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March 30, 1942
RED LETTER DAY!
A Salvation Army warehouse produced Alexandre, and only scars evidence his downing. Besides that, our navy convoys have avoided the German Tirpitz, said to be heavier than even the Bismarck.
You can imagine the moment I saw Alex... I don’t know if I’ve ever felt quite this grateful. It’ll still take some time for him to heal ‘properly,’ as they say here, but his spirits are good.
On to Harold. His anger scares me. Introspective men sometimes take out their inward strife on their wives, although I can well imagine his reaction to the war reports. Even though the Blitzkrieg is over here, calamities scale new heights.
Surrender seventy thousand Commonwealth troops to the Japs? Enemy slaughters over three hundred patients in Alexandra Hospital? Unthinkable. Stunned faces fill this old city’s streets.
Alex rejoins the fight in a few days, and I choose to believe the European front less dangerous than the Pacific. (But what do I know?)
You never flit far from my mind, friend. Thanks for your prayers. You have mine, as well, and I can’t thank you enough for the PACKAGE—yummy! It took exactly three weeks to arrive. I’ve been sharing a cookie a day with Alexandre.
Love,
Kate
Addie devoured the news and slid the envelope under the box in the upstairs closet, with a last glance at the postmark—18 days in transit. She hurried downstairs to brown some beef and chop vegetables for stew.
While the meat cooked, she turned to Burpee’s red, white, and blue middle section, where Berthea had introduced her to victory gardens the first winter of their marriage. Mama loved flowers, but lacked the energy to create a garden, so Addie learned what she knew from Aunt Alvina.
“War gardens, Mr. Burpee called them. My mother had one, and my aunt, too. The way things look, we might need to resurrect them.”
The catalog’s array energized Addie, and in preparation for warm spring days, she hung the washing on the clothesline in spite of the muddy yard. Then she leveled her ironing pile, stacked sheets and pillowcases on the shelf and underwear like hay bales in Harold’s drawer.
Following Berthea’s lead, he bought her an electric iron last year. Using a flatiron took much longer, so though ironing wasn’t her cup of tea, she couldn’t complain.
Before long, George’s truck idled at the driveway. She closed the last drawer and threw on her sweater. George waved as she slogged to retrieve the mail. Mud sucked at her boots, but letters could make such a big difference in her mother-in-law’s attitude, the trek past the barn was worth it.
Two knocks brought no response, so Addie inched the inner door open. Eerie quiet enveloped the house.
“Berthea?”
The kitchen clock’s steady tick-tock offered no clues, nor did the family pictures on the wall. Bill’s carefree dark hair fell onto his forehead in his wedding photo, and Harold brooded in his graduation picture. Down to his full lips, so like Orville’s, worry stalked his countenance. No one had mentioned pictures on their wedding day, so there weren’t any.
A noise from the hallway summoned her, and she peeked around the corner to see Orville’s bony feet splayed on the floor, stockings drawn up under his robe. Berthea cradled his head, but her eyes told the tale.
“Shall I send Harold for the doctor?”
“No. He’s gone.”
“I’ll...” Addie half-turned toward the front door.
“Be careful.” Berthea’s stern look flashed a warning—even she couldn’t tell what might set Harold off.
Something pricked under Addie’s ribs as she swallowed down her trepidation. Who knew how Harold might lash out at her when she told him the news? But Berthea seemed so calm, she gathered her courage and hurried through the mud toward the barn.
Mama’s passing came to mind just then. Dad was nowhere to be found that day, though everyone searched high and low.
Harold leaned over the soupy pig swill, stirring with a long stick. When he spied her, his lower lip curled. “What’re you doing out here?”
“Your mother needs you right away.” Addie took the stick. “Hurry. Let me finish this.”
She’d never given him an order like this. Harold drew a long breath, eyed Berthea’s house, and let go.
v
April 16, 1942
Dear Kate,
I don’t envy you saying good-bye to Alexandre again. By now, I hope you’ve found work. On Tuesday afternoon, Orville died. The Norwegian Lutheran pastor held the funeral today. Orville would surely protest the choice, but the Presbyterian minister had developed pneumonia.
At least it wasn’t your German Lutheran pastor, since people suspect him as a spy. Pastor Langly did fine. He said life is our chance to do something beautiful, and also become beautiful inside. Harold cringed at that, but I thought about Orville working so hard to build up the farm—parts of it are beautiful.
We paused at the back of the church, and I heard Harold catch his breath. Then, Fern’s hymnal crashed on the organ keys. I was glad Bill kept a hand on Harold’s shoulder the whole time. If only Harold could borrow his outlook—he seems content with his lot.
More on the funeral later. I must tell you the weather’s warming. Daffodils and crocuses poke up their hesitant heads in our yard near the house. They give me hope. No sign of the Hollyhocks yet, but Jane says they’ve a mind of their own.
Spring brings me hope, and so will your next letter. Tell me about the flowers over there, please, if the Luftwaffe has left any.
Expectantly,
Addie
A week after the funeral, Addie rolled up Harold’s overall legs and let the sun drench her as she impaled the first weed crop in the garden. After a while, the crunch of two sets of shoes lifted her head to see Berthea and her three-year-old charge.
“Willie, meet Miss Addie, working in her lovely garden.”
“Wuvwee darden.” Chubby arms spread wide, Willie’s eyes glowed.
“Miss Addie loves her flowers.”
“Fwowers.”
“Willie’s tired of Grandpa George’s mail truck, so he’s staying with me for a while today.”
The little boy’s chocolate-toothed grin captivated Addie.
“Nice to meet you, Willie. Auntie B gave you some chocolate, I see.”
“Bee. Shokate.”
Berthea put her finger to her lips. “Don’t tell Harold.”
“How old is Willie today?”
He held up three fingers.
“Three. Oh my, so big!”
Berthea flashed her best smile since the funeral. “Don’t you love his chubby cheeks?”
Addie poked one, and Willie gave her a grin. “Willie, shall we pick a flower for Auntie B?”
“Fwower. Bee.”
She put some violets and Shasta daisies in his hand, and he held them out to Berthea. “For Auntie B.”
Tears sprang in Berthea’s eyes. “Thank you very much, sweetie.”
Willie reached on tiptoe to kiss her, and she touched the slobbery spot. “Oh, my—would you like to give Miss Addie one?”
But his mood took a turn. He shook his head and stamped his feet in the grass.
Addie chuckled. “It’s okay. Today’s your day for kisses.”
“Willie, let’s go play with the toys. Tell Miss Addie good-bye.”
“Toys, toys!” He pressed against Berthea’s skirt.
“Bye-bye, Willie. Come over and see me later, all right?” Addie caught Berthea’s eye. “I’d be happy to watch him for a while if you need to do something else.”
Berthea stroked Willie’s hair. “Thanks, but I need all the time I can get with this bit of heaven.”
Addie returned to her weeding, certain that down the road a quarter-mile, Jane did the same in her flowerbed. Three years had passed since she and Jane met, on the day Addie married Harold.
That afternoon, he carried her belongings into the farmhouse his parents vacated for their new Sears and Roebuck number 115.
A week earlier, Berthea had invited her to view the groundbreaking before they dug the basement and set the limestone foundation. Thanks to modern ingenuity, by Monday morning, Orville and Berthea took up residence in their newly painted home.
In the old farmhouse, workers connected the old basement cistern to the windmill, and Harold transformed the back bedroom’s walk-in closet into a bathroom. What a wonder—no more toting water pails or using makeshift potties on winter nights.
On their wedding afternoon, Addie and Harold moved around some of the furniture Berthea had left, and she stared out an upstairs window at the new house’s bright white paint. Maybe some day she would paint this old house yellow to complement the flower garden she planned out back.
Some of his parents’ clothes still hung in the largest closet, so Harold carried them to the new house while Addie cleaned. After supper, he dropped into a bedraggled armchair with a book.
After washing the dishes, she peeked into the living room. “Want to take a walk?”
Over his reading glasses, his frown relayed his message, and his stare dismissed her from the room. Her eyes burned as she backed away. This wasn’t what she’d foreseen, but the beautiful evening beckoned her outside, and she discovered an old bike sitting in the shed.
After filling the tires with an air pump she rummaged from a shelf, she pedaled south down the gravel road as a fine mist rolled over rustling corn. Mama used to say you could hear corn grow, and surely a marriage had to grow, too.
With every turn of the wheels on that day three years ago, Addie practiced her new name—Mrs. Harold Bledsoe. She’d long since gotten used to that. She pulled out some quack grass that she’d hoped would die out after her efforts last year. As Jane said, nothing in the plant world is tougher to conquer than quack grass.
Thankful that Jane taught her to space flowers and vegetables for optimum sunshine, she surveyed her healthy young rows. Green beans, peas, potatoes, beets, onions, and carrots—Mama would be proud.
On that night that seemed so long ago, the half-grown hollyhocks straggling up Jane’s ditch welcomed Addie. Their tall stems formed perfect camouflage, and she didn’t see anyone at first. But the flowers drew her, so she parked the bicycle and entered a vast, abundant garden. Farther in, an older woman straightened. Knee-deep in a yellow, red, and purple tulip bed, she grasped a cane with one hand, but offered Addie her other one.
“You must be the new bride. I’m Jane Pike. Glad to know you.” Her warm, substantial fingers held the scent of new earth.
“Your garden—how wonderful!”
Mrs. Pike tottered to a low wooden bench, well concealed by flaming tulips. “Have time to sit a spell?” Amidst violent pops from her knee, she descended with a thud..
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Mrs. Pike covered half the bench, a slatted affair held together with iron supports. “Have you been moving in today?”
“Yes, it didn’t take long, but I needed to get some fresh air tonight. I found an old bike out in the shed and pumped up the tires.”
“Now that’s something I would enjoy. But with my bad knee, I might break my neck learning to pedal the thing.” Mrs. Pike rubbed the joint and grimaced.
“Yet you maintain this lovely garden. I simply had to stop.”
“I’m glad you did. So glad to meet you, Mrs.—”
“Call me Addie. We lived south of town, on the old Reser place. My parents were Avery and Betty Ann Shields.”
“Don’t believe I’ve heard of them.” The bench creaked as Jane shifted her weight, with a ramshackle shed forming a backdrop for her square jaw and short-cropped salt and pepper hair.
“Mind you, I don’t know many folks around here anymore.” All the while, she worked at the dirt encased under her fingernails.
Now, her own nails sported dirt, too. Something about Jane’s welcome that first afternoon had earned her immediate trust, and a flood of words released.
“Mama died, but Dad still lives on the home place with my younger brother Herman. My oldest brother Reuben left years ago, and my little sister lives with my older one in Minnesota.”
“And now you’ve come over to our side of the world.” The lines around Jane’s eyes wrinkled like a daylily’s innermost folds.
“We only lived a few miles away my whole life, but I don’t know anybody up here. I’m happy to have such a close neighbor.”
“You’re all settled, then?”
“Harold’s mother left plenty of furniture. I cleaned out the closets, and the dust—”
“Old houses collect it like old women collect wrinkles.” Mrs. Pike put her hand to a roll that blanketed her middle. “And fat.”
Her deep chuckle enveloped them and before Addie knew it, she had spilled out the day’s details to this new neighbor. The sun hung golden orange over the horizon.
“I’ve cleaned a lot in my life, but never with Harold. He said Berthea kept the drapes closed, but I whacked them with a broom over the clothesline, and they’re a shade brighter already. I like a lot of light, don’t you?”
“Drapes, in my opinion, serve to keep the cold out in winter and have no particular use the rest of the time.”
“I probably shouldn’t have said that about Berthea and the drapes.” Addie’s cheeks burned for telling family tales. “My chief fault is impatience, and I talk too much. I know it’ll take time to get used to—”
“There’s plenty to adapt to any family. And rest assured, what you say here is safe with me. I hardly ever see Harold, and since Orville’s stroke, Berthea, either.”
Mrs. Pike rubbed her crusty palms together. “Dusk... such a pleasant time of day, isn’t it?”
“Oh look—lightning bugs—the first I’ve seen this year.”
“Those fiery speckles bode well. My grandmother used to say fireflies signal a bountiful harvest. Of course, I have no idea if that’s true or not. Anyway, I’ve always felt there’s something magical about them.”
Addie stretched out the small of her back and tackled some creeping Charlie intent on overtaking her daylilies. Maybe those lightning bugs when she met Jane had brought her good luck with this garden. Berthea said she could see right away that she had a green thumb.
Her eternal war with the weeds showed progress, but pails clinking in the barn told her she ought to start supper. She hated to stop reminiscing, since Jane had become such a bright spot—she’d gone on about the lightning bugs that first night. “Mama called fireflies starlight come down to earth.”
“That’s downright lovely.” They sat in silence for a while, taking in the gradual approach of twilight.
Finally, Addie stood to go.
“Your garden inspires me, Mrs. Pike. I’m going to plant one.”
“Call me Jane, just plain old Jane.” The heavy flesh under Jane’s arm swung as she waved over the garden. “You’re welcome to starts of anything here. What kinds of flowers would you like?”
Earlier in the day, Addie might have said, “It doesn’t matter, just flowers.” But surveying Jane’s array, a clearer answer formed.
“Ones that let the light in for others, some of every height. And lots of yellow.”
Jane beamed, and a reverent pause cloaked them as the sun dipped lower. Then an engine sputtered from the direction of the farm, and Addie’s heart flip-flopped. That might be Harold.
Leaning on her cane, Jane struggled to her feet. Like emeralds, her green eyes reflected the waning sunlight.
“I’d better get going. It’s almost dark.” Addie ran a few steps and turned. “But I’ll come back.”
“See that you do, Addie Bledsoe, and soon. Glad to have you for a neighbor.”
Addie finished weeding and scanned in vain for the hollyhock starts Jane gave her for the second time last spring. To her words of thanks, Jane remonstrated.
“Never say thanks for a plant, or they won’t flourish.”
Smiling at the old wives’ tale, Addie set her trowel on the shelf in the shed. Maybe it was time to pay her neighbor this season’s first visit.
