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Several mornings later, Norman slept away the day. He barely ate a bite, and she’d long since cleaned up the kitchen. Then Harold stopped in to visit the sick. After a few minutes in the living room where Norman slept, he came to the kitchen. When he spoke, he used his preaching voice.
“Uncertainty about Mr. Allen’s eternal destination troubles me.” His cheeks hollowed.
Yesterday, Norman bemoaned hurting Fernella, but whispered, “Yes,” when Addie asked him if he believed in forgiveness. Wasn’t that a good sign, and shouldn’t they be glad his suffering would soon end? On her confirmation day, the pastor said, “Each of us is human, and we all make mistakes. But faith overcomes our worst errors, for our God is merciful.”
She held her tongue and pedaled home when the nurse came. In a pleasant summer breeze the world seemed alive, and Jane waved her into the yard.
“We have a new project for the troops.” She handed over a cellophane packet complete with instructions.
Obtain hanks of yarn from your local Red Cross chapter. Follow instructions according to color (olive drab for army, navy blue for navy). Once sweater is finished, wrap in brown paper and send to address below:
“Have you made one yet?”
“Four—two for the Army, two for the Navy. Did your Mama teach you to knit?”
“No, but Aunt Alvina’s friend did. Her name started with an L.”
“Letha Cady? Then you’ll have no trouble at all.” Jane’s overall buckles gleamed in the sun. “All this time, I’ve thought you looked familiar. You visited our church years ago, didn’t you?”
“Emmanuel Lutheran out in the country?”
Hearing Jane chuckle lightened Addie’s heart. “I learned more from the questions you asked Alvina than from the sermon.”
“You heard me?”
Jane grinned. “Did you know Alvina called you her second blessing? Having Kate come when she’d lived alone for so long sent her into a spin, but she adjusted. And she told everyone how she cherished Kathryn’s new little friend Addie—said you had more curiosity than anybody she’d ever met.”
“I had no idea.” A butterfly landed on Jane’s tallest hydrangea. “Your garden looks beautiful.”
“Last week’s heat scared me, so I watered every night. Tuesday’s wind did the most harm, but flowers are more resilient than they look. You’re still going to Norman’s?”
“Yes. Everyone says he’ll die soon, but he’s hanging on.”
As often as she stopped by, why had she never glimpsed Jane’s husband, Simon? But she stifled her questions. Somehow, Jane rose above her circumstances.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes more to kill Norman than an ordinary man, after all he’s suffered.”
“Did you know him before he left for Europe?”
“Sure did. His father died, so he left school to work full time and provided for his younger sisters. But the army still called him.”
Harshness entered Jane’s tone. Did she refer to Harold’s draft status? No, if she had something to say, she would say it, like Kate.
“Where did he work?”
“Drove the early morning creamery truck, then loaded coal for the railroad. After he came back we didn’t see him for a while.” She rubbed her bum leg. “Would you like some tea?”
“I’d better get back. I have a beef roast in the oven, and Harold will be home soon.” Addie tapped the knitting packet. “What time does the Red Cross office open?”
“You thinking to ride in for yarn?”
“Maybe in the morning, after I go to Norman’s.”
“How about I pick some up for you?” Sunlight sent a glitter through Jane’s eyes. For a second, a younger woman shone through, a red-haired spitfire.
One of Kate’s latest suggestions popped into Addie’s mind. Every once in a while, we should do something new, maybe even a little risky.
“Okay, thank you. And I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d like that cup of tea.”
Later, she pedaled home to the aroma of cooked beef. She added some potatoes and carrots, went back outside, and slipped her spade into the loose soil around a scraggly pine tree planted in an inhospitable spot.
The stem moved, which meant the taproot hadn’t developed. That would make the transfer easy, but it was a bit late for a good start. Still, the weatherman forecast plenty of rain.
Three years ago when she transplanted this tree from the ditch, Harold had spouted, “Are you fortifying the lilac barricade?”
“But I thought your dad would enjoy the scent.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You think you know what’s best without asking anyone else?”
That night she made the mistake of trying to answer him. They’d been married only a few months, before she wised up. Of course, Harold out-argued her.
“Don’t you suppose my father would rather see what’s going on here?”
“But he can see the barn and hear the motor turn over every time you start the tractor. Even Jane can hear that clear down the road, and I thought—”
“What does Jane have to do with it?”
Addie retired in defeat. Now, she situated the pathetic pine in its new hole and thoroughly doused the roots, exactly as Jane would. Her planting philosophy was straightforward. “I’ve lost a few prize plants, but that’s how you learn.”
Addie spaded extra soil around the stem. Jane said it helped to talk to plants, so she bent close.
“This location will give you more light, so now you can grow.”
The bubbletop entered the yard, and she prepared for battle with that dratted sewing machine.
June 18
To my friend afar,
I’ve begun to look forward to seeing Norman. According to Doc, he should be buried by now. His sister broke her leg down in Florida, so I’ll be with him for some time.
He talked nonstop today—the Midway victory must have renewed his will to live. The news lifted our spirits, too. Harold turned the volume up double and raised his fist in a victory salute. “Got the Japs’ flagship and two aircraft carriers. That’s one for you, Joe.”
He seized me, which led to more efforts to conceive. But Kate, I really think it’s hopeless. Otherwise, there’s not much news. Berthea keeps so busy, some days I don’t even see her. And every day, I wonder if you’ve heard anything from Alexandre, and what else is going on there.
So glad you’ve found a new friend. I almost feel like I know Evelyn, so please greet her for me.
Until next time,
Addie
v
Norman plunged into another story. “You know Mrs. Engelbrit, who lives down by the railroad tracks?”
Addie shook her head.
“She come by. Said her Amos always held me in high regard—died a few years after the war, from the trench gas. Never made 30.”
“Would you like a glass of milk?”
“Don’t pay that nurse no mind—I ain’t thirsty. Amos never come back to hisself after his tank hit them new-fangled mines.”
“What happened?”
“Head wound, worse’n mine. His brother went out East and talked him out of his hospital bed. Married a nurse and moved back here. Mrs. Engelbrit, she’s one fine lady. Her citified speech riled folks when she first came, but she was good to Amos.”
Norman’s bad eye lurched as if it longed to relocate.
“Tell me more about him.”
“Hit a 12-pound German mine, just a wooden box 14 by 16 with 22-gram ’plosives, could destroy a tank. Germans buried ’em 10 inches deep, and wham. Bang!”
Addie rescued his coffee cup from his flailing arms.
“Wish I’d’a gone to see Amos back then, but I could only think about Fernella.” A tear rolled from his good eye. “You wouldn’t believe how beautiful she was.”
That’s for sure. Hard lines ran below her eyelids clear down to her jaw, and her forehead wrinkled like a newborn puppy’s.
When Norman snoozed, Addie made some fresh coffee and when she opened the cupboard door, Millie’s tea can stood out to her. One whiff doubled her desire.
Norman stirred, so she peeked in. “Would you mind if I made tea? I saw some on the shelf, and—”
“Help yourself. Millie liked tea.”
If only Harold could see her now. She’d taken only a few sips when Norman woke again.
“That tea’s pretty old.”
“Oh, it’s fine.”
He studied the lace curtains. “Was talkin’ ’bout Fernella. Beautiful, that she was. Wish she’da kept the baby.”
His eyebrow dipped like a long cobweb high in the corner.
Baby. The word swirled like an April twister.
“If I could do it over, I’d charge up her front steps, make her pack a bag and drive her outta this place. Never knew how her daddy found out, but by the time I went for her, they’d already left. Her mother had no time for me, and the station men said her daddy took an early run down to St. Louis.”
Norman’s chest fell something fearful, and a shiver took him. Addie ran for a cool cloth over his forehead and prayed he wouldn’t fall asleep. But then he reopened his eyes. “I stared down the tracks with the worst feeling I’d had since the war. Even if I borrowed the creamery truck, I knew I’d never find Fernella in that city.”
He drifted off into a snore, leaving Addie with those empty tracks—true love found, but then lost. She wanted to change the end of the story and surprise him, but could only watch his nose hairs quiver.
In a few minutes he roused and fixed his good eye on her. “Don’t have t’ know everything ’bout the future to do somethin’ today. When ya feel somethin’ strong, it’s time to act. Wish I’d known that back then.”
He dozed off again, and Addie sat there wondering about the stories Mama tried to tell her near the end of her life. Had she listened carefully enough?
The nurse came then and cast a wary eye on her. “Did Mr. Allen take his pills?”
“Yes, ma’am, without a struggle.”
In response to her cool stare, Addie hid the tea behind some musty horehound drops in the kitchen. Those empty tracks Norman had faced after the war haunted her all the way home.
Why did Fernella’s father take her to St. Louis?
