by Dean Hughes
“I don’t care about anything like that. I would simply go to Ilene—tonight—and tell her I’m sorry but that it isn’t going to work. And then, to look right, we could wait a month or so before we actually dated in public. It would simply seem that Ilene and I had broken our engagement, and then, that you and I, at a later time, had begun to date again.”
But this was not spontaneous. This was something he had thought out very carefully. And something else became clear for the first time. She had wondered why he hadn’t come inside the hospital to wait in the lobby, but now she knew. He hadn’t wanted to be seen.
“Phil, what if I say no? What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you should decide what you want to do about Ilene first. If you decide you don’t want to marry her, break up. After that, we could go out a few times and see what happens.”
“I’m not comfortable with that, Bobbi.”
“Why not?”
But Phil had no answer. He had turned south and was driving past the university campus. It all reminded Bobbi of days they had spent together, when the two of them would sit on the lawn and talk. That was a nice thought, but it also reminded her of a frustrating argument that had started one day when he had complained about being required to take a music appreciation class.
“I just need to know whether I have any chance with you, Bobbi.”
“So if I say that you don’t have a chance, you’ll marry Ilene?”
“Maybe. I haven’t decided. But it’s hard for me to—” He stopped as though he saw too late the trap Bobbi had set.
“Phil, you’re trying to negotiate a new deal. But you want to hang on to the old one until you see whether you can get a better one.” She turned and looked at him more directly than she had before. She was beginning to feel some confidence.
“Maybe that’s true, Bobbi. But it’s not so bad as you make it sound. I care about Ilene.”
“You’re ready to cut and run, if you get the chance.”
“You did that to me, Bobbi.” He looked her way and smiled, as though to be charming, and to cover the frustration that was obviously building in him.
“Not because I got a better deal, Phil. I looked into my own heart, and then I did what I felt I had to do.”
“What about Dr. Stinson? Are you telling me he had nothing to do with it?”
Bobbi was ready to protest for a moment, but then she admitted, “Okay, he did play a role. It wasn’t that I thought I would marry him when I broke up with you. But I did see what I was missing.”
“Thanks.”
“All I mean is, he and I understood each other. And I want that.”
“If he had been a Mormon, you would have married him then?”
“Yes.”
Bobbi knew what Phil was doing: sizing up the contest, accepting the truth he hated—that he had lost to another man.
“Well, Bobbi, you are a Mormon. And I love you. Ilene is a wonderful girl, but I still feel more for you.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I’m the one girl who turned you down, and you just can’t get that out of your head. Maybe the instant I said yes, you would regret everything—and run back to Ilene.”
Phil leaned back and gave the steering wheel a little slap. “Bobbi, I don’t know. Maybe that’s right. I don’t think so, but maybe it is. The long and short of it is, you’re sending me packing again. Right?”
There was a certain hardness in his voice now, and Bobbi felt relieved to hear it. But she told him, “Phil, you have no idea how close I just came to saying okay, let’s try it.”
“Then do it. Just give me one more chance.”
“And then what? If you dropped Ilene and we dated again, I would be trapped. I couldn’t possibly change my mind at that point. My family wouldn’t let me.”
“I don’t see that, Bobbi.”
“Of course you do. You thought this all through—every aspect of it. You don’t do things by impulse, Phil.”
“I just don’t want to lose you.” But his voice had lost all its certainty. And now he was driving toward her home.
“I’m sorry, Phil. I’m touched that you would think of me this way, but it’s obvious that we would drive each other crazy if we got married.”
Phil shrugged. “You’re probably right,” he said, and Bobbi had the feeling he had just then decided to marry Ilene after all.
When Bobbi walked into her house, she could see a glow slipping under the kitchen door and lighting the dining room a little. She wondered who was up and around, so she walked through the living room, into the dining room and then pushed the kitchen door open. “Oh, Mom. Hi. I thought you’d be in bed.”
“That’s where I’m going. The kids messed up some dishes after dinner, and I was just washing them up.”
“You ought to let LaRue and Beverly do that. They’re the ones who always eat after supper.”
“I know. I ought to do a lot of things. You sound like your dad.”
Bobbi saw a kind of weariness in her mother’s face that was unusual. She stepped into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m just tired. Are you going to bed now?”
“Soon. I have to read for a little while. Is there anything edible in the refrigerator?”
Mom laughed. “I’ll let you decide that. But if you eat something, clean up your own mess.”
“I’ll just make some toast.”
Mom was heading for the door. But suddenly Bobbi didn’t want to be alone. “You won’t believe what happened tonight,” she said. Mom turned around. She was wearing a faded brown house dress she’d had for many years, and her face seemed a little faded too. Bobbi thought again that she wasn’t just tired, that something was wrong. “When I got off work tonight, Phil was waiting. He wanted to talk to me.”
Bobbi saw a little spark appear in her mother’s face, but it faded just as quickly. “You didn’t give him a chance, did you?”
Bobbi hadn’t expected that reaction, and the words stung. “Actually, I tried,” she said. “He drove me home, and we talked. But it was the same old thing. I don’t feel any different.”
Bobbi walked to the cabinet and opened the bread box. Mom didn’t bake bread very often anymore. Bobbi found a loaf of Wonder Bread inside, which she didn’t like much, but she got out a couple of slices anyway.
Mom was still standing by the door. “Bobbi, sometimes I think you’re looking for something in a man that you never will find.”
Bobbi placed the slices of bread in the toaster and then closed the little doors on both sides. She turned around. “Mom,” she said, “Phil didn’t want to marry me. He wanted to own me. He was shopping for a wife, and then he wanted a house, some kids, and maybe a dog to go with me. Once he had paid off my mortgage he would have put my title in a safe-deposit box, and that would have been that.”
“That’s how men think.”
“All of them?”
“I don’t know. All I’ve known.”
“Even Dad?”
Sister Thomas walked over and sat down at the table. Bobbi came to the table too and sat across from her. She saw the sadness in her mother’s eyes. “What’s wrong tonight?”
“Oh, nothing much. Your dad and I just had a little spat.”
“What about?”
“Money. As usual. I told him I need more for my household budget—with all the prices going up. And he started in on one of his little speeches about all of us being too extravagant.”
“I thought he was doing really well in this new business.”
“That’s the mistake I made—bringing that up. He went off on a harangue about my spending money that we don’t have yet. If the war ends this spring, he could be stuck with a worthless plant and . . . blah, blah, blah.”
Bobbi laughed, and then so did Mom. “You’d better get that toast,” she said.
Bobbi got up quickly, having forgotten all about it. But the toast still wasn’t as dark as Bobbi liked
it. She shut it back in the toaster. “I thought you told me that you fell head over heels in love when you met Dad.”
“Oh, Bobbi, don’t make so much out of this. I’m just put out with him tonight. That doesn’t mean I don’t love him.”
“I know. But you just said all men think like Phil. Didn’t it bother you when you saw that in Dad?”
“I don’t know how to answer that. I wanted a husband. I met a handsome man who loved me. And I fell in love with him. I don’t remember ever considering all these things you worry about.”
“Okay. But think about it now. You said men expect to own their wives. Is that all right?” Bobbi opened the toaster again, and this time she pulled the toast out and set the slices on the cabinet. She walked to the refrigerator to find some butter.
“Bobbi, try not to get toast crumbs in the butter. You know how—” But she stopped.
“How Dad hates it. I know.”
Sister Thomas laughed, but then she looked at the clock. Bobbi had the feeling that she was measuring the cost of staying up any later. All the same, she said, “Bobbi, when I was growing up, girls were taught certain attitudes that we never questioned. My parents told me what to do, and I accepted that. I stayed a little girl, really, until I got married. Then my husband began deciding everything. At first, I didn’t ask myself whether that was right. It was what I was used to in my own home.”
“That seems sad, Mom.”
“I don’t know whether it is or not. But there’s a streak in me that doesn’t like it. I pop off. I say things to people that I know darn well your dad wishes I wouldn’t say. Sometimes I exaggerate my opinions—just to show that I can think for myself. The funny thing is, Al never has tried to stop me. He likes to be in control, but there’s a fairness about him, and he’s not one to tromp on anyone. So he let’s me get away with it.”
Bobbi was pouring a glass of milk by now. And then she brought her little meal to the table. “Mom,” she said, “you seem pretty strong to me. Dad always jokes about having a wife he can’t buffalo.”
“But that’s just the problem, Bobbi. I always feel as though I’m swimming upstream, and what I long for is a little more respect. Your dad is entirely confident that he knows more than I do, that he’s smarter. He tries to be considerate of me, and he lets me have my way at times, but deep down, he’d prefer to run the whole show.”
“Mom, that sounds awful.”
Sister Thomas reached across the table and tore off a corner of one slice of toast. “Oh, Bobbi, you’re young. You idealize everything too much.” She took a little bite out of the toast. “I love your dad. I admire him. I trust in the guidance he gets from the Lord. And I like him. You kids see the worst of him sometimes because you’re all pushing him so hard right now. But he’s a gentle man, a loving man, and he’s trying to do what he thinks is right. He’s playing the role he was taught to play—and all I do is confuse him.”
“Are you two friends?”
Sister Thomas took a long time to think about that. “Yes,” she said eventually. “But not as much as I’d like. And I suppose that’s the thing that is hardest for me. I became Bea Thomas before I ever knew who Bea Snow was, and I wish your dad had been more willing to let me become myself. But he was so strong, so sure, that he simply pulled me along with him. When I finally started taking a stand on a few things, he hardly knew how to react.”
“David Stinson listens to me, Mom. He’s interested in my thoughts—gets excited about them. If we got married, we’d be partners.”
“Maybe. You don’t know that for sure.”
“But if I’ve got a chance for that kind of marriage, should I throw it aside—and marry someone like Phil?”
“I thought you had your mind made up not to marry David.”
“I thought I did too. But it was really Dad who made up my mind for me. We had some good talks, and he tried not to make any demands. But I knew what it would cost me if I went against him, so I just gave in.”
“So what are you saying?”
“I don’t know. Tell me what I should do.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Tell me what you think then.”
Mom sat for a long time again. And as she thought, tears filled her eyes. “Bobbi, I don’t want you to marry David. I want you to do life the way I’ve done it. That’s my feeling. But at the same time, I know I’ve missed something. I work behind the scenes. I manipulate. I suggest, cajole, apologize, flatter—do anything I can just to have a say in what happens. But if I told your dad that, he wouldn’t even understand me; he’d be hurt and baffled and maybe even angry. So I just go on managing that way, and it’s hard work. I wouldn’t want you to go through the same thing. You’re too independent. It would destroy you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
Sister Thomas got up from the table. “But I already wish I hadn’t said anything like that. You’re too quick to jump on things and magnify them. The most important thing in this life is a temple marriage. I have all eternity to work out my relationship with your dad. You may not end up getting that from David, and he may not be nearly so understanding and open once you’re married. You have to consider all of that—think about it very carefully.”
“I know.”
“And pray about it.”
“I do. All the time.”
“Well, don’t just pray. Listen. That’s not your greatest talent.” She smiled.
“I know that too.”
Mom left, and Bobbi stayed up for a long time. In fact, even though she eventually went to bed, she never did go to sleep. She saw how complex her question really was, but she also felt more clearly than ever what she wanted out of life.
In the morning, she waited until she knew her dad was eating breakfast, and then she went downstairs. “I need to tell you something,” she told him. She was standing just inside the kitchen door, in her robe. “David and I have stayed in touch all year—as I’m sure you know. He still wants to marry me. This summer I’ll have some time off at the hospital, and I have some savings, so I’ve decided to take a trip to Chicago. I’ll stay in a hotel there, and everything will be proper. But I need to go. I need to see him again and decide for sure what I want to do.”
President Thomas looked shocked, but he didn’t say a word.
“I know I told you the whole thing was over, but the problem is, I can’t get him out of my heart. I think about him all the time. I’m not going to Chicago to marry him; if I decide to do that, it would happen later. But I have to reach a decision for myself—one I can feel good about.”
President Thomas leaned his head back and shut his eyes. “Well, I won’t say a word. The new rule—and I’m not sure where it came from—seems to be that a father can’t guide his children. He’s some sort of dictator if he does.”
“Dad, don’t do that to me. It’s not fair. I’ve listened to everything you’ve said. And I’ve talked to Mom. I’ll take all of that into consideration.”
“Thanks. That’s very kind of you.” Bobbi had to get out before she lost her temper. She turned and pushed against the door, but her dad said, “Bobbi, this isn’t about opinions. This is about your life. I have a right to tell you what I think is best for you.”
“And I have a right to think you’re wrong.”
Bobbi left.
Chapter 28
Anna was home alone. She had come home from work before her mother, who was now working too. Sister Stoltz had not sought work, but a government official had visited her and explained that her records indicated she was unemployed with no young children in her home. She would therefore be expected to work in a new factory in Frankfurt that was producing boots for soldiers.
Brother Stoltz and Peter were usually home by this time, but Anna knew that today they had planned one of their trips into the country to purchase fresh food. Inflation had made their money of less worth than before, but they had gained some contacts with farmers who sometimes sold them the things they wanted. Brother Stoltz
could no longer ride a bicycle, but he had bought a second-hand motorbike, which he could handle if he didn’t over-tax himself. The problem was to obtain a gallon of gasoline once in a while. Late in June, Hitler attacked Russia. His troops, in three parallel thrusts, had been racing ahead, stampeding the Russians. Germans, for the most part, were excited by this move. Russia had always seemed more an enemy than France or especially England, and the early success seemed to assure a quick victory. But shortages were now a larger problem than ever, and gasoline was especially hard to obtain.
Anna was tired today. It was July of 1941, and a hot day. The factory where she worked had been sweltering, and tempers were on edge. The manager of the plant was getting pressure to turn out more uniforms, and he was passing that pressure along to his workers. Anna tried to keep up, but no amount of work was enough to satisfy her boss.
So this was the hour she longed for every day—when she could relax for a time. Evenings passed too quickly, and mornings came early. Then it all started again, six days a week, sometimes seven. Recently, the first bombs had dropped in Frankfurt. So far, the British had targeted the industrial part of the city, far across town, but when the sirens sounded at night, everyone had to hurry down to the basement, and those lost nights of sleep only added to the stress.
Anna made rose-hip tea, although she longed for some cool apple juice. She sat at the kitchen table and tried to take joy in having a few minutes to herself. When a knock came at the door, she assumed it was a neighbor, or perhaps President Meis, who sometimes stopped by. She opened the door carefully, however, having learned to be wary. She had opened it only a few inches when she saw that it was Kellerman. She froze.
