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“NEVER DID HEAR THAT old balcony creak like this before.” Tobias Strait scratched his head, and Archie Zaborski craned his neck.
“Hopefully, your forebears did arithmetic when they built this steeple. Mine were still in Slovakia then.”
“Don’t know as I’d wanna sit up there today, m’self. Downright rickety, I say.”
A mild breeze carried comments to an endless line of relatives and friends waiting in front of the church. Speaking in whispers, women clutched purses. husbands stood beside them, stoic in the face of this grim reality.
The pain in Mom’s crestfallen face struck Twila when she stepped off the train last night. When they met Aunt Margaret, Diana and Benny at the depot this morning, Mom and Aunt Margaret embraced each other. They’d stuck close ever since.
Finally, the pastor held up his hands for quiet, and a spit-shined black Monroe Funeral Services hearse delivered its load to eight pallbearers. Everyone knew Butch had been buried across the ocean, but those eight young men still showed great care. After they took seats in the first pew on the left, Marvin’s family started toward the front of the church.
Their ascent instigated a fresh outbreak of weeping. Friends and neighbors sobbed for this native son who would never again enter this church—not for his wedding, his own children’s baptisms, or Sunday services.
Beside Marvin and Edna, children lined the first pew. Next, Aunt Margaret and Mom trekked down the aisle. Behind Rodney and Sharon, who held tow-headed baby Luke, Twila fell in step. From Rodney’s arms, Lilly’s plaintive question rent the still air.
“Where’s Butch?”
“Shh.”
She veered toward Twila, who was glad for the company. She took Lilly to the pew behind Rodney and Sharon and buried her face in the mild flowery scent of Lilly’s hair. Small comfort. How could she explain so Lilly could comprehend?
In the next pew, Char’s grandmother sat alone. Had she even been able to attend Char’s funeral?
The choir chorused, Blest be the tie that binds our hearts in Christian love...
Could Butch hear them? Was what they sang true—a tie bound him to everyone from the next world?
Mom’s letter said he died in a high casualty firefight to liberate a small French town, and last night, Uncle Marvin confirmed that fact. As if it made any difference—knowing he fell with his comrades provided little consolation.
As more and more people gathered in the farmhouse, Uncle Marvin kept saying maybe someday they’d bring Butch home. Mom had been so jittery that Twila felt uneasy too. After all, this was the house where she’d grown up, where she’d returned after Kenneth died.
Rodney was talking with Butch’s brothers, so the visit stretched into half an hour. Somehow, Mom survived, and Aunt Edna hugged her just before they left.
“Thanks for coming, Myra. I’ve been meaning to...”
Marvin, as stoic as a fence post, repeated, “...bring him home...so he can rest in peace...” as Twila shook his hand. Finally outside, she drew in the fresh pre-winter air in tandem with Mom.
Bring him home—simple words with such powerful meaning. Having Butch at rest in the town cemetery would mean a lot, but they’d still miss his quick wit and kindness for the rest of lives.
His class ring, wrapped in white embroidery floss, weighed on Twila’s finger. When she’d offered it to the family last night, Uncle Marvin refused.
“He wanted you to keep it.”
As the service began, Lilly fiddled with the ring. “Today, Halberton says goodbye to its second son to die for the cause of freedom. Mark these words—we will never forget.”
Years of Decoration Days with purple iris sprays and lilac bouquets paraded through Twila’s mind. Of course they’d never forget—how could they?
Within minutes, Lilly’s relaxed breathing declared that she’d fallen asleep. The scripture reading led into There’s a Land That is Fairer Than Day.
A lump kept Twila from singing, but the words flooded her.
...the Father waits over the shore... prepare us a dwelling place there...in the sweet by and by...
The pastor’s booming voice filled the sanctuary with Butch’s obituary. Then he spoke of eternal hope beyond this veil of tears.
Hope—that’s what we need, but what does it mean?
A shuttered breath from the pew ahead of them alerted Twila. Next to Aunt Margaret, Diana narrowed her eyes, and Benny, up to his ears in a starched white shirt, stiffened. The next moment, Mom bent over double and Aunt Margaret pulled her out of the pew.
Stumbling over Diana and Benny, the duo made it into the aisle. Mom’s Sunday shoes barely touched the oaken floorboards, and terror rode her features.
Magnetized, Twila picked up Lilly’s sleeping form and left by the other aisle. Most onlookers still craned necks the other direction, hoping for another sight of Myra Brunner, the town recluse.
Who cared what they thought, anyway? Twila knew only that she must follow. Holding Lilly tight, she navigated the stairs. Thankfully, at the bottom, she could turn right or left, hidden by a floor-length velvet drape that separated the Sunday school rooms.
In a back corner, she eased to the cool floor as Mom’s anguish swept every inch of the dark basement. She trembled at the sound—unearthly, and so unlike her mother.
“There, now.” Could that soothing tone be coming from Aunt Margaret? If only she could comfort Diana and Benny like this.
With only the clock’s tick-tock for accompaniment, Mom’s voice sounded hollow, like it came from a cave. “Kenneth... Mama...”
“I know.” Margaret’s groan echoed Mom’s.
“Awful d-days...”
“I don’t know how any of us made it through.”
“After... after you left...”
“I knew it would make things worse for you, but I had to get out. Can you ever forgive me?”
“Forgive you?” Mom’s voice splintered.
“I knew Mother would turn her weapons on you when we were gone.” Margaret’s voice broke, too. “Blaming you was wrong, but losing Kenneth almost...”
An avalanche of fresh sobs. When they finally subsided, Margaret started again. “Everything got so out of control, and Marvin just couldn’t shut up. Drove me crazy.”
“Mother never...”
“Forgave you? Forgiveness was beyond her, don’t you think?”
“But the little ones. They shouldn’t have had to pay.”
“They got out of there—we were all broken and miserable—especially Mother. Leaving may have meant deliverance to them.”
“Do you... know?”
“No. But we could try to find out.”
“You think so?”
“Marvin probably still has the address somewhere. When this is all over, why don’t we ask him? Then maybe we could put this to rest, especially now, with Butch...”
“I couldn’t ask him.”
“Someday we can. Together.”
“I’ve been thinking about Paul so much lately. Have you heard anything yet?”
“Oh...” With a guttural moan, Aunt Margaret collapsed. Such an anguished cry—Twila prayed Lilly wouldn’t waken, and she slept blissfully on.
It was Mom’s turn to pat Margaret’s back and whisper comforting words.
“How can it take so long for them to...?”
“I don’t know, but I’d rather not get another letter.” Margaret’s voice shattered into more sobs.
“I’m so sorry...”
At last, between gasps, Margaret managed, “I can’t imagine him not coming home. That just can’t happen. I couldn’t bear it. He’s always been my...” She wept again.
Finally, the two women quieted. The terrible truth was out. What was left to say? Upstairs, the organist pumped out the opening strains of a hymn. Twila cowered as Mom and Aunt Margaret shuffled across the cement floor toward the stairway.
With them on the first step... the second, she dared to draw a full breath. Then Lilly stirred.
Please... just another few minutes...
Shuffling sounded from above as people took seats. Still, Twila shrank back, as if to keep this experience close... She’d just witnessed something monumental—things could never be the same as they had been after this. She’d overheard a holy conversation.
Carrying Lilly up, step by step, a realization hit. Maybe this tortured scene had something to do with that illusive word hope.
***
Two days ago, German forces barricaded two hundred Dutch citizens from a city called Heusden in the town hall and blew up the building. If we thought our enemy would be less fearsome in retreat, we were mistaken.
After the massive German surrender at Aachen on October 21, we all breathed easier—surely this meant the war would end soon. But determined to thwart the Allied advance into Germany, our enemy has heavily reinforced the Siegfried Line.
One encouraging note: one of the Luftwaffe’s best ace pilots is no more. Major Walter Nowotny recently crashed over his homeland.
On the home front, President Franklin Roosevelt has won his fourth consecutive term as U.S. president. Yesterday told the tale at polls all across the nation. Would we break with tradition and re-elect FDR? Now we know the answer.
“I’M SO SICK OF THE news, I could scream!” Aunt Margaret dropped a glass she was drying, and Twila squatted to help pick up the shards. Two weeks had passed since Butch’s funeral, and for some reason, Aunt Margaret had become even more tense these past few days.
“I know. Hearing about our victories makes me think things should calm down. Somebody at work said the way things are going, the war ought to be over by Christmas, but it sure doesn’t look that way.”
Someone knocked at the back door, and Aunt Margaret hurried into the back porch. She let a man in, and conversation vied with Benny and Wendell zooming homemade Spitfires through the living room.
Then Margaret peeked her head back into the kitchen. “Twila, would you mind running up to my room for my billfold? I think it’s on my dresser.”
Ducking through a major dogfight over London, Twila ran upstairs and opened Aunt Margaret’s door. She’d only been in here once, so she turned on a small lamp just inside the door. No need to worry—the blackout curtains were already drawn.
No billfold on the dresser, so she moved to the nightstand. She ran her hand over the top, and something fluttered down—a sheet of paper that landed face-up. Holding it for a second revealed a brief , typewritten message.
October 20, 1944
Mr. and Mrs. Harry Valentine
Your son, Ensign Paul R. Valentine, has now been missing in action in the Pacific Theater for over one year. Despite all attempts, we have been unable to locate him.
With gratitude for his faithful service and sorrow for your loss, the U.S. Navy regrets to inform you that Ensign Valentine’s status has been altered to Presumed Dead.
Tears burned Twila’s eyes as the paper fell from her hands. October twentieth...this must have arrived right after the funeral. Trembling, she lifted it again and scanned the message.
No mistaking its meaning. Paul Valentine... Presumed Dead.
With the telltale letter back on Aunt Margaret’s nightstand, she finally spotted the billfold on a corner table. Sick at heart, she switched off the lamp and delivered the billfold to her aunt.
Thankfully, her visitor had a gift for chatter, so she raced to finish the dishes and hung the towels to dry. But Aunt Margaret came back in before she could leave.
“That was a friend of Harry’s from the American Legion. Just had to make a donation, since they’re sending Christmas packages to our boys. Thanks for finishing the dishes. Guess I’ll go write to Paul.”
A cold chill traced Twila’s shoulders—did this mean Aunt Margaret didn’t believe the Navy? A few minutes later when she entered the living room, Aunt Margaret gave Benny instructions for tomorrow morning. She tossed a few in for Wendell, too, and paused when Twila started upstairs.
“No news for you tonight? And no checkers?”
“No, thanks. I’m extra tired. Think I’ll read a little and go to bed early.” She retreated to her room and sat on the bed. All around her hung vestiges of the cousin she’d barely met—Paul’s Hawkeye pennants on the wall, his letter jacket in the closet.
She opened the door and smoothed her fingers down the white leather sleeve. He was so young, Margaret and Harry’s firstborn, and he’d been Margaret’s favorite...that seemed obvious. And now she simply could not accept the news that he had died.
“If only I could talk this over with Stan.” It had been a long time since she’d wanted to sneak out of the house at night, but right now, that didn’t seem like such a bad idea.
