by Dean Hughes
Lorraine agreed, but she said she needed to talk with President and Sister Thomas first, and so Bobbi walked out to the front porch and waited. It was a pretty evening. The sun was finally setting over the Oquirrh mountains. A long streak of thin clouds was turning pink, shading to gold. All day Bobbi had been aware of how wilted and brown Utah seemed, compared to Hawaii, but she liked the feelings this porch brought back. The dry air felt good. Crickets were chirping, and the sunset was like a favorite line from a poem—familiar, fitting.
Bobbi stood and watched as the color gradually faded. When Lorraine slipped quietly out to the porch, Bobbi asked softly, “Do you miss Utah?”
“Sure. Seattle is beautiful. But this is home.”
“When I hear people’s voices, I think, ‘Oh, yeah, that’s what home sounds like.’”
“I know,” Lorraine said. “I always feel like I’m being careful in Seattle. People think Mormons are strange, so I worry about the impression I’m making. Here, I remember what it’s like to be myself.”
Bobbi tucked her hands into her skirt pockets and continued to look across the valley. “When I talk to the nurses I work with, I run out of things to say after a few minutes. I used to get tired of the way Mormons all think alike, but when I’m away from this valley, that’s exactly what I miss—the way we understand each other.”
“That’s right,” Lorraine said. “We all start with the same notions about what life means.”
“Things are starting to change here, though,” Bobbi said. “And those of us who have gone away, we’re changing too. Especially the soldiers. I don’t think the boys can come back and just pick up where they left off. They’re going to be different people.”
“What do you think two years in a prison camp has done to Wally?”
The color in the clouds was almost gone now, but a glow was turning the Oquirrhs into a curving black line. Bobbi walked over and sat down on the love seat. Lorraine leaned back against the railing of the porch. Bobbi thought how beautiful she was, as slender as ever but more completed now—fully a woman.
“I don’t know what Wally will be like when he comes home, Lorraine. I can’t imagine him changing very much—but who knows what something like that might do to a person?” She paused and then asked, “Do you still think a lot about him?”
“Sure. Every day. Almost every hour.”
“But you’re not waiting for him, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you dating anyone in Seattle?”
“Yes. I met a Mormon guy up there. A navy officer. We’ve only been going out a couple of months, but he’s talking marriage.”
Bobbi laughed. “I was about to say we’re in the same situation. I’ve met a navy officer, too. But my guy never talks marriage.”
“I wish that’s what Neal would do.”
“Why?”
Lorraine walked over and sat down next to Bobbi. She crossed her arms and leaned back in the love seat, but it was a long time before she answered. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “He could be transferred at any time—or shipped out to sea. Everything is so uncertain. And then . . . it’s hard to commit to someone when I still have Wally on my mind so much. There’s nothing to say that Wally would even be interested in me when he comes home. But he’s still the person I’ve felt the very most for in my life.”
“Lorraine, I don’t like to say this, but he might not come home.”
“I know.”
Neither spoke for a long time after that. A little breeze had picked up, and it was making gentle rustling noises in the lilac bushes by the porch. It wasn’t like the sound of palm fronds; it was a sound of home she had never even thought about.
“It seems like every girl I know is waiting,” Bobbi said. “If not for someone, at least for the war to end.”
“So life can start again.”
“That’s right. That’s exactly how it feels. The whole world is waiting.”
“So here I am with a chance to get married, and I’m holding off,” Lorraine said. “The dumb thing is, as much as anything, I don’t want to give up my job. I never thought I would have such important responsibilities or have to make so many decisions. I’m actually in charge of a lot of people—even some men. It’s pretty exciting, to tell the truth. If I got married, and Neal got transferred . . . but that’s silly to make that one of my considerations.”
“I don’t know if it is. One thing the war has done is give girls some new choices—and I don’t think we’re going to give them up all that easily.”
“Maybe we should. I don’t know. But I like being taken seriously. I don’t think my mom ever experienced that. To my dad, she’s just always been his ‘sweet little wife’ and nothing more. My mother has no problem with that, but I will—and the problem is, I think Neal wants someone more like my mom.”
“Lorraine, I never realized how much alike we are. We’ve got to keep in touch from now on.”
“What do you mean? How are we alike?”
“I’ve just always wanted to do some things with my life. Make some of my own choices. And not let my husband’s life dictate everything I do.”
“Neal doesn’t want me to work. I think it bothers him when I talk about my day on the job—like it’s just as important as what he’s doing.”
“He sounds like Phil Clark.”
Lorraine laughed. “And I know what you did with him.”
Bobbi laughed too, but then she said, “I won’t make any specific recommendations. But I would suggest that you be careful.”
“That’s what I’m being, Bobbi, and my parents think I’m crazy.”
“I know all about that, too.”
“So tell me what to do.”
Bobbi laughed again, quietly. And then she said, “I’m too selfish to judge, Lorraine. I’ve always hoped you would be my sister-in-law someday.”
“Thanks,” Lorraine said, and she took hold of Bobbi’s hand. “I wish I could take some share of your pain right now—and carry it for you. I loved Gene so much.” But then, as a car pulled up to the curb out in front, she said, “I’d better go. You’re getting more company.”
“It’s just my grandparents.”
“You’ll want to talk to them, though, and I’ve got to get packed.” And so Lorraine got up, and the girls hugged again.
“Are you going to be all right?” Lorraine asked.
“I guess so. It doesn’t feel like I’ll ever be happy again, right now, but I know I will.”
“All I’ve been able to think, since I heard, is how much Wally and Gene loved each other—and how much Wally is going to hurt when he finds out.”
“Oh dear. Let’s not start that. I can’t stand to think about it.”
They hugged one last time, and Lorraine left. At the same time, Grandpa and Grandma Thomas were coming up the walk. When they reached the porch, they realized who was sitting in the love seat, and they stopped. Bobbi had talked with them a little that morning, but a lot of company had been around, and since then she hadn’t seen them. Bobbi stood up and hugged her grandpa. He patted her back, mumbled softly that he hoped she was doing all right, and then walked on into the house. Grandma took Bobbi’s hand, pulled her back to the love seat, and then sat down next to her with her arm around her shoulders. “How are you doing, honey?” she asked. “I mean, really?”
“I don’t know, Grandma. Mostly I feel numb right now. It’s been a long day.”
“You need to go to bed soon.”
“I will. But tell me something first. It’s been on my mind all day. Was Gene just about the sweetest boy who ever lived, or am I only making that up?”
“Well, I’ll tell you. I hate what we do to people at funerals. We take real human beings and turn them into angels—pretend they were perfect when they were much more interesting than that. I just hate funerals for that reason. But I do have to say, I can’t think of anything bad about Gene. Can you?”
Bobbi thought for a while. “When he was about ten
,” she said, “he sneaked into my room and read my diary. For about a week after, he kept teasing me about things I’d written. I wanted to throttle the little guy.”
“I’m glad to know that. The boy was a criminal after all.” Grandma laughed, deep and rough, the way she had begun to do in recent years.
Bobbi slipped her head under the wide brim of her grandmother’s straw hat and rested it against her shoulder. “The only problem is, somewhere along the line he realized that he really was embarrassing me—and he came up to my room and told me he was sorry. I can still see him standing there, his head down, so remorseful. I couldn’t even be mad at him.”
“That was Gene,” Grandma said, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve had a notion for a long time that some people are too good for this earth—and God lets them come back to him sooner so they don’t have to suffer a long mortality.”
“I’ve thought of that too.”
“I’m sure you know about my little girl, Rose—your dad’s little sister. She got pneumonia and died when she wasn’t quite two. She was like Gene. Her disposition was always just so loving and gentle.”
“Grandma, how long did it take before you could think about her without feeling a lot of pain?”
Grandma laughed again, almost silently, and she wiped her white-gloved fingers over her cheeks. “It never goes away, Bobbi.”
“Oh, thanks. That’s just what I needed to hear.”
“But honey, the pain evolves into a delicate sort of joy. Rose has always stayed who she was—that wonderful little girl. I can hold her whenever I need to and know that she’s still mine. Most children grow up and decide you’re stupid. But Rose is mine, and as I get older, the best compensation I have is to know that when I die . . .” She stopped and laughed. “And that could happen any day now. But when I do, I’ll have my little Rose to finish raising. That time used to seem very far off, but life passes much faster than any of us ever think it will.”
It was the same thing everyone had been saying all day, but now it seemed real. Bobbi felt the hope: Gene really would be waiting for the rest of the family. “Thanks, Grandma,” Bobbi said. “But don’t die right away. I need you here.”
Grandma gave Bobbi a hard squeeze. “The difference is, you won’t have any sweetness to think about when I’m gone. Everyone will get up at my funeral and say, ‘Now that was the crankiest old lady I ever knew.’”
“You try hard to sound cranky, Grandma, but it’s an act. You’re a sweetheart, and we all know it.”
Grandma laughed again and wiped at her cheeks. “Oh, Bobbi, I have to admit, you’ve always been my favorite. You’re a spunky girl, and there’s nothing I like better. I think we were cast from the same mold.”
They both laughed, and both continued to cry. Then Grandma pulled Bobbi even closer. For a long time after, they sat on the porch, saying nothing, listening to the crickets. Bobbi felt wrapped in goodness. She was so glad that at least she had this place, this family, to come home to.
Chapter 31
Bobbi brought Millie into the Relief Society room for the family prayer. Gene’s body had not been shipped home and probably wouldn’t be. Everyone agreed it was time to hold the memorial service and try to bring things to a conclusion, but not having his body, not seeing him one last time, left everything feeling abstract and unfinished.
President Thomas said the family prayer, and Millie shook with sobs as Bobbi clung to her. And then everyone walked into the stake house chapel, which was packed. Elder Joseph Fielding Smith was sitting on the stand. President Thomas had asked him to speak, but along with him was President David O. McKay, who had apparently come to represent the First Presidency. When President Thomas walked to the stand, President McKay, a tall man with a full head of thick white hair, stood and embraced him.
The building was full of flowers—gladiolas and carnations, mostly. So many people in the Salt Lake Valley knew the Thomases, and almost everyone in the stake had chosen this as a way to thank President and Sister Thomas for all they did. But people knew Gene, too, had known him since he was a little boy, and knew him for his sports heroics. So many young women were in the congregation—all the girls from East High, it seemed. The young men, on the other hand, were noticeably absent, most of them serving in the military themselves.
Bishop Evans conducted the meeting, and it all seemed a little much for him. He was a shy man, certainly aware of the large crowd and the presence of General Authorities. He spoke softly and sounded nervous, but he welcomed the people, and then he read the obituary from the Deseret News. To that he added, “Gene was my good friend. He was . . .” But he couldn’t continue, so he didn’t. He cleared his throat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief, and then he lifted his glasses and wiped his eyes. His balding head was glowing white, his face deeply tanned, and his brown suit hung too loose on him. He stood for quite some time before he announced the opening hymn and prayer. Then he sat down.
President Thomas was the first speaker. Mom had tried to talk him out of doing that, but Dad had felt he needed to say some things. As he stepped to the pulpit, however, Bobbi could see he was struggling. “I’m moved,” he began, “by this large turnout. I’m sorry the building is so warm.”
Bobbi was aware of all the fluttering movement in the congregation, with so many fans in motion.
“I appreciate your special effort to come today. I . . .” But then President Thomas did something Bobbi had never thought he would do in public. He broke down, tears running down his cheeks. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes and nose, and he held on until he could say, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to do this. I’m just very touched by your goodness. You have all been so kind. I know that a good many of you have already lost your own loved ones in this war. We all understand each other’s sorrows these days.”
Bobbi took hold of her mother’s hand. Mom had been doing pretty well until Dad had begun to cry. Bobbi was also still holding onto Millie, who was on the other side of her.
“My Great-grandfather Thomas crossed the plains with the early pioneers,” President Thomas began. “He and his family were driven out of Nauvoo in 1846. They crossed on a ferry, before the river froze over, and then, as spring came on, they set out across Iowa. Along the way, my great-grandfather buried his oldest child, a son named Alexander. I was named after that little boy.”
President Thomas stopped and took a long breath. Bobbi could see his big chest rise and fall. “My great-grandparents couldn’t delay the wagon train. They buried little Alexander, and then they moved on, even though Grandma Thomas was expecting another child and was not well herself. That evening the company reached a river where a bridge was washed out. It would have to be rebuilt before the wagons could cross. So the next day my great-grandparents rested. Grandpa wrote in his journal, ‘Took care of personal matters today. Felt little desire to do much else. Both Mary and me feel nothing but despair.”
President Thomas hesitated, tucked his hand in his pocket, and looked down. “You have to understand, Grandpa had lost his first wife, Elizabeth, along with a daughter, back in Missouri when the Saints were driven out of Far West. Grandpa was a leader, so he was being chased by a Missouri sheriff. That left Elizabeth on her own. Her baby was sick when she started out, with some other Saints, to flee the state. Exposed to the elements, the baby didn’t last long, and then Elizabeth, broken by the loss, got a fever herself. She made it to Illinois, but she died soon after. So my great-grandpa had lost his family, but he had started over, married again, and prospered in Nauvoo. Now he was watching the same thing happen to his second family.
“Early in the trek across Iowa, he had buried a little baby boy, and now he had buried his only other child, his firstborn son. So he took that one day off, and that’s when he wrote that he felt such great despair. But here’s the point I want to make. The following day, he wrote just one sentence in his journal: ‘Worked on the bridge today.’”
President Thomas had been
building some strength, some power in his voice. But these words stopped him. He had to wait and breathe again. And he wiped his eyes. “Brothers and Sisters, I’ve told this story to my family so many times they start to moan when I get anywhere near it. But I want this story to sink deep into the hearts of my children, and their children, and every generation after them. Because that is who we are. My grandparents grieved for a day, and then they went back to work. And things didn’t get any easier. Great-grandma Thomas almost died in childbirth in Winter Quarters, but she survived and made it West, and she bore eight more children after that, one of whom was my grandfather.”
President Thomas’s voice was back. “Brothers and Sisters, the Thomases are not the only family with a great heritage. You have your family stories. Most of you had grandparents who crossed the plains, or who joined the church in Europe and made the hard voyage across the ocean. And they passed on to you not only their stories but also the strength to live through times of great difficulty. We are in one of those times now, and we can sit down and despair, or we can build the bridge that needs to be built. Today is my day to mourn; tomorrow, I must be about my Father’s business. And so it is with all of us.
“Gene gave his life to protect us from evil, from men who would rob us of our freedom. What I feel more than anything else today is that I must—and you must—be certain that such deaths are not in vain. We must recommit ourselves to goodness, to the struggle against Satan. Victory on land and sea is not enough; we must win a victory in the hearts of all mankind. Guns will never carry the day; only the gospel of Jesus Christ can save the people of this world.
“As you know, our son Walter is in a prison camp in the Philippines. Another of my sons, Alex, is wounded and lying in a hospital in England. We finally received word that he is recovering, but he’s certainly gone through a great deal of pain.”
Bobbi heard a stir in the congregation. This was something many people obviously didn’t know.
