Her pretty face puckered in thought. "Eleanor… Elly-your wife was Elly See, wasn’t she?"

"That’s right, ma’am. But what they say about her ain’t true. She’s a fine person, and brighter than some who spread rumors abut her."

Mrs. Marsh recapped the quart jar, held it as a bride holds a bouquet and replied, "Then I’ll want to thank her for the excellent honey, won’t I?"

He smiled, gladdened, and thought how Mrs. Marsh’s prettiness went deeper than skin and hair and cheek rouge.

"Enjoy that honey," he said by way of farewell.

She raised a hand and waved. "Come back."

As he turned away they both hoped fervently they’d meet again, felt a vague sense of deprivation, as if they might have been friends had they met when there was more time to explore the possibility.


The railroad station seemed to be the busiest building in town these days. Two young recruits-one white, one black-already waited with their tickets in hand, surrounded by their families on separate sides of the depot. A troop of Girl Scouts in uniform broke into two factions-the black girls to present the black recruit with a small white box, the white girls to do the same for the white recruit. A contingent of local DAR ladies waited for the train with juice and cookies for any war-bound men who might need a snack. A thin young man in a baggy suit and felt hat interrupted the family goodbye of the white recruit to get a last-minute interview for the local paper. A black minister with springy white curls rushed in to add his farewell to those of the black family.

And Miss Beasley was there, too, dressed in her usual puce coat, club shoes and a hideous black straw hat shaped like a soup kettle with netting. In her left hand she held a black purse, in her right a book.

"So Eleanor didn’t come," she began before Will even reached her.

"No, ma’am. I said goodbye to her and the kids on our own road, where I want to remember them."

Miss Beasley shook a finger beneath his nose. "Now you stop talking so fatalistically, do you hear? I’ll have none of it, Mr. Parker!"

"Yes, ma’am," Will replied meekly, warmed immediately by her stern demeanor.

"I have decided to give your job to a high school student, Franklin Gilmore, with the express understanding that it is a temporary arrangement until you return. Is that understood?" She gave the impression that she’d get any Japanese soldier who dared fire a bullet at Will Parker.

"Yes, ma’am."

"Good. Then take this and put it with your things. It’s a book of poems by the masters, and I want your assurance that you’ll read and reread it."

"Poems… well…"

"A man, it is said, can live three days without water but not one without poetry."

He accepted the book, looked down at it with a full heart.

"Thank you."

"No thanks are necessary. Only the promise that you’ll read it."

"I promise."

"I can see your dubiousness. Undoubtedly you’ve never thought of yourself as a poetic man, but I’ve heard you talking about the bees and the boys and the boughs-they have been your poetry. This shall stand in lieu of them… until your return."

He gripped the book in both hands as if swearing upon it. "Until my return."

"So be it. Now…" She paused as if putting aside one subject before attacking another. "Do you have money for your fare?"

It was a question a mother might have asked, and it went straight to Will’s heart. "The draft board sent me a ticket."

"Ah, of course. And decent meals while you travel?"

"Yes, ma’am. Besides, Elly packed me some sandwiches and a piece of quince pie." He hefted his bag.

"Why, of course. How silly of me to ask."

They paused, trying to think of something to fill the awful void which seemed impacted with hidden emotions.

"I told her to come to you if she needs help with anything. She don’t have nobody else, so I hope that’s okay."

"No sense in getting maudlin, Mr. Parker. I’d be insulted if she didn’t. I shall write to you and keep you informed of the goings-on about the library and town."

"’Preciate it, ma’am. And I’ll write back, tell you ’bout all them Japs and Jerries I get."

The train steamed in on a billow of smoke and noise. They were at once relieved and sorry it had finally arrived. He touched her arm and moved toward the silver car with the black and white families and the Girl Scouts and the DAR ladies and the local reporter, all who politely nodded and called Miss Beasley by name.

The sun still shone in an azure sky pocked with bundles of clouds a shade darker than the smoke spouting from the locomotive. A flock of pigeons dropped down in a flurry of wings to settle on the baggage dray. The black family kissed their boy goodbye. The white family kissed theirs. The conductor said, "Boooooard!" but Will Parker and Gladys Beasley stood uncertainly before one another-a portly old woman in an ugly black hat and a rangy young man in a battered felt one. They looked at their feet, their hands, her purse handle, his brown paper bag. And finally at each other.

"I shall miss you," she said, and for once her sternness was gone, the dry-pudding lines relaxed about her mouth.

"In my whole life I never had anybody to miss-now I got so many. Elly, the kids and you. I’m a lucky man."

"If I were a sentimental woman I might say, if I had a son, and all that."

"Booooard!"

"I imagine conductors these days get hoarse calling that word," she ventured, and suddenly they pitched together, his book pressed against her back, her purse thumping his hindside. Immersed in her spicy scent, he closed his eyes a moment, thinking of how grateful he was that she’d come into his life.

"If you get yourself killed I shall never forgive you, Mr. Parker."

"I know. Neither will I. Take care of yourself and I’ll see you when I get back."

They lurched apart, searched each other’s faces-hers pruned to keep her from breaking down, his wearing a soft grin-then he kissed her swiftly on the mouth and spun for the steps of the waiting car.

Chapter 16

Feb. 26, 1942


Dear Elly,

I’m at Parris Island and the trip down wasnt bad. I had to change trains in Atlanta, and made it into Yemassee in late afternoon. Met there by marine corp recruit bus and rode it thirty mi. to the base, which is just outside Buford an ugly town I was glad I dint live in. Crossed a bridge and traveled thru a big marsh to get here. Yellow grass and birds by the hundruds you would love to see em. Met by our drill sergeant a big mean bull name of Twitchum and he right away starts laying it to us. He roars like a sonuvabee and says how we got to start and end everything we say with sir, like-sir request permission to speak sir-and he makes a couple recruits crinj and feel dumb and theres a few farm boys here from Iowa and Dakota who never saw anything but the back end of a horse, and they’re pretty big-eyed I dont know why they came to the marines but some think the armys the worst and would rather take the sea instead thinking to keep away from the front maybe. Them farmboys looked ready to jump the fence but Ive seen all kinds in prison, so boot camp’s nothing new. Twitchum he likes to make those farmboys scart. Kept em up till all hours making them learn how to make up a bed before they could sleep in it cause their mamas allways made theres up at home so they never lurnd how. Me I had five years of making up my own and plenty worse to pay if it wasn’t done right than around here. Twitchum he comes by and gives everybody the old eagle eye and he sees my bed done up good and stops with his nose so close to mine I could smell his snot and he says to me (testing me, see)-what’s your name boy and I says sir-Parker-William-Lee-sir, and he says to me-northerner or southerner? But Ive seen his kind before and Ive seen how he looks at those yankee farmboys and enjoys making them squirm and how he takes digs at the black boys and makes them squirm too so I says to him-sir-westerner-sir. He thinks about it a hen’s blink and barks-Bunk patrol every morning at 0-500 hours, Parker. You dont teach them farmboys how to do womens work and its your ass! So I reckon I got me a duty already. How about that. Miss Beasley gave me a fare-well book of poems and I gave her a kiss she din’t seem to mind They issued us our fatigues and blankets and toilet artikles and marched us in here to our barracks and half of em are laying here snivveling for home I reckon. Me I know theres worse places than this cause I been there. But I sure miss you green eyes and those babies and our bed. I ate the sandwiches and the pie on the train and they tasted real good and I probly never told you before but you make the best quince pie of anything. Lites out theyre saying so I have to end here and I’m sorry if this aint so clear my writing never was good cause I hated school and dint go much less they made me.

Your loving husband

Will

Feb. 26, 1942

Dear Will,

I never wrote no letter before I don’t know how but its time I lurn don’t you think. We ate supper without you but the boys were frack fracshus (sorry I ain’t got no eraser) and I had trouble looking at your chair I kep wonderin where you were and if you had got there yet and if they fed you and give you a warm bed and all them things. And did miss Beasley come to the stashion like she said she would I can’t spell nor think clear on paper but feelings are a diffurnt thing and them I got aplenty I miss you so already Will and you been gone only today

This took me near an hour and it dont seem like much for so long but tomorr I’ll write more.

With love

Eleanor

Feb. 28, 1942

Dear Will,

Your letter came and Parris Island sounds just awful I cried because I felt so bad for you like you are being brave on my account when you say it aint so bad there. I did not cry for myself this time but I feel bad for you being there I hope you are okay that Twitchum sounds like a regular satan and I read plenty about him in my time…

Parris Is., So. Carolina

28 Feb. 1942

Dear Elly,

…I’m sending you my application for war bonds and insurance. Be sure to keep them in a safe place…

March 1, 1942

Dear Will,

I thot sure I’d get another letter from you Are you okay? Everyday when the mail comes I run down there and see if theres a letter in the box but there was only that one. Are you sure you are okay?…

Parris Is., So. Carolina

2 March 1942

Dear Eleanor,

I sure miss you green eyes and I would of writen before but they dont give us time we’re up at 0430 hours (that’s 4:30 in civvy time) and Twitchum wakes us up by kicking a shit can (that’s a trash can) down the squad bay and we hit the deck running. They give us each exactly three minuts in the latrine to shower and shave and you know what else if we got to and he’s in there barking like a mad dog all the time and the rest of the day its go go go till 0900 hours and then we get one hour of free time but it aint free cuz Twitchum comes in and makes us do drill or polish his boondockers (that’s boots here). So no time for writing till now.

I been what they called processed so I got no hair left kiddo and I look ugly as a coot with mange but it saves time in the morning and you don’t want no picture of anything this ugly. Anyways, they have’nt offered for us to get any pictures taken yet so maybe later. Also they fixed my teeth and gave me 7 shots in different places, four you-know-where. Ouch! Those needles could be a little sharper. In bed at night I think of you and the kids and your good cooking but the chow here ain’t as bad as I expected, better than in prison I can tell you. I don’t…

Ran out of time-mailing this on the run

Love,

W

4 March 1942

Dear Elly,

Your letter came in yesterdays mail call after I already sent mine the day before and I told you why I had not written. Dont worry about me I’m doing fine Twitchum lays off me but I see him watching close in case I make a mistak don’t worry I ain’t gonna make any I’m gonna act like his trained monkey. I sure do miss you and the kids and I suppose Lizzy P is growing. I have read your letters til the edges are getting raggy but don’t you worry about me I’m just a little lonesome is all. They feed me good here and when your bellys full you can put up with near anything. Don’t worry about me tho I’m just fine. Things here are speeding up. Today we got issued our.30 caliber rifles and bayonets and we have to memorize the model numbers-1903 & 1905. Every day I go to physical training, bayonet training and a class on military history who ever would’ve thought I’d be back in school again at my age but I am and next week we start first aid classes and articles-of-war classes and of course there is always close-order drill for hours and hours every day. They say all that marching teaches discipline and thats important in a military organization but now I reckon I know why they call this boot camp cause these boots sure get a workout ever day. Theres sure all kinds here Elly-course I was with all kinds in Huntsville too but heres diffrent cause your closer to them all the time. Some of them stink so bad we all got to go to hygiene lessons and lots of them can’t read so they go to reading classes The blacks got their own barracks and we got ours but everybodys got a buddy it seems. Mine’s this lanky redhead from Kentucky named Otis Luttrell. We get along good cause neither one of us likes to talk much…