Читать книгу Heart of Devotion - N.J. Perez - Страница 9

Chapter 1

I tossed and turned for the last several hours before finally deciding I had better just get up and out of bed altogether.

Sunlight streamed through my window, and I heard the bluebirds chirping gracefully by the sycamore tree outside my window. Putting on my slippers, I did not like to make much noise in case Mother or Father were still asleep. Father worked so hard, and I knew he needed all the rest he could get.

“Corda, are you up?” my momma asked, peeking her head through the doorway to my bedroom.

“I should say so,” I whispered. “Is Father still asleep?”

“Yes. Will you help me with breakfast this morning? I want to make it extraspecial for him since he has had such a rough week.”

“Of course.”

We lived in a nice ranch house just outside of downtown Dallas. My dad worked at the steel mill in the assembly line which produced the various necessities for our armed forces abroad. With the war in full swing, strong and able-bodied men were hard to come by, and those who were still at home were in high demand but were being much overworked.

All we ever heard about lately was about war and the Allied war efforts, along with the Axis terrors. Being sixteen, many of my male friends in school were worried. We girls made sure to pull together to build them up and to bring them a sense of security and love within our community. It’s the least we could do considering the sacrifices many of them would be called to make, and as our very way of life was at stake, along with practically any sense of hope for the entire world.

After dressing, I came into the kitchen and pulled the eggs out of the refrigerator, since I knew Momma would want to start making my father’s favorite—pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. Momma came in behind me and took the frying pan from the cupboard and placed it on the stove. “Are you going to have time to get to Sunday school?”

“Yes, Momma.” 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, but otherwise, he did not betray any emotion except kindness. “Let him know his friends back home are thinking about him and that we’re all keeping him in our prayers.”

I nodded and smiled back at him. “I will—thank you, Chester!” Margie, who was sitting on his other side, looked across at me and smiled weakly.

We paid our ticket and made our way to the theater. Unfortunately, Beck sat beside me on my right. I felt that he was hoping I would smile and chat with him, but I just could not bring myself to do so. He kept looking over at me during the show to see if I was enjoying it, or worse than that, to see if I was enjoying being next to him while watching the performance. In fact, it was neither for me—the show itself suddenly seemed tediously routine and overblown. Before the intermission, I could stand no more. I was not enjoying myself, I felt like I was being a burden to my friends, who were mostly laughing and enjoying themselves. I turned to Lilly, who was seated at my left, and told her I simply was not feeling well. She asked if she could walk me home, but I implored her to stay and finish the show and that I would be just fine.

I gave Beck a wisp of a smile as I stood and skirted past him on my way to the aisle. I trotted home as quickly as I could, and arriving home, I told Mother the show was silly, and I could not stand wasting my time with it. I washed and changed into my sleepwear and then went to my desk. I considered the tone I should use and what I should discuss. I had so many questions to ask but did not want to irritate him or burden him with my useless anxieties again. My hand picked up my pen, and soon it began to have a life of its own. I suppose love could do that to you—give you an endless agenda of topics to discuss with the one who was your intended. Not an hour later, I had my letter sealed, addressed, and stamped. I would sneak it off to the post office tomorrow morning on my way to school.

January 31, 1943—Sunday night 8:45 p.m.

Corda Johnson

815 N. Mont Clair

Dallas 11, Texas

TO: 1st Lieutenant Harold McSwain 01298898

Company F 351st Infantry, APO 88

c/o Postmaster, New York, NY

My dearest darling,

If I was asked my favorite song tonight, I’d say, “A little on the lonely side” or instead I’d say Sunday night is the loneliest night of the week. Tonight, I feel in a very “blue” mood, Mac. I want to be with you very badly. Honestly, Mac, it’s killing me like, it is. Yes, I know I said I would wait, and I can so long for you, and that’s enough for me.

I didn’t do much today. I got up about 9:00, dressed, and went to Sunday school and church. Came home, ate dinner, and somehow made it to the evening show. All the gang asked about you. Oh, how it makes me feel good when people ask about you. We all went to the show Broadway Rhapsody. It wasn’t so good. I left about halfway in it and went back down to the house.

Saw Chester this evening. He said hello. Mother went to church this afternoon. Dad is in bed, and I’m still up writing to the man I shall always love, no matter what happens. Tomorrow is another school day. How boring it is. Mrs. Clark isn’t feeling well. She went to the doctor, and he gave her strict orders to stay in bed for a couple of days. I betcha she’s at school tomorrow.

Mother just came in to check on me and thinks I’m doing classwork. I must tell you that it was getting pretty cold outside this evening, although it certainly was a beautiful day today.

During Sunday school this morning, I heard one of my friends was seriously wounded in Germany. I used to go with him, and he’s married now. He’s a grand guy named Matthew, and I think you must know him from back home. It seems a lot of my friends are getting wounded.

Darling, it’s about time for my bedtime. Be sweet and do be careful. Never forget for as long as you live that…

I’ll always love you,

Corda

The war was intensifying across all battlefronts. On the eastern front, the Russians had just regained Stalingrad from Hitler’s army, but there was no end in sight to Germany’s sheer numbers and ferocity. They kept coming like a colony of ants overtaking new ground. Likewise, the Japanese. Right now, my darling was somewhere in either the Solomon Islands or perhaps already in Melbourne, Australia for rest and refit after his company had won the battle in the Guadalcanal Campaign. Hundreds of men had been lost in action during that fight, and many others had been gravely wounded, and throughout, I worried constantly because malaria had broken out and was spreading like wildfire. However, my prayers had been answered when I had received the letter from Mac just after his company’s victory there. He said he was fine and dandy, and that he loved me and couldn’t wait to see me! He had informed me that the troops would be shipping out soon for rest and refitting.

Now another month had gone by and I had not received a response from him to my last four letters. So far, the longest it had been between his responses was three months, when they had been right in the heat of battle, but still, I never got used to it. After a month of waiting, agony always settled into the pit of my stomach, and I would not be able to shake it. Mother knew about my love for Mac, although she would not discuss it with Father or me. She did not want me to wait any longer. If Father did know, or even suspect, that I still held a torch for Mac, he seemed to be somewhat more understanding in the matter. All the same, I had chosen not to discuss Mac any further with either of them.

At school on a Friday, I sat outside during recess with Margie. Before dating Chester, Margie had been interested in Dale, but a month before he was drafted, they had broken up. We were all happy when we discovered that Dale and Mac had been placed in the same Company F of the 351st Infantry Division. She still cared about him a lot; I could tell. For the life of me, I did not understand her. Now she was dating another man who would probably get shipped out quite soon.

“I’m going to join the American Red Cross this afternoon,” Margie said as we sat at a wooden picnic table behind our school. Wearing her plaid formal red-and-black coat over her beige dress made her look smart, and it was a combination that went well together with her deep blue eyes and her long and curly blond hair. I noticed that she gave a quick glance at my red pumps, I hoped, because she was admiring how well they went together with my blue dress and white blouse. Glancing back at me, she continued, “You should join too—it’ll be great. We can learn things about nursing and things that we can do here to help our troops.”

I thought about the posters in all the storefronts and really all around town with Uncle Sam pointing his finger out to us young ladies with the words We’ll do our share while you’re over there scrolled at the bottom. Maybe it was time for me to start thinking about how I could contribute to the war effort.

When I did not respond right away, she said, “You still haven’t gotten a response back from Mac, have you? I’d been wondering myself—it’s been over two months since I sent Dale a letter, and I haven’t heard from him either.”

“It gets to be so frustrating, Margie. I mean, it could drive a girl absolutely crazy.”

She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “Well, I know they’re all right. I mean, you gotta figure they don’t have much extra time to write us like we have. And then, it could be that there is a delay in their letters getting back to us.” I simply nodded my head—I know they mean well, but these excuses did not satisfy my desperate fears in the least.

The next several days were long, and my mood became irritable. I found myself being unable to shake my blues. School bored me to no end, and my only relief was singing with the band at the end of each day. When the mail came late in the afternoon of each weekday, I ran out to our mailbox by the front sidewalk, and I tried not giving away my anticipation, or my disappointment, were I to discover there was no letter from Mac. When it became unbearable and I could take no more, I often took long walks by myself and cried. I just knew my Mac was the only man for me, and something inside told me that we would marry and have a long and happy life together with three or four kids of our own. He was strong, handsome, brave, and kind. Just the type of man I had always imagined I would love. We had dated six months before he was shipped abroad. We promised each other the night before he left that we would remain always faithful, and that immediately upon his return, we would announce to the world that I was to become Mrs. Harold McSwain.

On a sunny Tuesday after school, I had gone to band rehearsal and had just trudged home when I saw the mailman putting a pile of mail into our mailbox. I skipped over to retrieve the mail just as our mailman had shut the little door and was walking toward the next house on his route. He must have known I was waiting to hear from Mac because he gave me a little smile as he passed me by. My heart skipped a beat—did this mean Mac’s letter had finally arrived? I threw open the mailbox door and grabbed the assortment of letters there. I felt my pulse racing as I flipped through each one. About halfway through, I saw it, and my heart suddenly grew angel’s wings and began to flutter. I ran inside the house and threw the rest of the letters onto the kitchen table, taking Mac’s into my bedroom and slamming the door shut.

It was a two-page letter in his own handwriting. He told me they were resting safely in Melbourne but that they would be shipping out soon. He did not know where they would be going, but he had put in a request for a two-week furlough back home. If approved, he thought he would be home by April 5! He professed his undying love for me and said he could wait no longer to see me. He had enclosed a newspaper clipping from an Australian newspaper which had a photo of him along with some of the other American bombers. He looked so proper and handsome with his broad smile and typical look of confidence. The caption below identified my Mac as a master sergeant. Without hesitation, I began to write my reply. As I wrote back, I just knew everything would be all right and that my Mac was coming home to me. The next day, I told everyone in school that my Mac would very soon be coming home for two weeks on furlough. The gang became so excited, and I had not felt such a sense of joy in quite some time.

At recess in school the next afternoon, I showed Margie Mac’s letter along with the clipping from the paper. As she looked at the photo, she said, “It’s good of him—he’s the best-looking one in the group!” She glanced down at the caption beneath the photo. “Just look at that—handsome, and a master sergeant to boot!” Glancing at the other soldiers in the photo, she continued, “Some of these other soldiers aren’t too bad-looking either, if you ask me.”

“I never look at the others, Margie, just Mac,” I quickly responded.

She looked at me and shook her head while smiling broadly.

I pled my case to Margie. “Oh—Margie, the next two weeks can’t pass any too quickly for me. I must see Mac, and I must see him right now! Though it’s only Wednesday, tomorrow it will be only two weeks till he comes. Oh—I wish the fifth would hurry up and just be here! I don’t know if I can stand it! It’s been so long since I last saw him.”

“Hang in there, Corda—you’ll see your Mac soon enough!”

Although everybody was happy for me, something didn’t seem right to me, nonetheless. With battles raging all around the globe, I could not understand how they could get my Mac home safely for a furlough, and even if they could, wouldn’t they need him in battle much too much to be able to give him a break? Why would he tell me he was coming home if he knew it was unlikely? I did not share my doubts with anybody, but I continued taking my slow and solo walks around the neighborhood to clear my mind. That Sunday, after church, I was taking the long way home when I paused on the corner of Maple Road and Iroquois Lane because it felt like the heel of my right shoe was coming loose. Leaning against the light pole there, I picked up my foot to look at my shoe and sure enough, the heel had bent frontward just a bit. I still had another five blocks to go to get home!

As I was bending over to try adjusting my heel, the right side of my blouse slipped below my shoulder, and suddenly, I heard a woman’s voice from behind me. “Some nerve of you, right here smack in the middle of our peaceful and proper neighborhood! Who do you think you are, little Sassy, and what might you be up to?” As I looked up in shock, I saw a hefty woman carrying a grocery bag, wearing a heavy wool coat and black hat, clambering along toward me. It was a lady I recognized but did not know from our neighborhood, whose sons were always in some sort of mischief and trouble. As I tried adjudging her expression, because for the life of me, I couldn’t understand what I had done to offend her, she glared at me and went on, “If I ever had one of my sons ever to go with you, or even be seen with you, believe you me he’d be sorry. You are certainly the cheapest girl I’d ever hope to meet.”

I thought I would explain to her that I was not waiting at the corner intentionally, that I had just been adjusting my heel, but I grew so hopeless and upset. That was what was wrong with our country—too many people were so quick to judge rather than to show compassion or understanding in any way. Did she really think I was standing at the corner with such unspeakable intentions? She moved on, and I decided not to respond to her, but I felt crushed to the core, and my tears flowed like a river.

I arrived home and snuck into my bedroom while Mother was in the bathroom. I decided I must write Mac about this incident so he would know the truth in case he ever was to hear anything about this lady’s accusations against me. In my letter, I told Mac that it just killed me what she had said, and I reminded him that he himself knew I was a proper lady who didn’t drink or smoke, and that I minded my own business while leaving everyone else to their own affairs. I knew that Mac saw me as a nice person who was there to help her friends and family. I reminded him that this lady’s eldest son was a roughneck who I had never even one time had anything to do with and assured Mac that I would avoid him now at all costs should I ever run into him about town.

Even so, I cried the entire time I was writing to Mac. My, how the world seemed so cruel at times! Here we were—a world at war on this crisp evening of Sunday, March 25, 1943, and it just showed that when one of your very own neighbors could do nothing but find fault for absolutely no reason whatsoever…that we still had a very far way to travel in order for mankind to get itself together and to finally learn how to behave civilly toward one another! I could not wait for Mac to receive this letter because I knew that he would understand my reaction to this event better than anyone could. I needed to know he would understand and be there for me; however, I suddenly began to feel like maybe I shouldn’t burden Mac with my petty concerns, seeing as he was so far away fighting for his very survival. I gave it some more thought and realized I really needed him to know about it, and so, after writing about the lady, I promised him that I would do better tomorrow and only write about happy things.

I went on to assure him that I had attended Sunday school and church earlier in the day. I then decided I would have to finish the letter later on tonight before bedtime, as I had realized I better start to get ready because I was having dinner at Mac’s family’s house in about an hour. Mac’s mother, Bertha, had invited me last week even though his sister Myrtle was doing most of the cooking because Bertha had taken ill a couple of days ago and had remained in bed under doctor’s orders. I put my pen down and decided to place the unfinished letter beneath one of my textbooks within a pile of them on the right side of my desk—my math book! I then went into the bathroom to get ready for my dinner engagement. As I was powdering my nose, Mother came to check on me. “Will you be eating with us tonight, or are you still going to take your dinner over at Myrtle’s?”

I put my facial sponge down on the counter and looked at Mother. “Seeing as Myrtle has prepared such a great big dinner, I must go, and also, I want to go over to make sure their mother is doing better.” She gave me that stern stare of hers but nodded cordially, nonetheless. I smiled at Mother. “I’ll tell them that you and Father send your regards and will see them soon enough.”

“Please do,” Mother said, and then she turned and headed back to the kitchen.

I finished getting ready by putting on my newest shoes—a beige pair with a broader heel, and then I kissed Father and Mother as I made my way out of the house. The McSwain’s house was only three blocks south toward the church, and I prepared myself mentally as I walked. What if his mom still wasn’t feeling well? Should I offer to help to clean the house or to watch the youngest children if need be? And then also, should I include that information in my letter to Mac? No—I should not! He could not afford to get distracted by worry over his mother’s health! O God, please, let Mrs. McSwain be better so I can send good news to Mac from back home!

When I arrived, Mac’s younger brother, Doyle, met me at the door and welcomed me into the house. He was a quiet and handsome young man two years younger than myself who always smiled broadly whenever he saw me at school. The house smelled so good! Myrtle was already busy bringing dishes from the kitchen onto the large dining room table, and although I offered to help, she insisted I take my seat at the table. Little Sue, Mac’s youngest sister, was sitting at the table across from my chair, and she smiled at me. Smiling back at her, I realized that she looked especially adorable this evening in her new pink dress and with the large red bowtie in her curly blond hair. I turned and nodded at Mac’s father, who was already sitting at the head of the table, and he acknowledged me by nodding and smiling back. Immediately, I noticed a setting had been prepared for where Mrs. McSwain would ordinarily sit. As Doyle brought me a tall glass of water and then took the seat to my right, Mr. McSwain asked how I was doing. I decided I would not report the incident from earlier, and I responded that I was doing quite well, and that Mother and Father had sent their best regards and were looking forward to seeing them soon.

Just as I was about to ask after Mrs. McSwain, she appeared coming into the dining room from the hallway! I stood and took a full measure of her. She looked much better and had regained her strength. She smiled and took her seat, and I knew she could tell that I was thrilled that she would be joining us for dinner.

“I am so happy that you are feeling better, Mrs. McSwain!” I said, reclaiming my chair.

“Thank you, my dear. It is good to be feeling so!”

Myrtle sat and Doyle said our blessing, and then we began to eat. There had been so much food prepared! She had oven-roasted chicken, noodles with butter and cheese, English peas, and one of my very favorites—deviled eggs!

“We did not get a letter this week,” Mr. McSwain said.

“I got one on Tuesday,” I said. I reached into the large pocket on the front of my dress and took out the newspaper clipping. Opening it, I handed it to Mr. McSwain. His face beamed with pride, and tears welled up within his eyes. Nodding, he looked over at Mrs. McSwain and showed her the photo.

“Oh, thank Jesus!” she said. Passing the clipping around the table, his sisters and brother were thrilled at the photo of Mac. I informed them that Mac was now in Australia for rest and refit with his company. I was just about to inform them of his furlough request when I bit my tongue.

“We knew he would make master sergeant!” Mr. McSwain said. I nodded enthusiastically. What if Mac does not get his furlough—that would devastate them! No—I had better wait before telling them until I get further confirmation from Mac. Of course, it might be that his letter informing me it had been approved might not arrive until after he was already here in person. Then it would be a grand surprise for us all!

I couldn’t wait to get home to finish my letter. Father was asleep in bed, and Mother was darning some of his socks in the living room as she sat on the big Queen Anne Chair adjacent to the large bay window looking out onto the side yard of our neighbor’s property. I peeked my head in from the hallway. “Myrtle made such a fabulous dinner complete with all of the fixings! Mrs. McSwain is much better—she was up and about and in quite good spirits! They all said to send you and Father their regards, and that they can’t wait for us to get together for Sunday dinner sometime soon!”

Mother nodded without looking up from her sewing. “It’s good she is well again. The ladies at church were growing quite worried and had begun wondering if our prayers for her healing were being heard or not.”

“Well, they were heard, thanks be to God! I am just going to finish my schoolwork for tomorrow before getting settled in for the night.”

“Go ahead, dear. I imagine I will be up another hour or so with mending garments!”

“Oh—Mother! Make sure you get enough sleep and don’t work yourself to death!”

“I will, dear, don’t you worry.”

I went in my room and shut the door. After changing into my most comfortable bedtime gown, I sat at my desk and went to retrieve my half-finished letter to Mac from beneath my math book. To my shock and surprise, it was not there! I quickly shuffled one book at a time from the pile. Finally, three books down, beneath my business textbook, I found it. I would have sworn I had placed it beneath my math book! Had somebody found my letter, and worse, perhaps read it? Mother? For a moment, I felt so angry that I was about to go out into the living room and ask her directly if she had gone through my personal belongings. However, I remembered my promise to Mac and to myself that I would be patient with my parent’s concern over my affairs, and so I took a deep breath and reread, from Mother’s perspective, what I had written.

Halfway through, I knew with certainty that she would have had a fit if she had read it! I knew she would worry about my account with the lady accuser earlier, and most likely with all my endearments to Mac himself. Thinking about when I had arrived home, I recalled Mother had kept her eyes down onto her sewing, perhaps so as not to have given herself away. My mind started twisting in all directions at once. I remembered to calm myself and to breathe deeply. What could I do? So she would know about that terrible lady and her accusations. I did nothing wrong! I shook my head and decided my best course of action was to just forget about it for now and to finish writing my thoughts to Mac. I could not wait to tell him his mother was feeling well again! I picked up my pen and shared with my love just how wonderful a meal his sister had prepared. I let him know how well everybody had treated me the entire evening, and then I told him that his mother was much stronger and in good spirits once again. Finally, I finished by writing that I could not wait for the days to pass so that we could be together again, and that once he was home, he would never be able to get rid of me no matter what happened! I professed my love for him and told him to be careful and to be sweet as usual and to never forget I was his one and only girl.

I retrieved a fresh envelope from my desk drawer and addressed it appropriately, and then I folded the page in perfect thirds. Reopening it as usual, I then took the small bottle of Mac’s favorite rose perfume from another drawer. Aiming the cap toward the top of my letter, I squeezed the red plunger three times. Just to make sure, I sniffed the letter, and the aroma was just right. I then remembered to look carefully at the top of the page where one or two of my tears had fallen earlier, and I thought you could just see the outline of where the moisture had dried. I was happy for that and, rather quickly, I picked up my pen and went to the bottom of the page. I wrote one last line: Mac, I am sorry about the tears on this letter.

The next morning, I made a swift departure for the mailbox on my way to school, and dropping my letter into the box, I felt assured that my sweet would understand me and would love me all the more for my struggles away from him. The days went ever so slowly thereafter. Even though only a week later, it felt to me that an entire month had passed, and yet here it was already, April the first, and I was beyond myself with anticipation. Mac might be home at any time. Each morning, I made sure to wear my finest dresses and shoes and to amply perfume myself with his favorite scent. Everyone at school told me I had a glow about me, and I felt prettier than I ever had. The air seemed light and clean, and I smiled easily going about my day. My Mac would be here, and we would go for a walk at the park, then a soda at the diner, and everyone would see how much in love we were. They would know the utility of my waiting all this time for my love because they would see how handsome he was and how much of a gentleman he was, and they would see for themselves then and know with certainty that we were truly meant to be with one another forever.

Then on Friday, a letter came in the mail. It was from Mac, and I tore it open right out on the sidewalk. After his extraordinary and endearing love greetings, I read and then reread five times the sentence which began the second paragraph—You must excuse me, darling. I did all I could do to get my furlough. The Army simply can’t let go of any of us at this point.

My eyes burned with my tears, and I clasped the letter in my right hand as my arm came down to my side. I marched inside the house and fell onto my bed face-first with a thud. If I was a cursing woman, I had a few choice words to shout—not at Mac, but at this evil and endless war and those despicable madmen who had initiated it. I cried myself to sleep without eating any dinner, and Mother and Father had left me alone, which I appreciated greatly. The next day, I had trouble getting up, but finally I gave myself the incentive of going to the record shop, which I finally did manage to get to at 12:30 p.m., and after searching for something suitable, I decided upon Bing Cosby’s newest album. I came home and listened to it from start to finish four times straight through. Getting back into my normal routine was still difficult over the next few days, and although they were just being supportive, it crushed me every time one of my friends tried cheering me up. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I wrote Mac to assure him how much I loved and missed him, and that he must write me as soon as he could.

The summer was long, hot, and quite lonely. I spent my time down by the creek and trying to avoid the attentions of Thomas and Beck. Lilly, Margie, and I did a lot of reading and baking to keep Margie’s mind off Chester’s impending draft into the army. He finally shipped out in August, and the three of us cried the rest of the day. There had been occasional and sometimes even frequent reports from neighboring communities of soldiers’ families being notified of their beloved son’s, uncle’s, or father’s deaths in battles. It came in a smattering—several here and there, followed by a period of calm, and then more nerve-wracking reports would suddenly come, descending upon us like a rapid machine gun firing. The band had several performances in front of large crowds around town, and I suppose that was okay by me because at least it diverted my attention from worry. I couldn’t wait for the cooler weather, and finally, by the following fall, my spirits were soaring again as the Allies seemed very close to victory on all fronts, and war would be over soon.

Beck seemed angry with me during the first few weeks of the new term. He had dodged me, and when I smiled in a friendly way at him as we passed each other in the hall, he kept on turning his eyes in order to avoid me. I noticed also that he had been spending a lot of his time with Lilly, and although I certainly was not jealous, as the school year went into full swing, I felt that even Lilly was not bothering with me as much as she had used to. By the beginning of November, I decided I had enough of this, and I determined to find Lilly during lunch recess outside in the schoolyard. On a cloudy and breezy Tuesday after having lunch with Margie and Thomas, I marched outside and saw Lilly sitting at one of the picnic tables as she wrote feverishly in her notebook.

I sat down beside her, and then suddenly, Beck himself came rushing over to us from the school cafeteria. We looked up at him in unison as he neared us, and it seemed he had seen a ghost as his face was ashen and pallid. “Girls, please don’t take this so bad.” My heart immediately dropped to my feet, but he continued without pausing. “Nicole saw two soldiers at Dale’s house this morning on her way to school. Thomas got a pass to go pay a visit to Dale’s parents, and they told him the news. Dale was killed in battle last week!”

Lilly and I shrieked out in horror, and Margie came running over to us. Immediately, she burst out in tears and grabbed hold of Lilly as if she knew what happened. Beck took me by the hand and asked if I was all right. I heard Lilly saying “Dale,” and then Margie herself screeched out horribly. Suddenly, everyone came running toward us, and we were surrounded by our classmates crying and screaming. It was all so bizarre to me, and as I tried consoling Lilly, I just knew in my heart that Mac was okay. I don’t know how I knew, but I just knew. The rest of the week was grave, and everybody seemed to remain desperately quiet.

We all attended the memorial service for Dale on Friday afternoon at the church. To tell the truth, I did not want to go. Any reminder of death, with Mac being so far away from me, was unwelcome even though I knew I had to attend. The service was both beautiful and yet extremely somber, and Dale’s entire family, including his father, cried throughout the entire occasion. I could not look at the photo of Dale, which was up by the podium, even though I am sure he looked handsome and dignified in his uniform. After the service, we all sat out in the backyard of the church where the ladies had prepared some food and drinks. At some point after conversing with most of the others, Margie and I sat together on the swing beneath the cotton tree. She had seemed preoccupied to me, and after a while, she looked me sternly in the eyes and said, “I don’t know if it’s my place, Corda, to bring this up, but I figure you need to know, and it’s now or never!”

“Whatever could you be talking about, Margie? You’re frightening me!”

“Well, you know how Lilly and Beck have been getting close, and how you’ve felt that they aren’t so close to you anymore?”

“Well…yes, I suppose.”

“Lilly had confided in me the week Chester had been called to serve. The reason for the two of them behaving as they’ve toward you is that Beck had fallen hard for you! He couldn’t understand why you kept on waiting for Mac to come home without even giving him a chance.” She paused, but as I was about to speak my mind, she went on. “Without even knowing it, you hurt him bad, Corda, and Lilly was there to pick up the pieces, so to speak. It’s not that she was being cruel, it’s more like she really fell for him when she saw how broken he had become over not being able to be with you.”

I nodded, feeling both a bit confused and a little flustered. “Well, of course I was waiting for Mac and staying true to him. He’s my man, Margie! I thought everybody knew it. Why would Beck ever think I wouldn’t wait for him?”

Margie blinked at me three or four times. I guess she was adjudging where my mind was at. “Look around, Corda. They’re dropping one by one. I know it sounds tough, but it is a hard-hitting fact, and I mean you no harm in the matter. I mean you to be prepared if it happens, that’s all. You’ve given the last three years of your life away to a man who hasn’t been here. Think about it. For me, it’s all right, because I’ve prepared, and I am quite flexible. I love Chester, as I had loved Dale, but I am a much more resilient and realistic girl than are you. And I don’t mean that as way of comparison, Corda. I mean that as a way of my love and friendship for you.”

I stood up and knew I couldn’t stand hearing one of my closest friends question my behavior. Before the tears came flowing, I knew I must leave at once, and so I marched out to the street and all the way home. I had become so angry that I knew my only recourse was to write Mac. I would not share any of this negative news with him, as I knew he needed to be hearing about only the happiest of things from back home. As I wrote, I kept on thinking about tomorrow, knowing that I had a very busy morning planned, and then Mother and I were going to Mac’s house for dinner. I put Margie’s words out of my mind, and I set my sights on only that and nothing else.

November 13, 1943

Saturday night

Corda Johnson

815 N. Mont Clair

Dallas 11, Texas

TO: 1st Lieutenant Harold McSwain 01298898

Company F 351st Infantry

APO 88

c/o Postmaster

New York, NY

My dearest Mac,

I received the sweetest letter from you today, four pages. I didn’t think I was going to get one from you today, but the five-thirty brought me one.

I started this over at your house, but they were talking about you, so I had to stop and listen. Here I am now in the kitchen with mother and the time was 12:30. Mother and I went over there about seven and just got back. Mac, I just love to go over there and be with your folks. I can’t hardly wait until Mrs. Lackie comes home. I miss her so much.

All day today, I have looked for you. I knew you couldn’t come, but somehow, I was looking for you. My nose has been itching all day. My nose is a storyteller, isn’t it, darling?

I met Herman’s wife today; she seems to be very nice. But of fun too. These Lackies are killing me, but I love them.

This morning, I got up early and cleaned up the house for Mother. You should have seen it, it sparked everywhere. When I was in my room, I took up your picture and talked to you awhile. Really, I am not crazy, I am just in love.

Went to the Lanoke Avenue Studio to tape my voice. Song I’m learning “Dearest Believe.” I couldn’t think of a word of it. She looked at me kinda funny and asked me, “Okay, Sue (she always calls me by my middle name), let’s hear about him.” So I told her about you, but I didn’t tell her you were married. I want you to meet her at Christmas; she’s very sweet to me.

This afternoon about three-thirty, I went to a wild west show. My darling, it was exciting. All I did I just thought of you, how I wish you were sitting here by me holding my hand as you usually do.

Mac, when I go over to the house, all Myrtle and I do is talk about you. I want to learn everything about you. I think I know almost everything. I wish I could tell you in letter just how I feel about you and how much I want to become your wife forever. Mac, I do love you very much, and if something should happen, I honestly believe I’d die it would hurt me so badly. When you do love a person as much as I love you, you don’t want anything or anybody else, you just want to be with that person all time, to know he is your very own to cherish and to love whatever might happen. Please, Mac, I don’t want you ever think I don’t want you, to ever think I don’t love you, or I’m just trying to play you as a sucker. I never have and I never will as long as I know you love me as much as you say you do. I want to always trust you in everything you ever tell me, and I will do you the same. I could talk to you much easier, but I do hope, Mac, you can see how I feel toward you. All the months you were gone, I tried to dislike you, but something just wouldn’t let me. Yes, I have cried over you many and many a night and just wondered if you if you ever thought of me and if you were really telling me the truth when I first met you. I don’t know why I bring things up like this, but somehow, they seem to be in my mind.

Dad jut came in from work at 5:30 p.m. and wanted to know if we’d gone crazy. I have a crazy love with a Master Sergeant.

Really, my love, I must get some shut eye so be very sweet and think of me often, for I love you so very much.

Yours,

Corda

Mother and Dad say hello and to be good.

We tried to make the holidays as joyous as before, but this was becoming increasingly difficult to do, as the war, and any news about the war, was always taking a great toll on everybody. The new year brought more fluctuating news from the various fronts—every time we got a piece of good news, it seemed that was soon followed by news somewhere else which dampened our spirits. My heart soon got in the habit of skipping a beat whenever I heard anything suggesting increased or further turmoil. Mac had been able to write close to one letter every two weeks as consistently as possible, and this kept me going. He would always tell me that he had received my latest letters, and that they had kept him going.

I had passed all my midterm exams mostly with a B average, and I was now playing on the senior basketball team as a point guard. It had been Father who had pushed me to join the team, and I was glad he had, since I found that exerting myself on the court quite invigorated me. In mid-January, we had a school dance, and I hesitated attending, but Mother would have been miffed if I did not, and so I let Thomas take me, although I had told him we would be going only as friends. Still, he did hold me during some of the slow dances, but all the time, I thought of it being Mac holding me. I don’t know if this was wrong for me to do, but nobody had ever held me like Mac could, and I even told him so in one of my letters. Throughout the dance, I knew with certainty that nobody else would ever satisfy me like Mac would.

I began thinking often about the upcoming summer, and I prayed that Mac would be home by then, and perhaps finally, the war would be over. We would go dancing, roller skating at the park and new arena, or just park his car by the lake and talk for hours. I would kiss him goodnight, and the next morning, we would get up and have breakfast together and then go over and visit with his family. We would attend all the St. Patrick’s Day dinners and dances around town, and Mac would show me just how wonderfully well he could perform some of the Irish dances.

Toward the end of January, Thomas had begun dating my friend Ruth. One night, she and I made him a big dinner at my house, and believe it or not, once Thomas found out that it had been Ruth and I who had prepared everything, he acted like he was going to get sick from the food! That Thomas is something else altogether, and not for me! I was upset to find that Mac’s baby sister, Little Sue, had taken ill with a cold in her chest. I rushed over immediately and took turns with Myrtle holding her, singing to her, and rocking her to sleep. She is the sweetest thing! I feel so bad seeing her so ill, and we all worried that she had better get well soon or else it might turn into pneumonia. I wrote to Mac that she would love a letter from him. I knew she loved Mac just as much as she loved Myrtle, and I wanted to be sure Mac knew that was the case.

On a rainy Tuesday, I chatted with Margie at lunch, and she was sick with worry since nobody had gotten even one brief letter from Chester since December. I asked her if she would come with me to visit Little Sue after school, but wouldn’t you know it? It began raining so hard that we decided to go straight home and try again tomorrow.