Children of the Promise

by Dean Hughes

  “Did I seem scared?”

  “No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

  “I was—scared to death. My hands were shaking the whole time I was up there.”

  Again, they were quiet. There was only the clicking of their spoons in the bowls.

  “What scares you, Bobbi? Anything?”

  “Oh, wow. How can you say that? Lots of things scare me.”

  “What scares you most?”

  “I don’t know.” She thought for a time. “Uncertainty, I guess. I always want to know, and I want to know right now. When you were lost at sea, I was scared of losing you, but I was even more scared that I would never know what had happened, and I would just have to live with that. And right now, I wish I knew whether I’ll be able to have a baby or not. I wish the doctor would give us the go-ahead so we can start trying. If I can’t have babies, I think I can get very strong—and deal with it. But waiting to find out is just so awful.”

  “Is that fear exactly, or is it . . . I don’t know . . . worry, or something like that?”

  “The two are all mixed up in my mind.”

  “Well, then, what’s the scariest thing you can remember—just one moment of fear?”

  “Oh, dear. Let’s see.” She rubbed his foot some more. “One night, when I was about thirteen or fourteen, I was home alone in my room upstairs. I can’t remember where everyone was. But the wind was blowing, and I could hear all sorts of noises in our big old house. I built it all up in my mind until I thought there was someone downstairs breaking in or something.”

  “That’s the most frightening thing in your life—ever?”

  “Probably not. But that’s what comes back to me. What scared you the most?”

  “I was scared the whole time, out at sea. Several times we had Jap dive bombers, or fighters, drop out of the sky, right at us. Our guns would be firing away, but the closer they’d get, the more my heart would be right in my throat.”

  She wondered about that—what it would feel like to have someone attack you, try to kill you. “I didn’t tell the truth a while ago.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t know if I should say it, but that one day when I blew up at you, and you just got in the car and went off to work, I thought that day that we would end up getting a divorce, and I think that’s the most frightened I’ve ever been.”

  “Why didn’t you say that before?”

  “I didn’t want to tell you that I even thought about a divorce.”

  “I thought about it that day, too.”

  “Really?”

  He nodded. But then he said, “But not for long.”

  Bobbi had finished her ice cream. She pushed the bowl out of the way and took hold of Richard’s hand. “Let me ask you something else,” she said.

  “Okay.”

  “A while ago, when we stopped talking for a little while, I think you said to yourself, ‘I need to talk. I shouldn’t get quiet and let her carry the conversation. That’s what she accuses me of all the time.’”

  He smiled slowly, broadly. “When do you think I thought that?”

  “First, when you started telling me about wanting to be a dad, and what you would do. And then, a little later, when you asked me what scared me. It isn’t like you to talk about things in the war either, but you did it. I think you did that on purpose too.”

  He was still smiling.

  “Well, am I right?”

  “No. Nothing like that ever crossed my mind. I was just gabbing, like I always do.”

  “Come on. Tell the truth. You tried to think of things to talk about, didn’t you?”

  “You know I did.”

  “That’s sweet, Richard. Really sweet.” She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed it.

  “I do like it when we talk, Bobbi. I just have to do it by the numbers more than you do. Maybe I won’t always be like that.”

  “Do you think we’ll ever know everything about each other?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t either. It’s hard enough to know yourself without knowing someone else.”

  He nodded.

  “Oh, Richard, I love you.”

  “I love you too, Bobbi. That’s the one thing I got right since I came home from the war. I knew, somehow, I had to have you.”

  “But I drive you crazy; I force you to do things you don’t really want to do.”

  “Sometimes we don’t know what we want; we only know what we’ve always done. It’s good when two people can lead each other to new things.”

  “Do you really mean that?”

  “No. But it’s the sort of thing you always say. It sounded good.”

  Bobbi laughed. “You’re terrible, Richard. I’m even teaching you to be a smart aleck, just like me.”

  He was still smiling. She had fallen in love with that smile, and it still made her feel all liquid inside. But she was glad there was a lot more to him than just a smile. “I think we’ll always be okay if we just try to make each other happy.”

  “We certainly will.”

  “You smart aleck. Now you’re mocking me. Making fun of my opinions.”

  “Would I do that?”

  She leaned back and grinned, loving him, and began to rub his feet again.

  ***

  Wally and Lorraine went to bed quickly when they got home. But Kathy woke up a little after two o’clock. Wally woke up and felt Lorraine slip quietly from their bed and walk to the next room, where Kathy’s crib was. In a moment the crying stopped, and Wally began to drift. But then he felt guilty. He knew how tired Lorraine was. So he slipped out of bed himself and walked out to the living room, where Lorraine was sitting on the couch, holding the baby and nursing her.

  “Do you want me to do that?” he asked.

  “I wish you had the right equipment. I’d love to take turns.”

  “No. I meant I could give her a bottle.”

  “She needs my milk, Wally. I’m just glad I have enough. Some women don’t.”

  Wally walked over and sat down next to her on the couch.

  “There’s no reason for you to stay up, honey,” she said. “Just go back to bed.”

  “I’ll keep you company.”

  “Well . . . thanks.”

  He could hear the little squeaks and grunts the baby was making. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

  “No. Well . . . sometimes it does—a little.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Not right now.” She sat for a moment, and then she added, “but it is nice sometimes. It makes you feel very close—when you’re in the right mood.”

  “Do you think a dad can ever be as close to his kids as a mother?”

  “In some ways you can be closer. Moms end up saying no a lot. Dads can be more fun.”

  “It depends on the family, I guess. I was always a lot closer to my mom.”

  “What about now?”

  Wally thought for a time. “Even now,” he finally said. “But Dad is like the stake that you drive into the ground to hold the tent firm. He never seems to forget who we are. I want to be like that too.”

  “You already are, Wally, but you’re softer than your dad, and I like that side of you best.”

  “Dad’s only hard on the outside.”

  “That’s true. I’ve always known that. But you know how to show who you are better than he does. That’s what I need.”

  Wally looked down at his little daughter again, trying to think what she would be like someday. He wanted to talk with her, listen to her, be around when she needed him. And he hoped he would have sons and could be the same with them.

  “Wally, go to bed. Really. There’s no reason for both of us to be up.”

  “I know.” But he stayed. He put his arm around Lorraine, listening to the gentle sounds of his baby, and as he did so often, he offered a silent prayer of thanks.

  ***

  Peter Stoltz was sitting up in bed. He had turned on the lamp nearby, and he was breathing now, gulpi
ng air, trying to calm down. He wasn’t surprised when his door opened and his father was standing there. “Are you all right?” Papa asked.

  Peter nodded, but he was still taking big breaths.

  “I heard you.”

  “I know.” Peter hated this, the way he would scream at night sometimes. He hated the fear and sleeplessness that would follow, but more than anything he hated the worry it caused his parents. “It’s nothing, Papa. It’s just the same thing. I’ll be all right in a minute.”

  “Will you sleep?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Brother Stoltz walked to the bed and sat down. “I have bad memories too, Peter. I even dream about them sometimes.”

  “I know. But go to bed. I’m all right.”

  “What have you told Katrina?”

  “That I’m coming back to Germany. I didn’t say when.”

  “When are you thinking you’ll go?”

  “After I’ve saved some more money.” He didn’t want to say more than that. All this only upset his parents. His heartbeat was settling down now, his breathing. He leaned back against the headboard of his bed.

  “Peter, I think you should go. Maybe sooner. I have saved a little money, and you could have that. It would pay for your travel, I think.”

  “I can earn the money, Papa. And I need to give Mother time to get used to my going.”

  “She won’t get used to it, Peter—not ever—but I do think you need to go.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why—because you’re so unhappy here.”

  Peter didn’t like the words, even though they were true. He felt as though he were being accused of something. He shut his eyes and tried to relax. His father didn’t know it, but this conversation would keep him up all night. It was just more to think about. “Are you happy here, Papa? Can you say that?”

  “I’m happy enough. My English gets better all the time, and I like working in the office better than running the machines. It’s more what I’m accustomed to. Sometimes I miss the food back home—our nice little apartment, our old neighborhood. “ He laughed. “Our bad weather. Our bad temper. All those German things. But I have opportunities here. That means a good deal to me.”

  “I know what you think: I could be happy here. I could have opportunities too—if I would only try.”

  “I don’t know, Peter. I thought that at one time. But I watch you every day and see how sad you are. And I know that your mother and I, we can’t give you what you need. Maybe Kartrina can. Maybe Germany can.”

  “I don’t want to leave you—especially not Gene. I’ll miss everything, when he’s growing up. But I can’t stay.”

  “I know.”

  “Who knows? Maybe after I’m there for a while, I’ll want to come back. And maybe then I can bring Katrina.”

  “I’ll talk to your mother. I’ll try to help her understand.” Peter nodded. Papa got up and walked to the door. “Try to relax and sleep now.”

  “I will.” But Peter left the light on. He wished there were music this time of night on the radio, but all the stations had signed off for the night. So he got up and got his German scriptures. He had read a great deal in them lately, and he was finding solace in that. He had spent some time talking to Alex, too, and that had also been good for him. But praying seemed to help him more than anything. He knew, when he was away from his family, that he would need the Church, and he would need God. Once before he had tried the separation, without the Lord, and he didn’t want to do that again.

  Chapter 30

  The Pioneer Day celebration in Salt Lake was huge this year. After all, it was 1947, the centennial celebration of Brigham Young’s arrival in the valley. The traditional parade would actually march through downtown twice—once on the morning of the twenty-third and then again in the evening of the twenty-fourth of July. The morning of the twenty-fourth, the usual time for the parade, was reserved for the dedication of the new This Is the Place Monument at the mouth of Emigration Canyon. But all week things were happening. Al Thomas bought tickets for the entire family to attend the grand musical, Promised Valley, at the University of Utah stadium. He also took Bea to the Tabernacle Choir’s performance of The Restoration, with the famous tenor Rulon Y. Robison. On Sunday, the twentieth, President George Albert Smith spoke on national radio, on the University of Chicago Roundtable, and that same day President David O. McKay, second counselor in the presidency, made a nationwide presentation on “Church of the Air.” On July 22, a caravan of seventy-two automobiles, sponsored by the Sons of the Utah Pioneers and equipped with painted sideboards to look like covered wagons, arrived in the valley from Nauvoo, Illinois. These commemorative “trekkers” appeared that day at the dedication of the new Sugar House Park and then paraded down Main Street. Added to all that, the Capitol Theatre, all refurbished, reopened on the twenty-second and was playing I Wonder Who’s Kissing Her Now. Even the U.S. Postal Service had gotten involved by issuing a new “This Is the Place” three-cent stamp, and according to the newspapers, the fireworks show at the fairgrounds, going on every night that week, would be the “greatest show ever in the West.”

  Bea Thomas loved it all, and she wanted the whole family together at the parade, so she and Al got up early on the morning of the twenty-third, drove to town, and staked out a spot on State Street in an area where they would get some shade. Then they waited as the family gathered. LaRue and Beverly were the last to arrive, just in time for the parade, LaRue driving “Mom’s car.” This was an extravagance that amazed the older siblings. Dad had shocked everyone enough when, for Mother’s Day, he had given Mom a car of her own, but the thought of driving two cars to the same place, when everyone could have fit into one—that was something Dad never would have considered in the past. “You wouldn’t have let us do something like that when we were LaRue’s age,” Bobbi told her dad.

  “Nobody had two cars in those days,” Dad said.

  “Nobody does now.”

  And that was almost true. But Bea was busy with the new land development project, and she actually had to run around more than Al did. The truth was, she was embarrassed to have the car, and she never told anyone it was “hers,” but she found it more than useful, virtually necessary, the way her life ran these days.

  “Here’s what’s amazing,” LaRue told everyone. She plunked herself down in front of Bobbi on one of the blankets. “No matter how much Dad does for me and Beverly, we’re not spoiled. We’re still just as sweet as we ever were.” She looked to Beverly for agreement.

  “Even sweeter,” Beverly said, and she giggled. She tried so hard sometimes to be like LaRue, but Bea could see that Bev was actually blushing.

  Everyone laughed, the teasing continued, and Bea enjoyed every bit of it. Al had bought little Gene a set of cap guns, with holsters, and a “cowboy suit”: a little felt cowboy hat, a vest, and a neckerchief. The noise of the caps actually scared Gene a little, but he kept holding the guns well out in front of him and pulling the trigger, then flinching a little when the caps went off. Bea was surprised that Alex was willing to let him make such a racket, but Alex was trying very hard these days not to let things bother him. Al had picked up some sparklers, too, and before the parade arrived, Alex lit a few and let Gene hold them and wave them around. Gene kept insisting that baby Kathy needed to have her own sparklers, but “Little Bea” was asleep in Grandma Bea’s arms.

  Bea was sitting with the baby in a wooden folding chair at the back of this little Thomas section. There were only four chairs, so Al had insisted that Anna, Lorraine, and Bobbi take those, and he was sitting on the blankets with the men, and with Beverly and LaRue. In the middle of everything was a metal cooler, full of ice. Bea had bought it the week before at the big grand-opening sale at the new, enormous Sears store on Eighth South. She had also bought an entire case of soda water at Grand Central, on sale for ninety-eight cents, and a bunch of U-No candy bars, three for twelve cents. She hadn’t seen a deal like that in a long time. Nickel
candy bars seemed to get smaller all the time.

  When the parade finally arrived, the beginning was impressive. A color guard of Marines marched by, followed by the famous U.S. Marine Band. The Thomases all stood in respect for the flag and then waved to Governor Maw, in the first car. Al and Bea knew the governor well, but Bea was still impressed that he noticed the family and waved back. Then the First Presidency came by in the second car, and the Brethren also smiled and waved. Bea loved these good men. The Centennial Queen, Calleen Robinson, followed on a beautiful float, decked out in a jeweled gown. “Mom,” Bobbi said, “I read in the paper that that dress cost a thousand dollars.”

  “I know,” Bea said. “I talked to her mom. She said the thing weighs a ton. Calleen can hardly drag it around. She’s only wearing it in the two parades.”

  “Seems a waste,” Al said, but Bea laughed and gave him a little kick.

  By then people had begun to throw out confetti from the windows of the buildings above, and it was floating down on everyone. Bea liked that. It made her think of the ticker-tape parades in New York City.

  But now the Boy Scouts were marching by—five thousand of them. They looked nice in their uniforms, but it took a long time for all of them to pass by. Bea didn’t mind, but LaRue, of course, had to fuss about it. And eventually Bea did begin to wonder whether the parade wasn’t just a little too “grand.” It lasted two hours, with something like eighty floats telling the history of Utah and all the cultures back to the early Indians and to Father Escalante. There were also trick riders on horseback, and clowns, the Tournament of Roses band—enough to catch Gene’s interest now and then—but the heat kept rising, into the nineties, and poor little Kathy got very cranky before it was all over. Bea actually left with LaRue and Beverly, along with Lorraine and the baby, before it was quite over. And she wasn’t sorry at all, at that point, that the girls had brought an extra car.

  Bea actually enjoyed the next day much more. The couples with babies decided not to attend the dedication of the monument, and LaRue and Beverly didn’t want to go, so Al and Bea took Richard and Bobbi with them, and they drove up early enough to get a good spot, close to the little speakers’ platform. Eventually, the crowd was enormous—the Deseret News later estimated that 50,000 had shown up—but Bea was moved by the sentiments expressed and the pageantry as each of the five sections of Mahonri M. Young’s monument was unveiled separately. The Marine Band was there again, and so were the Boy Scouts. They sang “Home on the Range,” and the sound of it, up there against the mountains, was surprisingly rich. Mormon leaders spoke, and so did Bishop Hunt from the Catholic Church, Rabbi Luchs, and Reverend Moulton. Rabbi Luchs spoke the words that lingered with Bea when the ceremony was over: “We must stand for the granite and bronze virtues of these pioneers.” At the end, everyone sang “Come, Come, Ye Saints,” and the music seemed to fill up the whole valley.