Chapter Fourteen

The doors of home opened with a genial embrace, and Evelyn relished it. When she’d last left, she’d thought Bill and Helen might still be alive. Although her head knew they were dead, her cheeky heart challenged the notion. If she could just pretend, she’d make it through this evening.

Hank still carried Lily, who had not spoken a single word since they found her. Nor would she allow herself to be pried from Hank’s arms. He had mumbled something about an unusual connection fueled by shock, but Evelyn couldn’t understand it. Why wouldn’t Lily come to her? Had her psyche been damaged somehow, and would she ever be herself again?

The loss of Lily’s innocent vivaciousness felt like an amputated limb. This morning the child had only been worried about whether she’d be allowed to wear her red shoes, and now they meant nothing to her. Her parents had both been alive, and she had nothing but joy to expect from the events of the day. The speed with which tragedy stripped a person bare was nothing less than terrifying.

Hank gently shut the front door behind him and kept up his stream of conversation with Lily. She only responded to yes or no questions, but at least she reacted. That was something to be thankful for.

“Would you like something to eat?” Hank’s considerate question provoked a shake of chestnut brown curls.

“Banana?”

No.

“Toast?”

No. Lily swiped a tear.

“Worms?”

A teeny twitch of her mouth was the first sign Lily was still there. Locked inside a frail, traumatized shell, but there, nonetheless.

Evelyn took weary steps into the kitchen, grabbed Lily’s favorite Woody Woodpecker tumbler, and filled it with the last of Helen’s lemonade. Evelyn succumbed to the temptation to take a small sip, but she struggled to swallow it. How long would it be before she could tolerate drinking lemonade again?

She returned to the living room and used her best mom voice. “Lily, take a drink. It’s time for bed. Let Freddie go.”

Evelyn reached out a hand, and Hank attempted yet again to set Lily on her feet. He leaned over, but Lily locked her legs tighter. Hank recoiled from the scream she emitted right into his ear.

“Young lady, that’s quite enough. Let go of Freddie and come to bed. Now. “The emphasis on the last word always worked for Helen, but evidently it didn’t hold the same magic for Evelyn.

“It’s okay. Let me carry her up.” Hank peeled Lily away until he could look her in the eye. “Would you like that, sweetheart?”

Lily nodded, leaned her head against Hank’s shoulder, and stuck her thumb in her mouth. She had given up thumb-sucking years ago, but Evelyn wasn’t about to argue tonight. With anything.

“Okay then, let’s go.” Evelyn led the way up the stairs, with Hank’s heavy, even tread following from behind. His weight made the third step creak, just like it always did for Bill. He’d meant to fix it, but …

Oh, dear God, would every memory snuff out the breath from Evelyn’s lungs? The house had always seemed alive, a recorder built of mortar and brick that had preserved every sound of life and laughter. Now, the echo of emptiness betrayed Evelyn’s thoughts and made pretending harder.

Evelyn snapped on the light beside Lily’s bed, set down the glass of lemonade, and turned back the baby-pink quilt that bore Helen’s even, neat stitches. She fluffed the feather pillow, and when Hank sat on the end of the bed, she fetched a fresh pair of Lily’s pajamas from her dresser drawer.

Softening her voice to a low tone, Evelyn said, “We need to change you for bed, darling. Come now, help Aunt Evie.” When Lily didn’t respond, Evelyn took hold of her bicep and tugged. In a firmer voice, she said, “I’m doing this with or without your help. So choose. Will this be agreeable, or will we have a fight on our hands?”

Lily was so still Evelyn’s heart broke. Along with it, her resolve. Lily could sleep in what she wore. This wasn’t a hill to die on.

Hank spoke up, and Lily laid a hand on his cheek as his mouth moved. “Dorothy, you’re back home. There’s no witches, no flying monkeys, and you’re the only Munchkin here. Time for bed now, sweetling. You’ll sleep better in your pajamas. Will you put them on?”

Silence.

“For Fraidy Freddie?” Hank steepled his fingers and begged.

Lily giggled, the sound sweeter than Bit-O-Honey.

“Hooray! But Freddie shouldn’t see a girl change clothes.” He covered his eyes and turned his back. “Let Aunt Evie do it. Hurry!”

Lily scrambled off Hank’s lap, and in a flash, she was dressed and under the covers. Hank placed a tender kiss on her forehead and said, “Good night, Dorothy.”

The wails of a brokenhearted girl made Hank rebound as if he was tethered to a rubber band and Lily held the ends. He knelt on the floor beside her and stroked her hair until she quieted. “Would you like me to stay until you’re asleep?”

Hank glanced Evelyn’s way, and she nodded agreement. She scooted the tiny chair of Lily’s vanity beside the bed. When Hank sat, it groaned under his weight. “Okay then. Here we are.”

Earlier that day, Hank had offered such a comforting prayer. “Would you like Hank to say your night-night prayer?”

Hank stiffened at the question, but Lily nodded yes.

Evelyn breathed her own prayer, asking God to send comfort when it seemed she couldn’t. Inadequacy coiled in the pit of her stomach like a viper. Soon, it would strike.

Then what would she do?

Pray? Again? Whether he wanted to or not, it seemed Hank was destined today to speak to the Almighty. This time, however, no words came. This child had witnessed unspeakable, gory death, and she’d been parted from her parents forever. What could Hank possibly say to a God who’d sanctioned that?

A melody intruded on his mental rant, accompanied by words he’d not sung since he was a boy in Sunday school. They repeated on a loop until Hank found himself singing without meaning to.

Jesus loves me, this I know

For the Bible tells me so.

Little ones to Him belong;

They are weak, but He is strong.

Evelyn joined in on the chorus with a sweet alto, the harmony perfect with Hank’s baritone.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

By the time they reached the final refrain of the familiar song, Lily mouthed the words although she did not sing.

Yes, Jesus loves me.

The Bible tells me so.

Could life be so simple? Could all the grand philosophies of centuries past be distilled into the words of a children’s song? The Bible clearly stated, “God is love.” Could His love be strong enough, vast enough to bridge the gap between the circumstances of life and heavenly peace?

Hank tucked in the quilt that swaddled Lily, and her eyelids began to droop. Soon, her breathing came in a soft, even rhythm. Hank watched, mesmerized by her serenity in slumber after such a dreadful day.

If God tucked Hank under a blanket of eternal love, would it smother the flames of his anger and grief?

Maybe. Maybe so.

Darla arrived like a balmy spring breeze after a frigid winter. Comfort, confidence, and concern swirled around her in little eddies of encouragement. Evelyn had never known a truer friend.

“I’ll watch over Lily like she was my very own. Don’t give a thought to worry.” Having stopped by her home to change, Darla had tied her hair up in a kerchief. Her blue seersucker slacks and short-sleeved sweater were immaculate. Everything about the woman was soft, in sharp contrast to her diner persona, proven by the fact she didn’t challenge Hank’s presence. At least, not yet.

Hank looked at the floor and shifted his weight to his other foot.

“I’m surprised Charlie let you go early.” Evelyn still marveled at the modern-day miracle.

“I didn’t give him no choice.” Darla smirked. “I called his mother and told her Charlie needed her real bad. She came right over. Charlie nearly dropped his spatula when he saw her.”

Charlie’s mother terrified everyone, including Charlie. Evelyn would like to have taken a seat in the corner booth to watch the entertainment. Given the tragedy of the day, Charlie likely wouldn’t close till midnight.

Evelyn already felt like she’d run a marathon, but it was only eight o’clock in the evening. She checked her pocketbook and opened the small change purse that held the rest of her mad money. Hardly enough for a cab ride.

“Now, none of that.” Darla pulled out a couple of five-dollar bills and shoved them into Evelyn’s purse, snapping shut the latch. Before Evelyn could object, she said, “You can pay me back later.”

“Thank you.” The words seemed so inadequate for such largesse. Darla merely scraped by on her salary. Only one thing was certain during wartime. Everyone rubbed their pennies together.

“So you’re going to the …” Even Darla struggled to speak the ugly word morgue. “… the armory?”

“I have to find out what happened to Jamie, and I’ve exhausted the other options.” Evelyn cranked up her courage and said uglier words. “Bill and Helen are likely dead. Someone will need to identify and claim their bodies.”

Darla shuffled backward a couple of steps. When her calves hit the sofa, she plonked down like her legs had lost all strength. “No, baby. They can’t be dead.”

Evelyn peered at Hank, but he didn’t seem inclined to answer. “Hank saw what happened, and he thinks they didn’t survive. Anyway, going to the armory is a necessary step.” She ran her forearm through the straps of her pocketbook and stood as straight as a schooner’s mainmast. “Thank you for staying with Lily. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“I’ll stay all night if I need to.” Darla stood, her feet slightly apart and her weight evenly balanced. “I’d offer to pray for you, but God and I aren’t on speaking terms right now.”

The statement finally got Hank’s eyes off the floor. He studied Darla, and his right hand went to the nape of his neck.

“Don’t say such a thing.” Evelyn pushed out the words through pursed lips. Darla never listened to scolding, but this was more important than diners who’d been left too long for water refills.

“Naw. I’m mad at a God who would let such a thing as this happen to a bunch of women and children who weren’t doing nothing but trying to have a little fun.” Darla crossed her arms. “Either God didn’t care, or He was lookin’ the other way, or something. If He was as good and powerful as everyone says, He’d a stopped it.”

The words bordered on blasphemy, but hadn’t Evelyn entertained the same thoughts? She’d not been bold enough to speak them aloud—that was Darla’s long suit.

Hank cleared his throat. “We will have plenty of time to sort this out in the days to come, but it’s getting late. Let’s go, Evelyn.”

Darla rediscovered her scrappiness. “That’s a mighty friendly address for someone who met her only yesterday. Try Mrs. Benson.”

“Hush now. Hank—I mean, Mr. Webb—has been a faithful friend all day. He’s helped me when no one else could. We can set aside social conventions for one day, right? Especially today.”

“Well—” Darla stepped up to Hank and poked a stubby index finger in his chest. “No funny business, got it?”

Hank didn’t back off, not one bit. “Ma’am, there’s absolutely nothing funny about anything today. Your friend is very safe with me.”

Darla startled Evelyn with a hug. She loved Darla to pieces, but the bristly woman never hugged anyone. Tears threatened a return, but Evelyn banished them. She allowed the rare embrace to last a few extra seconds, then disentangled herself. Darla’s eyes shone with impending tears as well, and she’d never forgive herself if they fell.

Evelyn changed the subject. “Just one thing, Darla.”

“Yes, dear. Anything for you.”

“Please don’t wash the glasses in the sink. I’d like to do it myself.”

“Are you sure?”

“Never more certain in my life.”

The strange request silenced Darla, a rare feat. Evelyn would explain later, but if she started down that road right now, it would only lead to a meltdown.

Hank opened the door like a gentleman. Evelyn passed through, savoring another whiff of Bill’s Old Spice. She marched down the sidewalk like she was headed for the guillotine. An apt comparison, because Evelyn felt as if a vital part of her body was about to be amputated.

Hank and Evelyn joined a long queue of anxious, weeping people facing the most horrific day of their lives. City officials limited how many people could be present in the armory at a time, so everyone made agonizingly slow progress.

Hank used the time to contemplate his reaction to Darla’s indictment of God. He couldn’t argue with her logic. A good and merciful God would have snuffed out the flames before they climbed the canvas. But wasn’t that the job of the seat men? And why weren’t the fire extinguishers in place? How much was God responsible for the failures of men?

Throughout the emergency, people had made decisions and acted upon them without God’s approval. Those choices weren’t God’s fault. Where did the providence of God end and the responsibility of man begin? Was God’s power limited by the free will of mankind?

And what about his own choices? Hank should have been more forceful with Eddie in reporting Russell as a deranged firebug. And he should have grabbed Bill by the seat of his pants when the tent collapse was imminent, dragging him out of danger even if he didn’t want to go. So was Bill’s death his own fault? Or Hank’s? Or, if he set the fire, Russell’s?

Hank’s thoughts chased each other like two squirrels up a tree trunk in mating season. Around they went in rapid-fire circles, one leading to another until Hank’s head throbbed. He massaged his temple until a gentle hand on his forearm interrupted his internal frenzy.

“Headache?” Evelyn patted his arm twice.

Yes. A bigger headache than this softhearted woman needed to understand. None of today’s events were Evelyn’s fault. To prevent his turmoil from spilling into words, Hank simply nodded.

Evelyn scrounged through her purse and brought out a bottle of aspirin like it was a blue ribbon pie in the county fair. “There you are! I knew you were in there.” Triumphantly, she screwed open the lid, took Hank’s hand, and shook two tablets into it. She closed his hand around them. “Now all we need is a glass of water.”

No. Not true. There wasn’t enough water in the whole universe to make Hank swallow his angst and confusion. He’d need more than a simple glassful. He’d need immersion.

Hank chewed the tablets and swallowed. A nasty taste filled his mouth, but it was no more bitter than the flavor of his soul.