by Dean Hughes
At the hut, the men did get toilet articles: toothbrushes and toothpaste; bars of soap; shaving soap, with mugs; safety razors; and even after-shave lotion. They got writing paper, too, and pencils. The red-haired woman wasn’t there, but another one, almost as pretty, told Wally, “There are plenty of candy bars. Take some back to your tent with you.”
Wally was almost sure she had watched him eat three of the Hershey bars earlier, and he was embarrassed, but still, he took a whole pocketful again. He would eat them slowly this time, but he would have them all evening.
All the men turned when another young woman walked into the little supply shack. She was wearing an army uniform, and that was something none of them had ever seen before. Wally had had no idea that women, other than nurses, had begun to serve in the military. He thought of his sister Bobbi and wondered how the war might have changed her life. And that brought to mind something he had begun to worry about. He turned back to the desk, where the young woman in the Red Cross uniform was standing. “Excuse me,” he said without really looking at her directly.
“Yes.”
“Is there some way I can send a telegram to my family? I don’t think they even know I’m alive.”
“Sure you can.” She reached down and pulled out a pad of forms, and then she said, “Why don’t all you guys fill these out? Keep your messages short, but let your family know you’re okay and coming home. I’ll get them all sent just as soon as I can.”
Wally wished he could actually telephone his family and talk to them, but that was one treat he would have to wait for. At least a telegram would relieve their minds. So he jotted down the address and then wrote a quick note.
***
LaRue and Beverly were the only ones home when the telegram came. “Should we open it?” LaRue asked.
“I don’t think we’d better. It’s addressed to Dad and Mom.”
LaRue knew that was right, but she had a feeling that whatever was in the envelope would change her life forever—for better or worse—and she hated the idea of waiting. “Let’s take it down to the plant,” she said. But she didn’t want to wait for a bus, which would take forever. “I’ll drive the Hudson.”
“LaRue! You can’t do that. You don’t know how to drive.”
“Yes, I do. Reed taught me.”
“But you don’t have a license.”
“That’s okay. We won’t get caught.”
“Dad will just about die.”
“Just come on, Beverly. Think what might be in here.” She held the envelope up to the light, tried to see through it, but she couldn’t make out any of the words.
“Let’s have a prayer that it’s good news, LaRue.”
“That’s stupid, Beverly. Whatever is in here isn’t going to change now, just because we pray. Come on. Let’s hurry.”
“I need to get my coat.”
“It’s not cold. What do you need a coat for?”
“It’s cloudy. It might rain.”
LaRue couldn’t believe it, but Beverly ran upstairs to get her coat, and LaRue found the extra keys that Mom kept in the kitchen. Mom had a driver’s license now, and Dad had actually given the Hudson to her. With gas rationing coming to an end, he had decided to buy a second car. There were no new models coming out yet, but he had taken in a nice trade, and he decided it would be more convenient to have two cars in the family. It was something almost unheard of, but Dad was doing things like that these days. All the same, Mom almost always rode to work with her husband. The plant was being converted now—for the production of washing-machine parts—and President and Sister Thomas were spending almost as many hours at the place as they had at the height of the war.
The truth was, LaRue had driven only once before, and the clutch on the Hudson had quite a different feel from the one on the Plymouth that Reed’s dad sometimes let him drive. She jerked and bounced and killed the engine twice before she managed to get the car backed out the driveway, and then, in first gear, going forward, she was even worse. As the car lurched down the road and LaRue ground the gears shifting into second, Beverly muttered, “You’re going to break it, LaRue. Dad’s going to kill us.”
But LaRue didn’t worry. She would get the hang of it.
And gradually her driving did smooth out a little. Once she got into third gear and was rolling along, she had time to think about the telegram again. There was no way of knowing, from the envelope, where it had come from, so it might not be about Wally. But things were okay for Alex now, and Bobbi probably wouldn’t be sending a telegram. It was always possible that some emergency or accident had happened, something with baby Gene, but it seemed most likely that this was about Wally. Dad kept saying that the family should hear something “any day now,” and once he had even admitted, “If we don’t hear soon, it could be bad news.”
But now, here was a telegram, which Beverly was holding in her lap. Beverly had not only put on her coat, but she had also quickly changed her dress. LaRue was the vain one, not Beverly, but LaRue knew what Beverly must have been thinking. Beverly had a powerful sense of propriety. She would want to have proper clothes on for such a crucial moment in all their lives.
“Do you think it’s good news?” Beverly asked. She had begun to relax a little, not brace herself with her hands on the dashboard.
LaRue didn’t answer for the moment. She had to stop at State Street and then make a right-hand turn. She popped the clutch too fast again, sending the car into a series of little jumps, but once she got to third gear, more easily this time, she said, “I don’t know, Bev. I hope it is. What do you think?”
Beverly didn’t answer for quite some time. When she did, she said, “If it isn’t, I can’t stand it, LaRue.”
LaRue had been thinking the same thing, but she felt an impulse to say what Mom would have said, for Beverly’s sake. “We won’t have a choice, Bev. We’ll do what we have to do.”
“I don’t want to,” Bev said, her voice tight with anger, or maybe just tension.
LaRue didn’t try to respond. She knew what Beverly meant, and her own response was much the same. After all these years, finally to know was terrifying. This was the time to explode with joy and relief, and if that wasn’t going to be allowed to her, there was something wrong with the world.
When LaRue parked the car outside the plant, she found that she was no longer hurrying. Neither was Beverly. They walked to the front door of the plant, neither one saying a word now. LaRue felt lightheaded, almost faint, by the time she walked into her mother’s office. But Mom wasn’t there, and the secretary said Dad was out on the floor of the plant somewhere.
That was almost more than LaRue could stand. It was five minutes before the girls found Dad, and then he went looking for Mom. The girls went to his office and waited, still not speaking. LaRue didn’t want to look at Beverly, who was gripping her hands together and shaking. When Mom and Dad came in, Dad closed the door. He stepped to his desk, and Mom stayed by the door. Bev and LaRue, rather automatically, stood up. LaRue saw her mother’s eyes go shut, saw her lips moving.
Dad picked up a letter opener and carefully sliced the envelope open. He pulled out the telegram and unfolded it. There were a couple of horrible seconds, when his face showed nothing, and then in a whisper, he said, “It’s from Wally. He’s all right.”
LaRue had always thought she would shout for joy, but she didn’t have the strength. She dropped into a chair and began to cry. Beverly ran to her mother, and the two clung to each other, both sobbing. Dad stepped behind his desk and sat down. He was still looking at the telegram, but now tears were running down his cheeks.
“Read it,” Mom finally said.
“dear family,” he read. “i’m alive and well. flying to philippines tomorrow. will write soon. hope everyone is well.”
“Oh, dear,” Mom said.
LaRue knew—everyone knew—what Mom meant. The news from Wally was wonderful, but their news for him was going to be devastating.
“We nee
d to pray,” Dad said. Everyone slipped to their knees immediately, as though they all knew that’s what Dad would say—and what they wanted to do. “Bea, would you like to say it?”
“No. I can’t. You do it.”
LaRue knew what Mom meant. She was still crying hard, for one thing, but there were also difficult things to say.
Dad took a long time himself before he finally said, “Oh, Father, we thank thee.” But he couldn’t get any more out. He rested his head on his desk and cried. LaRue was crying just as hard. She was so relieved, and she felt blessed—not something she acknowledged very often. But she also felt so bad for Wally that his first step back into life would be to deal with Gene’s death.
***
Wally’s flight landed at a base near Manila, and from there he and the other men were trucked to a POW expatriation camp. The treatment he and the others received was beyond anything he could have imagined. Men carried his bags for him, even made his bed. The mess hall was open twenty-four hours a day, and the cooks even took orders. True, Wally had to go through a lot of tests and get half a dozen shots, but every time he had nothing else to do, he ate. He just couldn’t stop. He felt as if life was a constant celebration, an ongoing feast.
He was interviewed by an officer and asked to give his witness against Commander Hisitake, and he did tell about the ordeal he and Chuck had been put through—kneeling on the bamboo poles—but he played the experience down, didn’t really admit how terrible or life-threatening it had been. Perhaps the man had committed “war crimes”—Wally wasn’t sure—but he felt no need to press the issue.
A little later, a radiogram came from his parents, carried by a young private to his tent. Wally was thrilled. He sat down on his bunk, and he was already smiling as he tore it open. “So happy you are well,” the brief letter began. “We eagerly wait for you to arrive home.” And then, “Sorry to tell you that Gene was killed in action, in Saipan.”
Wally moaned and dropped onto his side. He had seen so much death, for so long, but this one was different. A picture flashed through his mind: Gene, just a boy, standing across the back lawn from him, grinning, his arm cocked as he was about to throw a football. Not Gene. He couldn’t lose Gene. “Oh, please no,” he groaned.
Chuck was lying on the next cot. He sat up. “What is it?” he asked.
Wally was trying to get his breath. “Gene,” was all he said.
“Oh, no.”
Wally rolled onto his back and put his arm over his face. He needed to cry, but all his strength, his breath, had been knocked from him. Just when he had thought his ordeal was over, there had to be one more test. “He was just a kid,” he told Chuck. “Just a little boy.” And those words released his tears.
Chapter 33
Bobbi was still in Hawaii when the telegram came. She was on her ship, in the burn ward, when a corpsman brought it to her. She opened it with trembling fingers but then let out a little cry of joy when she read the words: “wally alive and well. heading home. letter to follow.”
She sat down and took a long breath. “Your brother?” the corpsman asked.
“Yes. He’s safe.” And then, like a delayed reaction, the reality struck her. The war was over. The war really was over. She cried, of course, but her reaction was not what she expected. It was as though the tension of all these years had finally been released, and she was suddenly overwhelmingly tired. She needed to sleep, but more, she needed to go home and sleep. She wanted to get out of the navy right now. She wanted to share this with her family. She wanted to see Wally. And more immediately, she wanted answers to all her questions: Where was Wally? Would he come through Hawaii? Would she still be at Pearl Harbor if he did?
She knew what she had to do. She got permission to leave the ship, and then she hurried—ran half the way—to the office on base where she could place a long-distance call. A young sailor placed the call for her, but Bobbi listened to the phone ring for some time before she heard an operator, with that distinctive Utah intonation, say, “I’m sorry. The party you are calling is not answering at this time.”
“It’s all right. Thank you,” Bobbi said. And then, on impulse, she asked, “Could you put the call through to Springville, Utah, instead. To the Hammond home. I don’t have the number, but it’s Ruel Hammond.” She wasn’t sure Richard was there. He might have gone back to Brigham City by now. But she had received a letter from him that week, and he had said he was going to be home for a while.
“Thank you very much,” the operator said, and then, after a short delay, the phone was ringing again.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice said, in a kind of searching tone, as though she weren’t expecting a call.
“Sister Hammond,” Bobbi said. “It’s Bobbi Thomas, calling from Honolulu. Is Richard there, by any chance?”
“Who did you say it was?” Sister Hammond almost shouted.
“Bobbi Thomas. You know, Richard’s—”
“Oh, Bobbi. Yes. My goodness. Let’s see. I think Richard is down in the orchard. Can you wait for just a minute?”
“Sure.”
But it was more than a minute, and very expensive time. Bobbi was thinking that she never should have done anything so impulsive. But when she heard Richard’s voice, she wasn’t sorry. “Bobbi?”
“Richard. Yes. I just had to call you. Wally is all right. He’s coming home.”
“Actually, I knew that. Your dad called down here this morning. He said he thought I’d want to know. He told me that he sent a telegram back to Wally—to tell him about Gene.”
“Oh, dear. Poor Wally. What a time to have to get the news.”
“I know. But your dad didn’t think it was fair to let him come home not knowing.”
“I guess that’s right.”
“How are you, Bobbi?”
“I’m okay. I’m so happy about this. But now I want, more than ever, to get home.”
“I know. That’s what I want, too.”
“Really? Do you still want to marry me?”
“Sure I do. I just think we need to talk a few things out—so you know what you’re getting into. That’s all I’ve been trying to say.”
“You sound so tentative, Richard. I don’t know how you really feel about me.” She glanced at the young man who had placed the call for her. He had moved across the room to another desk. He was pretending not to listen, but she knew he was hearing every word. She wished so much she could just have Richard to herself.
“Nothing’s changed, Bobbi. I’m just trying to figure some things out.”
“Are you okay?”
“I think so. My hands are doing a little better all the time.”
“Then what’s wrong? What’s all this fuss about whether you’re going to make enough money? You’ll do all right. I don’t worry about that.”
“Well, it’s easy to say that. But it might become more important than you think. I went to see your folks again, and your dad offered me a job. I told him I’m going back to school, and he talked to me about working for him part-time while I do that. That might be all right, but I can see what he wants. He’s trying to bring me into the business and make sure that you’re fixed up for the future.”
“Richard, I know my dad. Sometimes you just have to say no to him. He doesn’t back off until you do.”
There was a long pause, and for a moment Bobbi thought the line had gone dead, but then Richard said softly, “Bobbi, we need to take a hard look at all these things—when we really have time to talk.”
“Why don’t you fight for me, Richard? Why do you keep offering me a way out?” Bobbi ducked her head. She didn’t want the sailor hearing all this, and even more, she hated the way she had to beg Richard to say what she wanted to hear.
“Bobbi, I’m trying to be fair. I don’t want you to start down a road and find out that’s not where you want to go.” His voice had taken on some force.
“David Stinson wanted me. And now he’s been shot. He might not even live.”
“What?”
Bobbi suddenly felt like such a fool. She had no idea why she had said such a thing, and even more, why she had sounded so angry.
“Bobbi, if you’re still thinking about him . . .” But he didn’t finish his sentence.
“All I’m saying is . . .” She turned around, whispered into the phone, “If you love me, we can work things out. We don’t have to talk about money and jobs or anything like that. All those things will take care of themselves.”
“But what’s this about David Stinson?”
“Nothing. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Now there was silence again, and Bobbi knew she had made a huge mistake.
“Bobbi, it sounds like maybe you’re the one who’s not so sure about us. Maybe you need to make some decisions.”
“No. That’s not true. You’re the one who keeps thinking up excuses. But I’m not going to beg you anymore. Just tell me—are we getting married or not?”
“For heaven’s sake, Bobbi. This is no way to talk about something like that.”
“Oh, never mind. I can’t stand to listen to any more of this!” She slammed the receiver down on the telephone and walked from the room and on outside. But it only took about two minutes for her to regret what she had done. Now the engagement was off, she supposed, and nothing was clear in her life. All she had wanted was for Richard to say, “I love you; I do want you,” and he couldn’t even come up with the words.
And in San Francisco David might be dying. This was supposed to be such a great day, when she finally found out that Wally was safe, and now everything had been turned upside down.
***
Peter was sitting in the kitchen at a little walnut table. Frau Heiner set a bowl of potato soup in front of him. He looked up at her and said “Danke,” but he wondered whether he had the energy to feed himself. It was after seven in the evening, and he had just returned from working a twelve-hour shift in a potash mine. The Schallers and the Heiners had already eaten. Katrina and Frau Schaller, however, were sitting at the table—just to keep him company.
“You look so tired,” Katrina said.
