Letter From Home (25 page)

“Grandmother!” Gretchen darted across the room, picked up limp hands that were cold and clammy to the touch.

“Ach, I will be fine. Please to get me some coffee.” Grandmother took a deep breath.

“Dr. Jamison.” Gretchen's heart thudded as though she'd run a desperate race. “I'll call him.” She let loose her grip, whirled toward the phone.

“Gretchen.” Grandmother's tone was louder, sharp, imperative. “No. I will be fine.” She placed one hand on the kitchen table, pushed herself straighter in the chair. “It is the heat. I have worked too fast. But I want everything perfect for my Lorraine. Now, you must help me. I will sit here and you will see to everything. But please, bring me some coffee.”

Gretchen glanced over her shoulder as she moved to the stove. The percolator was on the back burner on low, the gas flame scarcely visible, just high enough to keep the coffee hot, hot and strong. Gretchen poured the pungent black brew into a thick white china cup, added two teaspoons of sugar and a quarter inch of cream.

Grandmother managed a smile as she took the cup. “You are such a good girl, Gretchen. And we shall have a perfect day.” She drank almost greedily and sighed and some color touched her plump cheeks. “Now, if you will please to check the potatoes. They should be done.”

Gretchen used a crocheted pink and white hot pad to lift the lid and a long-handled fork to spear the potatoes in the bubbling water. They were perfect. She set the big pan in the middle of the stove. The potatoes would still be hot when they were drained and mashed. She turned toward the table. Grandmother looked better, though she sat in the chair as if rooted there. She beckoned to Gretchen.

“Your mama will be here soon and I want you to ask her to go to the lake.” She paused, drew in a breath and another and another as though it was hard to find air for her words. She gave a little shake of her head. “It is so hot today. I shall urge her to go, too, say that I want her—and her friend—to have a real holiday and we shall have our visit later this afternoon. I will tell her”—Grandmother's voice was growing fainter—“that I have worked too hard this week and I wish to stay here and rest and then when you come back from your swim, we shall have our special dinner. You will do this for me,
mein Schatz
?”

“Grandmother,” Gretchen begged, “please let me call Dr. Jamison. He will come—”

A car turned into their drive, the sound of the motor a loud rumble.

“They are here.” Grandmother tried to rise, fell back in the chair. She waved her hands at Gretchen. “Go see. Hurry. I shall come.”

Gretchen ran to the front door. The dark blue Buick was dusty, the windshield bug spattered. Sunlight reflected off the shiny chrome grille. Gretchen shielded her eyes. The driver's door opened. Gretchen didn't care about the man getting out of the car. The passenger door swung out. Wiry blond curls poked from beneath a saucer of a hat with a bright pink feather.

“Mother! Mother!” Gretchen jumped down the steps, ran. Her mother ran, too, despite her high heels and short tight skirt. They came together and Gretchen felt her mother's thin firm body, her warmth, the loving pressure of her arms.

“Oh, baby, baby, it's so good to see you.” Another hug, tight and warm, and Lorraine stood back, holding Gretchen at arm's length. “You're so grown up. G. G. Gilman.” There was a new tone in her voice, almost as if she and Gretchen were grown-ups together. She reached out, gently touched Gretchen's cheek. “I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time.” She shook her head, laughed. “Come on, G. G., I want you to meet Sam. I hope—” She broke off.

He was standing beside them. Gretchen didn't want to look at him. His shadow fell between them. She stared at the elongated streak.

“Hi, Gretchen. Lorraine's told me a lot about you.” He had an easy voice, warm and friendly. “You read faster than Clark Kent changes into Superman and you write better than Lois Lane.”

Gretchen slowly turned. He was a big man, taller than her daddy had been. Beneath his white cap, his blunt face was burned coppery red. Sandy eyebrows bunched over deep-set dark eyes and a beaked nose. He had deep grooves in his cheeks like he laughed a lot. His uniform was crisp, all white with dark shoulder boards.

She stared at him unsmiling.

Abruptly, his face looked older, heavier.

“Lorraine.” Grandmother stood on the top step. She'd taken off her apron. She looked as if she were on her way to church, her hair in regal coronet braids, her round face smiling, her best dress a vivid blue, honoring her guests. But she was so pale.

“Mother.” Lorraine whirled and in an instant she was up the steps, her arms around Grandmother. “Mother, here's Sam.” Lorraine's voice was eager, her gaze clinging to Sam's face. “Sam Hoyt. He's a petty officer and he's been on leave and he's going back to California next week. I met him last week at Crystal City. I went on Friday night with a bunch of the gals from the plant. I can't believe I could be such a kid. I was riding the Ferris wheel and he was in the car behind ours. We got stopped at the top and Jenny rocked it and I was so scared. When we got down to the ground, Sam called out that I had a nice scream. I thought he wanted to know where to get ice cream and the first thing you know we were all on our way to Hawk's—” She paused, breathless.

“Mrs. Pfizer,” he said solemnly though there was laughter in his deep voice, “I didn't used to eat ice cream, but now it's my favorite food. And Hawk's is my favorite ice cream shop.”

“We have homemade ice cream for today. And apple pie so fine.” Grandmother beamed. “Come in now, out of the hot sun.”

They walked into the living room. Gretchen came last. Her mother took Sam by the hand. “I want you to see this picture of Jimmy.” Sam stood close to her, so close, as they looked at the framed photographs on the mantel.

Gretchen looked at the pictures: Grandmother and Grandpa on their thirtieth wedding anniversary, her mother and father on their wedding day, Jimmy in his cap and gown from his high school graduation, Gretchen on her eleventh birthday.

Sam picked up the picture of Jimmy, carried it with him. He and her mother sat on the sofa. Lorraine bent forward, her chin cupped in one hand, her gamine face eager and happy, talking a mile a minute about Jimmy.

Sam Hoyt's dark eyes met Gretchen's.

Gretchen looked away.

“I have saved for you our letters from Jimmy.” Grandmother sat in her easy chair. “We have so much pride now, Mr. Hoyt. Our brave Jimmy. And Gretchen works so hard. She helps me at the café every day and then she goes to the newspaper office and her stories are in the paper every night. Last night she had to work late and so I hope you and Lorraine will make this a special day for her. Lorraine, will you and Mr. Hoyt take Gretchen to the lake? It will be so much fun for all of you, a summer day like we used to have. I will find a suit of Jimmy's for Mr. Hoyt to wear.” She smiled but her face was gray white like dirty ice and she braced herself on one elbow against the armrest of the chair.

Lorraine clapped her hands. “Oh, Sam, that does sound like fun. I haven't been swimming in forever. And then, we'll have Mother's wonderful food.” She looked hesitantly at her mother. “We have to leave right after lunch. Sam promised his folks we'd come by this afternoon. They live in Tahlequah.”

“You're leaving that soon?” Gretchen stared at her mother.

Lorraine reached out her hands.

Gretchen backed away. “I better get my suit,” she said and turned to hurry down the hall.

 
AS THE CAR backed into Archer Street, Gretchen sat gingerly on the edge of the seat, her swimsuit no protection against the hot leather. She reached down, picked up her shorts and blouse, tucked them under her on the seat.

“Oh, Gretchen”—Lorraine's face shone with happiness—“isn't this fun!” She adjusted the strap on her swimsuit, a pretty two piece Catalina with bright red hibiscus against a yellow background. “I haven't been out to the lake in so long.” She turned toward the driver, eager and happy. “Hunter Lake's beautiful, pine trees and real sand.”

Gretchen loved the lake, loved the sticky feel of the heat and the shock of plunging into cool water. But the lake seemed remote, unreal. She looked out at the road. They'd go right by the path to the Purdy cabin and she couldn't do a thing about it. When they got home, it would be time for lunch and no way for her to slip away long enough to get to the cabin. Gretchen had a sense of time racing away from her, like coins spilling out of a purse.

Lorraine twisted to look out the rear window. “Look back, Sam.” She pointed. “That's the Tatum house, where the grass is grown up and the papers piled by the front steps. Oh, poor Faye. Poor Clyde. Poor Barb.” She turned and hung over the seat, her face drooping. “Oh, baby, it's awful that you had to see such a terrible thing. And they haven't found Clyde yet, have they?”

“No. The sheriff thinks somebody's helped him hide.” Gretchen wished she could snatch the words back. Mother had a way of knowing when words meant more than they seemed to.

Sure enough, a little frown creased Lorraine's face. “Hide . . . He'd need food. I hadn't thought about it.”

Gretchen reached up, held tight to the hand grip. “Anyway, Mr. Dennis . . .”

Lorraine murmured to Sam, “Walt Dennis owns the
Gazette
. His daughter June was one of my best friends. She got polio and died when we were in high school.”

“. . . is afraid someone will shoot Mr. Tatum.”

Lorraine gasped. “Shoot Clyde? Oh, Gretchen, why?”

“People are scared. There was a meeting last night at the town square.” As they drove, the dirt road twisting and turning, uphill and down, the trees pressing close, Gretchen described how the chief stood up for Clyde Tatum and the sharp mutters from the crowd and the county attorney's sarcasm. Gretchen didn't glance toward the almost hidden break in the trees that marked the path to the Purdy cabin.

When they came over a rise and saw the lake and cars and swimmers and picnickers, it seemed odd to her that the noise and excitement and summer fun wasn't even a mile from the cabin in the overgrown clearing. Nobody here was scared about Clyde Tatum. The big dusty parking area was jammed with cars. Sam hunted for a parking place, finally squeezing the car in on a slant near a cedar.

Lorraine grabbed their towels. As they piled out, Lorraine called over her shoulder, “Last one in's a monkey,” just as she always had with Jimmy and Gretchen, and she began to run.

When they reached the man-made beach, golden sand curving around an inlet, Lorraine tossed the towels on a log. Gretchen burst ahead and splashed into the cool murky water, shallow here and cleared of reeds. Lorraine was right behind her.

They kept going until the water was up to their chins. Sam joined them. Gretchen knew he was there, so near, but she had eyes only for her mother. Lorraine ducked beneath the water, came up sputtering, her hair in ringlets. “Oh, baby, I wish we could do this forever.”

It was almost the way it had been before the war, a summer day at the lake with her mom and Jimmy. Sometimes Grandmother and Grandpa came. Grandpa liked to fish and there was a pier off to the side of the swimming area. He'd bring a bucket of bait and spend the afternoon, his lure bobbing on the water, and when it was time to go home he'd have a mess of catfish for dinner. They'd have fried catfish and hush puppies and cole slaw and watermelon. Gretchen could almost taste the crisp sweet fish. The feel of the water was the same and the shouts of the big boys as they jumped from a tower into deep water, folding into balls to see who could make the biggest splash, and the high squeals of the little kids as they made sand castles and played toss. Teenage girls stretched out on towels and blankets, their hair dry, their mahogany-shaded skin glistening with a mixture of baby oil and iodine. The jukebox blared “Be-same Mucho.” A chunky red-haired boy strummed a mandolin. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn mingled with the scents of honeysuckle and suntan lotion and car exhaust and water. Hunter Lake was just as it had always been. It was Gretchen who was different, remembering the Purdy cabin and the dark, deep woods.

“Gretchen, honey, tell Sam what it's like to work for the
Gazette
. I'm so proud of you.” Lorraine reached out, took Sam's hand, drew him near.

They stood so close, the water lapping against the three of them. Lorraine moved until her shoulders touched Sam's. Her glance toward him was eager—and something more. It was as though a strand of light linked the two of them, creating a bridge only they could cross.

Gretchen felt cold. And alone. Separate. Burdened.

A shout rose on the beach. “Tommy, don't you dare!” Shrill squeals drowned out the caw of hungry crows.

Gretchen looked past Sam, her gaze sweeping the crowded beach. Wilma Fuller shouted, “Help, help!,” and ran toward the wooden lifeguard stand where Bo Hudson, tanned dark as brown shoe polish, lounged. Bo was king of the beach, every girl's dream. Tommy Krueger, his bony face alight with mischief, the muscles standing out in his thin arms, stalked Wilma, carrying an old fish bucket with water slopping over the top. Wilma danced back and forth, trying to elude him. Tommy gave a triumphant roar, jumped forward, and sloshed the water over her. She screamed and he turned and ran toward the water.

“Gretchen . . .” Lorraine frowned.

“I see some friends.” Gretchen pointed toward the shore. “I need to talk to somebody for a minute. I'll be right back.”

“But Gretchen, Sam's come all this way. . . .”

Gretchen ducked into the water, began to swim, hating the look of disappointment on her mother's thin face. But Tommy would help her. . . .