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Harold liked fresh starch in his Sunday shirt, so Addie left the ironing until Saturday night. When his collar could stand alone, she hung the shirt near his creased suit pants.
Her buttercup linen dress needed no ironing. Her brown cardigan ought to be warm enough in the drafty sanctuary, even though Harold thought sweaters tacky. Last winter, she shivered through services, but when Berthea started wearing her sweater, he relented.
A shaving brush smoothed the lapels and she checked for wrinkles marring the pleat. Small price to pay for an hour at church, with Sunday’s hymns sweeping her away.
The next morning in First Methodist, gold organ pipe scrollwork and flourishes on the wooden pulpit satisfied some nameless longing in her. Fern’s organ trills distanced Harold’s misery and lightened Addie’s heart.
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part, but then shall I know fully, even as also I am known.” Pastor Taylor scanned the crowd. “No one can predict what lies ahead, but war has a way of rousing us from lethargy.”
Harold jitterbugged his foot on the varnished floor, but Addie resisted the urge to clamp down on his knee. He stared straight ahead, eyes gray as stone.
“During these perilous times, evil ravages the earth and conscience calls us to stand and fight. We see the conflict darkly, but our duty is clear.”
Throughout the sanctuary, women’s brown, tan, gray, and dark red hats dipped like hay in an August wind. Men gawked at the elaborate heathery-green organ pipes as if seeking a heavenly sign.
“Turn to page 327, A Mighty Fortress is Our God. In uncertain times, we can count on this truth.”
Harold hissed, “That’s a German hymn.”
He’d most likely bring this up with the pastor on the way out, which might leave time for her to play a hymn or two on the piano.
Were they to take our house, goods, honor, child, or spouse, though life be wrenched away, they cannot win the day... A shiver coursed Addie’s spine.
Fern outdid herself with extra chords—a bulwark ne-ver fa-ay-ay-ling. Our hel-per He a-mid the flood of mor-tal ills pre-vai-ay-ay-ling.
Chaos might trouble this weary old world, but by the final refrain, Addie felt renewed. She turned toward Harold, hoping the music raised his spirits, too. But she faced only polished wood and Berthea’s scrunched forehead. He’d already stationed himself in the narthex, waiting to pounce on the helpless Pastor Taylor.
After the service, Berthea chatted with a friend, so Addie played four verses of Trust and Obey. Harold still shook his finger at the pastor in the entryway, but when Berthea tugged at his sleeve, Addie joined them.
“Harold, I don’t want to leave your dad alone any longer.”
The pastor promised to visit Orville soon, and Harold tore himself away. Berthea gasped when he skidded the Chevy full circle on the ice at Second and Main.
She invited them over for dinner, and afterwards, Harold fell asleep with Orville in front of the radio. With the last clean dinner plate in the cupboard, Berthea covered an enormous yawn.
“You need a nap, too. Thanks so much for dinner.”
Addie went for her coat, but Berthea snapped, “I need some fresh air, but I’m so afraid of the ice.”
“How about coming over? You could teach me to make those soldier cookies you mentioned the other day.”
Berthea brightened. “Why, I could—”
“I’ll get your coat.”
“Must’ve made 50 batches during the Great War.” Berthea rummaged through her pantry. “Condensed milk and coconut, some nuts—I’ll be right out.”
Snores issued from the two matching profiles in the living room. Harold worked so hard—hopefully a Sunday afternoon nap would do him good.
Two hours later, six dozen chocolate mounds cooled on Addie’s kitchen table. “I’ll go get some packing boxes. Harold should be in soon to watch Jack Benny.”
“Does he still tune in to Charlie McCarthy and Co after Jack? My, how he and Orville used to argue about that.” Berthea hunched her shoulders like Orville and changed her voice. “‘We already listened to Roosevelt, why waste time on that Edgar Bergen dummy?’”
Next, she mimicked Harold. “‘Dad, anybody making a go as a radio ventriloquist must be smart.’ Oh, the disagreements they had.”
From the back bedroom, Addie brought an armload of boxes, and Berthea continued. “When they switched from the Chase and Sanborn Coffee Hour, Harold became furious.
“‘How can they take off W.C. Fields, Don Ameche, and Dorothy Lamour? It’s not fair—now, it’s just Charlie and Mortimer Snerd.’”
“What did you say?”
Berthea shrugged. “Not much—once they started, there was no stopping them. I don’t remember who won most of the time. Did you have arguments over radio programs at your house?”
“We—ah—we didn’t listen.” No use saying they’d had no electricity, but Berthea didn’t even notice.“Harold took to the radio as a boy, tromping around like a soldier repeating what he heard. His memory always amazed me.” Berthea clucked her tongue. “The Great War, without all these battle reports, was far easier. All the details we hear now can be hard on a person, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. I wish Jack Benny aired every night instead of the war news.”
While Berthea taped boxes, Addie printed soldiers’ addresses. At 5:55, she turned the radio dial to WHO, Des Moines, and rattled the box for a better signal.
The Jell-O Program, starring Jack Benny, Mary Livingston, and Phil Harris. Jell-O, the most colorful dessert in the world. Each beautiful, delicious color has its own genuine fruit flavor: strawberry, raspberry, cherry, orange, lemon, and lime. There’s only one genuine Jell-O. Look for the big red letters. And now, join me in welcoming Jack What’s His Name...”
Berthea opened the porch door when they heard Harold outside. “Is your dad all right?”
“Still sleeping when I left to do chores.”
“If you walk me home, Addie, I’ll get some money for George. He won’t mind mailing these for us.”
“I don’t know if I ever mentioned that he asked about you and Orville at the fundraiser in December.”
“Really?”
An early moon prevailed over a glistening landscape, and Old Brown nosed Addie’s leg as she steadied Berthea. “Hey, fella. You’re cold too, aren’t you?”
“Orville says that’s crazy talk. Dogs were born to endure the elements, just like raccoons and foxes. But I feel better if Old Brown stays in the barn on these bitter nights.”
“How long have you had him?”
“Years and years. He straggled into the yard one day and stayed.” They slowed to navigate an ice patch a few feet from Berthea’s front steps.
“I ought to let him in tonight, but you know how Orville can be. I try hard not to set him off these days. Come inside a minute.”
Orville yelled, and her voice constricted. “Oh, no. I’m always here when he wakes up.” In the living room, Orville sprawled over the edge of his chair, and an unmistakable urine smell wafted.
“Buddy Weham, Beedma and Taye Roseva. Tucka nose in evwons bizna.”
“Yes, that Bloody Kaiser Wilhelm and Bismarck. Teddy Roosevelt stuck his nose in everyone’s business.”
“Fankin’s gonna kiw aw sons.”
“Franklin’s not going to kill our sons, Orville. You’ve been listening to the news again, but our sons are right here in Iowa. Bill’s vital to his company—remember, they’re making some tank part now? And Harold’s been re-classified 2-C. The war board knows how much we need him here.”
But she couldn’t budge Orville, so Addie hooked his belt loop with her finger and pulled. Inches at a time, they righted him. “Smoka matches aida axis.” Brownish spit hit Addie’s arm.
“He must’ve heard that on the radio while we were gone.”
“What was it?”
“Smoking matches aid the axis. They’ve mentioned a danger out west lately—the Japanese might set forests on fire in Washington and Oregon.”
Berthea whispered into Orville’s ear. “That’s a long, long way from here—nothing to worry about.”
Orville touched Addie’s elbow.
“You remember Addie, don’t you?”
Berthea tucked his hand down. “I’ll be right back.”
She went into the kitchen and returned with $10. “Give this to George for postage. He’ll know the exact amount, and I want you to keep the change.”
“Oh, that’s not—”
“No, I mean it.”
“Why, thank you.”
“Thank you. I had a lovely time this afternoon.”
“Do you need help getting Orville into bed?”
“We’ll manage.”
Berthea gave her a hug, and Addie crossed the yard in wonder. Hearing laughter from the living room added to her relief.
Jack Benny put Harold in a good mood that lasted until Monday, when he drove to town for some chicken mash. Addie decided to do the chicken chores while she waited for George to bring the mail. Sure enough, he knew the exact amount for the cookie boxes, and she carried almost five dollars home.
Better yet, he handed her a letter from Kate. As she walked to the house after checking on the chickens, a strong March wind whipped around an ice-coated Studebaker sitting in the yard. Jane Pike stuck her arm out and Addie hurried toward the car.
“George plowed us out—been shut in for days. Just had to get out of the house for a while.” Jane’s verdant eyes, a deeper shade of green than her vehicle, bore Spring’s sure promise.
“I know that closed-in feeling. Can you come in?”
“No, thanks. Nothing left to scrub at home, and I’ve baked enough to last a month, so I’m going over to clean at the church. Here’s some stepe pierogi for you.” She hoisted a brown cardboard grocery box through the window.
“Oh, thank you, Jane. Umm, still warm on the bottom. I can’t imagine how much this will cheer Berthea. She’s got cabin fever too.”
“Don’t worry about the bowl. I miss your visits.”
“I miss you, too.” Jane rolled up her window, let out the clutch, and waved good-bye.
Berthea must have been watching, because she opened the door before Addie hit the top step.
“Jane brought something for us?”
“She couldn’t stay inside any longer, she said.”
“Here, let me get a pan.” Addie ladled a healthy portion of the savory sauerkraut, dumplings, and onions for Orville and Berthea.
“That was real thoughtful of her, wasn’t it? Especially with Simon Pike being so cantankerous. Compared to him, Orville’s a Teddy bear.”
“We won’t have to cook supper—that’s a treat, isn’t it?”
Berthea jerked away when Orville called her.
Back at home, Addie kicked off her boots. Only 4:15 and no supper to cook—she took the stairs like a hungry cougar. She skidded to a stop at the end of the hall, where a needlepoint plaque proclaimed, The Lord is good, and his loving kindness endures forever.
Mama quoted that verse even when her final sickness reduced her to a skeleton. Her tongue thickened, yet she seemed stronger-spirited than in the past. “No matter what happens, remember that God never leaves us.” She repeated the verse, emphasizing different words each time.
“The Lord is good. The Lord is good. The Lord is good.”
Today, Addie echoed that sentiment. Seeing Jane, even for a few minutes, gave her hope. Having her for a friend meant so much. The winter would pass, and then she’d ride her bicycle down the road to Jane’s often. They’d exchange plant slips, and maybe not so long after that, Kate would come home.
Leaving the door open so she would hear the motor sputter when Harold parked the bubbletop, she wrapped herself in a blanket, sat on a box, and opened her letter. Then she feasted her eyes on Kate’s precise handwriting.
February 26
Dear Addie,
I’m washing dishes in the hotel restaurant for my board, but will lose my sanity if a hospital doesn’t ring me up soon. The cook weeps over losing Singapore, the last Nazi bombs ruined a local cinema, and a madman is on the loose, murdering single women.
But even worse, two weeks ago, Germany humiliated the Brits in the Channel Dash. Three big Nazi battleships surprised our Navy and passed through the Dover Straits.
The RAF was slow to react. This will mortify Alexandre.
The grim atmosphere shows on the streets, here in the hotel, everywhere. The manager says we’ve suffered the worst disgrace since the American Revolution—worse than Dunkirk.
I zip my lips, if you can imagine, and seek something positive to say. (Surely this cannot equal Dunkirk...)
Guess I hadn’t realized this nation’s pride—after all, the Channel between France and England has been called ENGLISH for centuries. Now, with stories of Russian bravery circulating, and relying on the U.S. to bail them out, things look dire. Hitler’s audacity in the Channel feels like the last straw. But France has already suffered this way for two years—they caved to the Huns so easily.
How’s that for cheery news? But yesterday Evelyn found an ad for a typing position, so I applied, to keep me out of trouble. And now for your questions—your letter cheered me beyond words!
The ship I rode on was lend-lease, transporting necessities from food and munitions to paper products and medical supplies. (Now I see how much they need food here—when I move into a flat, I’ll be begging you for supplies. How can one live without cheese?)
We faced icebergs and U-boats, so we zigzagged across the Atlantic. I typed reports, yet never saw the ship’s name or code number, and only glimpsed Mount Royal (less than a thousand feet high). Sorry, no castles this trip. Landed at night and lugged my suitcases to the train in heavy fog. The inspector eyed me with suspicion after I dropped a case on his toes, and spat a perfunctory, “Do get on, Miss.”
I miss our literature class, too, and wonder if Mrs. Morfordson has forgiven me yet for skipping graduation. Take heart in spite of your worrisome husband.
Love,
Kate
When the barn door slammed after Harold drove in, Addie sat for a few more minutes, digesting all the news. There must be something she could do to lift Kate’s load. Cheese would mold on the way over there, and so would apple pie, Kate’s favorite.
But maybe she could send some fudge to cheer her up, or cookies. That was it. She’d make Berthea’s recipe, the sugar cookies Kate raved over the night of the fundraiser.
Harold would never find out if she baked them early Thursday morning, when he promised to help Mr. Lundene sort his cattle. She could have them boxed and ready when George came by, and pay the postage with the money from Berthea.
