Chapter Twenty-Nine

FEBRUARY 1945

Celia was thrilled when she picked up the mail from the post office. Two letters from Joe in as many weeks. She didn’t even see Olney Tate as she flew down the store steps on eagle’s wings.

“Whoeee! Celia Percy, you look like you’re ready to fly to the moon.”

Celia stopped in her tracks but couldn’t take the grin from her face. “Mornin’, Olney! I just got a letter I’ve been lookin’ forward to, that’s all.” She felt her face warm.

“Wouldn’t be from that soldier boy, would it? Friend of Marshall’s?”

“Might be.” Celia wasn’t wanting to say but couldn’t keep from smiling.

“Well, when you write him back, you tell him things are lookin’ up and our Marshall’s likely comin’ home.”

“Coming home? For real? For good?”

“We hope. He wrote that the Army’s near finished its trial. He thinks it may take some time yet, but they’ll discharge him, honorably. I reckon he’ll get back to England soon as he can or bring his Ivy here after the war. We’ll just take all that one day at a time and help how we can. The Lord knows what we don’t.”

“That’s good news, Olney —the best. Joe will be so glad. He’s been worried sick about Marshall. Couldn’t learn what happened to him for the longest time.”

“I know the feelin’. It will sure be good to have our boy home again. And you tell Joe that when he gets sent back to the States, he’s got a home with us anytime he wants it. Marshall tells me he’s been a brother to him.”

“I will.” Celia’s grin liked to split her face. “I surely will.”

Marshall’s coming home! Thank You, God! Celia could hardly take it in. She realized from what Olney said that there was some kind of trial going on. She didn’t know what that meant, but hard as it was, she knew better than to pry. Olney was proud that Marshall was being vindicated, that was clear, and it was good enough for her. She knew a thing or two about the shame trials could carry after all her family had been through when her daddy was incarcerated, and every story, she knew very well, held many sides.

She’d read Joe’s letter and respond right away. He’ll be so glad, so relieved, for himself and for Ivy. Soon, maybe, Marshall can send for Ivy and enroll in medical school. That’s been his plan —his and Joe’s.

Celia almost laughed out loud for the happiness of it all.

She was nearly to the top of the hill when, unable to wait a moment longer, she ripped open Joe’s letter.

Dear Celia,

I’m writing you now because I don’t know where to turn, what else I can do.

What I’m about to say sounds like a bad dream —a nightmare I can’t wake up from. I’ve got to write our friend all that I’ll tell you here, but he’s going to need help, someone to help him through this, and I don’t know anyone to ask but you.

A couple months before D-Day, when our friend married, I’d never seen him so happy, and Ivy was, too. What he didn’t know before that day we stormed Normandy, and what he doesn’t know yet, is that she was pregnant. She tried to find him, but just like me, she couldn’t. The baby came after Christmas. A girl. Her name is Violet.

When I got word about where our friend was, I wrote Ivy right away, but the letter was returned. I got leave this past weekend and went to tell her in person, but she’d been killed —an undetonated bomb exploded in a field she walked through. She’s gone, Celia, and before I got there, before I knew anything about it, the baby was taken away —somewhere. I’ve tried my best to find out where. Ivy’s parents won’t tell me, but I think they know. I’ve gone to the police and either they don’t know or won’t tell me.

Violet’s a beautiful baby girl. I know our friend will want his daughter, but I don’t know how to find her, and I don’t know what to do, how to tell M that Ivy’s gone.

Help him, Celia. This is going to rip his heart out. He loved her and they were good together.

Through all this I’ve started praying, something I haven’t done much since my parents were killed in that fire when I was a kid. I can’t say I have answers, or that I’m even sure God hears me. None of this makes sense, but I don’t blame God for it like I used to. I blame the ugliness and hatred of people. How God can stand to look at us, I don’t know, but I need Him. I sure need somebody.

Pray for our friend. Pray for me, Celia.

Joe

Celia had started reading in the middle of the road and hadn’t moved. She didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until she went a little light-headed and drew a long one.

Marshall has a baby. Bomb exploded. Ivy dead. Celia couldn’t take it in. The early February wind blew down the mountain and stole the breath from her pipes.

What to do? Where to turn?

Joe was right. This would kill Marshall. The idea that he’d married, that he’d given his heart to someone, had been astonishment enough for Celia. Now Ivy was dead . . . and their baby . . . gone.

Celia reached Garden’s Gate and plunked onto the front porch step. It was a mess, surely. She’d ask her mama what to do, but Joe had made it clear that this was private, a secret between the two of them so that she could help Marshall when he learned of Ivy’s death. She wondered if Marshall had received Joe’s letter yet, if he’d get it before he was discharged and reached No Creek.

She’d be able to tell by Marshall’s face the moment she saw him. Marshall had never been good about concealing his feelings from his eyes, unlike a lot of their friends down at Saints Delight who practiced no expression before white people . . . for good reason, she knew.

She couldn’t tell Olney and Mercy; that was up to Marshall. She could only wait to be there, be a friend for Marshall when he got home. But what about the baby? Baby Violet? What a pretty name, a flower name. She’ll be so welcome, if Marshall can get her home.

Joe said he’d tried everything he knew to do. Celia believed that. Even she knew that a medic couldn’t move mountains. But she knew someone who might, who championed the underdog with every bit as much grit as Celia herself. Only this person possessed more clout.

Ten minutes later Celia sat in her room, pulled a sheet of notebook paper from her school binder, and wrote to Joe.