CHAPTER 6

TWO YEARS LATER

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 10, 1943

At precisely four thirty in the afternoon, Alice-Ann stepped to the employee time clock in the narrow back hallway of Bynum Bank & Trust, slipped her card in, and waited for the resounding thunk. She removed the card and stared at it.

“Yep,” she said to her fellow employee —and the only other teller —Nancy Thorpe. “Exact as always.”

Nancy giggled lightly. “When Mister Dooley says he doesn’t like overtime, he means it.”

“And when we say we don’t like it on a Friday, we mean it,” Alice-Ann concluded as she slid her arms into the sleeves of her wool coat, careful not to catch the bracelet from Mack on the hem. She shivered as the cold satin lining penetrated her skin.

“Got plans for tonight?” Nancy asked, inserting her time card, then removing it and staring at it briefly before returning it to the metal holder hanging nearby.

Alice-Ann nodded. “I’m going to the movies with Maeve.”

“Oh? I saw that The North Star is starting at the theater tonight.” Nancy extended her purse for Alice-Ann to hold while she put on her coat. “That Dana Andrews makes any movie worth the price of admission.”

“He’s handsome all right,” Alice-Ann agreed. But he wasn’t Mack.

Together, they walked down the hallway of the small white-brick building located on the corner of Main and Cooper in downtown Bynum.

“What about Claudette?” Nancy asked as they neared the door. “Or is she still too gone over Johnny Dailey?” She turned her chin and hollered over her shoulder before Alice-Ann could answer. “Bye, Mister Dooley! Bye, Miss Portia! See y’all on Monday.”

Alice-Ann did the same, keeping the volume of her good-byes to a minimum. “Good-bye,” she said, loud enough to be heard without sounding quite like a fishwife.

Not that Nancy did. But Nancy had not been reared by Aunt Bess, who insisted that a lady never raises her voice except to call her family in to dinner. “And even for that, God gave us back-porch bells.”

Alice-Ann sighed as they stepped out the back door and into the chill of the alleyway. “Claudette’s all there and all gone, as the saying goes.”

“Do you think they’ll get married? Her and Johnny? This town sure could use a wedding to cheer it up.” Unlike so many other small towns across America, Bynum had —so far —been spared the death of any of her sons. But being so close to Camp Stewart meant a constant reminder of the war —jeeps full of the enlisted driving through town, their wives and family members often renting the front rooms and bedrooms of Bynum’s in-town citizens.

Seven dollars a week, Alice-Ann heard some were charging. Of course, that included meals.

During weekend furloughs the enlisted men came to town for a visit with their loved ones, taking in a movie or going to one of the dances on the outskirts of town, but mostly just holding on to each other for all it was worth.

Those were the scenes Alice-Ann tried to avoid; they only reminded her of who wasn’t in town.

“Oh,” she now said with a toss of her frizzy curls, “they’re certainly talking about it. I wouldn’t be surprised if the ‘King of Walker’s Inn’ doesn’t give her a ring for Christmas this year.” They rounded the building and were met by a strong breeze.

“Gets colder every year around Christmas,” Nancy said as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Alice-Ann did the same. “What about you? Do you have plans for tonight?”

“Of course. It’s Friday, and on Friday Harry likes corned-beef hash.” She laughed easily. “So I go home, cook it up, and we eat in front of the fireplace and listen to the Frank Sinatra show.”

Alice-Ann smiled, remembering only two years earlier when she couldn’t remember the star’s name. “He sure can sing.”

“And he’s dreamy.”

They came to a stop on the front sidewalk. “Nancy!” Alice-Ann nudged her workmate. “You’re married,” she added with a laugh.

“But not dead,” she said. “And even though I’m old enough to be his older sister, I’ve still got eyes in my head and they still work just fine.”

Alice-Ann laughed again. “Nancy, I don’t think I could possibly be happier that I get to work with someone like you. You’ve brought a true spark to my life, you know.”

The day Alice-Ann had decided to try for a job at the bank had been a blessed one indeed. It had been a Monday, shortly after the first of 1942, when so many of Bynum’s men had gone off to serve their country. That afternoon, after school, Alice-Ann marched into Bynum Bank & Trust. Mr. Douglas Reddick —the bank’s president and a man affectionately known as Mister Dooley —sat at his desk near the back of the oversize room. Even more blessedly for Alice-Ann, without his secretary Miss Portia Ivey to guard him.

To Alice-Ann, Miss Portia had always been a study in contrasts. Now a woman in her early forties with a creamy complexion and soft, sad eyes that rarely blinked behind her specs, she’d always looked at Alice-Ann as though she were missing an arm. As culture dictated, Alice-Ann was polite to the woman the few times their paths crossed over the years. While she couldn’t say Miss Portia was unkind, the woman never seemed happy enough to offer so much as a smile in return.

“Well, well . . .” Mister Dooley heaved his round form from the chair and came around the desk to offer Alice-Ann a warm hug. “To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?”

Alice-Ann asked if she could sit in the chair opposite his desk, and he’d all but insisted she do just that. “How’s your aunt Bess?” he asked, returning to his chair. Then, not waiting for a reply, he added, “And your daddy? He came in the other day, you know. Worried about the farm. And about what was going to happen in general now that we’ve entered the war.”

“Yes, sir. I overheard him talking about it with Nelson the other night. Said he had to borrow a little money from you.”

Mister Dooley leaned over his desk, reached for a half-chewed cigar, and shoved it between his back teeth. “Nothing your daddy isn’t good for,” he said. “Now, don’t you go worrying.”

“I’m not worried,” Alice-Ann lied. “But I would like to do my part.” She glanced over her shoulder to where Nancy Thorpe waited on a customer from the other side of the teller’s partition. Returning her attention to Mister Dooley, she added, “With Gus Sanders having signed up, that leaves Miss Nancy working by herself as your one and only teller. So I wondered if I could work after school and all day during my Easter vacation days. Maybe full-time once school is out in June? Unless, of course, the war is over by then and Gus comes back.”

Mister Dooley puffed on the foul-smelling cigar before answering. “You any good with your arithmetic?”

She pushed back her shoulders. “I’ve made all A’s in every subject since I started at Bynum High, Mister Dooley.”

He slapped his hands together. “Well, I don’t see any reason why we can’t at least try. Salary is thirty cents an hour. Sound doable?” The bells on the front door chimed, letting her know that either the customer had left or another had entered.

Thirty cents. Why, it was practically a fortune. She couldn’t wait to tell Aunt Bess.

“Yes, sir.”

“You come back tomorrow. Portia’ll have some papers for you to fill out.” He stood, and Alice-Ann did the same. “Nancy,” he bellowed, his words echoing in the cavernous room. “How’d you like Miss Alice-Ann Branch to work alongside you?”

The round-faced woman with short dark-blonde hair and crystal-blue eyes made all the brighter behind large-framed glasses smiled at her as though she were a long-lost friend. “Why, I’d adore it,” she answered.

Since that day, she and Alice-Ann had become good friends. Not best friends like Maeve and Claudette —after all, Nancy was in her late thirties. But good friends nonetheless.

Now, standing on the sidewalk in the cold, Alice-Ann glanced at the petite Timex watch gracing her right wrist, turning the face toward her with the fingertips of her left hand. The cross charm dangled over it, and as she always did, she whispered a prayer for the one who had given it to her. “Well, I’m going to walk over to the five-and-dime. Maeve said she’d be there waiting on me.”

Since graduation, Maeve had gone to work for her father, filling Carlton’s part-time position until he returned. After that, she intended to join her brother in college. “If all goes well enough,” she’d clarified.

Nancy thumbed away from the center of downtown. “I’m heading home.” She smiled, her teeth white against the red of her lipstick. “Corned-beef hash, you know.”

“And Harry,” Alice-Ann said with a wink.

“That’s right.” Nancy gave a low whistle as she turned and walked away, leaving Alice-Ann to watch for a few moments. Watch and wonder what it might be like to have married someone like Harry Thorpe.

As a young man, he’d been drafted into World War I. During the summer, shortly before the war’s end, he’d been sent to France, where he’d served on the front line. He’d returned at the war’s end, wounded by shrapnel to his back, rendering his legs useless.

But Harry Thorpe had proven himself to be greater than the enemy’s attacks. After a long convalescence in the hospital, he’d learned to get around with the help of a wheelchair. He went to school, received his teaching degree, then returned to Bynum to teach history at the high school.

He’d been one of Alice-Ann’s favorite teachers, and now his wife had become one of her favorite people.

“Goodness,” Alice-Ann said aloud at the memory, then turned and crossed Cooper Street, her eyes glancing at a window facing the road, where a red-bordered flag hung with three blue stars in front of pulled blackout curtains.

She winced. Having one son fighting in the war was bad enough; having three sons away seemed beyond comprehension.

Alice-Ann hurried along the sidewalk and into one of the two double wood-framed glass doors of Hillis’s Five & Dime. It rattled as the overhead bell rang, signaling her entry. The scent of cedar pencils and rubbery erasers met her, and she looked toward the counter to see Miss Mary Catherine slamming the register shut and dropping change into Nola Whitney’s upturned palm.

Miss Nola looked her way as her gloved hand folded over the money. “Well, hello, Alice-Ann,” she said.

“Miss Nola,” Alice-Ann returned with a smile as she unbuttoned her coat. “How are you and Mister Hoke?” Miss Nola and Mister Hoke owned and operated Whitney’s A&P grocery store two doors down.

“We’re all right, I suppose,” she said, the words holding not an ounce of truth in them. She opened her purse and dropped the money inside, then grabbed the brown paper bag on the counter and held it to her chest. “Just ready for Washington to bring us some good news for a change.”

Alice-Ann glanced over Miss Mary Catherine’s shoulder where the flag with a single blue star hung in the large window. “I’m sure this will all be over soon enough,” she said, shrugging out of her coat in spite of the chill running through her bones. “Is Maeve in the back?” she asked, hoping the subject could be easily changed.

“She ran down to the post office to drop something off. Nola, tell Hoke if that’s not what he’s looking for, to let me know. We’ll be happy to exchange it.”

Miss Nola had stepped closer to Alice-Ann, who moved aside and farther into the store to avoid the gust of cold air sure to hit her when the door opened. “I’m sure it’ll do just fine,” she said. Then, stopped at Alice-Ann, she added, “Tell your aunt Bess I said hello, will ya?”

Alice-Ann nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the woman had closed the door behind her, Miss Mary Catherine sighed so deeply, Alice-Ann wondered if she might have expelled all of her oxygen. But when she looked her way, the older woman’s face held such sadness that fear slid over Alice-Ann. “Miss Mary Catherine? Is everything okay?” She crossed the distance between them.

Maeve’s mother raised a trembling hand to her thin lips. “I’m just worried about Carlton and . . .” She rested her hip against the counter as the tremor seemed to radiate through her entire body.

Alice-Ann threw her coat over the counter, walked around to where the woman stood, wrapped her arms around her, and felt her exhale until she fell nearly limp against her. “Are you —are you sure you’re okay?”

She pulled herself out of Alice-Ann’s arms. “You know, darlin’ . . . Miss Nola and Mister Hoke never had children, so she can’t know —she can’t understand how fearful it is. She comes in here talking about what all she’s heard going on in Europe —the things they’re showing on the newsreels over at the theater . . .”

Carlton had joined the US Army Signal Corps and was serving his country as a motion picture combat cameraman.

“The most frightening thing of all,” Miss Mary Catherine continued, “is that all the awful fighting is going on right in front of my son’s camera!”

She stepped around Alice-Ann, opened a narrow drawer beneath the countertop, and pulled out a linen handkerchief. “I told Maeve and I’m telling you —from now on, I think it best if you girls didn’t go in to see the show until after the newsreels are done.” She blew her nose and Alice-Ann blinked rapidly. “Y’all don’t need to see anything like what my boy is having to film.”

“All right, Miss Mary Catherine. If you think that’s best.”

The door opened and the two women turned toward it.

Maeve stopped short, the door ajar. “What’s —what’s happened?” she asked. “Is it Carlton?” She closed the door quickly. “Mama?”

“No,” her mother replied. “No. I’m just being silly.”

“Another weepy spell?”

Miss Mary Catherine nodded. “You girls go on upstairs now and get some supper. I’m going to close up.” She opened the cash register drawer and pulled out a stack of one-dollar bills. “But lock up before you do.”

Maeve did as she was told, then grabbed Alice-Ann by the sleeve and pulled her toward the back of the store, where a staircase led to their apartment. “Come on,” she whispered. “I’ve got something for you.”

Alice-Ann’s heart skipped. A letter from Mack! It had to be.