“You look all grown-up.”
“Where’s Mom?” I asked, already guessing she hadn’t come.
“She’s cooking dinner,” he said.
I raised my eyebrows. “What are we having?”
“You just wait and see. She’s been doing fine these past few months. Mrs. Harbinger came out to see her and got her involved in the church circle, and she’s almost like her old self again.”
It was disconcerting in a way, that Mom had gotten better only after I left. I wanted her to be better, but it reinforced the feeling I’d always had that I was somehow the cause of her sickness.
“Well, I’m going on and on,” Daddy said, and I realized I hadn’t been following the conversation. “How are you? How was your first semester away from home?”
“I made some friends. And school is great, but hard work. Our choir took a trip to Minneapolis. I’ve never seen such a big city!”
Daddy took my suitcase and led me to the dark blue Pontiac he’d just bought. I put my arm through his as we breathed out cold wisps of air.
“No snow?” I said. “We have lots of it up in Northfield.”
“Forecast is for snow tomorrow. I guess it was waiting for you to come home,” he said.
“Oh, Daddy,” I said, and laughed.
“It’s good to have you home.” He patted my hand. “Christmas is always the hardest.”
“I know.” I wondered if it would ever get any easier. It had been two years since Pete had died.
“No special boy yet?” Daddy asked me on the drive home.
“School is hard, Daddy. I have to study a lot.”
“I’m sure you still see the opposite sex every now and then?”
I fingered the armrest. “No special boy yet.”
“That’s good, because it’s part of the surprise.”
“What surprise?” I wasn’t in the mood for a surprise. I was looking forward to quiet family time.
“There are two, actually.” He cleared his throat. “I’m not supposed to tell, but I think you deserve advance warning. Scotty Bishop called. He’s in town and wants to see you.”
“Scotty Bishop? Why does he want to see me?” I hadn’t heard from him since he’d graduated.
“I don’t know, but there’s a Christmas dance tomorrow night at the Surf. Your mother told him you’d be there.” He looked over at me. “I know she shouldn’t have done that without asking you, but it’s the first thing she’s been really excited about in ages.”
Poor Mom was still trying to marry off her daughter. “That’s okay, Daddy. I’ll go.”
“Really?”
“Sure. Why not?”
“I’m glad you don’t mind. You’re a good egg, kiddo,” Daddy said.
“So what’s the other surprise?”
“The other surprise I couldn’t tell your mother about.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter. “It’s from Günther. I received it a few weeks ago. I made it to the mailbox before your mother. Good thing I did.”
“That’s wonderful!” I removed the letter from the envelope and tried to read in the ribbons of light that flashed across the window, hoping for news of Jens.
Dear Mr. Kindred,
I hope you and your wife and Lorraine are doing well. We were all happy that the war was over, but we were still held prisoner in England. Helmut was sent to France, where his job was to dig out the unexploded bombs left behind by the Luftwaffe, even though it was against the Geneva Convention. That is unfortunately how Helmut met his end.
I was recently released from the prison camp and have made my way back to Hamburg. I’d heard about the bombings but it does not prepare you for the devastation, of seeing whole neighborhoods reduced to rubble. Half of the city is gone. Many people are dead or have left the city. There is very little food and no law or order to speak of. My family survived, but our home was demolished. So now we must rebuild.
Ludwig has it worse than me. His town was bombed and his home is gone. He still searches for his family, not knowing if they escaped the bombing. To not know their fate is far worse than being in a prison camp. I only pray he sees his wife and daughter again.
I know your family suffered an unspeakable loss, too. War disrupts all lives and we must ensure that this perverse absurdity does not destroy mankind again. It is only through peace that we will progress as humans.
The one bright spot in this whole experience was meeting you and your family. Your kindness and generosity reminds me that there is hope for this world. The days spent on your farm were ones that I will cherish till my dying days. We were not treated as prisoners there, but as human beings. Your fields were a respite from the war. I will never forget the taste of your wife’s fresh biscuits. My mouth waters now as I remember them. But I thank you most for being my friend when you could more easily have been my enemy.
Günther
Poor Ludwig. I remembered the photo he’d carried around of his daughter.
There was no mention of Jens. Günther knew how I felt about him. I’d taken his picture with me to college; I’d even slept with it under my pillow a few times.
“It sounds terrible over there,” I told Daddy. “So much suffering.”
“I’ve been sending some care packages to Germany,” Daddy said. “Shoes, socks, sweaters, and candy for the children. Basic things.”
“You’re a good egg yourself, Daddy.” I hugged his arm. “And it makes me realize how lucky we are.”
He turned on the radio to a Christmas tune. Perry Como was singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” The song choked me up and I hugged Daddy’s arm again.
“It’s gonna be a good Christmas this year,” he reassured me.
I smiled but my hand clutched Günther’s letter more tightly. It felt like proof that Jens no longer cared for me. Günther would have mentioned him otherwise.
We drove past the airport that had just opened between Mason City and Clear Lake. “Things are changing. Someday you might fly home instead of taking the bus,” Daddy said.
Things were changing. When I saw Mom, it was as though someone had taken a paintbrush to her hair and painted streaks of gray where the brown used to be. I wondered if it was the new medication Doc Cornelius had given her. I’d only been gone four months. Still, she was more animated than she had been since Pete left for the war. She actually fussed over me and admired my hair. Mom had made bread pudding. She’d remembered it was my favorite. Even though I was eighteen and had been on my own for four months, I reveled in her attention. I let a little hope slip in that maybe we could be a family again.
The next night Daddy dropped me off at the dance. I had second thoughts as I got out of the car. I was doing this for Mom, I reminded myself. I wore a red dress with a black belt and a red bow in my hair. Once inside, I wished I’d called Stella to meet me. The last I’d heard she was working the cosmetics counter at a department store in Mason City, helping to support her family. I didn’t know if she was still dating Lance. We hadn’t kept in touch.
A huge Christmas tree adorned the lobby of the Surf. The mood was festive and I couldn’t help but feel excited. I hadn’t seen Scotty in a year and a half, since he’d left for college. I’d read newspaper articles about him, though. He was a starter on the basketball team, excelling in his studies, and had brought a great deal of pride to his hometown. I was sure he was engaged to some cheerleader by now.
I stood in the lobby, not quite ready to go into the ballroom, and watched the dancers during a slow waltz. Men in uniform dotted the ballroom floor like sprinkles on a Christmas cookie. They came home slowly, individually, not as a group. Other than family gatherings celebrating their return home, there’d been no formal acknowledgment of the sacrifice they’d made for their country. But at least they were home. For now that was enough, when so many hadn’t made it back.
“Lorraine.”
I turned around. Scotty Bishop stood in front of me, more dashing than I’d remembered. He wore a black
suit with a red bow tie, and I noticed that he’d filled out a bit in the chest.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his brown eyes brightening. I couldn’t hold his gaze. It had been a mistake to come.
“It’s been a long time,” I managed to reply. “I’ve kept up with your basketball career. You’re in the newspaper all the time.”
“Not really a career,” he said, shrugging. “More of a diversion from studies. I’ll be graduating in another year and a half with a degree in business.”
Even with all the attention he received, Scotty had somehow managed to maintain a humble attitude.
“Well, you’ve certainly made your hometown proud,” I told him.
He exchanged nods with a man who limped past us in uniform. “Not as proud as guys like that.”
Scotty was just as I remembered him, but even more appealing.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked me.
Maybe it was being back at the Surf. Maybe it was all the Christmas finery, the sheen of light that bounced off the frozen lake outside the window. But at that moment, taking Scotty’s arm felt right.
“I’d love to,” I said, and he guided me to the crowded dance floor. A waltz was playing and Scotty held me close. I felt comfortable in his arms. I recalled how stiff we’d been with each other when we were in high school. The awkwardness was gone now, replaced by a mature confidence.
“You’ve been practicing,” I kidded him.
“I’m not tripping over myself now,” he said. “I’ve been working on it when I can find a partner.”
“Any girl would be happy to practice with you,” I said, remembering how every girl in high school had had a crush on him. I doubted that had changed in college.
His eyes held mine. “Not every girl.”
I looked away.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you this for a while,” he said after a silence. “And if it’s too personal, I understand. But that night at the Surf when we double-dated with Lance and Stella, well … that saxophonist worked on your farm, didn’t he?”
I nodded, not meeting his eyes. “He was from the POW camp.”
“I could see the attention you gave him that night. You couldn’t take your eyes off him. Is he the reason you broke up with me?”
I finally looked at Scotty. He deserved the truth, and he deserved to have me look him in the eye when I told him. “Yes,” I admitted softly. “At least partly.”
He nodded. “I had a feeling. What happened to him?”
“He was sent to England two years ago. I never heard from him again.”
Scotty continued to waltz me around the floor. The song was a sad one that made me think of all that had transpired these last two years.
“You know,” Scotty said. “My coach has a saying about teams we’ve lost to before. How the past is water under the bridge and every game is a chance to start fresh again.”
I tilted my face up at him. “What do you mean?”
“Not to brag, but I’ve had plenty of dates in college. But I never forgot about you, Lorraine. I know you had a tough time with your brother’s death and your mom being sick and all. I don’t blame you for breaking up with me. What I’m saying is that I was kind of hoping we could start fresh. Of course, that’s presuming you’re not seeing anyone else right now?”
“I’m not dating anyone,” I said. “But I’m studying at St. Olaf College in Minnesota. And you’re still a student at the University of Iowa. There’s a lot of distance between us.”
“I didn’t say it’d be easy,” he said, twirling me around. “But if a clodhopper like me can master this dance, then I think we should give it another chance.”
I thought of Günther’s letter, of how he’d talked of rebuilding. I hadn’t entirely given up hope of seeing Jens again, but I realized that he was probably in Germany rebuilding his life. It was time to rebuild my life, too. After all, Jens hadn’t written in two years. Maybe it was time to let go of childhood dreams and face reality.
It was definitely time to stop sleeping with his picture under my pillow.
The music changed to an upbeat tune, and Scotty held out his hand to me. “What do you say, Lorraine?”
I took his hand and smiled at him. “I’d like that.”
Thirty-two
2007
I direct Daisy to Mom and Daddy’s spot in the Clear Lake cemetery. Although Daisy has been here numerous times with me, she still has trouble finding the headstone, parallel to the Abraham Lincoln statue and facing an overgrown pine tree. Next to the stone is a marker for Pete, noting his division and where he died in service, even though his remains are still buried in Europe.
Sid is buried on the other side of the cemetery, in the newer section. His headstone also contains my name and date of birth, with a hyphen awaiting my death.
“Why the sudden interest in visiting the cemetery today?” Daisy asks as she gets out of the car, carrying the pot of red geraniums I’d bought.
“I won’t always be around to help you find your grandparents’ tombstone. It would be nice if you could locate it on your own.”
She follows me over the uneven ground to the granite stones. We place the geraniums in front of my parents’, and the single white lily I’m carrying in front of Pete’s. A spray of orange and purple rosebuds sits on the floor in the backseat of Daisy’s car, waiting to be placed in front of Sid’s grave.
Daisy stands back, fanning herself in the hot sun. “I could find it if I had to. But you realize, it’s not going to be a hobby of mine to visit. I don’t especially like hanging around dead people. I’ve only been to Daddy’s gravesite once since the funeral.”
“I think it’s very peaceful here.”
She adjusts her wide-framed sunglasses on her face. “Sorry if I don’t share your fascination. Why bother with real flowers? They’ll wilt in the sun. You should have gotten artificial ones.”
“They have no scent,” I object.
“And who’s going to be smelling them? The guy who mows the grass?”
“I know it seems silly, but it’s important to me. When most of the people you know are in a cemetery, you might care about things like that, too.”
“Don’t count on it.”
My attention is drawn to an old, faded tombstone that looks to be made of limestone. I’ve never noticed it before. The stone is pressed flat against the ground, neglected, overgrown with grass and dirt, the name illegible. I fight back the urge to go clean it up. Daisy doesn’t have all day to spend here; she’s already mentioned twice that she has a meeting tonight to prepare for.
I gaze off toward the other side where Sid’s tombstone waits. Will that be our fate, too? Abandonment? Or pity?
“I remember Grandpa Kindred,” Daisy says as she kneels and traces his name with her finger. “He could always make me laugh.”
“He doted on you,” I say, kneeling next to her. I remember how happy he’d been at her birth. “When you were born he appeared at the door of my hospital room with a huge bouquet of daisies. We hadn’t decided on your name yet, and, well, you’ve heard this story a million times, I know.”
“Yes, I have. But it’s a good one, as stories go.”
“When was the last time you laughed?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said that Grandpa Kindred used to make you laugh. Harry mentioned that you don’t laugh much anymore.”
“He said that? Are you two plotting behind my back?”
“No, of course not. He’s just worried about you. And you sound like my mom when you talk like that.”
Daisy reads the dates on the tombstone. “She died before I was born.… Wait! It’s the anniversary of her death. Why didn’t you mention that was the reason you wanted to come here today?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because we didn’t always get along well.”
“But you said she had some mental health issues? Which you tried to tack on me?”
“That’s not what happened, Daisy. I
only mentioned it because you sometimes seem”—I resist using the term wound up tight—“stressed, as you call it. My mom was like that. I felt as though she was always on the verge of a nervous breakdown. And when she lost her only son in the war, she fell apart.”
“But she still had you and Grandpa.”
“Pete was her favorite. She couldn’t stand losing him. And we weren’t enough, I guess. The doctor wanted to use electroshock therapy on her, but Daddy wouldn’t let him.”
Daisy recoils. “How awful!”
“That was standard practice back then.”
A light, refreshing breeze washes over us, and I let out a deep sigh. It’s quiet except for the trill of the birds. We’re the only ones in the cemetery.
“I haven’t laughed in a long time,” Daisy confesses as she fingers the grass, and I can see creases in her forehead. “Harry laughs all the time. He laughs at silly things, like the cat when she’s chasing the ball. How can he laugh after seeing such horrible accidents as a fireman?”
“Laughter is a coping skill. It helps alleviate the pain.”
“Did your mother laugh?” She has a worried look on her face, as if she might be a candidate for shock treatment simply because of genetics.
I shake my head. “No. But she was more fragile than you,” I reassure her. “She never recovered after Pete’s death. And I always felt responsible for making her happy. It took me years to realize that you can’t make someone else happy. You can’t give what you don’t have.”
Daisy flips her glasses up for a moment to look in my eyes. “You were unhappy?”
“I was then. I’ve since learned that it didn’t matter how much I sacrificed, I’d never be able to make up for Pete’s death. But I always wished we’d had a better relationship, and that’s why I come every year on the anniversary of her death. I guess I’m still searching for some sort of reconciliation.”
Daisy helps me up and takes my arm. “Let’s go visit Dad’s grave and then have lunch. I’m even going to let you pick this time.” She pauses and adds, “as long as it isn’t fast food.”
Thirty-three
1946
Scotty wooed me all during Christmas break. We went to the Surf almost every night, dancing until we nearly dropped from exhaustion. Mom adored Scotty, and Daddy was impressed when he brought him a bag of fresh walnuts, which were still being rationed.
Stars Over Clear Lake Page 17
