47

They heard from both their boys that evening. Levi called just before supper to ask for money, and Addison phoned from Fort Sill to tell them he was alive, that basic training was going well, that everyone was nice to him, especially his drill sergeant, and joining the army was the best decision he’d ever made.

“Is the drill sergeant standing next to you?” Sam asked. “If he is, ask how Grandma is doing.”

“How’s Grandma?” Addison asked.

“Did he tell you to say you were okay? If he did, ask about Grandpa?”

“How’s Grandpa?” Addison asked.

“If you want us to break you out, ask to speak to your brother.”

“Can I talk to Levi?” Addison asked.

Sam covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said to Barbara, “They’re holding him against his will. He wants us to come get him.”

“Let me talk to him,” Barbara said, taking the phone from Sam.

“Hi, honey. Joining the army was your idea, not ours. We are not driving eight hundred miles to rescue you, so suck it up.”

Just a year ago, she had wept when they had deposited their older son at college. Moaning and wailing and gnashing her teeth. Gone was the sentimental mother and wife, replaced by a stern librarian who brooked no nonsense, who whipped recalcitrant males into shape with a snap of her fingers.

My Lord, Sam thought, she’s become Miss Rudy.

Miss Rudy, the former Harmony librarian, had single-handedly held off a siege of the town council bent on cutting her funds. She had locked the library doors and hid the only key in her bra, living on water from the toilet tank after the town had shut off water to the building to drive her out. She ate paste to keep up her strength. Oh, they had underestimated her. On the fourth day, the men of the council had capitulated, apologizing for cutting the funds, begging her to open the doors and come out. But she had stayed in the library an extra day, just to show them one could live on books, then marched out at noon on the fifth day, her head held high, and three pounds heavier. She had gained weight! When word got out, her picture made the cover of American Libraries magazine. Admiring letters poured in from librarians around the world—beaten down, beleaguered librarians who had drawn strength from her bravery. She answered each one in flowing, Palmer-method, handwritten script.

Sam looked at Barbara, as if seeing her for the first time.

“You’ve become Miss Rudy,” he said.

“And don’t you forget it, buster,” she said.

Sam had always gotten along well with Miss Rudy. In fact, he had always admired strong women. Strong men annoyed him, because of their tendency to confuse arrogance for strength. But strong women, well, strong women intrigued him.

Later that evening, after a brief interlude of pleasant activity, Sam studied their bedroom ceiling.

“That was some morning,” he said.

“Yes, it was,” Barbara said, snuggling closer.

Snuggling! A strong woman who snuggled. Sam was woozy with adoration, and fell to sleep, for the first time in a long time, looking forward to life.