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“WHAT DO YOU SAY, LILLY?”
About to bite into the vanilla ice cream cone Mr. Olsen handed her, Twila’s five year-old niece Lilly spurted, “Shanku, Mister O.”
Mr. Olsen glanced through the café’s front window. “Dark clouds up north... Storm’s a brewin’.
Through insistent static, the radio coughed out a message, and the locals in for morning coffee perked up ears.
We all know that General MacArthur wisely declared Manila an open city after the December attacks that destroyed half of the bombers in his Far East Air Force at Clark Field. To avoid disaster, the General withdrew our forces from Luzon to the Bataan Peninsula and set up his headquarters on the island of Corregidor.
In so doing, he bought time for 75,000 American troops in the Philippines and delayed the Japanese conquest four months, even while forfeiting aerial superiority. During this time, Malaya, Singapore, and the Indies have fallen to the Axis, but our forces on Bataan have held out.
For a few seconds, the static won, so Mr. Olsen gritted his teeth and fiddled with the tuning dial.
Muttering broke out through the cafe. Then, as if in response, the newscaster’s voice returned.
Harassed by constant artillery shelling, aerial bombardment, and disease, Filipino and American defenders can no longer resist the invader. The writing is on the wall.
With regret, we announce General Wainwright’s unconditional surrender of Allied forces in the Philippines. Upwards of 11,000 American soldiers have now fallen into enemy hands.
Let us hark back to our President’s Fireside Chat on December 9 of last year, when an estimated 62 million Americans tuned in:
“Powerful and resourceful gangsters have banded together to make war upon the whole human race. challenge has now been flung at the United States of America. The Japanese have treacherously violated the longstanding peace between us. Many American soldiers and sailors have been killed by enemy action. American ships have been sunk; American airplanes have been destroyed.
The Congress and the people of the United States have accepted that challenge. Together with other free peoples, we are now fighting to maintain our right to live among our world neighbors in freedom, in common decency, without fear of assault.”
It goes without saying, pray for our boys. And that’s how it is on May 6, 1942.
Distant thunder rolled as Mr. Olsen poured coffee for his customers, and comments crackled like popcorn.
“Surrender?”
“Unconditional, he said. Who woulda thought...”
“Sure ain’t lookin’ good.”
“Sure hate to think of ‘em bein’ prisoners.”
“Ain’t Howard Hannam’s son over there?”
“Yeah, and my brother’s boy. Sure hope MacArthur keeps his promise to rescue them fellas.”
While the men jawed about the news, Twila dabbed the ivory rim surrounding Lilly’s lips. Her sister-in-law Sharon gave her a smile.
“Thank you for the treat, Aunt Twila. We’re sure glad you work here at the café.”
The twinkle in Lilly’s eyes sent a wave of satisfaction through her—no better way to spend her tips. If only Dad could see how his little granddaughter had grown. Better write to him about her tonight—heaven knew nothing else newsworthy would be happening in Halberton.
“We’d better get going before the storm hits.” Lilly clung to Twila’s skirt as Sharon Brunner grasped her free hand.
“What a mess you’ve made—you got ice cream all over Aunt Twila’s uniform.”
“It’s okay, I need to wash it anyhow.”
“Come on, Lilly. It’s about to rain—maybe Daddy’ll come home early.”
“Show Daddy my ice cream?”
“You can show him the part on your dress, at least.”
“Give him a hug for me, please. We don’t see him much these days.” Twila gave Lilly a final kiss on the forehead.
“He’s like a freight train. The lumberyard keeps him running.” Sharon pulled at Lilly, whose smile highlighted the gap between her front teeth.
“Bye, Aunt Twira. Come shee us, okay?”
“You bet I will.”
Mr. Olsen hailed her from the kitchen, so Twila snapped to.
***
“MARVIN, I KNOW YOU’RE busy with the crops, but Twila’s been hanging around that Higgins boy, Ray’s youngest. It started during the summer, when she had more free time.”
Mom knew about Lonnie? Twila’s cheeks burned. Thank heavens for the iron heat grate in her bedroom. Tiptoeing over creaky boards, she slipped to the cool wooden floor. With her ear plastered against the crossbars, Uncle Marvin’s voice rose as if he stood right beside her.
“Them Higginses—rich as all-get-out, always thinkin’ they’re above the law. That Lonnie’s a ne’er-do-well.”
“If Don were here, things would be different. I hate to ask, but maybe you could...”
“Now Myra, the apple don’t fall far from the tree.”
“You’ve made me pay for my youthful sins so many times, you could line your old truck with gold.”
“Well, you know Mama never found peace after...”
“I know.” Her mother’s shrillness made Twila wince.
“You made Margaret leave home, too.”
Anger and regret laced Mom’s tone. “My flirtation with the dancing world hurt everyone. You have no idea how that one stupid decision still haunts me.”
What dire deed shadowed Mom’s younger days? A cool breeze rustled the leaves outside Twila’s open window, and in spite of the blackout, the kitchen light glowed down below. This must really be serious.
A twinge of regret meandered Twila’s spine. Mom had realized her nocturnal habit all along, yet hadn’t nagged at her once.
“Just so’s you remember what you put us all through, Myra.”
“Remember? Confound you, Marvin. Do you think I like not seeing Margaret?”
Except for the clock’s ticking, silence reigned. When she spoke again, it was hard to make out her words.
“Rehashing this won’t help Twila. With Don deployed, I don’t know how I’ll cope when she graduates.”
“That gal comes by her spunk natur’ly, like her freckles. You wasn’t quite sixteen when...”
“Oh, just go on about your business, I should’ve known better than to ask you.”
Tick... tick...
“Aw, we’ll think of somethin’. Just so’s...”
Smash! Something shattered against the wall. Mom threw a dish at Uncle Marvin? Next, the screen door slammed, and the light went out.
Creeping to her window, Twila studied Uncle Marvin’s trek to his dilapidated truck. The wind whipped dry leaves around him and seized his cap, so he raced down the alley to grab it. Back in his vehicle, he pumped the accelerator and sent murky exhaust drifting down the alley. Under duress, the old truck puttered west into the Iowa night.
Rain spattered the pane and slid drop by drop onto the windowsill. The cool dribble against her knuckles highlighted how eerie the house seemed with Dad gone.
Uncle Marvin barely missed a downpour, but not before he tasted Mom’s wrath. Such a bitter tinge to her voice. When had she ever lashed out that way? And when had she asked anybody for help?
The rain turned into an onslaught. This afternoon, Mr. Olsen predicted, “Gonna be an early fall—already feel a chill in the mornings.”
A sniffle wafted from below, and Twila lowered herself beside the grate again, but the kitchen swam in charcoal. Only intermittent sniffs interrupted the clock’s steady ticking.
Though tempted to carry out her usual escape, she crawled into bed. One July evening, she’d even fled this prison in a hailstorm. The iced-over drainpipe made the going easier, and like always, Lonnie waited in the Half Froze Bar’s smoky back room.
Her sigh stretched into a groan. Summer had lasted forever—hot, monotonous days at the café and working in the garden in the evenings. Then came the canning—the fruit cellar bulged with quart jars of everything from tomatoes to applesauce.
Even returning to school had been an improvement, although the football team was floundering, with its star quarterback and two linebackers gone off to war. At least basketball practice would start soon—something to look forward to.
By now, Lonnie would be playing pool. Under his Wildroot-sleeked hair, he’d nurse a pout, and his slouch would mirror Humphrey Bogart’s.
Halberton’s respectable folks labeled the Half Froze evil, and Dad would never have allowed her go in there. But what harm could there be in playing a little pool?
Ah well. Lonnie would be less disappointed tonight than Dad if she got in trouble. The thought of letting him down created an ache in her chest. The adventure of the forbidden bar faded as the cinematic image of ravaged Welsh homeland marched across her ceiling. How Green Was My Valley—what a movie! Since the theater owner’s wife had been sick for a week in August, Twila volunteered to work the concessions and got to watch it three times.
Tonight, those Welsh hills seemed far more real than Halberton’s nondescript farmland, and Huw Morgan’s plaintive narrative replayed verbatim:
Everything I ever learnt as a small boy came from my father, and I never found anything he ever told me to be wrong or worthless. The simple lessons he taught me are as sharp and clear in my mind as if I had heard them only yesterday.
Dad was the soul of this family, too, and it had been almost two years since he left for the West Coast. He’d had no choice, really. The Army needed him for a training center, but his parting look still haunted her.
I’m going from my valley... Devastation tinged Huw’s voice—but this was where the comparison ended. Huw cared so deeply about his home, but when she finally managed to leave this podunk town, she would feel no regret.
Was it this same longing that had lured Mom away? You wasn’t quite sixteen... The flaking ceiling plaster gave no clues.
“What on earth did she do? Must be evidence around here somewhere.”
But where? The wooden chest of drawers in Rodney’s old room held only yellowed baby clothes. Why in the world did Mom keep all that stuff? What about her cedar chest? Maybe the secret lay deep in its mothballed recesses.
Another sniffle drifted from the kitchen. Mom never cried, even when Grandma Fowler died. Whatever troubled her right now must be worth a search, and tomorrow was Saturday—she’d be working overtime at the Hormel factory.
Tick... tick.
The window revealed not a single light burning in the whole block. For all that went on in this little burg, they might as well be living out in the country.
Mom finally climbed the stairs to her room. Then, as if someone flipped a heavenly switch, the rain ceased and the moon teased the earth from behind a cloud.
My flirtation with the dancing world...
Making a fist around her iron headboard, Twila vowed, “Even if I have to turn the house upside down, I will figure this out.”
