May Cocker (Cocker Brothers Book 24)

by Faleena Hopkins

  The Butler helps us out of our coats, then glides away to do her bidding. Mrs. Cocker has left without realizing we don’t know where we’re going.

  However, she turned right.

  That’s a start.

  Mother and I exchange a look, moving a bit slower due to awe at every little — and very big — thing that meets our eyes. I’ve never seen vases the size of a chair.

  The hallway walls are made of wood dark and rich as a chocolate bar, beautiful rugs leading our way. And that chandelier wasn’t the only one, just the smallest.

  Through the third, left door we find Mrs. Cocker walking toward us with a marble fireplace ablaze behind clicking heels. “Oh, there you are! Did I leave you behind? Not thinking quite right today!”

  “I understand,” Mother smiles.

  Mrs. Cocker stammers, “Yes well,” as if she’s lost her way, too.

  To help, Mother offers, “What lovely velvet chairs.”

  “Oh yes! Chairs! Let us sit down. That will do nicely. I feel I’m spinning in circles!”

  A circular, dark-wood coffee table holds a large green vase of white flowers I don’t know the name of. There are two high-backed, velvet chairs that remind me of a palace, plus one elegant sofa with carved trim and a sloping back highest at its center.

  Mother and I take the sofa, while Mrs. Cocker sits in a regal chair with amber light flickering on her worries. “When I heard the news I thought it one of his pranks! When Raymond assured me it was real, I was not convinced. He got the Secretary of Defense on the phone, and only then did I believe it. And oh, did I give that man a piece of my mind! Allowing a boy to drop out of high school and enlist in a war six years running! He’s my baby! And I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. Do you know what he told me, Francis? That Hank is eighteen and therefore a man with the right to make his own decisions!”

  Mother gasps, “He didn’t!”

  “Yes he did! He said exactly that!” She fingers a glimmering brooch, staring at the fire. “What am I to do?”

  I’ve not spoken a word yet, but I feel I might have comfort to offer, so I breathe in courage. “Mrs. Cocker, I told Gertie that perhaps Hank was afraid she might talk him out of it. She found comfort in that.”

  “Forgive me for saying so, but I don’t!”

  She bolts up and crosses to the hearth, snatching a poker to jab logs with it. Sparks fly and alight the skirt of her dress. Mother and I leap up, swatting the smolder away together, all of us shrieking to varying degrees.

  “Ahem…your pie, ma’am.”

  We freeze, look to the door, and discover the butler standing at the ready with a gorgeous tray filled exactly as ordered, only better.

  He doesn’t know what to make of our tableau, and Mrs. Cocker does not enlighten him.

  “Perfect timing, Archie. Place it on the coffee table, thank you!” She turns to us. “I could use a spot of sherry! You?”

  While telling us tales from Hank’s childhood for over an hour, Mrs. Cocker has nursed a single sherry, to our amazement. The side of her lovely face is lit by new logs Archie placed just ten minutes prior, plates cleared.

  Even though she doesn’t want to leave, Mother’s sense of propriety inspires, “My husband will be wondering where I am if we don’t return home soon.“

  “How is Fred?”

  “Very well, thank you.”

  “I’ve neglected to ask how you met the dear man!”

  I shift a bit to see Mother’s face as her blue eyes shine on her favorite subject. “Fred and I were high school sweethearts. Unlike May, I didn’t go to an all-girls school. My mother didn’t approve of Fred, a blue-collar man with little prospects.” Her eyelashes fall to the tea in her hands as she smiles. “I was too young to care about such things, and I’m glad for that. All I knew was that I loved him.” She sets her saucer down with little rattle. “Fred is kind. A man of strong morals. Hard-working, too.”

  Mrs. Cocker offers a knowing look. “And he makes you laugh! I noticed!”

  “Yes, he does. Whenever I’m mad, I find I can’t stay that way for long.”

  “Wish I could say the same!” Mrs. Cocker rolls her eyes, taking one final sip and setting down the elegant snifter glass. “But I love him so. And I wouldn’t change a hair on his head. May dear, have you had many letters from my Jerald?”

  “I have, ma’am.”

  “I have received a few myself. Not enough, I warrant.” Interested at the change in my expression, she asks, “How many have you received, dear?”

  “Forty-seven.”

  She slaps the armrest. “Forty-seven!”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Looking to my mother for confirmation she exclaims, “My word! That is devotion! Well, if you must go, let me walk you to the door.” We follow as she happily continues, “Jerald and I share a love of reading. Ask him to write, and you’re sure to see a scowl. Don’t misunderstand me, he was a strong student save for when creative writing was involved. Then it was the same as getting him to say more than three words at a time, only worse because it was permanent. He would labor over those papers more than any other. If he has written you forty-seven, rest assured you have left your mark.”

  Archie is waiting at the front door.

  He helps Mother into her coat first.

  I am next, and I quietly thank him under my breath, because Mrs. Cocker is still talking.

  “I received some letters as well, mind you there were only five. And can you believe I thought that was generous?!” She laughs and waves away my attempt to make her feel better. “I’m thrilled! To hear him so inspired warms my heart on a day when I sorely needed it.” She lifts my chin. “You are a lovely girl and there’s a sharpness to your eyes that tells me your intelligence is greater than most. That coupled with your good-natured temperament and I’m quite pleased.” Dropping her hand she turns to my Mother. “Dottie, it was an absolute gift your stopping by. And I don’t mean the pie, although that was truly the best rhubarb I have ever tasted, upon my word! We are going back to D.C. tomorrow, I regret to say for many reasons, but can I call on you when we return? Perhaps you will have tea again? Or if you’re so obliged, more sherry?”

  Mother laughs, “Without question there will be more sherry. I look forward to it. Have a prosperous time in Washington.”

  On the ride home, Mother remarks, “What a kind and gracious woman.”

  I agree by smiling only, because I’m quite struck by Mrs. Cocker’s approval. To have a respectable woman such as she so directly say that I am deserving of her son’s admiration.

  There is something special about that which I will hold onto for all of my days.

  34

  JERALD

  M y Dearest May,

  Truth be told, I’m hoping there are letters from you out there somewhere. As I’ve not been back to America, I’m afraid they’re waiting at base for me in Norfolk. All of us are extra homesick for this very reason.

  Some have been envying those who are land-based for their ability to receive letters from home. But our food is better. They feed us very well in the Navy, steak and lobster and more. Not sure if the trade off is worth the full stomach. Food is available for us at any hour, not just mealtimes. Anytime we need to eat, food is in the galley. And coffee, we drink that by the gallons.

  We can receive telegrams for the important things, like a death or a birth. Because of Pops and his connections in Washington, I received one about Hank enlisting. Didn’t get my grubby mitts on it for three weeks.

  But Hank and I won’t run into one another, I’m afraid. A damn shame. I’m not even sure if he’s shipped off yet. I can picture his face aboard his first aircraft carrier. How happy he must be.

  Between you and I, I’m awful proud of him. And the surprise wasn’t too big over here. Hank isn’t one to twiddle his thumbs. It’s not in his blood, nor mine.

  Speaking of not twiddling my thumbs, I’ve been thinking about something. Hear me out. When I get back to Georgia, if
you’re still my girl like I think you are, I want to make you my wife. Don’t know how you feel about that. But we may as well get to the business of spending our lives together on account of my feelings for you have only grown. The boys here say I’m just homesick, but I don’t know. Do you believe in true love?

  Yours,

  Jerald Cocker

  M y Dearest May,

  About that marriage proposal. I meant it.

  Perhaps you’re reading this letter first. In that case, sift through them until you find the one dated March 15, 1945, where I declared my intentions. Who knows when you’re reading these, but that was the first of the bunch.

  I’ve been giving it a lot of thought. I figure marriage is a commitment, a decision two people make to go through the highs and lows while holding hands together. It’s about balancing each other out. That’s what it is. Remember when I told you about The Con and The Negative, how The Negative holds an equal value of water in its tank so that if something happens to The Con, then The Negative releases its water so they both stay afloat? That’s what marriage is. Sometimes you’re The Con and sometimes you’re The Negative and the other person switches places and balances you so you can make it through, together, if you’re both willing to do the work.

  The best thing the Navy has taught me is that discipline and commitment are a choice that pay off in every way.

  Look at me rambling on. Guess I can’t wait to see you.

  Yours,

  Jerald Cocker

  M y Dearest May,

  Last night I had a dream you were waiting for me under our oak tree, and it was raining everywhere except where you were. The branches shielded you from the torrent, our blanket dry and food abundant. Let’s just say there was a lot more than what we had that day.

  You were as pretty as I remember, that smile just for me. You were waving for me to come and join you, but I was stuck in the rain. I woke up with such a hole in my heart that the fellas wondered what was wrong with me. I didn’t tell them about my dream. But you I can tell.

  They say the war will be over soon. We’re making loads of progress. I can’t share details, but I can say with confidence that the allied forces are prevailing and we are on the right side of this war.

  Five days until April now, which makes it over six months since I’ve seen you. Between you and I, that’s much too long.

  Yours,

  Jerald Cocker

  35

  MAY

  APRIL 12TH, 1945

  Sable announces, “I wouldn’t be surprised if they preferred Lily over me!” as we leave school together, homework waiting in the books we hold.

  Lily laughs, “They do! Your parents love me!” She waves her hand. “I’m teasing. Of course they don’t prefer me. Sable is only trying to make me feel better.”

  “How is your Mother?” Gertie asks. “You don’t talk about her much.”

  “She’s dry at the moment. Who knows how long that will last,” Lily mutters. “I’ve told her I don’t want to come home. Since I’m eighteen now, she can’t force me.”

  “Has she apologized?”

  “Yes, and while I accepted, it doesn’t mean that I have to put myself where I don’t feel safe again.” Glancing to Sable she smiles, silently showing how grateful she is for having a place to stay.

  Gertie blurts, “I got a letter from Hank last night!”

  We stop walking immediately, turning with sunlight dappled on our faces from stretching oak trees overhead. It’s a lovely spring day, so nice in fact that we left our sweaters at home.

  “He’s beyond excited. Seems to have a real aptitude for flying! Passed all the tests on the first round and everything! Some boys took them multiple times and never passed. Hank says the instruments just make sense to him!”

  What a relief Hank finally wrote to her! We’re all relieved he’s alright, though we won’t dare speak of such things.

  “Did he say anything else?” Lily asks.

  “No, just that. Hank isn’t as talkative through a pen as he is in person, I guess.”

  Grinning I tell her, “I wish Jerald could hear about it — he’d be so proud! But not surprised.”

  On a laugh Lily agrees, “No, he’d say it was a given that his brother was the best!”

  Sable excitedly throws her hand into our happy circle, “Remember at the fair when he knew exactly how to rile Hank up?”

  Gertie reenacts it, making her voice, “Get a look at that carny, Hank! Are you going to let him be so smug?”

  Our joyous memory disappears in an instant as an air-raid alarm turns our heads. They never happen after the final bell! All around the school, students and parents freeze.

  One of the Sisters runs outside, habit floating behind outstretched arms. “F.D.R. is dead! The President has died!”

  Word spreads faster than a marble thrown downhill, every single person present racing back for the official news report, vehicles abandoned in the middle of the road.

  The Sisters hook the radio to our gymnasium speakers as we all pour in to hear that Franklin Delano Roosevelt at the beginning of his fourth term, so beloved that he’s the only President voted into office more than twice, has suffered a stroke and succumbed. With this he has left behind a citizenship who will miss him dearly.

  As we listen, stunned, the parents whisper amongst themselves, “What happens now?” “The war is almost over, this shouldn’t change that.” “How can you be sure?” “The writing is on the wall! We’ve defeated Germany. It’s only a matter of time!” “Yes, but how tragic that FDR won’t be here to witness it!” “He raised us up from the Great Depression, and carried us through this miserable war!” “To not see the end is a tragedy indeed.” “We can only hope Truman doesn’t muck things up!” “That’s right. He’ll take over the Presidency now, won’t he?” “Handed over to that man!” “What do you have against the Vice President?” “Truman isn’t half the leader, that’s what! And at a time like this!”

  The girls and I exit, our books held low as we walk the same path, only now with no words. We climb into Sable’s car, and Gertie is dropped off first.

  Teary-eyed, she trudges into her house and disappears as we call out, “Bye Gert!” “Goodbye!” “We’ll see you tomorrow!”

  I’m next.

  There is a hollow feeling in my stomach, same as everybody’s. I climb out and rest one hand on the open window to say, “What if the war isn’t over? What if now it only gets worse? What if Jerald never comes home?”

  Lily lays her hand on mine. “We will pray very hard for him!”

  Sable leans over. “We sure will! Every morning and every night, for him and Hank!”

  Wiping a tear, I walk to my house. “So long!”

  “Bye May!” “So long, May!”

  But the war does end, and soon.

  Sixteen days after our beloved President dies, Italy’s fascist dictator, Benito Mussolini, flees Milan, is captured and executed.

  A mere two days after that, Hitler commits suicide. April 30th.

  Germany surrenders on May 7th.

  And in the beginning of August Truman proves that parent right as he gives the order to use something called an Atomic Bomb on Japan, and the entire world feels how terrible its nuclear effects are.

  Some comment that it’s payback for bombing Pearl Harbor, but most do not agree. It was too severe. Japan was sure to surrender after Germany had.

  Nobody knew how terrible those bombs actually were until after it was too late. A less emotional choice would have been made if only F.D.R. had still been alive to negotiate a surrender.

  World War II is finally over. But I can’t help wondering what it was all for.

  Germany, Japan, and Italy wanted control over everyone everywhere.

  Every decision, theirs.

  Freedom taken.

  Lives taken.

  All three fell.

  And millions with them.

  Since the beginning of time attempts to rule the world
have failed.

  Our future scientist, Sable, said it right. “All you have to do is look at nature to know we’re supposed to live in balance.”

  It’s a time to rebuild now, for all of the world.

  One thing is keeping this smile on my face — Jerald’s return. I’m waiting to see if my handsome sailor meant all of the beautiful plans he wrote about.

  36

  MAY

  AUGUST 15TH, 1945

  “Why, May! Is that what you intend to wear?” Mrs. Cocker asks from where she surprised me on our doorstep. Dressed smashingly, she’s wearing a hat Mother would swoon over were she here. “Oh dear! Did Archie forget to send a note around?”

  I stammer, “I suppose he did! What did it say?”

  “He is getting on in years. My apologies. But there is no time to delay! If you’d like to come with us, run upstairs and find a dress that makes you happy.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re taking you to Norfolk with us! Jerald’s returning home!”

  “Oh Mrs. Cocker! Truly?”

  “Yes, dear. Now run along! Fred! How wonderful to see you.”

  I dash to my room while Father apologizes for his dirty coveralls, “You caught me tinkering with my pickup!”

  There has never been a better Saturday in all the Saturdays in all of time. I’m going to Virginia with the Cockers to see Jerald for the first time in a whole year! Next month it will be, anyway.

  It feels like two!

  Or five!