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On February 2nd, a beautiful walnut cake accompanied Addie down the Halberton road in her red coupe. She couldn’t stop smiling, because Berthea and George made such a photograph of happiness. And she felt a little smug—Harold would give anything to know about this wedding.
Berthea’s comment about him trying to change people stuck in her mind. Did he think he must persuade her to want a child? He had no idea how even suckling that orphan lamb the other night ignited her desire to mother a little one.
Turning down Jane’s driveway, she punched the steering wheel. “And he thinks I don’t care about the war. Doesn’t knitting sweaters and growing a victory garden count for anything?”
Jane made her careful way down a recently shoveled path, and Addie scurried out to open the passenger door. No sign of Simon today.
“It’s good to get out of the house. George shoveled us out and promised to stop by again tomorrow to clear out some more.” Jane heaved into the seat with a mighty groan.
“Best man I know, that George Miller. Used to bring the mail with a team and buggy or on horseback, even came on skis a couple of times one winter. First car I ever saw was his Model T.”
She caught her breath. “Once a blizzard snowed him in a few miles up north of here, but he made it through. That day on his way back to town he stopped in for a cup of coffee. Said things could be worse, and I knew he was talking about his time overseas.
“He served in France, only he was years younger than Norman. Joined up at 16. Nobody even questioned him, and they put him in the Prisoner of War Escort company. Did you know he used to visit Norman in the evenings sometimes?
“People have no idea how much George does around here, in his quiet way. Mighty proud to have him for a neighbor, and I’m so glad for Berthea, too.” She switched over to another subject without taking a breath. “Have you heard we’ll have telephones by next winter?”
The right side of the front window frosted over by the time they’d gone a mile. Clearly, Jane hadn’t talked with anyone for a long time. She regaled Addie right up to the door of First Methodist.
“Such a bright, sunny day for their wedding. I’m so glad that storm gave out last night. Simon gets awfully antsy being cooped up, but the walk between the cabin and the house helps him. I set him to cracking hickory nuts this afternoon, and he’s arranging them in long lines on his table, he said.”
The high windows shed radiance over the sanctuary. Everyone in the small gathering wore a smile. Sue was about to deliver, so they didn’t make the trip, and most of George’s children lived too far away. But his son brought his wife, their two daughters, and little Willie. When Willie saw Berthea, he leaped from his daddy’s arms and raced to her.
The school principal, Mr. Henderson, handed his wife a corsage to pin on Berthea’s dress, and a fill-in pastor from Osage performed the ceremony. He cleared his throat to still the chatter. “We gather here today in the sight of God to join this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”
He paused to look George and Berthea full in the face. “I suspect no one in this room would take exception to your intent.”
Berthea glanced at George, and then at Addie with a secret message. If only the pastor knew how much a certain young man would take exception.
“I, George, take you, Berthea, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish—until death do us part.”
Berthea dabbed her eyes with her hankie. So did Addie and Jane. The intensity in George’s voice declared he meant every word. After Berthea’s vows, Addie signed the marriage license and received a long embrace.
“Oh, thank you. No matter what, we’ll always be family.” Berthea put extra emphasis on the word what, and worked her bottom lip.
“Thank you, too. I’m so happy for you!”
George slipped his fingers through Berthea’s, and Addie whispered, “I’ll go down and pour the coffee—take your time.”
The basement seemed warmer than usual, since someone left the heat on after church this morning. Addie sliced cake and pie onto plates with the fresh vows swirling in her mind. For better or worse, in sickness and in health...
Surely Jane lived that meaning with the peculiar illness Simon suffered. That thought brought Simon to mind, intent over his growing rows of hickory nuts.
To love and to cherish... George’s expression as he made his promise to Berthea touched her more than anything. Mrs. Morfordson would take time to discuss the meaning of cherish—what would it be like to have Harold care for her as much as George did for Berthea? The Hendersons came down first, and Mr. Henderson shook Addie’s hand. “We hear there’s some scrumptious desserts down here—Berthea mentioned something about a glory cake...that’s what I’m having.”
“Here you go.”
“You must be Addie? I suppose you graduated just before we moved here.”
“Yes, class of ’42.”
Mrs. Henderson extended her hand. “Oh, what a lovely cake. You made this? I’ve never seen one rise this high.”
Before Addie could answer, her husband went on. “I appreciate having your mother-in-law handling all the office work, but I suspect that makes your workload heavier?”
“No, not really, and she loves her new job, sir.”
“Good. She definitely lightens my workload. Oh, my—pie, too. Suppose I’ll have to taste both.”
After cleaning up the kitchen, Addie drove Jane home. The festivities only increased Jane’s talkativeness. “Never met the Hendersons before, or George’s son either. Such cute little ones, but his wife seems standoffish.”
“Maybe she’s a little shy?”
“Yes, probably as friendly as pie in other circumstances. Some folks close down in public places, don’t they? So that little fellow, Willie—he’s the one Simon brought out of the cornfield?”
“Yes. I don’t know what we’d have done if he hadn’t found him.”
“Yes, I’ve heard terrible stories. Well, wonders never cease. Can’t imagine what Simon was doing out there, but it’s a good thing he found that sweet boy.”
Jane paused, and her brow wrinkled as she opened her door. “If only I had some idea what goes through Simon’s head. That day, how could he have known Willie was in trouble?”
“It’s a mystery, isn’t it? Have you mentioned it to him?”
“No. I suppose I could make it into a story sometime, throw the question in at the end and see what happens.” She grasped the door handle.
“Would you like to come in for a while?”
“Thanks, but I’d like to be home when George brings his things. Maybe I can help him move in.”
When he and Berthea drove in with his boxes and a suitcase, Addie carried a few things for them. When she left, Berthea joined her out on the steps.
“Such a big day—I can’t believe it’s all over already. Harold would be beside himself if he knew a German Lutheran not only joined the Methodist Church, but moved in right across the drive.”
“Beside himself. That’s for sure.”
“Thank you for being such an important part of our wedding, Addie.”
“Thanks for asking me. Enjoy the rest of your day.” Addie went home to the quiet house and tried to nap, but the wedding vows circled like vultures in summer. Finally, she looked up cherish in the dictionary.
From French cher (dear)
To hold dear, feel or show affection for;
Cultivate with care and affection: nurture
SYN: appreciate
There was only one thing to do—write Kate to discuss this, the way they used to tackle vocabulary words in literature class. She settled in the window seat and wrote until late afternoon shadows fell and the barn door’s squeak carried from across the yard.
She counted the pages she’d amassed—six. This would give Kate some thinking fodder for a while. But re-reading her musings produced a lump in her throat.
“I can’t send this. All this talk of cherishing someone will only make Kate lonelier for Alexandre. And Harold must never see it, either.”
She tucked the pages into her notebook of quotes and sayings. “I’ll throw this out before he comes home.”
George crossed toward the chickens, so she joined him. “Have to visit my girls today, even if you insist on doing my work.”
“They’ll be happier to see you than me.” His chuckle bespoke pure joy, and the hens clucked up a storm at the entrance of two people. George made cackling noises to them.
“You don’t mind the chickens, do you?”
“Mind? Nope. Can’t say as I mind anything about farming. Why?”
“Harold hates them. He says they’re women’s work.”
George’s snort incited the hens again. “The way I see it, manure is manure. Chicken manure smells worse than most, I have to admit.”
“You grew up on a farm?”
“Sort of. After my folks died in a fire, Grandpa and Grandma took in my brothers and me. I’d always liked visiting them, but being there all the time was even better. There’s something comforting about being around farm animals, you know?”
Addie followed him back to the barn to pet Missy and Daisy. She came here every single day to pet Missy—sometimes several times—and for the first time, Missy accepted her touch without startling.
“Why you good, good girl. We’re going to be great friends, I can feel it.”
“Beautiful filly you’ve got. Have you named her?”
“Yes, Missy.” She added, “But Harold doesn’t know.”
“Mmm. Ready?” George shut the barn door behind them. “This day’s a new beginning for me. Besides marrying a fine woman and moving to the country, I’ll see more of you now.”
With no ready answer, Addie gave him a smile.
“Coming over for supper? You’re always welcome.”
“I think Berthea might like you all to herself on your wedding day.” He colored under his deep tan and turned toward home. Halfway across the yard, the moon came out and made silver out of the snow.
v
As if she had an inkling Addie would come, Jane had the tea ready. The window showed Simon over at the edge of the grove, aiming a long stick like a gun.
After chatting about the wedding and the weather, Jane introduced a new subject.
“Last night I listened to You Can’t Do Business With Hitler from the war information office. That Douglas Miller spent 15 years in Berlin, and says either we wipe out Hitlerism or they destroy us. That can only mean more suffering by the time all this is over.”
“Does Simon listen to the shows?”
“Usually not. They upset him something terrible, but last night, I let down my guard.” She gestured toward Simon. “And you see the results.”
“Does he know how to use a gun?” Too late, Addie recalled Jane’s brother’s death and wished she hadn’t asked.
“He used to hunt pheasants and rabbits, but it’s been a while since he showed any interest.” Jane nudged a plate of shortbread her way, and the mellow, buttery concoction satisfied Addie’s hunger for something homemade and sweet.
She took another piece and they observed Simon as the sun finally decided to show its face. Close to the house now, he yelled “Pow, pow!”
“That’s the last show he’ll listen to for a good long time, I can guarantee it.”
February 27, 1943
Dear Addie,
More bombing here, willy-nilly. As Mrs. T says, no rhyme or reason to it, and the stories of death and destruction continue. The weather’s unseasonably mild, violets are out, W.C. and Roosevelt met in Casablanca, and we’ve gained control of Libya.
Sorry I haven’t written for a while. I’ve been sick for a week. A cold? No. Sick to my stomach, mostly in the mornings. A few days ago, Mrs. T asked with great care if I’d had my Monthly since Christmas.
Being dignified has its shortcomings. I’d never heard Mrs. T come even close to stammering, but silently applauded her courage. And then the inchworm of truth squirmed down my spine.
At first, I couldn’t stop crying, and still fall into a dreadful panic at times. But they’re not all sad tears, for this will be Alexandre’s legacy.
After taking me to a doctor at an almost-free clinic, Mrs. T begged me to stay home from work, but it’s not as if I’m contagious. I must get out.
Mrs. T is also grieving the anniversary of Singapore’s fall. Her circle knew some of the officers killed, and now so many of their wives are imprisoned. These Brits had such faith in their Navy—it’s hard to accept bad news, even if they’ve had a year to get used to it.
Coal is scarce, the coke supply late, and even fish have become scanty. The office is overrun with deadlines, which helps me cope with everything.
Sorry for all the negatives here, and for my scattered frame of mind. Your goofy memory of Alexandre with Aunt Alvina’s massive corset made laugh out loud. I still can see the look on his face, and the deep red of Aunt Alvina’s.
Berthea and Mrs. M sent me gracious sympathy letters. You were right about Mrs. M and John Donne.
Friends always,
Kate
On March 16th, Addie woke with Kate’s news pulsing through her. Two hours earlier, she heard George shut the chicken coop door, but turned over and slept until the sun rose. Harold would have slapped her backside and sent her out of bed.
The very thought motivated her to linger a while longer. When she finally went downstairs, the wrinkled sheets in the back bedroom stared up at her, waiting here to be ironed. But Addie tossed her head at them.
“I never slept on ironed sheets before I married Harold. We were lucky to have sheets at all.” She punched the soft cotton pile. “The world won’t end if you never see the hot side of my iron again—and Harold will never know.”
Light on her feet, she waltzed down the stairway and took time to look out the landing window. Strong sunshine highlighted a layer of dust eddying in the corners—time to scrub this floor again.
In the living room, the new rosy paint she applied last week made the room so much brighter. Outside, Old Brown barked at a teasing squirrel, a spring breeze brought the scent of change, and in unspoken cooperation with the season, the hens already increased their egg count.
Warmth, what a powerful commodity, like hope. Maybe they were cousins.
Last week, Berthea’s newspaper announced the onset of shoe rationing. Kate had written that leather was rationed for some time in England, too.
Picturing energetic Kate Isaacs sick and scared gave Addie pause—she always found her way with a cheerful spirit. If only they could drink tea together this morning. Sunlight bathed the kitchen, and Addie’s prayer ascended with the steam from her first cup of tea.
“Help her. Please help her.”
But her petition echoed back as she sank into a chair at the table. Bright rays splayed the tablecloth and heated her back. In the morning stillness, a phrase played in her mind.
What could that insistent echo mean? She rubbed her thumbnail as the first robin lighted on the old garden fence.
You help her.
A shiver traced Addie’s shoulders despite the sunlight. Such simple, clear guidance, the words might have been spoken aloud, and she considered an idea that had taken root the moment she first read Kate’s letter.
Day by day the concept grew, though she kept it at bay. How could she help possibly help Kate with the wide Atlantic stretching between them? But this morning that You help her took over her thoughts, and she wandered through the kitchen. The objects of her daily life—her enamel dishpan, the flour sack towel on its hook, the bright-eyed cowgirl on her egg money coffee can, these spanking white walls—all things she knew and used, but they didn’t spell out who she was inside
A long breath accompanied her into the dining room, where the window seat swam in sunshine. Energy stoked her imagination, and on a whim, she ran upstairs to change into a shirtwaist and sweater. Before she left her bedroom, she grabbed the photo Aunt Alvina took so long ago.
In today’s brilliant light, her resemblance to Myrna Loy finally came through, but Kate had seen it way back then. Why not take this downstairs and keep it on the kitchen table where she could enjoy it often?
A younger Kate eyed Addie from the photo while she poured herself more tea. A breathless expectation danced inside her. What did this stirring mean?
You help her.
Sitting down again, with each swallow, she breathed, “Show me.”
Her cup sat empty, and even from here, the green peeping up in her flowerbeds called to her. Mama would say she bargained with fate to go out without her winter jacket, but Addie passed the coat hooks with no guilt.
“It’s all right, Mama. Half of Spring’s joy is shedding our heavy winter coats.”
True, she had no idea when winter might play tricks on her again and produce another blizzard. But this moment—this moment alone—mattered.
As if pulled by an unseen force, she made her way to the shed where she kept the coupe and screeched the door open. The dimness of the enclosed space gave way to an assault of brightness, and Addie tapped her fingers on the cool fender.
With an odd mix of tension and exhilaration, she slid under the wheel. When she turned the key and pushed on the accelerator, tingles radiated up her arms. The coupe’s bright red exterior agreed with the sunshine.
Past Jane and Simon’s place, past the turn to Norman’s house, and beyond Main Street, she drove. Within minutes the Red Cross Office came into view.
A new window poster featuring a black and white photograph of high-browed, clear-eyed Myrna Loy sent a tremor through Addie. But more than the Queen of Hollywood’s turned-up nose and perfect lips had obsessed Valentino, Barrymore, and Spencer Tracy. Kate supplied the details one morning during their senior year.
“Did you hear? Myrna sent Gable away for ‘getting fresh.’ The reporter said even President Roosevelt admires her.”
After Kate came to Aunt Alvina’s, the two girls attended every box-office hit that came to town. For some reason, Kate’s impassioned pleas had worked with Mama.
“Aunt Alvina won’t let me go alone, ma’am. But her arthritis won’t allow her to sit through a feature, so I need Addie to go. Pleeease, Mrs. Shields?”
Presenting her ticket to the theater clerk, Addie always felt like a princess. Plunging her hand into the bag of salty popcorn included in the outing made her forget all about her dad disappearing for days. Images of someone bringing a box of groceries to their door, the mice scrabbling in the attic, or Mr. Andrews stopping in again fled.
The feature even made her forget Mama sobbing on Ruthie’s shoulder for a pleasant two-hour stretch.
Kate informed her of each new moving picture coming to town, so the anticipation became as strong as the actual event.
During their senior year, Harold’s attitude put a damper on these outings, which he proclaimed wasteful. But the girls still attended Saturday afternoon matinées when he was busy working in the field, and Myrna’s short curly hairdo motivated Kate to have the hairdresser cut her long locks and put in a perm. There was even some talk of heading to Montana some day, since Miss Loy had been born there.
One day, Kate produced a newspaper clipping about Miss Loy’s courageous remarks against Hitler’s treatment of Jews. “She’s suspending her acting career for wartime commitments. How gutsy is that? She and Charlie Chaplain head the Nazi black list.”
Today, more than a provocative actress gazed back at Addie from the shiny poster catching morning rays. Myrna Loy’s expression exuded willpower, determination, outspoken courage and self-sacrifice.
How many times had she and Kate mimicked her expressions? But this morning, it was Myrna Loy’s courage Addie craved.
Join Miss Loy.
Work the canteens as she does in Hollywood.
Do your part for the war effort. Join Miss Loy.
Get on Hitler’s black list!
The powerful invitation became more than a dream when Elma Crandall unlocked the office. She carefully sprinkled sand from a bucket to protect patrons from the frost remaining on the sidewalk. When she spied Addie, she waved her in.
Only a few people were out yet, mainly in front of the café and the Mercantile. One or two cars chugged by, and a pick-up Addie recognized as Maynard Lundene’s. When she waved, he raised his hand, but his face showed no recognition. Did Kate share that same vacant look now, since she’d lost Alexandre to the war?
Hurrying across the glaze, Addie entered the narrow, high-ceilinged building. Long ago she learned that crossing ice goes better if you head straight for your destination without hesitating. In the well-organized office, Elma looked up from straightening the literature table.
“Hello, there. Addie, isn’t it? Need some more yarn?”
“Yes, and some for Jane Pike. But I have other business, too.”
Mrs. Crandall’s eyes widened. “How may I help you?”
“A friend of mine needs me.” She drew a deep breath. “I wonder —how would a person get to London these days?”
“Do you wish to volunteer your way there?”
The easy way she asked made Addie gulp. “Could I do that?”
“Quite possibly. Volunteers attach to ships, and you could become one. In London, the Rainbow Corner Club welcomes volunteers from the States. They serve upwards of 50,000 meals a day to homeless families. Is your friend incapacitated, so you would need to stay by her side at all times?”
“Oh, no. But she... uh... lost her husband a month ago and—”
“I don’t need to know all the details. I’ll make a phone call to our headquarters and see where you might fit in. How soon could you go?”
Cold sweat broke out on the back of Addie’s neck. “How soon—
“What would be the earliest possibility?”
“I’m not sure, but I’ll find out, probably won’t take long. How can I get in touch with you?”
“I’ll drive back into town this afternoon.”
“I hope to have some word for you by then. We’re open until six.”
In a daze, Addie turned toward the door. What had she done? How could she possibly— She’d never intended to—
But at the same time, her pulse went wild. She might hear today. “Oh, wait! How about your yarn? We just received a new shipment.”
“Thank you. I—I’m shocked things could go so quickly.”
“It’s a hurting world, no end to the needs.” Elma’s shoulders and eyebrows rose together. “We do our best to put able-bodied volunteers to work as soon as we can. When they sent me here, I thought there wouldn’t be much activity in such a small town, but that’s not true at all.”
The thin frost had already melted. Springtime seemed tangible, like something you held in your hand. For passersby, this must seem like any other day, but Addie’s fingers shook as she turned the key. A jittery now-or-never awareness sent her toward the school, though she hadn’t been inside since she graduated.
But urgency shortened her breath—this couldn’t wait. For the first time, she considered the practicalities of such an undertaking. What if she could leave in a month, or in two weeks? Whenever it was, she needed Berthea’s support.
Outside Norman’s house sat a child’s red wagon. A wave of homesickness for him melded into a grin. “Oh, Norman, you have no idea how much you helped me.”
It seemed impossible that last year at this time, she hadn’t even met him. After the first visit, she hadn’t wanted to go back, but now that unique friendship had become unforgettable.
Norman’s lessons had led her to this very morning, when all things seem possible. He gave her far more than tea and money and this coupe. He broadened her outlook and stirred her to believe in herself.
For a minute after she parked in front of the school, she stared at the red brick building. Just like Norman, Mrs. Morfordson proved the difference one person could make. Their senior year, she and Kate reveled in the nuances of literature and history, but also in Mrs. M’s attention.
The wide central hallway welcomed her, and on tiptoe, Addie peeked through the office window, where Berthea sat with the attendance list, looking younger by the day. So much had happened since last March, with Orville’s death, Harold’s job at First Methodist and getting to know Norman.
Then George and Berthea started seeing each other, and now they faced the future together. All these changes rolled over Addie, even as more transformation knocked on her own door.
“Things are changing for me, too. I own my own car and have more savings than my egg money would have produced in a lifetime.” Breathing this out loud strengthened her. But a tall high school student who looked a lot like Harold approached, and she suddenly lost her breath.
It was as if he’d looked into her heart again and noted all the worst. Negative thoughts swept in.
What do you think you’re doing, anyway? How can you consider leaving? The farm is the only place for you. Kate was born for adventure, but not you.
Perspiration broke out on Addie’s forehead. Could she sneak out before anyone saw her? She closed her eyes and forced herself to lean against the cool brick wall a few moments.
Then a door cracked nearby, and Berthea’s cheerful voice reached her. “Why Addie!”
She clutched her throat.
“Is something wrong?”
“I—would you have a few minutes to talk?”
“Go on in and sit down. I’ll be right back.”
