They both laughed. Mr. Sayer’s eyes brightened. He sat forward. “What kind of wood does she like?” he asked.
“She loves cherry wood. Do you think you could make something for us?”
“Sure, I could. I could put together a design or two and let you decide which you liked.”
“That would be wonderful. I’ll surprise my mother with it. I can never think of anything to get her for her birthday.”
As if talking out loud, Mr. Sayer continued. “I’m sure I could find someone in town to work with me.”
“I’m sure you could.”
They chatted for another hour, during which Mr. Sayer asked her to call him Henry, and they shared stories of their childhoods growing up on the beach. Around one, Margaret came in to announce lunch. About that same time, Nanny Brown and the children entered from the porch, bringing their noise and the smell of children playing. Caroline introduced them to Henry before they left to wash up before the meal.
Caroline brought Henry into the dining room. The children and Nanny Brown followed shortly thereafter. She wished she’d had time to warn the children not to ask Henry about his arm. Alas, it was the first question out of Audrey’s mouth. “Mr. Sayer, what happened to your arm?”
If it bothered him, Henry didn’t show it. “Well, it’s quite a story.”
“Did it happen in the war?” asked Pierce.
“It did. I was on the USS Corry. Have you heard of it?” asked Henry.
Seb nodded. “Sure. She sunk at D-Day, right?”
“She did. And I was there.”
The children had stopped eating, staring at him with wide eyes.
“I was a machinist. Do you know what that is?” asked Henry.
“No,” said Audrey.
“It’s one of the men who makes sure everything on the boat is working well. Anyway, the Germans got us and Commander Hoffman told us we had to abandon ship. So I jumped right into that icy water. And when I was swimming around in there, I got hit with a bullet in my arm.”
“Were you scared?” asked Audrey.
“I was, but a seaman has to be brave. We knew we were fighting that day for something important. Fighting for what’s right is the best thing you can ever do, so the other boys and me, well, we were proud to go in there, even though we were scared. You know what else? The ship spun around in circles before she sunk. Strangest thing you ever saw.”
The boys’ eyes were shining. What was it about boys that made them love war?
“Anyway, the USS Fitch came by and saved us after we’d been in the water about two hours. I was pretty cold when I got out. And after the surgeons took my arm, they sent me on a train to where Doctor Nelson was the doctor and he helped get me back into good form so I could come home.”
“Uncle Julius was your doctor?” asked Pierce, his voice incredulous.
“Yes, and he asked that I call on your mother and you kids to let you all know he’s doing very well, and he can’t wait to come home and see you all.”
“I don’t remember him,” said Audrey. “It’s sad, but there’s just not a thing in my mind about him.”
Caroline smiled and met Henry’s eyes, who also appeared amused. “She was only four when he left,” said Caroline.
“But we remember him,” said Seb. “He’s like a father to us.”
Caroline stared at him. What had he said?
“Our real father’s very busy with work.” Pierce said this matter-of-factly as he buttered a piece of bread. “So he doesn’t have time to come to the beach.”
Seb pulled a letter from his pocket. “Uncle Julius writes to us, though, and tells us stories of brave things he’s seen. He says that there’s a lot of bad, but that he sees men do extraordinary things every single day. He told me to remember that if we scared by what’s on the news.”
Caroline looked at her plate so the children wouldn’t see the tears in her eyes. She often snuck a peek at Julius’s letters, and what Seb described was true.
“Well, that brings me to one of the other reasons I wanted to come here and meet you all,” said Henry. “I’m going to tell you a secret that no one else knows. Doctor Nelson told me you all must keep it a secret.”
“We’re good at keeping secrets,” said Audrey.
“You’re the worst secret keeper in the world,” said Seb.
Henry continued. “Doctor Nelson was awarded a Medal of Honor for his bravery while working as a surgeon at the field hospital.”
Caroline’s heart seized. “When did this happen?”
“About a year ago. He told me he never told anyone about it because he’s too modest. During our brief friendship, he shared it with me, and he said he wanted you all to know about it.” Henry pulled something from his pocket. “As a matter of fact, he sent me home with it so that you might keep it until his return.”
**
Caroline walked Henry out to his car, realizing with a start that she didn’t know how he’d driven here, with only one arm to hold the steering wheel and shift gears. As if he read her mind, Henry pointed to the car. “First thing my sister insisted upon was a new car. It’s an Oldsmobile with a Hydra-Matic.”
“Oh, yes, I remember reading something about it. Didn’t the first one come out just before the war?” she asked. “Does it truly work without all the shifting and letting out the clutch nonsense?”
“It does indeed.” Henry smiled as he opened the driver’s door. “Thank goodness for me.”
“You must do the hutch for me,” she said. “The children have fallen in love with you. They’ll be devastated if you never come back. Besides my father, they don’t see very many men around here.” She hadn’t meant to say the last part. Seb had already given Henry too much information with his statement at lunch about Julius being like their father.
“They’re wonderful children. You’ve done very well with them,” said Henry.
“Thank you. They’re my pride and joy.”
He slid into the car. “I’ll call you next week to talk about the hutch and give you an update on how soon I’ll be ready.”
“I’ll look forward to it,” she said.
She stood in the driveway, waving, as he made his way around the circular driveway and onto their road. In the middle of the driveway, a ceramic fountain with various foliage surrounding it made a pretty picture, especially this time of year with the flowers in full bloom. She walked over to it, placing her hand in the water stream that cascaded from the top, thinking through the events of the afternoon. Julius had received a medal and he hadn’t told her until he was transferred away from the front lines. He’d always been protective of her, like she was fragile. Her legs were unsteady in her high pumps as she crossed the driveway and went into the house.
CHAPTER THREE
Phil
ON A MORNING IN LATE AUGUST, Philippa Rains stood on the porch of her parents’ Iowa farmhouse, holding the suitcase she’d been given for her seventeenth birthday last spring. She wore her Sunday dress, a white and pink print with a modest tuck at the waist. Acres of tall corn swayed in the breeze, a blanket of green as far as the eye could see, so that one could not see where they ended and the sky began. The scent of freshly cut hay wafted sweetly from across the dirt road where Eddie’s family flew their American flag at half-mast. Clouds dangled low on the horizon, but the determined sun hung above them, casting rays like arms of gold across the fields. To the left of the house, a red barn stood proud, and beyond, a pasture where horses grazed on dewy grass. She gripped the porch railing. Soon she would be on her way, an evacuee from her parents’ home like a common criminal. She set the suitcase on the steps and went inside to confess to her parents the awful truth.
Her mother and father sat at the kitchen table, a copy of the newspaper between them, scents of coffee and baking bread strong in the small kitchen. Phil’s mother, Jane, read the funny pages, unsmiling, wearing her light blue housedress. She read them every day, but Phil had yet to see a smile cross her stingy mouth. H
er father, Jacob, tapped his thumb against his empty coffee cup, reading news of the battles across the sea. Sunlight streamed through her mother’s spotless windows from the east. Birds chirped on the branches of the apple tree in the backyard.
Sunday was a day of rest, other than the two hours they would spend at church listening to Reverend Muller preach of sin and banishment into the fiery depths of hell. Phil hovered at her place by the table, covering the knot in the pine with her index finger. The rectangular table was small so that if the four of them were all together, Jacob, Jane, Phil, and her little sister, Mary, their feet would run into one another if they allowed their legs to stretch. They never did. All four of them kept their feet tucked under their chairs, sitting up straight, like a fire pit divided them. Phil and Mary were not to speak unless spoken to. No one spoke of her brother Ivan. It was as if he had never existed.
“Good morning,” said Phil. They were to always greet one another with a polite and pleasant greeting in the mornings. Rules and more rules.
Both her parents looked up, giving her a rote smile. “You’re too late for breakfast. We’ve eaten all the eggs,” said Jane. “You should be out the door already.”
Phil taught Sunday school to the grade school children at the church. They expected her, but she would let them down. Do not think of their dear faces or the way they gaze at me as if I know the secrets of the world. She swallowed the sick that rose to her throat at the mention of eggs. The last several weeks she’d been especially nauseous in the mornings. Eggs were on the list of foods that made her shudder, along with chicken, cheese, and anything made with onions.
“Where’s Mary?” asked Phil. She wanted to speak to Mary alone.
“Feeding the chickens.” Jane had gone back to the funny pages and didn’t look up when she spoke.
Phil sat in her place at the table. She fiddled with the salt and pepper shakers, brushing away specks of salt from where they had fallen near her father’s cup. “I’m going to have a baby.” The tears came. She fought them, taking in a deep breath and biting her bottom lip.
Her parents’ heads jerked up, the color drained from their faces. Jacob’s fingers, grasping one corner of his newspaper to turn the page, tightened but remained in midair. Jane’s arms fell to her side. Her mouth opened and closed. The large vein that ran down her forehead pulsed. Her father’s eyes were wide, like toothpicks held them open against his will. Then their bodies went still, like they were suddenly in a photograph. Phil sat on her trembling hands, waiting for judgment. She tasted blood from where she’d bitten into her lip. Outside, the sound of Mary’s voice calling to their dog in her high-pitched voice penetrated the silence. “Bobooooo.”
Jane’s eyes, the color of faded denim, were fixed upon her. She looked old. She’d aged since Ivan’s death. A year had passed since the telegraph had come. She now had more gray hair than brown and bags like rolls of raw dough under her eyes. And now Eddie gone, too.
Her thoughts drifted to the night the news had come. Eddie was dead. Killed in action somewhere in the French countryside. Phil cried herself to sleep, but woke when Mary crawled into her bed. Phil moved over to allow her room and Mary snuggled up against her like two little spoons nestled in a drawer. Mary’s tears soaked into the sleeve of Phil’s dressing gown. “I’m sad, Phil.”
“I know, Moo,” she whispered and stroked Mary’s baby fine hair.
“Did the bullet hurt?”
“I don’t think so. The letter said he was killed instantly.” A lie. She didn’t know how long it had taken him to die. She’d tortured herself with the same questions.
“How do they know?”
“They saw him in battle.” They saw him shot down as he marched toward the enemy. He never had a chance.
“He was brave, wasn’t he?” asked Mary asked.
“Very.”
“Remember when he saved me from that mean dog?”
“I do,” said Phil. “He was always brave, even when we were little.” Her throat closed; tears leaked from her eyes into Mary’s hair.
“You won’t die, will you, Phil?”
“No, Moo. Not for a long time.”
“Can I sleep here with you?”
“Yes, my lamb. Now go to sleep. You have school in the morning.”
“School seems dumb now.”
“I know. But we have to go anyway.”
Now, her mother jerked again, this time with her upper torso, like someone had smacked her between the shoulder blades. “How far along?”
“Three months.”
“Before he left?” asked her mother.
Phil nodded, her cheeks on fire with shame. I wasn’t sure he’d ever come back. I had to give him what he’d begged for so many times before he left. Something to assure him she would be here when he returned from battle, ready to marry him and start the life they’d talked about for so long.
Three years after the news of Pearl Harbor and America’s entry into the war, when they were both just sixteen, he enlisted, lying about his age.
“I can’t sit here and do nothing.” They were in the hayloft above his father’s barn, his cheeks flushed from kissing and his attempts to get her to let him inside her. Strands of straw were tangled in his dark hair and there was that hardness to his eyes since the telegram had come about Ivan. The two families had neighboring farms and the boys had been best friends, as close as brothers, even though Ivan was several years older. No one, except her parents, took his death harder than Eddie.
She hadn’t bothered to beg him to stay. He was not the type of boy to listen to a girl, even the one he loved. He enlisted the next day. A week later, knowing he might never return, she gave herself to him, body and soul. Six weeks later she discovered she was pregnant. Sixteen weeks after that, he was killed fighting the Germans.
“Did he know?” Her father set down the paper and smoothed his hand over the front page. Ink stained the palm of his hand.
“No. I wrote to him, but he was gone by the time it would’ve reached him.”
“How could you do this?” asked Jacob. “After all we’ve done for you?”
Phil let the tears spill down her cheeks, knowing what would come next.
“You have to go,” he said. “Pack your suitcase. Leave and don’t come back.”
“My suitcase is already packed.” Anger fueled her now, both at herself and them. She was stupid. There was a part of her that hoped they might surprise her. What an idiot she was to think so. And yet, it was Eddie’s child after all. They loved Eddie. Everyone knew from the time they were kids that they would get married someday. Damn you, Eddie. Why did he have to lie about his age and enlist? Why did you leave me alone with a baby? It didn’t matter now. She must go and make a new life. California awaited. Anything was possible there. Opportunity, jobs, the Pacific Ocean.
“You’ll be sorry not to know this baby. I won’t ever come back, don’t you worry. But I won’t be the one who wishes it was different.”
She grabbed a biscuit from the stove on her way out the back door. The money she’d made taking care of Mrs. Betz’s children down the road was tucked into the inside pocket of her dress. Her friend, Susan, was meeting her at the end of the dirt road to take her to the train station. She took her suitcase from where she had left it on the front porch and crossed the yard to the barn, anger replaced by tears. She must say good-bye to her darling Mary. She found her in the hayloft of the barn, sitting cross-legged, petting their barn cat, Stripes. Phil left her suitcase outside the door and climbed up the ladder to the loft. Mary was dusty and Phil knew she’d been crying because there were streaks of tears in her dirty face.
“Why’re you crying, Moo?” asked Phil.
“I heard you talking with Mother and Father,” she said. “You’re going away.”
“I have to, but not forever.”
“Take me with you.”
“When I get settled, I’ll send for you,” said Phil. She knew this was nearly impossible to do, but bo
th needed the dream.
“Promise.”
“Cross my heart,” said Phil.
“Where are you going?”
“California.”
Mary’s eyes went wide. “But that’s so far away.”
“There’s work out there. Seamstress work in factories. And it’s sunny all the time. I could live by the ocean. Would you like to live by the ocean?” Absolutely none of this she had planned to say or even thought about for herself, but as she said it, she knew it to be true. San Francisco. The ocean. A job as a seamstress.
“How will I know when I can come?” asked Mary.
“I’ve arranged with Susan to take letters to you, and she’ll take ones from you and mail them to me.”
“Will her father find out?”
Susan lived with her widowed father, a kind, quiet man, weak from various ailments, so she took care of him, not the other way around. “Susan mails the letters and picks them up.”
“Okay.”
“I have to go now, Moo. I’ll write soon.”
Mary sobbed with her head in her knees. “Please, don’t go.”
Phil pulled her onto her lap. “You must be brave. Just for a little while. Someday, you, me, and the baby can all live together.”
“It’ll be like Eddie’s with us, won’t it, Phil? When his baby’s here?”
“Yes, lamb, it will.” She stood with Mary clinging to her, skinny legs around her waist. She was the size of a four-year-old, not a girl of six. They’d both been fat babies. Their mother, concerned, rationed out their food like they were kin to the animals in the barn rather than her own children. When she had her baby, she would let it eat until it was full.
“Listen, Moo, you have to let me go. Don’t follow me down the road, or Mother will see you and punish you for it.”
Mary nodded but clung tighter.
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