CHAPTER 13

After a week’s time, the familiarity of her new role settled over her like a well-worn sweater. The May days grew warmer and warmer, promising a typically scorching Bynum summer.

Each morning, Alice-Ann woke up, got dressed and ready for the day, then went downstairs to eat breakfast. Aunt Bess had, weeks earlier, opened all the windows; now she’d placed oscillating fans at two of them. Those same fans would be moved upstairs at some point during the day —one for Nelson and Irene’s bedroom, one for Papa’s. Two others —the ones from Aunt Bess’s room and the one from Alice-Ann’s —went from the bedrooms to the living room and dining room sometime after Alice-Ann left for work. She wasn’t sure exactly when, but she imagined that as soon as she left the house, Aunt Bess shuffled up the stairs and back down again, her mission nearly complete.

When the camp started driving the prisoners over to Bynum every morning for work details, Nelson began rising earlier than usual so he could make a run to pick up workers. This meant she no longer took the bus but caught a ride with her brother. Then each evening, she waited outside the five-and-dime for Nelson to return after a long day in the fields. He’d drop the prisoners and their guard off and then pick her up and they’d drive back to the farm. Slowly, so they could talk and —as Nelson often said —“allow the day to settle down a little.”

Work continued to be that: work. Alice-Ann couldn’t help but wonder from time to time if she’d keep her job after the war was over, if it ever were. She also couldn’t help but remember the lines from the boys who’d signed up so quickly in December of 1941. “We’ll get those Nazis and Japs,” as if the mission would be —start to finish —fought and won in a month’s time.

She kept two books with her now —the one she read quietly during her lunch break and the one she read to Carlton after work. They were nearing the end of Betty Smith’s novel, a fact Alice-Ann hated. They both enjoyed it immensely.

After work, she said good-bye to her coworkers and boss, and Alice-Ann collected her purse and scarf. She walked out of the bank, crossed the street, and entered the five-and-dime, the doors now left open, front and back, likely in the hope of catching a breeze. She greeted Mr. and Mrs. Hillis, then gave Maeve the look.

A letter? it asked.

Maeve never once nodded.

The creaks in the staircase had become familiar beneath her feet, like a phonograph record that had been set to play at the same time, every day. When she reached the apartment upstairs, she called out to Carlton with the same question.

“Co-Cola?”

“Over ice, please,” he called back.

Alice-Ann now knew Carlton preferred his drinks from a glass rather than a bottle. She prepared their refreshment, then went into his room. They always talked a while before she read, mostly about her day . . . about Nelson . . . and Irene’s miserable condition . . . about the German POWs working on the farm . . . and about the weather and how it affected the crops. Occasionally he asked her more personal questions. What did she think of Claudette’s upcoming wedding? Did she think Johnny’s mother would really let Claudette live at the hotel as the woman of the house or would she always be second fiddle in Johnny’s life?

What did she think of Maeve and Ernie?

And each day, Alice-Ann found herself answering in greater detail. At first, she’d been unable to —so rarely did anyone ask her what she thought. Then, as time went on, she spoke more freely. Sometimes, Alice-Ann thought, she found herself looking more forward to their chats than she did reading to him.

She also looked forward to hearing how he’d progressed in the twenty-four hours that had passed since she’d visited. She laughed at the notion that the wiggling of ten toes could mean so much or that a single flash of light could bring such celebration.

That day —a Wednesday —he’d seen more than one. Several, in fact, he told her as soon as she sat. “I think you’re my healer, Dr. Doodlebug,” he said. “My good luck charm.”

Alice-Ann felt herself blush under the compliment. “You’d have seen them whether I came up here every day or not.”

“Maybe so,” he said. “Guess we won’t ever really know, though, will we?”

Alice-Ann opened the book, no longer comfortable. “Ready to hear the end?”

Carlton made a show of straightening the pillows bunched at the small of his back. “Ready.”

Alice-Ann caught the last bus heading out of Bynum that afternoon, as she did each weekday, working hard at keeping her mind away from the obvious.

Where was Mack?

As soon as she arrived home, she walked into the kitchen, where Aunt Bess pulled a plate out of the fridge, having kept it for her. “How is he doing today?” she asked, placing the plate on the table and removing the covering.

Alice-Ann set her purse on the counter and slipped out of her shoes. “He saw several flashes of light today.”

“Well, that’s something, isn’t it?” Aunt Bess reopened the fridge and brought out a bottle of milk. “Sit down and I’ll pour you some milk to go with your supper.”

Alice-Ann pulled the chair out from under the table. “Anything new on Irene?” Not that she heard the cries of a newborn or anything.

“Not a single cramp, much less a contraction.” Aunt Bess put the glass to the right of Alice-Ann’s plate, then returned the milk to the icebox before joining her at the table. “But the way that girl carries on these last couple of weeks, you’d think she was the first and last woman on God’s good green earth to ever be in the family way.”

Alice-Ann nearly choked on the sliced tomato she’d just then bitten down on, its luscious juice squirting along the side of her tongue. “Aunt Bess,” she said around it.

“Well, my word. Can you imagine when she gives birth? That girl won’t know what hit her.” Aunt Bess leaned over the table. “All I’ve got to say is, I sure hope Nelson goes to get her mama when the time comes.”

Using her fork, Alice-Ann cut into the deviled egg that wiggled alongside the tomato. “I’m sure he will.” She sighed as she brought the bite of egg to her mouth. “Where are they?”

“Your daddy suggested they walk a little. Said it used to help your mama when she got to this point. They went out the back path toward the pond.” Her eyes traveled to the back window. “I don’t ’spect they’ll be gone much longer. If the walk doesn’t throw her into labor, the mosquitoes will carry them both away.”

Alice-Ann nodded, then finished up the cold supper and glass of milk. “Well,” she said, rising to take her plate to the sink, “if it’s okay with you, Aunt Bess, I’m going to my room. I’m pretty beat tonight.”

“You go on. I’ve got this.”

Alice-Ann reached for her purse when Aunt Bess added, “Oh. Your daddy’s in the living room. Be sure to say good night to him before you go up.”

“I will.” She had to stop in to steal away the fan, anyway.

She started out, then stopped and turned back into the room. “Aunt Bess?” she said to the woman clearing the rest of the table.

“Hmm?”

“Did you know that Miss Portia had a . . . well, a thing for Papa back long ago?” Since Papa had told her, she’d had a monstrous time looking at her coworker without squinting her eyes and tilting her head, trying to imagine the older woman younger . . . and in pursuit.

Aunt Bess ran water in the sink and threw in a little dish detergent. “I did.”

She stepped closer. “Why do you think Papa never . . . after Mama . . . why didn’t Papa go out with anyone? Think about getting married again? Maybe to Miss Portia?”

“Your daddy,” she said, swishing the soap into a froth with her hand, “could never see himself with anyone but Earlene.” Aunt Bess stopped her bubble making long enough to look at Alice-Ann with complete and utter tenderness. “A love like theirs doesn’t come along every day of the week, Alice-Ann. That boy thought your mama hung the moon and the stars.” She shook her head. “No. There could only be one love for my brother, and Earlene was it.”

Alice-Ann kissed her aunt’s cheek, then left the room fully this time. She walked into the living room, where her father read the newspaper by a dim light. “Hey, Papa,” she said, keeping her voice low. Nothing in the room stirred, which told her the fan had already been moved into her bedroom.

He looked up, lowering the paper from in front of his face. “Got home, did you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How’s our boy?”

Alice-Ann smiled. Funny how all it took was an injury —severe as it was —for a young man to become the son of every father in the county. “He’s getting better. He can wiggle his toes, and today he saw several flashes of light.”

“Don’t worry. He’ll get it all back,” he said, then raised the paper up again.

“I’m not worr —” She stopped. Sighed. “Well, I’m going to bed, Papa. I’m pretty tired already.”

“Moon’s not full up yet,” he said, “but I can’t say as I blame you. Once Nelson and Irene get back in, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Good night then, Papa.” She trudged up the stairs, retrieved her nightclothes, then went into the bathroom. She ran water in the sink, lathered up a washcloth, and gave herself a sink bath. After brushing her teeth —which she did with her eyes closed —and tidying up, she crossed the hall to her bedroom. Along the way, she heard her brother’s and sister-in-law’s voices, mingled with Aunt Bess’s.

Hearing no anxiety or hope in their tones, she closed the door behind her.

When she was sure no one had started up the staircase, she opened her closet door and rifled around until she found the box where she kept Mack’s letters. She pulled one randomly from the middle, sat on the floor in front of the closet door, and read it. Once more. Pretending she’d only received it that afternoon. That she’d devoured it on the bus ride home. That she’d hidden it in the confines of her purse so none of the family —not even Irene —knew about it. Still pretending that, she now read it again, before going to bed and dreaming of her one true love, so as to dream of the words he’d penned. With love . . . she hoped.

Alice-Ann returned the letter to its envelope, the envelope to the stack, and the stack back to its hiding place. Soundless, she crept to her bed and eased in, willing the springs not to creak beneath her light weight. She drew the cotton sheet up over her —completely —then turned onto her stomach.

“Oh, Mack,” she cried into her pillow, hoping it could somehow absorb the agony. “Where are you?”

The following day was nearly a carbon copy of the previous. Up, to work, to Maeve’s —this time reading to Carlton from a new book —then home as dusk settled around the farm. Still, no baby’s cries filled the night. Still, no news from Mack.

And then Friday’s sun rose in the east as it always did. Alice-Ann went to work, ate her lunch, and read her book.

As always.

But by midafternoon, time stood still as the awful news pulsated through Bynum like a telegraph that the sender hadn’t meant to release but now couldn’t stop. The words —brief, choked, and unbearable —had to be repeated. From one store to the next. From one mouth to another’s ears.

Boyd MacKay and his crew had been shot down several weeks earlier, somewhere over the Pacific.

None of the American soldiers survived.