Journal Entry, November 11, 1941:
My mother warned me that some folks might not understand why I left the convent. For the most part, folks at church are kind and welcoming, but some snub me. I don’t expect them to understand my decision—I’m only just beginning to understand it myself—but it hurts all the same.
After the service one Sunday, as we are about to climb into the car, Father Crowley trots across the lawn and waves his arms. “Miss Hansen.” He bends over to catch his breath. “Principal Lawson was inquiring about you. He was wondering if you might like to substitute teach at the elementary school this year. Seems Mrs. Watkins is with child and they’ll need someone to fill in for her while she’s out. He’s expecting your call if you’re so inclined.”
“Thank you, Father,” I say. “I’ll call him this afternoon.” I’ve been thinking about returning to teaching and this opportunity seems too good to pass up.
In mid-October, I start teaching the third grade at Battle Creek Elementary. I am happy to have something to occupy my days. I think of Mac often and wonder whether I will ever see him again, or whether he ever thinks about me.
One night in late October, as my mother and I are doing the dishes, I hear the front door blow open, followed by footsteps.
“Hello?” calls the familiar voice.
Francis.
We quickly dry our hands and race to greet him but find him folded into my father’s arms. When my brother sees me, he pulls me into his arms and lifts me off the ground.
“Hey, Virginia. Welcome home.”
Though I’ve been home for a while now, I know what he means.
“You too.” I kiss his cheek.
Francis follows us to the kitchen. My mother hollers at him to close the front door.
“Don’t worry, Ma,” he says. “Mac’s right behind me.”
My heart stops beating. I grope for air and quickly turn back to the sink and scrub the dishes. I scrub so hard I nearly scour off the gold leaves around the edges of the plates.
I hear stomping and picture Mac wiping his feet on the mat before he enters the house. His deep voice greets first my mother and then my father.
“Come on in to the kitchen,” my mother says. “Virginia will be thrilled to see you.”
The advancing footsteps halt. “I...I didn’t know Marie Francis was visiting,” Mac says.
“She isn’t visiting, Roger. Our Virginia is home for good. She left the convent in August.”
My mother almost always calls Mac by his formal name. That’s just her way. I hear the unmistakable footsteps of Roger MacKenzie behind me. His shadow towers over me in the dim light of the kitchen.
He stands over my left shoulder, so close I can feel his breath on my hair. “Hello, Virginia,” he says in a soft, almost sultry voice.
I close my eyes; my body quakes with fever.
God, help me.
I open my mouth but choke on my words. I swallow hard and try again. “Hello, Mac,” I finally manage. “It’s nice to see you.”
He places a hand on my back. “It’s nice to see you, too,” he whispers.
How nice?
Then I remember the last words I heard him speak during his last visit. You have all become like family to me. And the excitement I feel about seeing him again slips away.
My mother warms some leftovers and my father sits with Francis and Mac while they eat. As I finish the dishes, the men talk about war. I glance at Mac while I dry my hands. He smiles and shrugs, as if in apology. For what, I wasn’t exactly sure.
The following morning when I come down to breakfast, I notice the folded blankets stacked neatly on the couch. “Where’s Mac?” I ask as my mother places a bowl of porridge in front of me.
“He said he had some errands to run this morning. Rather early if you ask me, but I suppose it’s none of my business.”
I gather my books for school and step out the front door. I start when I see him, leaning against the side of his car, one leg crossed over the other. I pull the door closed and walk toward him. My heart trips in my chest. I stop a few feet in front of him and narrow my eyes.
“I thought I might walk you to school,” he says.
“Oh, is today ‘walk your sister to school day’?”
Mac laughs heartily.
My cheeks burn.
“Virginia, I hardly think of you as my sister.”
My breath catches. “You...you don’t?”
His eyes twinkle and he laughs again. “No, I most certainly do not. What in heaven’s name gave you that impression?”
My mouth goes suddenly dry. Could I have been wrong about his feelings toward me? “But, you said...the last time you were here you said we were like...family to you.”
He draws his lips into a thin line and doesn’t reply right away. “I see,” he finally says. “Well, you are the closest thing I have to family, Virginia, but that certainly doesn’t mean I have brotherly feelings toward you.”
Heat spreads from my cheeks and travels downward. “Well, I suppose it’d be alright if you walked me to school.” I stare at the sidewalk.
He lifts the book strap from my wrist and we walk in silence through thick fog that clings to the ground. When we arrive at the school, Mac stares at the ground. “Virginia, would you like to go to the cinema tomorrow night? The Maltese Falcon is playing. I hear it’s a fine film. I asked your father’s permission and he said it’d be alright, so...how about it?”
Excitement somersaults through me. I try to act as casual as I can, but despite my best effort, my face breaks into a silly grin. “Yes. I mean...I’d be pleased to go with you.”
He smiles broadly and hands me the books. “Aw, that’s great. So, I’ll see you later?”
I nod, and float toward my classroom.
Since returning home in August, I have reconnected with some of my high school friends. Mary Jane Smith, a faithful member of the Future Sisters of America—a club Helen and I started in the sixth grade—fell in love during senior year and her life took a different path from mine. She married Ralph Bennett after graduation and is now a fellow teacher at Battle Creek Elementary.
“So, who’s the boy?” Mary Jane asks.
It strikes me as funny how, in this day and age, grown men—even in their twenties—are still referred to as boys.
“Roger MacKenzie—Mac—he’s a friend of my brother’s. They’re in the Navy together.”
“He sure is handsome. Is there something between the two of you?”
I smile. Yesterday I’d have said no, but today...today the possibility of something exists. “Maybe.”
The next night, I try on every article of clothing I have. I stand in my slip, a pile of clothes surrounding me on the floor, as my mother comes into the room. Tears fill my eyes. “Oh, Mother, it’s the most important night of my life and I’ve nothing to wear.”
She says nothing, but picks up each article of clothing. After examining it, she lays it gently on my bed. Arms folded, she rubs her chin with her forefinger, and then points to a black chiffon dress with a sweetheart neckline and a full skirt. “That one,” she says.
“You’re sure it’s not too much?” I ask.
“Not if you were to see how Mac is dressed.” My mother winks and a smile fills my face.
After I slip into the dress, I stand before the mirror and frown at my hair. It’s past my shoulders now but it has never seemed to make up its mind whether it wants to be curly or straight. It still hangs in brown clumps around my face.
“Not to worry.” My mother excuses herself for a moment and returns with a few items from her own dressing table. She picks up the brush and sweeps my hair into a tight chignon.
I gasp at the reflection in the mirror. I’ve never seen this girl—this woman—who stares back at me. I touch my prominent cheekbones and notice my blue-green eyes for the first time. I am beautiful.
I pull my mother into my arms. “Thank you, Mama.”
My mother draws back and places a hand on my cheek. “You look beautiful, my darling.”
Mac, in his dress uniform, waits at the bottom of the stairs. My legs quiver so badly I’m not sure I’ll make it down without falling. When I reach the bottom stair, I slip a trembling hand into his.
“You look lovely,” he says.
Heat fills my cheeks and spreads through my body. “Thank you.” I dip my chin.
“Shall we?” He extends his arm.
My stomach bounces a few times. I nod, trying my best to smile.
He leads me outside and opens the car door. On the seat is a bouquet of roses. He lifts them from the seat, helps me in and places the flowers on my lap before he climbs in the other side.
“I thought we’d go to Gino’s for prime rib and maybe some dancing afterward,” he says. “Unless, of course, you had your heart set on the cinema.”
I touch the delicate flowers and smile inside at the realization that he’s put a lot of thought into our first date. He doesn’t want to hide inside a theater; he wants to take me out on the town. “Gino’s sounds wonderful,” I say, “but I’m afraid I’m not much of a dancer.”
He grins. “Lucky for you, I am.”
The conversation over dinner is light and lively. His eyes dance with mischief as he regales me with stories of the pranks he and his squadron mates play on each other. It’s nice to see his playful side.
“Believe it or not, we played our share of pranks in the convent,” I say.
Smiling, Mac leans forward in rapt attention. “Tell me your best one.”
I lean back in my chair and grin. Twenty minutes later, Mac roars with laughter. I laugh with him.
When we finish dinner, Mac pulls me onto the dance floor. For the next several hours, he teaches me to jitterbug, swing, and rumba. Before the night is over, I’ve fallen in love with dancing.
And with Mac.
Mac pulls up in front of my house and turns off the engine. When he looks at me, his eyes have grown serious.
“Virginia, why did you leave the convent?”
I glance down at our fingers, interlaced. “Because I realized that every decision I’ve made in my life was made with my head, not my heart.” I lift my head to meet his gaze. “And you? Why did you leave that night? The last time you were here, you had a week of leave but you stayed only two days. Why did you leave so soon?”
His gaze intensifies and my stomach lurches. He pulls me closer. “Because I was in love with you. But I knew I could never have you because you were devoted to someone else. How could someone like me ever compete with God?”
Tears fill my eyes and Mac pulls me to him. “I love you, Virginia. Oh, how I love you.”
“I love you, too,” I say. “I think I have since the moment I met you.”
He draws back and searches my eyes. He brushes my tears with the back of his hand and then kisses me. It’s a sweet, tender kiss and I’m pretty sure my heart has stopped beating. He kisses me again, parting my lips with his, and I know, with absolute clarity, that Mac is my destiny.