Hope's Angel (7 page)

***

Dinner
was quiet, as always. If Papa had said anything to Gianna about David Thomas,
neither gave any indication.

Afterwards,
the family gathered in front of the television to watch the seven o’clock news.
Between the latest reports on the fighting in South Vietnam and the
presidential campaigns of Richard Nixon and Hubert Humphrey, the nightly news
broadcasts had become required viewing. Connie cringed inwardly as reporters
gave the daily American and Vietcong body counts in their matter-of-fact voices,
and she wondered if the numbers were even accurate. If we were doing so well,
and they were doing so poorly, why was this war still going on with no end in
sight?

“I
forget to tell,” Mamma said as they watched soldiers slog through rice paddies
with their guns held high above their heads, “Nino Scarpa and Franco Fiorelli,
they join the army.”

A
jolt of terror shot through Connie, leaving her speechless as she turned toward
her mother.

“The
marines,” Angie said as her eyes caught Connie’s. “I was going to tell you, Con.
Nino told me today.”

Connie
blinked back a surge of tears. As though compelled by the need to confront
reality, her gaze returned to the television screen where the soldiers were
running from the rice paddies to take cover in the trees.
Nino and Frankie?

“He
said they’re eligible for the draft until they’re twenty-five, and they don’t
want to go through that, waiting to be called up,” Angie said. “This way, they
choose when, and they’re not just army grunts. Plus maybe they can stay together,
wherever they go.”

Nino’s
face flashed before her eyes-- the hurt when she refused to go out with him
again. She might not want to spend her life with him, but Nino was special to
her; she’d known him and Frankie since kindergarten. The thought that either of
them might face the horrors of this war terrified her.

“Not
everybody goes to Vietnam, you know,” Angie continued. “They probably have a
better chance of being sent somewhere else if they enlist.”

“All
marines enlist. And there are plenty of them in Vietnam.” Connie looked at her
younger sister as another thought entered her mind. “What about Paul Cefalu?”

Angie
gave Connie an apologetic grimace. “I don’t know. Sorry.”

“I
doubt it,” Gianna said from her seat on the couch. “His sister told me he just
got an apprenticeship with some electrician in Barre after trying for two years.”

Connie
felt as though she couldn’t breathe. This war was hitting too close to home.
“When do Nino and Frankie go?”

“I’m
not sure,” Angie answered. “Ten days, maybe?”

Connie
drew a deep breath, then turned to look at her older sister. “And when do you
go?”

Gianna
showed no emotion as her eyes met Connie’s. “I haven’t set a date yet.”

Connie
nodded, her heart too heavy to pursue the topic further. “Good. I can only take
one tragedy at a time.”

Chapter Six

Monday,
September 16

Connie
leaned against her car and glanced at her watch. Her Spanish class started in
twelve minutes, and Greg Fairchild had not shown up to talk about ridesharing.

She
hadn’t minded the wait itself. Their planned meeting in the commuter parking
lot had provided an excuse to escape the stuffy confines of campus buildings in
favor of an hour in the sun. Autumn had begun to transform the surrounding
trees and shrubbery into vibrant works of art shimmering gold and orange
against the cobalt blue sky, and the air held an invigorating fall freshness.

But
the time was up and he had not come. Once again, she had no way of contacting
him to arrange another meeting. She was beginning to wonder how sincere he was
about riding together. But then, why should he be, considering they barely knew
one another?

If
she waited any longer, she would be late for class. She pushed herself away
from the car and walked back toward the brick campus buildings across the
street.

“Hey!
Connie! Wait up!”

She
stopped and turned. Greg was jogging down the center of the lot, waving as he
ran.

He
was breathing hard when he came up beside her, and she took the opportunity to study
his face while she waited for him to catch his breath. He was classically
handsome with strong cheekbones and a square jaw, his good looks accented by
soft curls of chestnut brown and dark-lashed eyes of slate gray.  

“I’m
sorry,” he said, giving her his perfect smile, “you’re probably heading to
class. I forgot all about our meeting until a few minutes ago.”

Irritation
replaced Connie’s pleasure at seeing him. “No problem,” she said as she walked
away. “Why don’t we forget the whole thing?”

“Hey.
I don’t want to forget the whole thing. I didn’t mean it to sound like that.”
Greg stepped in beside her as she kept her eyes trained on the buildings in the
distance. “Look, I’m sorry I forgot. I have a lot going on.”

Connie
pressed her lips together in annoyance. “All the more reason to forget it.”

Greg
let out a groan. “Hey, come on. I said I was sorry.”

She
refused to look at him. “What difference does it make? It’s probably going to
be more trouble than it’s worth.”

“Nice
try, but you’re not getting out of it that easily. I’m looking forward to
having someone else drive.”

The
playfulness in his voice caught her attention. She gave him a sideways glance. “Come
again? I thought you were offering
me
rides.”

Smile
lines crinkled around his gray eyes as he watched her. “I believe the operative
word was
share
. I’m very willing to share the driving. And the riding.”

“I
see. Well, if you insist,” she said, doing her best to keep her elation from
showing. “I’ll even offer to drive first, just to show you I don’t hold any
grudges for you forgetting.”

Greg
grinned. “You are one classy dame. The Park and Ride on Forest Ave, seven thirty
tomorrow?”

“Classy
dame?” Connie laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re a Bogie fan.”

“One
of my many vices.” His smile broadened as he briefly touched her on the
shoulder with his fist, then veered away toward the green. “I’ve got to run and
meet somebody. See you tomorrow.”

***

Marilyn
had saved a seat for her in American History, and Connie slid into it just
before the professor began his lecture on the underground railroad. She leaned
toward Marilyn and whispered, “Prepare for a Margo Lister hissy. I’m riding
with Greg Fairchild starting tomorrow.”

Marilyn
leaned closer. “Did you see the war protestors in front of the admin building? Why
don’t we talk about stuff like that in this class? That’s American history in
the making.”

“Too
political.” Connie gave her a sardonic smile. “It would require an opinion.”

“Too
close to home, you mean. This school’s in bed with General Dynamics and the
ROTC.”

Connie
sat back in her seat and tried to listen to the professor’s words but, thanks
to Marilyn, her mind kept drifting to Nino and Frankie. They didn’t have the
luxury of protesting while protected by a student deferment. All they had was
the hope to be sent somewhere other than Southeast Asia.

***

After
supper, Angie sat at the gray Formica-topped kitchen table and pulled out her
trigonometry book. Connie settled into the chair across from hers and watched Angie
scribble out her equations. Angie seemed to be more at peace lately, as though
whatever had been weighing on her had lifted, perhaps with the start of school.

With
her head down, Angie’s long dark braids lay to either side of the paper, and
Connie playfully picked one up as she said, “Any news on the Topo Gigio front?”

Angie’s
eyes danced with fun as she looked up from her work and gave Connie a
conspiratorial grin. “She’s going up to St. J tomorrow. Cousin Tony is lending
her his car.”

“Is
she excited?”

“Hard
to say. More nervous, I think. How did you get Papa to change his mind?”

“I
think he was already feeling bad about his attitude toward David. I just
confirmed that he was being a bigot.”

Connie
expected Angie to laugh, but the latter simply looked back at her homework.

“How
about you?” Connie tugged gently on the braid as she watched her sister’s face.
“I haven’t heard any more about you needing to go help whomever. Did their
problems get better?”

Angie
kept her attention on her paper. “A little.”

Connie
had hoped for more of a conversation on the topic, but obviously it was not
about to happen. “Any more news from the neighborhood that I should know?”

Angie
gave her an inquisitive smile. “You’re awfully talkative. What’s going on?”

“Nothing.
I’m sorry. You’re trying to work.” Connie dropped the glossy dark braid and sat
staring at it. What
was
going on? She felt restless, agitated almost.
Apprehensive, but about what?

Angie
set down her pencil and looked at Connie with serious dark eyes. “I saw UVM
students on the news walking with picket signs about the war. Did you see them
today?”

“No,
but I heard about them.”
That’s
why she was apprehensive. She was
driving with Greg Fairchild the next day, and she was keeping it from her
parents. There was no way she was going to tell him he needed Papa’s imprimatur
first.

“Have
you thought about joining them?”

Connie
blinked, trying to remember what Angie was talking about. “Who?”

“The
protestors. Geez, what planet are you on?”

“I
don’t have time for that.” Even as she said it, she knew it was a poor excuse.

Angie’s
gaze remained on Connie’s face as though she were trying to read her older
sister’s mind. “Do you know that quote about first they came for the socialists,
and I didn’t speak out because I wasn’t a socialist?”

Connie
shook her head.

“It’s
about the Holocaust. It goes on about them coming for unionists and Jews.
Sometimes Catholics, depending on who tells it. But the point is the last line:
‘Then they came for me, and there was no one left to speak for me.’”

“So,
you’re saying I should join the protestors on principle?”

“I’m
just saying that sometimes it’s important to stand up for a cause you believe
in.”

“I
don’t see how carrying signs in Burlington, Vermont, can make a difference.”

Angie
leaned toward her, her eyes intent on Connie’s. “By itself, it can’t. But add
it to students carrying signs on campuses all over America, and it starts to
count. I mean, what if everybody at all the other schools said the same thing?
Then nobody would do anything, and the government would assume people were
happy with the war.”

“Why
would they care what students think?” Connie argued. “Plus, lately, students
protest everything. They marched on Woolworth’s lunch counter in Burlington to
protest segregation at lunch counters in the South. The poor Woolworth’s guy
wasn’t discriminating against anybody. How the heck does that work?”

“It’s
about raising awareness, Connie. Otherwise people just go on their merry way,
not knowing about stuff.”

Like
the presence of the Ku Klux Klan in Vermont, trying to drive out Jews and
Catholic immigrants.
Connie
gave Angie an admiring smile. “How come you know all this stuff?”

Angie
picked up her pencil without answering and turned her face back toward her math
problems. Connie sat quietly for a moment, then rose from the table and went
down the hall to the room she and Gianna shared.

What
did
she believe in? Gianna was willing to stand up to social convention
that said black and white shouldn’t date. What was Connie willing to stand up
for? Keeping young men from dying in Vietnam? Because that’s what it came down
to, for her. Doves protested the military industrial complex fomenting war for
its own monetary gain. Hawks said the U.S. had to stop the spread of communism.
Others talked about imperialism and believed what happened in Southeast Asia
was none of America’s business. For Connie, it was all about members of her generation
dying for no good reason in a country that didn’t even want them there. But was
that a noble cause or a self-serving one? Was it the right reason to oppose
something that was so much bigger than she could comprehend? And what about the
protestors who vilified soldiers who had been in Vietnam, calling them
baby-killers and war criminals? She didn’t want to be associated with them or
their tactics.

She
sat on her bed and stared out the window into infinite darkness that deepened
her sense of isolation. Life was becoming so complicated—so many contentious
issues, so much violence. Needless, tragic death was occurring everywhere, from
Southeast Asia to Atlanta and California. People were fighting in the streets of
Chicago and down South and on college campuses across the country. The world
was becoming a frightening place. In the meantime, what were her big
challenges? Writing papers and taking tests. Hitching a ride to college without
embarrassing herself by having the guy meet her parents first.

Connie
let out a sigh of dejection. She wasn’t even sure what she wanted to do with
her life. She was a liberal arts major leaning toward teaching high school
science, but that didn’t really excite her. She knew she didn’t want to be a
nurse; she had no tolerance for blood showing up in places where it ought not
be.

The
thought of blood took her back to Nino and Frankie and the terrible
possibilities they and others like them would face every day in Vietnam. If she
were a good person, she’d become a nurse and join the army. She’d learn to
tolerate the horrors in order to help those who couldn’t help themselves.

She
rose from the bed and forced herself to sit at the desk in the corner and turn
on the light. Her morning genetics lab would involve eye color in fruit flies
and, as stupid as that sounded, it was a first step toward a meaningful career
in medicine or science. She pushed all other thoughts from her head to
concentrate on mutant chromosomes.