Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  “He knows that,” Dare said, angry. “He knows he’ll go to prison, he knows what folks will say. But Reenie and her big mouth has him set against this draft.”

  “It isn’t Reen, Dare,” Billy said, before I had a chance to speak. He had the same scared look as Gram, except a whole lot younger, and I wondered if we’d all still be a family once this war was done. “It’s me. It’s me acting alone. I have to follow my own conscience on this war.”

  “And that’s what Mom believed,” I said to take his side.

  “To go against the government?” Gram laid her shaky hand over her heart. “To write a letter to the paper for Lake Liberty to read? Or, every town that’s taking the Tribune? Do you know you’re hurting veterans? And families whose sons are dying for us, Billy. Grandmothers and mothers.”

  “I’m not against those families,” Billy said. “Or their sons. I’m against the draft for me. And I’m against the U.S. forcing boys to fight. Our men are dying in a war that isn’t ours. And we’re destroying someone’s country. Killing strangers.”

  “Of course we’re killing strangers,” Dare said. His filthy, freckled face was red with rage. That’s how mad he was. “They’re our enemies.”

  “Not mine,” Billy said. “I don’t know a soul from Vietnam. And I’m supposed to kill them? I can’t even make sense of this war or why we’re there.”

  “I’ve always loved you, Billy.” Gram leaned her weight on Billy’s chair like she’d lost her strength to stand. “I intend to love you still, but the Kellys serve their country. They do. Unless you don’t want to be a Kelly—”

  “Gram,” I interrupted. I didn’t want her saying Billy wouldn’t be family if he wrote against this war. “Why can’t the Kellys stand with Billy? Why can’t we take his side against the draft? You and Dad and Dare. If Mom were here, she’d be on Billy’s side. And she’d want us to stand with him.”

  “Well, she isn’t here now, Reen.” Gram said it like a fact that I’d forgotten. “So that leaves the shame to me. I’m the one who has to watch my good name be destroyed.”

  “I don’t want to hurt my family—,” Billy started, but Gram just waved her hand to make him stop.

  “Well, you will,” Dare said like he might cry. He crumpled Billy’s letter in his fist and threw it to the floor. “You send that to the paper, we’ll be cowards.”

  Isn’t this enough to make you write me, Mr. Marsworth? This war is wrecking our whole family. We’re cracked right down the middle, and Dad doesn’t even know.

  I don’t need another person mad.

  Writing from a House Divided,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Please don’t hold a grudge against me. Dare and Gram hardly have a word to say now, and the cold silence in the Kelly house makes me feel alone.

  P.P.S. I wish Billy was in college, and he’d never have to write to the Tribune.

  P.P.P.S. Does he HAVE to mail that letter to the paper? Isn’t there another way to be against this war?

  Tuesday, August 6, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I just left that letter and discovered that your paper is still sitting in your box. Your paper, and my letter to Dr. Roland Price. It’s already after ten o’clock. In a summer full of papers, you’ve never left your paper once. Did you hear me out there ringing? Why didn’t you bring it in???

  Please write back ASAP and say that you’re not sick.

  Are you okay alone inside that house?

  Is Carl Grace there with you?

  Your True Friend,

  Reenie Kelly

  Tuesday, August 6, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I stayed home from the cottage just to check your box, and my letters and your paper are still there.

  Please say that you’re not sick.

  Please say you haven’t disappeared like Asa Carver. One day I knocked on his back door and he’d been moved off to St. Louis by his son.

  Please say you’re inside sleeping. Please say you had to nap because you’re old.

  Worried,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I’m going to wait up in that oak tree just in case you come outside. And where is your assistant, Mr. Marsworth?????

  Tuesday, August 6, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I sat up in that tree until my legs were nearly numb, then I gave up on my “worry watch” and came home to Gram’s house. I hope tomorrow morning all my letters will be gone. I hope tonight you come out for your paper, and take my letters, too.

  I guess you could be napping, but would you nap for one whole day?

  Mom napped all the time when she was sick. Please say that you’re not sick.

  Sick with Worry,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Snow Cone found something important at the cottage, but I don’t want to ask about it now, in case you’re sick.

  P.P.S. Here’s some news you’ll like: Snow Cone and her dad joined a G.I. march for peace in San Francisco, and she said hundreds of soldiers want our troops sent home. “You don’t have to be a hippie,” she told Dare, “or a coward to say this war is wrong. Our own soldiers marched against it.” I guess you sent a good friend after all.

  Wednesday, August 7, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Please please please say that you’re okay. Are you too weak to walk out to the milk box and bring the papers in? Or did you go away on Tuesday? If you went away, where exactly did you go? When other customers are traveling they put a stop on the Tribune. Shouldn’t you have put a stop on your Tribune?

  Dare says two papers not picked up doesn’t mean a thing, he says his customers leave papers on the doorstep all the time. (Dare’s too dumb to worry, but at least he’s talking to me now.)

  In my heart, I don’t believe you’d go away without a word.

  Waiting for Your Letter,

  Reenie Kelly

  Wednesday, August 7, 1968

  ***CONFIDENTIAL DELIVERY!!! FOR MR. MARSWORTH ONLY***

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  So your assistant, Carl Grace, said you “went off for a rest.” He came outside while I was clanging and ordered me to stop.

  I don’t trust him for a minute, Mr. Marsworth. (Isn’t he too old for that long hair? And those silly granny glasses?) Wouldn’t a GOOD assistant tell me where you went?

  Why would that be a secret, Mr. Marsworth???

  I said I was Reenie Kelly, your loyal summer pen pal, Billy Kelly’s sister, and he ought to bring your papers in before some spider starts to spin a web in sports. Then I opened up your milk box, and handed him my letters and your Tribunes through the fence.

  “Don’t read any of my letters,” I said. “Those are Mr. Marsworth’s only.” (I hope he doesn’t read what I wrote Dr. Roland Price.) “Top secret.”

  “I understand.” He nudged his granny glasses up his nose like he was nervous. “I’ll see to it he gets them.”

  “Where is he on his rest? Is he near enough to visit?”

  “He isn’t up to visitors.” (If this were Alfred Hitchcock, I’d know that Carl Grace had you hostage in that house. Are you in there bound and gagged? Would Sheriff Cutler even help you if I called?)

  I don’t trust him, Mr. Marsworth, I just don’t. I can’t trust a person who won’t tell me where you’ve gone.

  If you REALLY get my letters, send me one good clue, so I can be sure it isn’t Carl Grace reading what I wrote.

  And please please please just tell me where you are.

  Your Good Friend,

  Reenie Kelly

  Thursday, August 8, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  Rest has been advised, and so I rest.

  I shall hope for Billy’s letter to be printed in the paper, and I shall send a prayer of courage for you all. He has done a brave thing; he will need you to be brave.

  The
clue per your request: For whom does the bell toll?

  Sincerely,

  Friday, August 9, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  It’s you!! It’s really you!!! It’s not your watery blue pen, but I recognize your fancy flowing cursive.

  And the answer would be “THEE”! The bell “tolls for THEE”!!!!!! That’s the final line from John Donne’s poem. I know that part by heart. When I’m clanging at your gate, I’m tolling for thee, too.

  Where are you resting, Mr. Marsworth? If you’re close enough for Carl Grace to visit, I’m sure you can’t be far. Wouldn’t you like a visit from a good friend while you rest?

  Please say that you’re not sick. “Rest” was what Mom did when she was sick. And your letter sure was short. When will you be back in your brick house?

  I’ll be brave with Billy, don’t you worry about that.

  True Blue,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I made this paper chain from the Tribune to cheer you up. Mom loved happy decorations while she rested. She adored the tissue paper garden I made while she was sick. I could do the same for you. When you come home to Hillcrest, could you hang the paper chain out on your gate as a signal you’ve returned? I’ll be on the lookout, Mr. Marsworth!!!

  P.P.S. Please tell me when you’re well enough to answer one small question. There’s a MAJOR cottage mystery I need your help to solve. Snow Cone has a theory, but I need to know from YOU.

  P.P.P.S. I mailed Dr. Roland Price my letter, and I hope it does the trick. Could creepy-but-maybe-sort-of-okay Carl Grace go to the Conoco and talk to Billy about Brandenbrook? Do you still want me to deliver that letter Carl Grace wrote Billy? I have it hidden in Gram’s attic, you just say the word.

  P.P.P.P.S. While we were gone down to the cottage, someone left a paper bag of dog poop in Dare’s tent. (SOMEONE = YOU KNOW WHO.) The place stinks to high heaven, and now Dare has to sleep under the stars. Float, too. They’ve been devoured by mosquitoes, but Dare’s too mad about his pup tent to sleep inside Gram’s house. He won’t let those bullies force him from the woods.

  P.P.P.P.P.S. Ooops, I shouldn’t end with trouble. A letter should be cheery when the receiver might be sick. (We learned that from Mrs. Lamb.) Do you remember those marigold seeds you gave me back in June? Well, they’re growing at your cottage! Bright green stalks are rising from the dirt. A garden will be blooming for you soon! Will you come down to see them? We could have a picnic on your porch!!

  Friday, August 9, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I’m not really going to send this letter to you now, not because you might be sick, but because I know the thing I did was wrong. And you would say it’s wrong. I’m just writing you to get it off my chest.

  I’ll pretend that you forgive me. Or God forgives me. Or maybe Mom forgives me up in heaven, or Dad in North Dakota would forgive me if he knew, but Dare says Dad would take our side. Either way, I want my guilty conscience to be clear.

  We did it for revenge, but it was wrong. It was really Dare’s idea, but I helped.

  I didn’t have to follow Dare, but I still did.

  I didn’t want to be a chicken, especially to Dare. I hate to be a chicken.

  Today we found Rat and Cutler’s souped-up Sting-Rays at the beach and stuck a dozen carpet tacks into their tires until we heard a little hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Hiss. Snow Cone didn’t want to help, but she stood watch.

  The dog poop they tossed into Dare’s tent was worse than what we did. Everything they’ve done to us is worse than four flat tires.

  Still I know we shouldn’t have done it, and I feel a little sick.

  I told Gram I had the flu, and she sent me up to bed with ginger ale and old saltines. The truth is, I’m scared down to my knees what Sheriff Cutler might do next.

  I wish that I could change it, but I can’t.

  Delinquent,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. This part might be the worst . . . Dare found the pack of carpet tacks inside your shed.

  P.P.S. I am SINCERELY TRULY TERRIBLY ABSOLUTELY DEEP-DOWN SORRY, Mr. Marsworth.

  P.P.P.S. I’m writing a new letter so you’ll NEVER know the rotten truth of Reenie Kelly.

  Friday, August 9, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I’m in bed with some dumb sickness, but I’m sure tomorrow morning I’ll wake up good as new. Are you almost good as new?

  Guess what? I’m teaching Snow Cone how to swim! She’s learned to hold her breath and put her face into the water, and tomorrow she’s promised to go under by herself.

  Dare likes to put her on his back and pretend that he’s a dolphin, and the three of us play Marco Polo in the shallow end with Float. I bet you know Float always finds us first.

  Snow Cone loves your cottage just like we do. The shutters are all painted cobalt blue. Billy’s driving out on Sunday to see the work we’ve done.

  He mailed his letter to the paper, and every day that they don’t print it, I can tell Gram is relieved. Dare, too. Things are ALMOST back to normal at our house. I think everybody’s wishing the draft just disappears. Some days that war seems so far away it can’t be real, and I wonder how a thing that far can wreck so many lives.

  Is that a selfish thing to say while Skip’s in Vietnam?

  Did Carl Grace go to the Conoco? He can talk to Billy now. Dr. Roland Price should have my letter.

  Good Night, Sweet Dreams,

  Your True Friend,

  Reenie Kelly

  Saturday, August 10, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Could you please just send one letter, one little tiny note so I know that you’re okay? Carl Grace can leave it in your box. I know he takes my letters, because every day they’re gone.

  The worst part of every morning is opening your milk box. It used to be the best part of my route.

  Can’t you just write a few words while you rest?

  Lonely for Your Letters,

  Reenie Kelly

  Saturday, August 10, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth!!!!

  Hold on to your hat!!!!!

  Brandenbrook wrote Billy!!!!

  A great big silver envelope addressed to William Kelly was delivered to Gram’s house!!!!!

  We all waited while he opened it, all three of us gathered around Billy on Gram’s old saggy couch. My heart was pounding in my ears with fear and hope.

  “What is it?” Gram asked, but she let Billy read the letter while I flipped through the shiny catalog with bright college boys like Billy leaning against trees, or entering brick buildings, or laughing on the lawn. Boys playing baseball. Boys reading great big books. You were right, Brandenbrook fits Billy like a glove.

  “What’s it say?” I said, when Billy finished with the letter. I was praying Dr. Roland Price didn’t tell him what I wrote.

  “I guess I’ve been recommended to their college,” Billy said, confused. He turned the letter over like he was looking for a clue, then he looked at the silver envelope again.

  “That’s great!” I could’ve jumped with joy, but I stayed put.

  “Recommended you for what?” Gram took the letter from his hand, and Dare snatched away the catalog, and Billy caught me with his eyes, but I just gave a shrug.

  “That’s amazing!” I said, grinning. “Someone must’ve known you were a nearly straight-A student.”

  Gram peered down at the envelope and frowned. “I hate to say this, Billy, but there must be some mistake. Why would a school in Pennsylvania write to you? William Kelly in Lake Liberty?”

  “Pennsylvania?” Dare chimed in. “You mean you’d get to see the Bucs play at Forbes Field? Ain’t Pennsylvania way off by New York?”

  “It is.” Gram snatched the catalog from Dare. “Don’t talk so dumb, Dare Kelly.”

  “Brandenbrook?” Dare said. “Ain’t that the name on that old red
pennant in—?” I kicked him in the shin before he said another word. (I didn’t want Gram to think about you now.)

  “This school sure looks expensive,” Gram said like she was sad. “I wish there was a way—”

  “Didn’t he say there was a scholarship?” I leaned closer to the letter still in Billy’s hand. “Yep,” I said, pointing to the print. “Right there. ‘Scholarships available.’”

  “And what about the rest of his expenses?” Gram said. “College costs a pretty penny.”

  I took the letter out of Billy’s hand and read it for myself, starting with the sentence: “You’ve been highly recommended as a student we might want.” “It says right here, ‘Financial aid is still available, and arrangements can be made to help defray the costs. Brandenbrook is committed to supporting worthy students with a wide array of scholarships.’ ‘A wide array,’” I said to Billy. “And I can see you sitting on this lawn, I really can. Next year in their catalog they’ll show you playing your guitar.”

  “You’re always dreaming big, Pup.” Billy said it with a sigh, like college was a kid-dream he’d outgrown.

  “Too big if you ask me,” Gram said. She patted Billy on the knee, and struggled from the couch. “I hate to see you disappointed, Billy,” she said sadly. “I wish I was a millionaire. I do.”

  “Does this mean you won’t get drafted?” Dare said, excited. “So you don’t have to put that letter in the paper after all? You can just go off to Pennsylvania and read books?”