“Why don’t we fight?” Phil asked.
“Folks don’t want to fight,” Lynn said quietly, looking down at her hands as she twisted them together. As with Phil, the relentlessly bad news about the war had left her depressed.
“If folks aren’t willing to fight, they’re cowards,” Phil said. He and Lynn had fought this argument before.
“No,” Len said. “Not cowards. I mean, I’m sure folks don’t want to die, don’t want to get wounded, but it’s more than that. People don’t want to kill, don’t want to maim.”
“The Germans don’t have a problem with it,” Phil said. He walked back across the room and sat down beside Lynn again.
“And we think they’re wrong for what they’re doing,” Len said. “Violence often doesn’t stop violence; it only creates more.”
“But you think we should fight yourself,” Phil said. For the last few years, Len had talked openly of the need for the United States to enter the war alongside the Allies. Something they agreed upon, it had helped ease the tensions between them.
“I do,” Len said. “But I believe that going to war is something a country should do only after every other conceivable solution has been tried, only when there is absolutely no other choice. Folks who want to keep America out of the war don’t think we’ve gotten to that point yet. I do.”
“You say you think we should enter the war,” Lynn said, “but you also sound like you agree with the folks who don’t.”
“I understand them,” Len said. “In most cases, I’d probably agree with them. It should always be difficult for a nation to go to war. But in this case, with a madman who’s got the will and the means to conquer the world, who’s actually moved beyond his borders to do so, and who’s shown that he won’t stop unless he’s made to, yeah, the United States has got to fight.”
“I’m ready,” Phil said.
“I think more and more folks are,” Len said.
“I hope so,” Phil said. They’d heard on the radio recently that the number of folks in the American Pacifist Movement and in other groups like it had begun to fall significantly. Initially opposed by a majority of citizens, last year’s Selective Training and Service Act—the country’s first peacetime draft, requiring all men between the ages of twenty-one and thirty-five to register for military service—had now become widely regarded as necessary. Even though, at forty-three, he fell outside the age range, Phil had given serious thought to enlisting himself. He wouldn’t want to leave Lynn, but he also didn’t want to wait for the United States to be attacked.
“I hope for peace,” Lynn said.
“I think we all hope for that,” Len said.
Again, they sat quietly for a few minutes. It seemed to Phil that there were more and more silences between folks these days. Even down at the mill, Phil had noticed the men eating their lunches without talking much at all.
“Well, I’m gonna go make supper for us,” Lynn said, and she stood and went into the kitchen.
Phil looked over at Len. “When do you think this is all gonna end?” Phil asked.
Len stared at him for a moment, as though giving the matter some thought. “I wish I knew,” he finally said. “I wish I knew.”
McCoy heard the news in the early afternoon, standing in his living room and listening to the radio. In the Pacific, Japanese forces had launched attacks on Guam, the Philippines, and Hawai’i, all territories or commonwealths of the United States. They had also fired upon and sunk the American battleship Arizona. Already, President Roosevelt had appeared before a joint session of Congress and requested a declaration of war on Japan. In short order, he’d received it.
A small measure of relief rose within McCoy, but not nearly enough to overcome the tremendous guilt he still felt. Because of his actions, regardless of the fact that they had been unintentional, people had died who had not died before, and now Earth faced complete domination by the Nazi war machine. He only hoped that the United States could find a way to defeat Germany and Japan and the rest of the Axis powers.
McCoy sat down on the sofa and listened to the reports. During the past year, as more and more of Europe and Asia fell, as New Zealand and Australia had been attacked, President Roosevelt had precipitated the formation of TOTA, the Treaty Organization of The Americas. The mutual-defense pact, which included most of the countries of North, Central, and South America as signatories, provided that should one member of the organization come under attack, it would be regarded as an attack on all member nations. With today’s aggression against the United States, declarations of war against Japan were expected shortly from Canada, Mexico, Brazil, and the other American countries.
It felt wrong to have wanted the country to go to war and to be pleased now that it had finally happened. But McCoy knew the justifications for this fight, understood that the battle had not been joined in order to claim land, or to procure assets, or for some other ignoble reason. Rather, this war effort came in self-defense and for the protection of essential freedoms. If Germany—
The telephone rang. The lines and service had been installed in Hayden three years ago, coincident with the electrification of the town. McCoy got up and walked to the corner of the living room, to the wall with the fireplace, where his phone had been placed. He picked up the heavy black handset and lifted it to his ear.
“Hello?” he said.
“Leonard,” Lynn said, her voice frantic. “You have to come quickly. Oh my God, Phil’s leaving. I need you to stop him.” Her words came loud and fast.
“Lynn, what’s going on?” he asked. “What do you mean Phil’s leaving?”
“He’s leaving,” Lynn repeated. “He’s going off to war.”
“Lynn, would you—” McCoy heard a click and then nothing at all. “Lynn,” he called. “Lynn.” Nothing.
McCoy slammed the receiver back into its cradle—the bell inside the heavy, metal phone clanged—and ran out to his car. As quickly as he could, he started down the recently paved Carolina Street, on his way to Lynn and Phil’s. Lynn had sounded nearly hysterical, and from what she’d said, he guessed that he would have little time to try to prevent Phil from enlisting in the military.
As McCoy turned onto Church Street, he realized how quiet the town seemed. He’d seen nobody in the commons or along the sidewalks, and the road ahead of him appeared empty as well. Everybody had probably heard about today’s events, and he expected that, as he had, they now sat glued to their radios, listening for more information.
Though it had startled him because of the panicked sound of Lynn’s voice, McCoy couldn’t claim that what she’d said had surprised him. Many of the folks in town had come to believe that the United States needed to enter the war, and Phil had been one of the more vocal on the subject. Though he’d never explicitly mentioned his intention to voluntarily join America’s fighting forces should that happen—at least not in front of McCoy—he’d left little doubt that he would serve if called upon.
According to what McCoy had heard on the radio, the Congress had already taken up the matter of modifying the Selective Training and Service Act, adjusting the age range of conscription down to eighteen and up to forty-five. In that case, Phil, at forty-three, would be liable for military service anyway.
McCoy reached Tindal’s Lane and turned onto the dirt road—unlike the four main roads in the center of town, it remained unpaved—and just a few minutes later, pulled into Lynn and Phil’s yard. Fortunately, their truck still sat parked there as well, indicating that Phil hadn’t left yet. McCoy got out of the car and raced up the front steps. He knocked, but didn’t bother to wait, instead pushing the door open and stepping into the parlor. “Lynn?” he called. “Phil?” He paused, not necessarily anticipating a response, but thinking that he might hear Lynn and Phil arguing. Instead, he heard only an eerie quiet.
Concerned, McCoy walked into the hall. He waited, then called their names again. This time, Phil answered. “In here, Len,” he said. McCoy followed his voice, making h
is way down the hall to Lynn and Phil’s bedroom. The door stood ajar, and McCoy gently pushed it open and peered inside.
A suitcase lay on the bed, open but filled with clothes. Lynn sat at the head of the bed, her head down, and Phil kneeled on the floor beside her. He held one of her hands in both of his. Phil peered over at McCoy. “Hi, Len,” he said somberly.
“Hi,” McCoy said, unsure what he should do or say. “Lynn called me…” At the mention of her name, she looked up. Her face appeared puffy, her eyes red. Clearly she’d been crying.
“Len, I’m going to Greenville,” he said. “I’m gonna enlist in the army.”
“Stop him, Leonard,” Lynn said.
McCoy didn’t know what to say. He understood Lynn’s obvious concern for her husband, her desire for him to stay with her, to remain safely at home. But he also could see why Phil would want to join the military, why he would want to fight to protect his wife, his home, his country, his very way of life. “Phil,” he said, “are you sure you want to do this?”
“I have to,” Phil said. “They’re trying to take over the world. We have to stop them.”
“I know,” McCoy said. “And many, many people will work to do that, not just from the United States, Canada, and Mexico, but from countries in Central and South America too. There will be plenty of soldiers without you. You have a wife who needs you here.”
“Iknow, but…” He gazed at Lynn, and she reached up and placed her hand gently along the side of his face.
“He has to go,” Lynn said softly, her words barely audible. She leaned in and kissed him deeply. “I don’t want him to go, but I’m proud of him.” She looked over at McCoy. “Will you take him to Greenville?” she asked.
“Sure, of course,” McCoy said, appreciating the depth of Lynn’s sacrifice. “We can all go.”
“No,” Lynn said. “I’m staying here.”
“Are you sure?” Phil asked.
“Maybe this isn’t the best time to be by yourself,” McCoy said. “At least let us take you over to the Gladdy’s so you can be with Beth and Dwight.”
“No, I’m gonna stay here,” Lynn said again. She rose and stood face to face with Phil. “Leonard,” she said without looking away from her husband, “would you give us a couple of minutes?”
“Of course,” McCoy said, and he quickly withdrew back down the hall and into the parlor. He waited silently, attempting not to imagine the bittersweet scene playing out in the bedroom. Five minutes later, Phil emerged, suitcase in hand.
“C’mon,” he said. “Let’s go.” Without waiting, Phil went out the front door and down the steps. McCoy thought he probably wanted to leave Hayden before Lynn changed her mind.
Two and a half hours later, they stood waiting to enter a United States Army Recruiting Station in Greenville. McCoy chose to stay with his friend until he made it inside. The line of men wanting to join the army reached around the block.
Forty-One
2284
Holding the ring, presenting it, Barrows’s hand trembled, the intensity of her nervousness surprising her. For the past month, since she had begun thinking about doing this, about asking Leonard to marry her, she had felt only a small measure of anxiety. As she had searched her emotions and confirmed the depth of her love for him, and as she’d experienced his obvious love for her—in the ways that he looked at her, in the ways that he touched her, in the ways that he treated her—joyous anticipation had filled her days and nights. At moments, working beside Leonard in the lab, she had barely been able to contain her excitement.
She had planned this evening with care. To accompany her proposal, she’d wanted a romantic symbol of some kind and had decided on a betrothal ring. On the few nights she and Leonard had spent apart, she’d scoured the comnet until she’d found the right piece of jewelry, a wide gold band atop which six small diamonds encircled a raised seventh stone.
After that, Barrows had chosen the time and place. She’d initially considered waiting until the second anniversary of their first date—their second first date—but she’d found herself too eager to wait another couple of months. She’d still elected to commemorate that event, though, by selecting a repeat of it, with dinner at Madame Chang’s and a walk to the monorail station afterward. There, waiting for the monorail that would take her up to Sausalito, their kiss had really begun their new life together.
As she perched on one knee, a cold breeze blowing in off the bay and ruffling her hair, she reached up with her left hand to steady her right. Her heart pounded mightily in her chest and she knew that she would always remember this moment. She gazed up at Leonard, keen for the expression of shock on his face to give way to one of happiness.
“Tonia,” he said, his stunned look changing, but not in the way that she’d envisioned. In speaking her name, his voice had sounded very different than it had just a few moments ago, when he’d told her that he loved her. A sense of dread began to form within her, like a pernicious weed growing to strangle the flora about it. She peered up at Leonard, searching for any hint that would prove her perception wrong.
Instead, he looked away.
Barrows felt as though she’d been kicked in the gut.
“Tonia,” he said again, the concern in his tone far from comforting. He reached toward her hands, but she pulled them away and rose to her feet.
“What?” she said, her own voice degrees colder than the bitter wind.
“Tonia, I…” His words trailed into nothingness, and somehow that seemed appropriate.
“Tonia, I what?” she snapped at him, her pain causing her to lash out at him. “You care about me?” Though she hadn’t thought about it in such a long time, the words he’d spoken to her all those years ago in his office aboard the Enterprise came back to her. As she’d left the ship at Starbase 10, he’d claimed to care about her, but that hadn’t been enough then, and it certainly wasn’t enough now.
“I do care about you,” Leonard insisted.
“A few minutes ago, you loved me,” she said.
“I do love you,” he said. “But—”
“I love you but…not really?” Barrows said. “Not enough?” Behind her, she heard the low hum of the monorail as it approached the station.
“Don’t do this,” Leonard said.
“Don’t react?” she said, outraged at the suggestion. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make this so difficult for you.” With a rush of warm air preceding it, the monorail glided into the station. Leonard looked past her at it as she heard its doors open and then the footsteps of passengers disembarking. She ignored it all, maintaining her focus on him. She thought that he might suggest that she board the monorail, but he didn’t. A few seconds later, the doors whispered closed and the vehicle left the station.
Once it had gone and the two had been left alone on the platform, Barrows said, “I’m genuinely confused. Did I imagine the last two years?”
“No, of course not,” Leonard said. “We’ve had a good thing—”
“A good thing?” Barrows said. She looked down at the ring still in her hand, the gemstones catching the bright white lighting of the lampposts and reflecting them in a splash of prismatic color. She placed it deep in her coat pocket, then pulled on her gloves. “Okay,” she said. “How could I possibly have misread this situation so completely? It’s been nearly two years. As far as I knew, everything was terrific between us. What have I missed? Please tell me.” She didn’t seek to convince Leonard that he should stay with her—that ship had already left space dock—but she really wanted to understand how this could’ve happened. It made no sense to her.
“You haven’t missed anything,” Leonard said. “Everything has been terrific between us.”
“But not terrific enough, evidently,” Barrows said, still bewildered.
“I…I don’t know if I’m really the person for you,” Leonard said. “You deserve the right man and I don’t want to stand in the way of you finding him.”
“Why don’t you say what y
ou mean?” she asked. “It’s not that you’re not the right man for me. It’s that I’m not the right woman for you.” She knew she could not change the way he felt about her, but she needed to understand this betrayal.
“Tonia,” he said, but followed it with nothing more.
“I’m a fool,” Barrows said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe it. “This happened between us almost twenty years ago. How could I possibly allow it to happen again?”
“You’re not a fool,” Leonard said. “I am. You’re a wonderful woman, smart and beautiful and funny—”
“Don’t,” Barrows said, raising the flat of her palm to him. “I know my value as a person, my worth as a romantic partner. You don’t need to tell me.” Something suddenly occurred to her and she gave it voice. “In fact, it sounds more like your trying to convince yourself.”
“No, no, not at all,” Leonard said, with more conviction than anything he’d said since she’d asked him to marry her. She regarded him and tried to gauge what could have motivated the words he’d spoken to her.
“This really isn’t about me, is it?” she concluded. “It’s about you.”
“Well, yes, I guess it is,” Leonard said, shrugging.
“No, don’t dismiss it like that,” Barrows said. “Don’t avoid the issue by agreeing with me and then saying nothing else. What is it inside you that’s doing this, not just to me, but to you? What are you fighting?”
“It’s nothing like that,” Leonard said, looking off into the night.
“It is something like that,” Barrows said. “What else could it be? You’re a kind and caring man, Leonard, and yet you led me on, allowed me to think—made me think—that we had something special between us.”
“The last two years have been special,” Leonard said, though he spoke barely above a whisper and without much confidence.
“I was actually talking about our time together aboard the Enterprise,” Barrows said. “But then and now, you didn’t just allow me to think that you loved me; you did love me. You do love me. And yet you put distance between us back then and you’re doing it again now. Why? Is it something as simple as a fear of commitment? That seems too simple, too unworthy of you.”
Crucible: McCoy Page 54
