Chapter 26 – “The baby was a week old before JB knew he was a daddy

Why does the phone always seem to ring when I’m in the bathroom? If you step into the shower, it’s as if an invisible switch activates the ringer. At first, I was tempted to just let it ring but, since I received so few phone calls, I decided it might be important.

“Laurel, where have you been?” It was JB’s mom. “I’ve been calling for about an hour and was beginning to get a little worried about you. You are usually at home at dinner time.”

“Oh, I went out for a drive and wandered around this area for a while. Is everything okay at your place?”

“Everything is fine. Daddy and I wanted to know if you would join us for Thanksgiving dinner or if you were planning to go home for the holidays….”

“I’d love to spend Thanksgiving with you and the family. I haven’t visited for a while and look forward to another one of Lily’s delicious meals..”

“Well, it’s all settled.  We’ll see you on Thanksgiving Day at about one o’clock.”

I got back into the shower; this had been an exhausting day and I considered going right to bed. Instead, I began plotting how I would respond to their questions about my maternity clothes….”Oh yes, I am pregnant, but not by your son….” or maybe I’d say, “Oh yes, I’m pregnant by your son. We had to get married,” or how about “I really don’t know who the father is, but I thought JB would be a good catch.” I laughed at all the possibilities as the shower beat down on my tired body. Who knows, as a matter of courtesy to this pregnant lady, they may not even ask; but on second thought, they most likely would ask.

On Thanksgiving Day, I took great pains to look elegant in the navy blue suit with white collar and cuffs and red accessories. Not only did I look stylish, but patriotic as well. I thought, “If Lily hadn’t discovered the baby clothes in my dresser drawer, they would never have suspected I was going to have a baby so soon.”

Kiki and Beau were going to pick me up because “Daddy said it was a holiday and on holidays, the guests don’t arrive in pickups.” I took the offer as a positive gesture and vowed that I wouldn’t fall to pieces or take any remarks as personal. However, as I got into the car, Kiki smiled and commented — “Nice dress, Laurel.” I wondered if she was sincere in admiring my dress or if she was hinting that she noticed I was wearing a maternity garment.

JB’s father was surprisingly pleasant, in fact, once again he complimented me on how nice I looked.

As we all were being seated at the dining room table, I noticed that a place had been set for JB, which was designated by his picture in uniform. His empty chair was right beside mine. At first I thought it was kind of creepy, but was later moved by their love for their son and sibling, as each one of them recited a short prayer for JB’s safe return. When it came around to my turn, I kept my head down and quietly prayed: “Dear God and JB’s guardian angel, keep him safe and in your care….and let him know that I miss him.” Somehow, I couldn’t get myself to say “I love him” and hoped it wasn’t an obvious omission.

After dinner, everyone seemed to scatter in different directions. I loved their back yard and decided to relax and get some fresh air before returning to the den, where coffee and dessert would be served.

I was marveling at the tranquility of the garden, when the silence was interrupted by JB’s father’s voice. “Would you like a little company?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Let me turn your wheelchair so we can see each other better. It sure is quiet out here, that is, it was until the mockingbirds in the magnolia tree began to chatter.”

Mr. Bruce smiled. “Sometimes the squirrels get up in the tree and the birds try to chase them out. That tree is at least a hundred years old and has been the nesting place for that mockingbird family for as far back as I can remember. They are very possessive of that tree and, I think, the squirrels know it and tantalize them by climbing up there.”

“It was very special that we all paid tribute to JB this afternoon. I haven’t heard from him lately. Have you?” I asked.

“JB doesn’t like to write. Chances are that he’ll call. He knows Momma likes to hear his voice and he doesn’t want her to worry about him. JB mentioned that he used to call us from your home. How long have you known him?” he inquired.

“We met over a year ago.  He became good friends with the family and would have dinner with us now and then, that is, except when we had fried chicken and biscuits. Mom didn’t know how to prepare fried chicken the way you Texans do.”

Mr. Bruce seemed proud of his wife as he boasted: “JB’s momma is a great cook, but now Lily has taken over that responsibility. Momma always had cookies for the children’s friends. There was always a gathering of kids here in the backyard. When JB was l7, Minna Mae, a little gal from high school started to hang around Momma, wanting to learn how to prepare JB’s favorite foods. It just so happened that JB had gotten her pregnant, but no one knew about it until her daddy came over here one evening. In no uncertain terms, he insisted that JB marry Minna Mae as soon as possible, which was the right thing to do, of course.”

“Momma and I furnished the guest house with a nursery and told them they could live there until they were able to get out on their own, but Minna Mae didn’t like staying here. She spent most of her time with her folks. JB was working at the drilling sight and attending college in West Texas and came home only on weekends. That was the only time they stayed in the guest house. That went on for about seven months and then the baby arrived.”

“The baby was a week old before JB knew he was a daddy. Minna Mae didn’t tell us either, even though she lived just down the street. JB felt trapped and wasn’t happy with the marriage.  Momma and I suspected that her parents had criticized JB for the lifestyle he had provided for their daughter and grandbaby — but he was earning a living and supporting them, as well as getting his education. I suppose they expected me to build them a home and furnish it for them. JB insisted on being the man of the house and expected her to live within his income, but she and her momma didn’t like that idea.”

“Soon, JB began coming home only every other weekend and we noticed the relationship was strained beyond salvaging. By the time Jimmie was a year old, Minna Mae filed for divorce and moved all her things back to her parents home.”

“JB was unhappy with geology, so he decided to go to Daytona Beach to race his motorcycle. The riders convinced him to join them in their rallies and travel around the country. He once again was enjoying life and was happy with his lifestyle. Momma and I worried about him and didn’t approve of his traveling and racing. We didn’t see very much of him, but when we did, he was very enthusiastic about the motorcycle hobby. It really wasn’t his career — it was just a hobby or so he told us.”

“In the meantime, Minna Mae remarried and refused to let JB visit his son. She and her new husband believed that JB would be a bad influence on the child, not only because of his daring hobby, but also because they didn’t want to confuse Jimmie into thinking he had two fathers.”

“After his first year on the road, JB returned to do some mechanical work on his motorcycle. With help from his friends and a couple mechanics, they stripped down the cycle, cleaned and replaced some parts, set the timing and had it flying like a Texas tornado. JB’s face beamed with excitement as he anticipated winning the race at Daytona Beach.

“Momma and I made the trip to Daytona — and to this day, I regret taking her with me. We weren’t prepared for the daring competition that it was. JB was holding a very good position until one of the riders cut him off, causing him to veer off his course and into another cycle. The race was stopped and Momma and I pushed our way through the crowd to see what had happened.”

“As we got close to JB, we could see that he was lying on his back on the beach in a blanket of blood. His whole body appeared to be bloody — his head, his pelvis, lower back and only God knew what all had been injured. Momma was screaming and trying to get to him, but security held onto her until he was in the ambulance and on the way to the hospital.”

“Laurel, it amazed me how miraculously the doctors put that boy back together again. His skull needed a steel plate under his scalp; his testicles were so badly injured that they had to be removed; his broken hip was repaired and reset.”

“Momma and I stayed in Daytona until he was able to travel. You can imagine how disappointed he was to learn that his cycle had been totaled but we packed it up and shipped it back to Dallas, in hopes that it would serve as a reminder to discourage him from ever racing again.” Mr. Bruce heaved a sigh as he finished his story.

I was petrified at the gory details of the accident. “Poor JB….poor JB” I kept muttering over and over again as tears flowed freely down my cheeks. Then, through it all, it registered in my mind that if he had his testicles removed, he would be sterile. Did JB’s father preface the details of his injuries prior to bringing up the subject of my pregnancy?

Mr. Bruce reached out for my hand and gently patted it. “You see, Laurel, I know JB is not the father of your child. Is there something you would like to discuss?”

Everything that I had prepared to say vanished from my memory. I had planned to explain the circumstances and tell the truth, but this long, detailed tragic account of JB’s life left me visibly shaken and at a loss for words. I had been backed into a corner with no means to escape. I felt all the nerves in my body vibrating under my skin and the trembling caused me to lose control of myself and forget everything I had planned to say. My composure was gone.  The truth frightened me and I was feeling very dizzy. There was nowhere to turn and in a hysterical scream, I blurted out, “My baby’s father is dead and JB knows it.  He only married me to legitimatize my baby….” and everything faded into darkness.

Chapter 27

Slowly, the surroundings began to take shape. I didn’t recognize the room or how I got there. I tried to sit up, but slipped back onto the pillow when I noticed Lily was sitting in a rocking chair beside the bed.

“Lay quiet, Miss Laurel. Don’t try to get up just yet. Mrs. Bruce called the doctor and he wants ya’ to spend the night here….and just in case ya’ need help, I’ll be sittin’ right here in this here rockin’ chair and watchin’ over ya.”

While she was talking, her voice drifted off and I dozed again. When I opened my eyes, she was standing by the bed, holding a tray with soup, crackers and a pot of tea.

“Lily, you forgot the pecan pie….” I smiled.

“Miss Laurel, I think you’re gittin’ better already. If ya’ want pecan pie, there’s lots out in the kitchen.” She smiled, enjoying the compliment for her cooking. “You’ll be gittin’ a lot of my cookin’ ‘cause Mrs. Bruce wants me to spend the nights at your house for a while. We all feel that if JB thought enough of ya’ to look after ya’ like he’s done, we all should respect his judgment and look after ya’ while he’s away.”

I reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “Lily, I’d love to have you stay with me. It gets so lonesome in that big house all by myself.” It was a weak moment and right then and there I wanted to confess to her that I had lied when I said the baby’s father was dead — but decided to wait until Bob returned home.

And so, Lily moved into the bedroom adjacent to mine. Every evening she brought over dinner and we’d sit together in the kitchen and talk about her life and the Bruce’s lives. I’d share with her some of the stories of my childhood. When the stores were open in the evenings, we would do a little Christmas shopping together. She knew all the stores that had the best buys and, since I was on a limited budget, she helped me squeeze every possible penny from the dollar bill.

She helped me put together a little package for JB — little things that he liked, such as chocolate covered goobers. Lily had a hearty laugh telling me how he used to carry them in his pants’ pockets in the summer and, if they melted, his pants would get all brown and the kids would tease him, thinking he had a toilet problem. I found a small bus that I enclosed with a note that read, “Just incase you miss the bus back to camp.”

“Do ya’ have to make a package for anybody else?” she asked.

I knew she was remembering Bob’s picture. “No, that’s all,” I replied. However, I had sent Bob some pralines a few weeks ago, thinking, if he didn’t want them, he could pass them around to his troops. As for the Christmas card, it probably would come back “Return to Sender” but I had to take a chance that he would open it. After all, it would still be Christmas with peace on earth from country girls of good will, as well anybody else.

“Whatcha’ thinkin’ about, Miss Laurel?” When I didn’t respond, she asked….“Maybe a Christmas tree? Ya’ know, Miss Laurel, there’s never been a Christmas tree in this house. JB never put one up and didn’t want me puttin’ one up either. He was racing motorcycles half the time and the other half of the time he was out drilling oil wells. What do ya’ say about us gittin’ a tree and some decorations? It won’t seem like Christmas without a tree and there’s a perfect spot for one right over there in front of the picture window.”

“Lily, you are absolutely right. I like the idea.”

“Mrs. Bruce has boxes of decorations in her attic,” Lily smiled, “so we won’t have to buy any. I’ll see if she’d let us use some of them. The Bruce’s used to have a tree in each child’s bedroom, but now, they only have one in the den and there’s a lot of decorations just packed away and not makin’ anybody happy anymore.”

The more time I spent with Lily, the more I grew to love her. I began to realize how she endeared herself into the hearts of the Bruce family. She appeared to live her whole life to please them.

One evening I invited her to go to a movie with me, thinking it would be a treat for her to enjoy herself for a change. Instead, she hung her head and shamefully said, “Colored folks can’t sit with the white folks so there’s no point in goin’ together if we can’t sit together. Texas has different laws than you Yankee people do.”

“I’m sorry, Lily,” I responded and put my arms around her. “I’m so very sorry there are people in this world, who don’t feel the same way, but they would if they knew you! You are always welcome to go with me wherever I go.”

Poor Lilly had tears in her eyes. I found myself thinking how wonderful it would be if she stayed on for a while. Gone were my aches and pains that were the fruits of my loneliness. She contributed the rays of sunshine to my life by just being there with me. I found her to be a great storyteller with a great sense of humor, who had an anecdote for just about any subject — sort of a female Uncle Remus.

The Bruce’s held their annual holiday party the week before Christmas. Lily was so busy with the preparations that she was unable to stay with me for several evenings. I had no idea what to expect, but imagined it would be a real Texas Christmas festival.

Lily said, “You ain’t never seen a party like it — barbecue and square dancing and all the usual holiday trimmin’s. Everybody dresses Western with boots, ten-gallon hats and blue jeans. Some women wear the billowy petticoats that flare out when they swing around.”

“I’ll probably look out of place in my maternity dress and I doubt if I’ll be doing any do-si-do’s.”

“You’ll look just fine, Miss Laurel. You can walk around and smile real pretty and everybody will love ya’.”

The night of the party was picture perfect. The Bruce’s backyard was lit up like a carnival. Lights hung from the trees and tables were laden with food. The barbecue had been cooking in the ground for several days, creating an aroma that drifted all throughout the neighborhood. I thought, “This affair is bigger than the church carnival back home and it even has a Western band!”

The Bruce’s were in the doorway to greet the guests. They were dressed like Santa Claus and Mrs. Claus — all in red satin with sequins scattered throughout the material — and oh yes, black cowboy boots. Mr. Bruce gave me a “ho, ho, ho” and promised that, if I was a good girl and didn’t have a fainting spell, he wouldn’t say anything that would upset me. This Santa was really jolly for so early in the evening — he obviously started celebrating with Christmas cheer long before his guests arrived.

The Bruce’s eventually circulated around the yard and introduced me to their neighbors and friends. Someone pulled at my jacket and when I turned around, I was surprised to see young Jimmie grinning up at me. Standing behind him was a chubby blonde girl, who frowned as her eyes scoured my body from head to toe. I held my hand out to her and introduced myself. She responded with a weak smile. “I’m Jimmie’s momma” and then added, “You look a lot different that I expected.”

I never did figure out if her remark was a compliment or an insult. She also looked different than I expected, but decided to change the subject.

Jimmie piped up, “You still talk like a Yankee. Aren’t you ever going to talk like us?”

“I’m still trying, Jimmie,” and I moved on with a smile. Mrs. Bruce was beckoning me to come over to meet their long-time friends — Marty and Clay Carson. When she introduced me, the name sounded familiar, but I couldn’t match the face to the name. Perhaps I had seen their names in the newspaper….

Platters of food were being placed on the tables and everyone was piling it high on their plates. Mrs. Bruce held a seat for me beside her. Marty Carson sat opposite Mrs. Bruce and the two of them engaged in a lengthy conversation about the Carson’s Christmas shopping trip in New York. I hesitated to interrupt them, but was very interested in where they had gone and what they bought. After all, almost nine months ago, I too was in New York and stayed at the Plaza.  I was about to join their chatter when Kiki pulled me away to meet some of her friends.

The tables were cleared and the music began. I danced with Beau — it was the first time I had danced since Bob left. Of course, Bob and I never square danced, but tonight it was fun moving in time to the music once again. Mrs. Bruce and Marty Carson were watching us. I smiled and waved and wondered what they were saying. I also wondered if the Carson’s knew that JB was sterile.

Lily came over to me. “You’re goin’ to stay here tonight, Miss Laurel. I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Say goodbye to the guests and I’ll take ya’ up to your room. Mrs. Bruce said you look a little tired….and she’s right.”

The Western music played on and on and, although it was lively, it was relaxing. I was just about ready to fall asleep when something startled me. I suddenly sat up in bed — I remembered the name!

Clay Carson….Clayton Carson? Could he be the father of Lt. Clayton Carson, who was Bob’s friend and hosted our stay at the Plaza Hotel in New York?”

Chapter 24  — …startled — my heart beating wildly and my cheeks wet with tears

One night I had a frightening dream about Bob. He was covered with mud and his uniform was soaking wet. The sky was bright red-orange from the bombs exploding all around, while on the ground, the troops scattered for cover behind what appeared to be rock formations. Although still asleep, I screamed “Bob!” and sat up in bed — startled — my heart beating wildly and my cheeks wet with tears. It was the worse dream of my life….I prayed he had not been injured or, worse yet, killed.

I turned on the radio and anxiously listened for a news broadcast. One finally reported that American troops had landed at Salerno. The date was September 9^th, — a time when the Italian beaches should be crowded with vacationers or fishermen. Instead, their peaceful world was invaded by gunfire and the desperate masses of American men, struggling to take cover and stay alive one more day. I switched the dial from station to station. All the news was basically the same — the troops fought desperately to hold their ground; consequently, the number of casualties was expected to be high.

I had a strong feeling that Bob may be in Salerno. I considered calling in sick and spending the day listening to the news, but there was a problem. The girls had planned a baby shower for me at a local restaurant and it would be ungrateful to disappoint them. I hustled into my clothes and, instead of riding the bus, I drove the red pickup.

I had never been to a baby shower before and had no idea what to expect. The restaurant’s employees had decorated their conference room in silver and gold metallic with accents of pink and blue. A huge umbrella in the center of the table was surrounded by a pile of gifts that formed a pyramid.

It took forever to open all the presents and I was surprised to see that I’d need very little else for the newborn. My co-workers even bought a stroller that could be converted into a walker, when the baby had grown enough to scoot around on his (or her) own power.

Eventually, we all cried and hugged each other and, after my thank you speech was over, the busboys carried the gifts out to the pickup. I just knew that bringing that truck downtown was a good idea. There would have been no way to get that load of gifts onto a bus and then carry them all the way home by myself.  As I jokingly told the girls about my foresight, they laughed and said they had planned to send me home in a cab.

“Goodbye, take care. I love you and don’t forget to visit me and the baby,” I called out to them as tears rolled down my cheeks. With one last wave, I pulled away from the curb.

With the farm supply assignment completed, I decided not to look for another job. If I were frugal, my savings and government allotment check would carry me over until the baby arrived and then I’d also receive an allotment for the baby. With JB keeping up the household expenses, my only expenditures would be for food, clothing and medical bills.  I looked forward to being away from the smoke-filled offices and enjoying the fresh air and exercise when I walked with Greta and Olin.

My appearance was good. I felt healthy and was still able to conceal my pregnancy under full skirts with boxy jackets. Every so often I’d take the maternity clothes from the closet and try them on. “Definitely pregnant” the mirror would echo back. Maternity clothes always make you look pregnant, even when you aren’t. When the need arose to wear them, I knew I’d be happy with the selection. In about two or three weeks I’d probably be in the maternities and JB’s family would get the message.

The very idea of JB’s father staring at me — and probably commenting about my outfit, made me want to put off my visits until after the baby arrived.  But, with the holiday just around the corner, I would have to make an appearance. Everyone would respond to the news in a different way. Kiki would be very excited and JB’s mother, well, I’m sure if she thought it was her grandchild, she would be happy. However, it wasn’t her grandchild and I was curious to know just how well JB had prepared his family for the event.

I decided to handle it the best way I could and tell the truth. Their son wasn’t deceived into marrying me. He was aware of the circumstances. There would be nothing worse than lying and later being caught contradicting myself — and for sure, Mr. Bruce would pick up on it right away. And so, that’s exactly what I wrote to JB and hoped that he approved of my decision. Since he went overseas, he never mentioned the baby. For him, life was one big blast.

JB was now stationed in England and seemed to be having his fair share of ale, which he complained did not compare to the Texas beer. The British girls were falling all over him just to hear his accent or to jitterbug with him around the dance floor. His letters were quite lengthy and filled with nonsense. He had met a girl over there whose brother had a motorcycle.  The fact that she had allowed him to ride the bike was a very positive move on her part. She and JB became quite close and spent weekends riding the bike around the countryside together. It was a relief to know that he found some female companionship and hoped that he would forget the thought of falling in love with me. Maybe he’d bring home a British war bride and settle down. Maybe the war would make him realize that it was time to grow up and tame his wild unbridled lifestyle.

I seriously considered moving back home next summer. I missed the family and friends. The baby would be six months old by then and not as difficult for me to handle as a newborn. I thought it would be easier for both JB and me if I just locked up the house and left — no tears — no goodbyes. People back home could think whatever they chose. I was prepared to handle whatever would arise and, besides, I wanted to be there when Bob got home.

The news of the landing at Salerno made me better understand why Bob’s letters were so short and scarce since he went overseas. For sure, his responsibilities relating to his platoon increased, leaving him less personal time — like writing to his friends, his family and to me. I had expected him to go into some detail about the beautiful letter I sent to him concerning his mother’s funeral. Instead, he wrote only one short paragraph, thanking me for my sympathy to him and his family.

During my lonesome times, Greta proved to be a great friend — almost like the sister that I never had. There appeared to be a common bond between us — maybe because we both came from some place other than Dallas. When the weather was nice, she would invite me over for barbecue on Saturday afternoons. I’d hold Olin and play “patty-cake” with him and he would laugh a “deep tummy” laugh and his little fat cheeks would get all pink.

“Olin is such a darling baby. Why don’t you let me baby sit him once in a while? The two of you could go out and have some fun together,” I volunteered. “It would give me a little first hand experience into what it’s like to be a mother.”

Hank’s face lit up — almost in disbelief. “It must be expensive to hire a member of the Bruce family to do your babysitting,” he laughed.

“All that I’d expect would be a smile and a hug once in a while from little Olin. He’s able to get around by himself now, so I wouldn’t have to carry him like a baby. He can climb up on my lap and I could sing to him….or we could look at picture books. Think it over. I’m usually available every day but Sundays. I have to keep that day open, just in case the Bruce family has a special dinner. I’m still a bit shy around Mr. Bruce….maybe not exactly shy….more like scared to death.”

“You know, Laurel,” said Greta, as she changed the subject, “you should get to see an obstetrician. You’d love my doctor. What are your feelings about me calling his office and scheduling an examination for you?”

I agreed with her and it was all settled. She made the appointment and the following week she drove me to his office. Once again, I was given vitamins, a booklet of pre and postnatal instructions — and a clean bill of health. I was relieved that it would not be necessary for me to call Mrs. Bruce and have her recommend a reputable doctor. Somehow, and although she may never have been curious enough to inquire, I wanted to avoid providing her with an opportunity to ask about my condition, which I considered very private.

I had always been a “private” person and struggled to maintain the little privacy that remained while I lived in JB’s home. Lily had a key to the house and would pop in without notice and sometimes would get out the cleaning tools and spend the entire day puttering around. Other times she would lock herself in JB’s room and I had no idea what she did in there.

Once in a while she would just come over to visit and ask me all kinds of questions like, “You’re looking’ a little heavy Miss Laurel. Are ya’ puttin’ on a little weight? I don’t know how you’d put on weight. That refrigerator is never full — no fried chicken — no desserts. You’d better start thinkin’ about me givin’ ya’ some cookin’ lessons before JB gets back from the war.”

I decided to agree with her. “You are absolutely right, Lily. I’d love to cook like you.  I’m sure fried chicken and pecan pie are only a few of the masterpieces that you bring to the table. Right now, soup and a sandwich or a can of stew are satisfying for me. Cooking big meals for one person is out of the question. I’d have to eat the same meal every day of the week until I used up all the leftovers.”

“Why don’t ya’ come over to the Bruce’s more often? Maybe for lunch or dinner? We have fried chicken and biscuits at least once a week and just yesterday; I made a fresh coconut cake. Oh….I should have brought ya’ a piece. You’d love it! Chopped fresh coconut with a runny icing between the thin layers of cake and then more of the same on the top and runnin’ all over the sides….and here I’m askin’ ya’ if you’re gaining weight. Shame on me for teasin’ ya’ with food! I’m so proud of that coconut cake.  It won me a prize at the fair!  When ya’ taste it, you’ll know why….”

Then she continued. “Oh by the way, I happened to be puttin’ some things away in your dresser and noticed one of the drawers was filled with baby things. Are ya’ expectin’, Miss Laurel?”

I could feel my blood pressure rising and my face getting red and warm. She caught me off guard and the answer to that question was one that I had hoped to ponder to perfection, before delivering my completely composed response.

“As a matter of fact, you have discovered my little secret. I wanted to surprise the family in my own way, but I guess that little plan will no longer be a secret. You’ll probably tell Mrs. Bruce about your discovery and when I tell her, she’ll pretend she didn’t know. Oh well, everyone will eventually find out anyway, especially since I’m putting on a little weight.”

I didn’t mean to sound sarcastic, but I’m afraid I did to some extent. Lily was silent. She stared at me with her big eyes bulging out of her sockets and her mouth was wide open, as if she was frozen with fright.

“I’m sorry, Lily. Did I hurt your feelings? I just wanted it to be a surprise,” I begged.

“Oh, it will be a surprise all right, Miss Laurel. You can bet on that,” she replied. She locked JB’s doors and left, closing the door very quietly behind her

Chapter 25

I thought for sure that after Lily went back to the Bruce’s with my secret, I would be invited to lunch or dinner — but I was wrong. In fact, even Lily stayed away. My only contact was with Kiki. She liked to call and chat about her boyfriends. She had so many young men calling on her, I couldn’t keep them straight in my mind — often confusing Sam and John or Tom and Ned. With all the money her father had, she could marry anyone she set her heart on having, but as fate would have it, she would probably fall in love with a poor but deserving young man — and her father would be distressed.

I happened to notice that the mailman was trying to stuff a large manila envelope into the mailbox, along with the usual magazines and advertisements. I slipped into my shoes and hurried out to see what had arrived that was giving him so much trouble. The manila envelope was from my brother, Bill, and it appeared to be loaded with letters from Bob. I was very excited at the prospect of spending a couple of hours reading his letters over and over again.

Movie newsreels had shown battles fought by the infantrymen in Italy. I assumed that Bob was in there someplace; in fact, I usually sat through the newsreels twice, searching the faces of all the men, hoping to get a glimpse of Bob or some of the boys from back home.  Most of the soldiers looked very much alike in their dirty, wet uniforms and mud all over their faces. No doubt the uniforms had to dry on their bodies and were changed only when there was a lull in the battle. How pathetic it was to see the men eating from their mess trays in down pouring rain — and probably thankful that they had time to eat. All these sights were true, these were our lovers, our brothers, fathers and uncles — wading chest deep across streams, with rifles held high above their heads — not knowing if they were being targeted by the enemy or if they would get safely to the other shore. Unfortunately, the worse weather was yet to come, bringing with it snow, sleet and freezing temperatures. Bob never complained about these hardships; once in a while he would joke about passing through a chicken farm with the anticipation of having eggs for breakfast the next morning.

I fluffed up the pillows on my bed and prepared myself for “an afternoon with Bob.” Even though his letters were brief, for a few moments the distance between us seemed less remote.

I tore open the manila envelope and was surprised to see a second envelope enclosed with a note attached. The message was short and to the point:

“Laurel, I’m confused about the enclosed. Hope it isn’t  bad news. Call me if you need me…Love, Bill”

All the blood seemed to have drained from my body. My reflection in the mirror across the room confirmed that my face was absolutely white. My hands were shaking and a weakness was spreading all through my body. What was happening to me?

I opened the second envelope and poured its contents onto the bedspread. Six letters that I had sent to Bob were marked “Return to Sender.” The seventh letter was from Bob. I sat there holding his letter — confused and frightened to learn what had happened. My first thoughts were that he was injured and had been transferred to a hospital — or that he had been killed, which would account for the fact that my letters weren’t opened.

I tore open Bob’s letter. I couldn’t believe what I was reading! It was all a bad dream. Bob didn’t believe my explanation about the baby. He didn’t believe me — he didn’t believe I was carrying his child! Why was he saying that after all the intimacy we shared those two nights in New York?

I just wanted to die! What chance would I have to convince him that he was wrong? Thousands of miles were between us! In frustration, I began to cry….and cry…. and cry. I had no idea how long I cried before I fell asleep, but when I awoke, I was still sobbing and my pillow was soaking wet with tears, mucous from my nose and saliva dripping down my chin.

The baby — I worried about the baby. I laid quietly on my back, hoping the baby would move and give me a signal that all was well, but nothing happened. In desperation, I called the obstetrician, who assured me that babies sleep a lot, even through emotional disturbances.

I thought of calling Greta to come over and stay with me for an hour or two, but didn’t want to take the risk of letting a clue slip that would lead her to suspect that the baby was not JB’s. Impatiently, I ran my hands through my hair. I wondered if everyone had so many problems. Would I ever reach the bottom of this pit of tears? Right now, without the magic of a miracle, there seemed little hope.

I sat on the edge of the bed and wiggled my feet into my slippers. As self-serving as it seemed at the time, I had a craving for hot cocoa with marshmallows and hoped it might take the edge off the events of the day. With that thought in mind, I shuffled my way to the kitchen, still sniffling and blowing my nose.

It was four o’clock already — could I have slept for two hours? I opened the refrigerator door to get the milk and noticed a large chunk of coconut cake setting there boldly in the empty refrigerator. At first I was happy and smiled as I reached in to pick up the cake — and then it occurred to me that Lily had been in the house while I was asleep! I wondered if she just looked in at me from the bedroom doorway or if she came over to the bed to see if I was okay.

“Oh my God! …. Bob’s letters!” They were scattered all over the bed — in broad daylight. She had to see them, or worse yet — did she read them? No wonder she didn’t try to awaken me. Well, now she had some more juicy gossip to take back to the Bruce’s.  I often wondered if the family had tattled about me to JB and how he responded. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say that JB didn’t say anything. First of all, he was having too good of a time in England to be serious about anything and, secondly, he would be cautious about saying anything that could possibly add any more grief to my life.

I went ahead and prepared the cocoa, but changed my mind about the coconut cake.  My appetite magically disappeared over the prospect of Lily’s visit to my room. And then, like the gladiator that I seemed to be, I went back into the ring to bask in my misery.

As I lifted each letter to organize them in chronological order, I noticed that one letter had been opened. I was sure that it was the one in which I explained to Bob about my reason for marrying JB for the short term. To my surprise, there were two letters in that envelope. There was one that I had written and, tucked in along with it, was one that he had received from my mother. In it, she went into great detail about how happy she was that I had married a very nice soldier, whom I had been dating for more than a year.

I felt like the floodgates had opened and I was being swept under a tumultuous wall of water. Why would she do that? She never wrote to Bob before — why now? Apparently he had been able to accept my solution for the pregnancy, until my mother’s letter arrived. It was then he learned that I had been dating JB for a whole year and wasn’t being honest with him. It brought to mind the problem he had in trusting Penny Parker and now I had done the same thing to him. How angry he must be with me! For sure, I would have to return home and be waiting for him when he received his discharge from the army. It would not be easy for me with all this new information circulating throughout the community.

The prospect of ever getting my life in order again sent a chill through my body. I felt as if a block of ice had come to rest right behind my belly button — and no matter how hard or how long I tried to concentrate on the love and passion that Bob and I shared, nothing seemed to radiate the warmth I so desperately needed. If only I could reach him by phone but, even if I did, he probably wouldn’t talk to me anyway.

I sat in the middle of the bed and looked at the letters scattered all about me.  Just a few hours ago, I would have thought of Bob’s letters as my dreams. Yes, surrounded by the dreams of my life — my todays and my tomorrows. But now, those dreams were fading and seemed so far away. The remnants of my life had been brutally smashed and trashed, leaving me with no one to turn to for comfort.

I washed my face and combed my hair. I had to talk to someone….I needed to bring peace into my body for the sake of the baby.

“Maybe if I rode around for a while.”  I went out to the garage and started the pickup.  I had no idea where I wanted to go or who I wanted to talk to. I didn’t want to sit in a movie and watch a love story or ponder over the newsreels and the war. I just wished there was a way to release all my pain, but didn’t have the foggiest idea how to make it happen.

The streets were relatively quiet. As I drove around, I began noticing things that I never paid too much attention to before, like children playing, couples working in their yards or taking walks. It all looked so peaceful and in control. Coming around the corner were two nuns carrying several bags of groceries in their arms. I recalled another occasion when I felt confused and needed consolation and had had the good fortune to meet up with two sisters back home. Perhaps they would help me! I pulled over to the curb and offered to give them a ride home. They were smiling and gracious, but were doubtful about the three of us fitting into the pickup.

“Sisters,” I teased them, “this is your big opportunity to perform a miracle….even if means all three of us will have to hold our breath, so we can squeeze into the cab. Sometimes, miracles need a little help.”

“Good sense of humor, young lady. My arms are about to break off from carrying these groceries all the way from the market.  Let’s all pray for the miracle,” the older sister responded.

We placed the bags in the bed of the truck, squeezed into the cab and slowly drove off.

“Where can I take you?” I asked.

“It isn’t very far from here. Our convent is just a few blocks down this street…. over by the church. Do you attend our church?”

“Sister, I am ashamed to admit that I haven’t attended church since I moved to Dallas.  I used to attend mass every Sunday, but since I have no family here, my life is not the same. Tonight I am in desperate need to talk to someone. When you two sisters came around the corner, it was as if God had arranged for you two to walk into my life.”

“We’re here to help you, if we can. I am Sister Margaret Mary and this is Sister Theresa. What is your name?” the younger sister asked.

“I’m Laurel. I lost a very special person in my life today and I’m having great difficulty accepting this challenge that God has brought to me.” I stopped talking and pulled into the convent’s parking lot.

“It is very possible that God led you to us, or visa versa. He knows our every need. Laurel, why don’t you come into the convent and the three of us will pray together in our chapel. We will light a candle at the shrine of St. Jude for you and it will burn brightly for a whole week. If your heart is still heavy after a week, come back and we will light another candle and pray together again.  By the end of the week, you will feel much better. Always remember, God never gives you more of a problem than you can handle.”

The convent was quiet with the exception of the rattle of the dishes in the kitchen. We moved on to the tiny chapel where the candles were burning, casting strange shadows on the walls. Sister Margaret Mary and I knelt to pray while Sister Theresa lit the candle at St. Jude’s shrine.

“Laurel, have faith. St. Jude has a reputation for resolving very difficult problems and performing miracles.”

As we prayed, the stress that had enveloped my body began to subside and the cold that had possessed me thawed and I was warm and comfortable. Inside my womb, I felt the foot of my baby move across my abdomen — we were both at peace again.

Band of Brothers and The Pacific From a Woman’s Viewpoint

Chapter 23

JB called me every other day — asking how the driving lessons were going and was Beau a patient teacher? He was relieved to hear that I got my license before the temperature and humidity got uncomfortable. I assumed “uncomfortable” was a polite way of saying “hot as hell.” I assured him that his pickup was still in good shape and there were no dents, scratches nor speeding tickets for him to worry about.

Behind the wheel, I felt like a bird that had left the nest for the first time. The freedom to drive to the movies or grocery store was a luxury I only dreamt about. I found myself lovingly referring to the pickup as “the red bird.” Life was good for a change and I wished I could write home and tell my parents how enjoyable and enriched my life had become. At last I had found freedom — for the time being.

Getting my driver’s license was not the only good stroke of luck that came my way. I was hired by a farm supply distributor, as a temporary vacation-relief secretary, at twice the salary I was making back home. I suppose the distributor decided that since New Jersey was known as “the garden state,” the products would be “naturals” for me. Well….hardly! I wrote letters about tractors, plows, shares and all sorts of fertilizers, until I gave up on trying to understand the contents of the paperwork. My boss, one of the many male chauvinists who worked there, told me to just write what he dictated and I would do just fine. What he probably really meant was “you’re a woman and nobody expects you to understand — so just do as you are told.”

The business executives were all men — there were no female executives.  Women performed the clerical duties and….of course, only “ the girls” had to punch time cards every morning. If you happened to be late, your pay check would suffer the consequences. When I arrived late one morning, I reached for my time card and was surprised to see that someone had already punched me in and replaced my card in the rack. I was dumbfounded for a second, but then noticed that all the girls were smiling in my direction. This little old Yankee had become a part of their conspiracy against those misogynistic bosses.

In the meantime, JB shipped overseas — apparently, his efforts to avoid an overseas’ assignment were unsuccessful. His last letter from the states was brief. In it he expressed amazement at how quickly the soldiers left behind the camp site outside of my home town. In a short “PS,” he mentioned that one of his buddies had told my father that we had been married, but that he didn’t know where I was living. My muscles tensed and my jaws locked to keep me from screaming.

Whoever said it was a small world must have experienced this same situation. No matter how far away from home one traveled, there would always be someone out there to spread the news. Why don’t people mind their own business?  For sure, if Bob’s father heard the rumor, he may never want to speak to me again. He’d ponder….“how could any self-respecting woman be engaged to one soldier in combat and marry another man?”

I sat on the patio, frozen with anger. There were no tears or sobs — just anger. What would happen next? Would Bob’s father believe that I made a fool of his son? Without a doubt, Bob would be humiliated before all his friends and I would wear the scarlet letter for the rest of my life.

I had visions of my parents bragging about what a great guy they had for a son-in-law. They were never told that I was engaged to Bob, even though I was forbidden to see him again. But Bob’s dad was aware of the situation and could take issue with them over their disapproval of our relationship. Would my parents regret their confrontations with us? Maybe….but, they would never admit it. They seemed to be able to step over their mistakes and move on.

I was so deeply engrossed in my thoughts, that I didn’t hear Lily enter the house until she called my name.

“I’m out here….on the patio.”

Lily stood smiling in the doorway. “How come ya’ don’t come over and visit us? I hear you’re drivin’ now! Mr. Bruce would love ya’ to push him in his wheelchair over to the park once in a while. He really gets feisty sittin’ at home….sometimes. I guess I should tell the truth and say he is feisty all the time. It would be good for ya’ to get to know him better. So, how are ya‘, Miss Laurel?”

“Just fine. What brought you over here?” I asked.

“Well….I have to clean JB’s rooms. I never did get over here to clean up after he left. I have no idea what to expect! Sometimes his rooms are as neat as a pin and then….there are times when they look like he had nightmares.”

“Do you need help?” I volunteered.

“Oh Lordy no….if he knew I let anyone in his rooms….well, I don’t even dare guess what he’d do!”

“What’s the big secret, Lily?”

“Well, I really don’t know if ya’d call it a secret. I suppose he just needs his privacy….” Her voice trailed off as she went inside JB’s room.

Oh how I wanted to see his room. What could he possibly have in there. If only he had just said “Laurel, come look at my room….” but he didn’t and now my curiosity had overwhelmed my common sense. One of these days Lily may forget to lock the door. I smiled at the thought.

“Lily, by any chance did you happen to see a tiny picture on the floor or on my dresser? I seem to have lost a picture that was in my locket.”

Lily came out and shut the door behind her. “Whose picture was it?” she asked.

“A soldier.”

“JB?” she asked.

“No.”

“Why are ya’ wearin’ a locket with some soldier’s picture in it who isn’t your husband? Why don’t ya’ just cut down a small picture of JB and put it in your locket? I think that he would like that real fine. You’re a married woman now. You have to put all those old romances out of your life….” and she went back into JB’s room to finish her cleaning.

Lily seemed a bit disturbed and nervous as she lectured me on changing the picture in the locket. It’s possible that she saw the locket on the dresser and, out of curiosity, opened it and was shocked to see a strange man’s face — or it could have been JB. I never locked my room and the locket was in plain view. Well, I had no intention of making an issue of the incident. I did have other pictures of Bob, but that one had a sentimental significance — it was in the locket the night he fastened it around my neck….so long ago.

The flag on the mailbox was down, so I knew that the mailman had picked up my letters. There was an envelope from my brother, Bill. Anxiously, I opened it, wondering why it had taken him so long to write.

His letter went into great detail about my mother’s difficulty in dealing with my absence. In fact, he said that she was sleeping in my bed every night. On the other hand, my dad didn’t say anything about my leaving but, maybe if I stayed away long enough, he’d be glad to see me return.

Bill apologized for not sending my mail sooner.  He had been in the hospital for a couple of weeks and had no one to bring him the mail.

There were three letters from Bob. Two were written on the boat and the other was written after he landed in North Africa. He didn’t have much to say except that almost everyone on the boat got sea sick and he was thankful that the weather was warm enough, so that he could go on deck, to get out into the fresh air. Luckily, he didn’t get sea sick, but the smell of vomit all over the ship was enough to turn a stomach of iron — so he said.

Apparently Bob hadn’t received the letter about my agreement to marry JB. I suppose if he had had any desire to stop the wedding, it would have been too late to do anything about it. Maybe he never received my letter explaining my reasons for leaving town and marrying someone else so that our baby wouldn’t be illegitimate.

I struggled with the “what if’s” and decided to listen to the radio for a while, hoping some soothing music would change my mind, but all the stations had only news broadcasts. It was the 10^th of July, 1943 — The Allied troops had landed in Sicily. I knelt and prayed that Bob’s division was not a part of “those” Allied troops. The reporter was telling of severe losses on the beaches and bitter fighting with the Germans on rugged terrain. The dangers were imminent. I tried to picture Bob in battle — and it was painful. The thought of all those soldiers lying on the beaches — the injured, the dying and the dead — it brought tears to my eyes. I closed my eyes tightly and prayed that God would watch over him and hoped that he was wearing his St. Christopher medal. Oh how I wanted to see Bob again.  Would we ever have the life that we had planned? The war was crushing all my dreams slowly, one by one — the painful way.

Most of the time, I was deeply engrossed in my thoughts of Bob and all the danger surrounding him.  I went to the movies at least once a week to watch the newsreels. Maybe I’d see him on the screen.   I didn’t realize how much I missed him until I opened his letters and everything was real again. He had been gone so long….I was beginning to feel as though all those glorious moments we spent together were dreams.

What happened to the days when all that mattered was Bob and me? Life then was vigorous and compelling. There was a magical charm that we both hoped would never end. Our love meant being adored passionately, unconditionally and eternally — a love that could create a child that would perpetuate our love forever.

It was all so long ago and far away, except for the baby, who stirred in my womb and ran his tiny foot across my abdomen.

Chapter 21

It looked like another hot day. My first thought was to get up and close the drapes.  JB was taking a few laps around the pool and probably could see into my bedroom Hopefully, he was in a better mood than when I left him the night before. Just in case he wasn’t, I decided to break the ice by putting on a pair of shorts and a halter (because I didn’t bring a bathing suit) and join him in the pool. It turned out to be a fun way to start the day.

“We can’t play around too long, Laurel. There’s a lot to do today. I put together a quick breakfast for us to save time.”

I noticed that he had the table set by the pool — juice, coffee and toast.

“Tomorrow I’ll make breakfast,” I volunteered. “ Maybe some biscuits with raisins.”

“You must like eating alone,” he laughed. Thank heavens he was in a good mood.

We drove clear across town to the court house for the marriage license and then stopped at a jewelry store.

“Laurel, I’m getting you an elaborate wedding ring, so you can wear it along with Bob’s engagement ring. I thought about asking you to put Bob’s ring away for the time being but, on second thought, came to the conclusion that it would hurt your feelings and make you think I wanted you to forget Bob. That wasn’t in our plans and I do not intend to ask you to forget your past or put aside any of your dreams for the future. As we agreed, this marriage is only to legitimize your baby; after the baby arrives, you are free to divorce me, either before or after Bob returns. We both understand the ramifications and the door to this relationship will remain open.”

His tenderness and generosity brought tears to my eyes. I wondered if he hurt inside and whether or not this was just like a business arrangement, without any emotional attachments.

We spent very little time in the jewelry store. JB seemed to know exactly what he wanted when the jeweler brought out the tray. From there we walked over to Neiman Marcus, where he selected three dresses with matching pumps for my wardrobe. He began searching through the formal clothing, then turned around and asked if I saw anything that I would like to wear for the wedding.

A beautiful pale blue jersey dress, with silver threads interwoven throughout the fabric, caught my eyes. It reminded me of the sun shining on the river and I was certain that Bob would like it too. I had never seen a dress like that before. It was draped on the side and, without exaggeration, was the most beautiful dress I had ever seen. I could see that JB was pleased with my selection.

We made one more stop — at a maternity shop. There he requested the sales clerk to select and coordinate  four interchangeable outfits for me.

“I think that should take care of you for a while.”  He put his arm around my shoulder as we walked out to the car with my expectant mother’s wardrobe.

“Thank you, JB. You didn’t have to go overboard and spend so much money on me. I really plan to get a job for a while and work at it as long as I can, before the baby arrives. That way, I’ll be able to buy what I need. Neither did you have to buy my things at Neiman Marcus. I’m sure there’s a Sears somewhere in Dallas.”

“Of course Dallas has a Sears but, when in Dallas, you do as the Dallasites….that is, the Bruce Dallasites do. When you get back to Jersey, you can wear Sears clothes,” he assured me.

Well, that settled any question about the standard of living I was expected to enjoy. In the past, my mother had made most of my clothes or else I bought them at Sears and I was comfortable with that. I wondered if the social life I was entering would target me as a Sears girl masquerading in a Neiman Marcus wardrobe.  I hoped I could pull it off.

I had my opportunity that evening. JB’s parents had invited family and friends for a dinner in JB’s honor. Although I was introduced as his fiancé, there was no mention of our wedding at the end of the week. Everyone gathered around JB.  He seemed to be enjoying the attention and was obviously Mr. Personality.

Prominently present was Jimmie, his seven year old son, who was by his side all evening. Without a doubt, the love and devotion between the two of them was very deep.

As I mingled with the guests, I noticed I had very little in common to contribute to the conversations of these people. My only alternative was to sit down with JB’s sister, Kiki, and learn who these people were and her opinion of them.

“They’re just people that I’ve known all my life. Sit here with me for a while. They’ll soon be leaving…”

A side glance revealed that JB’s father had been watching me — I turned and smiled at him. He seemed a little embarrassed that I had caught him staring at me, but waved his hand without giving me a smile. Right then and there I vowed to make a friend of that old geezer — just as soon as JB returned to camp.

On the way home, JB seemed very pleased with the reception. “Laurel, I plan to spend some time with Jimmie while I’m home….just the two of us. We haven’t seen each other in about a year and he has really grown up since my last furlough. No telling how long I’ll be gone this time….or if I’ll even get back at all. Tell me you understand, Laurel. I truly love that boy, but don’t want you to feel neglected either.”

“Of course I understand. Spend all the time you can with him….leave him with happy memories of his dad.” I choked up a little over his last remark. I thought of my child and wondered if he would ever have any happy memories of his dad. “He certainly enjoys your company. I watched how he stayed with you all evening.  There’s no question about it — he loves his daddy.”

And so, it worked out that JB would spend the days with Jimmie — usually riding the motorcycle out in the country or around White Rock Lake. The child monopolized JB’s time and, when I was present, he became annoyed if his dad showed me any attention. Jimmie was more or less in charge of our conversations and his comments to me were rarely complimentary. He was very curious about my accent. He wanted to know why I talked so funny. How can you make a seven year old child understand that everybody in New Jersey talks funny — but I tried.

“Jimmie, if you went to New Jersey, the people up there would think you talked funny. On the other hand, if I stayed in Texas, maybe I would talk like you. Would you want to teach me to talk like a Texan?”

He shook his head. Apparently, he had a little problem figuring that one out and continued to interrupt me and say — “Stop talking like that. Grandpaw said you talk like a Yankee.  What’s a Yankee?”

“Maybe you should ask your grandfather,” I replied.

At the end of the week, JB and I were married by a Justice of the Peace. The waiting room was filled with soldiers and their girlfriends, waiting to be married. It was no great surprise that the judge breezed through the ceremony to accommodate everyone in a timely manner.

I was very nervous and hoped that I wasn’t visibly shaking. When the judge said, “You may kiss the bride” — I couldn’t believe the ceremony was over so quickly. Neither could I believe the kiss that JB planted forcefully on my mouth. It was a kiss from a man who considered himself an experienced Casanova. Obviously, riding motorcycles wasn’t his only forte, and, in a way, the kiss compensated for the brevity of the ceremony.

As we walked to the car, I thought over how uneventful the proceedings were. Any hopes for a elaborate wedding in a white gown and veil had vanished from my expectations. Perhaps we should have been married in a church, instead of in the office of a total stranger, but the office ceremony was what JB preferred. In my heart, the only marriage I yearned for would have been held in my church and I would have walked down the aisle to meet Bob at the altar. Somehow, it all seemed so far away now.

I looked up at JB and smiled. I really should be very grateful that he came into my life. “The ring is absolutely gorgeous. I’ve never seen a wedding ring with so many diamonds! Just look at it sparkle — it’s brilliant! I wish I had a better word for gratitude than a simple ‘thank you’.”

“It will do for now,” he replied.

I heard his siblings, Beau and Kiki, snickering in the front seat.

There was no honeymoon or consummation of the marriage. He retired to his “private” side of the house and I slept in my room. Although I often wondered about having an obligation to him for all he had done for me, I still hoped he would not want to make love. Perhaps he was waiting for me to extend the invitation or perhaps the affair was truly platonic.

I was relieved when JB and Jimmie took off in the pickup truck for a couple of days at the drilling sight. JB thought it would be a good learning experience for Jimmie, who would eventually be a partner. Of course, I agreed — how could I object when he treated me like Cinderella.

With two whole days for myself, I decided to do some exploring. I began with trying to walk around the lake, but gave up after an hour. I sat on a bench under a tree, feeling the need to rest and cool down. It was hot and I wished I had brought some water. As I looked around to see if there was a water fountain or spigot in the area, a girl about my age joined me on the bench. She had with her a little boy in a stroller and, thankfully, a thermos of water and some paper cups.

“Are you okay….you don’t look so good. Have you been out in the heat for a while?” she asked.

“I’ve been walking for about an hour. I had no idea this lake was so large,” I replied.

“Twenty one miles around….so I’ve heard. By the way, I’m Greta. I live over there in that little white house with the dark green shutters. I saw you out here and you looked lost . Do you live in this area? I don’t remember seeing you before.”

“I’m new in the neighborhood.” I pointed in the direction of JB’s home. “I live over there….about two miles down the road. My name is Laurel….and I‘m a Yankee.”

“I’m a Yankee too,” she laughed. “I’ll go get my car and take you home. You might want to think about walking earlier in the mornings….it’s really quite comfortable then. If you happen to come into this neighborhood again, please stop in, even if it’s only for a glass of water,” she smiled.

Greta’s car was a nursery on wheels with toys and bits of crackers and cookies on the back seat and floor. One of these days we’ll get a four-door sedan and I will be able to be more organized. Hank promised me one if we have another baby, so I’m looking forward to my next pregnancy.” Greta laughed, “You may have guessed that I am pretty desperate for a different car.”

As we approached JB’s home, I said, “it’s the white house on the left.”

“The one with J.B. Bruce on the mailbox?” she laughed. “You’re kidding, aren’t you?”

“No, that’s the house.”

“You’re married to J.B. Bruce? Oh my god, I don’t believe it!”

I was dumbfounded. “What’s the deal about being married to JB?” I inquired with sincere innocence.

“Laurel, the Bruce family is one of the wealthiest in the state….didn’t you know? He almost got killed in a motorcycle race a few years back. My goodness, his story was in all the papers and sports magazines. Apparently you aren’t interested in sports.”

“I knew he was in an accident, but had no idea he was wealthy until I came down here about a week ago.”

“Laurel…Laurel….Laurel — you are so naïve. How in the world did you ever meet a playboy like him?”

“Playboy? You’re kidding, aren’t you? Now I’ll feel really stupid when I tell you how I met him.”

“I’m waiting,” she grinned.

“I gave him my seat on the last bus back to town so he wouldn’t be AWOL…”

“Now that’s really gratitude to the ‘nth’ degree,” she laughed while she continued to shake her head. “He married you for a seat on the bus? Come on Laurel. There has to be more to the story.”

“I suppose there is a story behind everything in this world, but that’s the way I met JB about a year ago and that’s all there is to tell.”

“It doesn’t sound very romantic….there must be more to the story that you aren’t telling me.”

“How did you meet your husband?” I asked — trying to change the subject.

“There was nothing romantic about meeting Hank. He was scraping snow off his windshield when my car spun around and dented his fender. We argued about that for a couple of weeks before my insurance company finally paid him for the damage. To make up for all the arguments we had over the accident, he took me to dinner and we fell in love over a plate of spaghetti and a bottle of red wine. That’s my story and I better get going. Don’t forget to visit me…..Bye.”

Well, I learned a little more about the Bruce family from this short encounter with Greta. She was a delightful person and I really enjoyed her company, but decided not to share the family secrets. JB definitely would not approve of gossip.

Chapter 22

The furlough was about over — tomorrow JB would be on the train heading back to camp. In less than two weeks, I had become acquainted with his caring and sensitive attitude toward his friends and family, his deep love for Jimmie and his concern for my welfare. I considered myself fortunate — yes, even blessed to have met him.

I sat on the patio while JB swam and dove into the pool. Every once in a while he would take a break and come over to where I was sitting and stretch out on the lounge. He would close his eyes and not say a word. He seemed to be a bit nostalgic today. Once in a while he’d look over at me and smile — I thought he may be having difficulty dealing with leaving the family again.

“I’m going to miss you, I guess you know…” I told him.

“Maybe you’ll be so busy you won’t have time to miss me.”

The expression on his face projected a bit of sadness — or perhaps a weakness that he preferred to conceal with his nonchalance.

I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. The sun felt warm and relaxing to my entire body. For a few short moments, I compared the feeling to lying on the beach at the river with Bob. I began to feel homesick. It really would be good to see my family and friends and sleep in my old bed again. I thought of my parents and hoped they weren’t worrying about me. Ideally, they had heard from my brother, who certainly would assure them that I was safe. And Bob….what has happened to Bob? No mail from him in three weeks. I hoped he was okay.

My daydreaming was interrupted by JB shaking off the pool water onto patio.

“You’re getting me all wet, feller,” I laughed.

“You’re going to have to get changed anyway,” he began.

“We’re having dinner at my folks’ home this evening. I’d like to see you in the new green dress and shoes. Laurel, I’m sorry we didn’t get out more. There was so little time….”

“Don’t apologize, JB….let’s just remember this visit as ‘quality time.’”

“I’ve been thinking that we may not see each other again if I go overseas. You’ll probably return to Bob before I get home. Tomorrow may be ‘goodbye’.” JB’s voice seemed to fade off and he changed the subject.

“I’d like to be early for dinner — maybe have a cocktail before Lily removes the chicken from the frying pan and brings the platter to the table. It has been so long since I had fried chicken, biscuits, mustard green and ‘pah kon’ pie.”

“’Pah kon’ pie?” I asked. Are you sure it isn’t ‘Pee kan’ pie?”

“Oh Laurel….’Pee kan’ pie! If you ordered that down here no one would know what you’re talking about. I don’t know about you Yankees” he laughed. “Yankees can’t cook, we can’t understand what they are saying and I can’t understand how they won the Civil War.” He flashed a grin as he triumphantly strode to his room to get changed.

I was quite pleased with the way I looked in my new clothes. The dress was not only beautiful, but also complimented my skin and hair and was not too tight across my abdomen, which was ever so slightly starting to pooch out. I applied my makeup a different way than usual.  I noticed the Dallas women were very clever with their cosmetics to achieve the natural beauty look and so I gave it a try — and it worked.

JB was pleased with my appearance. “You don’t look like that country girl I met on the bus. We’ll have to take some pictures.  I want to remember you the way you look tonight.”

Lily, the Bruce’s housekeeper, welcomed us with a big smile — showing most of her pearly whites. She had worked for the family since JB was born and everyone loved her. It was Lily who changed the children’s diapers, kept the cookie jars filled and scolded them when they were naughty. It was Lily who sat by JB’s bedside — day and night — until he had recovered from his motorcycle accident — just as she would have done if he were her own son.

Just as JB had hoped, the family gathered in the den for cocktails before Lily hustled everyone into the dining room. Truly, it was a feast to behold and probably everything that JB had been dreaming about for months.

When the chicken and biscuits were set on the table, I glanced over at JB, who was grinning at me from ear to ear, with his eyebrows raised and a satisfied look on his face that seemed to say, “Now that’s fried chicken.” Lily stood by smiling proudly at JB’s reaction.

“Now Laurel, get yourself a piece of that chicken — pour the honey all over it — and bite into it with your eyes closed. Believe me, you’ll think you are in heaven! But don’t stop there! Break your biscuit in half — lay a pat of butter on it and ‘ooo-eee’ — you’ll wonder how you ever managed to eat that Yankee chicken and biscuits all your life.”

There was no doubt about it — Lily could really cook and it was the best fried chicken I ever had. I loved the crispy, crunchy crust and the soft and juicy meat — and the honey was like icing is to a cake. I definitely wanted to learn to fry chicken Lily’s way. As for the biscuits, they were okay but I led them to believe they were the best I had ever tasted but, I honestly liked the ones that my mother made best of all. And, as for the ‘pah kon’ pie — well, it was the most delicious dessert confection — loaded with nuts and a gooey filling. I was tempted to ask for a second piece, but changed my mind when everyone began to complain about how “stuffed” they were.

Everyone was in high spirits, even JB’s dad was quite loose. I suspected that he had a cocktail or two before we arrived. He held my hand and leaned over toward me and with a smile and in his very best Texas gentleman’s accent he said, “You look mighty fine this evening, Miss Laurel. That green dress is very fetching.  You should wear green more often — it is definitely your color.”

“Thank you, Mr. Bruce. Coming from you, I’d say it was a ‘gen-u-wine’ compliment.” The frankness of my reply had everyone laughing.

JB took over the conversation. “Beau, I want you to teach Laurel to drive the pickup and take her down to get a driver’s license….and make sure the gas tank is always full. She won’t get far on her ration stamps. I’d really appreciate the favor, Beau. I completely forgot she didn’t have a license and needs the transportation to get groceries or visit you all. The bus can be cumbersome and besides, it is too hot for her to be standing around waiting for one to come along. The furlough went by like a tornado, but we did have fun in the little time we had.”

“I’ll take care of it , JB. Whenever Laurel is ready, I’ll go over and get her started,” Beau replied.

JB got up — nodded in my direction and prepared to leave. “I’ll be over tomorrow morning to see you all before I go.”

JB folded down the top on the Austin Healy and we drove off. “I love this car! I’ve never seen a car with the steering wheel on the right hand side,” I commented. “Doesn’t it confuse you?”

“I never really thought of it as confusing but, after driving those big old army trucks for so long, I feel like I’m now driving a toy and it should have pedals — like a kiddie car.”

“It was thoughtful of you to ask Beau to teach me to drive your pickup. Which one of us don’t you trust driving this car?” I teased.

“I don’t trust either one of you, especially for safety reasons. It’s a light car and you can lose control if you get on a soft shoulder of the road. You drive the pickup while I’m gone. It’s safe and easy to handle. People will get out of your way when they see you coming,” he laughed.

“Sure, they never move over when they see you coming . I’ve heard that motorcycle tear out into traffic — I’d bet everybody lets you pass.”

“Not the pickups!  They dare to race me but they don’t stand a chance of passing me. Aren’t you a little curious about riding a motorcycle? Would you ride with me?” JB asked as if daring me to take the challenge.

“Not for the next seven or eight months anyway. There’s something about flying down the highway that reminds me of falling with nothing to hang on to.”

“You would be sitting right behind….all you would have to do is hang on to me,” he replied.

“And if you hit a bump in the road?” I asked.

“Then we’d both go flying through the air together.”

He pulled into a parking lot of a night club where Bobby somebody and his band were playing. The band sounded great and the dance floor was packed with jitterbugs. JB ordered a beer and I had a Dr. Pepper — the cola of Texas.

“Maybe I haven’t noticed, but isn’t that the first beer you’ve had since we arrived? Are you reforming?”

He looked at me as if surprised or maybe defensive. “Well no…I’ve had beer.  It’s just that I don’t drink around Jimmie. I’m afraid he would go back and tell his mother and she would try to limit his visitations. She has told me that I’m a bad influence on him because I’ve taken him riding on the motorcycle and out to the drilling sight, where the language can get raunchy or profane. When I get back to camp, I’ll make my usual quota again.”

A slow dance tune began to play.  He got up, took my hand and led me onto the dance floor. He held me close to him and I put my head on his shoulder. The thought occurred to me that if he wasn’t so heavily into beer drinking, perhaps I could….I stopped myself in the middle of my thought. “ This is crazy! What am I thinking?”

It was almost midnight when we pulled into the garage. I helped JB fasten the cover on his car and went into the house to get ready for bed.

“Let’s sit up and talk a while….tomorrow night you’ll be here all alone and I’ll be chugging away on a train back to camp. We can sleep late in the morning,” he suggested.

I made some coffee and took it into the living room. “Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Not really….I’m still stuffed from dinner, but if you’re hungry, there must be something in the refrigerator that looks good. You know, we should have brought some pie back with us.”

I found some leftover cornbread from the night before and a jar of Lily’s fig jam. It was an odd combination, but it did look interesting.

“I can’t believe you’re going to eat that stale cornbread. Lily usually uses it for chicken stuffing.”

“Well JB, I don’t think you Texans will ever figure out the ways of the Yankees.

He came over to where I was standing and took the dish of cornbread from my hands and placed it on a table. He put his arms around me and without any warning, he kissed me — the very same way he did after the marriage ceremony. He just held me close and neither one of us said a word. When I looked up at him, he kissed me again.

“I was waiting for you to slap my face, but since you didn’t, I want you to know that I think I’m falling in love with you. Forgive me, Laurel….I had no intention of complicating your life by letting this happen. I couldn’t control the feelings that came over me these past two weeks. Maybe I’ve loved you all along, from the day you offered me your seat on the bus. You were different from all the girls I’ve known. You had no idea who I was or what I had — you just innocently offered to help me get back to camp. The thought never occurred to anyone else on that bus, while I was standing there begging the driver to let me ride to town. I hung around for a whole year….just hoping….just hoping that the fence you had around you would eventually come down.”

His eyes were pleading for me to understand.

“I suppose you know you have a reputation of being a playboy. Why would you ever give me a second glance? I’ve seen the Texas girls in the newspapers and in the stores. They are absolutely gorgeous and probably have cute accents — I’m a plain country girl from New ‘Jersey.’”

“I may have been a playboy at one time, but I learned my lesson. After the accident, I had a long recovery period ahead of me. Those gorgeous girls forgot all about me and found other playboys to show them a good time. It was very depressing for me to accept the fact that I was being used. That’s why I joined the army — everybody is treated equally and I found out who my real friends were. It wasn’t easy to get into the army with that metal plate in my head, but I knew the right people. I’ve had time to find myself and think about the future….that is, if there is one out there for me. I really never expected to go overseas and hopefully, it isn’t too late to get the orders changed.”

“JB, I don’t know what to say. This puts a whole new spin on our relationship. I want to take my life one day at a time. Everyone’s future is so uncertain right now.  I’ve made a promise to Bob and I’m carrying his child. I just….I just want to wait and see what tomorrow brings.”

“That sounds fair.” He kissed me on the forehead and went into his room.

I went out onto the patio and sat under the stars for a long time. It was so peaceful and quiet.  Every once in a while I’d hear some bird calls — maybe a bird looking for its mate — or just looking for a mate. Life is like that — deep down all God’s creatures yearn for a mate.

It wasn’t too long ago that I wondered if JB had feelings for me, but I discounted the possibility, thinking that he would have made his moves more aggressively over time. But now I see he preferred to play his game like the fox and the chicken house. We enjoyed a comfortable friendship together. Without him, well, no telling what decision I would have been forced to make on my own. He assured me, protected me, and supported me in this most bewildering time in my life. How could I ever repay him for his kindness — and now love enters into the picture. Should I feel guilty about any obligation I owe him? I would have to back off because of his love for booze. In no uncertain terms would I ever want to be married to an alcoholic and, although I shouldn’t accuse him of being one, he definitely seemed to be a habitual beer drinker. That weakness would not provide the type of environment I’d want for my children.

I went back into my room and closed the drapes. Somehow, I could still hear JB saying, “I was waiting for you to slap my face.” Why didn’t I slap him? He was expecting me to do so. What had caused me to return his kiss?  Could it possibly be that I was falling in love with him — or was I being influenced by all the luxuries that suddenly surrounded me? I had no idea what had caused me to respond to the encounter. Perhaps it was just the loneliness and the security I found in his arms.

I picked up the locket that Bob had given me so long ago. I kissed it and held it to my heart. “Forgive me Bob, I’m so sorry I ever thought about another man. I kissed the locket again and snapped it open — his picture was missing!

CHAPTER 19

Why hadn’t it occurred to me before? Maybe I’m not pregnant! I never had morning sickness. Just because I missed my period, I suspected that I was pregnant. Suppose I had a female problem or the stress and anxiety over Bob’s departure to a war zone had disrupted my cycle’s regularity. I’d really complicate this agonizing situation if I married JB and wasn’t pregnant, I’d lose Bob for sure.
The only alternative was to schedule an appointment with an out-of-town gynecologist and base my decision on his diagnosis.

I had no idea what to expect when I entered the doctor’s office. Most of the seats were occupied by pregnant women, in the late stages of pregnancy. Fortunately, I didn’t recognize any of them — and they didn’t recognize me either. As they were called in to see the doctor, I watched them leave the room and had a hard time believing that I would ever get so rotund. Apparently, they lost the glow that JB was talking about. Their skin appeared blotchy and they looked very uncomfortable, as they struggled to get up from their chairs and shuffle down the hall. Finally, I was called in.
What happened in that examining room was the shock of my lifetime. Words could never describe the humiliation of the vaginal examination. I learned the purpose of the stirrups on the sides of the examining table, for the first time in my life and was totally embarrassed that all my private parts were on display before the gynecologist’s face.
When the examination was completed, the doctor confirmed the pregnancy and supplied me with literature on diet, vitamins and exercise — and told me to return in six weeks.
Sleep didn’t come easy that night. I must have dozed off for only a couple of hours. Marrying JB was the last thing I thought I’d ever have to decide. What had been a wonderful friendship, could take on a whole new definition over night. JB had been around for almost a year and never, in all that time, did romance enter into the relationship. He was always JB — sort of the cowboy-type — who could put a funny twist on just about any subject. I never teased him into thinking I was falling in love with him and I assumed he never intended for us to be anything but friends. He knew I was crazy about Bob and respected that serious relationship. If only there was a way to contact Bob before considering JB’s offer.
In the morning, I called Ft. Benning, in hopes that they could offer some assistance, but was discouraged by their strict and secretive military regulations. I came to the conclusion that with a war in progress, women impregnated by their soldiers were way down at the bottom of the priority list.
That night, I wrote a long letter to Bob, telling him of the pregnancy and, at the same time, trying to make JB’s offer sound like a justified, but temporary, solution to our situation. The plan appeared to provide a safe haven for the baby and me until he returned to the states. As I wrote, I wondered if he would be sympathetic and understanding of the painful and humiliating circumstances that were before me. I begged his forgiveness and assured him that I’d never love another man and would love him forever — regardless of how he felt about my decision. If he never wanted to see me again — I’d understand. If I had chosen to remain in town, the thought of an abortion certainly would be on my parent’s agenda. Instead, I chose to leave town and wait out the war with the baby.
I read the letter over and over again and, each time I read it, I felt as though my heart and soul were disintegrating within me. I didn’t want to mail the letter. I didn’t want to marry JB — and I definitely did not want to lose Bob. My head was spinning with confusion and indecision — and so, like the seasoned gambler, I laid all my chips on the table and hoped for a lucky draw. Maybe Bob would get the letter before I left and maybe he’d have a solution that would not be so complicated — and maybe this was just another “maybe” that would not work out the way I planned.

JB gave me a whole week to think over his offer. When he came to the door, he seemed very nervous and on edge. My first suspicion was that he changed his mind and decided not to get involved with me. Instead, he was concerned about the short time frame we had to complete our plans. He had a two-week furlough coming up, which he felt was sufficient to get married and settled in Dallas, before he shipped out overseas.
“Are you sure you want to go through with this for me, JB? You probably have things to do before you leave the country and you should be spending your time with your family. I have no idea how they will feel about me. They’ll probably think I’m some floozy that roped you in.”
JB laughed at that remark and replied, “No, I doubt if they will think you roped me in.”
I was confused, at the time, as to why he laughed at my comment, but didn’t pursue the subject any further.
Before I went to bed that night, I wrote a letter to my brother, who was attending school in Illinois. I shared with him that I was leaving temporarily and would explain it all later. My mail would be forwarded to him and, in turn, he could route it to my new address. I trusted him to keep my whereabouts a secret and would let me know how things were back home.
The most difficult composition was my farewell letter to my parents. I wanted them to be assured that I loved them and didn’t want them to worry. When the time was right, I would return, but for now, I had to be in control of my life in new surroundings.
One week later, at the stroke of midnight, I quietly lowered my suitcase from the bedroom window and slid down to the ground. JB was waiting. I was surprised to see an army truck parked in the alley with about 20 soldiers sitting on benches in the back. They were all on furlough and also on their way to the railroad station in Philadelphia. All the way up to the terminal I wondered what would happen if they got caught with me on board. But army trucks were common sights in New Jersey and probably wouldn’t attract any attention unless they had an accident or broke down. As we neared the station, JB suggested that he and I switch to a taxi as a precaution — just in case the MP’s decided to check out the truck.
“Well, this is it,” I thought. “There’s no turning back now. Bob probably didn’t get my letter in time to do anything.” I’m on my own now.”
As I settled into my sleeping berth, the train jerked a couple of times and began rolling. The sounds of the clickity-clack on the rails accelerated — faster and faster — I closed my eyes and dreamed I was at the Plaza with Bob.

Bob’s thoughts were far from the Plaza and its luxurious surroundings. Bob and his division were in North Africa, preparing for the invasion into Italy.

CHAPTER 20
I slept remarkably well and awoke to the same clickity-clack that lulled me to sleep after we boarded the train. The countryside was rolling by and the landscape was a beautiful green, with rolling hills in the distance.
The thought of a cup of coffee spurred me on to get washed and dressed and search the cars for JB and his buddies. The four of them were having coffee in the dining car.
“We were worrying about you, Laurel. Thought maybe you changed your mind and got off the train at the last stop,” JB said, winking at me as he pulled another chair up to the table.
“How long have you been up?” I asked.
“We never went to sleep. We drank beer and played cards all night. By the way, Laurel, do you play poker?”
Well….no, but I guess I could learn. I will not play for money. I’m afraid I’d lose it all to you card sharks.”
“I’ll bank ya’….it’s no fun unless you play for money, Laurel,” JB volunteered.
“I don’t know about that. Seems to me you’re teaching me bad habits already. Before I’d know it, you guys will have me drinking beer and dealing cards like the hussies in the Western movies. Right now, all I’m thinking about is a hot cup of coffee and some cereal. Did you fellows eat already?” I questioned.
They had, but decided to order more coffee and donuts. We sat at the table for at least an hour. I had no idea what they were talking about — all army talk. I studied their faces and the sheer joy they were having — laughing at each other and at whatever else they were discussing — all guy talk. I began to have second thoughts about my decision to marry JB. Would I be happy with his friends? Is this his idea of a good time? My mother had a great expression to apply to just such a situation — “jumping from the frying pan into the fire.” I could feel the fire at my feet already. How about — “they won’t buy the cow if you give away the milk!” Her repertoire was endless, but apparently I didn’t pay too much attention to any of it at the time — although, I must say, I did remember them. Many times I asked myself, “Would Bob buy the cow?”
The dining car had emptied and we left too. The men took a nap and I made myself comfortable by the window and watched the scenery pass by. The ride seemed endless! Once in a while the train would slow down at crossings, as it passed through the small towns along the railroad tracks. The names of the communities were posted on the depot, but rarely did any of those names seem familiar. I had no idea where we were , but we had left the rolling hills behind and the landscape was becoming quite flat, but still very green — probably the result of lots of rain or the numerous rivers in the vicinity. There were still so many miles to cover. I dozed off thinking about the fearless, patient pioneers in their covered wagons who crossed the prairies. I would not have been a good pioneer.
JB was sitting beside me when I opened my eyes. “You snore.”
“I’ve been told that before. Did I disturb the passengers?”
“I doubt it. If you did, someone would have you put off the train long ago….I mean they would have wakened you,” he snickered.
“Now I’m embarrassed! Behind my back they’ll probably refer to me as the ‘snorer‘.” I looked around and noticed everyone seemed occupied with reading or puzzles — I felt safe. JB invited me to play poker in the club car, which was a welcome change from watching the scenery — and I played for money and won.

After two days on the train, we pulled into the Dallas station. My first impression of the city was “I can’t believe any place could be this hot!”
JB laughed. “It’s going to get a lot hotter in July and August….but you’ll get used to it.”
We started down the stairs to the street level and noticed several people waving at us — one was a gentleman in a wheelchair. JB waved back. I assumed his family had come to welcome him home.
I had spoken to his mother and sister on several occasions when JB phoned home and felt relaxed in their company. His dad, who was wheelchair bound, was not quite as friendly. He sat straight and dignified and appeared to be quite tall and handsome with salt and pepper hair. He watched my every move and listened to every word I said, giving me reason to believe that he did not approve of the marriage. Well, if he objected to the arrangement, I had no intention of making an issue of his feelings. JB didn’t have to marry me — and I was confident that he would let me stay at his home while he was away.
The ride through Dallas proved one point — it was new, clean and beautiful and strikingly unlike any city back east. The women dressed stylishly and the men wore suits with ties. Indeed, my wardrobe was inadequate and obviously out of style. I wondered if JB or his mother had a sewing machine. There was no way that I could afford to buy clothes, but I could probably sew quite a few outfits at a substantial savings. Before long, those clothes would be too small and I’d have to start sewing maternity wear.
JB held my hand and squeezed it once in a while as we drove through town, as if to give me support and assurance that everything was okay. It was a long drive. His home was clear on the other side of Dallas and relatively close to a lake. My first thoughts were of mosquitoes. Were they as bad in Texas as they were in New Jersey?
JB helped me out of the car and said, “Welcome home, Laurel!”
For a second, his remark made the hair on my arm stand straight up. Those were the very words I had hoped that Bob would say to me when he carried me across the threshold. But this wasn’t Bob and JB’s remark seemed to have a ring of permanency to it. Somehow, in my heart I knew this whole arrangement wasn’t right and I should back out of it before it was too late.
His family left us off and continued on their way. “They liked you. I could tell,“ he assured me.
“How did you know that was on my mind?”
“I’ve known you a long time, Laurel. You can’t hide anything from me. I can read you like a book. You’re concerned about my dad, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes. He doesn’t appear too friendly and manages to keep his distance. I felt like I was up for auction and he was trying to decide if he should put in a bid.”
“Give him time….that’s just the way he is. He doesn’t make friends very easily. Believe me, he has to establish trust in you before he opens up. You’ll see. In a couple of weeks the two of you will be good buddies. Sometimes you have to look back at his life to judge who he is. He worked in the oil fields from the time he was about my brother’s age. His parents had a cattle ranch in West Texas and he hated being a cowboy. In his heart, he believed there was oil on the ranch because it appeared that the land had been an ancient sea at one time — samples from the layers of rock revealed exciting possibilities. He just wanted a chance to try his luck. His dad figured he’d come up with some dry holes and give up the idea. Well, the first well was dry — so was the second, but the third one was a real gusher. That excitement encouraged him to continue with the drilling. There wasn’t any job that he couldn’t do — rig builder, driller, roughneck, and sometimes working 24 hours a day. He worked hard and earned every dollar this family ever made. The sad part of the story is that he was hurt seriously several times and those injuries now have returned to haunt him in his golden years…. thus the wheelchair.”
“He doesn’t go out in the oil fields any more. Maybe once in a great while he’ll drive out there with me, but he hates to be seen in the wheelchair. He seems to be happy, in his own way, with his memories of his better days. He was a little disappointed that I wasn’t as enthusiastic about drilling for oil as he was, so he insisted that I study geology, in hopes that it would spark some interest in me. My interest has always been in motorcycles and I can’t explain it….even though it nearly killed me.”

JB picked up my luggage and carried it into what he referred to as “your” room. It was a large room with two windows and a door that led to the back yard. I opened the door and stepped out onto the patio that overlooked the pool. “This is the most beautiful home I’ve ever seen….just like Hollywood.”
“No, just like Texas,” he responded.
“JB, that bed looks so comfortable. Would you mind if I took a bath and a short nap? I’m really tired from the trip and wouldn’t mind a bit, if you visited with your family this evening. It would also give them the opportunity to discuss family affairs without me being present.”
“They’d appreciate that and so would I, but I want you to feel included in our family get-togethers.” He gave me a light hug and went over to his private side of the house — which he reminded me was “off limits.” A few minutes later, I heard the motorcycle take off down the street.
My curiosity about that “private” side of the house led me to try the door knob to his bedroom and was disappointed to find it locked. What could he possibly have in there that he would guard with such secrecy? Across the hall from his bedroom was his den. That door was unlocked.
As the door swung open, a sense of guilt swept over me. I was well aware that I shouldn’t be snooping around, but I just had to satisfy my inquisitive natural instinct. Locked behind the glass doors of the display cases was the story of JB’s accomplishments and disappointments. There were trophies in all sizes and shapes, the most beautiful one was that of a rider on his motorcycle, which was molded in brass or gold. One wall displayed pictures of him in the winner’s circles and action photos taken during races. Tucked away behind the door was the newspapers’ coverage of his accident at Daytona Beach. There were also pictures and articles that followed up on his recovery. I became oblivious of my surroundings and studied every picture and read all the news and magazine articles. The description of the accident was so seriously vivid that tears filled my eyes, at the thought of the agony he endured over time. I turned away to leave and was horrified to see JB standing in the doorway. I could see he was angry.
“You haven’t even unpacked your bag yet and already you’re breaking the house rules! When I told you this was a ‘private’ area, I had hoped that you would respect my wishes. This room is my ‘life’ and it is rarely shared with anyone except my housekeeper….whom I’ve known all my life.”
“I’m sorry, JB. I was just looking for you to say goodnight, just in case I was asleep when you got home.”
His face softened a bit, but a trace of a sneer remained. “Goodnight, Laurel”….and he locked the door to the den.

WAR

CHAPTER 17

Maybe it was the war — or maybe it was love. Something had changed me from a light hearted teenager to a serious adult with a whole new set of values. Instead of volunteering to entertain the troops, I now used my time to roll bandages or help out at the ration board. No longer was it fun to dance the night away with strangers; just the thought of enjoying myself, while so many men were being sacrificed in the war, would give me a guilty conscience. The feeling of belonging and working for a cause occurred after Bob and I became engaged and he went off to war. It was as though he took my heart with him into combat.
Sometimes, when I felt so alone and confused, I wondered if I’d ever be happy again. It was during just such an emotional turmoil that I met two sisters from the order of St. Francis. They were returning to their convent when I caught up with them and helped carry their groceries. As we walked, we talked about the war and our friends and family in the armed forces. When we finally reached the convent, they invited me into their chapel and we prayed together for the war to end. For the first time in ages, I felt at peace.
The inner peace encouraged me to visit the church more often, if only to just sit there and think of absolutely nothing. It was during one of these meditation sessions that I noticed a person sliding into the pew beside me. I turned my head slowly to see if I knew who it was and was surprised to see Bob’s mother. She didn’t look well at all. She was as white as a sheet; her eyes were red and her makeup was smeared. She appeared to have been crying for some time. What could have caused her to be so upset? Whatever it was, it must have been very personal or tragic.
“Beverly, what’s wrong? Tell me why you’ve been crying.”
I reached over to hold her hand and noticed that she was ice cold and trembling — and her pulse was beating rapidly.
“Take a deep breath, Beverly….now exhale. Do it again and again….again, keep taking the deep breaths.”
She looked at me and big tears began rolling down her cheeks.
“It looks like you’re getting some color back….are you feeling a little better?”
She nodded her head, looking very tired.
“You stay here and try to relax while I get you a cup of water. Keep taking the deep breaths.” I dashed off, hoping she would be okay by herself.
As I hustled along, I noticed my legs felt weak and I too was trembling. Never before had I been confronted with a similar situation and wondered if a doctor should be called. What could have upset her like this? I told myself it wasn’t about Bob and prayed all the way back to the pew that Bob was all right.
She was still sniffling when I handed her the water. “Sip it slowly, Beverly, and keep taking those deep breaths and exhaling in between the sipping. She didn’t have a handkerchief so I searched through my purse for a clean one. Luckily, I had one and dampened its corner with some of the water to refresh her face.
As she regained her composure, she began to talk in between her sobbing. “Laurel….I heard on the 12 o’clock news that….a convoy had been torpedoed….in the Mediterranean Sea. Bob is on his way….to North Africa.“ She began crying again.
I was becoming unglued myself. I wondered if I could remain calm in the midst of all the turmoil.
“Oh Laurel, this war is driving me crazy. With two sons and two sons-in-law on active duty, I’m afraid I’m beginning to fall apart. I don’t know how I could live if anything happened to them. It seemed like only yesterday when the two boys were babies. They were my whole life.” She cried some more and then continued, “I loved them and raised them to be good respectable men and then, in the prime of their lives, they were sent out in harm’s way. I dreamed of the days ahead when I’d hold their children in my lap. Now this war has to happen and bring with it so much sadness and uncertainty.”
“Beverly, you don’t know if it was Bob’s convoy that was torpedoed. There are convoys leaving every day. What makes you think Bob was on his way to North Africa? He told me he had no idea where he was going.”
“Laurel, he knew where he was going. He didn’t tell me either, but he told his dad. He became upset when he heard the newscast and said he hoped Bob wasn’t in that convoy.”
“Worrying isn’t going to help us. Let’s just sit here quietly and pray for a little while. “ We sat there together in the quiet of the church and prayed that God would keep her sons safe.
When she regained her composure, she stood up and was ready to leave.
“I’ll walk you out to the car. Are sure that you’re okay to drive? Perhaps you’d like me to call someone to take you home?”
“I really wasn’t going home. This is my afternoon to play bridge. I don’t know if I can keep my mind on the game today. Besides the bad news on the radio, the four of us are on a diet and all we talk about is food and how great it will be when we can fit into our clothes again. I’m not too thrilled about this diet program. The pills contain a laxative that seems to be making me very weak….and I’m trembling a little, too. We plan to lose about ten pounds and then rest for a week, before starting up with the pills again, I’ll be so glad when we reach our ideal weight. All four of us put on so much weight since menopause. It’s so difficult to look attractive these days. Nothing seems to fit and I tire so easily. Life isn’t much fun when you’re tired.”
“Maybe you should go home and have something nourishing to eat. Lie down for a little while and get your strength back. If that doesn’t help, call the doctor. You might consider giving up the diet pills. You can lose weight by eating vegetables and, at the same time, retain your nutrition. It sounds risky to take a laxative every day.”
“You’re probably right. Maybe I should go home, but then I’ll mess up the bridge game. They are probably sitting around waiting for me to show up. Besides, playing cards for a couple of hours could be just what the doctor ordered. If I go home, I’ll keep worrying about the convoy. I also have to pick up a supply of the diet pills, so I’d better get going. You are a good girl, Laurel. I’m glad Bob wants to marry you! Do you want a ride home?”
“No thanks. You take care and call me tomorrow. Let me know how you feel and if I can help you….”
She smiled, waved, and drove off. All I could think of was that Bob had told his family that we were engaged. It made me happy that she liked me and approved of Bob’s decision.”

On my way to work in the morning, I stopped in at the newspaper store to pick up a New York edition, which would probably have better coverage of the convoy than our local press. When I walked in, I noticed an unusual number of conversations going on among the customers and overheard the name, Beverly Martin, mentioned. I eased in to better hear the discussion. Beverly and her three friends passed away in their sleep during the night. One of the women in the store was a nurse, who seemed to know they were taking diet pills. “Their potassium level could have become so low that it affected the heart. That’s what killed them. All four of them were taking the pills,” the nurse concluded, shaking her head.
I got a chill and wondered if her heart was bothering her when she came to the church. Should I have called the doctor? All kinds of questions were being raised by my conscience. I did want her to go home. I did suggest that Beverly call a doctor, but she chose not to take my advice. I paid for the paper and continued on my way to work, knowing that I had lost a good friend.

The day of the funeral was bright and sunny. Never had I seen such a large funeral. The church was filled with friends and relatives. Flowers were decked around the altar — flowers in every color of the rainbow. Beverly’s two daughters sat in the first pew with their father; Bob and his brother were unable to take military leave for the funeral.
I walked up the aisle to view her body and say a prayer by the casket, before addressing the family. Bob’s father took my hand and offered me a seat beside his daughters. This gesture was very touching and for that short period of time, I felt like a member of the family.

CHAPTER 18

The old pear tree swayed slowly to and fro in the breeze, as if beckoning me to come over and sit beneath her outstretched branches. This lovely old tree was all decked out in her white blossoms — some of them floating softly to the ground — a few of them gently caressing my cheeks and hair and coming to rest in my lap. In about eight months, this lap would cradle a precious baby, who would know only the love of a mother until the father returned home from the war.
The gentle breeze whispered through the branches, as if to calm my fears and the confusion that had surfaced since the pregnancy was suspected. All the plans and hopes for a brighter tomorrow seemed as scattered as the pear tree’s blossoms. Inside of me was a guarded secret that I was determined would be my responsibility.
How simple it would be if Bob were here. He’d marry me and life would go on as usual. If I shared my secret with my mother, for certain she would tell my father, who would probably beat the daylights out of me for bringing disgrace to the family. Or, worse yet, they may insist that I have an abortion — “so no one would ever know.” I thought of Bob’s mother and wondered how she would have
reacted to the prospect of having a grandchild. Would she have taken me in and fulfilled her dream of holding her son’s child on her lap, or would she too have looked upon me with disrespect, perhaps thinking that I deliberately got pregnant to make Bob marry me? I’ll never know, but I’d like to think that she would have accepted me with open arms.
There was almost $200 in my piggy bank — not nearly enough to last very long if I left town. Of course, I would have to work for months before the delivery, that is if I were physically able — and then, how would I manage after the baby came? All my wasted dreams flashed before me. My dreams of raising my child at home was out of the question. I’d have to hire a stranger to care for the baby! Who would hold him when he was sick, or kiss the boo-boos when he hurt — a stranger? How sad! Just when I had reached a point, when I felt confident that my goals in life were realistic and achievable, a new door opened to a new dilemma.
As a last resort, there was always the Catholic hospital that took in the unmarried pregnant girls and put them to work in the laundry room. In desperation, I could call on the sisters at the convent and ask them for help. I also thought about the Catholic orphanage and wondered it I could work there, taking care of children, until the baby and I could go home to Bob, when the war was over.
All these alternatives — and each one breaking my heart. It brought to mind the incident about the l6 year old pregnant girl and the married army captain. She practically disappeared from the face of the earth. For the first time I realized how she must have felt and I was sorry for the way she was treated. She stood in the center of the circle and was stoned by the captain and his men, anyway, it seemed that way at the time. I never realized how deeply she must have suffered throughout her hopeless situation.
How could there be so many problems on such a lovely summer’s day? The sun was warm and the thick patch of clover beside me yielded three four-leaf clovers. I sneered and shook my head at the prospect of them bringing me good luck — but decided to press them in the dictionary anyway, just in case…
As I stood up to shake off the pear blossoms, I noticed a soldier coming down the road, carrying a brown bag.
“That must be JB with his two quarts of beer,” I thought.
He saw me looking in his direction and waved. “Watcha’ all doin’ over there all by yourself?”
I brought over another chair for him and he opened one of the bottles of beer.
“Do you always carry a bottle opener with you?” I laughed.
“It does come in handy….doesn’t it?” he grinned.
I got him a glass from the house, despite his insistence that he could drink from the bottle.
“How come you’re out here….something wrong? Look at me Laurel, something is wrong, isn’t it?….Have another fight with your dad?”
“It’s not that kind of a problem….and I don’t know if I want to share it with you.”
“Come on, Laurel….you know you can tell me anything. I’m your friend. I’ll always understand, or at least I’ll try to understand….depending on what the problem is, of course.”
“JB, I doubt if you would understand or even want to be my friend, if I told you.”
He sat there sipping his beer, looking at me as if searching for a clue.
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you? You’ve put on a little weight and you have that glow about you.”
His guess took me by surprise. I wondered if anyone else had made that observation — especially my mother. She claimed to have a way of detecting a pregnancy the day after conception, which, of course, was a little exaggerated.
I stared back at JB, trying to decide if I should share my secret with him.
“I hit the nail right on the head, didn’t I? Laurel, when I saw you kissing Bob goodbye at the bus station, and how unstrung you were when you got on the bus, the first thing I thought was — I hope she didn’t get pregnant!”
I put my head down and started to cry. “JB, I’ll understand if you leave and never come back, but please don’t do it before you help me decide what I can do for myself and the baby.”
He reached over and patted my hand. “I’ll always be your friend, Laurel. You know that — but I came over today to tell you some of my bad news. You see, we were told this morning that we would be leaving in six weeks and if we had any unfinished business to get it settled. I had no idea that I’d be faced with your problem….and what a big one it is!”
“Forget it, JB. I feel foolish that I even asked you to get involved. I’ll think of something. I have a couple of ideas that may work out.”
“Like what?”
“Like working in a Catholic hospital or an orphanage, if I have to….”
“Laurel, they usually put babies of unwed mothers up for adoption. Is that what you are planning? They probably won’t even take you in unless you signed papers to give up the child to them.”
I felt my heart sink into my shoes. That thought never entered my mind. Of course, there is always the fine print that most people don’t read. I’d probably be so nervous that I would just sign my name on the blanks right after the “X”. Bob would never forgive me if I gave away his child, even if it was unintentional — or a matter of stupidity. I wanted to change the subject — the cold hard facts began to hurt deeply.
“Do you know where your outfit is going?”
“Overseas, I guess. We’ll learn more as the date of departure approaches. I’ll get a furlough within that time frame to go home and say goodbye to the folks.”
He sat quietly for a while and then spoke up again. “You know, Laurel, I’d really like to help you get settled down someplace before I leave. I wouldn’t want to worry about you being out there with a baby — not knowing if you have a roof over your head or food on the table. This situation brings back bad memories of my own problem with a pregnant girlfriend. It’s unbelievable how quickly time passes and how quickly that belly grows. Before you know it, the whole town will know and they will be whispering behind your back. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.”
I looked up at his face and could see that he was sincerely concerned.
“Thanks for talking this out with me. I was about to explode. I needed someone to talk to and you have always been that special friend….in good and bad times. I dare say, lately I’ve gotten myself into some doozies.”
He pulled his chair closer to mine and sat down. “Laurel, would you want to marry me? Please don’t think you have to give me a reply right now, but think about it. It will be strictly to see that you and the baby are cared for and when Bob comes back, I’ll let you divorce me. You and the baby will get an allotment from the government for expenses and you could live in my home. I occupy it when I’m in Dallas — so I don’t have to stay with my folks. My brother and sister are teenagers and they have something going on all the time — and I like my space and privacy. That’s all I ask. Now….don’t jump to a decision. Give it some thought and we’ll talk about again in a day or two.”

CHAPTER 16

“What kind of book is that?” My mother asked. “I’ve noticed you writing in it every night. Surely, it isn’t a diary, or is it?”
“No, it isn’t a diary. I’m writing a love story about the handsome soldier who rides up in a jeep and rescues the lonely girl from her boring life.” I gave her a sly look and a smile.
“Is JB the handsome soldier?”
“Mom, JB is like a brother. I said I’m writing a love story. It just might turn out to be good enough to get published. Anyway, one thing certain is that I’ll always enjoy reading it and, maybe someday, my children will too.”
“You’re getting a little ahead of the story, aren’t you?” she muttered as she prepared dinner. “Besides, you don’t know anything about writing books. How do you know you aren’t wasting your time and paper on something that will eventually end up in the trash can?”
“Oh come on Mom. Encourage me! It’s a good idea. Don’t you ever look back to the times when you were young and had boyfriends? Don’t you ever wish you had written down everything about those wonderful times, so you could remember them after the romance had dwindled down to a dying ember?”
There was a pause in the conversation. I looked over at Mom. She was gazing out the window, completely lost in her thoughts. Our conversation must have recalled something about the past — perhaps a lost love.
“Mom, what are your thinking?”
She looked over in my direction and moved away from the window. As she turned the chops in the frying pan, she began her story. “I had a lost love. I was only 16 at the time. He was a young doctor in a Brooklyn hospital, near our apartment house. He was deeply in love with me….so much so, that he begged my parents to let me enroll in the nursing school at the hospital, where he was practicing. It was all so exciting.” Her face brightened and her eyes sparkled for a few short moments. “I so wanted to be a nurse and was very flattered by his attention — but my parents said he was much too old for me. Our only alternative was to meet each other on the sly. One night my father caught us together. He was so angry and determined to break up the romance that he quit his job and moved the family from Brooklyn to a little farm in New Jersey, where he was sure the doctor would never find us. But he did, because I wrote to him and told him where we were. My father was so angry, he couldn’t see straight. I have no idea what he told the doctor. All I remember is that my doctor left and I never heard from him again. All my life I’ve thought about him and how different my life could have been. I could have been a nurse and married to a doctor! I probably would have had a beautiful home, expensive clothes , jewelry and a fancy car. All my hopes and dreams vanished that one day on the farm.”
I got up and put my arms around her. “Oh Mom, I’m so sorry. You never talked about that time in your life. I always suspected that you weren’t very happy and there was very little, if any, romance in your marriage. I don’t ever remember seeing you and dad hugging or kissing. All I remember are arguments and seeing you pushed around. Why in the world did you stay in the marriage if you were so miserable?”
“I stayed for you and your brother. Besides, you father is so jealous of me that I never would have been able to meet or marry any other man. You know how controlling he is. I’m not strong enough to stand up to him and defy his orders. The very thought of the consequences scares me to death. Oh well, so much for the lost love in my life…..”
She just stood there with a few tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have to set the table for dinner. Why don’t you put away your papers and tell your father dinner is ready.”
I wiped away the tears, gave her a little squeeze on her arm and left the room.
I had learned a whole new chapter in my mother’s life. Our sad little discussion helped me understand why my father wouldn’t let her buy clothes or spend any money on herself that would improve her appearance. He did not want her to look attractive and feel good about herself. Before Mom got married, she was very beautiful — but later she was unable to lose the weight she gained during her two pregnancies. She was a little on the plump side and, I suppose, that if she had a happy home life, she could have concentrated on losing a few pounds and looking like the beauty she once was.

That night, it was very difficult to get to sleep. The discussion that I had with my mother before dinner kept playing and replaying over and over again in my mind. There appeared to be more to the scenario than she told me. The more I concentrated on our conversation, the more memories were shaken from the dusty crevices of my mind. I began to recall incidents that caused me to wonder if, because she had lost her love, she was taking her revenge out on other people who were in love. There seemed to be a definite pattern within the family circle.
When I was about five years old, my dad’s brother lived next door to us. He appeared to be happily married to a jolly, and fairly attractive heavy-set woman named Ella. I clearly remember hearing her tell my mother that she had a boyfriend in Baltimore who she visited a couple of times a month because my uncle was not very romantic. A few months later, my uncle filed for divorce and Aunt Ella moved to Baltimore. Uncle Tom’s life was totally miserable after the divorce. Although he remarried, he never seemed as contented as he was with Aunt Ella. Recalling this first incident led me to wonder if my mother had played a part in the divorce — other than being a witness at the divorce proceedings.
And then there was Uncle Larry, who was handsome and a great dancer, but who remained single until he was almost 50. He fell head over heels in love with a school teacher from another city and, because he did not have a phone, he told his girlfriend to call him at our house. I was right there when the phone rang and heard my mother telling Uncle Larry’s girl that she was his wife and to stop calling him. Not only did she stop calling him, but he never was able to meet with her to explain.
How many other times had that game been played? I sat up in bed and tossed my bathrobe over my shoulders. A chill had run through my body and goose bumps had come up on my arms and legs. Had this all been a part of an unhealthy motive to compensate for her unhappiness? I was beginning to feel like a victim that had landed in her web of deception. Of course, this has been happening to me. The web is slowly being wrapped around me. My love affair would eventually be crushed, as well.
Parts of the puzzle were slowly bringing together the big picture. Initially, Mom made it a point of telling me that Bob was too old for me — which was similar to the excuse her parents used. Then, after I started bringing JB to the house, she said she thought that he was married. How could she make such a statement? Did she send an inquiry to the vital statistics office in his state? On another occasion, while searching for a button that fell in her waste basket, I picked up a crumpled response to a letter she had written to a parish priest regarding the character of a sailor who had attended church with me a couple of times. I couldn’t believe what she had said. I was angry at the time, but left it pass to keep peace in the house.
Now Bob is the major target. My parents objected to our dating because he was said to be fast and bragged about his conquests — an accusation I found hard to believe. Bob always treated me with respect and it was years before our affair blossomed into intimacy. When it did, I was the aggressor who led him on.
I thought of talking this over with JB but, after carefully considering the consequences of sharing my suspicions, I decided not to involve him. He had become very friendly with my parents and often visited with them. Recently, although it may have been just my imagination, I had a feeling that JB was falling in love with me and would want to be around to pick up the pieces if my love affair with Bob ended. He might not be motivated to help resolve my problems, especially if it were not to his advantage.
I crawled back under the covers and decided to let this whole predicament smolder a little longer.

Next — “War”

I didn’t mention meeting JB on the bus. In fact, I never did tell Bob that JB was just a friend. I couldn’t risk creating any doubts in Bob’s mind about my love for him, at such a crucial time in our lives.
“Was your family waiting for you when you got home?” I asked.
“I called my dad before the train left and asked him to meet me at the depot. When the train pulled in, it looked like the town hero had arrived. I guess my dad got the word out to my family and friends. They all were there to see me in my officer’s uniform. My parents had a buffet set up and everyone hung around until about ten o’clock. Actually, I was glad to see them all leave. I wanted to get to sleep so I could get up early this morning to see you.”
Bob visited for about an hour every morning. It was happiness all over again just to see him waiting for me in the office with Mr. Boyle — and the donuts and coffee.

The prospect of Bob leaving on Saturday morning, induced a hollow and empty feeling that was beginning to gnaw at my insides. I desperately wanted to be with him before he left, but had no idea how or if it could be arranged. Time was running out and, just as I was about to give up hope, JB walked into the diner on Thursday evening.
“JB, would you mind if we didn’t go to the movies tomorrow night? Something has come up and I don’t want to be rushing around.”
“That’s fine with me, Laurel. I’ll just go down to Atlantic City with the guys and see a movie on the boardwalk.”
JB didn’t seem disappointed. After all, the boardwalk theaters would be a luxury compared to our local movie house with its wooden seats.
Friday night I went to the movie alone — walked right down the aisle and out the rear exit door into the alley, where Bob was waiting for me in his brother’s car. We drove to the river and parked near the cove, where we had a good view of the water.
The moon was out, casting its romantic aura all across the riverside. The evergreens rustled in the breeze. All else was quiet, except for the sounds of the water lapping against the river bank. We nestled in each others arms and talked about the wonderful time we had together during his furlough, despite the cat and mouse game we had to play to see each other.
We got out of the car and walked down to the shore line.
“One of the first things I’m going to do when I get back is plant laurel bushes all around the cove and seed it with wild flowers. In the spring, the cove will be a glorious garden of blossoms….in every color of the rainbow. I’m going to have a bronze plaque made with “Laurel’s Cove” engraved on it. Everyone will be able to refer to the cove by its name and our family will maintain it forever.”
We held each other in a close embrace and sealed our dreams with a kiss.
“I’ll love you forever….and ever….and ever….until the end of time, my precious love,” I promised.
“I believe you and remember….I’ll love you forever, too, my darling.”
“Take good care of yourself and promise you’ll always wear the St. Christopher medal,” I added.
“I will. I have it on right now and I’ll carry the bible in my pocket. I won’t forget.”
We returned to the car and drove back to town — arriving just as the movie house was being emptied. I said goodbye and took the walkway that led to the front of the theater and mingled with the crowd.
I walked home alone, under the branches of the old maple trees that lined the streets. It was under these maples, that rainy morning, when Bob stopped to give me a ride to the post office — and my first visit to the cove. It seemed like only yesterday when I skipped home from the Sunday matinees — under these very same trees — without a care in the world. Tonight there would be no good ship named Lollipop. The only ship on my mind was the one that would be filled with soldiers, on their way to a land across the ocean. Somewhere, in that crowd of soldiers would be the love of my life, awaiting his destiny.

The sound of voices could be heard, when I reached the top of the stairs. “Who could be in the office so early?” I wondered. To my surprise, Bob was sitting in Mr. Boyle’s office — the two of them enjoying donuts and coffee.

           “Lucky for you, there are still a few donuts left,” Bob laughed. “I’ve been here since a quarter to seven. I wanted to get off the street before your dad took a notion to drive by.”

           “Looks like that officers’ training school has really paid off, lieutenant. I pity the enemy soldiers in your territory.” I rubbed his shoulder and helped myself to a donut. “Did the two of you eat nearly a dozen donuts?”

           “No. I bribed the fellows downstairs to forget they saw me come in,” he grinned.

           Mr. Boyle looked at me and smiled, revealing a large gold tooth in the front of his mouth. I could see that he was enjoying the situation. “Bob can stay for a while. As long as we aren’t busy, I don’t have a problem with him being here with you, Laurel.”

           In violation of all professional etiquette, I gave the boss a hug and a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Mr. Boyle. You are so considerate….and romantic. It may be a long time before Bob gets back from the war. Every fleeting bit of time that we spend together is very precious. We’re beginning to feel like Romeo and Juliet. My parents have been very difficult. They think that Bob is too old for me, and it has certainly created some snags in our relationship. Besides, there really isn’t that much of an age difference.

           “Laurel, it isn’t age that determines the success of a relationship or marriage — it’s the maturity of the individuals. You appear to be very mature for your age, but don’t go quoting me to your parents. My wife is several years younger than I am.  The age difference has never been a problem. We just fell in love, got married and had a family. She kept me happy by being a good wife and mother, and I made sure she never wanted for anything.”

           “That’s so beautiful, Mr. Boyle. I had no idea you were so sentimental….and such a philosopher!”

           “People have a tendency to overlook the fact that beneath my wrinkles and bent body is a heart that has loved, known joy and, at one time, broke from sorrow when my son died.”

           Bob stood up and patted Mr. Boyle’s shoulder. “Well spoken, my friend. You have my respect and deep admiration.”

           Mr. Boyle had never recovered from the loss of his son in a tragic accident. I noticed tears welling up in his eyes as he quickly arose from his chair and left the room saying, “Ill see you later.”

           “Bob, never in my wildest dreams would I have expected to see you here….and at eight o’clock in the morning!”

           “I just had to see you again and find out if you got home okay, or if there had been a confrontation when you got home.”

           “It wasn’t too bad. They were a bit reserved at first and they made it quite plain the next time I leave town, I should let them know where I would be going. Nothing to be concerned about.”

More Soon… I desperately wanted to be with him before he left.

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“I had to get away for a couple of days, JB. I needed a change….” all the while hoping that he wouldn’t ask if I had been crying. He didn’t ask, which was typical of JB. He did mind his own business.

           When the bus stopped at my street, he got off the bus with me. “I’ll carry your suitcase. Hope the neighbors don’t think we spent the weekend together….or would you rather that I didn’t walk you home?”

           “Walk me home, please….JB. I was dreading the thought of having to lug that baggage for three blocks. Believe me, I am very grateful that you were on the bus. Maybe my mother will reward you with some of her special fried chicken and biscuits .

           He laughed. “I’d have to be starving to eat that Yankee fried chicken and sweet raisin biscuits. Just kiddin’….I ate there Friday night, but not chicken and biscuits.”

          When we walked in the door, there was tension in the air. My parents, no doubt, were probably wondering why JB and I were arriving together. He, too, sensed the unusual lull in the conversation and began to explain how we ran into each other at the bus terminal.           

           I took my bag and went into my room to get into something warm and comfortable. When I returned to the kitchen, there was a fresh pot of coffee and an assortment of sandwiches on the table….and the atmosphere was cordial.

           Mom sat at the table with us. I gave her a ceramic rooster that I bought for her collection. She noticed “souvenir of New York” at the base, confirming that I didn’t spend the weekend in Atlantic City with JB.

           “So you went to New York. What did you do there?”

           “Well, on Saturday , I took a tour of the city, walked in Central Park and was too tired to do anything else in the evening. There wasn’t time for anything today.”

           JB got up from the table, initiating a change in the conversation. “Thank you for the dinner. I’d better get going or I’ll miss my ride back to camp.”

           After he was gone, my dad asked, “How come you went to New York without telling anyone where you were going? He didn’t wait for a response, but just added, “Don’t do that again!”

           “I won’t,” I replied, thinking that when the next time rolls around, I’ll be a married lady and wouldn’t have to account for my activities to anyone but Bob.

           I took refuge in my bedroom, very much relieved that everything was quite peaceful. The fact that JB was there may have kept my father’s temper under control.

           As I recalled the events of the day, I wondered if JB had seen Bob and me saying goodbye at the bus terminal.

More Tomorrow… violation of all professional etiquette