Anyway, I got off the train at the New York Port of Embarkation and onto a huge ocean liner, painted a cheerless gray. It was something being out in the middle of the ocean, knowing that here, there, or anywhere could be submarines with entirely unfriendly intentions. I spent plenty of hours with my nose in my Service Bible!
We docked at a port that’s about a day’s train travel from where I am now. We were given a lunch for the train ride, and in it was a pie. Well, I saved it for dessert, of course. Turned out to be meat pie, all cold and doughy—not the flaky apple and cinnamon concoction I was so looking forward to. I ate the thing for the sake of the person who so kindly made it, but it didn’t go down easy. I guess the English are real bad cooks. One guy said the way they served cabbage was to cook it a long time in too much water with not enough salt, serve it lukewarm in too much water, and if you’re lucky a caterpillar would be thrown in.
I share a barracks room with three other guys in my squad. It’s about fourteen feet square, and it’s stuffed full of equipment and clothes. We have one window that we black out every night when the sun starts setting. I’m the one up first every day to take down that grim reminder of what might happen to us during the night, and on mornings when the mist isn’t too heavy, there are the spring buds to greet me. Hitler can’t stop everything.
There are four bunks, two straight chairs, a fireplace, and a rickety old table that serves as a desk. On the walls are maps, greeting cards from home, and the usual assortment of cheesecake: Rita and Rosalind and Greer and Hedy and Betty and Marlene. But the most beautiful girl featured is y-o-u. One of my roommates, Ted Fletcher, spends an inordinate amount of time standing before you. “Those her real eyelashes?” he once asked, and I told him everything about you was real. Good thing he talks about his wife so much or I’d start to get jealous.
Our training is going well—sometimes it seems as though we’re really in combat. I may be using my antitank gun against mock tanks, but the explosives they plant in the field to get us used to shell fire are real enough. I know exactly when to give the “commence firing” command, and I’ve become a whiz at digging foxholes—so in case I don’t stop a tank it can’t roll over me. Sometimes when I dig, I find a piece of bone from the grave of some Roman soldier—I’m training on ground that’s been fought on for over 1,900 years. It makes you think, Louise, about the nature of man and the inevitability of war. It makes you wonder. I lie on my bunk on these dark nights and think about all the men who battled on this ground and who kept their own silent counsel during other dark nights so very long ago. I wonder if they lay there thinking about the women they loved. If they thought of their families and the life they lived before they came to fight. If they prayed or wept or cried out. I hope that they believed in what they were doing, that the cost was worth the price they paid.
But listen, hon, I don’t want you to worry about me. Nothing’s going to hurt me. I’m as well trained as I could possibly be, and I’m in the best shape of my life. On days we don’t practice battles, we go on twenty-five-to thirty-mile hikes through the countryside with sixty-pound packs on our backs. Little kids come out to beg from us, and we give them pennies and gum; they just love that gum.
I’ve seen some beautiful architecture in London. I’ve been to some pubs to play darts and argue with these blokes about who’s got the better country, but a lot of times I don’t go into town on leave—I’d rather stay here and read, or write to you. I want to save seeing London so that I can do it with you, in better times.
If I’m honest, I must admit I’m frightened of the real action to come—and I think it will be coming soon—but I’m also eager to get going. The sooner we fight, the sooner we’ll win, and with the U.S. now in this war, it will be won. And then I can come home to you. What a sweet word “home” is; it has always been a sweet word to me, but never more so than now.
Take care of yourself, darling, and remember every day how very much I love you. It’s for you that I do everything; I can’t wait to be with you and start our married life. Sometimes I think of my coming through the door into the house where we live with our little ones, and it’s all I can do not to cry. We will be so happy together, Louise. We were truly meant for each other. Here’s a kiss to your mouth, and one behind your ear, and one everywhere else on your beautiful face, and Well. I’d better stop here. I’d better go and take a walk, despite the rain. Gosh, it rains a lot here. I’ll write more as soon as I can.
All my love,
Michael
P.S. Say, sweetheart, if you get a chance, go and see my mother, will you? She’s not been well and could use the company. Assure her that I’m fine now and will continue to be—Dad says she’s got an eye permanently trained on the front walk, fearful of the telegram. If anyone can take her mind off things, you can.
Kitty swallowed. Folded the pages tenderly. Put them back into the envelope. Used the toilet, as long as she was there. Washed her hands and looked at herself in the mirror. She was a black-haired girl who didn’t know anything. A girl who’d betrayed her sister, never mind that spiderweb she’d promised God to clean away tomorrow. How could God have any time to listen to her now? Prayers must be shooting up to Him as fast and furious as a Fourth of July fireworks finale, times a million. Times a billion. More.
She had a different idea for penance. Monday, during her lunch hour, she’d run over to Field’s and put a Montgomery beret on layaway for Louise—her sister loved those hats and she’d look fine in it. Well, all the sisters would. But Louise would wear it first, and Kitty would take her picture in it, and Louise could send the picture to Michael. As for now, she’d put the letter back in the drawer, then wake up Louise and give her the ring. She’d bring her back to the bathroom for a private ceremony.
KITTY CREPT INTO THE BEDROOM and successfully replaced the letter. She breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, then pulled open her own drawer. She put the ring box in her pocket, tiptoed across the room, and stood next to her sleeping sister. “Hey?” she whispered. “Louise?” She tapped her on the shoulder and Louise started, then cried out.
“Shhhhh!” Kitty motioned for her sister to follow her.
“What do you want?” Louise whispered. “I’m tired! Tell me tomorrow.”
Kitty motioned more emphatically for Louise to come with her.
“Oh, all right!” Louise sat up and pushed her feet into her slippers. She pulled her robe off the chair and put it on, tying it neatly at the side of her waist. Kitty crossed her arms, clamped her teeth together, and waited. No point in trying to rush her. Louise had to get dressed for everything. Even as young girls in the middle of summer, they could never just fly out of the house barefoot and carefree—Louise would need to put on her shoes, and the laces had to be tied evenly. She would have to put bows at the bottoms of her braids. She’d have to step out onto the porch and test the weather to see if she needed a sweater.
Tish was always ready for action—she’d fly out of the house bare naked—but she was the baby. Nobody wanted the baby sister along, but there she always was. Sometimes Kitty and Louise, weary of caring for Tish, were cruel to her. As seven- and five-year-olds, they had taken scissors to Tish’s curls as she lay sleeping, for they believed Tish’s bright blond hair, so different from their own, was being too much admired. The wagon they were pulling her in would “accidentally” overturn. They would tell her they were playing hide-and-go-seek outside, then sneak inside the house to escape her, giggling as they watched Tish standing beneath the towering elm that was home base, calling around the thumb in her mouth, “I give up, now! Come in, now. Alley, alley in fwee!” Why must you treat her so? Ma would ask. She’s your baby sister! And Kitty and Louise would look at each other and struggle to keep from laughing. Exactly. She was a stupid baby.
And now here came that baby sister’s voice, thick with sleep. “What are you guys doing? What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” Kitty said. “Go back to sleep.”
Tish rose up on o
ne elbow, blinked, and then let her head fall heavily back onto her pillow. “Well, stop it, then,” she mumbled.
Kitty led Louise to the bathroom, pulled her in, and locked the door behind them. Louise, her eyes squinting in the bright light, said, “What is it? Do you have cramps?”
“There’s something I need to give you,” Kitty said.
Louise sighed. “Now?”
There was a knock on the door, and here came Tish’s voice. “Hey? What’s going on, you guys? Did something happen?” Her voice rose. “Are we being attacked?”
Kitty yanked the door open a crack. “Shhhhhhhhh! No, we’re not being attacked! Go back to bed.”
Tish pushed the door open and looked at Louise. “What’s going on?”
Louise shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“Go back to bed!” Kitty said, and Tish crossed her arms. No.
Kitty sighed and grabbed Tish’s arm, pulling her into the bathroom. Might as well let her be here, too. There was no pushing around this baby sister anymore.
Again, Kitty locked the door, then turned to face her sisters. “I have something for Louise from Julian. Well, it’s from Michael, but it’s from Julian.”
“What are you talking about?” Louise asked.
Kitty pulled the velvet box out of her pocket, and Louise’s hands flew to her mouth. “No,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Kitty said. “Take it.”
Louise shook her head. “No.”
“For cripes’ sake, take it!” Tish said.
Slowly, Louise reached for the box and opened it. Tish rushed to her side and began to squeal. “You got it! You got it!”
Louise stared in happy disbelief. “It’s so beautiful,” she said, and Kitty felt ashamed, remembering her own reaction to such a small stone.
“Put it on!” Tish said.
“I…” Louise began to laugh. “Gosh, I’m shaking!”
“I’ll put it on you,” Tish said. “Want me to put it on you? I’ll pretend to be Michael. I’ll even kiss you! Through a towel, though.”
“Tish!” Kitty said. “Will you stop? Let her do it!”
Louise nodded, took in a breath, and pulled the ring from the box. She kissed it, then slid it onto her finger, where it fit perfectly. Cinderella, Kitty thought, instinctively clenching her own left hand into a fist. Where did Louise get such small fingers? Why were Kitty’s so large?
Louise turned her hand this way and that, watching the diamond catch the light. Then, holding it out to show her sisters, she burst into tears. And her sisters followed suit. They embraced one another, laughing and crying.
Another knock at door.
The sisters sprang apart, and Kitty opened the door. Tommy looked up at her, his face troubled. “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Who’s crying?”
And now here came their parents marching quickly down the hall, Margaret’s face determined and Frank’s full of confusion.
“Who’s hurt?” Margaret demanded. It was her Red Cross training coming through. In times past, Margaret would have been wringing her hands about a possible injury. Now she was ready to take over and manage the crisis. Kitty all but expected her mother to say, “Go and boil water, lots of it!” The knot in Margaret’s hairnet had slid to the middle of her forehead, and her robe hung open; she tightened it now, distractedly but determinedly. As for their father, he’d apparently risen so quickly he’d forgotten both robe and slippers.
Louise pushed her way out of the bathroom and held up her hand, waving it around excitedly. “Look what I just got!”
Margaret grabbed her daughter’s hand and inspected the ring. “Ah, Louise. That’s grand. ’Tis lovely.” She looked up at her daughter. “But what do you mean, you just got it?”
“Kitty just gave it to me.”
“Why did she give it to you?”
“Julian gave it to me,” Kitty said.
“What the devil are you talking about?” Frank bellowed, and now here came Billy and Binks down the hall, pushing at each other in their haste to get there.
“Let’s go downstairs and celebrate,” Margaret said.
“What are we celebrating?” Billy asked. “Ma? What are we celebrating? Ma!”
But Margaret was already in the kitchen; they heard the banging of pots and pans.
Louise knelt before Binks and embraced him, then stood to hug the other brothers. “I have just gotten a ring. A diamond engagement ring!”
Billy’s forehead crinkled. “But Kitty said it was from Julian. Are you engaged to Julian now? Boy, Michael’s going to be mad!”
“But I like Michael,” Tommy said, alarmed, and Binks began to cry, saying he liked Michael, too.
“For the love of God, will someone tell me what’s going on here?” Frank said.
Kitty clapped her hands. “Listen to me! Everybody! Julian helped Michael get a ring for Louise. It was a secret; it was left for me to pick up at the jeweler’s so I could give it to her. I just now did.”
“Well, what in the world are you doing giving it to her in the middle of the night?” Frank asked.
Kitty sighed loudly. “It was supposed to be private!”
“Sure, a family’s no place for privacy!” Frank said, hiking up his pajama bottoms.
From downstairs came their mother’s voice. “Come down for cocoa and toast, everyone! Spread with real butter, by God!”
“Make me a cup of real coffee, Margaret!” Frank bellowed.
“You’ll be up all night!” she answered.
Frank looked at Louise, tears in his eyes. “And wouldn’t I be anyway? With such grand news arriving?” He took her into his arms. “I’ve been living for the moment to say this: ‘May the saddest day of your future together be no worse than the happiest day of your past.’” Over Louise’s head, his eyes met Kitty’s. She looked away, then back at him. She, too, had thought she’d be first. But maybe her mother was right in saying that even as Billy, the oldest boy, was the least mature of the sons, she was the “youngest” of the daughters.
“Louise?” Billy said.
She stepped away from her father. “Yes?”
“I just wanted to say, ‘As you slide down the banister of life, may the splinters never point in the wrong direction.’” He cleared his throat and reached out to shake her hand. Louise shook it solemnly. And then, as their mother yelled up at all of them that this was the last time she was calling or she’d eat every last bite herself, Louise said to Billy, “Race you downstairs?” He grinned.
“Wait, Louise, I have one!” Binks said. “I have one, too!” And he told her, “A turkey never voted for an early Thanksgiving.”
“Ah,” Louise said. “Well, thank you very much, Binks.”
And then she and Billy raced for the kitchen, Binks and Tommy following close behind.
Frank held out his elbows for Kitty and Tish, and they moved slowly downstairs together. These were the steps that Louise would walk down with her father when she married Michael. Apparently Tish was thinking the same thing, for she began humming the Wedding March. Kitty broke loose to chase after her brothers. “I’ll beat you all!” she cried.
AT THREE A.M., THE SISTERS WERE STILL AWAKE, too excited to sleep. They lay whispering to one another, Louise at the foot of the bed, Kitty and Tish at the head. Tish told Louise, “Now you’ll have to do it, and you’ll see what it feels like.”
Louise laughed. “It’s not a question of have to. I want to!”
“You do?” Tish asked. “You want his thing in you?”
“Of course!”
“Ew,” Kitty said, yawning.
“He’ll be my husband. I love him. Sex is part of love.”
Tish sat up. “See? They just say that to make you feel better. But it really hurts. I know that for a fact.”
“How do you know?” Kitty asked. She sat up; then Louise did, too.
“Because I heard all about it, that’s how.” Tish crossed her legs Indian-style and began picking at a toenail.
�
��Stop that!” Kitty said. “If I find another one of your toenails in this bed, I’m going to show it to every guy you meet at the next dance. I mean it. I’ll carry it around in a little box like a science exhibit. Your creepy old toenail with a sign pinned next to it saying, ‘This came from Tish Heaney.’”
Tish shrugged. “I don’t care. They’ll think it’s cute. They think everything about me is cute.”
“No they don’t,” Kitty said, disgusted.
Louise said, “Hey? How do you know it hurts, Tish?”
“Aw, don’t work yourself into a tizzy, Louise; I’m no chippie. But I know some girls who have done it. Unmarried ones, too.”
“Shame on them,” Louise said, automatically. It was Margaret, speaking out of her mouth. “They’ll live to regret the day.” Margaret again. But it was true! Men didn’t marry girls like that. Why buy the cow when you got the milk free?
Tish shrugged. “It’s different now. A lot of these guys you meet, they might never come home again. You might be the last thing they remember.”
“That’s it,” Louise said. “I’m telling Ma not to let you go to those dances anymore. I saw what goes on! You’re too young to go, anyway; you’re supposed to be eighteen.”
“Oh, those old buffaloes don’t even look at your birth certificate. They don’t care who they let in or keep out; they just want to get their names in the paper for being hostesses.”
“It’s not a good place for you to be, Tish.”
Kitty crossed her arms and set her mouth in agreement.
Dream When You're Feeling Blue Page 6
