Silent Star

by Tracie Peterson

  “What’s that mean?” Bob Davis asked as he gave Mr. Harrison his trim. “What’s an Ardennes?”

  “It’s a place, Bob,” Ralph Moore threw out, getting up to go to the wall map.

  Andy sat quietly waiting his turn in the barber chair. He didn’t want to hear about another battle or another place where soldiers from the 28th might be fighting and dying.

  “I don’t see Ardennes on the map,” Ralph announced, obviously feeling somewhat important, “but from what I’ve heard it’s in Belgium.”

  “Reconnaissance in force,” said Grandpa Hurley suddenly. The man was of few words, but when he spoke, people listened.

  “What’s that, Gramps?” Bob asked.

  “The Germans.” He paused and looked at them as if those two words said it all. “Like old J. E. B. Stuart did at Gettysburg. It’s a ruse to throw us off and test our lines.”

  They all nodded knowingly.

  Andy looked up at the wall map. Bob Davis had put it up in January of ’42, and it had proved to be a point of interest for anyone who wanted to know where the battles were taking place. They even used pins to mark where battles were or where their boys were stationed. Names like Corregidor, Midway, Guadalcanal, and Normandy were places now known in every household. Bob had always said it was a terrible way to learn geography. Andy agreed.

  “Say, Andy, maybe you know where it’s at,” Bob suggested.

  All gazes turned to Andy and the room went silent. Only the steady tick-tock of the clock could be heard. Andy didn’t know what to do or say.

  “I . . . umm . . .”

  “Well, do you know where it’s at or not? Don’t they tell you nothin’ over at the telegraph office?” Ralph questioned.

  “Simmer down, Ralph,” Bob said as he turned his attention back to Mr. Harrison. “I’m sure they don’t just hand out that kind of information. You have to worry about spies and such. No sir, you can’t just be telling everybody that kind of thing.”

  “Say, isn’t it that place where the Nazis went through when they invaded France in 1940?” Mr. Harrison finally piped up.

  “It’s not an invasion,” Grandpa Hurley threw out, stomping his cane emphatically. “Reconnaissance in force.”

  Bob completely ignored the old man. “So is that where it’s at, Andy?”

  Andy felt his face grow hot as they all looked again to him for answers.

  Ralph shook his head. “Seems like he oughta know since he’s delivering telegrams.”

  Andy couldn’t take any more. He got up and left the shop, barely remembering to grab his coat and hat. His haircut could wait for another day.

  But the war wouldn’t wait for anyone. The next day Andy found himself at work once again, trudging through new snow, taking the word to the townspeople. He dreaded his next delivery. Looking down at the letter in his hand, he grimaced.

  Mr. William McGovern

  This was the second telegram, and Andy had forgotten to ask if anyone remembered whether it was good news or bad. Dread settled over Andy. He climbed the steps to the McGoverns’ and stopped in front of the wreath-decorated door. He took a deep breath and thought of Mrs. Nelson’s words of encouragement.

  “Your job is very important,” she’d said. “Whether the news is good or bad, not knowing is far worse. In the long run, folks will be glad to know.”

  Andy knocked three times and stepped back. It was nearly five o’clock and he knew Mr. McGovern would be home. Seconds ticked by and still Andy waited. He looked at the missive in his hand and then to the banner that hung in the front window. The blue star seemed dull, almost washed out.

  The door opened and Mr. McGovern met Andy’s gaze through the screen. “Evening, Andrew.” He pushed open the screen and reached out for the letter.

  Andy handed it over, unable to move. “Evening.”

  The older man looked at the envelope. He slowly tore it open and pulled out the telegram. Andy waited, watching and hoping. He didn’t really understand why it was so important to know.

  Mr. McGovern’s eyes filled with tears. Andy’s hopes faded and he turned to go.

  “Wait, Andrew. It’s good news. They’ve found Kyle and although wounded, he’s alive.”

  Andy turned back. The star would remain blue—faded and washed out, but wonderfully blue. “I’m glad, Mr. McGovern. I’m so glad.”

  “Martha!” Mr. McGovern called out. “Martha, come quick!”

  His wife, a short, stocky woman, appeared at his side. She bit her lip and turned her gaze to her husband.

  “He’s all right. He’s in the hospital.”

  She broke into a sob, but these were tears of joy, and Andy felt almost blessed to have witnessed this tiny miracle. So often the doors were closed to him; he never saw the good along with the bad. How precious it was to be a part of the good. It bolstered him for what he knew was left to do that night.

  “Andrew, come in and have some coffee with us. You must be freezing.”

  Andy stood momentarily stunned. No one had ever extended such an invitation. “Ah, no thank you, Mr. McGovern. I’ve got another telegram to deliver.”

  His former principal nodded. “I hope the news will be just as good as ours.”

  Andy knew it wouldn’t be, but he said nothing. Nodding, he turned and walked down the steps. Twilight had settled on the town and soon it would be dark. There was only one telegram left. It was the one he’d been putting off.

  Pulling it from his satchel, he looked down at the name.

  Mrs. Kay Iseman

  Word had come regarding Sammy. It was a first telegram, so it would only announce that he was missing in action. It seemed a sick, demented game that the government played with people. Folks would wait in agony for that second telegram—the final word. Andy figured the military folk already knew who was dead and who wasn’t, but by sending the first telegram they got folks ready for what was coming. The government might have thought it a rather merciful thing to do, but Andy just couldn’t reconcile it as such. He’d seen the anxious faces, known that people were watching and waiting. During the time between telegrams, their entire world stopped. How was that more merciful?

  Andy walked with deliberate slowness to Mary Beth’s house. He could hardly stand to face her. She’d been so kind to him in the past, but now she’d no doubt feel the same as everyone else. She’d blame him for the bad news—maybe even believe her mother’s superstitious ideas. Maybe he believed them himself.

  He made his way up to the large two-story house. Snow had been shoveled to the side, making deep drifts along the sidewalk. The lights shone from the front room window and reflected on the service banner in the window. Andy’s stomach tightened.

  He knocked on the door, wishing he could have been anywhere else in the world but there. I’d rather be on the field of battle than here telling these good folks bad news. What will she think of me after this? How can she help but hate me like the others? Andy felt a deep regret for something that might have been . . . but now would surely be put to death.

  Mary Beth opened the door. Her face lit up with a smile. “Andy!” Then she looked down and saw the envelope in his hand. “Oh no.” He saw the expression—the same one as all of the others. It was a mixture of fear, anxiety, and dread.

  He looked at the envelope as well. “Is your sister-in-law home?”

  “Kay! Mama!” she called out.

  Andy looked up and saw there were tears streaming down Mary Beth’s face. He heard her whisper her brother’s name and it nearly broke his heart in two. He searched his soul for something to say—something to give comfort—but found nothing. How could he, the reason for her misery, also offer her consolation?

  Kay was there first, with Mrs. Iseman close behind. They met Andy’s gaze with a look of disbelief and then of terror. Kay shook her head as Andy extended the telegram.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Mary Beth’s mother began screaming. “No! No! Not my boy!”

  Mary Beth hurrie
d to her mother’s side—never looking back at Andy—while Kay stoically gathered her wits, reached to take the telegram, and then closed the door.

  Andy could still hear the cries and knew he was not wanted there. He was an outsider—their worst nightmare come true. Gone were the warm feelings from the McGovern house. The closed door said it all.

  Andy walked to Mrs. Nelson’s house. He was supposed to share supper with her tonight—he’d promised her. But he didn’t feel like company. He didn’t want to sit and make small talk about the day or about how the war was supposed to be over by Christmas. He especially didn’t want to talk about Christmas.

  He missed his mom and dad more than ever. This was his first Christmas without his mom and the loneliness of it was almost more than he could stand. Mrs. Nelson’s faithful friendship helped soften the blow, but she couldn’t be with him all the time. She had her own life and friends. She had church and other things that were more important.

  He stood on the step and wondered if it might not be better to just go home. But isn’t this what you wanted? Someone to care, someone to welcome you inside so that you don’t have to simply watch from the outside? But even though it was true, Andy suddenly wanted to run away. He looked behind him to the street, then back to the house. Before he could change his mind, however, Mrs. Nelson peeked out the window and smiled. She opened the door and reached out to pull him in. Welcoming him as she always did with her gentleness and love.

  “Andy. I thought you’d never get here. Come in and warm up by the stove.”

  * * *

  Estella watched Andy as he shrugged out of his coat and hat. He had a look of complete defeat on his face. “What’s wrong, Andy?”

  “I had to take a telegram to Mary Beth’s house.”

  Estella sighed. She could well imagine the sorrow in that house just now. “That was the first one you’ve delivered to them, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So their boy is missing in action. We knew it might come to this. Remember what Mary Beth said the other day? She knew it was a strong possibility.”

  Andy held his hands out toward the stove. “But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier.”

  Estella hung up his coat and set his hat on the hall table. Lord, she prayed, let me speak wisely—speak for me. She turned to Andy. “Come on. I have supper just about ready for us. I’ve made some stew. We can talk while we eat.”

  Andy said nothing and Estella knew he was deep in thought about Mary Beth. “I know you’re worried about them,” she said softly. “I’ll go visit them tomorrow and let you know how they’re doing.”

  His dark blue eyes closed as he stood there. “I wanted to say something to help, but I couldn’t. I knew nothing would help.”

  “No, just then nothing would. Sometimes folks don’t need to hear a word, though. Andy, you’ve got a big heart and eventually people are going to know this for themselves. I’m sure Mary Beth knows you care and that you wouldn’t have wanted her hurt this way.”

  He opened his eyes and Estella could see they were wet with unshed tears. “No, I wouldn’t have seen her hurt for the world. She’s the only person, besides you, who’s been nice to me since the war and all the telegrams.”

  Estella knew the truth of it. “Let’s eat our supper and you can tell me about your day.” She motioned him to the chair opposite her own. “I’ll pray first, if you don’t mind.”

  Andy bowed his head without protest. Estella offered a brief but heartfelt thanks for their dinner. She asked too that God would go to each grieving family in their town and offer them solace. When she finished, she reached for Andy’s bowl and began to ladle the stew.

  “Do you really think God will comfort them?”

  The question took her by surprise, but she tried her best not to show it. “Of course I do. Do you doubt it?”

  “I just think if God cared so very much, He might not have allowed the war at all. He wouldn’t take away the people we love if He cared about our comfort and wanted us happy.”

  Estella handed him his bowl. “I suppose that’s one way of looking at it. It is a mystery as to why such things have to happen. I know my own heart nearly breaks when I think about all those young men dying for the cause of freedom.”

  “But don’t you think God rather heartless to allow all of those deaths?”

  Estella filled her own bowl, then looked up to meet Andy’s questioning gaze. “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away. Who am I to question God?”

  “What you really mean is who am I to question God. I know I haven’t been living the way you do—going to church and all. I know that’s the way my mama raised me to believe, but . . . well . . .”

  “But it hurts to believe,” Estella finished his unspoken thought.

  Andy lowered his gaze and nodded. “It hurts.”

  “Oh, Andy, believe me, I know exactly what you mean. When Howard died I thought I’d never feel right again. My days were so lonely and my nights unbearable. I wandered through this house looking for some way to make things right, but nothing helped. We could never have children, so his presence didn’t even live on in his sons and daughters. All I had were my memories.”

  “That’s all I have—but they’re not enough.” Andy sank back against the chair. “Sometimes I can’t even remember the good times. I think about how hard the years were prior to the war, how hard my father worked. I think about the hopes they had for me. My pa wanted me to do better than he did—to have more.”

  “He wanted good things for you. Every parent wants good things for their child.”

  Andy shrugged. “But he’s gone and I don’t know what those good things were. I don’t know what it was he was working so hard to provide.”

  Estella smiled and thought of all she might have offered her own child. “He wanted to give you security . . . happiness . . . well-being. He wanted you to have a strong faith in the Lord, or so I would presume. Above all, he’d want you to love and to be loved. The Lord wants no less for you. After all, God is love.”

  “He doesn’t seem very loving. Look at what He’s done to His world.”

  “What He’s done?” Estella questioned. “Seems to me that man’s greed and lust for power started this war.”

  “But God is supposed to be all-powerful—all-knowing. Why not stop something like that before it got started? Why didn’t He stop the car accident that took my father and left me lame? Why didn’t he keep my mother from getting sick? Was it too hard for Him? Or did He just stop caring?”

  Estella wanted to weep for the boy. She felt his misery—heard his anguished questions. Oh, God, make him understand. Let him feel your love.

  “Andy, God loves you very much. He’s never stopped caring for you. I know it’s hard to believe that, but I have no doubts on this issue. The world may be at war, but it isn’t happening because God doesn’t care. God allows us certain choices, and those choices aren’t always made wisely. Wars will come and go. People will live and die. It doesn’t mean that God doesn’t love us. This season of the year is a good reminder of that love. Christmas is all about God’s love for mankind—for each person. And it’s about hope. You mustn’t lose hope, Andy.”

  “But I feel most alone at church. If God loves me so much, then why do I feel so rejected—so unloved? Especially there?”

  She studied the redheaded boy for a moment. He looked so forlorn, so young. Here he was a man in full, but his needs were as great as those of a lost child trying to find his way home.

  “Jesus felt rejected too. His best friends left Him when He needed them most,” Estella finally said. “He knows how it feels to be an outsider, to have everyone shut their door to Him—to turn away. The night He was betrayed and turned over to those who would kill Him, Jesus experienced exactly what you’re experiencing now.”

  She reached out and touched his arm. He met her gaze, his expression suggesting that he wanted very much to believe her. “Andy, Jesus knows the wound others have given you.
He knows its depth and width. He knows the pain. But, Andy, He also knows how to mend this wound—how to make your heart whole again.”

  “I want to believe that,” he murmured. “But I can’t. If He felt this way—if He loves us—why would He ever allow us to feel like this?”

  “Oh, Andy, He does love us. There’s no if about it.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not good at figuring things out.”

  She smiled and put her hand atop his. “Start by being my friend—and let me be your friend in return.”

  He looked at her for a moment without speaking, then finally nodded. “I’ll always be your friend, Mrs. Nelson.”

  “Thank you, Andy. I needed to hear that.” And in truth, she did. For reasons that were beyond her understanding, she needed him. And without a doubt—he needed her.

  SIX

  Estella stood outside Andy’s house and knocked on the door. She knew it was probably a futile attempt, but she intended to invite him to accompany her to the Christmas Eve services at the church that night. She’d already asked him once, but he’d wanted no part of it.

  Mary Beth had encouraged her to try again. They’d seen each other at church earlier that day and Mary Beth had shared her sorrow over the telegram regarding Sammy. Estella offered consolation to both Mary Beth and Sammy’s wife, Kay. Mary Beth’s mother had taken to her bed and refused to even come to church.

  “Mama’s so afraid,” the young woman told Estella when they had a moment alone. “I don’t know how to help her through this because I’m just as afraid.”

  “You must pray for her and love her all the more,” Estella told Mary Beth.

  Now Estella felt the truth of her own words. She needed to pray even more for Andy—and love him.

  Andy opened the door and noted the covered dish in her hands. “Come on in,” he said, reaching out to help Estella inside.

  “I wasn’t sure if you would have anything hot for supper, so I wanted to bring you a big bowl of chicken and dumplings. Just don’t look too hard for the chicken. It’s mostly dumplings.”