Ribbon of Years

by Robin Lee Hatcher

  "How can you bear to be out there?" she called. "It's freezing."

  Standing in the middle of the river, his legs encased in hip waders, Del cast his line before answering. "I'm numb. Can't feel a thing." He grinned.

  Miriam's breath caught in her throat. Love and dread caused a fluttering in her stomach. How would she bear it when he left her again? Already two days of his leave had whisked by. In another five . . .

  "Wahoo!"

  At the excited cry, Miriam focused her gaze and watched as Del reeled in the line, a large trout at the opposite end making a valiant struggle to escape the hook in its mouth.

  "It's fish for supper," her husband shouted.

  If not for the war, how many times might they have spent a day like this? If not for the war . . .

  The dread returned, heavier this time, like a lead weight upon her heart.

  Del scooped the trout into his net, then held it above his head in a gesture of triumph.

  Miriam made herself smile. She didn't want her fear to spoil the moment.

  With careful steps, Del moved through the turbulent water toward the bank, still grinning, eyes sparkling, water glittering on his face and bare arms. "No ration coupon needed for this big fella. I'll clean him if you'll cook him."

  "It's a deal." She stood. "Now we'd better get you home and into something dry before you catch your death." The instant she said it, she wished she hadn't. The words seemed ominous, dangerous.

  "A little cold water never hurt anybody."

  That isn't true. People drown. People catch pneumonia. Sometimes cold water hurts people. Miriam felt strangled by her own panic.

  "Honey?" Del wasn't smiling anymore. He set aside his pole and net before stepping close and gathering her into his arms. "What's wrong?"

  "I don't want you to go back, Del. Not without me. I can't bear it. Can't I go with you? I could live in a town near the camp." Tears filled her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. "We could see each other every day. Mother could manage the store during the summer months at least. She could do it while school's out. Then maybe Dad would come home if I weren't here in his place. Oh, Del, I—" she stopped abruptly, choking on a sob.

  "Shh." He brushed his lips across her forehead. "Don't cry, Miriam. Please."

  She swallowed hard, but it didn't stop the tears.

  "You can't go with me, baby," he whispered.

  "Why not? Why not?"

  He drew a deep breath as he pulled her tight against him, pressing her cheek against his chest. And even before he spoke, she knew what he was going to say.

  "Because I'm shipping out."

  If not for his arms around her, she would have crumpled. "But they . . . but they need you to . . . to train soldiers."

  "They did need me to train. Now they need me to fight."

  "No." She drew her head back, looked up to meet his gaze. "No, I won't let you go."

  His smile was sad, tender. "I don't have any choice. Neither do you."

  Tears blurred her vision, and a lump in her throat made it momentarily impossible to speak.

  "We have to trust God to see us through this."

  "That's what everybody says."

  Del caressed the side of her face. "And do you?"

  "Do I what?"

  "Do you trust God?" His dark gaze searched hers.

  She thought of the hours her mother had spent in prayer since the war began and especially since those closest to her had gone to serve their country.

  Had those prayers been answered?

  Had anybody's prayers been answered?

  "Do you trust Him, Miriam?"

  Her voice filled with anguish and frustration. "I don't know."

  She stepped back, out of his embrace, crossing her arms over her chest as if to ward him off. But Del didn't attempt to draw her close again. He simply stared at her, his eyes sad, his thoughts hidden.

  Miriam felt utterly alone.

  There was so much Del wanted to say to his wife, yet he couldn't find the words. Maybe because this faith in God was new to him. And that seemed strange, too. After all, he'd been raised in the church. He'd spent his life singing hymns of worship and listening to his aunt and uncle praying and reading the Bible. He couldn't recall a time when he hadn't believed that Jesus was the Son of God, but it had been a distant belief, not personal.

  Then something had happened to Del while he was in California, training young recruits to go off to war. He couldn't say what it was for certain. Just seemed one day he woke up and knew that he was different, that his faith was different. Suddenly, he knew that he knew that Jesus was with him. He knew Jesus loved him and had him in mind when He went to the cross. That morning, Jesus had become not only his Savior but his Lord, and Del believed that Jesus would see him through whatever came in the days, weeks, and months ahead.

  He wanted Miriam to know it, too.

  "Let's go home, Del," she said softly, interrupting his thoughts.

  "Honey, I—"

  She raised a hand to stop him. "Let's not talk anymore. Not now."

  "But—"

  "Please, Del."

  Maybe he should have tried harder to say what was in his heart, but time and distance had made strangers of them. Loving, intimate strangers, yes, but strangers all the same. Funny, that he hadn't realized it before.

  Lord, I've forgotten how to talk to her. I'm so used to barking orders, I've forgotten how to just plain talk to my wife about the things that matter most.

  Miriam picked up the fishing pole. "Are you coming?" Her words were clipped, her voice strained.

  "Yeah, I'm coming."

  She took off before he could gather the rest of his gear and the trout he'd caught for their supper. He decided it was better to give her time to adjust to the news. He supposed she had a right to be mad. He should have told her about his orders when he first arrived in River Bluff, but he'd wanted to be with her first, without thoughts of the war intruding. He'd wanted to hold her and kiss her and love her with every fiber of his being.

  What if something happens to me, and I can't take care of her?

  Taking care of Miriam was what Del most wanted to do.

  God, I love her. Let me come back. Let me come back a whole man so I can be the kind of husband she needs.

  Del knew something big was coming in the European theater. Not that he'd been told anything officially, but he'd been in the military long enough to recognize certain signs. The Allies were gathering for a major assault. Even the Germans had to know that much.

  He wondered if Miriam would understand that he was relieved to be going overseas at last, that he needed to do something more than train other men to shoot guns and follow orders, that he needed to feel he was actively protecting the country he loved. But he knew the answer was no—she wouldn't understand.

  Maybe I don't understand it myself.

  It was one of those perfect spring days. The sky was a cloudless, powder blue, the breeze sweet and fresh. The leaves on the trees that lined Church Street were glorious shades of green, from deepest emerald to palest lime. Tulips and daffodils dipped their colorful heads to each and every passerby.

  But Eliza Gresham scarcely noticed the world around her as she walked home. It had been a difficult day for everyone at River Bluff Elementary, for the word had come that eight-year-old Sally Pritchett's brother was dead, killed in action in the Pacific.

  Eliza didn't know the Pritchetts well. The family lived on a farm a good fifteen miles from town, and they didn't attend the same church as the Greshams. Still, she didn't need to know them to understand how much they were suffering.

  Father God, how many more must be lost before this war is over? How long will You allow these atrocities to continue?

  She clutched her pocketbook close to her breast.

  Don't let it be me, Lord. I've no right to ask, but I'm asking anyway. Don't let it be me who gets one of those telegrams.

  As she turned the corner onto Elm, she purposely turned her t
houghts in another direction as well—to her daughter and Del.

  Miriam had closed the drugstore for the past two days so she could spend the time with Del. While Frank might not have approved, Eliza thought it a wise decision. The young couple needed time together. Eliza was certain this leave meant Del's orders had changed, although he hadn't said so to her.

  "Poor Miriam."

  Those two words replayed in her mind and heart as she followed the sidewalk to the front door of her home. But her worries were forgotten the instant she saw the letters in the mailbox—one from Frank and another from Arledge.

  She sank onto the top step of the porch and opened the letter from her husband first.

  Dearest Eliza,

  I didn't receive a letter from you today. I hadn't realized how much I'd been hoping for one until I saw it wasn't there. I'm so hungry for word from home. They say no news is good news, but I'm not convinced that's true.

  The rains continue, and I feel depression settling over me like one of these weeping gray clouds. When I return to Idaho, I swear I won't complain again about the heat of summer or the dry climate.

  Morale at the plant is low. Several men recently lost loved ones—sons and brothers. It gets where I don't want to meet anybody's eyes or become anybody's friend because I'm afraid of what I might have to go through with them. Then I'm ashamed of myself. Hasn't God blessed us? Hasn't He promised to go with us through all the storms of life? He said He would never leave or forsake us. I can take Him at His word. I wonder how anybody makes it through times like this without faith in God. I don't know how I would.

  Mrs. Ingles has loaned me her grandson's bicycle, which has made getting around a lot easier. I can get back and forth between the plant and the boardinghouse much faster now that I don't take the plant bus. Not that it's much fun to ride in the rain. It isn't. But it seems I'm wet all the time anyway, so I guess it doesn't matter.

  I got a letter from Jacob McAllister last week. He didn't say much, except that he loves flying. He made it sound like a great adventure, but I know better. It's war.

  You know what I think about most? You. Lying here in my lumpy bed in this cold, damp attic room in this gray, bleak city, I remember the sunshine on your hair and the way you tip your face upward when you laugh and the lovely sparkle in your eyes. I think of how quick you are to reach out to someone in need, the way you give your heart away to others. Like it was only yesterday, I remember the day you told me you were expecting Miriam. Of course, we didn't know it was Miriam. We just knew it was the baby we both wanted.

  I love you, Eliza. Tell Miriam I send her my love as well. I miss you both.

  Always,

  Frank

  "I remember, too, darling," Eliza whispered as she carefully refolded the letter, at the same time blinking back tears. "I remember everything. I miss you so much." She kissed the envelope. Silly, perhaps, but she hoped Frank would feel it across the miles.

  She closed her eyes for a moment and said a quick prayer for her husband. Then she lifted the second envelope and broke the seal.

  Dear Mom,

  I hope this letter finds you and Miriam well. It's been awhile since I've had a chance to write, and our mail hasn't been coming through very regular either, so I've got no idea what's happening at home.

  I spent a few days last month in a military hospital. Nothing serious, so no cause for alarm. Seems this climate where we've been doesn't suit me much. I'm back with my unit now, and it looks like we'll be sent to a different front real soon. Can't tell you where, even if the censors would let me, which they won't. Guess it's going to be a surprise to us all.

  I know you worry lots about me, but I got to tell you that I'm getting used to Uncle Sam's Army. Maybe when this war's over, I'll finish my education and then make this my career. If I could be an officer, it wouldn't be half bad.

  Time for chow. I'll write again soon as I can.

  Your loving son,

  Arledge

  When Miriam saw her mother sitting on the front step, staring at a piece of paper in her hands, she immediately thought the worst. Heart in her throat, she ran the rest of the way to her.

  "Mother?"

  Eliza looked up. "We've got letters from your dad and Arledge." She waved the paper in the air.

  Miriam came to a halt. "Everything's okay?"

  "Yes." Her mother smiled. "They're both fine."

  Miriam sighed. "Thank goodness."

  "Thank God," Eliza replied. Then, looking beyond Miriam, she asked, "Where's Del?"

  "He's coming. At least I think he is. I left him at the river."

  Her mother gave her a piercing look. "Something wrong?"

  Even as Miriam shook her head, she said, "We had a fight."

  "Want to tell me about it?"

  This time she shook her head and meant it. She wouldn't dream of telling her mother that she wasn't sure she trusted God. Eliza Gresham would be crushed by such a confession coming from her daughter.

  But why should Miriam trust the Almighty? Too many people were dead. Too many were suffering. Too many horrible things were happening in the world. How could anyone believe God loved them, that He cared what they were doing?

  What if there isn't a God at all?

  Her heart thudded.

  "Miriam, dear . . . " Eliza laid a hand on her daughter's arm. "Pray about it."

  For a moment, she wondered if her mother had read her mind.

  "Don't let the sun go down on your anger," Eliza continued. "Obeying that simple principle will keep your marriage strong. No matter what's happened during the day, ask forgiveness and forgive him. Then you can go to sleep in peace."

  "Peace." Miriam sank onto the step beside her mother. "Do you think we'll ever have peace again? Real peace, I mean."

  "Of course."

  Miriam stared at her hands, folded in her lap. "Del's being sent overseas."

  "Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry." Her mother draped an arm around Miriam's shoulders. "Europe or the Pacific?"

  She tried to recall, then had to confess, "I don't know. I didn't let him tell me."

  Eliza gave her a squeeze.

  "I know it isn't his fault, Mother. He has to go where the army sends him. I just feel so . . . so helpless."

  "It's hard to be separated from the one you love. Especially when you're young and newly married." Eliza's gaze lowered to the letters in her lap. With a sigh, she added, "Time passes slowly when all you live for is someone's return. Sometimes I feel sorry for myself. The house is empty without your father in it, and the bed seems so big and cold at night. I don't like sleeping alone. I hate being the one left behind. And then I remember what the men are going through, all that they're sacrificing, and I'm ashamed of my selfishness. I'm ashamed of my lack of faith."

  "That doesn't sound like you."

  Softly, Eliza replied, "There are secrets in every woman's heart, my dear. Even your mother's."

  CHAPTER NINE

  MIRIAM LAY IN THE BED BESIDE DEL, WATCHING AS EARLY MORNING sunlight chased shadows of night across the ceiling.

  Two days. Only two days of his leave left.

  Del groaned softly in his sleep. Miriam turned her head on the pillow so she could look at him.

  I don't want him to go.

  She adored his disheveled appearance, his hair turned every which way, his jaw darkened by stubble. She loved the way he'd held her last night, the way he'd whispered sweet words in her ear, the tenderness in his strong hands, and the passion of his kisses.

  Her mother's words of three days ago echoed in her memory: "The house is empty without your father in it, and the bed seems so big and cold at night. I don't like sleeping alone."

  Miriam knew exactly what her mother meant. She didn't like sleeping alone either. She wanted to wake up beside Del every morning. It seemed unfair that she couldn't.

  "There are secrets in every woman's heart, my dear."

  Secrets. Feelings too deep. Memories too precious. She felt a special kinship
with her mother, no longer simply as parent and child but as part of a sisterhood of women—women who were left behind to worry and wonder.

  Del's eyelids fluttered open, and he met Miriam's gaze with a sleepy one of his own. Then he gave her a slow smile. "Morning," he said, his voice deep and husky. He reached for her and drew her close against his side. "Sleep good?"

  "Mmm."

  "Me, too."

  She kissed his shoulder before laying her head against it.

  "Penny for your thoughts."

  "Nothing in particular," she whispered.

  "And everything in general?"

  She smiled. "I suppose."

  Morning light continued to invade the bedroom, sliding down the wall opposite the window, gilding the purple-flowered wallpaper.

  "Miriam, I think we need to discuss some things. Monday will be here before we—"

  "I don't want to talk about your leaving."

  He shifted, drawing slightly away before rolling onto his side. "We can't pretend it isn't coming."

  "I want to pretend." She squeezed her eyes closed. "Pretending suits me just fine."

  "Miriam . . ."

  "Please, Del."

  "No, honey. That worked a few days ago. But we can't ignore the inevitable forever."

  She opened her eyes again, fighting tears. "Why not?"

  "Because we both know there's a chance I might not come back."

  "Don't say such a thing. It's bad luck."

  His smile was full of patience. "I don't believe in luck. I believe in God."

  "So do I, but—"

  He placed his index finger over her lips. "Hear me out."

  She didn't want to, but neither could she deny him his request. Not when he would soon go away. Not when she knew he might never return, that she might lose him forever, just as he'd said.

  "It's not hard to believe in God, Miriam. Most people only have to look at nature and all He's created to believe there's a God. Most Americans go to church and believe Jesus lived, once upon a time. But they don't know Him. They don't grasp the reality that He died for them, then rose from the dead and is still alive. He wants to walk with each and every one of us all the days of our lives. He wants to love us with an everlasting love."