by Sarah Sundin
Clay’s time was running out. He’d continue to write, but today’s letters were the last he could guarantee to be mailed before he died. They’d be the most difficult five letters of his life.
The first would be easiest, and the only one short enough for a V-mail. He filled the one-page form responding to Leah’s latest letter, which reported on Helen’s cuteness and how Leah enjoyed the time with his mother. Clay kept the letter light, praised the baby, thanked Leah for her advice, and told her he was writing his brothers.
Now for the long and difficult letters. They would all go in one thick envelope to Kerrville.
Dear Daddy and Mama,
Things are getting busy over here, and I wanted to tie up all loose ends. I’ve enclosed letters to Wyatt and Adler—please forward the letters immediately, as I don’t have their addresses. There’s also a letter for Leah—please mail it to her only in case of my death.
You’ll be happy to know the letters to my brothers are ones of forgiveness. This hasn’t been easy, but it’s necessary. As my wise wife says, my forgiveness is the key. As the youngest and as the half brother, I feel odd being in charge, but so it is. The half is the key to the whole.
After I’m gone, I want the Paxton family to be reunited and restored, with my Leah and Helen included, of course.
Please don’t think I’m fatalistic. I’m not. I just know my work on earth is done. My brothers are forgiven, the road to family peace is open, and I’ve provided for my wife and daughter. Thank you for taking my girls under your wings. I hope you can persuade Leah to move to Kerrville.
Please forgive me for taking so long to forgive my brothers. I wore my grudges as my badge of honor as a wronged man. But that was as grave a sin as any they committed. I made myself their judge, and that’s not my role.
Daddy and Mama, thank you for a lifetime of loving me. You raised me well and taught me the importance of faith, compassion, integrity, and hard work. You provided a home full of wisdom, humor, common sense, and heaping piles of love. I love you with all my heart.
Your son,
Clay
Now for his brothers. He’d hoped they’d receive their letters before D-day. It was ridiculous to mail the letters to Texas first, but what could he do without their addresses?
Dear Wyatt,
I pray this letter will reach you before everything heats up over here.
I need you to know I’ve fully forgiven you. On that day three years ago, you acted out of a legitimate fear for your life. Although I was upset not to go to college and medical school, I’ve found my place in the Rangers. It’s a good fit, and I’m glad to be here. I’ve enjoyed my training, and I know we’ll accomplish great things. Please don’t beat yourself up about the changed course of my life. Much good has come out of it, and I see the Lord’s hand in it all.
I appreciate that you want to pay me back. Part of me wants to forgive your financial debt, but I reckon you wouldn’t rest until it was repaid anyway. And as a husband and father, I’d be foolish to turn the money down. So I thank you in advance.
It’s my deepest desire that our family would be restored. Don’t ever doubt our parents’ forgiveness. At times I’ve resented their easy and generous forgiveness, but it only reflects the forgiveness of our Savior.
Please forgive me for taking so long to forgive you. My resentment was an offense against the Lord’s forgiveness of my own sins.
I’m glad to hear you’ve found such an honorable way to serve. On that day, I’ll feel better knowing my big brother may be at sea, protecting my back.
You always protected me, you know. No one dared pick on me for being half Mexican, because you and Adler wouldn’t stand for it.
I always looked up to you as the voice of reason and restraint, of compassion and good cheer. Your quiet strength showed me a vision of manhood different from what Daddy and Adler showed me—and more in keeping with my personality. You have influenced me for great good, and I thank you. I love you, and I miss you.
Please rest in the knowledge of my total forgiveness and love.
Your brother,
Clay
Clay stretched and scooted back on the cot. He slipped the letter in an envelope and marked it “Wyatt Paxton,” with room for his parents to add the address. Then he pulled out a sheet of stationery for the brother he’d been closest to—and was now furthest from.
Dear Adler,
You’re probably reading this with trepidation, and I don’t blame you. The last time you saw me, I told you I’d kill you if I ever saw you again.
Please forgive me. Forgive me for beating you up, for threatening you, for driving you away from home, and for taking so long to forgive you.
I’m glad you’ve turned to the Lord for forgiveness. Please know I’ve fully forgiven you as well.
If anything, your actions have altered your life far more than mine. Ellen’s lack of love for me would have surfaced at some point, and I’m glad I didn’t marry a woman who loved someone else. This freed me to marry my Leah, who has been a blessing.
I’ve been pondering how difficult it must be for you to hear about what happened in your absence. Rest assured that Ellen’s death had nothing to do with you, only with her reckless driving. And Timmy is Daddy and Mama’s pride and joy. He’s your spitting image. Sometimes God brings great light out of our darkest moments. Timmy is that light.
Three years ago, Daddy ordered you to leave and I ordered you never to return. Both orders have been rescinded. Our parents long to welcome you home, and I want you to return as well. Nothing would make me happier than for our family to be restored.
Just so you know I’m sincere, I saw you on the Queen Elizabeth. Daddy said you saw me too, but it must have been at a different time. I was standing guard, and I had a rifle. And Adler, I didn’t use it. Trust me, you’re safe.
I’m glad to hear you’re a fighter pilot, and I’m sure you’re a good one. Every time I hear airplanes overhead, I look for you, not that I’d recognize your plane. It makes me feel good that when I go into action, you’ll be overhead protecting us boys on the ground. Once again, Adler Paxton will beat up any bullies who pick on his little brother. And if I see any enemy planes chasing you fellows, I’ll pop a few rounds their way.
I miss you, Adler. You made my life fun and adventurous. Without your example, I don’t know if I’d have been Ranger material. You showed me how to balance excellence in school, sports, and friendship. Your humor and high spirits always lifted me. I’ve probably never told you, but I love you very much.
Please know my forgiveness is genuine and deep.
Your brother forever,
Clay
Clay inserted the letter in the envelope and wrote “Adler Paxton” on it.
A strange thing happened as he wrote the letters. The more he wrote, the more he wanted to be kind, to reassure his brothers, to grant them peace after he was gone, with no regrets. The more he wrote the words of forgiveness, the more he felt them, the more he meant them, and the more he knew them to be right and true.
One last letter. The most difficult of all.
My darling wife,
If you’re reading this letter, it means you’ve already received a telegram. I pray this letter won’t cause any additional distress. You’re a strong woman, and I know you’ll bear the loss of our friendship with grace.
Take comfort in knowing I’m with Jesus, as I take comfort in knowing you and Helen are set for life. The GI life insurance will easily last six years, and the check from Wyatt will cover another few years. Perhaps you could use it to pay for library school when Helen starts school.
To make the money stretch further, I urge you to accept my parents’ invitation to move to Kerrville. This would place you in the midst of family. Our daughter would have more aunts, uncles, and cousins than she could shake her pudgy fist at.
I also think you’re just what the Paxtons need. Daddy and Mama have forgiven Wyatt and Adler, but things could be tense. Your sweet
spirit would be a tonic for my ailing family.
As for your own family, once again I urge you to visit Chicago. I pray the Lord will lead you to your sisters.
Thank you for your example. Your devotion to your family showed me the importance of my own. Your wise words and mercy toward all who have harmed you helped me to forgive my brothers and to let them know of that forgiveness.
You may be wondering the purpose of this letter. Everything I’ve written summarizes what I’ve told you before. Maybe I wrote it so you’d have it in one place. More likely, I did it to procrastinate.
Leah, for the past week, I’ve been debating whether or not to tell you something. I don’t debate the truth of what I have to say—from the moment I realized it, I’ve had no doubts. I debated because I didn’t know if it would bring you comfort or discomfort. I’ve decided it’ll do more good than harm.
When I married you, I’d hoped we wouldn’t become too attached to each other, since we both knew how this would end. I felt affection for you, like a brother giving to a little sister. Somewhere along the line, things changed. The little sister became a lovely woman. The giving brother became the recipient of your wisdom, grace, and compassion.
My love for you has shifted and grown and deepened. Leah, I’ve fallen in love with you.
You can see why I waited to confess this until after I was gone. If you had returned my feelings, it would have only led to more anguish when I died. If you hadn’t, it could have caused an awkward rift between us. Selfishly, I didn’t want to lose you so close to the end.
I’m confessing this as my last gift to you. My sweet Leah, I want you to know how lovable you are. Since you were four, you’ve had no one to love you, no one to tell you how wonderful you are. Although our daughter adores you, she won’t be able to voice it for years.
So I’ll voice it. I love how you can’t bear for a book to be scrapped. I love how you knew Helen was a girl before she was born. I love how you write poetry, how you cling to your sisters, how you search for the good even in the dark. And I love how you gently but forcibly urged me to do the right thing and forgive my brothers.
You are beautiful and modest and kind and faithful and merciful. And the memory of our too-short kiss at the wedding has undone me more times than I care to admit.
I don’t write this to make you squirm or so you’ll mourn me more. I say this only to build your confidence in the lovely woman you are.
Go live your life to the fullest of God’s purpose. Love our daughter and raise her well. Give your best to libraries as a librarian or a volunteer. Marry again with my heartfelt blessing. Most of all, continue to grow in faith and love.
I love you, my darling, my muse, my Thalia.
I was blessed to be your husband.
Yours,
Clay
His breath caught. His throat felt rough, his nose stuffy, and his eyes burned.
He didn’t want to leave her, but he had no choice.
Clay bent his head over the letter, his heart splayed out on paper. Lord, I’ve lost my desire to die. So please strengthen my resolve.
33
TULLAHOMA
SATURDAY, MAY 20, 1944
Wheels rattled on the pavement as Leah pushed Helen in the baby carriage, Mrs. Paxton pulled the Bellamy children’s wagon, and Rita Sue pushed a wheelbarrow.
Leah paused and adjusted her new summer hat to keep the morning sun out of her eyes. “Thank you again for helping the children’s home with the scrap drive.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Rita Sue said. “I know y’all need adults to help with the little ones—as well as wagons and wheelbarrows.”
Mama steered the wagon around a pothole. “Besides, I can’t wait for everyone to see these kids as assets, as giving, not taking.”
“Today they are taking,” Leah said. “Taking scrap.”
The ladies laughed.
“Lupe, have you told her yet?” Rita Sue asked.
“Told me what?”
Mama changed hands on the wagon handle. “Now I can tell you about yesterday’s errand—I spent the day at the library.”
“The library? I thought you were shopping.”
“I didn’t want to raise false hope.” Mama turned onto Jackson Street. “Mrs. Sheridan is quite the research librarian. We now have a list of addresses of all the orphanages in the Chicago area.”
Leah stopped, and her mouth hung open.
Rita Sue smiled and motioned her forward with her chin. “Move along.”
Mama wore a smug expression. “I was planning on returning to Kerrville at the end of May, but I’ll stay an extra week. You and I are taking the train to Chicago—the Dixie Flagler.”
Leah’s head whirled. “But that’s—I couldn’t—how?—the baby.”
“It’s all set. We’re staying with my cousin’s daughter in Chicago. She has two little ones, so we’ll have supplies and can wash diapers. And I can watch Helen while you search.”
“But that’s so expensive.”
Mama flapped her hand. “Will insisted, and Clay’s been nagging me to make you go. These Paxton men are generous to a fault. That’s mighty handy sometimes.” She winked at Leah.
All the pictures she’d seen of the city scrolled through her mind, but the picture she couldn’t see was the one she longed for most dearly—Callie and Polly.
Mama puckered one corner of her mouth. “You aren’t used to receiving gifts, are you?”
“Yes, I am.” Leah frowned into the borrowed baby carriage. “I’ve received charity all my life.”
“Ah, mija. It’s not the same. This is a gift of love.”
Leah blinked over grainy eyes. Biblical love from Clay. Familial love from Mama Paxton. “So when do we leave?”
Mama grinned. “Sunday, June 4. Helen will be seven weeks old.”
Leah smiled at her sleeping daughter, dressed in a light kimono for the warm day. “I’m sure she’ll be a good traveler.”
On the lawn at the Coffee Children’s Home, Miss King passed out red, white, and blue sashes to the children. Wagons and carts bore hand-lettered signs reading “Coffee Children’s Home for Victory!”
“Mrs. Paxton!” Miss King looked even more flustered than usual, but in a happy way. “The children are so excited about this scrap drive.”
“I’m excited too.” Leah braced herself as two of the girls hugged her, one on each side, and Leah hugged them back.
Miss King leaned closer. “They can’t join the Scouts or the Junior Red Cross, because we can’t pay their dues. They’re itching to do something for the war effort.”
“Of course, they are,” Mama said. “I’m glad my Leah thought of a way for them to help.”
Miss King divided the children into pairs, with an adult or older child minding each group, including Mama and Rita Sue.
Leah was assigned to ten-year-old Mikey and six-year-old Hattie. The little girl had arrived at the orphanage recently when her foster father was drafted and her foster mother took a factory job. Since the child was one-quarter black, Miss King said it would be difficult to place her in a home, which broke Leah’s heart.
Hattie climbed into the wagon, but her large dark eyes followed Mama Paxton. “That lady has dark skin.”
“Yes, she does.” Leah nodded for Mikey to start pulling the wagon down Dechard Street. “Her family comes from Mexico, where it’s sunny and warm.”
Hattie pulled one of her little black braids and squinted at Leah. “Your skin’s kinda dark too.”
Leah inspected her bare arm in the sunshine. At last she’d lost enough weight to wear her yellow floral dress again. “My family came from Greece, where it’s also sunny and warm.”
“I’m dark.”
“Oh, I think that’s because some of your family came from Africa, where it’s sunny and warm. Now, Mikey has lovely pink skin—”
“Pink! That’s a girly color.” Mikey glowered at her.
“A manly shade of peach.” She gave him a reassurin
g smile. “But when he spends too much time in the sun, he turns redder than the stripe on your sash. You and I don’t, Hattie.”
“Here’s our street.” Mikey turned onto Franklin and up to a white bungalow.
“All right, children. You know what to say.” Leah motioned them up the walkway, while she stayed behind with the baby.
Mikey rang the doorbell, and a young woman in a green floral housedress and a blue gingham apron answered the door. Two small children peeked out from behind her.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Mikey tipped his cap to her. “We’re from the Coffee Children’s Home. We’re collecting scrap. Got any tin or paper we can turn in for you?”
“Oh my! Aren’t y’all sweet? I have a heap of paper and metal scrap out back, and I haven’t had time to haul it in.”
“We’d be happy to do that for you, ma’am.”
“Meet me out back.” She shut the door.
Mikey and Hattie ran around the house, the wagon clattering behind them. In a few minutes, they returned, the wagon half full.
“Good job,” Leah said. “At this rate, we’ll be the first back.”
Mikey’s grin stretched the width of his narrow face. “Told Marty I’d beat him. Come on, Hattie.”
Hattie didn’t move. She lifted a foot capped with a white bobby sock and a sturdy brown shoe. “Teacher and Principal were fighting over me.”
Fighting? “How’s that?”
“Teacher says I’m not white, and she shouldn’t have to have me in her class.”
Leah’s gut contracted and burned.
“Principal says I’m not black enough for the colored school, so they have to keep me.” Hattie twisted her dusky arm in the warm air. “I’m not white. I’m not black. I’m nothing.”
“Oh! Darling girl!” Leah stopped the baby carriage and scooped Hattie up onto her hip. “You are not nothing. You are something.”
