by Dean Hughes
Alex smiled.
“I was raised on a farm with five sisters and three brothers. I grew up with no more than two worn-out dresses at any time. Your grandpa took me out of all that, and I don’t want anyone in our family ever to know that kind of poverty again. It’s time now that you think about building something for the future of your own family.”
Alex didn’t know what to say to that. He had never thought of building an estate—or of raising his family to a higher status.
“Grandma, I don’t see anything in the scriptures that says I ought to give my life to making money.”
Alex saw his grandma’s eyes widen, her jaw stiffen. “Now wait just a minute,” she said. “Your grandfather was bishop for twenty-six years. And look what your father has done. These are noble, hard-working men. And don’t forget, you’re the one who’s benefited. How would you like to live without a refrigerator in your house, or a washing machine and electric range? Or what about that car I see you driving now?”
“Grandma, I grew up with an icebox and a coal stove, and Mom washed by hand until just a few years ago.”
“Yes, and my question still stands. Would you want your own family to live without all the modern conveniences you have?”
Alex smiled. “All right, Grandma. I won’t pay any attention to the scriptures. I’ll just listen to you.”
She gave him a tender little sock in the jaw with a doubled-up fist. “You little devil. You watch your tongue,” she said. “You’re just lucky I love you so much.”
When Dad and Grandpa returned, Alex could see that the deal had been struck. As soon as Grandma and Grandpa walked away, Dad said, “He wrote a check. We’re ready to get this thing going.”
“Okay. But Dad, don’t forget what we talked about. I want to get back to college as soon as I can.”
“Son, this is an opportunity of a lifetime. You won’t need college.”
“I told you before—I’ll get the operation going, but I’m not in for the long haul.”
“We can talk about that later, Son, but for right now, I need your commitment. More and more, the automotive companies are building tanks and airplanes, not cars. Before long, I may not be able to get any cars. This parts business might be the only thing that puts food on the table for our family.”
“That’s fine. I told you I’d help you through the transition. But I haven’t changed my mind about what I want to do.”
“I understand that,” Dad said, but he was smiling as though he were quite confident Alex would change his mind.
Alex smiled too. But he could see that he was on a collision course with his father.
Chapter 21
Spring came slowly in 1940. The weather warmed for a few days at a time, but storms, even snow, continued to return. The mountains were still white, down to the foothills, in early April.
Many of the talks at General Conference were about the unstable conditions in the world. President Heber J. Grant had traveled to California earlier in the year and while there had had a stroke and was partly paralyzed. He was convalescing and hadn’t been able to return in time for conference, but he sent a message to be read. Millions of people didn’t know what the Saints believed, he said, and the gospel had to be taken to all the world. The task was great, but it had to be carried out, even though conditions in the world made it difficult.
The Thomases listened to conference, and after each session, President Thomas waited for the news on KSL. Hitler was massing troops on the Western front, and a major invasion of France or Belgium seemed near. But that week, on April 9, German forces attacked Denmark and Norway, countries that had remained neutral. Denmark fell without a fight. Norway offered what resistance it could, with some British help, but Germany had its victory before the month was over. Hitler claimed he had had to take possession of Danish and Norwegian ports to protect himself from British ships that could lie in wait for his navy in the North Sea.
“Hitler turns everything around,” Dad told his family at the dinner table. “It’s the British freighters that have to watch out for Hitler’s U-boats in the North Sea. They’re getting sunk all the time.”
Alex hated all these reports. He wanted the war to end quickly. He was also anxious to get the new business rolling so he could step away from it by fall. But so far, the wheels had turned slowly. Henry Rosen hadn’t picked up a single contract, even though he had already spent a lot of money re-tooling the machine shop.
Alex had continued to send letters to Anna and to other members in Frankfurt, hoping to hear something from someone. But he still got no answers. Somehow he had to make sure Anna knew he was waiting for her. At one point he even hatched a plan to get into Germany as a war correspondent. He made some overtures to an editor at the Tribune, but the local papers didn’t have the finances to sponsor a correspondent, nor could Alex pay his own way, and besides, the red tape turned out to be monumental. So that idea was hopeless, but somehow he was going to find a way to reach her.
***
Early in May, on a Friday night, Bobbi and Phil went dancing with a group of friends. The “gang”—mostly Phil’s friends—parked their cars downtown, and then they all rode together on the open-air trolley to Saltair, on the shores of the Great Salt Lake. Woody Herman’s “Thundering Herd” band was making a guest appearance, and even though the dance floor was huge, by the time the group arrived, the place was packed. It was a cool evening, but lovely, and Phil was always at his best when he was dancing. He knew how to lead, to use a gentle sort of firmness to move Bobbi exactly as he chose.
Bobbi danced with some of the other boys in the group during the night. She especially liked to change partners when a fast number came along. At one point, rather late in the evening, the band began to play “Blowing Up a Storm.” “Whew!” Phil said, “It’s getting hot in here. Let’s walk outside for a minute.” Bobbi knew, as much as anything, that Phil
didn’t want to do the jitterbug.
So Phil walked her outside to the dock, and for a time they leaned on the rail and watched the reflection of the moon on the waves. After a time, Phil looked at Bobbi. “Turn this way,” he said. “I want to see your face in the moonlight.”
“No thanks,” Bobbi told him. “That only makes my freckles stand out.”
“Hey,” Phil said, “don’t talk that way. I love your freckles. Not to mention your silly little nose—and that dent you get in your forehead when you’re mad at me.”
“So what am I supposed to say? I love that big mole on your shoulder?”
Bobbi glanced to see Phil roll his eyes, and she knew she had pulled the rug out from under the little scene he had tried to create. But the whole thing was so annoying. He didn’t love any little “dent” in her forehead. He hated more than anything to have her mad at him.
Phil tried again. “Honey, I think you’re perfect. I hope you know that. I just hope I’m passable in your eyes.”
Suddenly Bobbi was frightened. She felt in that instant she had finally made up her mind. On Christmas day, when Alex had talked about Anna, Bobbi had told herself she couldn’t marry Phil. But time and again she had given way to the inertia of the situation. The break seemed impossible, and she had always talked herself into Mom and Dad’s point of view: Phil was such a “good catch.”
Bobbi still saw David fairly often, and she found herself flirting a little at times just because she longed to have his interest. But that seemed to bother him, and he was having nothing of it. He had become cordial at best, and even a little resentful. But David had nothing to do with Bobbi’s decision now. This was about Phil. It was one thing to work out differences with a partner; it was something else to be annoyed—really put off—so very often.
Bobbi bowed her head and pretended to be looking at the water, but she shut her eyes and said, “Lord, I can’t marry him. Please help me tell him.” What she felt was a flood of relief. This was the right thing to do.
“Should we catch the train back before the whole crowd is t
rying to get out of here?” she asked, and she managed to sound at ease. The moonlight was rippling in the gentle waves, and she tried to let the quiet, the calm, get inside her.
“No, let’s not go yet.”
“But I have something I want to talk to you about.”
“Wedding arrangements, I hope. We need to settle on a few things. Invitations, for one thing. My mother is in a big fuss about that.”
Bobbi was amazed. Surely Phil, if he knew her at all, should have sensed something other than wedding plans in her voice. “Would it be all right if we leave soon?” she said.
“Okay. I don’t mind. Let’s have one last dance, and I’ll try to spot someone from our group—just to let them know we’re bailing out early.”
And so they danced one last time, and Phil held her close. The band was playing “All of Me,” and Phil sang it in her ear. “All of me. Why not take all of me? Can’t you see, I’m no good without you?”
The irony wasn’t lost on Bobbi, and now she was getting nervous. She wondered whether Phil could feel her shakiness. But he spotted one of his friends, Gerald Rich, and told him, “We’re heading back—after this dance.”
“How come?” Gerald asked, and his date, a girl named Margaret, said, “Stick around. The night is young.”
“I think Bobbi wants to get me alone,” Phil joked, and he took Bobbi under his arm and gave her a little squeeze.
Bobbi knew that somehow she had to change the mood so this wouldn’t be like a bomb dropping out of nowhere. She said very little as she and Phil rode the train back into town, even though Phil kept trying to make small talk. By the time they had reached the car, Phil was asking, “Bobbi, is something wrong?”
“Well, yes,” Bobbi said. “I told you I have something I need to talk to you about.”
“Okay. Fine.” But he didn’t seem all that concerned. And that was maddening to Bobbi. It gave her strength.
Bobbi waited for Phil to start the car, but she hadn’t planned what she would say, and she hardly knew where to start. Finally, she said, “Phil, I don’t know how to do this. There’s no good way. I’m just going to say it straight out.”
“Honey, what’s the matter?”
“Phil, I can’t marry you. I don’t love you. Not enough. And you don’t love me enough either.” She struggled with her ring, partly because it was tight, and partly because she was shaking, but she got it off. “So I’m going to give you back your ring. And the only thing I know to say is that I’m very, very sorry.” She was crying by now, somewhat to her own surprise.
“Honey, wait,” Phil was saying. “I must have done something to upset you. Let’s talk this out.”
He drove to the side of the street and parked under a lamppost, where the light showed his face clearly. He carefully moved the gearshift into neutral and set the hand brake, and then he turned toward her. She could see this was a “situation” for him—one he had to manage and get past. But he didn’t really believe what she had told him.
“Phil, there is nothing to talk about. I’ve wrestled and
wrestled with this. I always thought you were a wonderful choice for a husband, and I thought I would feel more love in time. But I don’t. I feel awful telling you that, but it’s true, and I don’t know what else to say.” She found that her voice was steadying as she prepared herself to resist whatever approach he was about to take.
“Bobbi, we’ve always had our ups and downs, and I think that’s only natural. But don’t make a decision quickly and throw away everything we’ve been building.”
“I haven’t made it quickly. I’ve made it much, much too slowly. In fairness to you, I should never have taken this ring.” She held it out to him again, but he didn’t take it.
“Now wait. Let’s take some time, and you can tell me the things that are troubling you. I’m sure we can solve any problems we might have.”
“Phil, you aren’t listening. I don’t feel enough for you. I don’t know why. I should; I know that. I even wish I did, but I can’t get married to someone I don’t love. That wouldn’t be fair to either one of us.”
“But isn’t it possible you’ve let your emotions get carried away, and you’re seeing the situation too negatively?”
“Phil, this is all about emotions. Love is an emotion. It’s not logical. I think the world of you, but I don’t love you. And you act at love, as though you’ve learned a script. But I don’t really feel it from you.”
Phil let the idea run through his mind. He was silent for a long time. “Could we give this a week and see whether this isn’t just—”
“No, Phil. I can’t go through any more of this.”
“Have you prayed about your decision?”
Suddenly Bobbi was angry. “Phil, don’t start that.”
“Don’t start what?”
“Yes, I’ve prayed. And I have never received the peace I’ve wanted—until now.” She grabbed Phil’s hand and pushed the ring against his palm. He finally took it. “Please take me home.”
“Is there someone else?”
Suddenly Bobbi felt caught. All the confidence was gone from her voice when she said, “No. Not exactly.”
“It’s Stinson, isn’t it?”
“What?”
“People have told me, Bobbi. I just didn’t believe them.”
“There’s nothing serious between us, Phil. And that has nothing to do with the way I feel about you.”
Phil turned forward, jammed the car into gear, snapped the clutch, and took off much faster than usual. For maybe two minutes he was silent, but after the initial acceleration, he evened out his speed. Finally he said, in very measured words, “Bobbi, I’ve given my all to this relationship. Every time you asked me to change, I tried to do it. And I compromised about the wedding date, over and over. I think love is something that takes some effort. And I don’t think you’ve given much of that.”
Phil had a point, and Bobbi knew it. He had tried hard. But something in his self-righteous tone was almost more than she could stand. “You’ve always been very good to me, Phil. There’s no question about that. But I’ve tried harder than you might think. What I want is to feel love—not to labor at it.”
“Bobbi, that sounds like something out of one of those novels you read. Majoring in English has filled your head with a lot of ideas that will ruin your life. I still think Stinson is the main one behind this.”
“Please continue,” Bobbi said. “Because if you continue, I’ll get angry, and anger is so much easier to deal with than the pain I feel about this whole thing.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.
“Well, fine. Get angry if you like. But I’ll tell you, I’m angry too. You’ve strung me along for all these months, and now you’ve humiliated me. That’s not easy to take.”
Bobbi didn’t answer. But she was relieved. Her decision was so clearly right.
“The whole time I’ve been going with you, you’ve been telling me what’s wrong with me: what I should and shouldn’t say, what attitudes you didn’t like. But I haven’t said a word about your faults. You’re not affectionate, Bobbi, and you think you’re smarter than I am. I’m tired of all that.”
This was actually rather refreshing to Bobbi. It was nice to hear what he really thought. “Well,” Bobbi said, “at least we both know I’ve done the right thing to break this off.”
But Phil paid no attention. “Bobbi,” he said, “there are lots of girls at the U who have envied you. Beautiful girls. I’m not going to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I’ll probably have a date tomorrow night.”
“I don’t doubt it, Phil. I’m sure you’ll do just fine for yourself.” Plenty of sarcasm was clinging to her voice, but then she added sincerely, “I’m the one who will have a harder time finding someone. That’s very clear to me. And Phil, I do hope you find someone who will make you happy.”
Phil let some time go by, and he sounded honest when he said, “Look, I didn’t mean that. I don’t ev
en know what I’m saying. I’m having a hard time with this.”
And that helped. Bobbi did like Phil, and she did feel bad about the pain she had caused him. When he stopped the car in front of her house, Bobbi said, “I really am sorry, Phil. I know I’m the one who let this continue when I shouldn’t have. I really do hope things work out for you and you get everything you want out of life.” She touched his arm and said, “Good-bye.” Then she got out of the car and hurried to the house.
When she reached the door and glanced back, he was sitting with his head against the steering wheel. She wondered whether he really was that distraught, or whether it was a little act to make her feel guilty. What she did know was that the public embarrassment would be the hardest part of all this for him.
In any case, she did feel guilty. And she also felt angry and sorry and happy and scared and lonely and right and wrong—and a host of other things. The only thing she was absolutely certain of was that she didn’t want to talk to her parents tonight. And so she hurried upstairs without letting them know she had come in, and she went to bed.
But early in the morning she heard the phone ring: a long burst and a short one, the Thomas ring on the party line. She wasn’t sure what time it was, but her room was still dark, and it was a Saturday morning. Sometimes Dad got calls at odd hours of the day, but Bobbi was pretty sure she knew what this call was about. She didn’t have to wait long before she heard steps on the stairs, and then she heard a little rap on the door. “Yes?” she said, already relieved by the lightness of the knock. That could only be her mother.
The door came open. “Bobbi, may I talk to you?”
“Sure. Did Sister Clark call?”
“Yes.” Mom came to the bed and sat down. “Well, I’m not entirely surprised, of course. But I must admit, I’m disappointed.”
Bobbi was disheartened by the tone of tragedy in her mother’s voice. “I should have done it a long time ago,” she said. “That was my big mistake.”
