Beautiful Blue World (7 page)

TYE AND KAMMI SHRIEKED
with laughter as Father made a boiled egg disappear, only to reappear moments later. Tye flipped his hands over after each disappearance to confirm that the egg wasn't there.

We never had eggs. And Father was treating this one like a toy.

“No school for you this morning.” Mother set a plate of toast in front of me. She set down a second plate of soft cheese. I hadn't seen cheese like that since before the war. She squeezed my shoulder. “Eat.”

“Why no school?”

“You can go this afternoon to say goodbye to everyone.”

I coated my bread with cheese. It was both tart and sweet, the way I remembered it. I pushed the cheese plate to the center of the table to share it.

Kammi headed to school with Eliza Heller, the way she would every day without me. Father left a few minutes later in his post office uniform, holding Tye's hand, taking her to kindercare. In Tye's other hand was the boiled egg. She kept looking at it, wondering if it would disappear. If it didn't, it would be her lunch.

Did she know how to peel it?

“Come,” Mother said, putting on her coat with a swoosh.

Outside, she took my hand like Father had held Tye's.

The first store we tried to go to was on a bombed street, so we walked a few more blocks to another shop.

My cheeks grew hot with embarrassment as we went inside and were surrounded by girls' underthings.

It was just like Mother to worry about
underthings
at a time like this.

“Can I help you?” the shop-lady asked.

“Yes. I'd like three warm slips, three warm undershirts and three light ones, and six pairs of panties, all in her size.”

“Let me measure you,” the shop-lady said to me.

I let her, and then she looked through stacks of labeled cardboard boxes. “Special occasion?” she asked.

I think what she meant was:
It's unusual for a family to spend so much money on underwear right now. Not that I mind.

“Mathilde is going away,” Mother explained.

“Ah. Off to family up north? Other children are being sent. It's safer farther from the border, they say.”

“No. She's passed the army test.”

The shop-lady paused. “She has? And you're letting her go?”

“We had hoped they would have a place for her.”

The lady slid several opened boxes toward Mother across the counter. “You have your choice.” Mother looked them over as the lady went on. “I don't know that I'd be able to separate from one of my own. Send her off into the army to do who knows what.”

Mother bit her lip. Did she really want to give this woman her money?

But there wasn't another shop.

Mother made her choices. Then she said, “I want another set in the next size.” She looked at me, then back at the shop-lady. “She'll grow.”

We walked slowly through the streets, each with a box of new clothes in hand.

“Why did she try to make you feel bad?” I asked.

“Sometimes…” Mother searched for the right words. “Sometimes when people don't have an opportunity, they have to convince themselves that they wouldn't have wanted it anyway.”

“But why did she have to say that to you?”

“She's scared. Everyone is. I have to trust that I'm doing the right thing for you. And she has to trust that she's doing the right thing for her children.”

“But still, why did she have to
say
that?”

“It helps her, to say it out loud.”

“But it hurt you. Did she
want
to hurt you?”

“She was protecting herself. It is easy to protect yourself and your loved ones; it is harder to protect and care about others.”

I thought about that. “But—”

“You have a lot of buts, Mathilde.”

“Good thing you bought me all these panties.”

And then we were both laughing, and Mother drew me to her.

Mother dropped me off at school with my lunch pail. A large banner stretched across the front of my classroom:
WE'LL MISS YOU, MATHILDE!

I froze in the doorway. But Miss Tameron smiled and Megs came to get me, taking my hand and drawing me inside.

Miss Tameron set out a plate of little cakes sweetened with dried fruit. “Help yourselves,” she said. The class took cakes and formed little clusters to talk. But I stayed apart from everyone.

Miss Tameron waved to me, and I went up to her desk.

“I wish you all the best, Mathilde,” she said. “I hope the world is good to you. And that you are good to the world.”

I nodded, though I didn't know what she meant.

“Visit with the others. Say your goodbyes.”

I drifted back to Megs at our desks.

A boy named Stev came over to me. “Why are we celebrating
you
? Here's what I think of
you.
” He crushed his cake to crumbs all over my desk.

How could he wreck that lovely little cake? How much time and money had it cost Miss Tameron?

Megs jumped at him, toppling the desk between them. Miss Tameron hurried over and pulled Megs off Stev.

“Miss Swiller. Miss Joss. Take a walk.”

She was punishing me at my own farewell party?

Megs marched to the door.

“Your coats and hats, girls. Your lunch pails.”

She meant more than a cool-off walk.

We collected our things.

Miss Tameron stepped into the hall with us.

“Stev ruined your little cake,” I told her.

“Oh, Mathilde…I don't care about the cake.” She knelt and hugged me. She held me gently, and for a very long time, not like a teacher, but like Mother.

We went to the woods.

“What about your lessons?” I asked Megs.

“Don't be ridiculous.”

We found a spot we liked. Megs spread her clean handkerchief on the ground and we unpacked our lunches onto it: a winter picnic. Megs smiled, and from her pocket she pulled two of Miss Tameron's little cakes.

“Clever,” I said.

“Thanks.”

I wanted so much to enjoy the cake, but my mouth felt dry.

“Are you scared?”

“Maybe.”

“Sad?”

“Maybe?”

“What
can
you tell me?”

I swallowed, the closest to tears I had been since the Examiner called my name.

Maybe I shouldn't tell her. I had to practice not telling her things. We'd already started, a little.

But she was Megs.
My
Megs.

For just one more day.

“They're taking us away from each other. We can't be friends anymore. Not even in letters.”

“Mathilde. We will
always
be friends.
Always.
Here. Call me.” She closed her eyes.

“What?” I almost laughed.

“In your mind.”

I closed my eyes.
Megs?

Megs?

I peeked an eye open, to see she was doing the same.

“Did you…?”

“No. Try from here.” She leaned across our picnic, and pressed her hand to my breastbone.

I nodded, and she pulled her hand away.

I closed my eyes.

I tried not to use words. I tried not to picture.

Hundreds of walks to school, and almost as many back home. Hundreds of summer days. Splashing in the stream. Snowball fights and forts. Braids that had started chin-length and had grown past shoulders. Shared lunches. Snacks. Stories. Smiles. Secrets. Whispers. Walks. Today.

Eyes still closed, I found the girl sitting across from me. Felt her out.

When I opened my eyes at last, hers were still closed, leaking tears.

But as if she knew my eyes were open, she nodded.

I OPENED THE SUITCASE
Father had given me and set my things inside: school blouses and skirts, nightclothes, new underthings, tights, and socks.

They hardly filled the space. Not even halfway.

The Examiner had said to bring one personal item from home. I looked around our bedroom.

“Did you forget something?” Kammi turned to look around, too.

“It's empty,” Tye announced, and checked my dresser drawer. Then she opened the bottom drawer, where we kept the sheets, scooped up an armful, carried it toward me—leaving a trail of cloth stretched across the bedroom—and dropped it into the suitcase.

I laughed and scooped them back out. “Thank you, but I don't think I'll need them.”

“Won't you have a bed?”

“They didn't say to bring sheets, so they must have them there for us.”

Would
we have beds and sheets? Army cots? Sleeping bags? Would we be move around a lot, or stay in one place?

How would I sleep without my sisters nearby? I was used to their breathing, their warmth.

And then I knew what to bring.

They didn't object as I took down the paper with our first set of handprints. They'd still have the ones on the walls. I dropped the pins into the corner of the suitcase, set the paper flat on top of my clothes, and snapped the suitcase shut as Father opened the door.

“We need to go,” he said. He took my suitcase and we all went downstairs to the front door. “Kammi and Tye, give Mathilde a good hug, and go out to play.”

Tye hugged me as if this was any afternoon: a good, quick squeeze. Then she scampered out to find her friends.

When would she notice what it really meant that I wasn't around? When I wasn't home for dinner? When Kammi claimed my bed? When I hadn't been home for a week? Two? If she noticed more meat on the table, thicker stockings to replace the hand-me-downs with holes? Would they let these things become linked in her mind?

She wouldn't see me again until we were grown up.

If then.

And she wouldn't remember me.

But Kammi knew. She would remember. Always. She clung to me, and I held on until Father pulled us apart. Her hair was falling out of its braid from rubbing against my sweater; her face was pink, eyes wet.

“Go along with Tye, now,” Father said. The sister she would get to grow up with.

She ran off without her coat, even though it was cold.

Leaving Mother, Father, and me.

We walked slowly, one parent on either side of me, a solemn parade. Other people caught my eye on the way to the train and nodded their goodbyes. But no one tagged along.

When soldiers left, people cheered and wished them good luck. Gave them kisses and sweets. Followed them to the station, waved from the platform.

Mother put her hand on my back. “Remember, it's not about you or that they think you are doing the wrong thing. They don't know what to think, so they're putting themselves first.”

A lump rose in my throat. We passed my favorite bakery. When would I taste their glazed buns again? They had only plain ones in the winter, but in the summer they put raspberries in the glaze. Each bite was perfect, like heaven.

But heaven was only an idea. Nowhere was safe and peaceful for eternity.

Father followed my gaze, and ducked into the shop. He returned, beaming, handing me a small paper bag.

“Thank you.” I clung to the bag as we walked.

Megs appeared before me, her dark braids tidy, her cheeks pink in the cold, her eyes bright.

Megs.

She hugged me tightly, and disappeared without a word.

Any words, all the words, must have gotten stuck in our throats.

My parents and I walked through the doors of the train station under the great clock. A few people waited on benches. I looked up at the board.

“Father.” I tugged his coat. He was looking around the station as if he'd never been there before, though he had. “There's no two-thirteen on the board.”

“Hmm.” He frowned.

Was this the right station? Was the train canceled?

My arms relaxed at my side. If there was no train, I would have to go back home.

Mother said, “We'll ask the stationmaster; he's at his window.”

Father nodded and led the way over.

The stationmaster looked up at us. “Yes?”

“My daughter was scheduled for the two-thirteen today, but there's not one on the board.”

“Ah. Your daughter's name?”

“Mathilde Joss.”

He met my eyes. “You have identification?”

Father took some folded papers and a little card out of his inside breast pocket and handed them to the stationmaster, who reviewed them and then studied me.

Then he said, “Yes, I have Miss Joss scheduled on the two-thirteen, which will be arriving on track two in twenty minutes. You may wait with her there, but you will not be permitted to board the train. No exceptions.”

“Of course,” Mother said.

“Of course,” Father echoed.

“I'd suggest that you let Miss Joss carry her own identification cards from now on, Mr. Joss.” And he handed the papers back to me, not to Father.

I put them deep into my own breast pocket.

We left the window.

“Do you want to use the washroom?” Mother asked.

“No.”

“Do you want to sit?” Father asked.

I looked around at the ordinary people: expecting arrivals, headed on their own travels…all hoping to see their loved ones soon.

I couldn't sit with them. I wasn't like them. Not anymore.

“No. Let's just go up to the platform.”

There wasn't anybody else on track two.

“Well, you shouldn't have any trouble finding a seat,” Father joked as we walked down the platform.

The wind whistled, cold, across the raised platform.

Father handed me an envelope.

“You already gave me a treat.” But I lifted the flap of the envelope anyway. “You can't give me this!”

“Of course I can. It's thanks to you we have it.”

“But you need it.”

“We have enough. If you ever need money, I would rather you have some. Keep it close. Here.” He took the envelope, opened my coat, and tucked it into the inside pocket. Then he straightened my coat and looked around cautiously, but there still wasn't anyone there but the three of us.

“I—” I looked into Father's eyes, which were gazing back at me with warmth and calm and love; I turned to Mother, who looked sad, but just as resolute as Father. “I—”

This would to be the hardest thing I ever had to say to them.

Especially as it might also be the last thing I ever said to them.

“I want you to go.”

“You can't get on the train by yourself,” Mother protested.

Father studied me. “Of course she can. She'll be on the train without us, she can wait for the train without us.”

Mother bit her lip. Then she nodded, but she looked hurt.

I lowered my eyes. “If I wait to say goodbye when the train gets here, we'll only have a minute, and I might not get on. If we say goodbye now…”

Father folded his arms around me tight. He smelled properly of the post office today, and I breathed in deeply to seal it in my memory.

The last hug, the last hug…

A lifetime and an instant later, Father let go and kissed me on the head. “Do as you're told. Be a good girl. We're so proud of you, Big.”

Then Mother's thinner arms clung to me. She moved a hand from my back to my head, pressing me against her chest. I could hear her heart beating; I closed my eyes, remembering it deep within me as the first sound I'd ever heard.

“I'll be all right,” I said when we broke apart.

You'll be all right.

“I know.”

Father put his arm around her.

What was left to say?

“Work hard,” Father said. “The sooner you can help end the war, the sooner you can be back with us. Things will be even better then, and you will have made them so.”

I nodded.

“I do believe this is the right thing,” Mother reminded me. “We'll think of you every day. We love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Father gave me one last smile, and set my suitcase at my feet. Then he and Mother started down the platform toward the station. Mother looked back over her shoulder as he guided her, holding my gaze for another moment, until she had to turn to go down the stairs.

Now we were going in different directions.

I was really alone.

Mother and Father, walking back, arm in arm, together but lonely, their hearts aching already.

Mother weeping.

I shook my head.

No. No, she wouldn't weep. She would hold her head up. To show the neighbors she'd made the right choice. Like she'd told me.

I sat down on my suitcase.

The station clock read 2:13 exactly when the train came to a stop.

A young woman in a navy uniform set just one foot onto the platform, her hand clinging to the bar in the doorway.

“Mathilde Joss?”