April 1944
Me and Peggy Sue laid on the soft pine-needle floor of Wisteria Mansion, ignoring my sisters. They’d been in the back yard calling my name for fifteen minutes. But I wasn’t about to answer them. This was one place we could go to get away from the girls and Bobby. So Peggy and me agreed a long time ago not to show it to anyone unless we asked each other first.
Wisteria Mansion was where we always run to when we wanted to feel better. Right now was one of those times.
Peggy’s eyes was red from crying. “I can’t believe Lottie Scronce’s other boy was killed,” she said.
Lottie is a woman who goes to our church. All the children love her because she keeps candy in her pocketbook and hands it out every Sunday.
I turned over on my back and sucked in the sweet smell of wisteria, trying to chase away the bad feeling in my tummy. “Two boys in one family lost to the war,” I said. “It don’t seem fair. Nothing about this war is fair.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Peggy Sue. “But your daddy is going to come home safe and sound. I just know he is.”
She didn’t know any such thing. But as my best friend she had to make promises she couldn’t keep. It was her job to make me feel better.
“I know,” I said. “I know he’ll come home.”
But of course I didn’t know. I stared up through the ceiling of our mansion to the blue sky, wishing I could see God. I’d ask Him a thing or two about this war.
Right now the mansion was as beautiful as it would ever get. A warm breeze made the sunlight and shadows do a dance that wouldn’t stop. You could see it sparkling on every pine tree. The wisteria blossoms hung down through the branches of the pines so that the ceiling and the walls were covered over in purple glory.
Or blue, if you asked my daddy.
The smell of it was so sweet it made my throat ache. I ached for the old days when Daddy and I argued over whether that smell was purple or blue. I ached over the meanness of war. I knew if I could just stay here and the blossoms didn’t die, I could forget about the war.
But the blossoms never lasted long enough. Last week, me and Peggy Sue took some wisteria flowers and pressed them between the pages of our history books so we could take the sweetness to school with us.
I even sent a pressed blossom in a letter to Daddy. As best I can remember, this is what I wrote:
Dear Daddy,
As you can see, your war didn’t kill the wisteria. Only slowed it down, I reckon. I thought if I sent you a little bit of home, it would cheer you up. I hope it still smells sweet when you get this. The flowers are purpler than ever!
We got the peas in the ground with Junior’s help. They’re up about two inches and the rains have been coming right along. The potatoes are in too. We got a good start on the garden, although it would be way better if you was here to help.
I hope you’re safe. I pray for you every night and during the day too. I love you better than molasses cookies. (Momma is making you some to put in this package.)
Love,
Ann Fay
I hoped that getting a purplish blue flower from home in the middle of the war would change the way Daddy felt about that pesky vine. But mostly I hoped Peggy Sue was right about Daddy coming home safe and sound.
Whenever the breeze picked up, little purple petals rained down on me and Peggy Sue. They shimmered all the way down, and I wondered how in the world God could have saved anything prettier just for heaven.