“I think I heard them say that they’re what would happen if Jimi Hendrix played a gig with the Rolling Stones,” I added. “And with a little of the Beatles mixed in for good measure.”
“Huh. Sounds outta sight.” David wiped his lips with his napkin. “Thanks for supper, Mrs. Jacobson. It was nice to have a home-cooked meal.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call this home-cooked,” she said. “But you’re welcome just the same.”
“At least it was nice to have a little company for a change.” He folded his napkin and tucked it under the edge of his plate. “It gets lonely always eating in front of the TV in my apartment.”
“Well, we would be happy to have you come again.” She nodded. “Next time I’ll have my mother bring a dessert.”
“That would be nice.”
From upstairs we heard a loud crashing sound and an uproarious round of laughter. Mom’s eyes grew wide and she bared her teeth. “I’d better see what that was.”
David and I sat across the table from each other, alone in the room and hearing Mom’s voice as she got after the boys for whatever they’d managed to break upstairs.
I sighed. “Boys, huh?”
“It wasn’t too long ago that I was just like them,” he said.
“I can’t imagine that.”
“I was as wild as a pastor’s kid can get away with being.”
“Your dad’s a pastor?” I asked. “I didn’t know that.”
“Yup. My father was a preacher all of his life.” David nodded. “Passed away a couple of years ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.” He rubbed his forehead. “It was a hard time. That’s another reason my mother was upset about me moving all the way over here.”
“Do you see her very often?” I asked.
“I try to get over there a couple of times a month.” He grinned. “I have a little niece who lives down the street from her, so I don’t stay away too long. That little girl is so fun.”
“How old is she?”
“Just turned three.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet. “Her name’s Naomi.”
He opened the wallet, handing it to me so I could see a little black and white photo of a sweet girl. She had her hair in braids tied off with ribbons, and her face was stretched into the sweetest smile I’d ever seen. Held tight in her chubby arms was a little stuffed kitty that looked as if it had seen better days.
It looked well loved.
“She’s beautiful,” I whispered.
“She gets it from her Uncle Davie,” he said, taking the wallet back. “If I can ever talk my family into coming out here, I’ll make sure you meet her.”
“I would like that very much.”
“No doubt they’d be interested in meeting this Annie Jacobson I’ve told them about.”
“You’ve told them about me?” The room seemed to rise in temperature at least a hundred degrees.
“Of course I have.” He grinned. “You were my first friend here in Fort Colson.”
Friend, I told myself. Just a friend.
It was a title I could be happy with.
After David left, Mom had driven all of Joel’s friends back to their respective homes, and when she returned, she came into the kitchen, shaking her head.
“Those boys have watched more than their fair share of John Wayne movies,” she said.
“What do you mean?” I pulled the plug from the sink to let out the dirty dishwater.
“Oh, they were sitting in the back of the station wagon, talking about growing up to be war heroes or some such ridiculousness.”
“Don’t all boys dream of that?”
“I don’t know.” She grabbed a couple of clean glasses and put them up in the cupboard. “But I let it be known that war isn’t glamorous like they’ve seen in the movies. There’s nothing glorious about dying in battle.”
“I’m glad you were there to set them straight.”
“If nothing else, at least I can do that.” She leaned against the counter and crossed her arms. “I was glad to meet David.”
“You were?”
“For what it’s worth, I think Mike would approve.” She sighed. “As for Frank . . .”
“We’re just friends,” I said, interrupting.
“That’s a fine thing to be.” She swatted her hand at the drainer where the dishes sat. “Leave those. I’ll put them away in the morning. You should get some sleep.”
I told her good night and gave her a kiss on the cheek before going up to my room. She smiled and looked at me as if she was trying to take in every detail of my face, my hair, my everything. It was the way she’d looked at me when I was little and sang my first solo at church or when I’d learned how to ride a bike on my own. When I came in second place at the school spelling bee and the day I graduated from high school.
If I read it right, it was of love and pride and maybe a little bit of mourning. As if she knew that each step I took was a step away from needing her so much.
It both warmed my heart and broke it at the same time.
Hi, All-Of-You!
Well, believe it or not, I have sustained my very first war wound. Some Neanderthal (me) slammed my fingers in the door of one of our transport vehicles. Don’t worry. None of them are broken—my fingers or the vehicles. They’re just sore and look like something Dr. Frankenstein might have sewn onto his monster.
I asked if this could get me sent home. No dice. And it didn’t earn me a Purple Heart, either. But I will get a week or two off from taking rides on the dust-off. Instead, I’m stuck on base, rolling gauze and divvying out malaria pills. Believe you me, I don’t mind this dull and uneventful work at all. It sure beats getting shot at.
I bet by the time you get this you’ll be getting ready for Sinterklaas Day. I sure will miss taking part in that. There’s just something about hanging some tinsel on a light pole that gets me into the spirit of Christmas.
Do me a favor, will you? Have somebody take a picture of you with whatever tree they put up in town this year. Please? And make sure Oma’s in it too. She always makes any picture prettier.
I love you all,
Mike
PS: Mom, don’t let Annie spend another minute with that Walt Vanderlaan character, all right? He’s bad news. Joel, if he comes around again, I give you permission to give him a right uppercut to the eye. Remember how I taught you.
51
The fifth day of December was marked on all calendars in Fort Colson as Sinterklaas Day. School kids had the day off, most businesses stayed closed, and the sheriff’s department shut down the main street from first thing in the morning until near midnight.
It was a day of hanging wreaths and tinsel and strings of electric lights. Banners were stretched across the road between telephone poles with greetings of “Merry Christmas” and “Fijne feestdagen! Fort Colson Wishes You Joy for the Holidays.”
In the front yard of the church was set up wooden cutouts of the Nativity. Mary in her blue and pristine white, Joseph in his red and dull brown. The shepherds to one side with black-nosed sheep and the Wise Men to the other with their gilded gifts in hand.
At the center of it all sat a flat manger, hand-painted straw curled soft over the edges. And resting there, swaddled in pure and clean cloths, was a blond-headed baby Jesus, eyes already a startling shade of blue and looking up to the heavens.
Every few years the Nativity got a new paint job to keep it looking fresh. That year the artist had given Jesus rosy cheeks and perfectly shaped pink lips, the corners pulled up in a smile.
Bernie had kept the diner open late to serve hot drinks and doughnuts to whoever wandered in. While he was constitutionally opposed to decorating, he had no problem making a little money from a day like that.
Customers had come in steadily throughout the day, bundled in hats and scarves and mittens, as the weather had proven to be colder than expected. Cups of coffee and tea and hot chocolate steamed up at them, and t
hey sipped as they sat at a booth or table, keeping warm inside.
I couldn’t hear the jangling of the bell on the door for the din that filled the diner. But I wouldn’t have been able to miss when the door opened, letting Mr. and Mrs. Vanderlaan in, followed by Walt holding hands with Caroline Mann.
“I’ll take care of them,” Bernie told me, reaching out for the coffeepot.
“No, I don’t mind,” I answered, stepping around him and making my way to the table they’d picked by the big window.
Walt had his arm draped over Caroline’s shoulders and he slumped beside her as if wishing he could hide from me. His parents sat across from them, stiff and not touching.
“Coffee?” I asked.
They all turned over the cups in front of them, watching me pour.
“Annie,” Mrs. Vanderlaan said, “I believe you know Caroline.”
“Yes,” I answered, looking up. “It’s been a while.”
“I’ve been away at college,” Caroline said. I’d forgotten the high pitch of her voice, how like a little girl’s it was. “I’m home for the weekend to see my Wally.”
“Isn’t that nice.” I rested the coffeepot on the end of the table. “Would anyone like doughnuts?”
“Oh, not me,” Caroline squeaked. “I wouldn’t dare.”
I glanced at Walt, who rolled his eyes. “You’re skinny enough.”
“Let her be, son,” Mr. Vanderlaan said. “Just two. The ladies won’t have any.”
Mrs. Vanderlaan stared ahead, not saying anything.
“Would you like one?” I asked her. “I have it on good authority that doughnuts are as healthy as an apple on Sinterklaas Day.”
“Well, then,” she said. “In that case, how can I resist?”
“Caroline?” Walt said. “Come on. Be a sport and eat a doughnut.”
“Oh, all right,” she said.
“Four doughnuts coming up,” I said.
It was only as I turned to walk away that I saw the glint of a diamond ring on Caroline’s left hand.
Walt brought the check to the cash register, sliding it across the countertop toward me. He didn’t lift his eyes to meet mine.
“So, you’re back with Caroline?” I asked, punching the numbers into the register. “When did that happen?”
“Yeah. I went out to see her at MSU.” He pulled a few bills from his wallet. “I guess she changed her mind about me.”
“I noticed that she’s wearing her engagement ring.”
“Listen, Annie,” he said, talking fast. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten your hopes up about something happening between you and me.”
“You didn’t.” I took his money and made change. “I just want to know if you’re happy. With her. With yourself. With life. I want you to be okay.”
It was then that he looked up at me, wearing his old cocky smile. “I guess I’ll be all right. She makes me happy. She really does.”
Just a little after five o’clock, the sun set and the pinprick glow of rainbow-colored Christmas tree lights showed up against the dark of evening. Main Street was abuzz with people lining the sidewalks and waiting for the start of the parade.
Bernie had left me to lock up the diner, and as soon as I turned the key in the door, I tried to catch sight of Mom and Oma. They’d promised to save me a spot. But all I could see were stocking-capped heads and clusters of families that didn’t belong to me.
That was when I saw David making his way to me, lifting a hand in a wave to get my attention. “Over here,” he called.
“Hi,” I said when he got closer.
“Hi.”
“What do you think of all this?” I asked.
“I think it’s great.” He tilted his head back. “Now if only it would snow, it would be perfect.”
“Too bad we don’t get to order the weather, huh?”
“Indeed.” He took my hand. “Your mom and grandmother are over this way.”
I followed behind him, his hand holding mine.
Dear Annie,
There are days around here when there isn’t much to do but twiddle our thumbs. You might think I’d like days like that, but I don’t. I hate them. I’m always on edge and I can’t seem to relax because I never know when the shoe is going to drop.
I never know when the calm is going to erupt into chaos and I want to be ready for when it does.
What a fatalistic view of life, huh?
Anyway, back to all I’ve been thinking about.
I’ve been thinking about Mom and how strong she’s always been. Do you think she’ll crack if something were to happen to me? Do you think she’d be all right? I’m not saying that I’m the most important person to her, but I am her child. Her firstborn. What will happen to her if I don’t get to come back home?
And Joel. He’s just a kid. I’m not going to pretend that I don’t know how much he looks up to me. What’s going to happen to him? Who’s going to step in and be a big brother to him?
Don’t feel left out, pal. I’ve been thinking about you too. I don’t want to think about you having to go through losing me. I know that sounds like I’m stuck on myself, but hear me out. It kills me to think of you suffering or grieving over me. It makes me all kinds of antsy just thinking about how lonely you’d be.
I’m starting to pray that somehow I’m able to outlast all of you so you won’t have to live through losing me.
But, I’m telling you. I don’t think that’s going to happen. I really don’t. Not with how close I am every day to it all coming to an end. Every single day I have at least one second where I think I’m not making it home. And sometimes I’m so tired I think how it might not be so bad for it all to be over.
I sound like a loon, don’t I? I’m telling you, being over here, it isn’t too hard to lose your mind. It’s a strange thing, but I think I understand a little why Frank came back from Korea the way he did.
The things we see, Annie, they’re enough to make anybody go a little nutty. We weren’t made for this. I can’t believe that God created us for all this death and destruction. War wasn’t his idea. I’ll bet he hates it more than I do, even.
I hope I’m not scaring you. Gosh, I hope I’m not.
Write back, would you? I sure could use something to make me smile right now. If nothing good’s happening in The World, just make something up. For me. Can I count on you for that?
I miss you.
Mike
Dear Mike,
First off, you didn’t scare me too badly. But you did make me want to pray even more that you come back in one piece. Both in your body and in your soul. Although, if you do come back haunted like Frank was, we’ll work it out together, all right? You won’t need to run off like he did.
Please promise that you won’t do that. Okay?
Now, I present to you a much-needed distraction. (Imagine movie introduction music here.)
I’m sending you the promised family picture from Sinterklaas Day. Everybody’s there. Even Sinterklaas himself in his red suit and bushy white beard. Can you take a guess who drew the short straw and had to wear the costume this year?
That’s right. Bernie Jager, the old Scrooge. He grumbled about it for a week, but he played the part well. So well, in fact, that some have said he should dress up like old Saint Nicholas every year. Wouldn’t that be something?
By the way, you don’t have to worry about Walt coming around and bothering me, at least I don’t think so. His wedding to Caroline is back on. For now, that is. I’m happy for them. I really am.
And Mom’s happy that he isn’t calling a hundred times a day anymore. All without Joel having to throw a punch. We all win.
Despite what everybody around here seems to think, I never held a candle for him. If nothing else, being around him reminded me that I deserve someone who will like (or even love) me the way I am.
Maybe when you get back you can meet my friend David. The one I told you about. I think you’d like him. Golly, you might even want to go
fishing with him. I haven’t told anyone but Jocelyn this, but if there’s a candle to be held, it’s for him.
Don’t you tease me about it, though. I’m an adult woman now, and blushing doesn’t become a lady.
Big brother, no matter what happens, I believe with all my heart that you’ll make it back home. In fact, I need you to.
Love you,
Annie
52
Oma and I worked in her small kitchen; cookies filled every countertop space, table, chair, and so forth in various stages of baking. Round and thin stroopwafels with caramel filling and thick, candied bastognekoeken. Braided sweet Dutch pretzels and sugar cookies waiting to be frosted.
Some of my fondest memories of childhood were of standing on a step stool at her counter, stirring away at the ingredients in her robin’s egg colored mixing bowl with a heavy wooden spoon. As I got older, Oma asked me to read the recipes to her, although I knew she had them memorized. Half of the Dutch words I’d learned were related to baking.
She never lost her patience with me when I mixed too hard and sent a dusting of flour onto the floor, and she didn’t get after me for tasting a pinch of the dough.
“A good baker always tastes,” she’d say, dipping into the bowl herself and placing the crumble on her tongue. “Just right.”
I no longer found the step stool necessary and I had no need to double-check the cookbook. My pronunciation of the Dutch words had become more comfortable to me as I moved my mouth around them. Being in the kitchen with Oma had become as natural to me as breathing or putting one foot in front of the other.
That day, with all our Christmas baking to do, we moved at an easy pace. No rushing, not hurrying, just enjoying our time. Usually we waited until the week before Christmas, but that year we wanted to get it done early so we could send some to Mike.
“I have a little bird that comes to visit me in the afternoons on the tree outside the window,” Oma said. “Nuthatch is what it’s called.”
All Manner of Things Page 25
