I broke four eggs and began to whisk them in a bowl. Momma came beside me, added some fresh milk, and then began sifting flour into the mixture as I continued to combine the ingredients.
“You know, that boy Beck from the band seems very sweet on you all of a sudden. I’ve been watching him when you play at the neighborhood services and fairs, and he always seems to be smiling and watching you singing.”
I couldn’t help but blush. “He’s all right, Momma. I like him, and he’s nice enough, but you know I just don’t think he’s the right one for me just presently.”
My momma gave me a stern glare, as if a foreboding—as if she knew, despite my efforts to the contrary. I suddenly heard a door closing, and I recognized it must be Father stirring. Momma began ladling the mixture into the hot pan as I retrieved a second large pan and heated it on the stove beside her. “Remember not to make it too hot, otherwise the bacon grease will splatter all over the place.”
“I know, Momma. It’s been a long time since I’ve made that mistake.”
She nodded and retrieved a spatula from a drawer.
“Good morning, ladies,” Father said as he strolled into the kitchen. Both Momma and I replied at one and the same time, “Good morning, Father.” Momma had already placed the hot pot of coffee onto the kitchen table, along with his cup, and a ceramic creamer filled with fresh milk. As he prepared his cup of coffee, I looked back to make sure the Sunday newspaper was sitting beside him at the head of the table. It was, and Father sat, sipped his coffee, and opened the paper.
We ate mostly in silence as Father read the latest about the war. I could tell by his somber expression and his utter lack of commentary, that whatever the news was regarding the various battles, none of it was very promising. Truth be told, I did not want to know much about the specifics. I held strong onto the hope and promise that the war would be over soon with a spectacular victory for our side. Any news contrary to that vision would only serve to make me miserable.
I excused myself and got ready for Sunday school. As I left the house, I noticed that it was a brisk day. Winter seemed to be hanging on tough this year even though we lived down South. The church was only seven blocks away, and when I got there, I was happy to see my friends in class. Our instructor was my friend Rusca’s mother, Mrs. Dallow, and she was quite inspirited with the teachings of the Bible. After class, we had our church service, and the pastor used his homily to discuss the Gospel teaching about welcoming sinners into your home for dinner, as that is what Jesus came to do—save the sinners.
After chatting a bit with my friends about our evening plans after the service, I came home and went to my room to listen to the radio. Mother had gone to the late-afternoon church service, and Father was out in the back working in his shed. Wouldn’t you know it? The very first song that came on as I tuned in was Frankie Carle and His Orchestra with their newest hit “A Little on the Lonely Side.” Closing my eyes, I put my head down on my folded arms and told myself I would not cry. As the song from the radio drifted through the air and into my ears, I tried fighting it, but as the instruments played their melancholic tune, their solemn chords went right to my heart. The piano, the trumpets, and the strings came together thunderously, and then when Frankie’s voice sang about his love not being with him in such a low-spirited and despondent voice, I knew I was a hopeless case.
Suddenly, I heard Mother coming in, and I knew I could not let her see me like this, and so I quickly rushed to turn off the radio and went back to my desk and opened my schoolbooks. After peeking her head in to check on me, she smiled seeing I was studying and then changed into her comfortable dress. Mother had prepared dinner earlier before church, and it was on the stove just needing to be heated. My eyes started closing as I went through my business textbook. I couldn’t understand why we had to take such a course, as I would never envision myself as one who would care to open any sort of a private enterprise. Thankfully, I soon heard Mother in the kitchen setting the table, and when Father came inside, I knew it was time to eat. I closed my book and made my way to the kitchen, knowing I must try desperately to hide the fact that I had become somewhat melancholic as evening had approached.
“Are you going out tonight, Corda?” Father asked as Mother passed me the plate of string beans.
“Oh, I suppose I might go with my friends to see the new show down at the theater.”
“Might be good for you to get out for a bit,” he said, taking a pork chop from the large serving plate.
I nodded and then clasped my hands together to say grace, and then we began to eat. Mother looked over at me and asked, “Which show do they have down there this weekend?”
I waited until I had finished chewing and swallowing and then sipped some water. “That farce called Broadway Rhapsody. I heard it is very funny.”
Mother put down her fork. She smiled and looked at me with a gleam in her eyes. “Will Beck be going?” Beck had an older brother named Raymond who was off fighting in the war, and Mother thought the world of both since they always had the gentlest manners.
At first, I wanted to become angry at her persistence, but knew I must not become impatient with my parents when I was faced with their coming to terms with, and then trying to understand, any of my choices. “I suppose he might be.”
“Who else will be there?” Father asked, using his knife and fork to slice another bit of the chop.
“Oh, I guess Lilly, Chester and Margie, Thomas, Bobbie and Suzanne, Mitchel and a few others.”
“Isn’t Chester about to turn eighteen?” Father asked.
Suddenly, fear struck my heart as I had not thought about it! Yet, Father was right. Chester’s eighteenth birthday was certainly only a few months away. Mother must have seen the panic on my face, and thankfully, she changed the subject. We discussed my schoolwork and teachers instead, and my parents were happy to hear that I was both enjoying and doing well in my subjects. After helping Mother with the dishes and cleaning up, I kissed Father goodnight, as he always went to be early on Sundays and then left to meet my friends at the diner. The air was chillier than it had been, and I wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck to brace against the cold breeze. Just before I arrived at the diner, I heard a familiar voice behind me. “Did you get a letter from Mac yet?”
I turned, and it was Lilly, my friend and classmate. She locked her arm with mine as we continued strolling along the sidewalk.
“No!” I answered, and my voice betrayed my foul mood.
“Keep your chin up, darling. You never know how many of their letters get across to us back home. I’ve heard that many go missing in transit.”
“I know…it’s just so frustrating, Lilly.”
She began softly singing a hymn from church, and I smiled at her because her voice was so pitch-perfect and soothing.
We met our group of friends at the counter inside the diner, and each of us ordered a soda from the fountain. “Paper Doll” by The Mills Brothers was blaring out from the jukebox and only reminded me of how sad my heart felt. Chester, who I used to be sweet on, but who was now with Margie, was sitting beside me, and he looked at me and asked, “No word lately from Mac?”
I shook my head solemnly. Looking at him more closely, I wondered how he really felt about his impending draft into the army, but I dared not ask him about that. He seemed jovial enough.
He seemed to know what I was thinking as he looked deeply into my eyes,
