Chapter 24
July 1944
“Maybe staying here was a mistake,” I said to Mama as we stood together at the kitchen sink, washing and drying a mountain of teacups left behind by the ladies of the Tuesday Sacred Sewing Circle. “The parsonage has a good-sized parlor. If Paul and I had moved there instead of telling the church they could rent it out, you wouldn’t have to put up with all this noise and mess. Seems like someone is here every minute! If I’d known being a pastor’s wife was such a big job, I’d have asked for a salary.”
“Ha!” Mama snorted. “As though they’d give you one. Darling, every married woman unwittingly signs up for some sort of job she never counted on doing—none of it comes with a pay packet.”
“Still,” I argued, “I feel badly crowding you in your own home, Mama, surrounding you with chattering women every minute of the day. It’s like living in a henhouse, and I know how much you like your peace and quiet.”
“Actually,” Mama reflected, seeming genuinely surprised by her own revelation, “I don’t mind. It’s true I’ve always kept to myself, but I think that may have been as much from circumstance as from choice. We lived out so far, people never came to visit much, and with your Papa around I never wanted for conversation. At my age it’s nice to have people around, gossiping and laughing. It keeps me interested.”
“So you wouldn’t rather Paul and I moved to town?”
“Certainly not!” she exclaimed, “I’d be too lonely. Besides, if Paul wasn’t here, who’d take care of the farm? I’d much rather have him around than a hired man. Luther Krebs never had two words to say for himself, and I never saw him that he didn’t have dirt under his fingernails, not even on Sunday. The man made my skin crawl.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust and scrubbed the teacups with renewed vigor.
“Well, Paul’s not much of a farmer,” I said, laughing. “He still can’t milk a cow without spilling half the milk when Flower kicks the pail over.”
“I heard that!” Paul shouted good-naturedly as the screen door slammed, announcing his arrival. He took off his hat, hung up his coat, and spied the pile of dirty teacups. “Shall I grab a towel and help you dry?”
“No,” Mama demurred, “we’re almost done here. Sit down and relax. You shouldn’t let Eva tease you so much, Paul,” she scolded. “You’re a fine farmer, for a beginner. You brought in a perfectly respectable crop.”
“I don’t call two acres, tilled and tended on Saturdays and spare evenings, farming; it’s more like a hobby.” He fished a donut out of the jar before I could tell him he’d spoil his appetite for dinner, which would have been ridiculous, anyway. Paul was always hungry. He took a bite of the donut and then kissed me hello, getting powdered sugar all over my lips. Laughing, I wiped it off and kissed him back. Mama pretended not to see, but I noticed the trace of a smile on her lips.
“Eva’s right, Mother Glennon,” he continued, “I’m no good at all with cows. I always preferred sheep. They seem smarter, or more contemplative, anyway.”
“Sheep are not smarter than cows,” I retorted. “Just so dull-witted they can stand still for hours at a time.” I poured him a glass of milk to go with the donut and set it on the kitchen table. “You’re home early.”
“My meeting with Mr. Dwyer was canceled. He has a toothache.” Paul sat down at the table, loosened his tie, took a deep drink of milk, and sighed with satisfaction. “I thought I’d come home early and plant those rosebushes I bought in Liberal. I want to get them in before the weather turns too cold. Where is Ruby? I thought she might want a couple of bushes out near the caboose.”
“Peter Norman came by earlier to take her for a ride in his new car. Smelled of shaving cream and bay rum.” I nodded meaningfully. “ And last week he took her to the pictures.”
Paul raised his eyebrows in interest. “Is that so? Well, good for Ruby. Pete seems a nice enough fellow.”
“I suppose so,” I said begrudgingly, “but I have to admit I don’t like the idea of anyone marrying her and taking her away. It wouldn’t be the same if I couldn’t talk to Ruby every day.”
“We could always buy another caboose and make room for Pete,” Paul teased.
“Very funny,” I said, flicking a bit of dishwater in Paul’s direction while Mama fussed that I’d get water all over the clean floor. I started to ask what harm water could do to a clean floor, but Paul very sensibly interrupted.
“Eva, Mrs. Waters is going to take over the Christmas pageant this year, and she wanted to know if you’d be in charge of the costumes.”
I groaned at the thought. “Goodness, Paul, between making the raffle quilt, embroidering altar cloths, going to meetings of the WCTU, the Naomi Circle, and the Sunday school curriculum committee, I’m just about worn out. I hardly have a moment to work on my own quilts.” I dried the last saucer and sat down next to him. Mama said she was tired and wanted to lie down before dinner, as she did most days when Paul came home. She’d never been tired in the afternoons before Paul and I were married. It was kind of her to give us some private time.
“I’ll just tell Mrs. Waters you don’t have time.” He shrugged as though it were a matter of complete indifference to him.
“But I hate telling people no,” I mumbled through a bite of donut I’d stolen from him.
“Well, you’d better learn how to pretty quickly or you’ll die of overwork. Pastors’ wives are always in demand, especially if they are beautiful”—he reached over, took my hand, and kissed it on each adjective, like punctuation—“and lovely”—smack—“and kind—smack—“and talented—smack.
“They admire your accomplishments,” he continued. Just be grateful you never learned to play the piano.” He grinned. “You’d never have a moment’s peace.”
“You don’t think she’ll be upset with me?” I asked doubtfully.
Paul shook his head. “Disappointed, but not upset. I’ll explain it to her. She’ll understand. With four young children and another on the way, she knows about being too busy.”
“Lydia’s having another? Does she have time to run the pageant?”
“Probably not, but I bet you Joseph and Mary will both be played by little Waters. She’d probably cast this latest addition as Baby Jesus if she could, but I understand he or she will not arrive until spring. Ah, well. Maybe next year.” He grinned impishly, and I smacked him on the hand.
“You’re terrible. But thank you for handling Lydia. Did you stop by the post office today?”
“I did,” he said and drew a small packet of envelopes from the breast pocket of his jacket. “There is a letter here addressed to you with many exotic-looking stamps on it.”
“Morgan! Why didn’t you tell me?” I snatched the letter from his hand and tore it open before giving him a chance to answer. I unfolded the pages and cleared my throat before beginning.
Dear Mama and Paul,
Finally, after so many months of you enduring the ‘small town’ gossip and foibles of life in McDonald’s 475th Fighter Group I finally have some real news to report! You won’t believe it because I half don’t believe it myself, but somebody pretty famous has come to visit us and give us some special flight training. I can’t tell you who and I can’t even tell you what he’s showing us how to do, but I know you’ll understand who I’m talking about.
Remember the picture I’ve had on my wall since forever? That’s right! It’s him in the flesh! I sure never thought I’d see him again in person. You can imagine how excited all the fellows are. Everybody has been asking for his autograph. Of course, I already have one!’
“Oh, my Lord! It’s Slim!” I whispered to myself.
I spoke to him after one of the training sessions and said he probably didn’t remember me, but I’d met him when I was five years old and it had been the biggest thrill of my life. He got this real funny look on his face, like I’d caught him out and he was embarrassed that he couldn’t remember, even though he said he did. But, shoot, why would he? I was just one kid out of the millions that thought he was the greatest. I was just the one lucky enough that day to get picked out to meet him personally. Boy, I’ll never forget it. And it seems my luck is holding out because he asked if he could take me out for a beer on Friday! Can you believe it? There’s a million things I want to ask him! After all, he’s the reason I wanted to fly in the first place and I’m convinced there’s still nobody on earth who knows more about aviation than he does.
He’s still got his stuff too! Just yesterday he was flying with my wing and we ran up against the enemy and darned if he didn’t take out a zero that was dead set on doing the same to him. Sent the other plane right into the drink! It was a sight to see, I can tell you that!
Well, I have a million other things I’d like to write, but if I don’t stop now I’ll be at the end of the chow line and there’s a rumor we’ve got steak tonight. I’ll believe it when I see it, but still, I’d better get over there, just in case. I’ll write again soon. Give my love to Grandma and Ruby.
Love,
Morgan
My stomach felt hollow and sick all at once, like it had when I was little and got the wind knocked out of me while learning to ride Ranger. “It’s not possible!” I cried. “How could Slim be flying a combat mission? I thought the government wouldn’t let him serve, and now he just turns up in New Guinea? Even if they did, what are the chances that he’d just happen to end up in the same unit as his own son? Do you think he went looking for him?”
“I don’t know.” Paul said incredulously. He was clearly as confounded as I. “Maybe, despite all Roosevelt’s rhetoric, Lindbergh’s just too valuable to leave sitting on the sidelines. Whatever he’s doing there, it must be a very big secret. The papers haven’t said a word. It’s amazing that Morgan’s letter got through intact. The censors must have missed it.”
“And Slim is out there with Morgan,” I murmured disbelievingly. It was all to much to take in. “Do you think he’s going to talk to Morgan about ...”
“It’s time someone did, Eva.”
“I know,” I admitted. “After you and I quarreled that day in California, I was going to tell him, but I lost heart. It just didn’t seem like the right moment. Now he’s going to hear it from the father he barely knows, a stranger. It should have been me. Do you think he’ll hate me for keeping it from him?”
“Don’t be silly.” He dismissed the very idea with a wave of his hand. “Morgan could never hate you. You’ve been everything to each other. He’ll understand that whatever you’ve done, you’ve done from love.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said doubtfully. “Whether I was right or wrong, it’s too late to change now, isn’t it? I suppose I should feel relieved, but something just doesn’t feel right. Oh!” I shook my head, exasperated with myself. “Why do I have to think so much? Always four emotions at once! Why can’t I just feel one way about things?”
Paul grinned. “If you did, you’d be very dull company indeed. You’re complicated, Eva, but you’re never boring. Cheer up.” Paul thumped the table with conviction. “Everything will work out for the best. You’ll see.”
“Hmm,” I murmured, unconvinced. “I guess I’d better tell Mama and Ruby.”
“All right. Then come back and I’ll help you cook dinner. It will keep your hands and mind busy with something else.”
“You’re right, “I agreed, but a warning bell knelled within me. There was no point in arguing about intuition with a man as practical as Paul, but I knew my heart wouldn’t rest easy until I heard from Morgan again.
Sleep came at a price that night. All my dreams were of water, not cheery, babbling brooks or peaceful ponds, but water stretching on all sides, heaving and contracting like the breath of some terrible giant. I was afraid to move in case the giant remembered my name and swallowed me whole.
No matter how dreadful and real the omens, there is no way to prepare your mind for the moment when the Western Union man arrives at your front door with the message you’ve been dreading.
REGRET TO INFORM YOU YOUR SON LT. MORGAN GLENNON’S PLANE SHOT DOWN OVER PACIFIC JULY 27. SEARCH IN PROGRESS. WILL KEEP YOU INFORMED.
Cold ebony letters swam stupidly over the yellow paper sea, swelling and joining, shutting out the light until there was nothing left in the world but black, and my knees refused to support me any longer.
When I woke, Paul was sitting next to me on our bed, holding my hand, while Ruby mopped my forehead with a cool cloth and Mama peered anxiously at me from over the footboard.
“That’s better,” Ruby said soothingly. “You’ll be all right now. You sure scared us, though. You’ve been out for a good half hour. Paul caught you before you hit the floor, but when you didn’t wake up we called for Dr. Townsend. He’s on his way. “
I looked up into Paul’s troubled eyes. “I’m sorry ...” I started to apologize, but the words wouldn’t form in my mind. There was only one word left in my vocabulary. “Morgan,” I whispered searchingly.
In the face of a crisis, Mama rallied her strength and took charge. Her voice sounded as firm as it had in the old days, as though Papa were standing right next to her. Maybe he was. “Don’t worry, Eva,” she commanded. “It’s bad, but its not the worst news. They’re looking for him. You’ve got to keep your mind on that and not give in to despair. There’s reason to hope. Tell her, Paul. “
Paul nodded and reached into his pocket. “There were two telegrams, Eva. You fainted before we had a chance to open the other. Here.” He handed me the second message, which was already rumpled and creased from handling. They must all have read it several times.
Time slowed to a tenth of its normal pace. I tried to keep on a brave face, think positive thoughts, do normal things. Paul went into the church to work as usual, but not until I insisted, convincing him that I was fine and promising to call him if I heard anything. Still, he was home early every night, sitting next to me and holding my hand while we all pretended to listen to the radio.
Mama decided that we should keep busy and prodded me into cutting out fabric for several Churn Dash blocks with the idea that the three of us, Mama, Ruby, and I, would piece it together and have it finished to give to Morgan once we got word he’d been found. Despite Mama’s prodding, I could tell she was just as worried as the rest of us. More than once, she sewed the pieces with the wrong sides facing each other and had to take out the whole seam and start over.
Ruby fidgeted in her chair and got up from her seat every five minutes, peering out from behind the calico curtains to see if the Western Union man was coming up the road. That whole week, she didn’t finish a single quilt block. Cooking would probably have been a better choice than sewing as a distraction, but the minute news of Morgan’s disappearance got around town, the ladies of the church had descended on us with casseroles and fried chicken and an assortment of pies. There was no need to make anything ourselves, and most of what people brought got thrown out anyway; worry dulls the appetite.
Though I had begun the project only to appease Mama, working on the quilt helped more than I can say. After a time, I found a rhythm of rocking and stitching and thinking, every stab of the needle a plea, a prayer, a supplication to God, to Slim, to the winds that blew over my head and halfway round the world to wherever Morgan might be.
On Sunday Paul said it would be all right if I preferred to stay home from church. “People will understand if you aren’t feeling up to it,” he said. I went anyway. I worried about Paul worrying about me. I sat in my regular seat and prayed without words, with groans and aches rising from the deep places in my soul until there was no way to contain them and tears ran silently down my face, so many I didn’t even bother trying to stop them with my handkerchief.
I was grateful that people didn’t try to talk to me much after the service, though many of them squeezed my hands tenderly and said they were praying for us. I thanked them sincerely. Mrs. Hutchinson found me and gave me a little bookmark with lace edging and an embroidery of a dove and olive branch she’d made herself. “I meant to save it for you for a Christmas present, but then I thought, why wait? At my age, it doesn’t pay to put things off.” Everyone was very kind and very careful with what they said. When I got home I’d never felt more exhausted.
As long as the days were, nights were longer. The house had never seemed so still and quiet, and my mind couldn’t help filling the void with doubt. Lying in bed, the curve of my shoulders spooned tightly against his chest, Paul and I spoke in whispers, the same conversation every night.
“What if he didn’t make it?”
“You mustn’t think like that. You and Morgan were so connected, if he were gone, I think you would already know.”
“Ruby didn’t know when Clay died. Her own husband had been dead for days and she never knew it until the telegram came.”
“Morgan is your child, your own flesh. It’s different.”
“What if they can’t find him?”
“Slim said he would. He promised.”
“He’s said a lot of things before. Why should I believe him?”
“Because he’s your best hope. Because he’s the best flier in the world. Because he’s a father who’s seen his child face to face. He’s already lost one son. He won’t let it happen again. Only death could keep him from it.”
Only death could keep him from it. I repeated that sentence over and over in my mind and twisted it in new directions; only Slim could keep Morgan from death, only death could keep Slim from Morgan, a poem to chant to the darkness. When the moon rose so high that no more light cut through the black, I felt the muscles in Paul’s arm soften and go slack with sleep. I waited out the night alone, relieved when the clock finally ticked off the million minutes to morning and I could rise and use my hands instead of my mind.
Finally, late Wednesday afternoon, more than a week after the telegrams had arrived, Ruby got up from her chair to go look out the window for the hundredth time, but before she could pull back the curtain, I heard the tinkling of a bicycle bell. I dropped my sewing to the floor and went running out and down the road without even thinking to bring my cane, flying faster than I’d ever done before. Paul came running after me. I snatched the telegram away before the delivery boy could even ask if I was Eva Van Dyver. My hands trembled as I read.
MORGAN FOUND SAFE. BROKEN LEG, BRUISES, NO MAJOR INJURIES. HOME IN SIX WEEKS. SLIM