“When the streetlights go on. Seven-thirty, I guess. What time do you have to be home?”
“Eight o’clock. I’ll ride home with you.”
“Okay.”
“If I win the sack race, I’ll give you my prize.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a girl. Boys don’t want stuffed animals and those jiggers on poles and strings. Boys are supposed to give them to girls. You’re a girl.”
“It will be my first present from a boy,” Kate said happily.
“Don’t you go saying that, Kate. It’s a prize, not a present. That makes it different. Don’t you go telling anyone, either.”
“Is it supposed to be a secret? I don’t know if I can keep a secret.”
“Shoot, yes, it’s a secret, and you better not tell anyone, either. If you do, I won’t be your friend anymore.”
“Okay, I won’t tell. Do you have any secrets, Patrick?”
“Shoot, yes. Guys always have secrets. Wanna hear one?”
“I thought you said you couldn’t tell a secret,” Kate said sourly.
“This one I can tell because it’s only about me, not another person. Someday,” he said, drawing out his words, a dreamy look on his face, “I’m gonna fly an airplane. When I fly over your house, you have to run out in the yard, and I’ll tip my wings so you’ll know it’s me.”
“Ooohhhh,” Kate said, her eyes round. “That’s a great secret.”
“Do you have a secret you want to share?”
“Someday I want to be a mother. The best mother in the whole world.”
Disgust showed on Patrick’s face. “All girls get to be mothers. Don’t you want to be something special?”
“Being the best mother in the whole world is special. That’s all I want to be. Don’t you think that’s good enough?” Kate said, grinding the toe of her saddle shoe into the fairground dirt.
“That means you don’t have any imagination,” Patrick said with a grimace.
“Then what do you think I should be?”
“A movie star. That’s special. When you grow up, you’ll be real pretty. You can be my girl.”
“Honest, Patrick?”
“Don’t you go telling anyone I said that. Yeah, honest.”
“Ooohhh. I promise. How old will we be?”
“Fifteen.”
“Will you take me to the prom?”
“Sure.”
“Will you give me a corsage?”
“Sure, those little white flowers that grow like bells on a stem. They smell real pretty.”
“Ooohhh,” Kate said.
Patrick reached for Kate’s hand.
When they dragged Patrick back to the cell, his face bloody and torn, all he could see were two children walking hand in hand into the fairgrounds.
His Kate, from that day on.
No matter what they did to him, they could never take Kate away from him.
He cuddled into his corner, his good arm wrapped around his broken left arm, his wife’s name on his lips. “I promise you tomorrow, Kate . . . somehow, some way. I promise. I never lied to you, Kate,” he whimpered.
CHAPTER FIVE
It was April 1973, nearly two and a half years since Nelson Collier’s appearance at her kitchen door, and Kate did not know any more about Patrick than she did on that day.
She wasn’t exactly the old Kate, but thought of herself as the new, improved, better version of Kate Starr. She had put some of her weight back on, the shadows beneath her eyes were gone, and her backbone was stiff with resolve. She’d given up her job at the bookstore and applied for a position as a part-time secretary at an architectural firm. She was typing fifty words a minute without mistakes, and taking dictation. On occasion when the architects needed renderings of a building before work commenced, Kate did them for extra money. She loved her job because she had her mornings free to be with Ellie and to keep up her volunteer work with the League of Families and commiserate with other wives in the same position. Gradually she’d weaned the girls and herself from their daily letter writing to Patrick, simply because it was too sad for all of them. They wrote one letter each week on Sunday afternoon.
When April showers gave way to the bright spring flowers of May that the girls had planted around the house, three letters without a return address arrived in Kate’s mailbox. Inside each was a check made out to her for four hundred dollars, drawn on the Wells Fargo Bank. She had no idea who they were from or what the checks were for. Her name was spelled correctly, and the envelopes carried the proper address. The single sheets of paper without letterhead read: FOR SERVICES RENDERED. PATRICK STARR $400. The total was twelve hundred dollars. The dates on the envelopes were all the same, which meant they’d been mailed the same day. The dates on the three sheets of paper were March 1, April 1, and May 1.
For one brief moment Kate thought her head would explode. Patrick was alive and doing something top secret for the government. What else could “services rendered” mean? March, April, and May meant the present. Twelve hundred dollars had to be all the money in the world. She could splurge and get a haircut and finally pay Della for having helped her at a crucial time. The girls could get new shoes, and she could buy some art supplies. Or—her thrifty nature intervening—she could invest the money if it was truly hers. Maybe she would keep some of it, pay Della, and invest the rest.
Her address book within easy reach, Kate called several of the women in her group and asked if they’d ever gotten such unexplained checks. Only one of the women, Bethany Warren, admitted she had. Bethany belonged to the group but always opposed “going public” for news of their husbands. That was fine for Bethany, Kate thought, because her husband was listed as POW, not Missing.
“I don’t understand,” Kate said quietly. “Who’s responsible for these checks? Why am I getting them now after all this time? Does it mean he’s alive? Please, Bethany, I need to know,” Kate pleaded.
“My situation is different from yours, Kate. I have five children and I can’t make it on Michael’s pay. I think you should call your contact and talk to him. If you like, we can meet for coffee later in the week.” This last was said so fearfully, Kate found herself starting to tremble.
“I’d like that. Friday after work, Mabel’s Café.”
“Kate,” Bethany said hesitantly, “don’t cash those checks until you’re sure it’s what you want to do. What I mean is, you’re getting by and you have a housekeeper and a job that might lead to something better that pays a decent salary. I’ll see you Friday.”
More puzzled than ever, Kate called Bill Percy and asked to set up an appointment. He said he’d stop by later in the evening on his way back to the desert. “Ten or so,” he said briskly. She tucked the checks, envelope, and papers into the back of her Betty Crocker cookbook.
It was important, but what was really important at the moment was sewing a satin pocket for the tooth fairy. Yesterday she’d gone to the bank and asked for a shiny new quarter, compliments of the tooth fairy. By bedtime Ellie would lose her first tooth. When Kate finished the satin pocket pillow, she stuck it in her drawer. Ellie would be so happy. She had to take pictures of the girl to send Patrick.
Today was Kate’s day off because she worked alternate Saturdays. Della and Donald were taking Ellie to the zoo. They’d offered to wait until Betsy got out of school, but the little girl said she hated to smell the animals, which meant Kate was free until it was time to pick her up. She had phone calls to make, letters to write, lists to make.
I’m doing what I can, Patrick. I’m doing my best. I got lost there for a little while, but I’m on track now.
She had a cheap vinyl briefcase that was ripped at the corner from all her clippings, notebooks, and magazines. Her pens, pencils, and writing paper were secure in a separate side pocket. As always, she read through the articles, skimming over the hateful parts, the parts that offered little hope, and going on to whatever was more positive. There wasn’t much. She wept, allowed h
erself a small amount of time to grieve before she tackled her sixth letter to the President of the United States. She ended this one by saying, “President Nixon, my daughters and myself deserve to know what is being done to bring my husband home. We don’t understand how Patrick can still be listed as Missing two and a half years after he ejected over enemy territory.” She signed the letter “Captain Patrick Starr’s wife, Kate Starr.” Later that afternoon, when both girls returned home, she’d have them sign the letter, too.
Next she wrote to the Departments of State and Defense, demanding answers that were long overdue. Her third letter was to the Air Force, to every general on the list she’d gotten from the library. In this one she wrote, “Doesn’t anyone care about the families left behind? Don’t we deserve something better than evasive answers? What am I to tell my daughters? Please, send someone here to talk to me and the support group we’ve founded. Don’t neglect us any longer. Your motto has always been ‘The Air Force takes care of its own.’ Give me a date and a time when this will occur.” Again she signed the letter, “Captain Patrick Starr’s wife, Kate Starr.” The girls would sign these letters, too.
I know you’re going to come back, Patrick. My heart would tell me if you were dead. I know they want me to believe you are, but I won’t believe it, not ever. I pray for you every day. A day doesn’t go by that we don’t speak of you. The girls kiss your picture good night. I do the same. I know God will keep you safe.
The urge to smash something was so great, Kate clenched her fists. What good would it do? She was doing so much better these days at controlling her anger. Always think positively, turn every disadvantage into an advantage; it was Patrick’s personal motto.
The hours rushed by, and before she knew it, the girls were sound asleep, and Bill Percy was due to arrive. She felt positive now; she’d mail her letters later. She wondered why she felt so confident, so up. She’d written the same letters before and there had been no answer. What made things different now? It was the checks, she decided, the strange envelopes, and Bethany’s response to her questions.
Five minutes into her meeting with Bill Percy, Kate realized that she’d never really liked the man. It wasn’t that he had cold eyes—he had evasive eyes. His voice wasn’t compassionate, it was irritable. He accepted her plum tea, the fat sugar cookies Della had baked, and suffered through the amenities, and then sat back and waited.
“It’s been two and a half years, Bill.” They were on a first-name basis now, but she knew it didn’t mean a thing. “There must be some small bit of news. How much longer is this war going to go on? If you don’t have something positive to tell me, I’m going to go to the newspapers and beg, plead, get down on my knees, whatever it takes to get answers. The other wives feel the same way. We deserve better than this.”
“You are receiving Captain Starr’s pay, aren’t you, Kate?”
“Yes, but it took almost four months. I had to threaten to call Washington, and then I got an answer in three hours. You should have helped me. What have you done for me, Bill? I have this feeling you don’t even like me.”
“That’s not true. I think you’re overwrought. I want you to think about something. If we list your husband as dead, you get a pension. It would not be substantial. Leave things alone now. When we have firm evidence of anything, you’ll be the first to know. Everything that can be done is being done. Don’t make waves, Kate.”
“That sounds like a threat.” His forced laugh sent chills up Kate’s spine. “Then tell me what that ‘everything’ is. Spell it out for me and the other wives. We have rights, too. It’s been two and a half years, for God’s sake!” Kate’s eyes sent sparks in Percy’s direction. She wondered how people like Percy were picked as “contacts” for wives and families. She stared at him, at his slicked-back sandy hair, at his bulging hazel eyes. She just knew he hated the angry red pimple on his right cheekbone. He’d cut himself shaving, too, she noticed. Maybe he was just supposed to be strange-looking, which he was. He had uneven teeth and never smiled. Maybe it was his ears, she thought. They seemed to be too small for his long, narrow face. Whatever it was, she didn’t like him or his long skinny fingers drumming on the table impatiently.
“I know it’s a long time. I pass every query you make to the right people. Listen to me, Kate, you cannot stir up any trouble. Do you realize that if you start trouble, the communists will get wind of it and the prisoners could be mistreated? You must remain calm and in control. We are doing everything possible. When we know something, you’ll know something. Now, tell me why you needed to talk to me in such a hurry.”
“I’m not falling for this again, Bill. I’m going to do whatever I can to get news of my husband, and I’m encouraging the wives to do the same thing. Today I wrote a letter to the President, to the State Department, to all the generals I could find in the Air Force directory. And I’m ready to take on the media if I have to. And yes, I called you for a reason.” She had the checks and envelopes out of the cookbook before Percy could blink. “Just what in the damn hell are these for? I think I have an idea, but I want to hear you say it.”
“I have no idea, Kate.”
“Was Patrick involved in some kind of ... of covert operation, the kind spy novelists write about? This is guilt money, isn’t it—hush money. I don’t want it, I want my husband, dead or alive. I want to know, I need to know. So, take this—this whatever it is, and give it back. I want you to know, though, I made copies of everything this afternoon, and they’re in a safe place. I don’t think I’ll be calling you again, Bill, so they can assign you to some other poor wife. Take some advice from me and sharpen up your bedside manner.”
“Listen, Kate, you’re tired, it’s late—”
“Yes, it’s late, but I’m not tired. What I am is disappointed and disgusted with the system.”
“Kate, don’t violate the ‘keep quiet policy,’ as you refer to it.”
“Good night, Bill,” Kate said, holding the door open for him. The checks and papers were secure in his calfskin briefcase, she noticed. He looked back once, seemed about to say something, and then thought better of it. “I think I just scored a point for my side,” Kate muttered to herself.
It was a lovely night, the sky star-spangled. She found the North Star and made a wish, not for herself, but for Patrick. Keep him safe and out of harm’s way.
Reluctant to go back indoors, Kate strolled down the walkway to the gnarled old Joshua tree. With the help of one of the neighbors, Donald had fixed a swing for the girls from the lowest branch. She sat down gingerly. This was normal. The meeting inside had not been normal. Oh, Patrick, where are you? I’m doing my best, but I don’t think it’s enough. God, how I need you.
Kate was right: her efforts weren’t enough. The meeting with Bethany was a farce. The older woman was so fearful, all she did was cry and bemoan her fate the way Kate had done months earlier. “I don’t want them to list Michael as dead. If they do that, I’ll have to go to his pension, the extra money stops, and I won’t be able to survive. If you keep up what you’re doing, you’re going to endanger all of us. I think you should stop, Kate.”
“Stop what?” Kate said in disgust. “No one answers my letters. Don’t you understand, no one cares! So what is it that I’m doing that’s so wrong? I gave back the money. I’m not obligated to anyone. And who is this they you’re so worried about? Look, I’m sorry, I know how hard it is. Your husband has been missing longer than mine. I marvel at your stamina. I fell apart there for a while. I’m working now. I’m thinking of going to college. I realize I can’t depend on anyone but myself. I want the life Patrick promised my girls. Since he isn’t here to provide it, I have to step in and do it for him. I won’t let them declare him dead, I can promise you that. Let them take away our benefits. I’ll survive, and so will my children.”
“I’m not going back to the group,” Bethany said quietly.
“That’s your choice,” Kate said just as quietly.
“You and al
l the others have to be aware of what you’re doing. If just one of our husbands is killed or tortured because of what you’re doing, will you be able to live with that?”
“No, of course not. I want to know what happened to my husband. I have a right to know. If he’s dead, I have the right to bury him. If he’s a prisoner, I have the right to know that, too. This whole thing is wrong. It’s been wrong from the beginning. Don’t judge me or the others, Bethany. Sometimes you have to ... to stand up and be counted. Thanks for talking with me. If you ever want to come back or just hang out for a while, call.”
Kate was in the parking lot when Bethany caught up to her. “Did you really give back the money?”
“Yes. At least I gave it to Bill Percy. What he does with it is his problem. It felt good, too. I don’t like him. I think he’s . . . an insignificant piece of snot. Actually, I dismissed him. He hasn’t done one thing to ease my worry, or said one thing to give me hope of any kind. I have enough negatives in my life, I don’t need him adding more. So, he’s out of my life.”
Bethany’s eyebrows shot upward. “Who will you talk to?”
“Anyone who will listen. Take care of yourself.”
“You do the same.”
Kate pulled out of Big Bob’s parking lot, trying to remember what she’d had to eat. Nothing, just coffee. Bethany had eaten two hamburgers and a huge stack of french fries, yet she’d let Kate pay the bill. Kate wondered how that had happened. Years of tidying up, she supposed. She’d just automatically picked it up because it didn’t belong on the table. In the scheme of things, it really didn’t matter.
And so Kate’s life went on. She attended her local support meetings, journeyed once to an important League of Families meeting, and came home with renewed faith. She was working full-time now and going to school at night. Half her business courses at the community college she attended were being taken care of by the architectural firm she worked for. She was making a life for herself, one step at a time. She thought of it as building a house, brick by brick. Each and every night when she said her prayers, she blessed Della and Donald for all their help, and then she prayed for the safe return of her husband and the well-being of her daughters. She never asked for anything for herself.
To Have and to Hold Page 8
