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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.

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.

“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

“Are you happy?” he asked, as he took my hands and kissed the ring. “You are in this for the long haul, I guess you know.”

           He stared right into my eyes as he spoke. Our eyes connected — as if we had exchanged a telepathic message from his soul to mine — “we will love each other forever!”

           Dinner was almost a ritual — a ceremony — like a beautiful violin instrumental. We talked and laughed, making ourselves part of the symphony.  When we had finished our dinner and arose to leave, the song ended — but I knew that the melody would linger on in our hearts ‘til the end of time.

           The fireplace had been lit in our room and welcomed us with the warmth of a home away from home. The bed had been turned down, the drapes drawn and a gift basket delivered during our absence. A bottle of champagne cooled inside an ice bucket. Two champagne glasses set side by side on a silver tray.

           Bob was all smiles. “That Clayton is a great guy. How generous of him to do all this for us. His parents are in the oil business and wealthy as all get out, .but you would never know it. He is just a down-to-earth guy. Just one of the boys. I had no idea that he would give us such a great homecoming. You’d like him, Laurel. Someday you’ll have to meet him

           “I’d like that. But, right now I’d like to get into something comfortable and maybe take a shower?” I gave him a smile and a wink and he took the hint.

           It didn’t take me long to step out of my clothes. Bob took a little longer. I watched as he carefully hung up his uniform and rolled up his underwear and socks. At the sound of his dog tags hitting the top of the dresser, my heart skipped a few beats and a damp cloud seemed to pass through the room. “He will never belong to me until those dog tags and all reminders of the military are tucked away and out of sight forever,” I thought.

           It was exciting to step into the shower and to be close to Bob again. Perhaps we could wash away all thoughts of the war and our pending separation like the soap suds that were spiraling down the drain.

           “This is almost like being married,” I heard myself saying. “Why can’t this last forever? Why must there be a war? Let’s just run away to some strange land and never come back….”

           “What are you saying, Laurel? You’re  overlooking the consequences. There will be a time for us,” and he held me close to him, which calmed the trembling that was running from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Once again I felt secure in knowing that he loved me.

           “I’m sorry, Bob,” I’m a bit sensitive tonight. It was immature of me to become unglued. I know I should be grateful for these precious moments we have together but, in my heart, I realize that the time will pass all too swiftly and you will be gone again….maybe for a very long time. Hold me in your arms tonight, dear soldier boy, and promise me you will be here in the morning. I couldn’t bear to awaken and find this all has been a dream.”

          Herbie, the mailman, walked into the diner — his eyes scanning from booth to booth, before he found me back in the kitchen. Waving an envelope, he hustled over to the pick-up window.

           “Brought you a letter, Laurel. It’s from Second Lieutenant Robert L. Martin,” he grinned. “I’ll bet you’re proud he got his promotion….”

           “You win that bet, Herbie! I can’t thank you enough for going out of your way to bring me my letter.”

           Herbie grinned — tipped his cap and was about to leave when I added, “Please, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

           He looked over his shoulder and I could see he appreciated the invitation. “Wish I could, but the family is waiting on me for dinner. I’ll take a rain check…..okay?”

           I smiled and nodded as he left.

           The letter was burning a hole in my apron pocket. It was busiest time of my shift and people were lined up waiting for tables. Judging from the size of the crowd, it would be a while before I had a chance to open the envelope.

           At the end of my shift, I took a cup of coffee to the last booth, slid over into the corner so I wouldn’t be disturbed, and gently lifted the flap on the envelope. I pressed my lips to the underside of the envelope’s flap — keeping in mind that Bob had licked that flap when he sealed the letter.

           “Dearest Love,” he wrote. “Today I became a second lieutenant and am trying to get used to being saluted every place I go. What a difference rank can make. Wait ‘til you see me in my uniform….it fits for a change….really sharp!”

           I smiled as I read those lines. How could Bob look better than he did the first time I saw him in blue jeans and a tee shirt…and he looked back over his shoulder at me? I blushed and I felt very warm all over at the very thought of him.

           Returning from my reverie, I continued to read his letter. He told me about how he led his men on maneuvers and how impressed his commanding officer was with his leadership. The boasting surprised me. Bob had always been very modest about his accomplishments. Apparently it was a tough course for most of the other guys, but Bob was a seasoned outdoorsman and a likely candidate for the infantry.

           Eventually, I got to the best part. He had a furlough coming up next week. I’d been worrying how we could ever spend any time together after my father‘s ultimatum. Remembering I was forbidden to see Bob again aroused great concern for the both of us. I was surprised to read that Bob wanted me to meet him at Grand Central Station in New York City next Friday afternoon and to spend Friday and Saturday nights at the Plaza Hotel. The treat was offered to him by of one of his buddies, whose father maintained a room at the hotel for the family and company VIP’s on business trips to the city. It all sounded so very exciting. 

           I placed the letter back into its envelope and tucked it inside my brassiere. I’d have to find a good permanent place to hide it to keep our secret safe.

           I thought Friday would never arrive. When it did, I called in sick. After my mother went into town for groceries, I left her a note to let her know that I would be away for the weekend and would return on Sunday. That’s all I wrote. I’d be out of town before she returned and wouldn’t have to lie about where I was going. When I returned, I would tell her I went to New York for a change. It sounded so easy that I hoped it would work out as planned.

           Bob was waiting for me when I arrived. When he spotted me, he hurried through the crowd waving. He looked so handsome in his new uniform — “How did I ever deserve such a hunk?” I wondered. He wrapped his arms around me and we laughed and kissed at the same time — a magic moment that was etched in my heart to last down through the years.

           We made our way through the crowd and out onto the sidewalk, which appeared to be a moving mass of khaki uniforms, interspersed with navy blues and marine greens. The buildings towered to the sky and everything looked cold and gray.

           Bob flagged a cab and in no time at all we were at the most elegant hotel, which was crowded with well-dressed visitors and celebrities. The bellhop led us to our room and as soon as he left, Bob took me in his arms.  We just stood there, holding each other tightly without saying a word.  It was really true — we were together again!

           “You look great, Laurel. I missed you….I can’t tell you how much I missed you….”

           “I missed you too….and I must say you are the most handsome soldier I’ve ever seen, and you are all mine!”

           We stood by the window overlooking Central Park. “Your buddy was very thoughtful to offer us this room. How many people ever get to stay at the Plaza?”

           “We’ll come back someday, Laurel. Don’t think of it as a ‘once in a lifetime’ event. When I get back, I’ll get a good job and we’ll splurge once in a while.”

           He kissed away a tear that had begun to roll down my cheek. “No tears, darling. This is going to be one hell of a happy weekend for us.” As he smiled down at me, he took my left hand and slid a solitaire diamond ring onto the third finger. “It’s official now….we’re engaged.”

           I wanted him to hold me forever. The engagement ring elevated our romance to a whole new plateau. I was almost married and I was so happy….“I’ll love you forever and ever, my dearest, darling husband-to-be.  Oh….The ring is so beautiful….”

           “The diamond isn’t real….but the setting is gold.” Bob seemed to be embarrassed when he added, “It was all I could afford right now and it beats no ring at all. You’ll get a real diamond on our wedding day…. Now, let’s go downstairs for dinner and celebrate.

           The tables were set with sparkling china, silver and glistening crystal. Bob mentioned something to the maitre d’ and we were whisked to a corner table, where we could have more privacy.

more tomorrow… 

Our eyes connected — as if we had exchanged a telepathic message from his soul to mine — “we will love each other forever!”

Although it was a long ride, the beauty of the cove made the trip worthwhile. Lorraine called it “a piece of heaven.”  We laughed and dreamed about buying land next to each other and being neighbors and raising our children together. We shared plans about building boats and traveling up and down the river during the warm sunny summers Our homes would have large picture windows to absorb all the beauty of nature all year long — through which we could watch the snow and ice in the winter and the kids swimming in the summer. Life would be beautiful.

           Lorraine’s boyfriend, John, was in the navy and out to sea.  The next time he returned to port, they planned to be married and live near the base.  Lorraine planned to be a teacher and thought she might have to drop out for a while to be with John. Lives were so uncertain — it all was a matter of taking one day at a time. Two weeks later, she left for Norfolk, Virginia and was married.

           I was very happy for her — and a little envious that they were able to be together now rather than having to wait for the war to end — like Bob and me. I missed Lorraine, but was thankful that JB was still around to take me to the movies or dinner once in a while. He seemed to have won over my parents, also.  Sometimes, when I returned home from work, I would find the big ten-wheeler army truck parked in front of our home and I wondered what the neighbors were thinking.  JB would be inside talking to my parents — giving my mother the perfect opportunity to invite him to a fried chicken with biscuits dinner. I could see in his eyes that he was anticipating a feast, but he was in for a surprise.

            JB just assumed that everyone knew how to make southern fried chicken and biscuits — but not my mother. She didn’t dip the chicken in flour or batter.  Instead, the chicken was fried Italian style in hot olive oil that had been seasoned with garlic and hot peppers. And as for the biscuits, Mom’s recipe contained raisins and sugar.

           When JB sat down for dinner, the expression on his face was a “Kodak moment.” Very politely and in his irresistible southwestern drawl, he asked Mom where she learned to make her chicken and biscuits “like that.”  The next time JB came to dinner, Mom stuck to what she knew best — spaghetti and meatballs.

           JB’s pleasant personality and great sense of humor made him a welcome guest whenever he was in the neighborhood. His visits became more frequent and were not  necessarily to see me — and my parents loved it. Dad joked about seeing an army truck parked on some isolated road and JB sound asleep on the ground beneath it. JB’s excuse was that after doing a geological survey he was too tired to drive back to camp.   Maybe so — or maybe he had a bottle or two of beer and didn’t want to return to camp in that condition. Since JB was my best friend, I kept my opinion to myself.  He made no secret of the fact that he loved to drink beer every night but, apparently, he also loved drinking it during the day.

More tomorrow – “Dearest Love,” he wrote.

Although it was a long ride, the beauty of the cove made the trip worthwhile. Lorraine called it “a piece of heaven.” We laughed and dreamed about buying land next to each other and being neighbors and raising our children together. We shared plans about building boats and traveling up and down the river during the warm sunny summers Our homes would have large picture windows to absorb all the beauty of nature all year long — through which we could watch the snow and ice in the winter and the kids swimming in the summer. Life would be beautiful.
Lorraine’s boyfriend, John, was in the navy and out to sea. The next time he returned to port, they planned to be married and live near the base. Lorraine planned to be a teacher and thought she might have to drop out for a while to be with John. Lives were so uncertain — it all was a matter of taking one day at a time. Two weeks later, she left for Norfolk, Virginia and was married.
I was very happy for her — and a little envious that they were able to be together now rather than having to wait for the war to end — like Bob and me. I missed Lorraine, but was thankful that JB was still around to take me to the movies or dinner once in a while. He seemed to have won over my parents, also. Sometimes, when I returned home from work, I would find the big ten-wheeler army truck parked in front of our home and I wondered what the neighbors were thinking. JB would be inside talking to my parents — giving my mother the perfect opportunity to invite him to a fried chicken with biscuits dinner. I could see in his eyes that he was anticipating a feast, but he was in for a surprise.
JB just assumed that everyone knew how to make southern fried chicken and biscuits — but not my mother. She didn’t dip the chicken in flour or batter. Instead, the chicken was fried Italian style in hot olive oil that had been seasoned with garlic and hot peppers. And as for the biscuits, Mom’s recipe contained raisins and sugar.
When JB sat down for dinner, the expression on his face was a “Kodak moment.” Very politely and in his irresistible southwestern drawl, he asked Mom where she learned to make her chicken and biscuits “like that.” The next time JB came to dinner, Mom stuck to what she knew best — spaghetti and meatballs.
JB’s pleasant personality and great sense of humor made him a welcome guest whenever he was in the neighborhood. His visits became more frequent and were not necessarily to see me — and my parents loved it. Dad joked about seeing an army truck parked on some isolated road and JB sound asleep on the ground beneath it. JB’s excuse was that after doing a geological survey he was too tired to drive back to camp. Maybe so — or maybe he had a bottle or two of beer and didn’t want to return to camp in that condition. Since JB was my best friend, I kept my opinion to myself. He made no secret of the fact that he loved to drink beer every night but, apparently, he also loved drinking it during the day.

more tomorrow…Dearest Love,” he wrote.

After a few weeks, JB and I became comfortable in a friendship that in no way involved any emotional attachments. At the time, he was my best friend. He talked freely about his family and called them every evening. I shared with him the circumstances surrounding my love for Bob and the complications encountered in recent months –and he understood.

       We attended the double feature Western movies on Friday nights and first run films on Sundays. Once in a while, we took the bus to Atlantic City just to walk on the boardwalk and feed the pigeons.  Other times, if one of our favorite bands was playing at the pier, we would dance or just sit and watch their performance if the floor was too crowded.

           One evening, as I waited for him to take me to the movies, my mother opened the conversation with, “I think JB is married.”

           “I’ll ask him,” I shot back. The remark annoyed me. Had she been investigating his background? Why would she say that or even think of making that accusation, unless she had some relevant information?

           I spotted JB coming up the walk and went down to meet him.

           “Let’s hurry so we don’t miss the beginning of the show.” I was not going to provide my mother with the opportunity to bring up the subject again.

           As the theater was about a mile from my home, we had lots of time to talk. I decided to ask if he was married.

           The question took him by surprise. He frowned and cleared his throat before admitting he had been married when he was just 17 years old — a high school romance that obligated him to marry the girl to legitimize the baby. After the baby boy was born, he divorced the girl and enrolled in college. She remarried and her husband wanted to adopt the boy, but JB refused — insisting his child would always know his real daddy.

       “You know, Laurel, I don’t think I’ve ever been in love or perhaps something died inside of me along the way. The whole situation with the pregnancy soured me on romance, leading me to concentrate on my studies and motorcycles…. By the way, why did you ask?”

        “My mother brought up the subject. Anyway, even if you were married, it wouldn’t affect our friendship. I think we’ll always be good friends….do you feel that way too?”

       “Of course,” he sighed, almost relieved the conversation was over.   

        “Now that we have that settled, let’s put it past us and enjoy the movie.”

        “Poor JB,” I thought. “No wonder he drinks…. he has had more than his share of disappointments in life — and too little love to heal the pain.”

more tomorrow … was coming of age in a “naughty but nice” time.

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“Laurel, how are you? Remember the soldier who rode home with you on the bus?” he asked with a southwestern drawl.               “Of course I remember you, JB!  How could I forget you? It isn’t every day that I sit on a soldier’s lap on the bus.”

           “Are you saying that you sit on soldiers’ laps in places other than on buses?” he asked jokingly.

           “All the time,” I laughed. “What’s in the bag….having a party back at camp?”

         “Just two quarts of beer to keep me company tonight. Look Laurel, I’m sorry I didn’t call as I promised….I think your phone number got lost in the laundry. I promised to take you to dinner for sharing your seat with me, so.…how about joining me at the diner? I hate to eat alone.”

         And so, we had dinner at the diner. We ate, drank coffee and talked for three hours. That evening I learned a lot about J. B. Bruce. His hobby had been racing motorcycles, until the year he had a serious accident at Daytona Beach. Casually, he told me he had a metal plate in his head to keep his brains from falling out. That seemed to be a serious physical disability and I wondered how he ever got into the army, when the military was rejecting men for such minor things as wearing glasses.

His family had oil wells in West Texas, but he lived in Dallas. He had a degree in geology and sometimes worked in the oil fields, but still couldn’t resist the temptation to follow the motorcycle racing circuit around the country.

         “Are you a playboy or just plain lazy?” I asked.

        He grinned. “A little of both…”

        We left the diner and he walked me home, carrying with him the two quarts of beer.

         “I hope you don’t expect me to drink beer with you….I hate the taste.”

       “Tastes good to me,” he grinned. “I won’t feel bad if you don’t drink.”

       In about an hour, he had finished the two quarts of beer and left to catch the truck back to camp. As he was leaving, I watched him walk down the street. I thought, “He should be staggering,” but he walked straight in a military stride, leading me to believe he had been drinking beer for a very long time.  I hoped he wasn’t an alcoholic.

        My mother joined me out on the porch. She seemed interested in the “new” soldier.

       “He’s just a friend. I met him on the bus a couple of weeks ago.”

       “Why don’t you invite him over for dinner some evening?” She suggested.

       I had absolutely no intent of making this friendship a family affair.

more tomorrow… one of our favorite bands was playing at the pier

I heard the phone ringing as I opened the office door. Thinking it was Bob, I answered with a lilt in my voice, “Good morning ….” 

           “Good morning, Laurel. You sound so cheerful….I’m sorry I have bad news.” It was Bob’s mother. “The army canceled Bob’s furlough and ordered him back to camp….he left right after he got back yesterday….something about the OTS classes starting sooner than originally scheduled. He tried to call you, but your mother said you were not available.”

           “I went straight to bed when I got home….I’m so sorry I missed saying good-bye to him.”

           “I hope we’ll hear from him real soon…. I’ll let you know if he calls. ‘Bye now.…” and she hung up.

           For a while I stood by the window, looking out at the grounds. There would be no shopping for an engagement ring today….How could two such glorious days turn so painful overnight? Suddenly, I was chilled.  I felt so alone, so depressed, and so helpless. All the ambition I had before I answered the phone call vanished — I didn’t feel like working, but the whole day was before me, just waiting for me to get going.

           Fortunately, it was a busy day and there was no time to dwell on the negative aspects of yesterday. It did occur to me that new arrangements would have to be made for the delivery of my mail. Since I was forbidden to see Bob again, the restriction must also include receiving his letters. As long as I continued to use my parents‘ address, there would be no way for me to know if his mail was delayed, returned to sender, or worse yet, opened and destroyed. After work, I rented a post office box, made a change of address and scribbled a short note to Bob, confident that the army would forward it to his new base. –

           On my way home, my path collided with a soldier, who was carrying a bag of something from the liquor store. I looked up at his familiar face just as he greeted me.

More tomorrow… two quarts of beer to keep me company tonight