you! In fact, I’ve already hoped so hard (“May I make a small confession?”) that I went ahead and wrote to Dr. Roland Price myself. (“Time is of the essence.” You said that.)

  I’m covering my ears in case you’re yelling at me now. Do you storm around your house when you get mad? I’m afraid you’re really mad. Our friendship almost ended from that letter I sent Mizzou, and I don’t want to lose our friendship now.

  Please please please don’t hate me, Mr. Marsworth. I would’ve told you sooner, except I knew you wouldn’t approve of me pretending to be Billy when I wrote to Dr. Price. I’m just not as good as you are, Mr. Marsworth. If there’s a problem I can fix, I have to fix it. When Billy said my college scheme was crazy—my craziest so far—I wrote to Dr. Price to prove him wrong.

  And my letter was stupendous. It really, truly was. It wasn’t like that crummy letter I wrote to the Tribune. I used the library’s thesaurus, and every word I wrote showed Billy at his best. “Assiduous. Scholarly. Compassionate. Endowed.”

  “No man is an island,” I added at the end. Billy hasn’t read John Donne, but that quote made him sound smart.

  If Billy writes them now, my scheme will fail! They already have one letter, a second letter wouldn’t make sense. Can’t we wait for Dr. Roland Price to write us back? He might say Billy has the scholarship, my letter was that good.

  And if he does, I SAVED THE DAY!

  WE SAVED THE DAY!

  If it wasn’t for your good advice, I never would have written, and we wouldn’t have a single hope of saving Billy from this war, or court, or prison, or leaving us for Canada.

  You know I have to follow my own conscience, Mr. Marsworth, and I have to help my brother in whatever way I can.

  Please Don’t Hate Me,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Skip would say I did the right thing. I’ll bet you that he would. Did you see this morning’s headline? “B 525 Drops 25,000 Tons of Bombs.” How many people will we kill with all those bombs?

  P.P.S. I’m heading to the cottage with Dare and Snow Cone (Dare’s nickname for her now), but I’ll check for your reply on my way home. Please don’t make me wait forever to hear how mad you are.

  P.P.P.S. Please don’t be so mad you never write.

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  There are days you do exhaust, and this is one. A younger, sharper mind might have guessed at your charade. How did I not suspect what you have done?

  You are correct: I thoroughly disapprove of you pretending to be Billy, but worse, you played a childish prank on a man whom I admire, the one man I hoped might offer Billy admission into college before fall. Quite likely Dr. Roland Price recognized the writing of a child, and promptly put your letter in the trash, where it belongs. However clever your young letter, I doubt it met the standards a college president expects.

  In your rush to save your brother, you may have done more harm than good.

  You are slow to learn your lessons, yet I am slower still. At all turns with you, Miss Kelly, nothing should surprise.

  Here is a word to research in the thesaurus: "irrepressible." Several more words: "imprudent, malapert, unyielding." Self-restraint, Miss Kelly; please learn to practice that.

  H. W. Marsworth

  P.S. Please return the letter meant for Billy to my box.

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  No “sincerely”??? Not even one kind word?

  PLEASE don’t say I did more harm than good. I wouldn’t harm Billy Kelly, not in a thousand, trillion years. And you don’t have to call me all those names, you really don’t. You’ve already told me LOUD and CLEAR that I was wrong.

  I’m going to make it right, I swear I am.

  Will Carl Grace tell Billy? Please, please say he won’t. I don’t want him at the Conoco blabbing my mistake.

  Remorseful,

  Reenie Kelly

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Here’s the letter of apology I wrote Dr. Roland Price, and I’m sorry to you, too, I hope you know that in your heart. You’re my best friend in Lake Liberty. I shouldn’t have pulled a prank on someone you admire. (I didn’t think it was a prank, I really didn’t.)

  If this letter isn’t good, I’ll do another draft. Cross out anything you hate, I won’t feel bad.

  Please leave it in your milk box, I’ll pick it up tomorrow morning on my route. Right now I have to get down to the cottage because Dare and Snow Cone left this morning, and I promised Dare I’d help him build a tree stand in your woods. Dare says we need a lookout, just in case THEY come.

  Hoping You’ll Forgive Me,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Please write back to say you’re still my friend.

  Monday, August 5, 1968

  Dear Dr. Price,

  My name is Maureen Kelly, and I live in Lake Liberty, Minnesota, where I am the sister of William Kelly, and a very good friend of Mr. H. W. Marsworth. Mr. H. W. Marsworth suggested to me that my brother William Kelly should apply to Brandenbrook, but William said it was too late to write a college for this year. He also thought he’d never get a scholarship, and we can’t afford a private school way off in Pennsylvania, or even a public school in Missouri.

  William is almost always right, but so is Mr. H. W. Marsworth, so I thought there might be hope for William to somehow be a student at your school like Mr. Marsworth said. William’s not a Quaker, but he does believe in peace. And even though I don’t want him all the way in Pennsylvania, I’d let him move that far if Mom’s dream for William to attend college could come true.

  Unfortunately, I might have done more harm than good when I wrote to you pretending to be William. Did you already read my “fake” William Kelly letter? Did you throw it in the trash because William didn’t sound smart enough to go to your fine school?

  William writes a whole lot better than an almost-sixth-grade girl. I swear to you he does. He’s the smartest in our family, and he would have stayed a straight-A student if Mom’s cancer hadn’t happened. It’s hard to concentrate on school when you’re sad, it really is.

  Please don’t let my fake letter damage William’s chance of getting into Brandenbrook IF he ever does apply. (I can’t promise William will, but your alumnus Carl Grace also thinks he should.) He deserves a scholarship, he does! If the esteemed Mr. H. W. Marsworth believes Billy would do well there, I hope you’ll trust his good word and give Billy one more chance.

  In Sincere Apology,

  Maureen Elizabeth Kelly

  Tuesday, August 6, 1968

  Dear Good Friend Mr. Marsworth,

  You didn’t
even read my letter to Dr. Roland Price. I was sad to open up your box in morning darkness and see my letter sitting there without a mark or a single word from you.

  Please read ASAP, and let me know if it’s good enough to send, or else I won’t.

  I want to fix things up so Carl Grace can write to Billy, and I need Billy in that college because things are getting worse.

  That’s right, Mr. Marsworth, you’re not the only one who’s livid. Gram and Dare are livid. (“Livid” was Gram’s word, but Dare is livid, too.) They were livid during supper, when Billy read aloud the letter that he planned to send to the Tribune.

  “I want you to be forewarned,” he said, when he’d finished with the reading. He looked from Dare, to Gram, then me, and I did my silent best to let him know how proud I was. “I didn’t want to mail it until you all knew what I wrote.”

  “Mail it?” Gram dropped her fork against her plate like she was already done with dinner. “You can’t send THAT to the Tribune.”

  “Did you ask Dad if you could write that?” Dare said. “You think he wants that crap in the Tribune? You think he wants his own son saying he won’t serve?”

  “It isn’t up to Dad, Dare.” Billy said it calm, but strong. “It won’t be Dad that’s sent to Vietnam. I have to have a public record—”

  “A public record,” Gram said, shocked. She got up and shut the windows, every single one, then she closed the curtains, and locked the kitchen door, to make sure this conversation stayed a secret in our house. “A public record that you’ve gone against the government?” Gram’s old face was white with worry, and I could see a terrible tremble moving through her hands. “Are you crazy, Billy Kelly? Do you want to go to prison, because that’s right where you’ll end up.”