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HARRY STUDIED HIS YOUNG bride of just two days sitting across from him on the train to Pine Lake. What a mess he’d gotten himself into. Perhaps he should cut back on his drinking.
Betty preened herself like some sort of exotic bird. She wore a bright purple traveling suit and hat with far more feathers than the one she arrived in only five days prior—less than one week and he’d gone from being happily engaged to Alice to being miserably married to Betty.
While his wife was certainly stylish to look at, she was, unfortunately, as dull as a post to converse with. Of course, these were the exact qualities she needed to fit herself into the society wives’ charity organizations in Minneapolis.
“Is that outfit new?” He didn’t really care one way or the other, except it was no doubt expensive. “And the ridiculous hat?”
“You don’t like it?” Betty touched the brim and gently adjusted it so it would sit just so. “I simply had to buy it to match my traveling suit. You can’t expect me to ride into Pine Lake, the wife of Harold Barnes, Jr., looking like the same backwoods girl who left there last week. I need a wardrobe reflecting my new place in society.”
Harry thought about the extra trunk Betty sent on ahead to the station that morning. He was afraid to ask how much this new wardrobe cost. But he’d find out soon enough when the bill came from the dress shop. “I haven’t started my job yet. How do you expect me to pay for this new wardrobe?”
“If you asked your father, he would loan you the money until we get settled in our new home. Speaking of which, when are we returning to Minneapolis to look for a house?”
Harry clenched his jaw as he struggled to restrain his anger. “My father? A house?” Heads turned from the seats surrounding them. What was wrong with this woman? What led her to believe he’d ask his father for money to pay for his bride’s new wardrobe, let alone a house?
He leaned forward and stared into Betty’s wide eyes, lowering his voice. “There will be no house until I can afford to pay for it myself. And there will be no more new clothes until then, either. Understand? Harry Barnes doesn’t take charity from anyone, including his father.”
He plopped back in his seat and stared at the scenery passing by. The newspaper sitting on his lap crinkled as he clenched and unclenched his fist. Betty sniffed, but he had no interest in watching the tears. Although, considering Betty, she’d hold onto those tears until they were alone tonight. Then he’d be forced to listen to her sobs for hours.
The other passengers returned to their own conversations, and Betty, when she realized she wasn’t going to get any sympathy from Harry, stopped her abused young wife act and picked up one of her trashy movie magazines. Another thing he was going to have to ban from their home. They would surround themselves with only the best literature, leather-bound, of course, and at least pretend to be well read. It was all about appearances. Yes, he knew Betty was going to have to dress like the other women, but couldn’t she replace her wardrobe one piece at a time, not all at once? And why couldn’t she sew some herself, alter her existing dresses for the time being? That’s what Alice would do.
Alice. Did she know he’d married Betty, her friend, of all people? They were the Pine Lake Girls—Alice and Lizzie and Betty. The whole town probably knew. His mother would have made certain of it. He should have telephoned Alice first. She should have heard it from him. He owed her that much. He’d never done right by her. She deserved better.
Betty set her magazine down in her lap and sighed. “I’ve been worried about Alice. She must be so hurt, but what were we supposed to do?” She leaned forward and whispered. “Because, what if I’m . . .?” She laid a hand on her stomach.
Had she been reading his mind? “Another thing you should have thought about before buying all those new outfits,” he snapped. He heard married couples soon fall into a pattern of each going their own way, not talking much, merely co-existing. He hoped the day would come sooner than later for them so he wouldn’t have to listen to her voice.
He wished he hadn’t been so drunk that night. He would like to at least be able to remember the sex that ultimately sealed his fate.
“Next stop Pine Lake, Wisconsin.” The conductor passed slowly through the train car. “Pine Lake, Wisconsin.”
Betty patted her hair and checked her hat. “Do I look all right?”
Harry unfolded his copy of the St. Paul Pioneer Press and held it up as a shield between them, hoping this would stop her talking.
“Harry?”
“Yes, dear.” He kept the newspaper raised between them.
“You’re not even looking at me, darling.” She giggled.
Harry lowered it. “Yes, dear,” he repeated, then returned to the stock report.
“Men just don’t understand how important it is for a woman to look her best. Especially a new bride.”
Who was she talking to now? He glanced around the side of the newspaper.
The woman across the aisle reached out and touched Betty’s arm. “Congratulations. I couldn’t help but overhear you’re newly married.”
“Yes, thank you. Harry.”
He lowered the newspaper once more and scowled. Would her talking never cease?
“This nice lady congratulated us on our nuptials.”
“Thank you.” He returned to what he’d been reading, making it clear, he hoped, he was not interested in a conversation with anyone. But Betty just kept on talking.
“Never mind my husband—my husband. I’m not accustomed to saying that, yet. My husband.” Betty giggled. “Anyway, never mind him. He’s preoccupied thinking about his new job. Harry’s going to be a very important man.”
Harry snapped the newspaper down onto his lap, crumpling it. He hated a crumpled newspaper. “Betty.”
“Yes, dear?”
Harry paused to regain his composure. “We’re here.” He neatly folded the newspaper, smoothing the wrinkles best he could, and tucked it under his arm. Perhaps, if he asked nice, Aunt Caroline would press it for him. He should make Betty do it, but something told him she’d burn the house down trying.
The engineer blew the whistle, bringing the train to a stop. Steam hissed from the great engines.
Betty stood. “Are you getting off here, too?”
“No. I’m continuing on to Marquette. I have a sister there. She’s having a baby soon, her fifth, and I’m going to help.”
“Oh, my, five children. Well, you have a nice trip and give your sister my best.”
“Betty, my parents are waiting.” Harry encouraged her to move on with a firm hand to her back. “Good day, ma’am.” He nodded and hurried on to avoid any further delay.
* * *
A SMALL CROWD WAITED for them on the station platform. The people noticeably missing were the ones Harry least expected, but most wanted, to see.
“It’s for the best,” Betty whispered, again as if she read his mind, before her mother ambushed her.
Mrs. Young hugged her daughter tight. “I’m so happy for you. I only wish you’d waited so I could be there.” She held Betty at arm’s length to appraise her outfit. “You look beautiful. Plum is a wonderful color on you. And that hat. I might have to get one for myself, but then again, where would I wear something so grand in Pine Lake?”
Margaret Barnes pushed aside anyone who stood in her way.
“Congratulations, Harry.” His father slapped him on the back and offered him a cigar.
“Thank you, Father. I see Jack and Alice didn’t come. Do they know?” He scanned the platform to be certain he hadn’t missed them.
Aunt Caroline gave him a hug. “Oh, your mother made sure of that.”
“I thought Miss Armstrong already knew.” His mother huffed, clearly lying by her smug grin. “I assumed Harry telephoned her first, so she wouldn’t have to hear the news second hand. I’m quite disappointed in you, Harry.”
“I feel sorry for the girl.” Aunt Caroline looked from Harry to Betty then back again, her disapproval clear. “And I might suggest you stay clear of your brother for a while. He was terribly angry last we saw him.”
“I’ll go speak to the both of them tonight.” Harry ran the cigar under his nose and inhaled. “Cuban?”
“Of course. Only the best for the celebration of my son’s wedding.”
Harry tucked it into his jacket pocket. “I’ll save it for later. With a nice brandy. Just you and me, Father.”
“You can’t go over there tonight.” His mother dismissed his plans with a wave of her hand. “I’ve planned a party in honor of your marriage. You can talk to them tomorrow. One more day won’t matter.”
Mrs. Young hugged Betty again. “My staff is laying out a feast at the hotel as we speak, so we’d better hurry over before it gets cold.”
“Everyone who’s anyone will be there. I planned everything right down to the last perfect detail. So, come along.” His mother walked away.
Mrs. Young rolled her eyes. “We planned everything.”
His mother stopped and turned. “Of course, I couldn’t have done it all on such short notice without Edith’s help.” She gave her old friend her best Margaret Barnes smile.
He had to give his mother credit. Her response showed true restraint.
“Now, let’s go celebrate this marriage before it’s time to celebrate our first grandchild.” She turned and led the way.
Harry exchanged glances with Betty and knew she, too, was wondering if that might not be sooner than later.
Mrs. Young hooked her daughter’s arm in hers. “I also prepared our nicest room for the two of you. You can stay until you’re ready to go back to Minneapolis. I already instructed the station master to have his sons bring your bags right over.”
“And what’s wrong with Harry’s room?” His mother frowned at Mrs. Young then smiled at Harry. “I expect he’ll be more comfortable in his own room.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Young.” Harry ignored his mother. “I’m sure your hotel will more than suit our needs.”
His father chimed in, cutting off any possibility of an argument. “Very considerate of you, Edith. Wasn’t it, dear?”
She smiled. “Again, Edith, you thought of everything.”
The guests were mostly their parents’ acquaintances. Harry wasn’t surprised to see only a few of his and Betty’s friends in attendance. The others were probably worried about being disloyal to Alice. Hell, he felt disloyal to Alice by being there.
Betty was in her element, though. She was more like his mother than he realized. Appearances were everything to her. Appearances and status. She worked the room like a politician, hugging and accepting well wishes, with her mother at her side.
“Let me take your beautiful hat.” Mrs. Young helped her unpin the monstrosity. “I’ll have it taken up to your room where it will be safe.” She handed it to one of the maids with strict instructions, and the threat of bodily harm should anything happen to it. A shame, because he would have liked to have made certain it suffered some kind of unfortunate accident, but he wouldn’t want to get that poor girl in trouble. Besides, it wasn’t even paid for yet.
Not much interested in glad-handing, he sidled away from their guests and over to the front window. This was a marriage of necessity, not love. He’d rather be over at Dooley’s Tavern. Piano music and laughter flowed from across the road. Whiskey would taste far better than the fruit punch the mayor pressed into his hand.
“I know it doesn’t compare to what they’re serving across the way.” The mayor chuckled. “I wouldn’t mind a little of the hard stuff myself. But there’ll be enough time for that later.”
Two men stumbled out Dooley’s front door. One was definitely drunk and the other was trying to get him to go home. Or so Harry thought, based on his own experience. The men turned and he saw their faces. It was Jack and Fin. And Jack was the drunk one. That was a new turn of events.
He rushed out the door before anyone stopped him.
They saw him coming. Fin held Jack’s arms.
Jack strained, eyes narrowed, to break Fin’s grip. “Let me go.”
Fin pushed him back. “Not now.” He turned to Harry. “Return to your party, your new wife.”
Harry stood his ground, leaving several feet between them. “I need to talk to both of you, and Alice.”
“You stay away from her!” Jack tried to shove Fin out of the way, but between his bum leg and having too much to drink, he was no match for their friend.
“This isn’t the time or place.” Fin placed a hand on Jack’s chest.
“Stay away from Alice,” Jack warned. “And stay away from me. That goes for Betty, too.”
Fin led Jack away. “Let’s go.” They stumbled down the street.
Harry’s chest tightened. He wanted to go after them, but he knew there’d be no conversation, no explanation allowed. Did he really expect his friend and brother would want to hear the whole sad story of booze and sex and a rushed wedding? Did he really think they cared, would feel sympathy for him? He wouldn’t if he were them.
Jack stopped and faced Harry one last time. “If you show up at the farm, I swear I’ll finish the job the Germans started. And don’t bother trying to telephone. I’m going to tell Iris not to put your calls through.”
Harry’s shoulders slumped. He messed up big this time. What was it Aunt Caroline always said? You made your bed, now lie in it. Jack and Fin disappeared around the corner. Harry hung his head and returned to the party.
* * *
THAT NIGHT, WHILE BETTY slept nearby, Harry sat in the one chair, staring out the hotel window at the dark town. He lit a cigarette. He’d never been one to wallow in self-pity. He never, before now, had a reason to feel sorry for himself.
How did I manage to screw things up so badly?
Harry stubbed out his cigarette and slid into bed next to his wife. When he finally fell asleep, his nightmares returned.
* * *
THEY’D BECOME SEPARATED from the rest of their unit. Mustard gas hung thick and heavy around them. Gas masks restricted their vision even further. The outline of a stone farmhouse appeared through the haze. One wall was gone and the roof caved in, but there would be a root cellar beneath. As long as the floor held, they could hide there until the fighting ended. They hugged the side of what was left of the barn and tried to see through the gas to what was left of the tree line beyond. A woman lay on the other side of the wall, the remains of a milk cow next to her. Harry hoped the end had been fast, that she hadn’t time to recognize the incoming scream before the shell hit. He motioned for Fin to follow. It was risky, but if they didn’t want to end up like the woman and her cow . . . They dashed low across the yard.
The table was set for dinner, three place settings, and a pot on the stove was still warm. Where were the other two? Probably no better off than the woman in the barn.
Fin opened the hatch to the root cellar. They scrambled down the stairs and pulled it tight behind them before removing their masks. A skittering, scratching sound came from the darkness. Harry jumped back and raised his rifle. “Mice,” Fin said. “Too big for mice.” Harry scanned his weapon, squinting into the dark corners. “Rats then.”
“Don’t shoot!” A young girl appeared out of the darkness, holding her hands up in front of her. Her dress was worn, but well cared for, a patch sewn over a hole in the skirt. She was beautiful, even coated in the dirt raining down every time a shell struck. Sixteen, maybe fifteen, no younger. A boy peeked out from behind her. She used one hand to push him back out of sight. They were woefully thin, but so was everyone in France. Harry was ashamed to admit they’d been as guilty as the Germans when it came to taking food from the locals.
“Hungry?” She held out a heel of bread she’d hidden in her pocket.
“You eat.” Harry lowered his gun. She broke off a piece and handed it to the boy. The children crouched against the cellar wall and ate, never taking their eyes off them. Her hand slid under her dress and Harry suspected a knife was tucked under her garter.
“Good guys.” He pointed to Fin and himself. He reached into his kit bag. She winced as her hand flew out from under her dress. She clutched the kitchen knife in both hands, pointing it first at Harry, then Fin, then back at Harry. Blood trailed down her leg from where she’d cut herself in her haste.
He held up half a chocolate bar he’d been saving from his last Red Cross package. “For the boy.” He motioned to the boy who looked eagerly to his sister, not making a move to accept without her permission. She nodded. He took the candy and smiled. “Merci,” he mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate.
Harry reached into his bag and pulled out an apple. It was small, shriveled, and bruised, but it was the best he had to offer. He gave it to the girl. “Your name?”
She shook her head and said something in French Harry didn’t understand. He’d only bothered to learn the few words, phrases, suiting his purpose. Cigarettes, whiskey, food, girls. Most times he got by with hand gestures. “Harry,” he pointed to himself. “Fin.”
“Yvette.” She pointed to herself then the boy. “Pierre.” The boy smiled again, his lips and teeth coated with chocolate. She continued to talk, about what, Harry didn’t know. He shook his head.
Fin lifted his gun. “Listen.”
Harry placed a finger over his lips to quiet the girl. They looked up. “The shooting stopped.” Harry put on his gas mask, grabbed his gear, and headed up the stairs. The others followed. He motioned for Fin to go out the back and the other two to stay down while he checked the front.
“All clear.” Fin rounded the corner.
“Maman!” Pierre broke free from Yvette’s hold and ran across the yard to the barn.
“Pierre! No!” Yvette ran after him.
Two shots. The children fell to the ground in a heap. A third shot dropped Fin. The German soldier stepped out from the fragment of barn wall. He aimed his rifle at Harry. A fourth shot. Searing pain. Harry put a hand to the hole in his chest, looked up at the grinning enemy, and spiraled into darkness.
* * *
“NO!” HARRY TORE AT his pajama shirt. He’d been shot. Where was the hole? Where was the blood? Fin? Yvette? Pierre?
Betty shook him. “Wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
Harry pulled away. It had been so real. Yvette and Pierre dead in front of their little house. Their mother dead in the barn. But that wasn’t how it really ended. Fin hadn’t been shot. The bullet missed him. The fourth shot was Fin getting a round off from the ground. It was the German who died that day. Not him. He dropped back onto his pillow.
“You’re sweating. I’ll get you a fresh pair of pajamas.” Betty scrambled to the bureau and returned with a dry pair.
He wasn’t in France. He remembered now. He was in a hotel room with Betty. They were married, and Alice would never forgive him.
Harry shoved her away, put his hands over his face, and wept.