Season of My Enemy, page 14
He blinked, and she appreciated the humility etched on his face and in the droop of his shoulders. “Danke. It will not.”
She gave a nod, prepared to leave, but his lips curved up in a less exuberant smile than before. “I have something also to say. I have thanks … about the books you give us.”
“You are very welcome.”
“Ja. They are much help. My men are happy to have reading.”
“I’m glad they want to learn English, as long as they don’t practice it on Patsy.” She paused and then offered a small smile back at him. “I heard you singing.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, turning self-conscious. Then he sang softly and still off-key, “Don’t fence me in. …”
Fannie chuckled softly. “You like Bing Crosby?”
“Ja. You?”
She nodded. “Of course.” He didn’t seem to want to get his lunch, and oddly, neither did she. “Do you like other music too?”
“Oh, ja. Much musics. All kinds. But my singing … Not good.” He grimaced.
“Mine either.”
“I would like to hear you singing,” he said, suddenly sobering.
The bee inside her landed on a honeycomb, and sweetness oozed through her. She chuckled cynically. “Oh no, you wouldn’t.”
He cleared his throat. “Maybe at church.”
“Yes. And you can practice your English there, with the songs I mean.”
He gave a minute nod and continued studying her.
She pulled in a deep breath and let it out. “I am a student too.” Almost as soon as she said it, she wished she’d kept her personal life to herself. He had no business knowing what she did beyond the farm work, and she had no reason to want to share that information with him … did she? She shifted, intending to drop the subject there and go inside, but he followed it up too quickly.
“What do you study?”
“I’m enrolled at the county normal school.”
“Normal school. What is normal school?”
“Like college. For teachers.”
“Ah. Universität.”
“Not … university, exactly,” she said.
He smiled without holding back. “You will be teacher? Like me?”
“I suppose so.” She tugged at the hairs on the nape of her neck.
“Das ist gut, ja?”
“Yeah—I mean yes.”
“You want to teach …” He held his hand at hip level, then higher at shoulder level. “Small or large?”
Fannie shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, I suppose.” She jerked her hand between her waist and chest. “Younger students perhaps.” She laughed, embarrassed but enjoying his interest in her desire to become a teacher. “You teach only older students?” She pointed toward the men sprawled across the grass, eating their sandwiches.
“Older, ja. Realgymnasium.”
“Well then … I had better let you eat your lunch.” She gave a nod and moved away, aware how he watched her go.
Her pulse threaded a staccato beat, and sweat made her palms sticky. What was the matter with her? Who was she anyway—Patsy? A thirteen-year-old girl smitten by the obvious interest of a handsome man? A handsome German man?
A German man who aroused her interest in a way it never had been before.
CHAPTER 13
Fannie schooled her features against the trembling of her body as she stood on the train platform. When her mother grasped her hand, Fannie welcomed the clutch of her fingers and the brushing of their arms. The train had already screeched to a halt and let off a final puff of steam. All they could make out through the windows was the clamor of passengers into the aisle. The minute stretched on, then the doors opened. One after another, men and women disembarked and either hastened off to collect their luggage or were collected by their loved ones.
“Do you see him? Where is he?” Patsy bounced to her tiptoes, jostling Fannie’s other shoulder.
“Not yet.”
“What if he isn’t on this train?”
“He’ll be on it,” Mom said, her voice sounding simultaneously breathless yet sure.
“He’ll be on it,” Fannie softly repeated.
Fannie had come home from work yesterday to find her mom sitting at the table with an open telegram lying before her, her face flushed, and water boiling away on the stovetop. Fannie’s heart had lunged into her throat, fearing the worst possible news. As it turned out, it was some of the best. Cal was coming home tomorrow on the six o’clock train.
Tomorrow was today, and in just another minute, maybe sooner, they’d see him. Cal. Alive and home. Safe.
“There he is! I see him!” Jerry shouted from Mom’s other side.
Patsy lurched forward. “Where?”
“There.”
“I see him!”
Mom’s body shifted and her grip tightened. She was probably wondering the same things as Fannie. Was Calvin whole or missing a limb? Had tear gas blinded him? Had he suffered some other terrible wound? Or was it shell shock? They’d heard stories about the invisible agonies war could lay upon a man. They still didn’t know what injury was sending him home. Was it something so terrible he couldn’t write and tell them?
The minute Mom spotted him, her hand tore free from Fannie’s, and she choked on a sob. Then Fannie saw him too. “Calvin.” She wanted to shout out like Jerry and Patsy, but there was a crowd, and Mom was crying. People scattered as he stood there, staring back at them, his duffel bag hitched over his left shoulder and his right hand twitching at his side. All in one piece.
Mom rushed to him in her leather pumps with the worn-down heels, and he dropped his duffel bag. Then the two fell together with Mom sobbing into Cal’s collar and Calvin holding her in his arms.
Fannie’s heart thundered in her chest as they gathered round, and they all embraced him too.
“Cal. You’re home. Look at you. Just look at you. I’m so glad you’re back. How was the trip? Are you hungry?”
Questions coming from all of them at once, as though he could actually answer any of them. They just couldn’t stop themselves from pouring inquiries over him like rain through a leaky roof.
“Did you travel alone all that way? When did you leave Chicago? Here, let me carry your bag.”
Jerry offered that. He swept up Calvin’s bag and lumbered behind them as they swarmed him toward the family car.
He looked at each of them in turn, not really answering but nodding and saying things like “I missed you too” and “It’s good to be back home.” General things, to all of them at once. He seemed to soak in the fact that Patsy wasn’t the little child he remembered, nor Jerry either. Jerry had passed Calvin in height by a good two inches. Fannie hadn’t thought before of how tall her younger brother had gotten. Calvin looked at Jerry like he could hardly believe who he was seeing. Fannie realized for the first time too just how much Jerry looked like Dale these days. He had Dale’s and their father’s dimpled chin. Neither Cal nor Fannie or Patsy had that. Jerry and Dale shared straighter brown hair too, while Calvin’s had a bit of curl to it like Patsy’s did, though you could hardly tell that now with it being cut so short. She noticed he had a scar on his scalp that hadn’t been there before, but she wouldn’t ask him about that now.
Cal was quiet as Jerry and Patsy climbed into the backseat with his bag tucked between them. Fannie got behind the wheel, and Mom sat in the middle between her and Calvin. They rode quietly, giving him a chance to get used to them again. Every now and then, Mom smiled at him and he smiled back. “I’m so happy to have you home, Son.”
He didn’t answer, but he patted her leg, and now she went to squeezing his hand instead of Fannie’s.
“Wait until you see the farm,” Jerry said. Fannie glanced at Jerry in the rearview mirror as he sat forward and laid a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “It’s doing really great, if I do say so. Beans are coming in like crazy. Picking every few days now. Got the hay in and the pea crop.” He patted Cal’s shoulder again and sat back.
Cal’s glance turned to the view out the side window as Jerry rattled on about the work they’d been doing. He didn’t respond. He just let Jerry go on. Every now and then Mom would offer another encouraging smile and he’d nod again. Fannie was just glad that no one mentioned the PWs. She wanted to break that news to him later. Mom must’ve been thinking the same thing.
“I cleaned your room for you,” Patsy chimed in. “But don’t worry. I didn’t move anything important. I just washed up your bedding and dusted and swept things up real nice. You’ll like it.”
“Beans coming along?” Cal asked with a glance at Fannie.
She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. Hadn’t he been listening to Jerry’s prattle? Maybe being home was too distracting to have heard all of Jerry’s detailed accounting. She nodded. “Yes. Very well. Like Jerry was saying.”
He gave a nod too. “That’s good. Your garden, Mom?”
“It’s doing fine. Just fine. We could use some rain.” They smiled at one another again. “I have a nice dinner waiting for you.”
Patsy cleared her throat.
“I mean we have a nice dinner for you,” Mom amended. “Patsy has become quite a good cook.”
Fannie glanced over to catch Cal’s response, but he was looking out the window at the passing fields and didn’t offer any. Maybe it was best they just let him get used to being home. She could imagine how good it felt but how strange too, especially knowing Dale was still back there in some prison.
At last, the drive ended. When Fannie pulled to a stop in front of the house, Cal stared for a long moment before getting out. His eyes looked red. Tired. Emotional, it seemed.
Jerry lugged the duffel bag out. “I’ll take your bag upstairs.”
“Thanks,” Cal said as Jerry passed by.
Mom paused and laid her hand on Cal’s arm. “I guess I’ll go put that dinner that I promised you on the table.” Her eyes shone. “Welcome home, Son.”
Cal watched her walk up the porch steps and into the house. “She’ll probably say it a hundred times,” Fannie said. He looked at her. “Want to take a walk?” She jerked her head toward the bean field, and he nodded.
They strolled casually and silently. The sun sat at their backs on the western horizon, casting lilac hues and long shadows. The air smelled of summer green. When they reached the field’s edge, Cal bent and plucked a young bean, then snapped it in half in his teeth and munched. “Tastes like home.”
Fannie didn’t say anything, but she picked a bean and ate it too. Then she squared herself and looked at him. “It does.”
Cal smiled. It was the first time he seemed to smile for real. Before, it seemed he was overwhelmed by their rushing at him, and his smiles showed unease. Now his shoulders relaxed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He looked at her again. “Have you heard from Dale?”
She shook her head. “Not lately. Hopefully soon.”
He studied her.
She chuckled at his perusal.
“You look different.”
“I’m getting old.” She looked out over the field as a breeze picked along the tops of the plants. It felt good rushing over her skin. Cooling and refreshing. “I’ll be an old maid by the time the war ends.”
He tapped her arm so that she looked at him again, and he frowned.
“Don’t you believe me?”
His face registered confusion. His eyebrows dipped and he blinked like something was wrong. “What did you say?”
“I said I’ll probably be an old maid by the time this stupid war ends. All the men are gone fighting. Then again …” She sighed. “What does it matter? All I really care about now that you’re home is that Dale comes home safely too.”
He continued listening to her, but his expression was blank, as though he had no opinion on the subject.
“Cal … I probably shouldn’t bring it up so soon. You haven’t been home twenty minutes. But before everyone at once wants to know, can you tell me what happened? Not everything of course. But … you were hurt, weren’t you? Wounded?”
They stared at one another for a long moment, until Fannie started to wonder if he was somewhere else.
Another breeze blew. This one raced gooseflesh up her arms. It was the strangest thing, for the evening was plenty warm. A whippoorwill trilled invisibly somewhere in the field. “Calvin? Are you all right?”
He pushed a hand through his short-cropped hair, across the raised scar. Finally, he looked at her again, working his jaw. After a long moment, he said, “I’m deaf, Fannie. I can’t hear most anything you say.”
Fannie jerked backward, unable to stem her shock. She had to open her mouth just to remind herself to breathe. She blinked several times. “I don’t understand.”
He chuckled, but for the first time, Fannie noticed how he watched her mouth move when she spoke to him. Like a violent storm when it blew branches and debris about the farmyard, recollections of meeting him at the station and driving home, and even this walk to the bean field came tumbling back. He had been unresponsive to their inquiries. Some of the answers he gave them could have been answers to anything and everything they’d asked. He’d said little of his own volition, and to much of their chatter he’d only nodded as if listening. Had he really not heard them? Was he only pretending up to now?
She stepped close and raised a hand to his arm. She studied his face, then shook her head slightly. “Nothing? You hear nothing?”
He lifted his hand with his forefinger and thumb only a small gap apart.
“A little bit?”
He shook his head. “Ringing a lot. Muffled sounds, like they’re miles away.”
She nodded and turned aside, still absorbing the news. So that’s what it was … the reason the army sent him home. “I see.” She glanced back, realizing he hadn’t heard her. “I see,” she said again. He acted like he could read at least some of the words she spoke on her lips, but maybe that’s only because they knew each other so well.
Here she had been planning to tell him about the workers. How they’d managed with Cal being gone and that the PWs would be back again next week. But now … How could she possibly explain it all in a way he could understand? “Come on.” She wagged her head toward the house. She’d have to write it out. In the meantime, she’d help him tell the family.
“I’m sorry, Fannie. I couldn’t tell Mom in a letter.”
She made sure to look at him directly and patted his shoulder. “It’s all right. She’ll understand.” She slid her hand into his and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
When Cal went away to war, he’d given her reassurances that everything would be fine. He’d hugged her longer than he normally would. Now it was her turn. She reached an arm around his waist, and he draped his across her shoulder.
“The farm looks good.” He cast her a small, acknowledging smile, but she didn’t know how to answer, so she kept her explanations to herself as they walked back to the house to tell the news.
Mom stirred gravy on the stovetop. “There you are. Did you have a good look around?”
“Pretty good,” Fannie said.
“Supper will be on the table in a minute.”
“Is that a cake?” Cal said, giving a nod toward the obvious answer sitting on the sideboard.
“Sure is.” Patsy strolled into the room and stood beside it. “I made it for you this morning.”
Fannie watched. He must’ve understood her posture to know she was bragging.
“I can’t wait to eat it. Haven’t had much cake in a long time. Not since we were stationed in a little town in the north of France before the big push.”
Fannie moved to their small secretary in the next room and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. She brought it into the kitchen and slipped it beside her plate casually, catching Cal with a glance before he lowered his eyes. “I’ll go wash, if that’s all right.”
Jerry came in and flicked on a switch as the shadows of evening had begun to pervade the room. “Ta-da. Got the electricity hooked up after you and Dale left.”
“Wow!” Cal gave an impressed nod before he left the room. Fannie could plainly see now that he reacted according to their actions. It was subtle. A trick he’d learned, no doubt.
“Get the milk, Patsy.”
She pushed away from her masterpiece of confection and retrieved the milk pitcher.
“I’m surprised he didn’t notice the electric appliances before I hit the switch,” Jerry said. He shoved up his sleeves and pulled out his usual chair.
“He’s got a lot to absorb.” Mom set a platter on the table. “Fannie?”
“Yes?” Fannie pulled out the chair next to Cal’s place.
“Everything all right?”
“Sure.” She shrugged, but she was glad to busy herself taking her seat and not having to look her mother in the eye. She could tell them before he came back, but she thought it might be better to wait. He might want to tell them himself, or at least not have them all staring at him as he walked into the room. Mom would probably cry.
She didn’t have any more time to think about their responses as Calvin returned to the kitchen and took his place beside Fannie.
“You could sit in Dad’s chair,” Patsy said, her voice solemn and serious.
Cal hadn’t heard. Without any acknowledgment whatsoever, he reached for the pitcher and poured a glass of milk.
Patsy’s brow curled as she looked at Cal. She cleared her throat. “Cal … I said you can have Dad’s seat. We don’t mind. It would be nice.” When Cal proceeded to open his napkin without hearing, Patsy glanced at Fannie.
“I’m starved too, Mom.” Fannie drew the attention to their mom, who carried a kettle and set it on the trivet in the center of the table. “Whew. That was heavy.”
“Smells heavenly,” Fannie said.
Patsy ignored the food. “Tell Cal he can have Dad’s place at the table. It’s all right, isn’t it, Mom?”
Mom cast a smile from Patsy to Calvin. “Sure, it is. Be nice to have a man at the head of the table again.”
