Until Tomorrow, Mr. Marsworth

by Sheila O'Connor

  Do you understand, Miss Kelly? I’m certain that you do.

  All is as it should be. Billy has a family rich with love. You and Dare have Billy. I would be selfish to wish otherwise.

  Sincerely,

  P.S. May I make a small confession? Perhaps it was true in the beginning, that I welcomed news of Billy in your letters, and I welcomed our shared worry about Billy and the war. And of course every word you wrote of Billy was an unexpected gift. But the great gift of sharing Billy wasn’t the only reason I continued our correspondence. I wrote because I knew in you I’d found a true-blue friend. And you were right again, Miss Kelly. What shut-in doesn’t need a true-blue friend?

  P.P.S. Would you grant me one small favor? Please accept Rat’s attempts at friendship, and offer some small kindness to encourage him in return. The path to peace is rarely easy, but peace is always possible. If anyone can forge a path out of the wilderness, it’s you.

  Saturday, August 24, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Maybe that Beethoven gift was wrong OR maybe Dad was wrong, because I didn’t need a present, and I doubt that Dare did either. If you’ll come to Gram’s again, with a present just for Billy—especially a boxed set of Beethoven—Dare and I won’t care. (Believe me, we won’t care a lick about Beethoven.) No one here will scold you like Dad did.

  I don’t blame you for the secret, I just wish we’d had the truth from the beginning. I wish Mom and Dad had trusted we wouldn’t love Billy less. When I talk to Dad, I’m going to tell him that.

  Have a happy Saturday. You’ll get an update on the cottage tonight when I get home, UNLESS you decide to join us. (Hint, hint, hint.)

  Always True Blue,

  Reenie Kelly

  Saturday, August 24, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Your cottage is a place of peace again!! We demolished all our weapons, the mud bombs and the slingshots, then we tore apart Dare’s tree stand, and covered up his bloodstain with fresh dirt. I don’t ever want to look at that again.

  When our demolition work was finished, I pulled Billy through the thick brush toward that tree stump Snow Cone found.

  “Wow,” Billy said, and then we stood in holy silence like we were staring at Mom’s grave.

  “D.M.W. + E.E.B.,” Billy read aloud. “FOREVER.”

  “Just don’t tell Dad you saw it,” I said. “Or Dare. He won’t want to see another boy’s initials carved with Mom’s.”

  “I don’t much like it either, Pup.” Billy traced Mom’s letters with his finger, before he moved on to the D. “FOREVER,” he repeated. “But you know that I’m an orphan, right?”

  “An orphan? You’re not an orphan, Billy.”

  “Well, my real parents are both dead.” He brushed his shaggy bangs back from his face. “You know, Mom and Danny were my parents. So that makes me an—”

  “You said yourself that you’re Dad’s son,” I said. “You are, and always will be.”

  “That’s what I’d like to think,” he said. “But the truth is that I came from Mom and Danny, which means I’m Danny’s son, regardless. I’m half Danny’s, that’s a fact. And I’ve never been like Dad, Reen. You know, not the way Dare is. Or tough like all the Kellys. Even you. I’ve always been a little different. A mystery, I guess.”

  “You’re not a mystery to me,” I said. “You stand for peace like Mr. Marsworth. And both of you like music. And poetry. And he loves great big words, and books, and smart ideas like you do. Maybe Danny was the same.”

  “Poetry and music?” Billy stared at me, suspicious. “How do you know what he likes? I’ve lived here this whole summer and I haven’t seen him once. Not even at the Conoco. And yet he let you play down at his cottage. Then he gave me that strange Christmas letter he wanted you to have.” Billy waited for an answer, but I didn’t say a word. “You must have met him, Reen. Do you see him on your route? Does he come out to the gate?”

  “No,” I said, “not really.”

  “Spill the beans,” he said, then he looked long into my face like he could see into my soul.

  “I just know him,” I said finally, because I can’t lie to Billy when his kind brown eyes are begging for the truth. “We’re pen pals, more or less.”

  “Pen pals?” Billy blinked, confused. “You mean like you and Skip?”

  “A little bit,” I said. It felt strange to lose that secret, like I’d opened up a jar to let a butterfly go free. “Except Skip is in the Army, so he doesn’t answer much.”

  “You’re pen pals?” he repeated. “You write letters? You and Mr. Marsworth? You write letters and he answers?”

  “That’s the way a pen pal works,” I said.

  “But Dad said he hasn’t heard a word from him in years. And he never wrote to me in Denton. Never once. Yet he’s your pen pal in Lake Liberty?”

  “Because you couldn’t be singled out,” I said. “And he knew you were a Kelly first and foremost. But he needs to meet you, Billy, and you should meet him, too. Family should know family. And if you want him to write a letter to you first, I can—”

  “Please don’t ask him, Reen,” he said. “Promise me you won’t.”

  (I DID make that promise, Mr. Marsworth, so I won’t ask you to write to Billy, but if you decide that for yourself, it’d sure be smart. Billy needs you for his family, and I think you need us, too. “No man is an island,” didn’t you teach me that?)

  “We all can be a family,” I told Billy. “The Marsworths and the Kellys, like it was when Mom was young.”

  “You think that’s what Dad wants, Reen?” Billy asked. “Or Dare? Or Gram? She’s upset enough that I’ve gone against the draft. You think she wants a Marsworth—?”

  Please don’t let that hurt your feelings, Mr. Marsworth. I just thought you’d want to know why Billy Kelly hasn’t begged to meet you A HUNDRED TRILLION TIMES!

  “I think it’s up to you, just like the draft. You have to follow your own conscience,” I told Billy. “Meet him if you want.”

  “He hasn’t asked to meet me either,” Billy said. “He sent us Carl Grace with comic books, and ice cream, and Gram’s window, and that Christmas letter for you. And—” Billy waved the flies back from his face, and looked out toward the clearing.

  “That’s his way of being friends,” I said. “Because I know he loves you, Billy. Even living all alone, with only Clyde to call his family. Or locked behind that spiked fence that nobody can cross. I honestly believe he loves us all.”

  “Clyde?” Billy asked.

  “His cat.”

  “So I guess you know it all,” Billy said, half-laughing. “Leave it up to you, Reen.”

  “Not everything,” I said. “But one thing I know for certain is our families should be one.”

  And I really do believe that, Mr. Marsworth.

  It’s what Mom would have wanted for us all.

  Ready to Be Family,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Time is of the essence. A wise man taught me that.

  P.P.S. Billy helped me get that rocker from your rafters in your shed. In case you come down soon to see us, I wanted you to have a place to rest on your front porch. You don’t have to meet us at Gram’s house.

  P.P.P.S. I should have stayed down at the cottage, because Rat and Dare and Snow Cone are playing poker in my room, which means I have to write you from Dare’s tent. Imagine the stink of sweaty feet and wet dog, musty towels and boy BO. I have to keep my head outside the flap to breathe fresh air. Still, I’d rather leave Gram’s house than play a game with Rat. Dare must have lost his marbles when he fell out of that tree because he let Rat in Gram’s attic! And Snow Cone just wants peace at any price. I’d rather write my best friend than play poker with them all.

  P.P.P.P.S. Will you think about a meeting, Mr. Marsworth??????

  Sunday, August 25, 1968

  De
ar Miss Kelly,

  Although I’m not an advocate of gambling, perhaps you could try a hand or two of poker with young friends. An old recluse won’t run with you at recess, or stop at Brindle Drug for a soda after school. September will come soon; I’d like to picture you at school in the company of friends.

  Sincerely,

  H. W. Marsworth

  P.S. You have a lovely view of family, dear Miss Kelly. Of course in every way that truly matters, all of us are one.

  P.P.S. I remember what you ask me: Please inquire of Billy where he went with Carl Grace, and let him know he has my blessing to tell you that truth now. I do not wish to keep more secrets from my friend.

  Sunday, August 25, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  You want us to have your cottage??????????????

  That’s what Carl Grace told Billy!!!!!!!!!!

  You’re GIVING it to me, and Dare and Billy for all time???????????

  Three kids with their own cottage!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  How can we ever ever ever ever ever thank you, Mr. Marsworth??????????????

  Billy says we have to ask Dad for his permission, but the truth is that we don’t. Billy’s eighteen now, he can say yes for himself. And I’ve said yes already, and Dare said HECK YES, ARE YOU KIDDING!!!! OF COURSE I WANT THAT HOUSE!!!!!! Even Gram said it’s high time we had a house to call our own. (I think Gram might just be glad to have us gone. ☺)

  “Lord knows all four of you can’t squeeze into that attic. At least Reen will need her own room. And Dare can’t spend a Minnesota winter in those woods. And I guess if Mr. Marsworth thinks that Billy—” Gram started, and then stopped. “I mean, that isn’t really charity.”

  “It isn’t only Billy,” I told Gram. “Mr. Marsworth gave it to us all.”

  And I know it isn’t charity, it’s love. Love love love love love. Love for Billy, and us all!!!!

  You’re a true friend to the Kellys, Mr. Marsworth. Mom knew that all along! I knew it all along!!!

  It’s the best news of the summer!!!!! The best news of my whole life!!! The Kellys living at your cottage!!!! That entire slice of shore all to ourselves. We can wake up summer mornings and eat breakfast on the dock. Swim any time we want. Dare says we’ll learn to ice-skate with a frozen shore all to ourselves.

  Don’t you worry, Mr. Marsworth, the Kelly kids will fill your house with love.

  I have to rush to Snow Cone’s house to tell her our great news!!

  Do you think she will believe it???? A cottage of our own?????

  I’ll drop this letter to you first, and I’ll ring your rusted bell. It’s a happy day for ringing!!!! I’d ring a hundred bells outside your house now if I could!!!! I’d put on a parade!!!!

  Every bone inside my body is blowing up with joy!!!!

  Thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you

  A MILLION TRILLION ZILLION THANK-YOUS WILL NEVER BE ENOUGH!

  Overjoyed-Ecstatic

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. I won’t take no for an answer if that’s all Dad has to say about your cottage being ours. I’m absolutely positively never taking NO!!!!

  P.P.S. I’m going to spend the whole darn day playing games with Rat, including poker, and feeding him Rice Krispies bars, and making him my friend. That’s a small price for your cottage. I hope that makes you proud.

  Sunday, August 25, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  I can hardly sleep a wink tonight, can you?

  Could you meet me at the cottage before the summer’s done? Shouldn’t we go inside so I can see where we will live?

  Could you come to us for Christmas? Christmas at the cottage?

  Would you like to come some morning to fish with Dare down at the dock?

  Wouldn’t you like to sit with Billy on the front porch talking about peace? Or poetry? Or college? You could listen to him sing. Shouldn’t we do it before Brandenbrook? (I haven’t given up on Brandenbrook, have you?)

  You can rest in your old rocker while you tell me about Danny, and every happy cottage memory you have. And all your memories of Mom. And I can tell you about Denton, and the years of Mom you missed.

  Would it make you sad or happy if I slept in Danny’s room with that old bear?

  Do you want everything inside to stay the same forever?

  Just the way you left it? Including that 1950 calendar?

  We’ll love every bit of that old cottage just like Danny did.

  I hope you won’t mind if we clean it up at least? We’ll want to make that cottage spick-and-span.

  Your Best Friend in the Whole World,

  Reenie Kelly

  P.S. Tomorrow, when Billy’s finished at the Brindles’, he’s going to drive us to the cottage so we can picture it our own. Dare’s still a little dizzy, but he wouldn’t miss it for the world. He’s already making plans for all the fix-up work he’ll do when Dad comes home.

  P.P.S. We know you offered money for repairs, but what work the Kellys can do, I promise you we will.

  P.P.P.S. Could we go inside to see it? Dare and I want to do that.

  P.P.P.P.S. Billy’s writing you a thank-you!!! And of course you know a letter is the first step toward a friend!!!

  Monday, August 26, 1968

  Dear Mr. Marsworth,

  Reenie asked me to deliver this, because she said you’d want to read it, and she’s too brokenhearted now to come out of her room. She won’t even talk to me or Dare. Snow Cone came by this afternoon, but Reen wouldn’t see her.

  I’m not sure how well you know Reenie, but if you know her just a little, you’ve probably heard how much she loved Skip. She was so proud to have him for a pen pal, even though we all thought a stranger in the service was an odd friend for a kid. And Dad worried, because his letters seemed to make the war too real. Too real for Reen at least. I wish I’d had the chance to thank him for telling Reen she had to find a way to keep me from this war, or for saying I shouldn’t serve.

  He might have saved my life, but he lost his.

  Perhaps that’s the truth of every fallen soldier, I don’t know.

  I honestly don’t know.

  It seems wrong that I’m still living, when another boy is dead.

  Sincerely,

  Billy Kelly

  P.S. Mrs. Lamb was Reenie’s fifth-grade teacher. In fact, she taught us all.

  Dear Reenie,

  I’m sorry I’ve been slow to respond to all your letters. Even teachers can be busy; I hope you’ll understand. It’s been a summer spent with family, especially my son.

  You might recall my youngest, John? He used to stop by after school to help me wash the blackboards. He’s the baby of the family, our only boy, and unfortunately he got his letter from the draft board. I can’t tell you how difficult it is to send your own son to this war. When John is done with basic training, he expects that he’ll be sent to Vietnam. Of course we’re praying for a safe assignment, as every parent does.

  I’m pleased that Billy’s choosing college; I hope the scholarship you’re counting on is still possible this year. I recommended him quite highly, and the letter you requested has been sent. In all my years of teaching, I don’t think I’ve taught another boy as kind as Billy Kelly, or quite as pensive either. I suppose I’m not surprised to hear he’s objecting to this war.

  I only hope he doesn’t take a stand against our John, or march against the brave men who are fighting for us all. Every soldier in this battle deserves our country’s gratitude. I hope you learned that from our pen pals; I definitely did.

  And on the subject of our pen pals—I’m terribly sorry, Reenie, but I’m afraid I have been charged to deliver some hard news. Tragically, your pen pal, Skip Nichols, has died in Vietnam. Apparently an infection
from his war wound spread into his blood. I understand he was hoping to go home.

  I know how sad this news must be, especially for you with your mother gone so young. Please know you were a bright light in a dark time for our troops. You brought joy to another and for that you should be proud.

  When I think of you today, I see you standing in my classroom, reading with such relish a funny letter you’d just finished, or reading us the news Skip had written of the war. Of course we all adored our pen pals, but I think it’s safe to say you loved yours more than most.

  Please take comfort in these words from Lieutenant Kohl: “Could you please tell Reenie Kelly, Skip looked forward to her letters, we all did. She kept us laughing through some dark days, that’s for darn sure. Sometimes when Skip was really down, we’d say, “Hold on for Reenie Kelly. You got another letter coming, and she’ll be waiting for an answer, you know she always is.” I think Skip got more letters from one student than all of us combined. If she needs another pen pal, we’ve got plenty waiting here.”

  I hope you’ll write to him, dear Reenie. There are thousands of our soldiers who long to hear from home. My son, John, will be among them now.

  My deepest sympathy.

  Love and blessing to the Kellys.

  In Friendship,

  Mrs. Lamb

  Tuesday, August 27, 1968

  Dear Miss Kelly,

  May I offer you my friendship face-to-face in this hard time?

  Shall we meet down at the cottage? Today at 12:15?

  To paraphrase you, dear Miss Kelly: “When you’re sad a friend can help.”

  Would that help or harm you, because I only wish to help.

  Please answer yes or no.

  No Child Is an Island,

  Howard Marsworth