The light hanging from a hook inside Trudy’s closet glowed red. The aroma of photo processing chemicals filled Trudy’s nostrils, and she tried not to sneeze.
“C’mon …” She placed the photo paper into the chemical bath and waited for the exposure to take place. A series of photos hung to dry from a narrow width of clothesline stretched from one side of the closet to the other. She’d clipped each of them to a hanger and in turn hooked the hanger from the line.
The photo of the small Japanese submarine looked pretty swell. Eric would love it. She’d definitely make another copy of the photograph for him, if her chemicals held out. The newest photo image in the chemical bath emerged from the blank paper. A sunlit crowd on the town square, with everyone facing toward the bandstand. Everyone except Bradley Payne.
His smile came to life, lit by the summer sun, the shadow from his hat brim shading one of his eyes. Charming, friendly, curious. Holding secrets. Did she dare ferret them out?
Mr. Payne’s assignment here was a temporary one, so what did it matter? A sadness lurked deep in his eyes. Was it her job to help him? Maybe that was someone else’s task.
Her mother warned her of strangers, that people weren’t always what they seemed. Wolves in sheep’s clothing prowled, looking for unsuspecting lambs to devour, or so she’d been told. Trudy would admit that she wasn’t worldly wise. But she wasn’t quick to trust strangers, either.
Yet there was something in Bradley’s eyes, despite how he tried to push people away.
Dear Lord, we’ve all been through so much. We can use some hope, some joy. It’s hard to believe sometimes that You’re in control when the news talks about the insanity of war. Trudy slammed the brakes on her thoughts, especially the ones surrounding her doubts. It seemed, though, no matter how much anyone prayed and believed, the longed-for answers didn’t come.
Bradley’s image shimmered beneath the surface of developer. There. The photo was done. She snatched it out with her tongs then slid it into the water tray. After a rinse, she hung the photo to dry like its companions.
She clung to the faith she’d had since childhood, but as a grown woman, the answers of childhood didn’t satisfy her as much. Some answers I can live with, that’s all I ask. And how can I help someone like Bradley Payne, when I don’t have answers for myself?
“Trudy!” Eric bellowed outside the closet door, the shrillness in his voice making her jump.
She bit her lip. “What is it? I’m only in the closet, not hard of hearing.”
The door handle jiggled.
“Don’t open the door, you’ll ruin everything.”
“Mama’s home early. She’s real tired. She wants to know if you picked the vegetables yet.”
“No. Tell her I’ll be right there.” She sighed. Although, she had to admit that she found gardening relaxing. The first few vegetables were maturing now with an early onset of spring back in March.
“Don’t be mad, Trudy.”
“I’m not mad, Eric.” She turned out the light and the closet filled with darkness. She reached with her toes to pull the towel away from the crack between the door and the wooden floor of her bedroom. She pushed the door open.
The room was empty. Evidently, Eric had scampered off to his next adventure. Oh, to be twelve again, when the biggest care was if your friend could come outside to play. She scolded herself. Eric didn’t have it easy. A boy needed his father, and their father was an ocean away.
Trudy left her trays of developing solution in the closet and padded barefooted downstairs to find her mother in the kitchen.
“You’re home early,” she said.
Mother nodded. “They didn’t need me today at the hospital. So I thought you and I could pick vegetables.”
Of course this meant Mother wanted to talk. It seemed they all had battles with worries and cares since the war came to their doorstep. Within a few minutes, they both carried a basket to the back garden.
The first baby potatoes were ready, along with lettuce and tiny cucumbers. By summertime, they might have enough to put up jars of pickles. The soil felt cool to Trudy’s feet as she squatted to pick some tomatoes.
“It’s a good garden this year,” Mother said. “Your father would be proud of us.”
“I—I hope we get another letter soon,” Trudy said aloud. “After what happened to Kurt, missing in action …” Missing. Not dead or wounded. But somewhere that no one knew about. And if someone did, they were likely the enemy.
“Are you sure you made the right decision, calling off the engagement?” Mother inspected the tops of the carrots, then passed them by.
“Yes. Not like it matters now.”
“He might come back. Would you reconsider?”
“I don’t think I would.”
Her mother sighed. “Everything has changed. I never imagined this for our family. Here you are, twenty-one, halfway out our door. I just dread the thought of someone coming and taking you away …”
Trudy listened to the sound of the breeze whistling through the branches of the peach trees at the end of the garden. “I don’t think anyone will take me away. But if I ever do leave, Fredericksburg will always be my home.”
“I—I have a confession to make.” Her mother retrieved a narrow envelope from her apron pocket. “Here … this is for you.”
Trudy sat in the middle of the row of plants, not caring that her dungarees would get dirty. The return address was for Texas Wildflowers magazine. Back in April, she’d sent them a photograph of a field of bluebonnets, the Texas state flower.
Dear Miss Meier,
We find your photograph of the bluebonnet field of great interest to our magazine and intend to use it in our late summer issue. Please find a cheque for three dollars. We will also send you five complimentary copies of the summer 1943 issue of our magazine. If you have more photographs of our lovely wildflower landscape, we would like to see those as well.
Regards,
Terrence Irvine
Editor-in-chief
Texas Wildflowers
“When did this come in?” Three dollars. Someone paid her money for her photograph. Real cash money, once she brought the check to the bank.
“Last week.” Mother dipped her head. “I’m afraid you’re going to leave, go off hither and yon, taking photographs like you see in those magazines you love so much.”
“Mother, I have no plans to leave just yet. This editor invited me to submit more photographs. He likes them. That doesn’t mean I’m going to move to Austin or anything. They don’t have wildflowers in the city, anyway.” Trudy scrambled across the row of plants and hunkered down next to her mother, then embraced her.
“I’m sorry I hid it from you, and I’m sorry you’re seeing me like this.” Mother looked at the squash as she spoke. “I try to be strong for you, and your brother.”
Trudy gave her a hug. “You don’t have to be strong for me.”
“I know you’re all grown up. Just look at you, renting out our Sunday house. I’m not sure what your father will think about it. I’m not sure what I think about it.” Mother wiped her brow with the back of her gloved hand. “To be sure, the extra money is nice, but—”
“But what?”
“Be careful, schatze. He’s a reporter. I don’t trust him.”
“I’m careful, Mutti.”
Bradley set his napkin on the table. “Thank you, or should I say, danke? I really don’t know any German.” The smiling faces that lined the dining room held no judgment of his lack of German. This little pocket of society was far from a large city, and its older residents held to their native language. But the younger people his age spoke little German, if any.
“That’s all right,” said his opa, Hank. He brushed off Bradley’s apology with his wrinkled hand, callused from decades of woodworking.
The old man had cried when Tante Elsie introduced him as Micah’s only son.
“My Amelia and I loved him as best we could. We built a family together, all of us.” Opa shook his head, with the faintest of a tremor accenting his movement. “But my father was harsh. I’m sorry I didn’t realize how deeply that affected Micah.”
“Now Papa,” Elsie interjected. “Don’t apologize. Micah knew you loved him as a son. That should have more than made up for what your father tried to do.”
Bradley didn’t want to share with them about the last conversation he’d had with his father, so he held his tongue. If loose lips sank ships, the hurt that his late father’s words could inflict would hurt many assembled at the Zimmermanns’ home for supper.
He found himself the guest of honor, and although he was nowhere near a prodigal to this family, they’d killed the fatted calf and embraced Bradley as one of them. That, and there was cause for double celebration with the upcoming nuptials of his second cousin, Kathe, in several weeks.
“Will you still be with us?” Elsie asked.
“I–I’m not sure,” Bradley managed to answer. “My job brought me here and is letting me stay on for several weeks. I’m writing a series of articles about Fredericksburg on the home front, actually.”
“Please stay,” said his cousin Kathe. “You are welcome at my wedding. We need a celebration around here, and having you here will add to it.”
“I’ll talk to my boss.” He took a sip from his coffee cup. Never had he expected his writing journey to take him here.
“Have you ever been to Europe? Did you see any fighting?” asked one of his younger cousins—Walter, Bradley thought his name was.
“Yes, I was in Germany, briefly, as well as France and England. Then the war bond tour brought me here,” said Bradley. “When my number came up, they sent me home because of my ear infections. I’m hard of hearing in one ear. They thought that was a liability, I guess.”
“I’ll be glad when the war ends,” said Tante Elsie. “I know we all will.”
A whistle echoed outside, followed by a call from a bullhorn in the street. “Lights out, lights out!”
Then, just like in many neighborhoods in many cities across the country, the younger Zimmermanns scampered around, turning light switches off and pulling down shades.
Bradley wasn’t sure the little hamlet turning off all their lights and hunkering down would help the war effort, but maybe it made them all feel as if they were doing something instead of watching news reports.
“So, you’re renting from the Meiers,” Grandfather Hank stated.
“I am. I met Trudy right after the parade yesterday.”
“I think she’s quite taken with you,” said Kathe.
“Kathe,” Tante Elsie chided.
“Well, I haven’t seen her like this, especially after Kurt.” Kathe shook her head.
“What if he comes home? Then she has a choice to make.” Tante Elsie rose from the table. “More coffee, anyone?”
“So she has someone, then.” Bradley lifted his coffee cup. “I don’t mind more coffee.”
“No, not exactly.” Kathe sighed. “Kurt is MIA, somewhere in France. He’s been missing for three months now. His unit thinks he’s been captured.”
“That’s horrible.” It definitely gave a personal edge to the news. “His poor family …”
“So, I bet you’ll want to know more about Fredericksburg’s favorite son,” said Hank. “I knew the old captain well, Chester’s grandfather, Charles.”
“You did?” Bradley pulled his notepad from his pocket.
“Put that thing away. Tonight’s just for listening, not for working.” Hank waved his pointer finger at Bradley.
“Yes, sir.” Bradley tucked the notepad away, trying not to smile at the older man’s gesture. So this was how it felt, being part of a family.