A Matter Of Trust

by Sherrilyn Polf

  “But he was just in the islands. We had a letter not too long ago saying he was a short timer and would be coming home. Remember?” she murmured mainly to herself. Dena considered scooting over by her aunt, but she didn’t.

  “Shall I continue, dear?” he asked, carefully watching her. She nodded. Dena nodded too, even though she wasn’t asked. She wanted to know. Even though Aunt Doreen’s face was twisted with pain, she also needed to hear. Uncle Walter read on.

  ***

  The Chinese are all united this time from rickshaw coolies on up to the very richest of people. The army is better trained and equipped this time than in 1932 and is really giving these cocky Japs a good run for their money. And it wouldn’t surprise me if they actually come out on top. I sure hope so as something should be done to show these Japs that they have no right to grab off chunks of territory that doesn’t belong to them.

  All the corpsmen attached to the Marines here have to wear marine clothes, and the only way you can tell us from them is by the badges on our sleeves. As we did wear Khakis, we now wear greens.

  I believe the papers back there in the States are making this war out to be a lot more than it actually is with the big headlines. The LORD only knows how long it will last, but I hope it’s long enough to make Japan go broke. We could defeat them that way, and that is what I’m hoping for. And as it is, they have no credit with any other country and are taxing the life out of their own people, so maybe that very thing will happen. I believe what the Chinese aim to do is to get out of range of their naval guns and artillery, into the rice paddies so they can drag the Japs into their line of communications, and if they could do that, it would be all off for the Japs.

  ***

  I believe he meant over rather than off,” Uncle Walter said before he continued.

  ***

  I doubt very much that there’ll be any third party involved in it unless those Japs start getting a little too cocky around the settlement. There’s been about a half a dozen British troops shot down by airplanes swooping close and turning on machine guns at them, and just the other day one of our marines was struck in the shoulder by a stray piece of shrapnel. I’ve been dressing the wound myself since he was let out of the hospital.

  These British troops were members of a branch of the army called Royal Ulster Riflemen and are made up of Orange Irishmen from north Ireland. They are mighty nice fellows. They seem to be very fond of Americans and treat us wonderful as we come in contact with them. They don’t have anything to do with the regular old “limey” troop from England even though they’re a part of the same forces.

  Oh, say, Uncle Walter, I keep forgetting to tell you that the time has now finally gotten to where I can now consider myself a “short-timer” out here in the Asiatic. In fact, I’m in what is known as the number on draft lined up to return to the United States on the very next transport, which will be the U.S.S. Henderson when she turns around at San Francisco after delivering home this present home-going detail.

  The Chaumont, which brought the sixth regiment out here to form the second brigade with the fourth regiment, is coming back five days ahead of the Henderson and is then going on around to the East Coast for overhaul while the Henderson is going to turn around and come and get me. So I’ll be back in God’s country once more around April or May.

  Well, Uncle Walter, I guess I’d better close now, so I wish you would answer this letter right soon as it’ll be your last letter to come out here, and in the meantime I’ll be very careful in trying to dodge these stray bullets as I want to come back to see you all in one piece.

  With best regards, your Asiatic nephew,

  Bill

  ***

  The room was silent as Dena watched dust motes dance in the afternoon light. She was glad for the diversion to compose her thoughts. No one questioned what Uncle Walter had read. They understood what Bill wrote was real. Dena’s numbed mind raced. The war was real. Pending or not, it was real. Dena would put Cousin Bill in her prayers. Aunt Doreen broke the silence.

  “We’ll send him a Christmas package. Short-timers need a care package, especially during the holidays.” She sat silent for a few more seconds. Then she continued as if nothing had interrupted the pleasant atmosphere of Thanksgiving.

  “Tomorrow we’ll decorate. I have a girl who comes and helps me decorate and serve.” Aunt Doreen said. Dena felt sorry for Bill, who wouldn't be with any of his family for the holidays. Uncle Walter rose and slowly went to his study. Stuart followed.

  “Now where were we? Oh yes, I believe I was going to polish the silverware.” Aunt Doreen said, picking up the rag and dipping it in the cleaning solution. She was silent for what seemed a very long time before she spoke, her eyes glinting, “Having extra help come in is a standing gift from your Uncle. I think he just does it so he doesn’t have to help.”

  Aunt and niece worked for over an hour. Dena checked all of the napkins, burnt orange in color. There were thirty-six, all pressed and clean. She watched Aunt Doreen polish. She didn’t remember Mother polishing silver. “Would you like something to drink, Aunt Doreen?”

  “Yes, please. Coffee would be nice.” She smiled briefly at Dena before returning to her polishing. The letter upset everyone with its detailed contents. Dena wondered what had happened in her aunt’s past that had caused her to be so upset each time a letter arrived from Bill. She wished she understood.

  Chapter Eight

  Thanksgiving morning, Dena slowly opened her eyes, stretched, and studied her bedroom ceiling. She had never noticed before how it sloped. Not as much as her attic room ceiling at home though. It’s interesting how homes which are built in two different states and two different styles still sported some of the same qualities. Why I’ve never noticed it before is interesting. Maybe taking drafting has made me more aware of angles and lines. She yawned. Shuddering, she pulled the comforter back up around her neck and snuggled down into its warmth. Outside a fierce November wind howled and pummeled at the house. Branches creaked and groaned. Dena looked at her small alarm clock. Six a.m. Six a.m.! Her mind moaned in tune with the wind. Why am I awake when I could be sleeping?

  Then she heard scurrying down the hallway. Aunt Doreen was starting dinner. She had told Dena and Emily the turkey and ham would go in the ovens around four a.m. I really should get up and help. Instead, she snuggled back down into the warmth of the bed and dozed off.

  Dena dressed quickly in a woolen, mid-calf jumper and a matching sweater. Then she slipped into warm stockings and shoes. No longer having to jump around to keep her feet warm, she brushed her hair until it shone. Pillows fluffed and comforter pulled wrinkle free, she hurried downstairs. Besides family, the list of guests had grown from six to a possible fifteen. Uncle Walter

  hired two more women to help in the kitchen and serve. Three long tables stretched through the hallway to accommodate the guests. Three large tables; Wow! Even at home with relatives and friends, Mother never served this many.

  “A light breakfast and coffee will be served in the kitchen,” Aunt Doreen called to her. “Stuart and Uncle Walter are already in there. Maybe they’ve left something for you.”

  Dena could smell warm yeast before she entered the kitchen. Today the large airy room seemed small and cramped. On the table sat various types of salads and vegetables and the cabinets were loaded with pies and cakes. Uncle Walter was helping Polly baste the turkey.

  Stuart amused at seeing his dad in an apron, snickered, “Hey, Dena, do you have a camera?”

  “Dena, don’t you dare!” Uncle Walter jerked his head around and straightened up all in the same movement. He faced her wielding a large wooden spoon. Drippings flew. Surprised, Dena stepped back. Each time she looked at her uncle and his wild-eyed expression, the harder she laughed.

  Polly had brought her a hot cup of coffee. Dena could tell she loved holidays.

  “Have a hot roll, Dena, with some butter and jam.” Stuart pushed a platter weighed down
with goodies toward her.

  “Mmm. This is really good, Polly,” she muttered between bites. “Mmm. What time will everyone arrive?”

  “Guests start arriving around ten. Dinner is served at one,” Uncle Walter announced as he set his hot mug of coffee across from her. “Then everyone grazes until seven p.m. and usually most are gone by nine.”

  “Really!” Dena sipped her coffee and said nothing more. If I can’t be at home for Thanksgiving today, there is no other place I would rather be than here. While sipping her hot coffee, she reached up to push back a strand of hair. Dena enjoyed the steam on her face.

  “Dad,” Stuart said. “Do you think the film clip went well?” It was the way he said it—the tone—that made Uncle Walter take a quick look at his son. Then he glanced at Dena.

  “Do we need to go to the other room, son?” Stuart nodded. I wonder what that’s about. She watched them disappear into the study. Popping the last bit of muffin into her mouth, Dena stacked her small plate and silverware. After putting on an apron, she carried the dirty dishes to the sink.

  “How can I help, Polly?” Polly handed her the napkins before turning back to the stove. Dena took them to the dining room, where Aunt Doreen was preparing the tables. She watched her aunt set down a dinner plate then picked it and reset it.

  I wonder what’s wrong with the plate position. As far as I can see, it’s in the exact same place. Aunt Doreen checked each soup turret with a small salad plate setting under it. Dena placed a neatly folded napkin next to each one. She stood back checking the placement, and then re-adjusted the napkin slightly before checking it. Why I’m doing what Aunt Doreen did. She reddened, looking around to see if anyone noticed. It does look really nice. Only the silverware is missing.

  One of the hired ladies carefully laid out the polished silverware in their proper places, holding each piece with a soft cloth so not to smudge them. Watching her work, Dena realized how efficient she was; Aunt Doreen had trained her well. After watching for a moment she quickly retreated to the kitchen for her next task.

  When the doorbell rang, Dena looked up from her work. She checked the clock. It was just before nine. Leaning back in her chair, Dena looked at the door as Uncle Walter went to answer. The bell rang again.

  “Hello boys. Are you not on Pacific Standard Time yet?” he joshed with the three young men. Boys? Who was here? “Come in. Come in out of the nasty weather.”

  “Are we too early, Professor Miles?” asked someone in a masculine voice, which sounded familiar to Dena. She turned in her chair to get a better view. Emily hurried through the doorway and grabbed Dena’s arm, pulling her out of the chair.

  She smiled. Clay. Remembering the closeness they had shared when they worked together in a segment on the film Stuart had produced. It had taken only two retakes to get the segment up to Stuart’s standards. Pleased with the small part she had in the documentary, Dena had hoped she would see Clay again. Now he was here with Carl and Floyd.

  “You silly goose! You’re acting in a manner that even Susan would declare childish,” she chided herself. She frowned for she was beginning to like Clay more than a friend. That alarmed her.

  “Doreen,” Uncle Walter called, “you know the boys?”

  “Hello.” Aunt Doreen smiled.

  Carl, Clay had told her was his best friend—like a brother. Even though he was two years older, the freckles on his lean face and the shock of sandy colored-hair made him look younger. Floyd, also a friend, was a year behind Clay. His brown curly hair and brown eyes caused girls to take a second look. In fact, they act like the three musketeers. Oh why can I not remember Clay’s last name. I know he’s told me. It’s…uhhh…Brewster. That’s it. Smiling, she turned towards Emily, smoothed her shoulder-length blonde hair, and asked, “How do I look?”

  Her cousin looked at her with a blank look and shrugged her shoulders, “Okay I guess.”

  Emily’s like me. Her face gives her away. She can’t tell a lie either. Dena tightened her lips in concentration as she jerked off her apron. Stop this nonsense this minute! Why should I be so nervous? Taking a deep breath, she tried to exhale slowly, but it came out noisily. She marched through the doorway toward Aunt Doreen.

  “Oh, Dena, come and say hello to the boys.” Uncle Walter said with a wide smile.

  She nodded, grateful that Stuart had walked into the hallway, giving her a big brotherly grin. “Hey, guys.” Brock would do that too.

  “Well, I’m glad I came. I didn’t know Dena lived here.” Clay grinned boldly at her. He acted truly glad to see her.

  Blushing, she nodded. She was flustered—although embarrassed would be a better word. Admitting she liked him and showing it scared her. She wasn’t sure she was ready. Dena quickly turned and bravely smiled at the other two. “I’m glad you all are here.”

  “Dena, show our guests to the sunroom,” Aunt Doreen directed. “Emily will be there to help.”

  Dena’s eyes widened. What shall I do? Entertain them? What about Stuart? He knows them better than I do. Besides he’s a guy and can talk guy stuff. She glanced around just in time to see Stuart and Uncle Walter disappear into the study. Did Aunt Doreen say Emily will be there? Where’s Emily anyway?”

  “Now I understand why you chose drafting,” Clay said when he fell into step beside her. Dena jumped not realizing he was there. She cautiously glanced at him. He smiled unaware that her stomach was doing flip-flops. Uneasiness persisted. She nodded. She raised her chin slightly wondering, where is that tenacity, that persistence, that air of assurance I had on the farm? Right now I feel afraid—afraid of what though? Dena’s mind raced. She felt that she couldn’t get to the sunroom soon enough. The hall seemed to go on and on. Yet when the small group reached the sunroom, everyone chatted pleasantly.

  Emily was already there, and had some records on the player. Several board games were scattered around. She greeted the young men. Dena caught Emily’s eye when she heard music playing softly in the background. If she remembered right, it was “Jeepers, Creepers.” She moved over beside her cousin. Her face relaxed as she confessed, “I’m sure glad you’re here. I’m not very good at this entertaining thing.”

  “Sure you are,” Emily said, rolling her eyes. Emily asked Floyd about Langley Field and Virginia. Dena vowed to try making that kind of small talk with Clay.

  ***

  Sometime that morning, Mary had come over. She had brought a couple of girls with her. But Dena didn’t know them. After two more young engineers arrived, Clay introduced them as Abe and Martin. Or at least that’s what she thought their names were. She needed to listen closer. Just before noon another young man showed up.

  “Hey, Jules,” one of the guys said. He nodded and looked around the room.

  Dena, where’s Stuart?” Mary asked. She peered over Dena’s shoulder, reading the labels on a stack of records Dena was looking through.

  “I’m not sure,” she answered. “He and Uncle Walter were in the study earlier.”

  “Mmm. You smell good.” Stuart said as he came up behind Dena and Mary. He kissed Mary’s neck. She giggled. “Are there any good records, Dena?”

  She nodded and piled records on the record player. Mary picked up a small stack and read the labels.

  “Hey, Stuart, what do you think about a game of backgammon?” Floyd grinned, flexing his fingers readying himself for a win.

  “Maybe later,” he answered, jerking his head at the clock on the mantel. “It’s almost one.”

  Dena glanced at the clock. Her stomach rumbled loudly. Embarrassed, she looked around. But no one was laughing, not at her anyway.

  “How do we seat everyone?” Dena asked Emily. Emily pointed out small name cards placed just above each plate. Dena noticed she and Emily were seated across from each other with young men on either side. In fact, it was girl, boy, girl, boy, even with the adults at the other end.

  How clever. Checking further, she saw that Clay sat next to Em
ily but was across from her. Stuart was on her left and Floyd on her right, just across from Emily. Who was so smart in arranging the seating?

  “Jane does the seating each year. She’s really good at it,” Emily whispered. Dena glanced at Jane standing at the other end of the room talking to Aunt Doreen and another woman. Jane didn’t have a date. She lived with her parents and seemed contented. Dena wondered if there had ever been somebody special in her life. Suddenly the sun came out. Someone whooped and laughed mentioning a game of lawn bowling in the garden after dinner. Then Dena heard pinging. It was Uncle Walter.

  “Everyone find your chair, and let’s have a word of prayer so we can get the festivities started.” Dena stepped up to her chair where Stuart pulled it out for her. Her smile spoke her thanks. He wriggled his eyebrows. Next he turned to pull out the chair for Mary. Large platters and bowls lined the tables. Dena had never seen so much food. Surely it couldn’t all be eaten.

  “I have dibs on your leftovers, Dena.” Stuart grinned reading her expression. She jabbed him. He bent over, feigning pain. Uncle Walter pinged again and cleared his throat.

  “Dear Father, thank you—”

  Dena peeked at Clay sitting across from her. She wanted to look at him more closely, to see him praying, to know if he was a godly man.

  “—in His Son’s holy name, amen.”

  Silverware clinked as food was spooned onto each plate and then passed to the next person. Dena took small pieces of turkey and ham, a spoonful of candied sweet potatoes, peas, lettuce salad, and a hot roll. There wasn’t room for anything else. And frankly, she didn’t think she could eat more. Besides, there was dessert and plenty of time to graze, as Uncle Walter aptly put it. After a few minutes of eating, conversation sprung up on both ends of the table. The hum sounded like an active beehive.

  “Did anyone see the World Series on television?” Floyd asked.

  “Television? Where did you watch television?” Abe asked before stuffing in another bite. He looked like a Native American: dark, straight hair; dark skin; and black eyes.