Jillian was next to her, doing dishes at the kitchen sink. Madelyn glanced behind her to see Daniel vacuuming the hallway with an impish grin lighting his face. She knew what that meant—as soon as he finished his chores, he’d find a devious way to run off some of his energy. It wasn’t reason enough by itself to get out of the house, but coupled with Mom’s newfound cleaning frenzy, Madelyn figured she should take off as soon as possible.
Running back to Dad’s study, she grabbed the bills. “Mom, I’m putting the bills out in the mail then I’m heading over to the park on my bike. See you later,” she said, in a hurry to leave before Mom thought of something else for her to do.
As Madelyn shut the mailbox, she heard Mrs. Burnham, their next-door neighbor, behind her. “Don’t forget to put the flag up, dear.” Madelyn rolled her eyes. Didn’t she think Madelyn knew that?
Madelyn moved the flag up with a deliberate motion. “Of course. We wouldn’t want to confuse the mailman, would we?” she said, giving her an exaggerated smile. Maybe it wasn’t the nicest response, but Madelyn rationalized that it was much nicer than it could have been. Then she grabbed her bike and set her foot on the pedal, but Dorothy Burnham wasn’t done with her yet.
“I heard your father left for the summer. That must be hard on your mother.”
Her foot froze in motion, “My mother? We all miss my father, thank you.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. I just didn’t know if your mother would be up to the challenge of running the place by herself.”
Her words left Madelyn speechless. Unfortunately, Mrs. Burnham didn’t suffer from the same affliction. “I can’t imagine what the inside must look like,” she said, “but I don’t give a never mind about that. I do, however, worry that your yard might become an eyesore. It’s already messy enough with all those wildflowers, but I’d hate to see the dandelions take over your lawn.”
Madelyn was stunned. The problem was she agreed with her about the dandelions, at least she had an hour earlier. “My mom …,” she trailed off, not certain how to defend her, or even if she wanted to. Instead, images formed in her mind—the typically messy house, the bills she was paying along with balancing the checkbook, the yard work that was suddenly hers. Even though Madelyn didn’t like Mrs. Burnham, her assessment didn’t seem far from the truth. Taking her side, however, wasn’t something Madelyn was ready to do.
Mrs. Burnham had never been known to be warm and friendly. It was a wonder that Dad made a point to talk to her from time to time. From Madelyn’s perspective, she was a pathetic character. She liked to wear wigs of varying styles and colors—often just throwing them on, or so it would seem, as they tended to sit at an angle, giving you the urge to reach up and adjust them, if only you could do so without actually touching her. It’s like her attempt at having perfect hair was half-hearted at best, sort of like her attempt at wearing clothes that matched. But her eyes, well, there was nothing half-hearted about her eyes. They could burn holes right through you. Madelyn and her friends had nicknamed them Burnham’s burners.
Wanting to extricate herself from the whole situation, Madelyn sat up on her bicycle seat as straight as she could and said, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Oh, but I am. I don’t want your yard making mine look bad—you know guilt by association. Your father, if he were here, wouldn’t let that happen.”
That hit a nerve. “Well, my dad trusted me to take care of the things he usually does. So, like I said, don’t worry about it. I’m sure it will turn out just fine. And if not, all your friends will just be able to see how much better you are than all the rest of us.” Madelyn turned away with a smirk, riding quickly down the street.
It wasn’t until Madelyn was nearly to the park that she felt a twinge of guilt about her words, and it was only because she thought of Dad. He never would’ve said what Madelyn had. Here she thought she’d finally found a great comeback, only to have it ruined by the thought of disappointing Dad. It was a cruel comment, made worse by the fact that everyone knew Mrs. Burnham had no friends. No one would be coming to visit her. No one would see her lawn. No one cared about Dorothy Burnham.
There had long been speculation, at least among the neighborhood kids, about the whereabouts of the Mr. who went along with her Mrs. title. Had he ever existed? If so, what had she done with him? Madelyn’s favorite idea was that he lived in Siberia, having escaped to the one place on earth she wouldn’t go searching for him.
It was a nice day for the park, but instead of riding around on the path that circled it, Madelyn stopped her bike on a small crest from where she could see but not so easily be seen. Below, in the center of the park, was a small pond that the city called a lake. She and her friends often waded there, but her heart wasn’t in it today.
Self-consciously, Madelyn twirled her ponytail in her fingers, wondering what to do now that she was here. She could see a group of people below. She thought she recognized a few of them, but Madelyn wasn’t sure she wanted to be around anyone right now. Climbing off her bike, she laid it and herself onto the cool grass and started watching the clouds go by, imagining they were strange and mysterious creatures. Soon, she closed her eyes, stopped thinking, and let the warmth of the sun attempt to comfort her.
“Are you okay?” Madelyn opened her eyes to see Zane standing above her, the sun putting his wavy hair in silhouette.
Delia, Zane’s older sister, had been Madelyn’s babysitter when she was younger, and she often brought Zane, who was Madelyn’s age, along with her. At the time, it felt like he was just another member of the family, but during junior high, they hadn’t seen each other as often. They were now friends when they were together but nothing to each other when they weren’t.
Madelyn pulled herself up to sitting then squinted in the sun as she peered into his face. For a split-second, she wanted to tell him about her dad, but as she opened her mouth to speak, she saw Delia walk up behind him. Changing her mind, Madelyn turned her gaze away. “It’s nothing … just dandelions.” Madelyn hadn’t meant to say anything, but the words just came out.
Zane looked puzzled by her response. “Dandelions?” he said.
Madelyn stood up and brushed the grass from her shorts. “Well, there’s always something to deal with, isn’t there? But it’ll all blow away soon enough, you know, like dandelions do.” It wasn’t what she’d meant, but he didn’t need to know that, Madelyn thought as she climbed on her bike and pedaled her way home.
As Madelyn drew near their house, she noticed the flag was down on the mailbox, so she walked over to it, glancing around for any sign of Mrs. Burnham. Thankfully, she was nowhere in sight. With a sigh of relief, Madelyn opened the box. Stuffed inside were a couple letters and one tattered-looking package. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone in their house had received a package. Curious, she turned it over. Madelyn Osborne was written clearly on the front. It was for her?
With her heart racing, Madelyn dumped her bike in the garage then ran into the house. “Mom, I’m home, and I got the mail,” she said, holding out the package.
Without looking up, Mom said, “Thanks, Madelyn. Would you mind taking care of it? I’m busy getting dinner ready.”
“Sure, but look, Mom, there’s something for me! Do you know what it is?”
Mom’s head came up. “No, open it!” she said, clearly now as excited as Madelyn.
Ripping open the package, a book fell out, The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien. No note accompanied it, but since it was a book there was only one possible explanation—it was from Dad. Madelyn dropped the wrappings and started dancing, hugging the book to her then pulling Mom into her embrace as well. “He didn’t forget about me, Mom. He didn’t forget.”
“Of course he didn’t,” Mom replied.
Madelyn pau
sed, wondering how Mom could be so sure. A mixture of happy and sad played with her heart. It was hard to reconcile the loss she felt from Dad being gone with this lifeline he’d sent.
“Well, go ahead and go read. I don’t need your help right now,” Mom said, misinterpreting Madelyn’s change in demeanor. “Just take all the other mail with you,” she added while smiling and waving her off.
“Sure. No problem,” Madelyn said, picking up the mail and walking out of the kitchen without even noticing the remnants of the package scattered about the floor. The book was warm in her hands, and she held it up to examine it closer. It did look interesting, and Dad would want her to enjoy it. In spite of herself, a smile began to spread on her face.
“What’s up with you?” Daniel said, “You seem happy.”
She laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing,” she said as she ducked into Dad’s study. She forced herself to sort through the rest of the mail before allowing herself to open her new book. Most of it was junk mail and went right into the garbage. The one bill in the mix Madelyn decided could wait for later, so she set it on the desk before once again picking up and embracing her new book.
Snuggling down into one of Dad’s easy chairs, Madelyn mentally distanced herself from the rest of the world. She took her ponytail out of its elastic and shook her hair free while thinking of all the times she read in this room with Dad. A dose of fiction would be a good addition to her real life right about now. The feeling of Dad being gone was still there—and it still hurt—but this was a nice band-aid. It may not heal that wound, but it could at least cover it for the moment, and Madelyn was willing to take what she could get.
Reverently, she opened the front cover. Madelyn was wrong about there being no note. Under the inside title, The Hobbit, Or, There and Back Again, Dad had written in his flowing script, “I may be away—or ‘there,’ but I will be back again. Love, Dad.” Madelyn hugged the book hard to her chest again before delving into the world of Bilbo Baggins.
1944
The first sense of stability for the allied forces after D-Day—which stability was, in and of itself, an oxymoron in wartime—showed itself not in the battles won, but in the simple act of mail call. Word from home, the smell of home, the promise of home all came as bittersweet. For William, it was something more. Other than the “Dear John” letters soldiers were receiving, bad news was expected to flow west across the ocean—news of dead, injured, or captured soldiers—not the other way around.
It was, of course, wonderful to hear from Hazel. He missed her something terrible. She was his lighthouse, his source of comfort and guidance. But the end of her letter wasn’t the same as the beginning. Thomas, his baby boy—who was no longer a baby, although that’s the only way William knew how to picture him—had been slow to develop. But with the concerns of war, they kept telling each other that, surely, he would grow out of it, catch up, be fine. They were lies that got harder to believe and harder still to tell the more time passed. The truth was he wasn’t fine. Hazel had waited until the end of the letter to tell him, working hard to soften the blow. Their son had just been diagnosed with cerebral palsy. William didn’t even know what that meant or entailed, but it didn’t sound good.
Hazel explained it to him in the letter, but what the disease was and what it meant for their son were two different things. While one was known, the other wasn’t. Walking and talking were things that William, up until this moment, had taken for granted. But now he had to confront the idea that his son might never do either one. Apparently, Thomas’ prognosis was good. Because of the sounds and movements he was already making, his case was “more on the mild side,” Hazel had said. Mild or not, however, his son had cerebral palsy.
The mail call had reminded him about the bundle he had faithfully carried with him since landing in France. It was time he mailed it home, and as he grabbed it, he hastily penned a letter to his wife, knowing as he did so that his quickly scrawled sentiments would be completely inadequate to ease the burden she now carried. For half a second, he wondered if he could get a hardship discharge, but Hazel had assured him in her letter that she was managing fine. The letter, potential proof of hardship, was also the very thing that would negate it.
He stuffed his brief note into the package before heading off to regimental headquarters to mail both item and letter home.
. . .
Hazel couldn’t believe it when a couple months later the mailman knocked on her door with a package from William. “I know how much letters mean these days, so I figured a package might mean even more, Mrs. Knight. It’s certainly better than a telegram,” the mailman said, wishing he could take back the words as soon as they left his mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean …,” he said, knowing telegrams usually came from the war department, and they never brought good news.
She smiled at him and reached out to pat his arm. “It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.” Taking the package from his extended arms, Hazel retreated inside, leaning against the door once it was shut. Despite what she’d said, her breath caught in her throat. Why did everything have to be so hard? But, yes, thankfully William was safe, and it wasn’t a telegram.
Opening the package on the kitchen table revealed a strange trussed-up parcel and a single sheet of paper.
My Dearest Hazel,
I’m so sorry that you’re there dealing with our precious son all on your own. I thought that here I was serving the greater good, fighting for our country and the freedom of the world. But now, all that seems unimportant. I wish I could be there with you. Know that I love you and that all my prayers will be with you.
As always, give hugs and kisses to my two little munchkins, but save some for yourself!
Love,
William
P. S. Don’t worry about the package. An old priest gave it to me for safekeeping. I didn’t even dare open it since it was wrapped up so securely. Just set it aside, and I’ll deal with it when I come home—and I assure you, it’s when and not if.
She picked up the parcel, deciding whether or not to be disappointed it wasn’t something special for her or the children. But as she thought of William, she realized the only thing she really wanted coming to her from across the ocean would be William himself. Hazel set it down and instead held the letter to her nose, trying in vain to catch the scent of her husband. She had an inner feeling that he would indeed return to her, but how soon she didn’t know. People dealt with hard things all the time, but she felt that while God had given her and her sweet child some difficult challenges, He wasn’t going to take her husband too. She knew that wasn’t always the case, but for some reason, she was being given this gift. After a silent prayer of gratitude, she pulled down the ladder to the attic and climbed it, slipping the parcel up inside. Then she went to tell her children there was a letter from Daddy.
Week Two – Summer 1975
Sunday
Hidden in the drawer of her nightstand was the small pad of paper Madelyn had written numbers on. If anyone saw it, they wouldn’t understand what it was about, and she preferred it that way. Early Sunday morning, she took out a pen and colored in the circle that surrounded the number one. One week down. Madelyn carefully circled the two. She could do this. Before she knew it, the summer would fly right by. She was likely fooling herself, but it was worth a try, she reasoned.
It felt odd going to church without Dad, just like the previous week, but Madelyn didn’t mind as much this time since as soon as it was over, they planned on calling him. The long-distance bill was going to go way up with these weekly phone calls, but Mom and Dad decided before he left that it would be worth it. It was an extravagance they didn’t usually take. As inadequate as she thought phone calls could be when they’d told her about it, she was incredibly grateful now.
&nb
sp; Madelyn could hardly sit still, waiting for each minute to pass. Even Jillian put her to shame, sitting politely and quietly through the entire service. Daniel, too, was stiller than Madelyn was, but he kept making faces in her direction in an effort to make her laugh. Mom only noticed the faces Madelyn made back at him, while Daniel returned to innocently sitting bolt upright complete with a pious look on his face. The look should have been his giveaway since he was rarely innocent and certainly not pious, but Mom merely smiled at him.
With the promise of the approaching phone call, she’d forgotten it was Father’s Day—until the sermon began—as if Madelyn needed one more reason to miss him. She went from feeling excited and happy to feeling remorseful. She hadn’t really been doing much to honor her father lately.
As they were leaving church, the pastor came over to talk to Mom. “How are things going, Mrs. Osborne? Do you need any help while Roger is away?”
“Oh no, Reverend, we’re just fine, thanks.”
The pastor continued to offer help to Mom, while she continued to decline it. Madelyn didn’t care either way. She just wanted them to stop talking so they could go home and call Dad. As their pleasantries continued, Madelyn finally said, “Mom, I’m not feeling well. Could we go now?”
Madelyn could tell Mom knew it was a lie by the frown she gave her, but Mom gathered them up and headed out the door all the same. “If you’re not feeling well, maybe you should go lie down while we talk to your father,” Mom said on their way to the car. Surprised, Madelyn swung around to see if she was serious. Only then did she see the twinkle in Mom’s eye. “Regardless of your good intentions, it’s not nice to lie, young lady. Don’t do it again.” Mom’s twinkle had been replaced by a stern glare, and Madelyn knew she meant business, but she was still relieved.
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