Wings of a Dream (15 page)

I received word of Adabelle Williams’s passing on to glory and of you staying on with my children. I know they are not your responsibility, but from what I hear, you weren’t given much choice. Thank you for your Christian kindness in helping those in need.

Tell Ollie Elizabeth I’m depending on her. Keep the boys in line with a switch if you have to. Please let me know how they are doing. It seems so unfair for them to lose both their mother and their Miss Ada without their father to comfort them. Yet I must believe God knows best even if it seems a hard thing.

I don’t know how long you intend to stay, but if it could be until I return home, that would be greatly appreciated. If you need anything at all, ask George and Irene Latham.

Sincerely,

Frank Gresham

I blew out a long breath as I read over the words again. To my relief, he seemed to care, both about his children and about my being here. And how could I refuse his request? Arthur had not yet given me assurance that he would marry me before he left for Europe. If I stayed here, perhaps I could at least see him again before he shipped out. And being on my own and in charge was better than going back to my old life in Downington.

Ollie meandered into the yard as I finished hanging the clothes on the line. The other children napped upstairs, and I intended to keep it that way.

“Will you lay those towels and cloths to dry on the hedge bushes for me?” I said.

She dragged the basket over to the side fence. With careful concentration, she stretched each cloth until it lay fully exposed to the air, if not the sun. I shook out the skirt of my gingham work dress and pinned it to the clothesline before crossing the yard to help her.

“My mama used to let me do this. Miss Ada, too.” Ollie draped and stretched the last kitchen towel on the prickly green leaves. “I helped Miss Ada help Mama before she had Janie.” She smoothed the edges of each towel, making them line up with each other. I let the silence linger between us.

“When Miss Ada got sick, she told me I’d have to grow up right quick. I didn’t go to school for a few days. I thought it was fun being in charge.” When she turned to me, fear peeked out from behind her serious eyes. A tear slipped down her cheek. She didn’t bother to wipe it away.

A fist seemed to close around my heart, wringing from its depths a compassion I didn’t know it contained. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

She threw herself at me, her thin arms circling my waist, her shoulders heaving with sobs. “I’m sorry I made Dan mad. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep Mama and Miss Ada alive.”

I held her cheeks in my hands. “It’s not your fault. Do you hear me, Ollie Elizabeth? It’s not your fault your mama died. Or Miss Ada. It was . . . Well, it was just meant to be, that’s all.”

She buried her head in my body and wept some more. I wanted to join her. Who was I to offer platitudes when my mama remained in this world, even if Daddy’s letter had hinted she had one foot in the next?

Help me, Lord.
I knelt in front of the girl, wiped the tears from her face, and prayed for the words to say. “Death comes to us all, Ollie. Miss Ada knew that. So did your mama. Your daddy knows it, too. He probably sees it every day. But God is always here, watching us, helping us. I know it.”

“How? Can you see God?”

Staring far off over her shoulder, I pondered how to express what I knew to be true. I thought of Irene, of the light in her eyes in spite of all the death she’d seen in her congregation, her community. The words rose up from somewhere deep inside of me. “I know it because the sun comes up every morning, no matter what. And the rain falls on the crops. And babies are born. I know it because even when death comes, we go on living.”

The words slashed against my heart like barbed wire tearing flesh. Could I live out my own words if Mama died? Or Arthur? Or Will? Could Ollie endure it if death came for her father, too?

Both of us, our lives stretching out along an unknown road, would have to trust the Lord to work out our futures. Until then, I prayed we could find some comfort in each other.

Later that week, a short note arrived from Arthur. Talk of peace had him discouraged. He wanted to challenge the German aces in the air. But I hugged the information close, believing that the war might soon end, Frank would come home, and Arthur and I could begin our life together.

Irene missed church on Sunday. “Down in her back,” I heard from her eldest, Nola Jean. And Sheriff Jeffries’s undivided attention all day rubbed me wrong. Like sitting with Barney Graves in the parlor. A nice man, but one who seemed to want more from me than I was able to give.

The following Monday the back door burst open. Irene’s round face glowed red as a hot stove, her breath coming in chugs, like a steam engine. A newspaper waved in her hand.

“It’s over!” She wheezed out the words as I led her to a chair in the parlor. “It’s over. Early this morning.”

Could it be? I grabbed the paper from her hand. The moment I saw the headline of the special edition
Junction Sentinel,
I let out a holler. “The war’s over!” I danced a small jig before throwing my arms around my new friend.

She shook with laughter. “Praise Jesus! Praise Jesus!”

Janie grabbed at my skirt, a panicked look on her little face. I swung her into the air.

“It’s over, Janie.” I brought her down and danced her around the room. “The war is over. Our boys are coming home!”

Dan and James bounded in, yelling over each other, wanting to know what had happened.

“The war’s over.”

It only took a second for their eyes to light with understanding.

“Daddy’s coming home! Daddy’s coming home!” They grabbed hands, continuing their chant and spinning in a circle until they had to sit down.

Arthur would be through with his commitment, never having to leave American soil. And Frank would begin his journey home, as would my brother.

No more rationing. No more casualty lists. No more boys buried in faraway graves.

A knock at the door turned all our heads.

“Mind if I join in your celebration?” Sheriff Jeffries grinned, his hat doing its customary dance in his hands. His hair had been slicked back and smelled of tonic.

I held up the newspaper. “Why don’t we all celebrate together? Come to supper. I’ll wring some chicken necks, like we did to the Kaiser and his army.”

“Are you sure about that?” Irene pushed to her feet, her breathing finally normal again.

“Positive.” I twirled a circle before setting Janie on the floor and skipping off toward the henhouse.

The sheriff’s voice trailed behind me. “That girl sure is full of life.”

The smell of baking chicken wafted into the corners of the house, adding to the festive feeling. The chicken and cornbread and squash fed our bodies while our souls reveled in the news of armistice. Voices bounced off the corners of the rooms as everyone tried to talk over each other, each wanting to tell what they’d heard.

The sheriff sat across the table from me. He did have nice eyes. And a not-hard-to-look-at face. He’d make some girl a very respectable husband. And he’d be a good father to her children. I sensed that as I watched him bring James and Dan into the excited banter.

His gaze met mine. I smiled at him, hoping my gratitude showed but praying he didn’t read into the expression more than I intended. My heart belonged to Arthur.

By the time the Lathams and the sheriff took their leave, my back ached and every dish and pot and pan in the kitchen sat dirty on the table or in the washtub. Irene and her girls had offered to help, but I’d recognized the tired in my friend’s eyes. And I wanted to prove—to myself, if nothing else—that I could handle the household tasks.

I did let the older Latham boys haul in water before they left. The dishes could soak overnight. It wasn’t like we had pressing tasks to do in the morning, anyway. Just another day of chores, each the same as the last, only now in a world suddenly stilled with the peace of armistice. And what this new world held for me, I couldn’t wait to discover.

T
he thought of peace drove me happily from my bed early the next morning. I forced myself to clean a tubful of dishes and set another batch in water before I allowed myself even one sip of coffee. Finally I settled on the porch with my warm mug to enjoy the pleasure of yesterday’s newspaper beyond the front-page stories.

The cool breeze rippled my unbound hair as I scanned the pages. Then a headline leapt from page thirteen.

Wednesday, Dallas Day at Love Field: Arrangements Completed for Caring for Large Crowd at “Flyin’ Frolic.”

I bolted upright, sloshing hot coffee onto my skirt, and read on. A day of aerial demonstrations and pageantry for the public, combined with a celebration of the armistice. Special streetcars would run to Highland Park, with short-haul jitneys carrying spectators from there to Love Field.

Surely the aviators from Camp Dick would all attend, wouldn’t they? But it would cost money to take the train to Dallas. There’d also be the conveyance to Love Field, plus the price of admission. And food. I’d have to buy food. Or would Arthur treat me to dinner?

Plans crowded my head—clothes, train schedules, someone to care for the children. I ought to telegraph Arthur and let him know how to find me. Or should I take my chances and surprise him?

Never mind. I had the whole day to figure things out. I gulped down my cooling coffee. I needed to get caught up on all the chores and then bathe and wash my hair. A smile ached my cheeks, and my toes almost didn’t hit the ground on my way inside. If I could have squealed without waking the children, I would have done that, too.

But my self-control mattered little. Before I made it to the kitchen for a second cup of coffee, three pairs of feet pattered down the stairs.

Arranging my adventure would have to wait.