BEULAH SAT AT the kitchen table and stared at the letters scribed when she was just a girl. Memories of a time that seemed ancient surfaced like bubbles floating to the top of water, as if they had been waiting for some signal.
When her brother had signed up after the horrible attack on Pearl Harbor, he was off to training and then was eventually shipped overseas. They didn’t know where until the day when she was the first to get a letter from him. The mail took a long time back then; and they didn’t always arrive in the order of when they were written. And so she had received the first communication from the faraway land.
***
It was a warm afternoon in late April, the trees sprouting leaves, the grass growing enough so the livestock didn’t need hay any longer, and she was barefoot in the garden helping her mother plant corn.
Her father puttered in from town in the dark green Chevy truck and pulled up next to the old stone house. She sensed the excitement in his voice when he called, “Beuly, come get your letter from Eph.” Her mother dropped the sack of corn and they all ran to meet her father. With grave care, her father handed the letter to her and she held it in her little hands as if it were a bar of gold from Fort Knox.
They had waited to find out where he was sent since Ephraim couldn’t say anything before he left. If he did, the censor would mark it out or maybe even not let the letter go. So the boys had learned to be careful about what they told. She thought of a slogan from those times on posters everywhere: “Loose lips sink ships.”
While her parents waited, Beulah opened the letter carefully. At the top, next to the date, it had said North Africa.
“He’s in North Africa,” she said.
Her parents looked at each other with a strange expression she was too young to understand and too scared to ask the meaning. She read the letter to them, which told her how much he missed her and asking what she had been doing. He told her very little about his own life in the service, but was eager to know what was going on at home.
Ephraim wrote many more letters to her. All those letters were safely stored in her room. But she had never laid eyes on the letters now placed in front of her by her granddaughter. Oh, she reckoned her parents had read them, or parts of them to her when they were received. To now hold them and read them as an adult, well, it was like finding a buried treasure.
The first few letters were from training camp. Beulah skipped those and went straight to the first one from overseas.
North Africa
April 21, 1943
Dearest Mother and Dad,
How is everyone by this time? Dad, I was wondering if you got the field broke? I sure wish I could be there to help you. It’s a lot for you all by yourself. How many new calves do you have by now? I would like to see them. That new bull was fine stock and I am anxious to know what kind of cows he puts on the ground.
It’s not too bad here. I have made some buddies. One is from Boston and he never handled a gun until he joined up. He would tickle you to death the way he talks but he laughs at me, too. His name is Charlie Fitzgerald and he is Catholic. There is another fella called Rooster and you can imagine why.
And then my best friend is Arnie Mason from Texas. We were raised up the same way and he likes to talk about farming as much as I do. Except they call them ranches out there. He talks of cows with horns as long as a bale of hay. Can you imagine it? I have seen them in movies but I would like to see for myself. He has invited me to visit him after the war, and I think I would like to see Texas someday.
We have been awful busy, and I am glad. It is good to pass the time so we aren’t left to think of home too often. The food is okay, but I sure do miss Mother’s cooking. And Mother, I’m fine and dandy, so please don’t worry about me. I will write more when I have time. Give Beulah my love.
Love,
Ephraim
Beulah heard his voice through the words, always upbeat, always cheerful. Even to a little sister ten years his junior, he had treated her with such love and care. He had taken her on dates to the movies with his sweetheart, Bessie Sprinkle. Looking back now, Beulah knew her parents had probably sent her as a chaperone. Still, he seemed glad to have her along and she never knew the fighting or resentments siblings closer in age experienced.
Placing the letter back in the box, she made a decision. She would not devour these all at once. Instead, she would parcel them out, starting at the beginning, and enjoy them one by one. They had waited in silence for nearly sixty years. It seemed disrespectful to read them too fast. She took the box upstairs and placed it by her bedside table. Tonight she would read another one—or maybe two.
On her way back down the steps, she thought about Bessie Sprinkle, Ephraim’s old girlfriend. She had died twenty years ago of breast cancer, after raising three kids with the man she married before the war was even over. If she remembered right, Bessie’s husband was from another county, discharged for medical reasons. For a while, Bessie was like a big sister to Beulah when she and Ephraim were courting. She even came over for visits after Ephraim enlisted, but those had tapered off and Bessie had gone on to other things, even before Ephraim was killed. Truth be told, she had resented Bessie all these years, her dropping her brother while he was serving his country. Even as a little girl, she had wondered if it had broken Ephraim’s heart to lose his girl while being so far away from home. It had troubled her to think he might have died with a broken heart.
Bessie had lived a whole life beyond Ephraim, just as Beulah had. It seemed strange how one person’s life was cut so short and others lived to ripe old ages. It was a mystery and one she would ask the good Lord about when she got to heaven. His ways were higher.
***
With much to ponder, she felt drawn to the kitchen to sort it all out. The letters had stirred up deep feelings and cooking helped her think clearly.
The iron skillet was just heating up for pork chops when the harvest-gold wall phone rang out. When she answered, Betty Gibson launched into talking as soon as Beulah said hello.
“I’ll tell you one thing, Woody Patterson sure didn’t go to Chicago to buy a horse. I saw him drive by the Snip and Curl this afternoon and he wasn’t even pulling his trailer.”
“How do you know he just got back? Maybe he unloaded it and came back into town,” Beulah said.
“Because he goes to the nursing home every Thursday morning to see his mother. You know Shirley Updike? She’s in the DAR with me and she works at the nursing home. I called her and asked if Woody had been in this morning and she said no. Woody never misses seeing his mama on Thursday morning, although heavens knows there’s not much left to see. She’s done wasted away with a brain injury, but he goes every Thursday morning come hail or high water.”
She looked at the iron skillet, longing to be off the phone and slopping batter on the pork chops.
“So what do you think, Beulah? Why is he going off to Chicago under the pretense of buying a horse with no horse trailer in sight?”
“Well, Betty, sometimes a man uses sayings to politely hide what he really means.”
“So what are you sayin’?” Betty asked, frustrated she wasn’t jumping on her bandwagon.
“Your own Joe says all the time he needs to ‘see a man about a horse,’ and we all know it’s a warning that he’s going off behind the barn to relieve himself.”
There was silence on the other end of the line and Beulah grinned to herself. It was so easy to get Betty’s goat. No wonder Joe did it all the time.
“So, are you saying Woody Patterson went all the way to Chicago to urinate?”
***
Saturday night was Evelyn’s dinner party and Jake insisted on picking them up, even though she and Annie were fully capable of driving the mile from her farm to Evelyn’s. It was a nice gesture just the same. He helped her to the SUV and into the back seat. Thank goodness for those running boards. Who in the world could mount one of those high vehicles without them? It was nearly like climbing up on a horse, an activity she had given up years ago.
Annie, looking so pretty in that perfect shade of red, slid into the front seat and off they went. Evelyn had been consumed with the party planning all week and Beulah hoped she wasn’t worn to a frazzle now it was time for the dinner. They were celebrating Jake’s official return from Cincinnati and the guest list included the usuals at their after-church Sunday dinner for the single folks with the addition of Betty and Joe Gibson, who normally made a practice of eating at Long John Silver’s after church.
The only addition to the dinner party out of their normal circle was Tom Childress, Lindy’s father. Jake had been drawn to him as a mentor of sorts after he decided to move back and he was certainly a fine man. He had a stellar reputation and was looked up to in the community as a leader. Jake had picked a good mentor, and Evelyn’s invitation for dinner was a nice gesture.
They arrived and Jake helped her out and up the front steps, Annie on his other side. They were back door friends with the Wilders, but she knew Evelyn wanted everyone to come to the front door on a night such as this. They were the first to arrive, which was just as well, since she could offer her help.
“Oh good,” Evelyn said, her apron still on when she opened the door. “Annie, can you put ice in the glasses? Beulah, I need you to see to this meringue. It does not want to stand up for me. Jake, can you turn on some music?”
Meringue was her specialty and Beulah was glad to be assigned a job she could do.
“Do you have some cream of tartar?” she asked. Evelyn produced it and she added just the right amount. The meringue was stiff as a board in just a few minutes. And without even asking Evelyn, who seemed quite preoccupied, she put it on the pies, giving the tops some nice curls to brown just so in the oven.
Actually, Evelyn seemed nervous, which was odd for a woman who was no stranger to entertaining. It wasn’t like her to be this behind in preparations, but she must have spent her time on getting dressed, because Evelyn was quite a vision in a baby blue knit suit that accented her slim hips and her blue eyes. One of those St. Somebody brands. Evelyn’s mind was not on pies this evening, so Beulah decided to take over the desserts and slid them in the oven for browning.
Woody Patterson came in through the back door, his reddish brown hair slicked back off his freckled face, making him look younger than his forty-odd years. He wasn’t a bad-looking fellow when he cleaned up, except for the unruly upper plate that flapped about when he talked too fast.
“Beulah!” he said, his voice bouncing off the kitchen walls. And then he eyed the pan lying in the sink and swished his finger around it, gathering up leftover pie custard.
She started to fuss at him for coming in the back door and for slopping around in Evelyn’s dirty dishes, but poor Woody was raised up rough and probably didn’t know any better. Instead, she decided to help him.
“Go back out and come in the front door,” she whispered. “Evelyn wants everyone to come in the front door tonight so she can greet you.”
“Huh?” he said, leaning over so he could hear. Again, she said, “Go out and come in the front door,” louder this time, and taking care to enunciate each word.
“Go out the front door?” he asked, a look of total confusion on his face.
She gave up. Woody was hopeless, bless his heart.
“Everybody’s in the front room,” she said in a normal voice and bent over to check on the pies. Just a bit more time for browning the meringue. Woody had gone into the front room when she rose from peering in the oven door. She recognized voices as Betty and Joe Gibson came in and then Scott and Mary Beth, who were without her two children this weekend. Next she heard Lindy and then Tom’s mellifluous voice, which made a body feel like all would be well no matter how twisted the problem.
With the hot pads, she slid the pies out of the oven and placed them to cool on trivets. Coconut cream and chocolate, her favorites. Even better, they would still be warm in time for dessert. Her job was finished, so she wiped her hands, and joined the others in the front room where Evelyn had prepared wine punch and sparkling grape juice to go with the appetizers. This was a fancy party, not like their normal sit-right-down-at-the-table functions. Beulah noticed Evelyn still had on her apron. She eased in front of her friend and nodded down when she passed Evelyn, hoping she would get the hint.
Evelyn caught the nod, looked down, and blushed red. She did an about-face and reappeared seconds later without the apron.
She accepted a glass of sparkling grape juice from Jake. It was well enough for Evelyn to serve wine punch, but she would never be caught serving alcohol in her own house. Evelyn was a Presbyterian and they had different views from the Baptists on whether or not the wine was fermented at the Cana wedding.
Evelyn was talking with Tom Childress and seemed a bit calmer now. Sometimes the anticipation of a thing was more nerve-wracking than the thing itself. Betty and Joe were talking with Scott, the young preacher at the new community church, and Mary Beth, the elementary school teacher, about marriage. Actually, Betty was giving marital advice and Joe was listening. Beulah hoped Scott and Mary Beth would take a grain of salt with whatever wisdom Betty was imparting.
The appetizers looked tasty and she took some bread with green sauce on it and popped it in her mouth. Oh no. Garlic. The one spice she could not tolerate. One more of those and she would be up all night with the indigestion.
“How did you like it?” Annie asked, leaving Jake with Lindy and Woody. “I helped Evelyn make the pesto and she taught me how to cut and toast the bread, then put the sauce on at the end.”
Beulah needed to strike a balance. She did not want to discourage Annie from cooking. Her granddaughter needed to learn a few things if she was ever to set up housekeeping. The key was to be agreeable, but not gush, or else Annie would be fixing pesto regularly.
“Right tasty,” Beulah said. And it was tasty, just not to her liking.
“Try this,” Annie said. “It’s bruschetta, same concept except it has tomato sauce.”
Garlic again, she thought. Beulah managed to nod her head while she was eating it. She needed to get away from Annie before being asked to try something else.
“I better see if Evelyn needs anything,” she said while easing away.
When Tom saw her coming toward them, he greeted her warmly.
“Beulah, I was just telling Evelyn how much I appreciate what you two do for these young folks. Lindy loves having lunch on Sundays with you all. It’s helped her transition back to small-town life after years at the university in Lexington.”
“It gives us a great deal of pleasure to do it. They keep us young. It was an added bonus to see Scott and Mary Beth develop a relationship after being at our table,” she added, and looked to Evelyn for agreement. But just then, a look of panic swept over Evelyn’s face and she excused herself and headed to the kitchen. Beulah followed, as fast as her recently operated-on knee would allow.
Evelyn stood for a minute at the counter and looked at the finished pies. She turned to her, relief washing over face.
“Thank you, Beulah. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. I’m a scatterbrain!”
“You had too much on your mind. It’s a nice party, it’s obvious you put a lot of work into it.”
“Do you think so?” Evelyn asked. For a moment, her expression took Beulah back thirty years to the young bride Charlie Wilder brought home with him down from Lexington. Evelyn was raised up with fine things and good schooling; farm life was new to her. Beulah had taught and coached her because Evelyn wanted to learn and to make a life, as hard as the change was.
“Yes,” she said with all the confidence she could put into one word. “It’s wonderful! And everybody is enjoying themselves. You need to relax and enjoy it yourself.”
“You’re right! I do. This is a celebration, after all.”
They all moved into the dining room and feasted on pork loin with mashed potatoes, green beans, glazed carrots, and a frozen salad. The conversation flowed like warm butter.
They were nearing the end of the dinner when Betty looked down the table at Woody.
“Woody, Joe said you went up to Chicago to buy a new horse. What kind did you get?” she asked with a devilish glint in her eye.
Woody leaned back in his chair.
“I spotted several I like. I’m going back next weekend to pick ‘em up. This was just a scouting trip,” he said and scooped up a huge forkful of mashed potatoes.
Aha. Beulah looked at Betty to see how she was taking that little tidbit. Betty’s eyes glinted in satisfaction.
“Stella Hawkins lives in Chicago, doesn’t she?” Betty asked and then jumped like she had been kicked under the table. She cut her eyes at Joe.
“Chicago?” Woody said. “Big place. Ever been there, Tom?”
He might not be too smooth on the outside, but Woody Patterson was wily as a fox.
***
After the dinner party, Jake helped Beulah into the house and she went on up to her bedroom and let Jake and Annie have the downstairs to themselves. She was eager to read another letter from her brother, Ephraim. It was as if she was going to have a visit from him, even if it was only a short one.
After getting her nightgown on, she slid under the cotton quilt made by her mother and pulled out another brown envelope.
North Africa
May 17, 1943
Dear Mother,
I am sending you some money and I want you to use it for anything you want. I can’t be there to help on the farm, so at least I can do this.
How is everyone by this time? I’m fine, the only thing is, I’m about to burn up during the day. It is hotter than any Kentucky summer except it is a dry heat, not like our humid and hazy afternoons. At night, it cools down like October at home.
How is everyone to-nite? I’m feeling fine and staying busy.
You asked me if I have heard from Bessie Sprinkle. Yes, she has written me but I have not written back. I don’t know what to say to her. She is a good girl and I like her. I am just not sure how to write her or if I should, not knowing how long we will be over here.
Has Dad put out any tobacco yet? How much corn did he plant? I will be there next spring to help, I hope. Farming and more farming is what I want when I get home.
I hope you are both not working too hard. Mother, don’t worry about me for I will be okay. Tell everyone hello for me and I’ll be home soon.
Love,
Ephraim
Beulah sighed deeply. Ephraim wasn’t home the following spring—or any of the following springs. He was headed to a date with death, just months later. But instead of sadness, the pleasure of his love flowed from the letter to her soul.
She took off her glasses and turned off the bedside lamp. In the dark, she imagined herself as a young girl, safe in the upstairs room of the old stone house. Her parents were sleeping in their bed across the room. Her brother was asleep in the other bedroom. In that sweet memory, they were all alive and happy, living under one roof.