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“HAVE YOU TOLD YOUR mother yet?” Mr. Ford thrust his pitchfork into a hay bale as Stan wiped his brow.
“I’d rather face enemy fire than Mom.”
“No use letting her think you’re home for good.” His father’s sigh swept the dusty haymow. “You know she’s scared to lose you, don’t you?”
“But it’s not just me—everybody’s sons are leaving these days. And Mom’s got two older ones who’ll be around here always.”
“Don’t make no difference t’ her. Ron’s gone, too, and she’s always been partial to you two younger ones. Can’t argue with a mother’s love.”
Below them, the cows and horses awaited feed. A wintry blast made the air crackle even inside the barn, and breath became a haze of white mist.
He’d been here for almost six months—that ought to make Mom happy. Those months seemed more like six years. He couldn’t leave soon enough.
How could even a mother’s love ignore the evil let loose on this earth? This whole time, two worlds had pulled at him and now, he had orders to another locale. But this next stint wouldn’t last long, either. His mother would take to bed for a week if she had any inkling of his long-range plan.
As soon as he washed up for the noon meal, he told her about his call to Camp Algona. She took it like he’d expected.
“Haven’t you given enough? You still have quite a limp.”
“Hundreds of men are dying every day, and I’m only heading to Iowa. You ought to be glad I can still do something worthwhile.”
She turned to her mixing bowl and something rose in him, defiant and strong. Enough of being pampered. He wished he were going a whole lot further, but at least this was a start.
One day, he’d ridden to Steven’s Point with a friend and checked at the recruiting office for something he could still do. The recruiter gave him hope.
“Let me see,” He looked through a file drawer. “There’s a new prisoner of war camp in north central Iowa, built to house Germans captured in North Africa.
“We’ve already staffed the one at Fort McCoy, but this one still needs guards, especially men with deployment experience.”
Stan’s heartbeat quickened. Being a guard sounded manageable, maybe even challenging as long as there’d be no Japs. His nightmares provided plenty of them.
After almost a full year, his walk had nearly returned to normal. He’d built up his strength doing exercises in the barn, and marched in the woods with a heavy pack, but at times, his limp still showed up. It simply had to go.
“Would you like to apply?” The recruiter obviously hadn’t noticed any limp.
On the spot, Stan filled out the information.
“You should hear within a couple of weeks. Then you’ll need a fresh physical.”
“Right.”
His acceptance letter came on a Thursday. His local doctor okayed him for stateside service, so he told Dad he’d be leaving in a few days. This time, he could tell Mom.
Iowa—not an exciting destination, that’s for sure. He’d crossed that little nondescript state several times with dad on trips to buy a saw blade or some other contrivance for the mill and had always been glad to return to these forested hills.
But at least he’d be doing a necessary job. All the while, though, his other family, trapped on Bataan, would still be waiting in misery. They meant as much to him as his relations here. Maybe more.
***
MOM SAW HER OFF, AND neither of them shed tears. But her parting words roiled in Twila’s head all the way.
“I’ll miss you so much, but your Dad told me not to cry. I’m happy for you. I know how much you want to try out your wings.”
Behind her, a blue-suited conductor scurried people along. In a field across from the depot, some children sledded down the only hill for miles.
“See them sailing along? It’s almost like a sign. Your dad reminded me our job is to let you go, so you can fly.” Her eyes flashed, and Twila thought they’d never shone so green.
“That’s what my mother refused to do. She never let us go—never let anybody off the hook.”
A cloud swept her eyes as the conductor called, “All aboard for parts west!”
Mom’s quick kiss heated the backs of Twila’s eyes. “Off with you, then. Don’t forget to write, and if Margaret seems too strict, try to be patient.”
Passengers boarded in Mason City, Clear Lake, Garner, and Wesley, and windswept fields swept along between towns. Dad, a poet at heart, would call them barren and deserted, waiting for the final spring thaw.
Hundreds of times, he’d woven a bedtime story full of suspense and pathos... “Held captive by snow and ice, unseen life teemed below the fertile black earth. Left over from last year’s crop, it eagerly waited to transform into seedlings on the first warm days.”
His eyes would twinkle as he continued. “The farmers wait, too, all set to attack those would-be seedlings with plows. Because they’re weeds, Twila, weeds!”
On the word weeds, he tickled her or swung her high above his head and they both giggled.
The brown leather seat warmed her back and neck, and Twila closed her eyes. Dad gave her so many good memories—if any loneliness lay ahead, or trouble, she had only to call them up to transport her away.
Aunt Margaret and Benny, the twelve-year-old cousin she’d met when she visited, met her at the Algona station. Benny’s big brown eyes and shy smile reminded her of Paul’s graduation photograph on Aunt Margaret’s mantel.
A couple of inches taller than Mom and a little rounder in the face, with a spotless gray dress that matched her eyes, Aunt Margaret carried a formidable air. No one could have missed the way she jerked Benny’s arm when he gaped at a couple of young soldiers boarding the train.
Too strict... be patient.
Several families said good-bye to sons, brothers, and fathers. Benny grabbed Twila’s suitcase as if to prove his manhood, and gave her a shy smile. She instantly fell for his freckles.
At home, Diana, the spitting image of her mother, but a foot shorter, had the table set for supper. Sometime during mealtime chat, Benny disappeared, and the evening war news sounded from the living room.
“He listens each night?”
“Like clockwork. Drives Mom crazy.” Diana wiggled her eyebrows to punctuate her declaration, but Aunt Margaret simply shook her head. Twila dried the dishes, and the whole time, Diana muttered about Benny’s childish ways.
“He usually dries, but Mom probably decided it wasn’t worth the fight to unglue him from the radio. He’ll use you if you let him.”
But after she went upstairs, Aunt Margaret joined Twila at the table. “Don’t believe everything Diana says. Half of it’s pure malarkey.” She offered no further explanation. “Do you have what you need upstairs?”
“Yes, it’s perfect.”
“I probably should have put some of Paul’s things away, but I want everything to be the same when he comes home.”
“Diana said she’d like to switch rooms.”
“That has nothing to do with you coming. Twila just wants the opposite of whatever I decide.” Aunt Margaret’s lips formed a hard thin line, ending the conversation.
In the morning, they walked to work together, a little more than half a mile, and Twila waited in the hallway outside Nurse Alcott’s office as the clock struck seven. She must have been waiting.
“Miss Brunner, welcome.” The head nurse offered her hand. Her hairdo was just as it had been last time, only a little shorter, and her starched white cap as crisp.
“Prompt, I see—an essential quality in a nurse. Come in.”
She pointed to the same oak chair Twila occupied on her first visit. “Please complete these papers.” Nurse Alcott went to answer a knock, listened a moment and peered back in. “I’ll be back shortly.”
After filling out the information, Twila set the sheaf of papers down and scanned the room. Like treasured artwork, Nurse Alcott’s license captured her again, so she rounded the desk to study it.
On the recommendation of the faculty of the
And under the authority of the
has conferred the degree of
Upon
Who has honorably fulfilled all of the requirements
Prescribed by the University for this degree
Awarded at the University at Iowa City in the State of Iowa
This fourth day of February...
THE PHRASES SOUNDED so official, like the Good Housekeeping seal of approval. Alice Lee McPherson. So, Nurse Alcott must be married.
Fulfilled the requirements. Those words implied some very hard work. She ran her finger along the certificate, and suddenly, Mom seemed near. Had she ever wanted to become a nurse or teacher? She never spoke of such things. Maybe some evening Aunt Margaret would let something slip about history.
“Miss Brunner?”
Heat deluged Twila’s face as she whirled around.
“You’ve finished?”
“Yes, Ma’am. I was—”
“Studying my nursing license?”
“Yes.” Her stammer sounded hollow, but a faint smile touched the older woman’s severe countenance.
“Now you can guess how old I must be. Would you like to study nursing some day?”
“Oh, yes. But right now, I don’t see how my family could—”
“Afford it?” She opened a desk drawer and retrieved something. “If we really want something, we find a way, don’t we? And your work here may be the first step.”
Then she ordered, “Turn around.”
After Twila made a circle, she pronounced her verdict. “The uniform suits you well. Did you have to make any alterations?”
“Only minor ones.”
“Put your best foot forward, Miss Brunner. You never know what the future holds.”
