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“MAIL CALL!” DIANA BOUNCED into the living room and handed Twila two letters.
“Thanks.”
“Looks like one’s from overseas. Are you two-timing Stan or something?”
Since Butch’s funeral, Diana had been a little easier to live with. Twila had no idea if Aunt Margaret had told her and Benny about Paul, but doubted it. One of them would have said something. She might be a professional at hiding her emotions, but neither of her children had inherited that ability.
One of the letters showed Mom’s handwriting, and the other was from a guy in the class ahead of her in school. “Stan and I are friends—good friends. And just because someone writes me a letter doesn’t mean we’re in love, you know.”
“But why would anybody write if he weren’t interested in you?”
“Maybe because he’s lonely?”
Diana stuck out her tongue and made a face that was easy to ignore. The guy who wrote this letter had never been close, but it seemed wise to withhold his identity for a while.
Scanning a magazine, Diana hung around while Twila opened the letters and read one. But finally the suspense got to her. “So who is this guy? Somebody from your high school class?”
“Older than that. You ought to be concerned—he’s robbing the cradle.”
“Oh, come on.” Diana swung her legs over the side of a chair, with a beleaguered expression. She tried so hard to be grown up, but her childish impatience oozed out all over.
“Just tell me. Pretty please?”
She really was a cute girl, but her wheedling tone would drive anyone over the edge.
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll read you what he wrote.” Diana’s shocked look brought some satisfaction.
“Hey, Twi. Your mom gave me your new address, and we’ve got some down time while we travel. Riding in the back of this lorry, as the British call trucks, gets awful old. But it beats marching.
I heard about your new job. Can’t mention specific stuff here, but it sure sounds like a challenge.
Not much news here that I can write about, but I sure do miss everybody. Take care of yourself and watch out for the bad guys.
“He doesn’t sound real interesting.”
“He’s out on a mission. What’s he supposed to write about, the latest dance step? I’m impressed that he even found paper and a pencil.”
“Yeah, well...”
“Since he wrote me, I bet he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Mail call without letters would be terrible for guys like that, don’t you think?”
“Hmm... maybe so.”
A while later, Twila added, “Oh well, he’s probably too old for you, anyhow.”
Diana rolled the magazine she’d been pretending to read, though Aunt Margaret hated her doing that. “Maybe he’s got a buddy I could write to.”
“Why don’t you ask him? I can send your letter along with my next one.”
Doubt crisscrossed Diana’s face. “But what will I write?”
“About your friends, about school—anything. I don’t think he’d really care. He just wants somebody to remember he’s out there.”
Several times since September, Diana had said she hated her English class; hated writing. This would be a stretch for her, but maybe she would make the supreme effort.
***
“PRIVATE, I HAVE RECEIVED word for you this morning. No doubt you have been waiting anxiously.”
Clasping his hands on the sides of his chair, Stan nodded.
“There’s so much going on in connection with this invasion. I hate to disappoint you, but...”
If a heart could plummet to the depths of the earth, Stan’s did. Heat rose from the back of his neck, and a drum rolled in his stomach.
“There is no possibility of you joining the Rangers, since they’ll be entering from the south. This may occur even before the army could transport you there.”
Was the Colonel enjoying this torture? He picked up a piece of paper as if to re-read something. Meanwhile, Stan scarcely dared breathe.
“But others are being sent into the island from the north. This is all top secret, but it sounds like the area where you were brought out to the hospital ship.”
“Yes, sir.” Stan’s harsh croak sent him into a spin. He must not lose control... must not.
“Therefore, the army has need of you—they’re going to fly you to California. You’re scheduled on a flight out of Fort Des Moines on Tuesday.” The Colonel shoved his chair back.
“This means the Army really desires your services, Private.”
After his first full breath since entering the room, Stan bit his lip. He ought to be asking intelligent questions right now, but his brain had turned to mush.
“Next Tuesday?” That was all he could manage.
“Yes. They expect you on the coast by Friday, and these cross-country flights can take days. You’ll likely be stopping at several bases along the way.”
“Yes. Yes, sir.”
They were flying him to California?
“Our shuttle might be going down the day before. I’ll find out and let you know. Now, get some good sleep before then. I thought you might want to call your family to let them know?”
“Yes. I should call my brother.”
“If you know his number and would like to talk with him right now, I need to be gone for a few minutes. You can use my phone—when you lift the receiver, our operator will take care of you.”
He picked up a large manila envelope and stood.
Still stunned, Stan didn’t think to rise until the Colonel stopped near him and held out his hand.
“Sorry, sir. I...”
“You’ve been waiting on pins and needles. I understand. May God go with you, son.” He crossed the room, and with his hand on the doorknob, offered one more wish. “And Private, I do hope you are able to reunite with your buddies.”
***
November 20, 1944
To the staff of Camp Algona.
Another wartime Thanksgiving is upon us, and as this week begins, I wish to share some sentiments for this national holiday.
When President Lincoln established this day of giving thanks, our nation was embroiled in the Civil War. It behooves us to recall the situation back then. Households were torn apart by opposing beliefs and by the deaths of young men. Across state lines, people battled it out. We can hardly imagine brother fighting against brother, cousin versus cousin.
Nearly one hundred years ago our nation turned upon itself in violence—and some areas still have not recovered. Now, we face threats from outside, from enemies intent on destroying the cultures of countries long our allies, so those of opposing opinions on other matters fight side-by-side.
Already, we grieve the loss of sons and daughters in this war. But in the midst of loss, our hearts remain stalwart, because our cause is just. Here on the home front, we continue to do whatever we can to strengthen our forces and ensure victory.
So on this Thanksgiving, let me convey my gratitude for all the work you so faithfully carry out here at Camp Algona. All of our efforts are in support of our troops. All of our desires focus on victory on every front.
Despite our struggles and losses, may each of you experience a heightened awareness of our many blessings this year. Here in the United States of America, we cherish our freedoms and stand behind our young men risking lives for the cause of freedom.
***
AUNT MARGARET AND TWILA skittered across the street before an oncoming milk truck. “So many trucks out early in the morning—if we waited for everyone, we’d be late.”
That might be true, but if one hit them, they’d become patients instead of workers. Used to her Aunt’s daring pace, Twila held her tongue.
“By the way, I saw Stan yesterday. He stopped by and asked about you... said he hadn’t seen you all day.”
“Mmm...”
“I invited him over for Thanksgiving. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay.”
“He makes such a big difference with Benny—seems almost like family.” She cleared her throat. “I only work until noon on Thanksgiving, but it won’t be much of a holiday without having somebody over.”
“Harry won’t be able to come home?”
“I doubt it. His last letter said they’re working double shifts until the snow flies.”
“I don’t know how she did it, but Nurse Alcott has me off the whole day.”
Leaving Aunt Margaret at the prison compound, Twila hurried along. She’d never arrived before Nurse Alcott, but maybe someday...
As she was about to enter the hospital, someone waved at her. Was that Stan?
“Hey! You’ve been hard to find the last couple of days.”
She shrugged. “I’ve been following my usual routine. How about you?”
He ducked his head in the wind, and she pulled him into the entryway. “There, that’s better.”
“I’ve been... Nothing has been normal for me since...” He worked his lips. “Twila, I need to tell you something.”
The hall clock showed five minutes before seven, and a familiar figure in a white uniform and nurses’ cap turned toward them.
Stan noticed too. “It’s her. How about at noon right outside the... um... the guardhouse?”
“Okay. I’ll be there unless an emergency comes up. If so, could you walk me home?”
“Yeah. Sure.” He looked flustered and backed out.
Why would Nurse Alcott intimidate him? Twila went through the inner doors just in time to say good-morning.
